“I think so.”
“Then I'll look for you at eight.” Haviland turned and went slowly into the private office. As John passed the door on his way out he caught a glimpse of the managing director; he was sitting with his elbows resting on his desk and his chin sunk in his hands.
When John mounted the steps at Haviland's that night, it was with a good deal of reluctance. The butler admitted him and showed him into the library, where Haviland welcomed him with an effusive cordiality that only served to increase his desire to escape from the house. A table stood in the center of the room, with cigars and decanters on it. Haviland had evidently been drinking; his face was flushed and his manner confident. John put aside the glass he pushed toward him.
“I'll have a cigar, if you don't mind—thanks.”
Haviland leaned back in his chair.
“Well, how's the statement coming on? The business makes a pretty good showing, eh?”
“It's been the biggest year in the history of the house.”
“If they'd let me alone, I'd make Bliss, Haviland and Company a power,” with something of his old self-assertiveness. “But they don't see it my way.”
John looked his assent. Haviland filled his glass.
“You won't join me?”