Erb wrote the figures on the back of the envelope. Already he was composing in his mind the elaborate sentences by which he would make the satisfactory announcement to his colleagues. A telephone bell in the corner of the office stung the ear; the Chief rose, and bidding Erb wait outside for a few minutes, went to answer it. Erb closed the door after him in order to avoid any suspicion of overhearing, and, big with the important news, could not resist the temptation to hurry through into the arch where the men in a group were waiting; the van foreman sat on a high stool in the corner, in an attitude that suggested contrition.
“Well, chaps,” said Payne, when Erb, in one long, ornate sentence had given the information, “this is a little bit of all right. I think I’m speaking the general opinion when I say we’re very much indebted to Erb for all the trouble he’s took.”
“Hear, hear!” said the men cheerfully.
“I could see from the first,” remarked the eldest carman, “that he meant to pull it off for us.”
“The occasion being special,” said Payne, bunching his short, red beard in one hand, “I think we might all of us treat ourselves to a tonic.”
“Not me,” said Erb. “I’ve got to get back just to say a few words to the gov’nor. But don’t let me stop you chaps from ’aving one.”
“You won’t!” remarked Payne with candour.
The conversation at the telephone was still going on when Erb returned to the Chief’s office; some time having been occupied, apparently, with the usual preliminaries of one party begging the other to speak up, and the other urging on the first the advisability of seeking some remedy for increasing deafness. The Chief rang off presently, and came to the door and opened it.
“Sorry to keep you waiting, Barnes.”
“Was there anything else you wanted to say, sir?”