The Major [123]
call next Saturday," said Larry earnestly. "It is sure to be hot."
"You don't deserve it or anything else that is good."
"Except your pity. Think what I am missing."
"Get in out of the heat," she cried as the car slipped away.
For some blocks Miss Wakeham was busy getting her car through the crush of the traffic, but as she swung into the Park Road she remarked, "That young man takes himself too seriously. You would think the business belonged to him."
"I wish to God I had more men in my office," said her father, "who thought the same thing. Do you know, young lady, why it is that so many greyheads are holding clerk's jobs? Because clerks do not feel that the business is their own. The careless among them are working for five o'clock, and the keen among them are out for number one. Do you know if that boy keeps on thinking that the business is his he will own a big slice of it or something better before he quits. I confess I was greatly pleased that you failed to move him."
"All the same, he is awfully stubborn," said his daughter.
"You can't bully him as you do your old dad, eh?"
"I had counted on him for our dinner party to-night. I particularly want to have him meet Professor Schaefer, and now we will have a girl too many. It just throws things out."
They rolled on in silence for some time through the park when suddenly her father said, "He may be finished by six o'clock, and Michael could run in for him."
At six o'clock Miss Wakeham called Larry on the 'phone. "Are you still at it?" she enquired. "And when will you be finished?"
"An hour, I think, will see me through," he replied.
"Then," said Miss Wakeham, "a little before seven o'clock the car will be waiting at your office door."
"Hooray!" cried Larry. "You are an angel. I will be through."
At a quarter of seven Larry was standing on the pavement, which was still radiating heat, and so absorbed in watching for the Wakehams' big car that he failed to notice a little Mercer approaching till it drew up at his side.
"What, you, Miss Rowena?" he cried. "Your own self? How very lovely of you, and through all this heat!"
"Me," replied the girl, "only me. I thought it might still be hot and a little cool breeze would be acceptable. But jump in."
"Cool breeze, I should say so!" exclaimed Larry. "A lovely, cool, sweet spring breeze over crocuses and violets! But, I say, I must go to my room for my clothes."
"No evening clothes to-night," exclaimed Rowena.
"Ah, but I have a new, lovely, cool suit that I have been hoping to display at Birchwood. These old things would hardly do at your dinner table."
"We'll go around for it. Do get in. Do you know, I left my party to come for you, partly because I was rather nasty this afternoon?"
"You were indeed," said Larry. "You almost broke my heart, but this wipes all out; my heart is singing again. That awfully jolly letter of Elfie's this week made me quite homesick for the open and for the breezes of the Alberta foothills."
"Tell me what she said," said Rowena, not because she wanted so much to hear Elfie's news but because she loved to hear him talk, and upon no subject could Larry wax so eloquent as upon the foothill country of Alberta. Long after they had secured Larry's new suit and gone on their way through park and boulevard, Larry continued to expatiate upon the glories of Alberta hills and valleys, upon its cool breezes, its flowing rivers and limpid lakes, and always the western rampart of the eternal snow-clad peaks.
"And how is the mine doing?" inquired Rowena, for Larry had fallen silent.
"The mine? Oh, there's trouble there, I am afraid. Switzer--you have heard of Switzer?"
"Oh, yes, I know all about him and his tragic disappointment. He's the manager, isn't he?"
"The manager? No, he's the secretary, but in this case it means the same thing, for he runs the mine. Well, Switzer wants to sell his stock. He and his father hold about twenty-five thousand dollars between them. He means to resign. And to make matters
"You don't deserve it or anything else that is good."
"Except your pity. Think what I am missing."
"Get in out of the heat," she cried as the car slipped away.
For some blocks Miss Wakeham was busy getting her car through the crush of the traffic, but as she swung into the Park Road she remarked, "That young man takes himself too seriously. You would think the business belonged to him."
"I wish to God I had more men in my office," said her father, "who thought the same thing. Do you know, young lady, why it is that so many greyheads are holding clerk's jobs? Because clerks do not feel that the business is their own. The careless among them are working for five o'clock, and the keen among them are out for number one. Do you know if that boy keeps on thinking that the business is his he will own a big slice of it or something better before he quits. I confess I was greatly pleased that you failed to move him."
"All the same, he is awfully stubborn," said his daughter.
"You can't bully him as you do your old dad, eh?"
"I had counted on him for our dinner party to-night. I particularly want to have him meet Professor Schaefer, and now we will have a girl too many. It just throws things out."
They rolled on in silence for some time through the park when suddenly her father said, "He may be finished by six o'clock, and Michael could run in for him."
At six o'clock Miss Wakeham called Larry on the 'phone. "Are you still at it?" she enquired. "And when will you be finished?"
"An hour, I think, will see me through," he replied.
"Then," said Miss Wakeham, "a little before seven o'clock the car will be waiting at your office door."
"Hooray!" cried Larry. "You are an angel. I will be through."
At a quarter of seven Larry was standing on the pavement, which was still radiating heat, and so absorbed in watching for the Wakehams' big car that he failed to notice a little Mercer approaching till it drew up at his side.
"What, you, Miss Rowena?" he cried. "Your own self? How very lovely of you, and through all this heat!"
"Me," replied the girl, "only me. I thought it might still be hot and a little cool breeze would be acceptable. But jump in."
"Cool breeze, I should say so!" exclaimed Larry. "A lovely, cool, sweet spring breeze over crocuses and violets! But, I say, I must go to my room for my clothes."
"No evening clothes to-night," exclaimed Rowena.
"Ah, but I have a new, lovely, cool suit that I have been hoping to display at Birchwood. These old things would hardly do at your dinner table."
"We'll go around for it. Do get in. Do you know, I left my party to come for you, partly because I was rather nasty this afternoon?"
"You were indeed," said Larry. "You almost broke my heart, but this wipes all out; my heart is singing again. That awfully jolly letter of Elfie's this week made me quite homesick for the open and for the breezes of the Alberta foothills."
"Tell me what she said," said Rowena, not because she wanted so much to hear Elfie's news but because she loved to hear him talk, and upon no subject could Larry wax so eloquent as upon the foothill country of Alberta. Long after they had secured Larry's new suit and gone on their way through park and boulevard, Larry continued to expatiate upon the glories of Alberta hills and valleys, upon its cool breezes, its flowing rivers and limpid lakes, and always the western rampart of the eternal snow-clad peaks.
"And how is the mine doing?" inquired Rowena, for Larry had fallen silent.
"The mine? Oh, there's trouble there, I am afraid. Switzer--you have heard of Switzer?"
"Oh, yes, I know all about him and his tragic disappointment. He's the manager, isn't he?"
"The manager? No, he's the secretary, but in this case it means the same thing, for he runs the mine. Well, Switzer wants to sell his stock. He and his father hold about twenty-five thousand dollars between them. He means to resign. And to make matters