Mr. Bowring and Howard looked each at the
other. Mr. Bowring smiled, with good-humour, without cordiality. "Let me
see, where shall we put you?" And his glance wandered along the rows of
sloping table-desks--those nearer the windows lighted by daylight; those
farther away, by electric lamps. Even on that cool, breezy August afternoon
the sunlight and fresh air did not penetrate far into the room.
"Do you see the young man with the beautiful fair moustache," said Mr.
Bowring, "toiling away in his shirt-sleeves--there?"
"Near the railing at the entrance?"
"Precisely. I think I will put you next him." Mr. Bowring touched a button
on his desk and presently an office boy--a mop of auburn curls, a pert face
and gangling legs in knickerbockers--hurried up with a "Yes, Sir?"
"Please tell Mr. Kittredge that I would like to speak to him and--please
scrape your feet along the floor as little as possible."
The boy smiled, walking away less as if he were trying to terrorize park
pedestrians by a rush on roller skates. Kittredge and Howard were made
acquainted and went toward their desks together. "A few moments--if you
will excuse me--and I'm done," said Kittredge motioning Howard into the
adjoining chair as he sat and at once bent over his work.
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