Part 34 (1/2)
In the meantime, while the confidential conversation was going on between master and secretary, Miram Monroe sat in his office scheming against his employer, against the secretary, and against the sick young woman, whose knowledge of things worldly was now a blank. It is always true of men of limited ability that they aim far above the possible.
Monroe, with his microscopic smile this day stretched almost into a cynical grin, so satisfied was he with his genius, was perusing page after page of complicated figures. He was doing this mechanically, though, or otherwise he could not have O K'd them, being as he was in such a ruminating turn, with his mind set on other things so much dearer to his undefiling heart. Who was possessed with his special inborn faculty, qualifying him for his employment? Who had such a special disposition to accomplish what he purposed? Who had such a presiding genius for good or evil over the destiny of other men? Why, Miram Monroe--Mr. Monroe, if you please. He rang a bell. Welty Morne stepped within, and closed the door behind him, meeting his superior with a superior smile to that of the rigid face.
”Welty,” said Monroe, with the solemnity of a gray goose, ”I have seen the boss of the Board of Directors.”
”Well?”
”They have decided, he tells me, to create the office of a.s.sistant treasurer in the New York branch.”
”No!”
”Yes,” without a crow's foot.
”Good, old boy; we must celebrate it tonight,” said Welty, in a whisper.
”And the young chap goes.”
”No!”
”Yes,” without a wrinkle.
”We must celebrate that tomorrow night--When?”
”At once,” without a crack.
”Bully! We must celebrate that the next night--Who?”
”You,” without a wink.
”No!”
”Yes,” without a twinkle.
”Whee! We'll celebrate that the next night--Where?”
”At the Bottomless Pit,” with a microscopic smile. ”Be at my room at nine p. m.”
”With joy, old boy; I'll be with you! Hah, you're no two-spot!” With this Welty expired, almost, over his good feelings that his promotion brought over him.
The bell rang again. In came Bate Yenger, with a crimped smile on his stale face.
”Bate, do you want Welty's place?” asked the marble idol.
”Want it?” exclaimed the idolizing Bate. ”Can I get it? or are you buffooning?”
”You have it, Bate,” without a twitch.
”When?” asked the anxious Bate.