The moment his
energies were dammed at one point, they burst forth with fresh vigor at
another.
The only object about the office that was left undisturbed was Minerva, a
large black cat which the stenographer told him belonged to Mr. Randolph
Bartlett. Quin was hopelessly committed to cats in general, and to black
cats in particular, and the fact that this one met with Mr. Bangs's
marked disfavor made him champion her cause at once. One noon hour, in
his first week, he was sitting alone in the inner office, scratching
Minerva's head in the very spot behind the ear where a cat most likes to
be scratched, when a lively voice from the doorway demanded:
"Well, young man, what do you mean by making love to my cat in my
absence?"
"She flirted with me first," said Quin. Then he took a second look at the
stranger and got up smiling. "You are Mr. Bartlett, I believe?"
"Yes. Are you waiting for Mr. Bangs?"
"No, sir," said Quin; "he's waiting for me. I'm to let him know as soon
as you come in. I am the new office-boy."
He grinned down on the shorter man, who in his turn laughed outright.
"Office-boy? What nonsense! Where have I seen you before? What is your
name?"
"Quinby Graham, sir.
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