The colored chauffeur who had driven
them out came to the door and asked:
"Shall I lay the table for two or three, sir?"
Mr. Bangs lifted his head long enough to give him one annihilating
glance.
"I have but one guest," he said significantly. "Set the table for two."
The dinner was one of the best Quin had ever tasted, and his frank
enjoyment of it, and franker comment, seemed further to ingratiate him
with Mr. Bangs, who waxed almost agreeable in discussing the various
viands.
After dinner they returned to the library and lit their cigars, and Quin
waited hopefully.
This time he was not to be disappointed.
"Graham," said Mr. Bangs, "what salary are you drawing?"
"One hundred and fifty, sir."
"How long have you been at the factory?"
"A year last February."
"Not so long as I thought. You are satisfied, I take it?"
Quin saw his chance and seized it.
"It's all right until I can get something better."
Mr. Bangs relit his cigar, and took his time about it. Then he blew out
the match and threw it on the floor.
"I am looking for a new traffic manager," he said.
"What's the matter with Mr. Shields?" Quin inquired in amazement.
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