What made it worse, considered Mr. Guilfogle, was that this
Wrenn had a higher average of punctuality than any one else in
the office, which proved that he knew better. Worst of all, the
Guilfogle family eggs had not been scrambled right at breakfast;
they had been anemic. Mr. Guilfogle punched the buzzer and set
his face toward the door, with a scowl prepared.
Mr. Wrenn seemed weary, and not so intimidated as usual.
"Look here, Wrenn; you were just about two hours late this
morning. What do you think this office is? A club or a
reading-room for hoboes? Ever occur to you we'd like to have
you favor us with a call now and then so's we can learn how
you're getting along at golf or whatever you're doing these days?"
There was a sample baby-shoe office pin-cushion on the manager's
desk. Mr. Wrenn eyed this, and said nothing. The manager:
"Hear what I said? D'yuh think I'm talking to give my throat exercise?"
Mr. Wrenn was stubborn. "I couldn't help it."
"Couldn't help--! And you call that an explanation! I know
just exactly what you're thinking, Wrenn; you're thinking that
because I've let you have a lot of chances to really work into
the business lately you're necessary to us, and not simply an
expense--"
"Oh no, Mr.
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