"Good night."
She followed Virginia out of the room and the two men stood looking at
each other--Jimmie somewhat intimidated, Stafford with an amused
expression on his face as if wondering what demand this extraordinary
employee of his would make upon him next. There was an awkward pause.
Finally the clerk said:
"If I don't get a good eight hours' sleep my brain don't work right.
Would you mind if I was late an hour or so in the morning?"
"I wouldn't," replied Stafford dryly. "But McLaughlin might. He's the
superintendent of your department and I never interfere with the
superintendent."
"He'd be sure to call me down," snapped Jimmie sourly. "He's got it in
for me and don't mind showing it. Some time I'll tell him what I think
about him."
Stafford shook his head. Warningly he said:
"Don't you do it. If you do he might tell you what he really thinks
about you. So take my advice and don't go out of your class."
"But if I told him that you--"
"Don't!" said the millionaire curtly. "I never interfere with the
superintendent."
"Then I suppose I'll have to be there," said Jimmie sulkily: "But
remember this--if I don't get a good eight hours' sleep, my brain
don't work right. So if I'm not up to my usual standard, don't blame
me."
He turned on his heel and was leaving the room when he bumped into his
sister-in-law, who was just coming in.
"Good night, Virginia," he mumbled.
"Good night, Jimmie," she replied cordially.
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