She was a little indignant over it,
and demanded a show-down from her unhappy father, who looked at her
miserably and said he'd think it over.
He did. Every afternoon, upon his return from luncheon he slid down
on his spine in his upholstered swivel chair, draped his old shanks
over his desk, dropped his chin on his breast, closed his eyes and
went into a clinch with the awful problem, with all its dips, spurs
and angles. Save for the nervous clasping and unclasping of his hands
one would have thought him sound asleep.
For a month no gleam of light filtered through the deep gloom of the
old gentleman's predicament. A dozen times had he reached forth to
press the push-button on his desk, summon Skinner and force the latter
to do one of two things; recede from his position or resign as general
manager. Ten times he had paused with his finger on the push-button.
He simply could NOT afford to dispense with Skinner! The eleventh
time, however, grown desperate from much brooding over his unhappy
lot, Cappy pressed the button.
"Send Mr. Skinner in," he commanded bravely to the boy who answered
his summons.
Mr. Skinner entered and stood awaiting Cappy's pleasure. On the
instant the old fellow was overcome by panic. Frantically he sought
an "out."
"Skinner, my dear boy," he purred, "has it occurred to you that young
Tommy, the office boy, has been here long enough, and behaved himself
well enough, to merit a raise of about ten dollars a month?"
Mr.
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