call it long-staple Egyptian. They ought to know better than to send us a shipment like that, and I wish youâd tell them so from me. And the skylightâs still out at Unit Three.â
âYouâre right it is,â Mr. Hewett said, âbut the boys are setting the new glass now.â
Willis followed Mr. Harcourt further down the hall, and Mr. Harcourt stopped at another open door.
âGo in, Willis,â he said. âThis is where I stay when Iâm here.â
Willis was surprised by the simplicity of Mr. Harcourtâs office. It was larger but its appointments were much simpler than those in the room of any other executive, but there was a reason behind everything with which Mr. Harcourt was connected. The battered desk, the old-fashioned carpet, the wooden chairs around a bare pine table, the grate, the tongs and shovel, the coal bucket by the fireplace had all come from the old office of William Harcourt. Then they had been used, with only a few additions, by Mr. George Harcourt, whose portrait, with that of Mr. Williamâboth replicas of the ones in the Harcourt dining roomâstared somberly from the walls. The furnishings indicated dramatically that Mr. Harcourt, as the head of the Harcourt Mill, could dispense with elaborate settings.
âThese things here,â Mr. Harcourt said to Willis, just as though Willis were a distinguished visitor, âwere bought by my grandfather when he started the mill in 1850. A lot of business has been done across this desk. Sit down there, wonât you, Willis?â
He pointed to a chair beside the desk and sat down himself on the swivel chair behind it, first glancing out of the window behind him and then out of the window to his left. Then he examined some papers in front of him without bothering to put on his spectacles.
âExcuse me just a minute, Willis,â he said, and he read the office memoranda with a concentration that made Willis think that an invisible curtain had fallen between them.
âMiss Jackman,â he called, âwill you come in, please?â
Miss Jackman had been his secretary for twenty years, and she had been in the accounting department for some years previously. She was gray-haired and straight-backed, with steel-rimmed glasses that made her look like a schoolmarm. She opened the door of her own office at the end of the room, strolled across the threadbare carpet and halted in an almost military way in front of Mr. Harcourtâs desk. Mr. Harcourt smiled at her, but she did not return his smile.
âYouâve got me down for a pretty tight schedule this afternoon, Miss Jackman,â Mr. Harcourt said. âIâm getting old and I like time to turn around in.â
âYes,â Miss Jackman said, âbut you havenât got the time today. You should have been in earlier this morning.â
âPerhaps I should have,â Mr. Harcourt said.
âThe bankâs called you from Boston,â Miss Jackman said. âWill you be at the meeting on Tuesday?â
âYes,â Mr. Harcourt answered, âand Iâll have lunch at the club.â
âMr. Bryson wants to see you.â
âWhat does he want now?â Mr. Harcourt asked.
âItâs about the sales department.â
âOh dear me,â Mr. Harcourt said. âTell him to see me at the house this evening.â
âThey have guests for dinner tonight.â
âWell,â Mr. Harcourt said, âtell him before dinner. Is there anything else?â
âYes,â Miss Jackman said, and Willis thought that she hesitated because he was there.
âWell, what is it?â Mr. Harcourt said.
âMrs. James telephoned. Sheâs very anxious to have you call her back.â
âShe called me here at the office? She really shouldnât do that,â Mr. Harcourt said. âWell, get her for me in ten minutes. Thank you, Miss Jackman.â
Miss Jackman strode back into her
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