I'm an all-round man still, Wingate, but my nose is a
little closer to the ground than it was."
Wingate looked thoughtfully at the man whom he had come to visit,
studying his appearance in every detail. Then he leaned across and laid
his hand upon his shoulder.
"Andrew," he said, "you and I have looked out at life once or twice and
seen the big things. I guess there's no false shame between us. I can say
what I want, can't I?"
"I should say so," was the hearty reply. "Get right on with it, John.
I've passed the blushing age."
"It's like this," Wingate explained. "I've got a job for you. You can't
do it like that. Walk to the door, will you?"
"Damn it, I know you're going to look at my boots!" Slate declared, as he
rose unwillingly and obeyed.
"You've got it at once," Wingate acquiesced. "You're a smart fellow
still, Slate, I see. Now listen. You can't do my job like that. Here's
twenty pounds on account. I'm going to stroll around to the Milan
Grillroom and take a table for luncheon. I shall expect you there in half
an hour. You're in the neighbourhood for quick changes."
Slate took the money and reached for his hat.
"Come along, then. You take the lift down. I'll go by the stairs. I
shan't be late, unless you'd like me to stop and have a shave and my
hair trimmed."
"Great idea," Wingate assented.
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