"I don't
think he'll ever succeed in making a business man out of Henry, though,
any more than Mr. White will out of Jimmy."
A familiar form approached the table. Sarah welcomed him with a wave of
her hand. The Honourable Jimmy greeted Lady Amesbury and his host,
nodded to every one else, and took the vacant place which had been left
for him. He seemed fatigued.
"Can I have a cocktail, Mr. Wingate?" he begged, summoning a waiter. "A
double Martini, please. Big things doing in the City," he confided.
"Have you had to work very hard, dear?" Sarah asked sympathetically.
"Absolutely feverish rush ever since I got there," he declared. "Don't
know how long my nerves will stand it. Telephones ringing, men rushing
out of the office without their hats, and bumping into you without saying
'by your leave' or 'beg your pardon,' or any little civility of that
sort, and good old Maurice, with his hair standing up on end, shouting
into two telephones at the same time, and dictating a letter to one of
the peachiest little bits of fluff I've seen outside the front rows for I
don't know how long."
"Jimmy," Sarah said sternly, "I'm not sure that the City is going to suit
you. You don't have to dictate letters to her, do you?"
"No such luck," Jimmy sighed. "She is the Chief's own particular
property. Does a thousand words a minute and knits a jumper at the
same time.
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