Part 21 (1/2)

He arose quickly, laughing, and sat down in a chair. ”Mr. Jones, will you sit down? I want to talk to you.”

”If you will talk business. You were rude to me.”

”Perhaps. For my rudeness I apologize. But I was not untruthful. And I wanted to find something out. I found it.”

”What?”

”Whether you had any sand in you. You have, and considerable muscle, or knack, as well. I'm not saying you could do it again--”

”Well, what is this all about?”

”Simply this. If I am to manage the business of Grant & Son I shall need legal advice of the highest order, and I want it from a man with red blood in him--I should be afraid of any other advice. What is your price? You understand, you leave this firm and think of nothing, professionally, but what I pay you for.”

Mr. Jones had seated himself, and the pugnacious moustache was settling back into a less hostile att.i.tude.

”You are quite serious?”

”Quite. You see, I know nothing about business. It is true I spent some time in my father's office, but I never had much heart for it. I went west to get away from it. Fate has forced it back upon my hands.

Well--I'm not a piker, and I mean to show Fate that I can handle the job. To do so I must have the advice of a man who knows the game. I want a man who can look over a bond issue, or whatever it is, and tell me at a glance whether it's spavined or wind-broken. I want a man who can sense out the legal badger-holes, and who won't let me gallop over a cutbank. I want a man who has not only brains to back up his muscle, but who also has muscle to back up his brains. To be quite frank, I didn't think you were the man. I had no doubt you had the legal ability, or you wouldn't be guiding the affairs of this five-cylinder firm, but I was afraid you didn't have the fight in you. I picked a quarrel with you to find out, and you showed me, for which I am much obliged. By the way, how do you do it?”

Before answering Mr. Jones got up, walked around behind his desk, unlocked a drawer and produced a box of cigars.

”That's a mistake you Westerners make,” he remarked, when they had lighted up. ”You think the muscle is all out there, just as some Easterners will admit that the brains are all down here. Both are wrong.

Life at a desk calls for an antidote, and two nights a week keep me in form. I wrestled a bit when I was a boy, but I haven't had a chance to try out my skill in a long while. I rather welcomed the opportunity.”

”I noticed that. Well--what's she worth?”

Mr. Jones ruminated. ”I wouldn't care to break with the firm,” he said at length. ”There are family ties as well as those of business. A year's leave of absence might be arranged. By that time you would be safe in your saddle. By the way, do you propose to hire all your staff by the same test?”

Grant smiled. ”I don't expect to hire any more staff. I presume there is already a complete organization, doubtless making money for me at this very moment. I will not interfere except when necessary, but I want a man like you to tell me when it is necessary.”

Terms were agreed upon, and Mr. Jones asked only the remainder of the week to clean up important matters on hand. Telegrams were despatched to Mr. David Barrett, senior, and Mr. David Barrett, junior, and Jones in some way managed to convey the delicate information to young Mr. Barrett that a morning appearance on his part would henceforth be essential.

Grant decided to fill in the interval with a little fis.h.i.+ng expedition.

He was determined that he would not so much as call at the office of Grant & Son until Jones could accompany him. ”A tenderfoot like me would stampede that bunch in no time,” he warned himself.

When he finally did appear at the office he was received with a deference amounting almost to obeisance. Murdoch, the chief clerk, and manager of the business in all but t.i.tle, who had known him in the old days when he had been ”Mr. Denny,” bore him into the private office which had for so many years been the sacred recess of the senior Grant.

Only big men or trusted employees were in the habit of pa.s.sing those silent green doors.

”Well Murdy, old boy, how goes it?” Grant had said when they met, taking his hand in a husky grip.

”Not so bad, sir; not so bad, considering the shock of the accident, sir. And we are all so glad to see you--we who knew you before, sir.”

”Listen, Murdy,” said Grant. ”What's the idea of all the sirs?”

”Why,” said the somewhat abashed official, ”you know you are now the head of the firm, sir.”

”Quite so. Because a chauffeur neglected to look over his shoulder I am converted from a cow puncher to a sir. Well, go easy on it. If a man has native dignity in him he doesn't need it piled on from outside.”