"Mr. Cameron," replied Mr. Bates earnestly, "if you should work for twenty years for the Metropolitan Transportation & Cartage Company, never will you catch up those five minutes; every minute of your office hours is pledged to the company, and every minute has its own proper work. Your desk is the one next Mr. Jacobs, yonder.
Your work is waiting you there. It is quite simple, the entry of freight receipts upon the ledger. If you wish further instructions, apply to me here--you understand?"
"I think so!" replied Cameron. "I shall do my best to--"
"Very well! That is all!" replied Mr. Bates, plunging his head again into his papers.
The office staff sank back to work with every expression of disappointment. A moment later, however, their hopes revived.
"Oh! Mr. Cameron!" called out Mr. Bates. Mr. Cameron returned to his desk. "If you should chance to be late again, never mind going to your desk; just come here for your cheque."
Mr. Bates' tone was kindly, even considerate, as if he were anxious to save his clerk unnecessary inconvenience.
"I beg your pardon!" stammered Cameron, astonished.
"That is all!" replied Mr. Bates, his nose once more in his papers.
Cameron stood hesitating. His eye fell upon the boy, Jimmy, whose face expressed keenest joy.
"Do you mean, Sir, that if I am late you dismiss me forthwith?"
"What?" Mr. Bates' tone was so fiercely explosive that it appeared to throw up his head with a violent motion.
Cameron repeated his question.
"Mr. Cameron, my time is valuable; so is yours. I thought that I spoke quite distinctly. Apparently I did not. Let me repeat: In case you should inadvertently be late again, you need not take the trouble to go to your desk; just come here. Your cheque will be immediately made out. Saves time, you know--your time and mine--and time, you perceive, in this office represents money."
Mr. Bates' voice lost none of its kindly interest, but it had grown somewhat in intensity; the last sentence was uttered with his face close to his desk.
Cameron stood a moment in uncertainty, gazing at the bald head before him; then, finding nothing to reply, he turned about to behold Jimmy and his lanky friend executing an animated war pantomime which they apparently deemed appropriate to the occasion.
With face ablaze and teeth set Cameron went to his desk, to the extreme disappointment of Jimmy and the lanky youth, who fell into each other's arms, apparently overcome with grief.
For half an hour the office hummed with the noise of subdued voices and clicked with the rapid fire of the typewriters. Suddenly through the hum Mr. Bates' voice was heard, clear, calm, and coldly penetrating:
"Mr. Jacobs!"
The old, white-haired clerk started up from Cameron's desk, and began in a confused and gentle voice to explain that he was merely giving some hints to the new clerk.
"Mr. Jacobs," said Mr. Bates, "I cannot hear you, and you are wasting my time!"
"He was merely showing me how to make these entries!" said Cameron.
"Ah! Indeed! Thank you, Mr. Cameron! Though I believe Mr. Jacobs has not yet lost the power of lucid speech. Mr. Jacobs, I believe you know the rules of this office; your fine will be one-quarter of a day."
"Thank you!" said Mr. Jacobs, hurriedly resuming his desk.
"And, Mr. Cameron, if you will kindly bring your work to me, I shall do my best to enlighten you in regard to the complex duty of entering your freight receipts."
An audible snicker ran through the delighted staff. Cameron seized his ledger and the pile of freight bills, and started for Mr. Bates' desk, catching out of the corner of his eye the pantomime of Jimmy and the lanky one, which was being rendered with vigor and due caution.
For a few moments Cameron stood at the manager's desk till that gentleman should be disengaged, but Mr. Bates was skilled in the fine art of reducing to abject humility an employee who might give indications of insubordination. Cameron's rage grew with every passing moment.
"Here is the ledger, Sir!" he said at length.
But Mr. Bates was so completely absorbed in the business of saving time that he made not the slightest pause in his writing, while the redoubled vigor and caution of the pantomime seemed to indicate the approach of a crisis. At length Mr. Bates raised his head. Jimmy and the lanky clerk became at once engrossed in their duties.
"You have had no experience of this kind of work, Mr. Cameron?" inquired Mr. Bates kindly.
"No, Sir. But if you will just explain one or two matters, I think I can--"
"Exactly! This is not, however, a business college! But we shall do our best!"
A rapturous smile pervaded the office. Mr. Bates was in excellent form.
"By the way, Mr. Cameron--pardon my neglect--but may I inquire just what department of this work you are familiar with?"
"Oh, general--"
"Ah! The position of general manager, however, is filled at present!" replied Mr. Bates kindly.
Cameron's flush grew deeper, while Jimmy and his friend resigned themselves to an ecstasy of delight.
"I was going to say," said Cameron in a tone loud and deliberate, "that I had been employed with the general copying work in a writer's office."
"Writing? Fancy! Writing, eh? No use here!" said Mr. Bates shortly, for time was passing.
"A writer with us means a lawyer!" replied Cameron.
"Why the deuce don't they say so?" answered Mr. Bates impatiently.
"Well! Well!" getting hold of himself again. "Here we allow our solicitors to look after our legal work. Typewrite?" he inquired suddenly.
"I beg your pardon!" replied Cameron. "Typewrite? Do you mean, can I use a typewriting machine?"
"Yes! Yes! For heaven's sake, yes!"
"No, I cannot!"
"Bookkeep?"
"No."
"Good Lord! What have I got?" inquired Mr. Bates of himself, in a tone, however, perfectly audible to those in the immediate neighbourhood.
