Page:Christopher Morley--Tales from a rolltop desk.djvu/216

Mr. Schmaltz raised racial hands. "Heavens!" he said, "you used to let us have them for fourteen and a half. Why, in the old days———"

Mr. Veal pounded the desk with his fist.

"If you use that world old again, I'll assassinate you with a dish of ham!" he roared. "Great pigs' knuckles, what do you think this is, a home for the aged?"

After Mr. Schmaltz had gone Mr. Veal sent for Foster, the foreman of the manufacturing department.

"Well," he said, "how about those machines?"

"Mr. Veal," said Foster, "we'll have to replace at least six of those Victor stampers. They're so old they simply can't do the work. You know when one of those machines is over five years old———"

Mr. Veal was pointing to the door.

"Get out!" he said.

At lunch-time Mr. Veal went up to the club as usual. Swinging up the street, in the bright sun and pellucid air, he felt quite cheerful, and stopped to buy himself a rhinoceros cane. In the dining room of the club he met Edwards, and they sat down together.

"Hello, old man," said Edwards. "You're