Спрут: Калифорнийская история
Chapter VIII
Here’stheorderreadynow,ifyoucaretoletitgo.”
Therewasapause.Presleyallattention,listenedbreathlessly.TheassistantmanagerlaidbeforehisPresidentthetypewrittenorderinquestion.Thesilencelengthened;inthehalloutside,thewrought-irondooroftheelevatorcageslidtowithaclash.Shelgrimdidnotlookattheorder.Heturnedhisswivelchairaboutandfacedthewindowsbehindhim,lookingoutwithunseeingeyes.Atlasthespoke:
“Tentellhasafamily,wifeandthreechildren.Howmuchdowepayhim?”
“Onehundredandthirty.”
“Let’sdoublethat,orsaytwohundredandfifty.Let’sseehowthatwilldo.”
“Why—ofcourse—ifyousayso,butreally,Mr.Shelgrim”
“Well,we’lltrythat,anyhow.”
PresleyhadnottimetoreadjusthisperspectivetothisnewpointofviewofthePresidentoftheP.andS.W.beforetheassistantmanagerhadwithdrawn.Shelgrimwroteafewmemorandaonhiscalendarpad,andsignedacoupleoflettersbeforeturninghisattentiontoPresley.Atlast,helookedupandfixedtheyoungmanwithadirect,graveglance.Hedidnotsmile.Itwassometimebeforehespoke.Atlast,hesaid:
“Well,sir.”
Presleyadvancedandtookachairnearerathand.ShelgrimturnedandfromhisdeskpickedupandconsultedPresley’scard.Presleyobservedthathereadwithouttheuseofglasses.
“You,”hesaid,againfacingabout,“youaretheyoungmanwhowrotethepoemcalled’TheToilers.’”
“Yes,sir.”
“Itseemstohavemadeagreatdealoftalk.
