"It's quite out of the question," stammered the unhappy O'Reilly.
"Come, come! It's tough on you, I know, but--" The fuse had begun to sputter. Johnnie had a horrified vision of himself being dragged unwillingly to the altar. "Elsa is going to have what she wants, if I have to break something. If you'll be sensible I'll stand behind you like a father and teach you the business. I'm getting old, and Ethelbert could never learn it. Otherwise--" The old man's jaw set; his eyes began to gleam angrily.
"Who is--Ethelbert?" faintly inquired O'Reilly.
"Why, dammit! He's the fellow I've been telling you about. He's not so bad as he sounds; he's really a nice boy--"
"Elsa is in love with another man? Is that what you mean?"
"Good Lord, yes! Don't you understand English? I didn't think you'd take it so hard--I was going to make a place for you here in the office, but of course if--Say! What the deuce ails you?"
Samuel Carter stared with amazement, for the injured victim of his daughter's fickleness had leaped to his feet and was shaking his hand vigorously, meanwhile uttering unintelligible sounds that seemed to signify relief, pleasure, delight--anything except what the old man expected.
"Are you crazy, or am I?" he queried.
"Yes, sir; delirious. It's this way, sir; I've changed my mind, too."
"Oh--! You have?"
"I've met the dearest, sweetest"--O'Reilly choked, then began again--"the dearest, loveliest--"
"Never mind the bird-calls--don't coo! I get enough of that at home. Don't tell me she's dearer and sweeter than Elsa. Another girl! Well, I'll be damned! Young man, you're a fool."
"Yes, sir."
Slightly mollified by this ready acknowledgment, Mr. Carter grunted with relief. "Humph! It turned out better than I thought. Why, I--I was positively terrified when you walked in. And to think you didn't need any sympathy!"
"I do need that job, though. It will enable me to get married."
"Nonsense! Better wait. I don't believe in early engagements."
"Oh yes, you do."
"Well, that depends. But, say--you're a pretty nervy youth to turn down my daughter and then hold me up for a job, all in the same breath. Here! Don't dance on my rug. I ought to be offended, and I am, but--Get out while I telephone Elsa, so she can dance, too."
O'Reilly spent that evening in writing a long letter to Rosa Varona. During the next few days his high spirits proved a trial and an affront to Mr. Slack, who, now that his employer had departed for the West, had assumed a subdued and gloomy dignity to match the somber responsibilities of his position.