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Burnit to the curb, nor the dignity with which, a few minutes later, he led the way into the office of one Thorne, real-estate dealer. "Mr. Thorne, Mr. Robert Burnit," said Mr. Applerod, hastening straight to business. "Mr. Burnit has come around to close the deal for that Westmarsh property." Mr. Thorne was suavity itself as he shook hands with Mr.
No, Johnson, about the only thing I'm going to do to show my respect for the traditions of the house is to leave this desk just as it is, and hang an oil portrait of my father over it. And, by the way, isn't there some little side room where I can have my office? I'm going into this thing very earnestly." Mr. Johnson and Mr. Applerod exchanged glances. "The door just to the right there," said Mr.
The previous afternoon Jimmy Platt had made a scale drawing of the property from city surveys, and now the two went over it carefully, discussing it in various phases for fully an hour, proving estimates of cost and general feasibility. At the conclusion of that time Bobby, well pleased with his own practical manner of looking into things, telephoned to Johnson and asked for Applerod. Mr.
Bobby inquired, not allowing himself to become in the slightest degree excited. "One year," announced the optimistic Mr. Applerod with conviction. Mr.
"The entire office force of the now defunct John Burnit Store has been dismissed, that's all!" blurted Applerod, now the aggrieved one. "You sold us out, lock, stock and barrel!" "Impossible!" gasped Bobby. Mr. Johnson glumly showed him curt letters of dismissal from Trimmer. "Where's mine, I wonder?" inquired Bobby, trying to take his terrific defeat with sportsmanlike nonchalance.
"Tell him," defied that gentleman. "I think nothing whatever of it!" snapped Mr. Johnson. "What is your chief ground of objection?" Bobby wanted to know. Again Mr. Johnson glared quickly at Mr. Applerod. "Tell him," insisted that gentleman with an outward wave of both hands, expressive of his intense desire to have every secret of his own soul and of everybody's else laid bare.
Also one Oliver P. Applerod added two full inches to his strut.
The frost, sinking deeper in this loose, wet soil than elsewhere, held it back, too, for a time, but as soon as this was thoroughly out of the ground the river overflow came up like a geyser. "Mr. Burnit, your Applerod Addition is ruined, and it can never be saved, unless by some extraordinary means.
"But, if I'm forced to be a fool, I might as well have a well-finished job of it." Applerod, his poise nearly recovered, bounded into the office where Johnson sat stolidly working away, his sense of personal contentedness enhanced by the presence of Biff Bates, who sat idly upon the flat-top desk, dangling his legs and waiting for Bobby. Mr. Applerod paid no attention whatever to Mr.
He read: "Every business needs a pessimist and an optimist, with ample opportunities to quarrel. Johnson is a jackass, but honest. He is a pessimist and has a pea-green liver. Listen to him and the business will die painlessly, by inches. Applerod is also a jackass, and I presume him to be honest; but I never tested it. He suffers from too much health, and the surplus goes into optimism.
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