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Updated: June 7, 2025
Personally he would have been glad to go farther and recommend Smith for the position, but in his own mind he was not convinced of the wisdom of this. "Isn't he pretty young?" inquired Mr. Whitehill, of Whitehill and Rhodes, the large real estate operators, who sat at Mr. Wintermuth's right. "Yes, he is. I'm afraid he's almost too young," was the frank reply.
Wintermuth's obsolete roll-top desk to never more than that of a dull afternoon. No impertinent rays of the sun could further fade the faded rug which clothed the center of the room. On the wall hung likenesses of the former heads of the company, now long since in their graves.
"If you are trying to stimulate my curiosity, you have been quite successful," said Miss Maitland, and she waited expectantly. "Do you remember Mr. O'Connor, the Vice-President of the Guardian?" Smith asked abruptly. "Yes. He was the one, wasn't he, who came into Mr. Wintermuth's office for a minute?" "Yes." "You say he is Vice-president of the company? Is he a great friend of yours?
After all, the first duty was to the company, and the first thing to be done was to fill O'Connor's place. The cardinal principle of Mr. Wintermuth's administration of the Guardian, during all the years he had been chief executive, had been that all vacancies be filled by promotion of the company's own men.
"Nice day, sir," the waiter suggestively remarked, as if Mr. Wintermuth's appetite were in some curious way governed wholly by the vagaries of the weather. "Yes," agreed his patron, with almost a touch of embarrassment; "a very nice day, indeed." Mr. Wintermuth was feeling uncommonly cheerful, and the cause of it was quite largely the oblong yellow missive then reposing on his desk.
Over the desk was an old print of the Lisbon earthquake; the germaneness of this did not at once appear, in fact, it never appeared, but the picture had always hung there, and in Mr. Wintermuth's opinion that was ample cause and justification. Only in the corner, almost out of sight behind the desk, was the room's single absolute incongruity.
Wintermuth's keen sense of business honor would have prevented the fruition of every one. He was now in the right company. The Salamander took its key from its leading director, and Mr. Murch's code of ethics briefly consisted of a belief that it was advisable to "stay inside the law" unless he were absolutely certain that transgression would be undiscoverable or unpenalized.
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