Ellins.
It's the battiest remark I ever heard him make. I was lookin' for
Auntie to throw some sort of a fit. But she don't. She comes nearer
chucklin' than anything else.
"Mr. Ellins," says she, "I think perhaps I have misjudged you. And
I--I suppose I really ought not to attempt such a thing alone. Shall
we--er--"
"Why not?" says he, reachin' out his hand. "Share and share alike."
"Agreed!" says Auntie. "And now, suppose we get the Captain and look
for that yacht."
They was so anxious to get at it that they chases off without a word to
either Vee or me. She just sits there starin' after 'em.
"Did anyone ever hear of anything quite so absurd?" says Vee.
"I don't know," says I. "I never worked in a filbert factory myself.
I'm sure of one thing, though. With them two on the job, it's goin' to
be put up to Rupert to come across."
CHAPTER XI
A JOLT FROM OLD HICKORY
You know Old Hickory Ellins ain't what you might call a sunshine
distributor. His disposition would hardly remind you of a placid pool
at morn, or the end of a perfect day. Not as a rule. Sort of a cross
between a March blizzard and a July thunderstorm would hit it nearer.
Honest, sometimes when he has started on a rampage through the general
offices here, I've seen the bond-room clerks grip their desks like they
expected to be blown through the windows; and the sickly green tinge on
Piddie's face when he comes out from a hectic ten minutes with the big
boss is as good a trouble barometer as you'd want.
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