Fool Errant Read Free Page B

mind.
    â€œBy appointment?”
    â€œI’m applying for the post of secretary.”
    The dark young man laughed rather noisily.
    â€œThat’s quick work! Did you come by wire? The advertisement’s hardly out. All right, first come, first served. My name’s Hacker. I’m Minstrel’s assistant, and I shall be damn glad when he gets a secretary, because I’ve had all the correspondence on my hands since Mayhew left. Come along!”
    He led the way to the back of the hall and threw open a door on the right.
    Hugo came into a large, littered room with a faded carpet on the floor and ugly green curtains drawn rigidly back from a window which looked upon a straggle of leafless rose bushes. The walls were lined with bookshelves. There were two writing-tables and a cabinet gramophone.
    â€œSit down,” said Mr. Hacker.
    He went across to a door on the far side of the room, knocked on it, and waited. After a moment the door was opened and he went in, shutting it after him.
    Hugo went and looked out of the window.
    The room into which Mr. Hacker had disappeared was evidently a recent addition to the house; it could be seen from the window, a tall, long, featureless block set down on the remains of a rose garden. It was built of a hideous yellow brick and roofed with purplish slate—an offence to the eye. A skylight ran the whole length of it. Upon this side, at least, there were no windows.
    Hugo turned at the sound of the opening door. Ambrose Minstrel was coming into the room—a tall, thin man with a stoop, and grey untidy hair and a grey untidy beard. He spoke over his shoulder to Hacker:
    â€œWhere is he? You shouldn’t have left him.”
    â€œHe’s here.” Mr. Hacker sounded quite meek.
    Ambrose Minstrel turned, saw Hugo, swept him with a restless glance, and flung impatiently into an old leather-covered armchair. His eyes, under their bushy brows, came back to Hugo, and again shifted.
    Mr. Hacker sat down at the nearest table.
    Curiously enough, Hugo did not feel embarrassed. He was interested, stimulated, alert. He felt not the slightest inclination to stammer. It was immensely thrilling to meet Ambrose Minstrel—one didn’t expect him to be like other people. He gazed with deep respect at the bulging brow, the hot restless eyes, the long nervous fingers, stained brown and yellow, scarred with the marks of epoch-making experiments. He felt very young and untried, and eager, and confident.
    Ambrose Minstrel tugged at his ragged beard.
    â€œYou’ve come about the secretaryship?”
    â€œYes, sir.”
    He hadn’t stammered at all; the ‘s,’ his special enemy, had been surmounted without effort.
    â€œYour name?”
    The questions were being jerked at him in a dry, uneven voice. Hacker appeared to be taking down the answers.
    â€œHugo Ross.”
    â€œAge?”
    â€œTwenty-six, sir.”
    Delightful—he hadn’t stammered in the least. Why had he ever stammered? If one could say a thing like that, one could say anything; it was as easy as falling out of bed.
    â€œExperience?”
    That was rather a nasty snag, because of course he hadn’t any experience to speak of. He flushed a little as he said,
    â€œI used to do all my uncle’s correspondence.”
    â€œUncle? What uncle?”
    Of course he oughtn’t to have mentioned his uncle just like that. His cheeks had begun to burn.
    â€œI lived with him, sir. He had a place in Devonshire.”
    â€œAnd you did the correspondence? And that’s your experience?” The great man’s tone was definitely sarcastic.
    Hugo’s ears burned as well as his cheeks; but he went on looking straight at Ambrose Minstrel. His eyes were a very bright blue.
    Ambrose Minstrel laughed.
    â€œGot that down, Hacker? Now where were you at school? And what have you been doing since you left school? Were you at the ’Varsity?”
    Mr. Hacker wrote down the