I'll give you a try-out on the
selling end. For the present, report to Fred."
He reached for some papers on the desk. His manner, no less than his
words, ended the interview. Thompson rose.
"When can you start in?" young Henderson inquired.
"Any time," Thompson responded quickly. He was, in truth, a trifle eager
to see what made the wheels go round in that establishment. "I only have
to change my clothes."
"Come after lunch then," young Henderson suggested. "Take the elevator
to the top floor. Ask one of the men where you'll find me. Bring your
overalls with you. We have a dressing room and lockers on each floor."
He nodded good-by and turned to his father. Thompson made his exit.
Half a block away he turned to look back at the house of Henderson. It
was massive, imposing, the visible sign of a prosperous concern, the
manifestation of business on a big scale. Groya Motors, Inc. It was
lettered in neat gilt across the front. It stood forth in four-foot
skeleton characters atop of the flat roof--an electric sign to burn like
a beacon by night. And he was about to become a part of that
establishment, a humble beginner, true, but a beginner with uncommon
prospects. He wondered if Henderson senior was right, if there resided
in him that elusive essence which leads some men to success in dealings
with other men.
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