Burned Bridges
Page 106"All right," Henderson grunted. "You're the doctor. Be giving Fred a
chance to prove one of his theories. Personally I believe you'd make a
go of selling right off the bat, and a good salesman is wasted in the
mechanical line. When you feel that you've saturated your system with
valve clearances and compression formulas and gear ratios and all the
rest of the shop dope, come and see me. 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
"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
in him that elusive essence which leads some men to success in dealings
with other men. He was not sure about it himself. Still, the matter was
untried. Henderson might be right.
But it was all a fluke. It seemed to him he was getting an entirely
disproportionate reward for mauling an insolent chauffeur. That moved
him to wonder what became of Pebbles. He felt sorry for Pebbles. The man
had probably lost his job for good measure. Poor devil!
As he walked his thought short-circuited to Sophie Carr. Whereat he
turned into a drugstore containing a telephone booth and rang her up.
Sophie herself answered.
"I guess my saying good-by last night was a little premature," he told
I may be in San Francisco indefinitely. I've got a job."
"What sort of a job?" Sophie inquired.
He hadn't told her about the ten o'clock appointment with Henderson. Nor
did he go into that now.
"I've been taken on in an automobile plant on Van Ness," he said. "A
streak of real luck. I'm to have a chance to learn the business. So I
won't see you in Vancouver. Remember me to Tommy. I suppose you'll be
busy getting ready to go, so I'll wish you a pleasant voyage."