western Harrowby, "provided he returns my property and clears out for good. After all, his father was a faithful servant, if he is not."
"But," objected Trimmer, "he's wasted my time. He's put a crimp in the career of the best publicity man in America it'll take years to straighten out—"
"Not necessarily," said Harrowby. "I was coming to that. I've been watching your work for the last week, and I like it. It's alive—progressive. We're putting out a new car this spring—an inexpensive little car bound to make a hit. I need a man like you to convince the public—"
Mr. Trimmer's eyes opened wide. They shone. He turned and regarded the unhappy Jenkins.
"Clear out," he commanded. "If I ever see you again I'll wring your neck. Now, Mr. Harrowby, you were saying—"
"Just a minute," said Harrowby. "This man has certain letters and papers of mine—"
"No, he hasn't," Trimmer replied. "I got 'em. Right here in my pocket." He slid a packet of papers across the table. "They're yours. Now, about—"
