Algie liked Olaf Jaspersen. He admired his many good qualities, including those gifts of energy and application which had not been bestowed upon himself. Algie’s youthful memories of a lighter, livelier Jaspersen contributed to the place of the present Jaspersen in his affections. Jaspersen, in turn, had recollections of an Algie full of fun and promise, and regretted that the fun had increased in inverse ratio to the promise.

If his loyalty to Algie was in part due to Algie’s never having rivaled him professionally, this was a common human weakness and need not be held against him. Jaspersen was genuinely grieved when he learned that Algie was to be retired before time, and genuinely wished to assist him. He therefore came to their lunch appointment prepared to give good advice.

The staff of the Organization took their meals in either of two places: a large and noisy cafeteria where they stood in line, or a large and noisy dining room where they could—at additional cost—be served. The food, which was plain and good, was substantially the same in both places, although it may be said that in the dining room the plates were slightly lighter and the forks slightly heavier. It was to the dining room that Olaf Jaspersen took Algie for lunch this day.

Jaspersen, a man of too much taste to adopt the line of “Well now, what’s this I hear?,” found it difficult to raise with Algie the delicate question of enforced resignation. In Jaspersen’s view, expulsion from the Organization was a very serious matter—more serious, one might even have said, than it was to Algie himself. When Algie and he were settled with their Scotches and had ordered their respective portions of codfish cakes and chicken à la king, he bent toward Algie. “A bad development,” he said. “Can’t tell you how sorry.”

“Ah well,” said Algie, “not to worry.” He gave Jaspersen an appreciative nod, and went on with his drink, which he had already gone on with quite a bit.

“Rolls?” asked the waitress, wheeling up a portable oven.

“Er—one of those,” Jaspersen said.

Putting it on his plate, she identified it with the words, “Corn muffin.”

“Mistake,” said Algie. “Nothing but crumbs.”

“Look here, Algie, I know these fellows—on the Board, I mean. Not bad chaps—not villainous, nothing like that—but slow. Not overloaded with ideas. Only understand what’s put in front of ’em. Got to be played their way or they can’t grasp, you know.”

“Ah well,” said Algie again, briskly setting down his glass as if to herald a change of subject.