‘Oh, you’re looking for a position with us.’

‘I’m inquiring, yes,’ he agreed with a deep forward nod.

‘I see. My mistake.’

Mr Stevens, a slim man with closely-cropped tan hair the color of a boxer dog, blinked pleasantly at Mr Newman. For an instant Mr Newman had hope of possibly a really important job. The man seemed to be considering something quite important …

‘Just what is your line, Mr Newman?’ Mr Stevens swiveled around to free his legs from under his lovely desk.

‘I’m personnel,’ Mr Newman said, leaning forward and always smiling, to avoid looking intense. ‘I hired most of the people who’re working for —. I wondered whether you folks had anything open.’

‘Uh-huh.’ Mr Stevens uncrossed his legs and swiveled around to face forward again, studying his pencil which was very sharp. He said, ‘Frankly we aren’t looking for anyone at the moment, but …’

Mr Newman rose quite at ease, but rather rapidly. ‘That’s perfectly all right, Mr Stevens. I’m just kind of going over the ground for a couple of days. I stopped by because you’re the kind of outfit I felt would be using my type of man. Sort of a lay-of-the-land proposition, don’t y’know.’

Mr Stevens rose. He seemed happy that Mr Newman had gotten his cue so quickly. ‘I hope you’ll drop in again soon, if you haven’t gotten anything meanwhile.’

‘Be happy to,’ Mr Newman assured him, his hand on the doorknob.

‘And thanks for thinking of us … What did you say your name was?’

‘Newman, Lawrence Newman.’

The pause, no longer than a second’s time, brushed against Mr Newman’s temples like the wing of an unseen bird. Mr Stevens looked at him thoughtfully, and then nodded.

‘Newman, yes. Well, thanks a lot, sir, and I hope you’ll come up again.’

‘I’ll try you,’ Mr Newman humorously threatened, and with the customary chuckle of departure he walked out of Mr Stevens’ office.

In the elevator that took him to the street there hung a vague sweet spray of perfume. A woman had obviously been in it just a moment before. The image of … what was her name? Gertrude. Hart. Gertrude Hart’s body seemed a presence beside him for a moment. He walked out into the lobby of the building and toward the tall street doors. What a wonderful building to work in! He would see Mr Stevens again next week. He would certainly ask sixty-five.

He opened the door of the booth a little. It was good he was through seeing people for the day. His collar was soaking wet.

‘Mallon? You mean the little boy who drove the bread wagon?’

Mr Newman laughed. He loved his mother in these rare moments when he could condescend to her. ‘Well, he’s a man now. We’re going to have dinner together. Been working a block away from me all these years and we never knew it.’

‘All right, then, I’ll tell the girl. What time will you be home?’