“Probably not,” Josh admitted.

“Do you think you might be requiring all this exertion because you can do it yourself?”

“Maybe.”

“My advice is to treat them like professionals, not Marine recruits. You’ll use their time better, and they’ll leave better equipped to do their work.”

“That makes a lot of sense,” Josh said.

“Good. Now let me make myself clear. I’m not running anywhere for any distance while I’m at your facility. I’m there to learn, not faint.”

“Okay, Herb, okay,” Josh said. “You won’t have to run.”

“Thanks.” Herbie felt that he had drawn a line in his relationship with this guy and that, in the future, he’d get more respect.

“Now,” Herbie said, “let’s go through the list of what I need to set up for you.” He began checking off items, and he got Josh’s full attention.

19

BOBBY BENTLEY met his father for dinner at his club, the Brook, on East Fifty-fourth Street in Manhattan, a monthly occurrence. They sat down in the library for drinks. Bobby was his father’s only son, a surprise product of his second marriage to a much younger woman, with the result that Robert Eaton Bentley II (Bobby was III) was old enough to be his son’s grandfather.

“Well, my boy,” II said. “How are things at the venerable firm of Woodman and Weld?” This was an ironic question, since II regarded the firm as a bunch of wild-eyed, liberal arrivistes, mainly because its birth did not predate his own. Still they represented him in some things. “You’ve been there, what, all of a week?”

“Ten days, Dad,” Bobby replied. “And I’ve had a wonderful break.”

“I would be interested to know what you regard as ‘a break,’” his father said.

“Instead of being assigned to work for a partner, I’ve been assigned to the firm’s newest senior associate, a young man named Herbert Fisher.”

“If you had let me know, I could have made a call and put that right,” his father said.

“Although he’s thirtyish, Herb Fisher graduated from law school two years ago, and he’s the first associate ever to make senior associate in less than three years.”

“He sounds green as grass,” II said. “Why would any client hire him?”

“He was promoted three days ago, and he’s already brought in two important clients.”

“What do you mean by ‘important’?”

“A hot software start-up, backed by Marshall Brennan, and a new subsidiary of Strategic Services.”

II blinked. “Marshall Brennan and Mike Freeman, of Strategic Services, are both members of this club.”

“That’s what I meant by important,” Bobby said. His father did not impress easily, and he was enjoying the moment. “I think this software firm is something you should keep an eye on,” he said. “They’ll eventually have an IPO, and it could be a big one.”

II withdrew an alligator-clad jotter from his pocket and uncapped his fountain pen. “Herbert Fisher, you say?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And the name of the software company?”

“High Cotton Ideas.”