By anticipation he feels his face driven through the glass
partition in front of him, and the crash of the panel behind him upon
his skull. Some day, Harding believed, he would be caught fast in one
of those compartments and stick. Axes and crowbars would be
requisitioned to retrieve his lifeless form.
Bowman agreed with Harding. His own life, Bowman was inclined to
believe, is typical of most civilised men, in that it is passed in
constant terror of his inferiors. The people whom he hires to serve him
strike fear into Bowman's soul. He is habitually afraid of janitors,
train-guards, elevator-boys, barbers, bootblacks, telephone-girls, and
saleswomen. But his particular dread is of waiters. There have been
times when Bowman thought that to punish poor service and set an example
to others, he would omit the customary tip. But such a resolution,
embraced with the soup, has never lasted beyond the entree. And, as a
matter of fact, Bowman said, such a resolution always spoils his dinner.
As long as he entertains it, he dares not look his man in the eye. He
stirs his coffee with shaking fingers.
Pages:
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25