At Luigi's he had
been so smart, so upright, so well dressed. Here he was a changed being.
His hair needed cutting; his linen was no longer irreproachable; his
clothes were dusty and out of shape. The man seemed to have lost all care
of himself and all pride in his work. When at last he reached the table
Mr. Bundercombe did not beat about the bush.
"Louis," he said, "we have been to Stephano's tonight for the first time
for some weeks. I came along here to see you because of what Luigi told
me. Now you can just take this from me: You've got to tell me the truth.
There's something wrong with you! What is it?"
Louis extended his hands. He was making his one effort.
"There is nothing wrong with me," he declared. "I left Stephano's to--as
they say in this country--better myself. I am in charge here--next to
Monsieur Giatron himself. If Monsieur Giatron should go back to Italy I
should be manager. It seemed like a good post. Perhaps I was foolish to
leave."
"Louis," Mr. Bundercombe protested, "I guess I didn't come round here to
listen to lies. You and I had some little dealings together and I feel
I've the right to insist on the truth. Now, then, don't give us any more
trouble--there's a good fellow! If you'd rather talk to me alone invite me
into the office or behind that desk.
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