What is it?"
"It's too much."
Mr. Fineberg's brain reeled. It was improbable that the millennium
could have arrived with a jerk; on the other hand, he had distinctly
heard one of his clerks complain that his salary was too large. He
pinched himself.
"Say that again," he said.
"If you could see your way to reduce it, sir----"
It occurred to Mr. Fineberg for one instant that his subordinate was
endeavoring to be humorous, but a glance at Roland's face dispelled
that idea.
"Why do you want it reduced?"
"Please, sir, I'm going to be married."
"What the deuce do you mean?"
"When my salary reaches a hundred and fifty, sir. And it's a hundred and
forty now, so if you could see your way to knocking off ten pounds----"
Mr. Fineberg saw light. He was a married man himself.
"My boy," he said genially, "I quite understand. But I can do you
better than that. It's no use doing this sort of thing in a small way.
From now on your salary is a hundred and ten. No, no, don't thank me.
You're an excellent clerk, and it's a pleasure to me to reward merit
when I find it. Close the door after you.
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