Catty walked up to the rail and looked at Johnnie a second. Then what did he do but open his mouth and holler, “Mr. Manning!” as loud as he could. Johnnie looked half scared to death, and I made sure the door was where I could use it prompt. “Mr. Manning!” yelled Catty again. The door of the private office smashed open and there stood Mr. Manning, scowling like all-git-out. “What’s this racket? What’s this racket?” he says, sharp and angry. “This boy—” Johnnie started to say, but Catty broke right in: “Does this feller know everybody you want to see or don’t want to see?” he asked, and he wasn’t frightened a bit. He spoke right up, like he was a grown man—not impudent, but kind of severe. Mr. Manning almost jumped. For a second he didn’t know what to say, and then, because he was so surprised, I guess, he didn’t roar or chase us out, but just answered. “No,” he says. “I thought so,” says Catty, “so when he wouldn’t tell you I wanted to see you I thought I’d tell you myself.” “What’s this, Hooper?” says Mr. Manning. “These boys came in here—and I didn’t want you disturbed. I tried to chase them away.” “Did this boy say he wanted to see me?” “Yes.” “Did you ask him why?” “He said business.” “Then what do you mean by not telling me? How do you know he isn’t bringing an important message from somebody? After this when people come here and ask for me you consult me before you send them away. Understand?” “Yes, sir,” says Johnnie. “It isn’t a message,” says Catty. “It’s business, my own business, and I want to talk to you a few minutes about it.” “Come in here,” says Mr. Manning, “but if you’re wasting my time you’ll wish you’d stayed out.” We went in, and I was so surprised I couldn’t have spoken if I was paid for it. “Now what?” says Mr. Manning, sharplike. “Have you let the job of painting your new warehouse?” says Catty. I almost dropped in my tracks. “No,” says Mr. Manning. “I’ve come to apply for it,” says Catty. “I can guarantee a first-class job with the right kind of bossing. It will be hustled through as fast as anybody can hustle it, and we’ll use only the best materials.” “I’ll say this for you, young man, you can speak up and not waste any words. Are you going to do the painting yourself?” “Of course not. The best painters that can be had.” “Who are you speaking for?” “Myself.” “What?” “Myself,” says Catty again, kind of stiff and formal. “I calc’late to boss the job and see it is done right. I calc’late to hire both the local painters, and you know _they_ are good men. My father is a first-class painter. I’m willing to take this job cheap to get established here, because we are going into business here and expect to live here. I guarantee satisfaction.” “Well, I swanny!” says Mr. Manning. He sat down and didn’t act mad nor offer to throw us out. “Sit down,” says he. “I want to know more about this.... You’re young Moore, aren’t you?” says he. “What have you got to do with it?”