It may have
been the clicking and banging of these machines that gave to Cameron the
sense of rush and hurry so different from the calm quiet and dignified
repose of the only office he had ever known. For some moments he stood
at the counter, waiting attention from one of the many clerks sitting
before him, but though one and another occasionally glanced in his
direction, his presence seemed to awaken not even a passing curiosity in
their minds, much less to suggest the propriety of their inquiring his
business.
As the moments passed Cameron became conscious of a feeling of affront.
How differently a gentleman was treated by the clerks in the office
of Messrs. Rae & Macpherson, where prompt attention and deferential
courtesy in a clerk were as essential as a suit of clothes. Gradually
Cameron's head went up, and with it his choler. At length, in his
haughtiest tone, he hailed a passing youth:
"I say, boy, is this Mr. Fleming's office?"
The clicking and banging of the typewriters, and the hum of voices
ceased. Everywhere heads were raised and eyes turned curiously upon the
haughty stranger.
"Eh?" No letters can represent the nasal intonation of this syllabic
inquiry, and no words the supreme indifference of the boy's tone.
"Is Mr. Fleming in? I wish to see him!" Cameron's voice was loud and
imperious.
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