Those people were the kind of beings who ought to work for him, and who would.

There was nothing savage in his attitude, no rage against fate, no dark fear of failure.

These two men he worked for were already nothing more than characters in his eyes--their business significated itself.

He could see their weaknesses and their shortcomings as a much older man might have viewed a boy's.
After dinner that evening, before leaving to call on his girl, Marjorie Stafford, he told his father of the gift of five hundred dollars and the promised salary.
"That's splendid," said the older man.

"You're doing better than I thought.