He rose and threw open a mahogany door that led out of his own sanctum. “Here is your office,” he said.
The bewildered Gissing looked about the room—the mahogany flat-topped desk with a great sheet of plate glass shining greenly at its thick edges; an inkwell, pens and pencils, a little glass bowl full of bright paper-clips; one of those rocking blotters that are so tempting; a water cooler which just then uttered a seductive gulping bubble; an electric fan, gently humming; wooden trays for letters and memoranda; on one wall a great chart of names, lettered Organization of Personnel; a nice domestic-looking hat-and-coat stand; a soft green rug
Ah, how alluring it all was!
Mr. Beagle pointed to the outer door of the room, which had a frosted pane. Through the glass the astounded floorwalker could read the words
(REGANAM LARENEG
GNISSIG .RM)
What a delightful little room to meditate in. From the broad windows he could see the whole
