Sincerely, Willis Wayde Read Online Free PDF

“he reminds me more and more of our father. When he speaks in that tone of voice, it’s always best to do exactly what he says.”
    Willis still knew nothing about the Harcourt Mill, but he was already aware of its pervading influence. Ever since he had passed those stark brick buildings that afternoon, their aura had surrounded him. The mill had been with them in the dining room, and it was with them even more obviously in the library. It was a living organism—any factory always was. Mr. Harcourt was its brain and motivating force, but Mr. Harcourt himself was only a part of it, and Alfred Wayde was also part of it, and in consequence so was Willis. Even Mrs. Blood belonged to it. Her pearl necklace and her rings came from the mill, and the same was true of the food that they had eaten. Willis could think of the leather-backed books of the library and its black leather easy chairs and sofa and all its walnut paneling as coming from the mill.
    His father followed Mr. Harcourt into the library, walking with his unconsciously careful step, gazing curiously at the books and the moose head over the mantel.
    â€œSit down,” Mr. Harcourt said. “Sit down, Willis. Will you have a cigar, Alfred?”
    â€œThanks,” Alfed Wayde said, “I could do with a cigar.”
    â€œIt’s funny,” Mr. Harcourt said, “how few young fellows like you care for a good cigar. I’ll get one in my study.”
    He walked through a narrow doorway, and Willis and his father were alone for a moment in the cool softly lighted room. Alfred Wayde lowered himself into one of the heavy leather chairs.
    â€œHow’s it going, boy?” he asked.
    â€œFine,” Willis answered.
    â€œWell, take your weight off your feet. This certainly is a soft seat. Different from Klamath Falls, isn’t it, boy?”
    Willis felt a strong desire to laugh. His father could always make him laugh if he put his mind to it.
    â€œJust take it easy,” Alfred Wayde said. “Always take it easy.” But they both stood up when Mr. Harcourt came back.
    â€œHere,” Mr. Harcourt said, “this is a good light Havana. There’s a cutter on the table.”
    â€œNo need for a cutter, thanks,” Alfred Wayde said. He pinched off the end of his cigar and Selwyn came in with a tray of after-dinner coffee and brandy.
    â€œDid everything go all right in Building Three today?” Mr. Harcourt asked.
    â€œIt’s pretty well cleared out,” Alfred Wayde said. “We’re going to need some new construction under the vats and a new compressor.”
    â€œAll right,” Mr. Harcourt said. “I’d like to see those blueprints tomorrow morning if they’re ready.”
    â€œThey’re ready,” Alfred Wayde answered.
    â€œGood!” Mr. Harcourt said. “I should have looked at Number Three myself today, but things were pretty busy in the office. I had Decker in and the lawyers were down from Boston.” Mr. Harcourt flicked the ash of his cigar carefully into a brass tray on the table beside him.
    â€œI’m buying those Klaus patents. Bryson isn’t going to like it, but I’m going ahead.”
    Willis’s father nodded slowly, without moving his glance from Mr. Harcourt’s face.
    â€œYou’re not going to miss any boats if you do,” he said.
    Mr. Harcourt sat still for a moment.
    â€œIt’s difficult when you get to be my age,” he said, “to branch into new ideas. Well, Bryson isn’t going to like it.”
    â€œYou won’t miss any boats,” Alfred Wayde said again. “You’ve got to get into conveyor belting, and the Klaus patents will put you on the ground floor. You won’t ever be the Goodrich Rubber Company, but you’ll have a process no one else owns.”
    â€œI hope so,” Mr. Harcourt said. “We’ll have a business talk tomorrow, but let’s talk about Willis now. His