In the waiting room I noticed a man who came a few days consecutively.
Somehow he impressed me as outside the class of people that apply for
charity. Though he had passed the basement ordeal and had to get through
with the waiting room lesson there still was a look of independence in
his eyes.
He never spoke to the other applicants; he never sat on the benches
reserved for them. More than once the office boy and other employees had
told him to sit down, in an imperative tone. At such an admonition he
would retreat to a corner with a bitter smile on his lips and view the
whole thing as a passing ordeal through which he had to go.
He impressed me with his indomitable look, with his high forehead and
the deep serious lines carved on his face. He was also very much
interested in the doings of the office and I often thought that he was
trying to get the sense of this hustling and bustling around him.
One day he appeared to be very nervous. A look of desperate
determination was in his eyes as he came in. Instead of going to the
waiting room he sought to enter the sanctum sanctorum of the Manager and
get an explanation of some sort from him. Repeatedly he inquired of the
boys how he could reach that high person. With a shrug of the shoulders
the boys passed him by without replying to his questions. Others
admonished him to go to the waiting room.