Explore "The Making of Bobby Burnit" by George Randolph Chester on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
Bobby gave his man orders to wake him up early next morning, say not later than eight, and prided himself very much upon his energy when, at ten-thirty, he descended from his machine in front of the old and honored establishment of John Burnit, and, leaving instructions for his chauffeur to call for him at twelve, made his way down the long aisles of white-piled counters and into the dusty little office where old Johnson, thin as a rail and with a face like whittled chalk, humped over his desk exactly as he had sat for the past thirty-five years.
"Good-morning, Johnson," observed Bobby with an affable nod. "I've come to take over the business."