Piccadilly Jim by P. G. Wodehouse — Read

When Jimmy arrived at Mr. Pett's office on Pine Street at ten-thirty the next morning -- his expressed intention of getting up early enough to be there by nine having proved an empty boast -- he was in a high state of preparedness. He had made ready for what might be a trying interview by substituting a combination of well-chosen dishes at an expensive hotel for the less imaginative boardinghouse breakfast with which he had of late been insulting his interior. His suit was pressed, his shoes gleamed brightly, and his chin was smoothly shaven. These things, combined with the perfection of the morning and that vague exhilaration which a fine day in downtown New York brings to the man who has not got to work, increased his natural optimism. Something seemed to tell him that all would be well. He would have been the last person to deny that his position was a little complicated -- he had to use a pencil and a sheet of paper to show himself just where he stood -- but what of that?

A few complications in life are an excellent tonic for the brain. It was with a sunny geniality which startled that unaccustomed stripling considerably -- and indeed caused him to swallow his chewing gum -- that he handed in his card to Mr. Pett's watchfully waiting office-boy.