Free Man in the Gray Flannel Suit by Sloan Wilson Page A

friends, or was a buyer of one of the unlikely-looking houses which had been built on the golf course. Certainly Hopkins fitted neither category.
    “We just built a little place down by the water,” Hopkins said. “It’s a beautiful town, isn’t it?”
    He must have bought the old yacht club’s land–I heard it was for sale, Tom thought. I wonder what kind of a place he’s got. Aloud he said, “I think you’ll like it there–I’ve always thought South Bay the nicest town within commuting distance.”
    “Stop in next time you visit your grandmother,” Hopkins said. “We’d be delighted to see you.”
    He sounded as though he meant it. Tom suddenly saw himself and Betsy and the three children, all with the chicken pox, descending on the Hopkins household. What kind of a wife did Hopkins have? Bill Hawthorne had mentioned all sorts of rumors, but it didn’t seem possible that they could be true.
    “Do you play croquet?” Hopkins asked.
    “Yes,” Tom said, though he hadn’t played for fifteen years. He had a vision of himself playing croquet with Hopkins, using solid gold balls and silver mallets.
    “We’ll have to have a game sometime,” Hopkins said. “I used to play tennis, but I’m getting a little too old for it. . . .”
    Throughout the meal, Hopkins continued to chat as though the luncheon were strictly a social occasion, rather than an opportunity for him to inspect a prospective employee. Before dessert was served, however, he glanced at his watch. “My!” he said. “I’ve got to be getting back to the office! Would you people excuse me?”
    Before the others could stand up, he waved cheerily and dashed toward the elevators.
    “Coffee?” Walker asked Tom.
    “Please,” Tom said.
    There was a heavy silence, while Tom wondered what, if anything, had been decided. What was the next step? Would Hopkins and Walker and Ogden all get together now and decide whether to hire him, and if so, when would he hear?
    “Cigarette?” Ogden asked.
    Tom accepted one. It seemed funny they didn’t give him some kind of hint about what to expect. Maybe Hopkins hadn’t liked him and had kept up the friendly patter just to get through a difficult lunch. Maybe he would get a letter in a couple of days which would begin, “We tremendously enjoyed talking with you, but we’re sorry to say there have been some changes of plan. . . .”
    Walker painfully pulled himself to his feet. “Got to be getting back,” he said. “Nice to have seen you, Mr. Rath.”
    He sounded friendly, but noncommittal. Ogden made no motion to get up. “See you,” he said to Walker and poured himself another cup of coffee.
    Maybe he’ll tell me now, Tom thought. Maybe he’ll just be frank and say, “I’m awfully sorry it didn’t work out. . . .” Still, how could he know what Hopkins had thought? He hadn’t had a chance to speak to Hopkins while Tom wasn’t there. Maybe they have some signal, Tom thought. Thumbs down.
    “It was a very nice lunch,” Tom said tentatively. “Thank you very much. . . .”
    “Glad you could come,” Ogden said. “More coffee?”
    Coffee was the last thing Tom wanted, but apparently Ogden didn’t want him to leave yet. He accepted the coffee and waited. Ogden sat staring expressionlessly out the window, and for a long while said absolutely nothing. The tension mounted. Tom couldn’t make up his mind whether Ogden was just being completely matter-of-fact about the luncheon, or whether this was an act of deliberate cruelty.
    “We’ll be in touch with you before long,” Ogden said finally. “Mr. Hopkins has got to go to the West Coast tomorrow, and we may have to wait until he gets back before making any final decision. Meanwhile, I wouldn’t count too heavily on anything. It’s not entirely definite yet that we’re even going to tackle this mental-health project.”
    “I understand that,” Tom said, and hurriedly added, “I’ve got to be getting back to my office now–thanks