 Why did Orison think that Dink had a European background?
"You're worth more'n that, just to jazz up the decor," Mr. Wanji said. "That will be most satisfactory, Mr. Wanji," Orison said. Mr. Wanji grabbed Orison's right hand and shook it with athletic vigor. "Yes, sir," Orison said. Beside them was a double-decked "In" and "Out" basket. "Yes, sir," Orison said. "Yes, sir," Orison said. This laissez-faire policy of Taft Bank's might explain why she'd been selected from the Treasury Department's secretarial pool to apply for work here, she thought. An odd business for a Federal Mata Hari, Orison thought, reading a nonsense story into a microphone for an invisible audience. As though they were members of a ballet-troupe, these gentlemen whipped off their hats with a single motion as Orison stepped aboard the elevator. Orison nodded bemused acknowledgment of their gesture, and got off in the lobby vowing never to put a penny into this curiousest of banks. Orison sighed, finished her tuna salad on whole-wheat, then went back upstairs to her lonely desk and her microphone. By five, Orison had finished the book, reading rapidly and becoming despite herself engrossed in the saga of Bilbo Baggins, Hobbit. Her boss in Washington had told her that this job of hers, spying on Taft Bank from within, might prove dangerous. "Of a sort," Monitor J-12 agreed. Orison briefed her pillow on the Earmuffs, on her task of reading to a microphone, and on the generally mimsy tone of the William Howard Taft National Bank and Trust Company. Orison flung the shoe and the pillow under her bed, and resolved to write Washington for permission to make her future reports by registered mail. "It's nothing," Orison said, switching off the microphone. "Reading papers and fairy-tales into this microphone is nothing any reasonably astute sixth-grader couldn't do as well," Orison said. This bank president, for all his grace and presence, was obviously as kookie as his bank. "I'd love to," Orison said, half expecting an orchestra to march, playing, from the elevator. Sandhurst, perhaps, or Saint Cyr. When the door slicked open Orison, staring after Dink, saw that each of the half-dozen men aboard snapped off their hats (but not their earmuffs) and bowed, the earmuffed operator bowing with them.
 His manners
 His accent  The languages he speaks  His manners  His physique