"Bob's Book": Chapter Two, Page Nine

 “An agent? You?” He inspected me up and down. He snorted. “You hardly look qualified. How old are you?”

“Sixteen.”

“Sixteen! And what makes you think you can be an agent?”

“Well, my Pa works here,” I said. “And he says I have the one thing I need to be an agent.”

“And that would be what … strength? Brains?” Under Rank’s critical stare I was beginning to feel, for the first time, that maybe my appearance wasn’t quite up to snuff or my clothes quite city standard. “Frankly, you don’t look like you’ve got much of either, just yet.”

“He didn’t really say,” I said doubtfully.

“And what does your ‘Pa’ do here?”

I felt on firmer ground here.

“He’s an agent, sir; Mr. Chase Bellamy,” I said proudly. “You might have heard of him. He’s been in the Department quite a while.”

He was dumbfounded.

“Mr. Bella … Mr. Chase Bellamy? Well, that explains it!” He sat back bitterly. “I don’t know why I thought the Bureau would be any different from the rest of Washington.”

I was mystified. “What do you mean?”

“Nepotism!” he thundered. “Every goddam government job is becoming a hereditary sinecure! Oh, you’ve got the one thing you need all right: connections! It’s not what you know, it’s who you know.”

He crossed his arms and looked away, hunched and grumbling to himself.

    “Every no-good nephew and cousin being crammed into office … no chance for a skilled outsider …” He cut his eyes sideways at me. “While even young pups get consideration …” His voice was heavy with scorn.