“There it is,” he murmured as, after a half-hour’s brisk walk he came opposite a tall rather dingy-looking brick building. “That must be the office over there where the sign is hanging out.”
Hurrying across the street the boy approached the door over which hung the sign, “The Knickerbocker Worsted Mills.” He read it aloud, then looked a trifle disappointed. This did not exactly accord with his ideas of a position. Then he laughed at his own mental hesitation. “What do you care if it is a mill office, Harry Harding,” he murmured. “It’s work you’re looking for, and you can’t expect to have everything just the way you want it.”
Turning the knob on the door that bore a small sign of “Office,” the boy opened it and stepped inside a long room that had the shining oak furniture of his dreams. This room was divided off into many compartments by little oak fences with swinging gates. Near the door, at a little desk, sat a boy of about his own age. As he stepped into the room the boy rose to meet him.
“Whada yuh want?” he asked superciliously.
“Good morning,” said Harry politely. “I came in answer to your advertisement in the Journal for a boy. To whom do I go?”
“Yuh don’t go unless I let yuh in,” declared the boy ill-naturedly. “Anyway, the position’s filled. The boss just hired a boy about ten minutes ago. That’s him over there.” He pointed to a black-haired lad, who had just emerged from a room adjoining the long office. “That’s the kid. Yuh better beat it. Nothin’ doin’ around here.”
“Can’t I see the manager or—or—someone?” persisted Harry.
“Naw, yuh can’t. Think I wanta get my head snapped off by buttin’ in where Mr. Warner’s openin’ his mail? Guess I know my business. Didn’t the boss just say, ‘Fred, if any more boys come here answerin’ our ad, tell ’em we’ve hired a boy?’ There’s nothin’ doin’, I tell yuh. Can’t yuh understand that?”
“Yes, I can understand that,” retorted Harry with spirit. “What I can’t understand is how a big firm like this happens to have such a rude office boy. Good morning.”