“Frank Campbell?” guessed Harry. He was the lad who had shared honors with Harry in the Christmas play.
“Nope; Fatty—I mean, Howard Randall. He’s coming home to supper with me. You don’t care if he walks home with us, do you? Why can’t you come to supper, too?”
“I don’t believe I will.” Harry shook his head. He wisely decided that it would be better for Teddy and Howard to spend the evening together, without the presence of a third party.
“What a splendid boy Teddy is,” was Harry’s reflection as he hurried on toward home after saying good night to his chum. “The people in his department must like him. It’s great to be liked.” His face glowed with happiness. Since his advent into the book department he was tasting the joy of having his efforts to be of use to his buyer appreciated. He felt that there was nothing he would not do for Mr. Rexford to show his gratitude, and he longed for some fitting opportunity to demonstrate it.
The winter days rolled swiftly on, however, bringing with them nothing more stirring than the chance for Harry to perform faithfully and painstakingly his daily duties. But these he executed with a thoroughness and good will that made him a general favorite in Department 85, and caused Mr. Rexford to congratulate himself on having the boy in his department.
February came in, stiff, cold and apparently implacable, only to thaw unexpectedly, hold out a deceitful promise of springlike warmth, then maliciously freeze again at the very moment when everyone was congratulating himself on the mildness of the winter. March came in blustering, buffeting the great city with hard, icy fingers, and roaring forth a challenge of unending winter. Later, however, he relented, grew sunny and smiling by day, and merely snappy and frosty by night, indulging only in an occasional blast of fury by way of keeping up his lionlike reputation.
To Teddy Burke and Harry Harding the winter fairly raced along the frozen road to spring. Work brought the lads a contentment they had never before experienced. Teddy’s efforts had been rewarded with another dollar a week, and an initiation into the mysteries of stock in the realm of kettles and pans. Determined to give the boy every chance, Mr. Everett made much of him, giving him simple but invaluable information in the business of careful buying and the care of stock. Teddy was laying the foundation for a useful future amid the pleasantest possible surroundings.
Harry Harding was also making rapid strides along the line of his work. The only drawback to his satisfaction lay in the thought that he could not do more for the man who had done so much for him. Over and over again he said to Teddy, “I wish I could do something splendid for Mr. Rexford and for Martin Brothers, too, just to show them that I appreciate working for them.” With this aim in mind he was continually on the alert for a chance to demonstrate his gratitude, and it was this spirit of watchfulness that finally placed in his path the opportunity to prove his earnest words.
One morning, while busily engaged in unloading a truck full of books, Harry overheard what struck him as a curious conversation. He had moved his truck alongside a long, projecting ledge of book shelves under which stock was usually placed in open bins at unloading, then carried to the various tables where it belonged. Having emptied his truck, Harry had seated himself on the floor behind it and was straightening the rows of books he had placed in the bins.