“I’m going to try very hard to get along with Mr. Barton,” he said bravely, smothering the sudden pang of disappointment that seized him.
The thin boy grinned knowingly, but made no answer. Just then they brought up in front of an elevator. During the descent to the basement nothing further was said on the subject of Mr. Barton. The two boys followed their guide through a sea of millinery and women’s clothing and made port at last in the land of house furnishings.
“There’s Mr. Duffield now.” The tall, thin boy conducted Harry and Teddy to one corner of the department where a short, stout man with gray hair and a red face was talking to a salesman. “Come on here.” He marched Teddy up to the stout little man with, “Here’s a new boy for your department. Mr. Marsh sent him. Come along.” This last command was addressed to Harry.
“In a minute,” returned Harry tranquilly. “Ted, I’ll wait for you to-night where we met this morning.”
Teddy had only time for a quick, backward nod as he followed Mr. Duffield down the aisle between rows of shining kitchen ware. Harry turned and accompanied his companion up a nearby stairway and down the main arcade. Just off the broad aisle his guide stopped and peered about him. “There he is.” He hustled Harry past a long row of glass cases filled with shining silver. A tall man was standing with his back to the boys. He was writing on a salesman’s book with a blue pencil. Then he said loudly, “You ought to be more careful.” The harsh tones chilled Harry through and through. There was something familiar, too, about that grim, uncompromising back.
“Mr. Barton,” began the messenger. “Mr. Marsh told me to tell you——”
The tall figure wheeled about and to his amazement Harry found himself staring at the man whom Teddy had thoughtlessly dubbed “some crank,” and who had mistakenly laid the untimely remark at Harry Harding’s door.