“He comes from a good family,” Mrs. Rusty admitted. “But don’t you know that the Chippys are bigger than we are? Not much bigger, to be sure. But Mr. Chippy certainly couldn’t get through our doorway.”
“Quite true, my love!” Rusty Wren agreed. “But it’s his son—not he—that wants to work for us. And this young lad is not full grown. I should say he was hardly my size.”
Though his wife hesitated, she could think of no further objection. So at last she told Rusty that he might ask Chippy, Jr., to come back early the next morning.
“But I have a feeling that this is going to lead to trouble,” she said once more. Rusty Wren said, “Nonsense!” He was overjoyed at the prospect of having a spry young helper. And he hurried out to tell Mr. Chippy’s son that he might start to work at daybreak.
That polite young man touched his cap again, promised that he would return without fail, and then went chip-chipping away toward home, for it was already his bedtime.
For all he was still hungry, Rusty Wren slept better that night than he had for a long while. He felt as if a great load had been lifted off his shoulders.
He slept so soundly, in fact, that he never waked up all when Fatty Coon and Tommy Fox came at midnight to view his sign, “Boy Wanted.”
They made a good deal of noise, too, grumbling not a little because there was not the least sign of a sign anywhere they looked.
As soon as he had engaged Chippy, Jr., to work for him, Rusty Wren had taken down the sign, “Boy Wanted.” And so all further callers were bound to be disappointed.