The store was closed.
Rosenstein gazed blankly at the barred door and windows. It was the bookkeeper’s duty to arrive at eight o’clock and open the store. It was now nine o’clock. Where was the bookkeeper? And where were the three saleswomen? And the office-boy? As quickly as he could, Rosenstein walked to the bookkeeper’s house. He found that young man dressing himself and whistling cheerfully. The bookkeeper looked amazed when he beheld his employer.
“What is the meaning of this?” demanded Rosenstein. “Why are you not at the store? Where are the keys?”
The young man’s face fell. He looked at Rosenstein curiously. Then, “Were you only joking?” he asked.
“Joking?” repeated Rosenstein, more amazed than ever. “Me? How? When? Are you crazy?”
“You told us all yesterday to close the store and go and have a good time, and that we needn’t come back for a week.”
Rosenstein steadied himself against the door. He tried to speak, but something was choking him. Finally, pointing to his breast, he managed to gasp faintly:
“Me?”
The clerk nodded.
“And what else did I do?” asked Rosenstein, timidly.