“Well, what is it?” snarled the old man, curiously.
“Why—it's a private matter. I can't tell you,” returned the youth, coolly.
“No good, I'll be bound—no good. I don't see why I should let you off an hour——”
“I work many an hour overtime for you, Mr. Dwight,” put in Hiram.
“Yes, yes; that's all right. That's the agreement. You knew you'd have to when you came to work at the Emporium. Stick to your contract, boy.”
“Then why don't you stick to yours?” demanded the youth, boldly.
“Eh! Eh! What do you mean by that?” cried Mr. Dwight, glaring at Hiram through his spectacles.
“I mean that when I came to work for you seven months ago, you promised that, if I suited after six months, you would raise my wages. And you haven't done so,” said the young fellow, firmly.
For a moment the proprietor of the Emporium was dumb. It was true. He had promised just that. He had got the boy cheaper by so doing. But never before had he hired a boy who stayed as long as six months, so he had never had to raise his wages.
“Well, well!”