“But that isn't fair. I'm willing to work to the end of the day. I ought to get my wages in full for the week, save for the twenty cents,” said Hiram mildly.
To tell the truth, now that he had lost his job—unpleasant as it had been—Hiram was more than a little troubled. He was indeed about to be cast adrift.
“You'll git jest that sum, and not a cent more,” declared Mr. Dwight, sharply. “And if you start any trouble here I'll call in the officer on the beat—yes, I will! I don't know but I ought to deduct the cost of Dan, Junior's, spoiled suit, too. He says you an' he was skylarkin' on Sunday and that's how he fell into the water.”
Hiram had no answer to make to this. What was the use? He took the money, slipped it into his pocket, and went out.
He did not linger around the Emporium. Nor was he scarcely out of sight when a man driving a span of handsome bay horses halted his team before the store, jumped out, and went in.
“Are you the proprietor of Dwight's Emporium?” asked the man in the gray coat and hat, in his hearty tones. “You are? Glad to meet you! I'm looking for a young man who works for you.”
“Who's that? What do you want of him?” asked Dan, Senior, doubtfully, and rubbing his hand, for the stranger's grip had been as hearty as his voice.
The other laughed in his jovial way. “Why, to tell the truth, I don't know his name. I didn't ask him. He's not much more than a boy—a sturdy youngster with a quick way with him. He did me a service the other evening and I wanted to see him.”
“There ain't any boy working here,” snapped Mr. Dwight. “Them's all the clerks I got behind the counter—and there ain't one of 'em under thirty, I'll be bound.”
“That's so,” admitted the stranger. “And although it was so dark I could not see that fellow's face, and I didn't ask his name, I am sure he was young.”