It was this very day that Fleming Stone came to the house, but Fibsy did not know it, nor did Stone have the slightest idea that the boy he sought so diligently was there.
Kito answered Stone’s ring at the door, and when that gentleman pushed his way a little brusquely through the reception room to the library, the Japanese followed, politely, but with a wary eye and a tense arm.
“Good!” Stone exclaimed, looking over the appointments of the large library table. “Your master has no pencil sharpener. Now, my man, I am an agent for these,” and Stone took from his bag a small contrivance for sharpening lead pencils. “And our new method of selling these goods, is to leave one with a prospective customer, feeling sure that a trial of it will mean a quick sale. Has your master ever used a thing, like this?”
Kito had not followed all Stone’s speech, his English being somewhat limited, but by the actions of the “agent” the Japanese understood.
“No good,” he said, scornfully, “my master no want it.”
“How do you know?”
“I know.”
“Has he one?”
“No.”
“Did he ever have one?”