“Ninety-seven.”
“I don’t think you have done your work very carefully Will,” said the merchant, smiling. “Here is the invoice, you see. One hundred pieces. And here is Joe Ware’s tally, marked correct.”
“I don’t keer three cents for Joe Ware’s tally,” said Will, balancing himself on the arm of a chair. “I counted them goods, and here’s my tally. If it ain’t O. K., I’ll eat an elephant. I ain’t much of a reader, but I can count the straightest streak you ever saw.”
“But the pieces would not fit evenly in the boxes if any of them was short,” said Mr. Leonard.
“Nor they don’t, neither,” persisted Will. “You never seen sich packing.”
“That will do, Will. Leave your tally here, and be off on your errand. I am glad to see you are so diligent.”
With a flush of pleasure Will left the office and the store.
He had scarcely disappeared when his employer hastily rose, and opening the door of the office, called Mr. Johnson.
“Do you think Joe Ware was correct in his count of those Milton cloths?” he asked.
“Certainly,” replied Mr. Johnson, in surprise. “I never knew him to make a mistake.”