Tom’s face fell. He had been so certain since lunch that his troubles were over that the disappointment was deeper than it should have been.
“I’m sorry too, sir,” he said after a moment. “Well, I guess I’ll go on. I—I’m much obliged to you. You don’t happen to know of anyone who wants a boy, do you?”
“No, I don’t believe I do,” returned Mr. Cummings kindly. He kept step with Tom for a way as the latter moved toward the door. “You might try Miller and Tappen’s, though. That’s the dry-goods store up the street. They take new help on pretty often, I guess.”
“I’ve been there,” said Tom. “They said——”
“Joe, where have those three-inch brass hooks got to?” asked an impatient voice from the front of the store. “Funny we can’t keep anything in place here!”
“Ought to be right in front of you,” replied Mr. Cummings in patient tones. “Second shelf, Horace. No, second, I said. There! Got ’em?”
“Yes,” replied the dark-whiskered man irritably. “I’ve got them at last!”
It was the gentleman of the coin-purse. Tom recognised him as he went past. The junior partner was displaying the three-inch hooks to a man in overalls and glanced up in his quick, nervous manner at the boy. Then he looked again, and:
“Who’s that?” he asked sharply of Mr. Cummings.
“The boy I spoke to you about. Wants a job.”