“Call him back!”
Tom was just at the doorway when Mr. Cummings’s summons fell on his ear. He turned and retraced his steps. Mr. Cummings beckoned him to the counter where he had joined his partner. It was Mr. Wright who spoke, eying Tom searchingly.
“Aren’t you the boy who found my purse in the restaurant?” he demanded, almost fiercely.
“Yes, sir.”
“Mm.” Mr. Wright poked a finger through the scattered hooks on the counter. “You wait a minute.”
Tom drew aside. A glance at Mr. Cummings’s face showed him that the senior partner was quite as much in the dark as he was as to Mr. Wright’s conduct. But a minute later the customer in overalls went off with his hooks, and Mr. Wright, after returning the rest of them to a box and, as Tom saw with amusement, tossing it carelessly back to the wrong shelf, came from behind the counter.
“Mr. Cummings says you want employment,” he said questioningly. “What can you do?”
“Anything, sir. I ain’t afraid of work.”
“Going to school, are you?”