The assistant who drank had been discharged, and when Mr. Starleigh went off to purchase some supplies which would soon be needed, Bob was left in sole charge of the studio.
The man who had owned the establishment before Mr. Starleigh had purchased it had been a wild sort of a fellow, and had paid but scant attention to business. Consequently trade was all run down, and as Mr. Starleigh’s former patrons had not yet heard of the change, business during the afternoon was exceedingly dull.
But Bob worked hard at printing and mounting photographs, and to him the time passed quickly enough.
At length, about five o’clock, there came a series of loud knocks on the glass door which led to the hall.
“Come in!” called out Bob, and in response there stalked in a very tall, lean man, with hollow cheeks and sunken eyes.
The man stared vacantly around the studio, and then dropped into a chair.
“You take photos here, I understand?” he said, in a deep bass voice.
“Yes, sir,” returned Bob, politely.
“Photos of all the Presidents, I understand?”
“Hardly,” laughed Bob. He thought the man was joking. “Sometimes we take a bank president, or something like that.”