"That's so, Mr. Mann," put in the latter. "And I remember well that before the last box went down we hunted high and low to see that nothing that was damaged in the least should be left behind."
"Well, it's mighty queer how those people in Troy should get twenty odd volumes of damaged stock. We'll have to make a reduction in their bill, I suppose. Be careful of the goods shipped in the future."
And with this retort Mr. Mann took the elevator and went below.
"I can't see how those people could have got a single damaged volume," said Richard when the head of the firm had departed. "I remember that box well, and every volume in it was perfect."
On returning to the Massanets' that evening Frank heard bad news. An aunt had died over in Port Richmond, on Staten Island. His mother had gone to the place at once, and wished her son to come to the funeral, on the following afternoon.
"Of course I'll have to go," said Frank to Richard. "I'll stop at the store on my way down and let the firm know, and also help you enough to get along while I am gone."
This Frank did. He readily obtained permission from Mr. Williams to be absent, and at ten o'clock Richard found himself in sole charge of the stockroom.
There were a number of important orders to fill, and the boy worked like a beaver to get them done in time.
"I'm so glad for the chance to do something for Frank; he has been so kind," said Richard to himself. "Besides, some day I may wish him to do me a like favor."
Richard was careful that there should be no mistakes, and it is perhaps needless to state that he had both eyes wide open for damaged books.