“Yes, sir,” answered Billy.
Then he put the letters in one pile and the papers in another, and was putting a finishing touch with his duster on the rungs of Mr. Prescott’s chair when he came in.
Billy was so busy that he didn’t hear him till he said, “Good-morning, William.”
“Good-morning, sir. Where shall I empty the waste-basket?”
“Really,” said Mr. Prescott, “unexpected pleasure, I am sure—barrel outside.”
Billy had hoped that Mr. Prescott would notice how well he had sharpened the pencil; but he put it into his pocket without saying a word.
Perhaps he did see more than he seemed to, for, when the expressman came in with a package, Mr. Prescott said, “William, cut the string.”
When Billy took out his knife, Mr. Prescott glanced up from his papers, saying, “Unexpected pleasure, really.”
Billy was beginning to feel that being an office boy wasn’t a bit social, when Mr. Prescott said:
“William, why is a jack-knife called a jack-knife?”