The man laid down a twenty-dollar bank-bill. The operator hesitated: “I haven’t the change.”
Levake showed no sympathy: “That is not my fault,” he returned.
The operator looked at him: “Do you want the package to-night?”
“If I didn’t, do you suppose I would waste an hour here waiting for it?”
The boy considered a moment and made a decision, but it chanced to be the wrong decision. “Take the package along. Bring me the charges in the morning.”
Levake made no response beyond a further glance at the boy somewhat contemptuous; but he said nothing and picking up his package walked out. No one opposed him. Indeed, had the operator been interested he would have noticed with what marked alacrity every man, as he passed through the waiting-room, got out of Levake’s way. Dancing, standing at the door and with his hair on end, awaited the close of the incident. He now re-entered the inner office and shut the waiting-room door behind him with an audible bang. Bucks, who had returned to his table, looked around. “Well, who are you?” he demanded as he regarded Dancing. “And what are you doing here?”
“Who are you?” retorted Dancing bluntly. “And what are you doing here?”
“My name is Bucks and I am the new night operator.”