"No," he answered. "I've always worked on books. I'm called pretty good at figures, if you've got anything in that line."
"Clerk, eh? Well, I don't know," said Carleton slowly. "I guess, perhaps, we can give you a chance. My own clerk's doing double shift just at present; you might help him out temporarily. And if you're what you say you are, we'll find something better for you before the summer's over. Thirty dollars a month—it's not much of a stake—what do you say?"
"It's a pretty big stake for me," said P. Walton, and his face lighted up as he turned it upon Carleton.
"All right," said Carleton. "You'd better spend the rest of the afternoon then in hunting up some place to stay. And here"—he dug into his pocket and handed P. Walton two five-dollar gold pieces—"this may come in handy till you're on your feet."
"Say," said P. Walton huskily, "I——" he stopped suddenly, as the door opened and Regan, the master mechanic, came in.
"Never mind," smiled Carleton. "Report to Halstead in the next room to-morrow morning at seven o'clock."
P. Walton hesitated, as though to complete his interrupted sentence, and then, with an uncertain look at Regan, turned and walked quietly from the room.
Regan wheeled around and stared after the retreating figure. When the door had closed he looked inquiringly at Carleton.
"Touched you for a loan, eh?" he volunteered quizzically.
"No," said Carleton, still smiling; "a job. I gave him the money as an advance."