"You won't say anything to a living soul?"
"Of course not, not even to my mother, though it's little I ever keep from her. She would only worry about it, and what's the use? I must look out for myself. Depend on me to keep mum," replied Dick, quickly, reaching out a hand and shaking that of the assistant bookkeeper heartily.
"You know there is a knothole in that partition over there, and if a fellow cared to he could look in and see what Mr. Goodwyn was doing; but I wouldn't want to be guilty of that low trick. Hearing what was said in a loud voice was another matter; I couldn't help that," declared Pliny.
Then they talked of other things; though Dick was unusually sober the balance of that day, and every time Pliny caught his eye he gave a little shake of his head as though warning the messenger not to show his feelings so plainly.
Perhaps Mr. Goodwyn may have noticed the look on Dick's face when he had occasion to talk with him, and it may have given his conscience a little stab or so, for he seemed more than ordinarily pleasant to the lad.
Poor Dick was already learning that there may be a cloud upon the horizon ready to darken the bright skies, no matter how cheerful things may have looked heretofore; he had secured the situation that was the dream of his heart, but already a fly had dropped in the ointment.
The baneful influence of Mr. Graylock seemed capable of reaching him through the dislike of the cashier, and sooner or later he was apt to suffer because of that unnatural combination.
Even his fond mother noticed that he was dull that evening, but he said nothing, and hence she concluded that the duties of his new position were proving exacting.
But even Dick could not foresee the shadow that in the immediate future was destined to cast its blight upon his promising young business career.