"Oh, it will not hurt him to wait a day or two longer," rejoined Sam; "and his vindication will be all the more welcome when it comes, as I am determined it shall come, through the man who has injured him. Mr. Smith has done Oscar a great deal of harm, and he must lose no time in undoing it. Now, then, here we are."
Sam stepped upon the threshold of Smith & Anderson's store, seized the latch with a determined grip, as if he were trying to break it in two, threw open the door and walked in.
The first person he met was Stuart, who started back in surprise at the sight of him. He was greatly alarmed—Sam could see that plainly—and he tried to conceal it by stepping briskly behind the counter and drawing the order book toward him.
"What can I do for you, boys?" he asked, as he held his pencil poised over the book.
"Nothing," growled Sam, who could not possibly have spoken civilly to one whom he had caught in the act of trying to ruin his friend.
He kept on his way toward the office, and Stuart, as if divining his intention, said hurriedly, and in a low tone of voice:
"There's no one in there, Sam. Mr. Anderson has gone to the depot to see about some freight, and Mr. Smith has just stepped out. In fact, he has gone home, and won't be back to-night. Any word to leave for either of them?"
Sam shook his head and walked right on.
"That's a little too transparent," said he to Miles, who kept close at his side. "What did he want to whisper for? and why did he turn so red in the face? I'll warrant Mr. Anderson isn't near the depot, and that we shall find Mr. Smith perched on his high stool. He's always there since Tom went away."
At that moment, as if to confirm his words, the back door opened and Mr. Anderson came in. He was bareheaded, and had no overcoat on. Moreover, he carried a number of packages in his arms, and that was all the proof the boys needed to convince them that he had been busy in the warehouse.