“They ’re over here,” said the man, looking back.
“I guess not.”
The man moved quickly to a box and raised the cover.
The hoy looked in with a startled glance. “Those belong on the third floor,” he said sharply.
“Very likely,” said the man. “I don’t know about that. I ’m new here.” He had taken out a handful of the files and closed the box. “I don’t run the business, you know. But I know where to find things when I want ’em.” He spoke almost as if the last words had escaped without volition. It was a challenge to the clear eyes looking into his.
“They will be moved down tomorrow,” said the boy. “They will be more convenient down there,” he added.
“That’s all right,” said the other smoothly. He had recovered his temper. “Glad to have seen you.” He went softly down the stairs, with little tripping steps that tapped.
The boy’s eyes followed him slowly. He went into the office and closed the door behind him. For a long minute he stood looking at Simeon’s desk. Then he went across to it. He sat down before it and tried the lid. It was locked securely, as he had left it. He did not open it, but sat motionless, gazing before him. Dusk settled in the room—shadows crept in from the comers. But the boy had not stirred.... At last he raised himself with a little sigh. He had come back none too soon. His slow, sensitive nature felt things that he could not have said. The president needed him—more than either of them had known! He opened the desk deliberately and took out a handful of papers, sorting out certain ones with mechanical fingers. Even in the dark he knew them; but he turned on the light for a minute to make sure; he selected certain ones and placed them together, slipping them into his pocket. Then he turned out the little looping bulbs and went out, and left the room to the darkness.