"Good-by," she answered.
The front door closed, and Hal went down town to the office of Newton & Bryce, old friends of his father's. He walked up to the senior partner, and said, very like a mechanical toy unwinding:
"My father has had a stroke of paralysis. He can't do anything for months. I heard you say once that if you could get an office-boy who could keep accounts you would make it worth while for him to stay with you. I can."
"Stop, stop," said Mr. Bryce. "I had just heard of your father's illness and am very sorry. But you talk so fast I don't understand you. What is it you want? Who sent you?"
"No one. I suppose I did rattle on, but I had been saying over to myself on the way down what I meant to say to you, like points in an essay."
"Points in an essay! The boy is a daft one."
"I'm all right, sir, or will be, if you take me. How much wages can you pay?"
The senior partner smiled. "Three dollars a week at first, and more by and by—is that what you want?"
"I need my evenings, sir," said Hal. "I forgot to mention that."