The morning train left at nine o'clock, and at a quarter to nine Albert, who had kept his eye on the clock ever since eight, his hour of arriving at the office, called to Mr. Price.
“I say,” he said, in a low tone and one as casual as he could assume, “I am going to run out for a few minutes. I'll be right back.”
Issachar's response was as usual anything but low.
“Eh?” he shouted. “Goin' out? Where you goin'?”
“Oh, I'm just going out—er—on an errand.”
“What kind of an errand? I was cal'latin' to run out myself for a little spell. Can't I do your errand for you?”
“No, no. . . There, there, don't bother me any more. I'm in a hurry.”
“Hurry! So'm I in a hurry. I was cal'latin' to run acrost to the deepo and see Helen Kendall start for Boston. She's goin' this morning; did you know it?”
Before the somewhat flustered assistant bookkeeper could reply Captain Zelotes called from the inner office:
“Wouldn't wonder if that was where Al was bound, too,” he observed. “And I was thinkin' of the same thing. Suppose we all go together. Labe'll keep shop, won't you, Labe?”