“I beg your pardon?”
“Is Mr. Keeler here?” repeated the girl.
“No, he is out.”
“Will he be back soon, do you think?”
Recollections of Mr. Price's recent remark concerning the missing bookkeeper's “good start” came to Albert's mind and he smiled, slightly. “I should say not,” he observed, with delicate irony.
“Is Issy—I mean Mr. Price, busy?”
“He's out in the yard there somewhere, I believe. Would you like to have me call him?”
“Why, yes—if you please—sir.”
The “sir” was flattering, if it was sincere. He glanced at her. The expression of the mouth was as grave as ever, but he was still uncertain about those eyes. However, he was disposed to give her the benefit of the doubt, so, stepping to the side door of the office—that leading to the yards—he opened it and shouted: “Price! . . . Hey, Price!”
There was no answer, although he could hear Issachar's voice and another above the rattle of lath bundles.