Oliver took his hat and left the store.
"I fear he is a hardened young rascal, John," Bond remarked to his remaining clerk, with a hypocritical sigh. "My uncle warned me that I might have trouble with him, when he first placed him here."
"I never saw anything bad in him, Mr. Bond," said John. "I am sorry he is gone."
"He has deceived you, and I am not surprised. He is very artful—exceedingly artful!" repeated Ezekiel, emphasizing the adverb by prolonging its pronunciation. "I don't mind the loss of the money so much as I do losing my confidence in him. So young, and such a reprobate! It is sad—sad!"
"He does it well," thought John. "What a precious old file he is, to be sure! I don't believe old Kenyon is any better, either. They come of the same stock, and it's a bad one."
Before the store closed for the day, Ezekiel said:
"Shall you see Oliver to-night?"
"I expect to, sir."
"Then I will trouble you to give him this money—six dollars. I owe him for half a week, and it was at that rate my uncle requested me to pay him. Twelve dollars a week! Why, he might have grown rich on that, if he had remained honest."
"I wish you would give me the same chance, Mr. Bond," said John. "I can't rub along very well on eight."