“I shall have to leave you, Chester, as I must get to work. When Mr. Fairchild comes in, show him this note from me.”
“All right, sir.”
Chester was rather chilled by his reception. He saw instinctively that his relations with Mr. Mullins were not likely to be cordial, and he suspected that if the bookkeeper could get him into trouble he would.
After the artist had left the office, Mr. David Mullins leisurely picked his teeth with his pen-knife, and fixed a scrutinizing glance on Chester, of whom he was evidently taking the measure.
“Do you knew Mr. Fairchild?” he at length asked, abruptly.
“No, sir.”
“It’s queer he should have engaged you as office boy.”
Chester did not think it necessary to make any reply to this remark.
“How much salary do you expect to get?”
“Five dollars a week.”