“Is that so? He seems to be liberal. I’d like to cultivate his acquaintance. How long is he going to stay at the Fifth Avenue?”
“He left for Washington this morning.”
“I am sorry to hear it. Another chance gone, Mullins.”
The bookkeeper looked warningly at Ralston. He did not care to have him speak so freely before the office boy.
“I don’t suppose we are likely to have any business with Paul Perkins,” he said. “I offered to sell him a house, but he doesn’t care to locate in New York.”
Things went on as usual for the rest of the day. Mr. Mullins, if anything, treated Chester better than usual, and the office boy began to think that he had done the bookkeeper injustice. Felix spent considerable of his time in the office, spending his time in reading nickel libraries, of which he generally carried a supply with him.
On the next day, about three o’clock in the afternoon, Chester was sent downtown on an errand. He was delayed about ten minutes by a block on the Sixth Avenue car line. When he entered the office, Mullins demanded, sharply, “What made you so long?”
Chester explained.
“That’s too thin!” retorted the bookkeeper. “I have no doubt you loitered, wasting your employer’s time.”
“That isn’t true, Mr. Mullins,” said Chester, indignantly.