Mr. Tripp knew the location of Mr. Fairchild’s office, and after some inquiry he found his way there. He felt so much like a stranger in the big city that he anticipated with pleasure seeing a familiar face. Perhaps Chester would invite him out to lunch, and Mr. Tripp, in his frugality, would not have declined the offer even of an office boy, as long as it would save him expense.
Felix Gordon was just leaving the office on an errand.
“Is that Mr. Fairchild’s office?” inquired Silas.
“Yes,” answered Felix, with rather a disdainful glance at Silas Tripp’s rusty garments.
“Much obleeged to ye,” said Silas.
He entered the office and glanced about, expecting to see Chester.
David Mullins came forward, and with some show of civility greeted the old country merchant. Though he was not naturally polite, he knew that the size of a man’s purse could not always be judged from the cut or quality of his garments, and he was just as ready to make money out of Silas as out of any fashionably dressed customer.
“Is Mr. Fairchild in?” asked Silas.
“No; Mr. Fairchild is out West. I am Mr. Mullins, his bookkeeper, and represent him.”
“Just so! Have you a boy workin’ for you named Chester—Chester Rand?”