"A little fellow. He doesn't look as if he was more than ten years old."
"Where is he?"
"Mr. Baker sent him on an errand to Twenty-first Street."
"Humph!" said Roswell, a little discontented, "I was going to recommend a friend of mine."
"There may be a chance yet. This boy may not suit."
In about five minutes Mr. Baker and Mr. Jones both went out to dinner. It was the middle of the day, when there is very little business, and it would not be difficult for Roswell to attend to any customers who might call.
As soon as he was left alone, Roswell got an interesting book from the shelves, and, sitting down in his employer's chair, began to read, though this was against the rules in business hours. To see the pompous air with which Roswell threw himself back in his chair, it might have been supposed that he was the proprietor of the establishment, though I believe it is true, as a general rule, that employers are not in the habit of putting on so many airs, unless the position is a new one, and they have not yet got over the new feeling of importance which it is apt to inspire at first.
While Roswell was thus engaged Mark returned from his errand.
He looked about him in some uncertainty on entering the store, not seeing either Mr. Baker or the chief clerk.