"Have you sold anything, Roswell?" he inquired, on entering.
"Yes, sir. I have sold a slate, a quire of notepaper, and one of Oliver Optic's books."
Roswell showed Mr. Baker the slate, on which, as required by his employer, he had kept a record of sales.
Mr. Baker made no remark, but appeared to think all was right.
So the afternoon passed away without any incident worthy of mention.
In the evening Roswell met Ralph Graham, as he had got into the habit of doing.
"Well, Roswell, I feel just like going to the theatre to-night," were his first words of salutation.
"Well, we'll go," said Roswell.
"Good! You've got money to buy the tickets, then?"
"Yes," said Roswell, with an air of importance. "What's the play?"