"He doesn't like me very much. I am afraid when he gets to be president I shan't stand much chance of an office. He didn't try to bully you,—did he?"
"He said he could get me sent off if I wasn't careful to please him."
"That sounds like Roswell."
"He talked as if he was one of the firm," said Mark; "but when Mr. Baker came in, he began to scold him for not dusting the books. After that I didn't think so much of what he said."
"It's a way he has," said Fosdick. "He don't like me much either, as I got a place that he was trying for."
"If he bullies you, just let me know," said Richard. "Perhaps I can stop it."
"I am not afraid," said Mark. "Mr. Baker is there most of the time, and he wouldn't dare to bully me before him."
Sunday morning came,—a day when the noisy streets were hushed, and the hum of business was stilled. Richard Hunter and Fosdick still attended the Sunday school, to which they had now belonged for over two years. They were still members of Mr. Greyson's class, and were much better informed in religious matters than formerly. Frequently—for they were favorite scholars with Mr. Greyson—he invited them home to dine at his handsome residence. Both boys were now perfectly self-possessed on such occasions. They knew how to behave at the table with perfect decorum, and no one would have judged from their dress, manners, or conversation, that they had not always been accustomed to the same style of living.
Mr. and Mrs. Greyson noticed with pleasure the great improvement in their protegés, and always welcomed them with kind hospitality. But there was another member of the family who always looked forward with pleasure to seeing them. This was Ida, now a young lady of thirteen, who had from the first taken an especial fancy to Dick, as she always called him.