Such an address from a person less than three years older than himself came near upsetting the gravity of Phil.
“Is Mr. Pitkin in?” he asked.
“Yes, I believe so.”
“Can I see him.”
“I have no objection,” remarked the young man facetiously.
“Where shall I find him?”
The youth indicated a small room partitioned off as a private office in the extreme end of the store.
“Thank you,” said Phil, and proceeded to find his way to the office in question.
Arrived at the door, which was partly open, he looked in.
In an arm-chair sat a small man, with an erect figure and an air of consequence. He was not over forty-five, but looked older, for his cheeks were already seamed and his look was querulous. Cheerful natures do not so soon show signs of age as their opposites.