Harry shrank from telling his mother that he was about to lose his place, but he knew it must be done.
In the evening, when he got home from the store, he seemed so restless that his mother asked him what was the matter with him.
“This is my last week at the store, mother,” he answered, soberly. “I suppose that is what makes me feel nervous.”
“Has Mr. Mead been induced by Mrs. Ross to turn you away?” asked Mrs. Gilbert, beginning to feel indignant.
“No; he isn’t that kind of a man.”
“Isn’t he satisfied with you?”
“I ought to have told you at first that a nephew of his own needs the place, and he can’t afford to employ two boys.”
“I believe Mrs. Ross is at the bottom of it, after all,” said Mrs. Gilbert.
“No, mother; there you are wrong,” and Harry went on to explain that Howard’s appearance was a surprise to his uncle.
“What kind of a boy is he?” asked the widow, disposed to dislike in advance the boy who had been the means of depriving her son of a place.