"I give you my word."
"Pah! I don't know you."
"I see you don't," returned the youth stiffly.
"Here is my card. Perhaps you will recognize the name."
He fumbled in his pocket, took out a card and handed it to the manager. Goldstein looked at it, started, turned red and then white and began bobbing his head with absurd deference to the youth.
"Pardon, Mr. Jones—pardon!" he gasped. "I—I heard you were in our neighborhood, but I—I did not recognize you. I—I hope you will pardon me, Mr. Jones! I was angry at what I supposed was the treachery of an employee. You will—will—understand that, I am sure. It is my duty to protect the interests of the Continental, you know, sir. But it's all right now, of course! Isn't it all right now, Mr. Jones?"
"You'd better go, Goldstein," said the boy in a weary tone, and sat down again.
The manager hesitated. Then he bowed to Maud Stanton and to the others, murmuring:
"All a mistake, you see; all a mistake. I—I beg everybody's pardon."
With this he backed away, still bowing, and finally turned and beat a hasty retreat. But no one was noticing him especially. All eyes were regarding the boy with a new curiosity.