“I’m afraid not,” answered the clerk. “Mr. Jackson is very strict about being disturbed when he’s talking business.”
“Then I guess I’ll have to wait,” said Joe with a sigh. “I wonder if he’ll be in there long?”
“I wouldn’t want to say for sure,” spoke the clerk, leaning over the counter in a confidential manner and speaking in a whisper. “I wouldn’t even dare to guess,” he went on with a look toward the private office whence came the murmur of voices, “but I’ll venture to state that it will be some time. Mr. Jackson never does anything in a hurry.”
“Does Mr. Holdney?”
“Yes, he’s just the opposite. He’s as quick as a steel trap. Too quick, that’s the trouble. He and Mr. Jackson are good friends, but when Mr. Holdney springs something sudden on my boss, why Mr. Jackson is slower than ever, thinking it over. I guess you’ll have to wait some time. Is there anything you’d like to buy?”
“No, I think not,” said Joe with a smile, and then he sat down on one of the stools near the counter while the clerk went off to wait on a customer. The lad was getting impatient after nearly an hour had passed and there was no sign of Mr. Holdney coming out. The murmur of voices continued to come from the private office—one voice quick and snappy, and the other slow and drawling—an indication of the character of the two men.
“I wish they’d hurry!” thought Joe. He began to pace back and forth the length of the store, and he was just thinking he would have to ride home in the darkness, and was wondering whether there was oil in his bicycle lamp, when the door of the private office opened and two men came out.
“Thank goodness!” exclaimed Joe to himself. The men were still talking, but Joe concluded that their business was about over so he chanced going up to them.
“Excuse me,” he said, “but I have a letter for Mr. Holdney. It’s from my father, Mr. Matson.”
“Eh, what’s—that—son?” asked the older of the two men, in drawling tones.