First, there were cottages and villas standing back from the road in gardens and on lawns. The boy was not interested in them. When we got to the stores, his eye brightened. Master, who was watching him shrewdly, saw his hungry gaze go toward the grocer’s.
It was a store with a fine display. Behind big windows—for the village women had a health association and would allow no food to be displayed on the street—were stacks of fruit and vegetables, and everything a first-class grocer should keep. All the neighbourhood patronised the man, and it enabled him to keep an excellent stock.
“Would you like to stand behind a counter?” asked master.
“I might,” said the lad.
“You think it would be an easy job?” said master slyly. Then he smiled.
The lad grinned. He had some sense of humour.
“Mr. Washburn!” exclaimed my master, “may I speak to you?”
The grocer came running from his office where he was making up his accounts.
“Will you take a friend of mine for a few days’ trial?” asked master.