Smithson answered with that bland stateliness of manner which was the fruit of floor-walking politeness.
“Well, I couldn't exactly say I knew her, and yet I might say, after a manner of speaking, that I did—to a certain extent. You see, they put her in my department when she first came here to work. She was a good saleswoman, as saleswomen go. For the matter of that,” he added with a sudden access of energy, “she was the last girl in the world I'd take for a thief.” He displayed some evidences of embarrassment over the honest feeling into which he had been betrayed, and made haste to recover his usual business manner, as he continued formally. “Will you please let me know when Mr. Gilder arrives? There are one or two little matters I wish to discuss with him.”
“All right!” Sarah agreed briskly, and she hurried on toward the private office.
The secretary was barely seated at her desk when the violent opening of the door startled her, and, as she looked up, a cheery voice cried out:
“Hello, Dad!”
At the same moment, a young man entered, with an air of care-free assurance, his face radiant. But, as his glance went to the empty arm-chair at the desk, he halted abruptly, and his expression changed to one of disappointment.
“Not here!” he grumbled. Then, once again the smile was on his lips as his eyes fell on the secretary, who had now risen to her feet in a flutter of excitement.
“Why, Mr. Dick!” Sarah gasped.
“Hello, Sadie!” came the genial salutation. The young man advanced and shook hands with her warmly. “I'm home again. Where's Dad?”
Even as he asked the question, the quick sobering of his face bore witness to his disappointment over not finding his father in the office. For such was the relationship of the owner of the department store to this new arrival on the scene. And in the patent chagrin under which the son now labored was to be found a certain indication of character not to be disregarded. Unlike many a child, he really loved his father. The death of the mother years before had left him without other opportunity for affection in the home, since he had neither brother nor sister. He loved his father with a depth of feeling that made between the two a real camaraderie, despite great differences in temperament. In that simple and sincere regard which he bore for his father, the boy revealed a heart ready for love, willing to give of itself its best for the one beloved. Beyond that, as yet, there was little to be said of him with exactness. He was a spoiled child of fortune, if you wish to have it so. Certainly, he was only a drone in the world's hive. Thus far, he had enjoyed the good things of life, without ever doing aught to deserve them by contributing in return—save by his smiles and his genial air of happiness.