“‘Can you come now?’ I faltered.
“‘Yes, right off. Come, Jim,’ was the cheerful response. ‘All we want is to be told what to do.’ I could always tell people what to do; at home I was called the ‘manager.’
“For two hours I kept those men busy; Elsie, with grave eyes and sealed lips, followed us about. I tried to forget the stiff neck, and the eye that did not look honest, and had forgotten both, when there was a heavy rap on the open dining-room door.
“There stood the young man from the store.
“I had forgotten that I did not like those two busy men, who never spoke unless spoken to, still I was glad enough to cry when I saw this familiar and friendly face.
“I had known him so long ago I could tell him anything.
“‘H’m. Somebody to help you,’ he said, stepping in, pad and pencil in hand, for an order.
“The men were in the back parlor; one was unpacking a box of books, the other was sweeping.
“Yes,” I replied confidently, “I needed help and I called them in. I don’t believe—” my voice sinking to a whisper, “that they are tramps, do you?”
“Oh, no. They are hatters. They have been about here two or three years; the factory is closed. The worst thing about them is drink. They will drink up all you give them. Still, it was hardly a right thing for you to do.”