“You are quite sure that you wouldn’t do me a little favor like that?” the boss went on, looking searchingly into the young man’s face.
“Quite,” answered Owen shortly.
“Not even if your promotion to the job of post-office inspector depended upon it? One good turn deserves another, you know.”
“I would rather remain a carrier all my life than stoop to such dirty work,” declared the carrier hotly.
“Better think it over, Sheridan. Don’t be rash. It would be a pity for a bright young fellow like you to have his career ruined for a little thing like this. You understand, of course, that there wouldn’t be the slightest danger of this man finding out that his mail had been tampered with? He would receive every letter in perfect shape. You wouldn’t be running any possible risk of discovery.”
“That doesn’t make any difference,” retorted Owen. “Whether it’s safe to do so or not, nobody is going to tamper with any mail that’s in my charge.[{51}]”
“You really mean that? You’re not making any grandstand play, eh?”
“I never meant anything more in my life, Mr. Coggswell.”
For several seconds the two men stood staring fixedly into each other’s eyes. Then, suddenly, Boss Coggswell once more placed his hand upon the carrier’s shoulder.
“It was only a joke, my boy. Or, rather, I should say, it was a little test. I wanted to determine your strength of character, and I must say that you have met the test remarkably well. I know now, for sure, that you are honest, and not to be tempted. Good-by.”