“Oh!” said Cameron, carelessly. “Eight? Yes, I thought it was eight! Ah! I see! I believe I am five minutes late! But I suppose I shall catch up before the day is over!”
“Mr. Cameron,” replied Mr. Bates earnestly, “if you should work for twenty years for the Metropolitan Transportation & Cartage Company, never will you catch up those five minutes; every minute of your office hours is pledged to the company, and every minute has its own proper work. Your desk is the one next Mr. Jacobs, yonder. Your work is waiting you there. It is quite simple, the entry of freight receipts upon the ledger. If you wish further instructions, apply to me here—you understand?”
“I think so!” replied Cameron. “I shall do my best to—”
“Very well! That is all!” replied Mr. Bates, plunging his head again into his papers.
The office staff sank back to work with every expression of disappointment. A moment later, however, their hopes revived.
“Oh! Mr. Cameron!” called out Mr. Bates. Mr. Cameron returned to his desk. “If you should chance to be late again, never mind going to your desk; just come here for your cheque.”
Mr. Bates' tone was kindly, even considerate, as if he were anxious to save his clerk unnecessary inconvenience.
“I beg your pardon!” stammered Cameron, astonished.
“That is all!” replied Mr. Bates, his nose once more in his papers.
Cameron stood hesitating. His eye fell upon the boy, Jimmy, whose face expressed keenest joy.