“Yes, he used to work for Huckins, down the street. Always was a sort of adventurous chap, though. Nobody wasn’t surprised much when he up and lit out for Utah.”
“Utah ought to be a fine place for a fellow with a name like that,” said Rodney gravely. “What did you say it was?”
“His name? Pringle Stenstream.”
“My, this is sure one fine place for names, isn’t it?” laughed the boy.
The clerk blinked as he washed the glass. “Names? How do you mean? What’s the matter with the names?”
“Oh, they’re all right, but sort of—of unusual.”
“Stenstream ain’t unusual around here,” responded the clerk a trifle resentfully. “There’s stacks of ’em in New York State. It’s as common as—as my own name.”
“What’s that?” asked Rodney.
“Doolittle,” was the calm reply.
“Oh, is this your store?”