“But things will go faster now.” His face brightened. “You see I have a helper.”
For the first time Dave noticed a short, sturdy young man sitting in the corner. He was sewing on a sole and never once looked up.
Dave thought with a start, “He has a vaguely familiar look. But I’ve never seen him before, that’s certain.”
“He does very fine work.” The old man rubbed his hands together. “Very fine indeed.”
Appearing a little disturbed by Dave’s lingering look at the stranger, old John followed him out of the shop to close the door behind him. “He’s quite proper,” he said, jerking a thumb backward toward the shop. “He looks like a German, but he’s a refugee, a Hollander. You understand?”
“Yes,—I”
“His papers are in perfect order. I saw to that you may well believe.” The old man laughed a trifle uncertainly. “Our local magistrate looked over those papers for me,” he went on. “We can’t take chances. But this, you see, is a rare opportunity. I’ve never made any real money, not in all my long life. And now, with all these fliers coming in—”
“Gives you a break,” said Dave. “I wish you lots of luck.” As it turned out, the old man was to need it,—lots and lots of luck.
When the cobbler opened the door to retrace his steps, Flash, the collie, who had come up as a sort of vanguard to Alice, put his nose in at the cobbler’s door, gave a long sniff, then uttered a low growl.
“Well now, I wonder what he means by that?” Dave thought as he hurried away to join Alice.