Mr. Stagg shook his head doubtfully. Then he went into the office and shut the big ledger into the safe. After locking the safe door, he slipped the key into his trousers pocket, and glanced around the store.
“I’d like to know where that useless Gormley boy is now. If I ever happen to want him,” muttered Mr. Stagg, “he ain’t in sight nor sound. And if I don’t want him, he’s right under foot.”
“Chet! Hey! you Chet!”
To Carolyn May’s amazement and to the utter mystification of Prince, a section of the floor under their feet began to rise.
“Oh, mercy me!” squealed the little girl, and she hopped off the trapdoor; but the dog uttered a quick, threatening growl, and put his muzzle to the widening aperture.
“Hey! call off that dog!” begged a muffled voice from under the trapdoor. “He’ll eat me up, Mr. Stagg.”
“Lie down, Prince!” commanded Carolyn May hastily. “It’s only a boy. You know you like boys, Prince,” she urged.
“I sh’d think he did like ’em. Likes to eat ’em, don’t he?” drawled the lanky, flaxen-haired youth who gradually came into view through the opening trap. “Hey, Mr. Stagg, don’t they call dogs ‘man’s cayenne friend’? And there sure is some pep to this one. You got a tight hold on his collar, sissy?”
“Come on up out o’ that cellar, Chet. I’m going up to The Corners with my little niece—Hannah’s Car’lyn. This is Chetwood Gormley. If he ever stops growin’ longitudinally, mebbe he’ll be a man some day, and not a giant. You stay right here and tend store while I’m gone, Chet.”
Carolyn May could not help feeling some surprise at the finally revealed proportions of Chetwood Gormley. He was lathlike and gawky, with very prominent upper front teeth, which gave a sort of bow-window appearance to his wide mouth. But there was a good-humoured twinkle in the overgrown boy’s shallow eyes; and, if uncouth, he was kind.