In consequence it came about that Donald joined Thornton at the large Boston warehouse. The store was not new to the boy, for he had often been there with his father; but to Thornton this part of the wool business was as novel as the first glimpses of ranching had been to Donald. The high building of yellow brick with floor after floor of hurrying men, the offices noisy with the hum of typewriters, the ring of telephones, the comings and goings of messenger-boys and mail-carriers—all this little universe of rush and confusion was an untried world to Thornton. Its strangeness dazed him.
Mr. Clark promptly placed him in the accounting department, but to his surprise Thornton foundered there helplessly. It was one thing to keep books amid the quiet and leisure of Crescent Ranch, and quite another to struggle with columns of figures in the riot of modern business surroundings. At the end of three days the Westerner looked gray and tired, and had accomplished nothing.
"I don't know what I am going to do with him, Don," announced Mr. Clark, much troubled. "I have brought him here from Idaho, and of course I am bound to look out for him; yet there does not seem to be an earthly thing he can do. My plan was to set him to keeping books in Cook's place, and send Cook out to Crescent Ranch to help Sandy. Sandy, you know, cannot handle accounts. Poor lad—he had little opportunity for schooling in his youth, and the financial side of his work is his one weak spot. He realizes this himself, and it was only on the condition that I send him an assistant that he would undertake the management of the ranch at all. I expected, as I say, that Cook would go; evidently, however, Thornton is not going to be able to fill his place. What shall I do with Thornton, Don? We must find a niche for him somehow."
Donald reflected a moment.
"Had you thought, father, of trying him up-stairs?" he asked.
"No, I hadn't. We need a foreman up there, but I had not considered Thornton for the position. That is a happy inspiration, son. We will give him a try. He may make good yet."
Accordingly Thornton was sent to the upper floors of the warehouse, where the wool was stored. Here were great piles of loose wool reaching from floor to ceiling. Some piles contained only the finest wool; other piles that which was next-best in quality; still other piles were made up of the coarser varieties. There were piles of scoured wool, piles of South American and Australian wool—wool, wool, wool everywhere!
With keen interest Thornton looked about him. He wandered from one vast pyramid of fleeces to another, catching up handfuls of the different varieties and examining them. Then he walked to where the men were busy opening the first spring shipments of wool from Crescent Ranch. The wool was emptied from the sacks onto the floor in great heaps, and crews of men—skilled in judging the fiber—set to work to sort it, separating the different qualities into piles. Donald, who was looking on, saw a smile pass over Thornton's face—the first smile that had brightened it in days. Then, almost instinctively, the ranchman rolled up his sleeves and began to grade wool with the other men. He worked rapidly, for he was thoroughly familiar with what he was doing.
The next day when Donald went up-stairs he found Thornton directing a lot of green hands who were packing the sorted, or graded wool, in bags. Later in the week it chanced that the man who weighed the wool fell ill and the Westerner took his place at the scales, seeing that the sacks of wool were correctly weighed and recorded, that they were sewed up strongly, and marked for shipping.
Gradually the men, recognizing Thornton's ability, began to defer to his judgment. The month was not out before Clark & Sons began to wonder what they had done before Thornton came. So familiar did he make himself with the stock that even Mr. Clark sent for and consulted him about orders and shipments.