David was bewildered. He had not been sure that Mr. Barlow had noticed him at all, much less, observed if he was making progress. He thought the best way to hide his rather uncomfortable pleasure was by burying it in a litter of accounts where personal data concerning tobacco dealers—their wives and their habits—mingled fantastically with cold figures. But of one thing David was already sure. He was groping confidently in a labyrinth of business detail to whose end he had been offered no key and no direction: he was assistant to a man that ordered him and asked him nothing whatsoever. Yet he liked that man immensely. And he observed to his surprise that he was working harder than he had ever worked. He was soon to know that also he was learning faster. There was in the queer antics of Mr. Barlow a design. In a tacit way, he had been set to a test. In a hidden way he was being watched! Business was a brighter thing. He came each morning to his work with his nerves tingling. He was eager to plunge in and pull out more prizes of knowledge. Since the standard of Mr. Barlow was so dim, David put it high and worked the harder to attain it: put it at the height of himself.
Then, the business of his office dawned on him as a mystery no longer. He seemed to know where he was and whither he was going. The mists were lifting, there was a pleasant terrain under his feet. Mr. Barlow said no word. But David felt like swinging his arms.
Evidently even this secret impulse was no secret to Mr. Barlow.
“Mr. Markand.”
David startled. As he got up from his little desk, he felt as if he were at the beginning of a race he had long prepared for.
Mr. Barlow handed him a batch of papers; “Make a report on this,”—and resumed his silence.
David went back to his corner, his hands a-tremble as if he held at once a testimonial of merit and a maze of magic words he must by some fantastic grace decipher. Would he prove equal to the test? He looked at what was in his hands. With difficulty, he focussed his eyes and read. He seemed to know! Very slowly, step by step, he followed. All the papers he had surveyed, all the correspondence left—by accident, he wondered?—on Mr. Barlow’s desk swung now into line like an army of reserves to help him. He met his battle, he was half dazed by his ability to advance against these intricate problems. He gained confidence as he moved. After an hour’s work:
“Mr. Barlow,” he said, as if he had said the same thing a score of times before, “I shall have to make a couple of visits for this report. I must go to the stores—and——”
He dangled.
“Well, then—why don’t you start?”