"One of the firm? Yes, sir," said the floor-walker. "There he is."
Only a few feet from him stood a man so like the one whose face had glowered at him through that cashier's window in the first store that Jack hesitated a moment, but the clerk spoke out:
"Wishes to speak to you, Mr. Hubbard."
"This way, my boy. What is it?"
Jack was surprised by the full, mellow, benevolent voice that came from under the white moustaches.
"Do you want to hire a boy, sir?" he inquired.
"I do not, my son. Where are you from?" asked Mr. Hubbard, with a kindlier expression than before.
Jack told him, and answered two or three other questions.
"From up in the country, eh?" he said. "Have you money enough to get home again?"
"I could get home," stammered Jack, "but there isn't any chance for a boy up in Crofield."