“Eh?” Step appeared to be in doubt of his meaning.
Poke, impatiently and with the awkwardness of embarrassment, under the clerk’s gaze, threw out a hand.
“Why, there——” he began, but broke off abruptly. The gesture had been more violent than he realized. His hand struck something smartly—and the something was the tall shaft of the vase.
“Whew!” he gasped, and made a desperate effort to avert the disaster. But he was too late.
The vase swayed. Then, seeming to slip through his hands, it fell from its standard, and striking the floor with a mighty crash was splintered into a score of pieces.
Step, with a howl of alarm, sprang back. The others came running up to see what had happened. Poke, though, stood like one rooted to the spot, staring blankly at the glittering fragments.
The clerk hurried from behind the desk. His expression was serious, but he spoke quietly, with no raising of his voice.
“It’s too bad. An accident, of course, but an unfortunate one.”
Poke found tongue. “I don’t see how I hit it. I was just trying to point to it, and bang! I was into it, and it was smashing on the floor! I never dreamed of—of—of making such a wreck.”
“I presume not,” said the clerk in his quiet fashion. Then with a change of tone he addressed a bell-boy: “Clear up this mess—at once.”