A FATEFUL GAME OF CATCH
But while the clouds of injustice lowered over Harry Harding’s head,
the days moved along far more pleasantly for Teddy Burke in his realm
of kettles and pans than he had expected when first cast adrift in
Department 40. Notwithstanding Teddy’s love of mischief, he had made
many friends in the department. His impish performances were never
directed against a particular individual, and they were usually so
funny as to be extremely entertaining, rather than reprehensible. The
very sight of a slim little figure, topped by a brilliant red head,
bobbing about between the rows of house furnishings was sure to be
productive of a smile on the part of the salespersons. Teddy was in a
fair way to be spoiled, and had he not possessed a sturdy honesty of
purpose that spurred him on to do his work well, he might frequently
have taken advantage of the good-natured tolerance with which the
members of the department looked upon him.
Teddy was very sure that he liked everyone in Department 40 except the
Gobbler. She alone was a thorn to his flesh. In the first place, the
gobble, gobble of her loud voice sent the shivers up and down his back.
In the second place, she detested boys and did not hesitate to say so
frankly in Teddy’s presence. Then, too, she was continually complaining
to Mr. Duffield that she could never find Teddy when she needed him. He
was never in one spot for two consecutive minutes. Mr. Duffield usually
listened to her complaints in silence, then walked away quickly to
hide a smile. He knew, perhaps, better than anyone else Teddy Burke’s
rapidly increasing usefulness. Given a commission to perform, Teddy
carried it to an end without a mistake. He was quick as lightning
when it came to grasping an idea, and rarely had to be told anything
twice. Mr. Duffield, who had trained boys in the work of the store,
realized that Teddy’s elfish propensities were but an outlet for the
high-strung, brilliant temperament of the lad.
Mr. Everett, too, had found time to keep a starboard eye on Teddy.
Since the momentous day when Teddy had gone to the Italian woman’s
rescue, and later, had pleaded for clemency for his arch-enemy, the fat
boy, the buyer had grown daily more interested in the lively lad, and,
unobserved, often watched Teddy at his work in the department.
So, although Teddy did not know it, he stood well in the eyes of the
men who held his fate as a business boy in their hands.
His store standing was not worrying Teddy one rainy afternoon, however,
as he strolled about his department, his black eyes roving over the
shining expanse of kitchen-ware as if to discern if there were anything
new on the placid surface of 40. Suddenly his black eyes sparkled with
the joy of discovery. He made a sudden dive down a cross aisle and,
stooping over, garnered an entirely new feather duster from a secret
recess formed by two protecting ice-cream freezers. Only a part of the
handle had been coyly exposed to view, and it was this same handle that
Teddy’s alert eyes had spied from afar.
Sliding the duster behind him, he leaned against a table and took a
comprehensive survey of the landscape. Far down the department the
Gobbler was holding forth, with many gobbles, upon the beauties and
uses of a fireless cooker. Her customer, a meek little man, was either
too horrified or too interested to do other than stare in fascination
at her rapidly moving lips. Chuckling gleefully, Teddy made a wide
detour of the department and brought up at the far end. Sliding his
hand under the lower part of a table of granite ware, he extracted
a duster, sparsely feathered and bearing evidences of long usage.
Even the handle looked worn. He attempted to unscrew the handle from
the duster. It stuck. Slipping his hand into his pocket, Teddy drew
forth his four-bladed pocket knife, his most cherished possession,
and deliberately pried loose the handle of the work-worn duster, then
unscrewed it. Placing the new duster where the old had reposed, Teddy
gathered up the parts of the now useless weapon for waging war against
dust and slid cautiously back to the vicinity of the two sheltering
ice-cream freezers.
Bending low, he placed the duster handle at the same coy angle that
the other had displayed. Then jamming the other part into his coat
pocket, he once more made his way to where the new duster now reposed.
Again the pocket knife played a brief but effective part. Teddy chipped
off at least an inch of the end of its handle. Then on the wood next
the handle that formed a casing for the feathers, he laboriously cut
the initials S. H. One more move and his work would be done. Slipping
slyly up to the half-open door of Mr. Everett’s office, Teddy peered
in. There was no one there. Darting across the floor, he dipped the
end of the duster in the ink-well, giving it a lavish baptism of
ink. Then, with the innocent air of a young cherub, he trotted back
to the place where Sam Hickson kept his duster and carefully placing
the new acquisition so that the ink-stained handle would dry, went on
his way with the consciousness of having done a good deed. For three
weeks Samuel Hickson, the red-haired salesman, had vainly importuned
Mr. Duffield for a new duster, while the Gobbler gobbled in triumph,
because she had managed to lay hands on a fine one, and boasted that
she kept it hidden where no one could find it. Now it was the duster of
his pet aversion that he had spied after conducting a still hunt for
it for several days, and as his sympathies all lay with Hickson, he
decided that the duster should be his.
Teddy felt extremely pleased with himself after making this righteous
exchange, and went about grinning so broadly that Samuel Hickson
remarked curiously, “I’d like to know what you’ve been up to. Some
piece of mischief, I’ll be bound.”
Teddy’s grin only widened. “Wait till to-morrow morning. You’re going
to be su’prised.”
“I’ll warrant I shall, if you’ve anything to do with it,” smiled the
salesman.
“It’s a good su’prise, though. You’ll like it, all right, but some
other people won’t.”
“Tell me about it now,” teased Hickson, amused at Teddy’s important air
of mystery.
“Nope. You’ve got to find it for yourself. I’ll be round when you do,
but don’t you say a word. You just leave it to me. I know something I’m
goin’ to do.”
“All right, youngster,” nodded Hickson. “I guess I’ll have to wait
till you get ready to talk. To-morrow’ll do.”
At this moment Mr. Everett came toward them, looking sharply on both
sides of him.
“Were you looking for me, sir?” In a twinkling Teddy was the alert,
respectful messenger. There was something about Mr. Everett that always
inspired him to do his best.
“Yes. You are to take this note to Mr. Eddy, the buyer of the
upholstery. Do you know where the upholstery department is?”
“Oh, yes, sir. I know where every department in the store is.”
Mr. Everett smiled slightly at this information. He did not in the
least doubt it.
Teddy was off up the aisle almost as soon as the answer to Mr.
Everett’s question left his lips. The upholstery department was on the
second floor, so he made for the nearest stairway which led to it,
disdaining to wait for an elevator. The stairway which Teddy had chosen
was cut in half by a balcony on which was a part of the sporting goods
department. Just as Teddy set foot on the balcony landing, he heard
a soft whistle. Coming down the balcony aisle was a tall, blue-eyed
boy named Arthur Worden, who went to school in Teddy’s division. He
had been lovingly handling a number of baseballs which a salesman had
been showing to a customer and which had been left there while the
customer’s purchases were being wrapped. Now the boy raised one of the
balls, struck an attitude in imitation of a famous pitcher he had seen,
and commanded, “Catch.”
Whether it was Arthur’s intention to throw the ball, or whether he was
merely pretending to do so, Teddy never knew. He saw the ball hurtling
toward him. Instinctively, he put up his hands to receive it, but it
merely grazed the tips of his fingers and went sailing over the balcony
rail.
The two boys stared at each other in silent horror.
“We’d better get out of here,” advised Arthur.
“I guess we had. Do you s’pose that----” Teddy tittered softly in spite
of his consternation--“it hit anyone?”
“I donno. Hope not. Come on, let’s beat it!”
Teddy scuttled up the half flight of stairs to the upholstery
department, most uneasy in mind. Suppose somebody had been hit? It
would surely be a surprise. It would probably hurt, too. Then there
was the ball itself. It ought to be put back in the department. Teddy
delivered the note to the buyer of the upholstery and departed with all
speed for the first floor.
When he arrived upon the spot where he decided the ball was likely
to have landed, his expression of dismay deepened. A small group of
salespersons and customers had surrounded a tall man with a pained
expression, who held one hand to his head, while in the other hand he
held a globular object which Teddy had no difficulty in identifying.
The man rubbed his head ruefully, then as his hand descended, Teddy saw
that there was no hair on the top of that head, only a pink, angry,
glistening surface with a large bump rising on the middle of it.
“Whew!” breathed Teddy. “That certainly must have hurt him.” Turning,
he walked quickly away. But after he was safely back in his department
the memory of that maltreated bald head would not leave him. To be
sure, it had been an accident, but if he and Arthur had been attending
strictly to business it wouldn’t have happened. Now, how was the ball
to be put back where it belonged? If he went forward to the group and
frankly admitted his part in the affair, it would in all probability
mean dismissal from the store for him. Teddy decided to ask Harry’s
advice on the subject before committing himself. Although he had not
known Harry long, he had come to lean upon his judgment.
It was a sober-faced little boy who wended his way slowly back to
department 40.
“What’s the matter, Teddy?” hailed Sam Hickson as he saw the red-haired
boy coming toward him, wearing an expression of deep dejection.
“Nothin’ much. I’m only thinking,” was Teddy’s brief response.
“Well, don’t let it strike in and kill you,” warned the salesman
waggishly.
Teddy smiled, but faintly. He was hardly in the mood for pleasantries.
That evening as he and Harry started up Commerce Street together, Teddy
said in a low tone, “Maybe I won’t work in the store much longer.”
Harry’s eyes opened wide.
“Why not?” he demanded. “What’s the matter?”
Teddy plunged into an account of the impromptu game of catch that had
ended so disastrously. “What had I better do? Must I go to Mr. Marsh
and tell him?” For once Teddy could see nothing funny in the situation.
Harry hesitated before answering. “Yes, Ted, I believe I would,” he
said at last. “If someone else has happened to see you, Mr. Marsh will
surely hear of it. Then it will be a good deal worse for you. You can
explain to him that it was an accident.”
“But I don’t want to tell on Arthur,” objected Teddy.
“You needn’t tell his name. If Mr. Marsh asks you, you can say you
don’t wish to mention any names. He will probably let you off. He
understands how one fellow feels about telling tales on another.”
“Well, I guess I’ll do as you say,” sighed Teddy. “I’d been thinking
that I ought to, but I wanted to see you first. I’ll go to him
to-morrow afternoon. You know he will see any of the boys from five
until half-past. I’m afraid he’ll hear about it before I have a chance
to tell him myself, though. Next time I’m sent on an errand maybe
I’ll know enough to go on about my business. That is, if there is any
next time. I’ll get a bunch of demerits for this, even if I don’t get
discharged, and all for a dinky old ball.”