ALL IN THE DAY’S WORK
Teddy’s fears that the news of yesterday’s madness would reach Mr.
Marsh’s ears before he had an opportunity to make a confession, were
only too well grounded. While the boys were lining up for inspection
the next morning, Mr. Marsh walked into the assembly room, with a grave
face that spelled trouble for someone.
Teddy, standing next to Harry, gave his chum a frantic nudge that sent
him against the boy next to him, eliciting a grunt of disapproval from
that lad. Harry returned the nudge with less force, but with as great
significance.
Mr. Marsh waited until his assistant had formed the line into its usual
order. Every pair of boyish eyes was fixed on him. It was unusual for
him to be present at the daily line-up.
“Boys,” began Mr. Marsh, in his pleasant, direct fashion, “something
very disagreeable has happened. Yesterday afternoon two boys of the
store messenger force decided to play a game of ball on the balcony.
What they were doing up there remains to be seen. Certainly they were
not attending to business, or they would not have done what they did
do. One of them couldn’t have been a very skilful catcher, for he
missed the ball and it flew over the balcony rail and hit a man on the
head who _was_ going about the store’s business. If it had hit him
squarely on the head, it might have injured him seriously. It just
grazed his head, however, but caused him intense pain. Now, I know that
two of our boys are guilty. An employee of the store saw the whole
thing from the first floor, but could not describe the boys. Those
boys must be made to understand that we cannot tolerate such conduct.
If they are manly boys, they must be very sorry by this time for their
fault. What I came here for this morning is, the whole truth of the
matter. I am going to put you on your honor. Will the two boys who were
playing ball on the balcony yesterday step out of line?”
A tense silence reigned in the room. Each boy eyed his neighbor
furtively. Someone was guilty, but who? Suddenly a slim, little figure
stepped manfully out of line, an evidence that honor lived in that
assemblage.
“I’m one of those boys, Mr. Marsh,” said Teddy in a clear, resolute
voice. “I didn’t mean to hurt the man. I was going to come and tell
you all about it this afternoon.” Teddy was so pale that the freckles
stood out like brown polka-dots on his set face.
Mr. Marsh regarded him for an instant without speaking. At last he
asked, “Did you throw the ball?”
“No, sir.”
“Who threw it?”
“I can’t tell you, sir; that is, I don’t want to.”
Mr. Marsh stared hard at Teddy. “Did you have the ball in the first
place? Tell me just how it happened.”
“I was going to the upholstery department on an errand for Mr. Everett.
Just as I got to the sporting goods balcony, a boy I know came along.
There were some baseballs on the show-case. The boy picked up one and
said, ‘Catch.’ I don’t think he meant to throw it, sir. It just went
before he knew what he was doing. I saw it coming, and put up my hands,
but I couldn’t catch it. The first thing I saw when I went downstairs
was the man rubbing his head. I was going to tell you about it then,
but I thought I’d better ask a friend of mine what to do.”
The assembled boys listened with breathless interest.
“And what did your friend say?” inquired Mr. Marsh enigmatically.
“He advised me to tell you about it,” returned Teddy simply.
Involuntarily, Mr. Marsh’s glance traveled down the line until it
rested upon Harry Harding. A deep flush rose to Harry’s face, but he
met the quizzical glance with steady eyes.
“Well, Burke, I’m glad to know you are a manly boy, at least,” asserted
Mr. Marsh, “but I must know who the other boy is. Someone else in this
room is more at fault than you. Still, if he won’t own up to his part
of this affair, and you won’t give me his name, then you will have to
bear your punishment and his too.” Mr. Marsh spoke with a decision that
made Teddy’s heart sink.
“I’m--sorry--I can’t tell you, sir,” he stammered.
“I’m sorry, too,” returned Mr. Marsh, gravely, “because I shall----”
There was a sudden movement at one end of the line. A tall boy came
awkwardly forward.
“I’m the ki--boy that threw that ball. I’m not going to let _him_ be
blamed. It was my fault.” The speaker’s face was lit with a gleam of
positive admiration as he jerked his head in Teddy’s direction with the
word “him.”
A murmur of astonishment went up and down the line.
“It was just the way _he_ says it happened. I wasn’t goin’ to really
throw the ball. It went before I could stop it. I’m sorry.” The tall
boy gulped and looked miserably at Mr. Marsh.
“You’re a _man_, even though you did wrong,” declared Mr. Marsh. He
gave the word “man” special emphasis. He wished to impress upon every
boy present his appreciation of the courageous spirit that had prompted
two boys to tell the truth, even in the face of dismissal.
“Now, boys, because you have been honest with yourselves and with me,
I’m going to give you both another chance to retrieve yourselves. Your
names will have to go to Mr. Keene, as the principals in this affair,
but he has left the rest to me. I’m not going to allow you to go
scot-free. That wouldn’t be fair to the boys who keep the rules of the
store. I’m going to give each of you six demerits to help you remember
that Martin Brothers’ store isn’t a playground. Give me your cards.”
Two hands went into two breast pockets with positive alacrity. Taking
out his fountain pen, Mr. Marsh went to a small desk at the end of
the room and laying the cards on top of it put six sinister marks on
each of them. He handed them back with, “Tend strictly to business
hereafter, boys.” Then, with a pleasant nod to the young man in charge
of the assembly, he left the room. But the little he had said had sunk
deeper into the boyish hearts of the culprits than if he had given them
a severe rating.
“I never was so glad to get anything in my life as I was to get those
demerits,” murmured Teddy, in Harry’s ear. “I don’t want to leave this
store, Harry. I never knew how stuck on it I was until I thought I was
goin’ to lose my job.”
“I’m glad it came out right,” whispered Harry. “I want to stay here,
too--if Mr. Barton’ll let me,” he added too low for Teddy to hear.
Beginning with his anxiety over Teddy’s trouble, things seemed
determined to go wrong with him that morning. Miss Leonard’s clock
happened to be a trifle slow and Harry arrived in the department at
least five minutes late. Luckily for him, Mr. Barton was off the floor
at the time, and he escaped a demerit. Then, too, Miss Welch was in a
bad humor--something quite unusual for her--over a credit that had been
lost.
“It’s a good thing Barty didn’t see you come in late,” she remarked
crossly, as Harry approached her desk. “You want to see to it that you
get around on time, 45.”
“Miss Leonard’s clock was slow,” defended Harry.
“Tell that to old Smarty Barty and see what he says,” was her short
rejoinder. Then, noting the boy’s hurt look, she repented her curtness
and apologized, “Don’t mind me, Kiddo. I’m cranky enough to-day to bite
a ten-penny nail into three pieces. I’ve had a string of customers a
rod long at this desk ever since the store opened. This is our grand
annual exchange day, I guess.” She smiled enough to show her dimples,
and Harry brightened visibly.
Trouble lay in wait for him, however. Not an hour later, as he happened
to stop for a moment in one of the aisles of the book department, a man
rushed up to him and asked hurriedly, “Where will I find running water?”
“All the way down the aisle and around the corner,” Harry made polite
answer. The man rushed off in the direction indicated, only to return
three minutes later, looking black as a thundercloud.
“See here, young man, what do you mean? I ask you for a book called
‘Running Water’ and you send me on a wild goose chase clear out of the
department.”
Harry’s look of blank amazement made the man angrier.
“I’ll report you, you young rascal. I’ll----”
“I didn’t know you meant a book, sir. I thought you wanted a drink of
water. I’m not in this department, but I’ll find a salesperson for you.”
Harry’s tone was gravely respectful, although he had hard work to keep
from laughing. The absurdity of the situation had dawned upon him.
The man’s face relaxed suddenly into a wide grin. “Oh, ha, ha! Ha, ha!
That’s a funny one! All right, boy, you get me a clerk. I’ll wait here.
Running water! Ha, ha!”
“That was a narrow escape,” smiled Harry to himself as, after securing
the desired saleswoman, he hurried back to his desk. “I seem to be
unlucky to-day. I hope I won’t get into any more mixups.”
The afternoon brought its own crosses, however. Harry did not have an
opportunity to go to lunch until after two o’clock. When he returned to
the department, he was scolded and hustled here and there by Mr. Barton
until he was ready to cry with sheer vexation.
“I’m glad it’s almost five,” he confided to Miss Welch, when at last
there came a lull in the day’s business. “I guess there’s a jinx on my
shoulders to-day. Everything’s gone wrong.”
“Half an hour more and it’ll be over,” she sympathized. “I’m dead tired
myself. Some of these customers would give you the hydrophobia.”
“Boy! Forty-five!” came Mr. Barton’s raucus call from the direction of
the silverware section, which was a part of the jewelry department.
Harry trotted obediently up the aisle. Mr. Barton stood at the end of
the cut glass and sterling silver counter. Just as Harry approached, an
elaborately-dressed woman walked down the aisle. As she passed Harry,
she switched close to the flat-topped glass show-case. Her silk sleeve
brushed against a row of cut-glass powder-boxes with silver tops.
There was a jingling, then a crash, and one of the larger boxes lay
on the floor in fragments. Harry stood rooted to the spot. The woman
hurried down the aisle and around the corner without a backward glance.
“Now see what you’ve done,” snarled Mr. Barton. “You are the clumsiest
boy I ever saw. Miss Winton,” a dark-faced woman came forward with a
scowl, “how much was that powder box? This careless boy just broke it.
I’m going to sub-slip him for it, too.”
“Give me that lid,” ordered the woman, turning to Harry.
White with righteous indignation, Harry picked it up and handed it to
her.
“Seven-fifty,” she announced, after scrutinizing the silver top.
“I won’t pay it,” burst forth Harry. “I didn’t break it, and I won’t be
sub-slipped. I’ll go to Mr. Keene, first. That customer broke it. I saw
her with my own eyes. Her sleeve brushed the show-case. That box was
right close to the edge and----”
“None of your made-up yarns,” roared Mr. Barton. “You broke it and now
you’re trying to lay it to----”
“That will do, Barton,” cut in a stern voice. “I happened to see that
this boy did _not_ break the powder box.”
Mr. Barton whirled to find himself staring into the steady,
contemptuous eyes of Mr. Rexford, the book-buyer.
“If you sub-slip that boy, or even give him a demerit, you’ll be
sorry.” Turning on his heel the book-buyer walked away. Nevertheless,
his threat had the desired effect. Mr. Barton put the sub-slip blank he
had taken from his pocket into it again, and with a spiteful glance at
Harry, strode off towards the exchange desk.
Harry stood gazing after him, too dazed to do anything but stare. It
had all happened so quickly. And Mr. Rexford, that splendid man, had
come to his rescue. A rush of grateful tears blinded the boy’s eyes.
He winked them back, then moved by his feeling of gratitude he made
straight for Mr. Rexford’s office.
The door stood open. Mr. Rexford was just about to seat himself before
his handsome mahogany desk.
“Oh, Mr. Rexford, I don’t know how to thank you,” cried Harry
impulsively.
The book-buyer faced about. “Oh, it’s you, my boy. You had rather a bad
case against you, didn’t you? Lucky I happened to see the whole thing.”
“Yes, sir. Mr. Barton wouldn’t have believed me.”
“Yet I don’t believe you are an untruthful boy. What makes Mr. Barton
so hard on you? What have you done to offend him?”
Harry colored and was silent.
“Nothing very criminal, I’ll wager,” commented Mr. Rexford dryly. “I
am fairly well acquainted with Mr. Barton and his methods. You are not
the first boy I have championed. Now, listen to me, my boy, if you have
any further trouble with Mr. Barton, come straight to me with it. I can
help you.”
“Thank you. I will, sir. I must go now. I hope I can do something for
you some day, sir.”
Mr. Rexford smiled. “Perhaps you can. One never knows.”
Harry walked back to the exchange desk with a light heart. Mr. Rexford
was his friend. He was glad now that he had not found the time to go to
Mr. Marsh with his story of Mr. Barton’s harshness. If worst came to
worst, Mr. Rexford would help him. Had he not just said so? Even though
he met with discouragements from one source, there would always be
someone to help him in his hour of need.