TEDDY BURKE, AVENGER
The return of Mr. Rexford to Department 84 marked the beginning of a
respite from the misfortunes that had visited Harry. Two days after his
unexpected clash with Miss Breeden the buyer walked into the department
and resumed his kindly but undisputed sway. Mr. Rexford was a man who
thought twice and spoke once. Consequently, his speech was productive
of instant results. Conscientious to a degree he worked untiringly for
the good of the firm who employed him and insisted on the same loyalty
from the members of his department.
It did not take him long to reach a correct estimate of Leon Atkins.
After one exceedingly brief but crushing interview with the man in
authority, Leon turned over a new leaf in a hurry and made craven
promises to “do better.” Privately, however, he had no intention of
redeeming himself. When under Mr. Rexford’s critical eye he proceeded
with the utmost caution. When the stock-room sheltered him from the
latter’s observation, his pretended energy fell from him like a cloak.
After the mid-summer sale was over and the stock that remained unsold
was again put to rest in the tenth-floor bins, to reappear later when
the fall trade had quickened, the book department settled down to the
inevitable lull that August always brought. This did not mean that no
one wanted to buy books. There were always the libraries which required
attention at all seasons of the year. Their needs helped swell the
summer trade, and many regular customers browsed about 84’s tempting
aisles. The mail-order, also, gave good account of itself and with the
various consignments of new books that were continually arriving, Harry
Harding always found plenty to do.
The very fact that Leon was a shirker incited Harry to do his utmost to
keep things moving. To frequently stumble upon the sluggard, asleep in
a bin or deep in a book, was naturally an aggravation. Yet Harry never
complained to Mr. Rexford of his companion’s worthlessness, neither did
he appear to notice what went on day after day under his very eyes. For
one thing he was at least thankful. Leon no longer persisted in his
former mania to fight. Not that he had relinquished it. Although Harry
could not then know it, the other boy was merely biding his time.
While trade was dull and Mr. Rexford was so much in evidence about 84,
it behooved him to go cautiously. Later, when the department had swung
into its usual business stride and Mr. Rexford had his hands full,
he resolved to renew his persecution of Harry. So long as the latter
allowed him uninterrupted liberty to shirk and was foolish enough to do
double work in consequence, Leon was content to let matters rest.
Yet patient, long-suffering Harry Harding was not the only one who
knew the exact truth about Leon. Mr. Atkins was well aware of his
troublesome son’s deficiencies. Far from taking him to task for
them and insisting that Leon should do his share of the work of the
stock-room, he stolidly ignored the truth and on all occasions treated
Harry with a gruffness that was both unnecessary and unreasonable. The
marked contrast between this neat, industrious, courteous boy and his
own untidy, lazy, impudent son galled him beyond measure.
Instead of admiring Harry for his good qualities, he appeared to resent
them. Harry’s devotion to duty made his son’s lack of it altogether too
apparent to suit him. He was in constant fear that some day Harry might
suddenly turn and make a complaint to headquarters that would result in
Leon’s discharge from the store. With that thought ever before him, he
kept up an attitude of menacing suspicion toward the boy, hoping thus
to intimidate Harry into remaining silent regarding Leon’s laziness.
Quick-witted Harry was not slow to discover this. He understood that
Mr. Atkins feared him on account of Leon and felt sorry, rather than
indignant. More than once he was on the point of going to the man
and assuring him that he could rest easy on that score. Only the
possibility of being misunderstood held him aloof. Manfully ignoring
that which he could not change, he delved unceasingly through the long,
hot days of August, making silence and endeavor his watchwords. As the
majority of his orders emanated from Mr. Brady, he was able to keep
fairly clear of Mr. Atkins, whose work lay, for the most part, in the
receiving room. Nevertheless, the lad was always on his guard against
squalls which were quite likely to blow from that quarter in the
twinkling of an eye.
The middle of September brought with it vast consignments of new books
from the numerous publishing houses. It also brought a heat wave that
July might well have envied. Day after day the sun beat down upon the
city, as though determined to visit a special penalty upon its wilted
inhabitants. Even the nights obstinately refused to be cool, and as
one fierce, sultry, rainless day merged into another, the heat became
well-nigh unbearable.
“You don’t catch me walking home this night,” grumbled Teddy Burke, as
he and Harry met on the corner at the end of a particularly trying
afternoon. “Me for a street car. I don’t b’lieve it’s ever going to get
cool. Maybe it wasn’t hot in 40 to-day. Even the old wash boilers and
coffee pots were jawing about it.”
“You don’t say so!” Harry raised amused brows. “I suppose you heard
them?”
Teddy grinned. “Well,” he confessed, “I fell over a wash boiler and
it groaned, and I dropped a coffee pot and it rattled. I s’pose that
was about as much as they could do. Mr. Hickson says that even the
ice-boxes had a grouch. One of ’em pinched his finger when he went to
shut the door of it.”
“You’re a funny boy.” Teddy’s quaint fancies were always vastly
entertaining. “Sometimes I almost wish I were down there in house
furnishings with you. You and Mr. Hickson always find something to
laugh at.”
“What’s the matter with books?” inquired Teddy. “Don’t you like ’em any
more?”
“Oh, books are all right and so is Mr. Rexford,” sighed Harry. “Only I
wish some of the people in 84 were like Mr. Hickson. I miss Fred Alden
a good deal. He was always cheerful and funny and wasn’t afraid of
work.”
“How’s the Clothes-pole behaving?” On first glimpse of the lengthy
Leon, Teddy had immediately likened him to the above wash-day prop.
“He’s about as fat as one,” had been his discerning comment, “only
he isn’t half so useful. Still, that’s what he looks like, and that’s
what I’m going to call him when he isn’t around.” Thus named, Leon was
destined so to remain in Teddy’s imaginative mind.
“The Clothes-pole, as you will call him, is the laziest boy I ever
saw.” Harry’s voice quivered with vexation. “When he’s in the
stock-room he doesn’t do much except read and sleep. It’s a shame! I’ve
been doing his work all summer, but I’m getting pretty tired of it. His
father knows it, too, but he doesn’t seem to care much. I just wish Mr.
Rexford would come up some day and catch him asleep in one of those
bins.”
“Maybe he will.” A daring idea had sprung to life in Teddy’s fertile
brain. His freckled face grew preternaturally solemn; a sure sign that
he was planning mischief.
“He hardly ever comes up to the stock-room.” Harry had failed to catch
the significance that lay behind Teddy’s casual remark.
“Is that so?” Teddy relapsed into sudden silence, as he considered ways
and means of bringing Leon’s ill-timed siestas to an end. “Aw, see
here!” He had become aware that they had left the corner behind them
and were well up the street. “Didn’t I say I wasn’t going to hoof it
home?”
“Come on,” urged Harry. He had slyly begun the homeward walk, knowing
that Teddy would keep pace with him from sheer force of habit. “You
don’t want to ride in one of those crowded cars. It’s a lot better for
us to be out in the air, even if it is so warm.”
“Might as well keep on now,” grumbled Teddy. “Say, when does the
Clothes-pole generally take his nap?”
“Whenever he gets a chance. There’s one big bin at the end of the
stock-room that he is fond of. He goes to lunch at one o’clock and as
soon as he gets back he crawls into it. He puts a truck close to the
bin. After he gets in he rolls the truck in front of it and then no one
can see him.”
“Lazy loafer,” was Teddy’s scornful opinion. “But see here, Harry. You
ought to report him. Don’t you know what it says on the application
card about reporting anyone you see doing something against Martin
Brothers? You signed it, you know.”
“Yes, I know. I’ve thought of that a good many times, but I can’t make
up my mind to report him. I’ve tried to even up for it to the store by
doing his work. You see I know what it is to be poor. My mother had a
hard time taking care of just the two of us before I went to work. Even
with what help I give her, it’s pretty bad. Everything costs so much
now. If it’s hard for us, what must it be for poor Mr. Atkins with that
large family of his? It’s better for this boy to be with his father. He
might be a good deal worse off away from him. Mr. Atkins is afraid I’m
going to make a fuss about Leon. That’s why he is so cranky to me. He
never used to act like that before his son came to the store to work.”
“You make me tired.” Teddy’s impish face registered his disapproval. “I
wouldn’t be good to folks that treated me so mean. I’d treat ’em mean,
too. What’s the use of working your head off for that Atkins pair?
Either one of ’em would get you fired if he could. I’d do as I promised
on my application card, if I was you. Suppose somebody found out about
the way the Clothes-pole loafs? Then you might get blamed for knowing
about it and not saying a word.”
“I’ve thought of that, too,” confessed Harry, “but I guess I’ll have to
take chances against it. As long as I keep the stock-room looking neat
and tidy, no one can say much. What Leon does when he’s downstairs on
the floor is none of my business.”
“I hope he does something awful then,” scowled Teddy. “Anyway, he won’t
last long. See if he does.”
On just what grounds the resourceful Teddy based his prophecy he
neglected to mention. The following morning, however, he was hardly in
his department before he approached good-humored Mr. Duffield and asked
solemn permission to leave the floor.
“Very well, Teddy, you may go. Don’t stay away long and don’t get into
any mischief.” The placid little aisle manager felt it necessary to add
this last mild admonition.
“I never get into mischief.” But the roguish gleam in the boy’s black
eyes told a different story.
Mr. Duffield merely smiled behind his stubby gray mustache. He knew
Teddy Burke.
Straight through Department 40 toward the nearest basement stairs Teddy
flitted.
“What’s your hurry?” called out Sam Hickson as Teddy flashed past him
with a grin.
“I’ve got business to ’tend to,” he flung back over his shoulder.
“More likely it’s mischief,” muttered the salesman. “I can always tell
when that youngster is up to something.”
Up the stairway route to the third floor Teddy scurried, scorning to
wait for an elevator. Reaching the third-floor landing, he steered
directly for Mr. Keene’s office. There Teddy had a friend on whom he
proposed to call.
“Why, good morning, Teddy.” The brown-haired, pink-cheeked girl glanced
up from her typewriter with a welcoming smile. She had ushered himself
and Harry into Mr. Keene’s office on the day they had applied for work.
“Good morning, Miss Phelps.” In the presence of this delightful person
for whom Teddy cherished unbounded respect, Teddy’s usually ready
speech left him.
“Did you come to see Mr. Keene?”
Teddy shook his ruddy head. “No; I came to see you.” His bright eyes
met the young woman’s surprised gaze rather shyly. Since his advent
into Martin Brothers he had come to know Miss Phelps fairly well, but
he was now not at all sure of how she might regard him once he had
explained the nature of his visit.
“Well, what can I do for you?” asked Miss Phelps, quickly noting the
lad’s embarrassment.
“Oh, I thought--I wanted to ask you---- Say, do they use this kind of
typewriters all over the store?”
“Yes.” Miss Phelps secretly wondered at the question. “At least, I
believe so.”
“If you wrote a notice on this,” Teddy touched the machine, “and didn’t
sign any name to it, then no one would know where it came from?” he
continued eagerly.
“I suppose not. But what a funny question!” A faint pucker appeared
between Miss Phelps’ dark brows.
“Um-m!” Teddy studied the typewriter with due solemnity. Fishing in his
coat pocket he brought forth a bit of paper on which appeared a single
sentence. “If I asked you to typewrite this for me, would you do it?”
Miss Phelps took the paper and studied it with some curiosity. “I can’t
do it unless you tell me why you want it,” she said.
Teddy turned red and was silent. Then his impish grin came slowly and
widely into evidence. “All right. I’ll tell you.”
He had not proceeded far before his listener began to smile. Then she
laughed outright. “You are a naughty boy,” was her indulgent reproof,
“but I’ll help you out this time. Your intentions are good and I don’t
know but I’d do the same if I were you. Wait a minute.”
Opening a drawer of her desk she selected a small-sized sheet of office
stationery, fastened it in the machine and began a rapid clicking of
the keys. “There you are. Take it and run, and don’t you ever tell
anyone I typed it.”
“Thank you ever so much. Hope I can do something for you some day.”
Teddy clutched the sheet of paper and darted away with as much speed as
was decorous to that vicinity. The further progress of his plan meant
the climbing of two additional flights of stairs, but he mounted them
with gleeful abandon.
At the extreme end of the fifth floor was a tiny railed-in space that
held a single desk. As Teddy approached it he became joyfully aware
that it held no occupant. Luck was certainly with him. Noiselessly
swinging the wooden gate behind him, he slipped to the desk, and,
drawing out a slide, deposited his precious paper carefully upon it,
then discreetly fled from the spot. He had successfully carried out his
part of the plan. It remained for others to carry out the rest.