THE PLOT THICKENS
Thanksgiving Eve saw Martin Hall crowded to the doors. With the
prospect of a day’s rest and feasting ahead of them, the sympathies of
those in attendance had gone out to the lonely sufferer in the Cameron
hospital. A few of the employees had guessed his identity, though they
could not be sure of it. In so vast a business establishment as Martin
Brothers it was hard to trace the comings and goings of one particular
individual. It was gossiped about Mr. Barton’s domain that he was
the man for whom the benefit was to be held, yet so well did the few
who were in the secret keep it that no one knew the exact truth of
the matter. The very fact that the sufferer’s identity had not been
disclosed lent a piquant air of mystery to the benefit.
It is always the needy who respond first to the call of charity.
Those who know best the pinch of poverty give most ungrudgingly of
the little they have. Those who work hardest for their daily bread
understand best the tragedy of being caught unawares by sickness.
Although many of the higher-salaried men and women of the store had
bought tickets, only to pass them on to others or return them to be
resold, the greatest rallying to the standard had been done by the
humbler employees.
An unusually good programme had been arranged, for the store boasted
of many clever singers, dancers and elocutionists. Miss Verne had
worked unceasingly. Aided by one or two professional friends outside
the store, several attractive singing and dancing numbers had been
perfected and from beginning to end the audience was delighted with
what was offered for their amusement.
The honors of the evening, however, were divided between Teddy Burke
and a young girl whose really remarkable dancing proved a veritable
sensation. Teddy’s high soprano voice had never rung out more clearly
and sweetly. Miss Verne had taken great pains in the selection of his
songs and he was encored until he positively rebelled and refused to
show himself further on the stage even to bow.
But the wildest demonstration of the evening occurred when immediately
preceding the final number, Mr. Keene made a speech, thanking the
audience and announcing that over four hundred dollars had been cleared
as the result of the benefit. He wished them all a happy Thanksgiving,
and sent them home with the pleasing reminder that they had helped to
bring a wonderful Thanksgiving to one in need. If Mr. Keene had had
his way he would have liked to call Harry Harding to the stage and
introduce him as the author of the affair. He even suggested this to
the boy, who became so distressed that he relinquished the idea.
Down in the audience, seated between his mother and Mrs. Burke, Harry
Harding’s earnest face irradiated happiness. He had no desire for
glory. He was glad that he would not even be called upon to go to see
Mr. Barton again. Mr. Keene had taken all that off his hands. Harry
had visited the sick man three times. On his second visit he had told
the aisle manager that his case had been laid before Mr. Keene and
that plans for a benefit were in progress of being carried out. Of his
own part in the affair he had said nothing, and so adroitly had he
managed that Mr. Barton had accredited the benefit to Mr. Keene. He
was intensely grateful, however, to Harry for his kindness and humbly
promised the boy that, once back in the store, he would make ample
amends for the past.
Due also to Harry’s suggestion, Mr. Keene had interviewed the
superintendent, who promised that Mr. Barton should be reinstated in
his former position whenever he was able to return to the store. Thus
Harry was content to remain a nameless force for good, but he could
not know that the results of his splendid behavior were to be far
reaching.
“Maybe that wasn’t a great little show,” was Miss Welch’s opinion, as
she left the hall that night in company with several girl friends.
“I’ll bet Barty’ll sing a Thanksgiving hymn. I know one person that
ought to get a lotta stars in his crown for that benefit.” She
neglected to state the identity of that person. Miss Welch could keep
her own secrets.
On Thanksgiving Day the Burkes and the Hardings made merry together
under Mrs. Burke’s hospitable roof. Teddy and Harry spent a long,
delightful day with Teddy’s numerous games. It ended after supper with
an old-fashioned sing at the piano, when everybody warbled with a will
and no one criticized the quality of the singing.
The Friday after Thanksgiving was a busy day for Teddy Burke. While
he did his work in his usual brisk, commendable fashion, he kept a
starboard eye out for the return of Miss Leonard. To his intense
disappointment she did not appear. Still he had strong hopes of
Saturday. It was usually a banner day in house furnishings, and should
Miss Leonard be sent there, she might easily trip a busy salesperson
who was too much rushed to use caution in replying to her apparently
innocent inquiries.
“The Percolator is pretty perky to-day, isn’t he?” remarked Teddy to
Hickson, as he stopped for a word with the salesman when on his way to
lunch.
“He’s the limit,” growled Hickson. “Do you know what he did yesterday?
He told Seymour that the way Mr. Everett ran this department was a
disgrace to the store. Someone, I won’t say who, heard him. You know
Seymour. He believes everything he hears and runs to Mr. Edward Martin
with it.”
“But can’t Mr. Everett prove that it isn’t so?” Teddy frowned in
troubled fashion.
“How can he, except by his returns?” demanded Hickson savagely. “If
this fellow keeps things in such a hub-bub here, we’re going to lose
sales and the department’ll run behind. He keeps Mr. Everett in such a
stew that he can’t do as well as if he wasn’t half worried to death.
The best man can’t stand everything. This dub has made ’em believe that
he’s the king of tin pans. How’s anyone going to prove that he isn’t
until Mr. Everett’s out of here and he gets a chance to queer himself?
When the mischief’s done, it’ll be too late. If Everett once goes out
of here, because of this ignoramus, he’ll get something better. He’ll
never come back here. These people up above can’t see it. I can.”
“So can I,” agreed Teddy. “If Mr. Everett goes, I’ll go too. I guess
that’d be some loss to Martin Brothers!”
“Ha, ha!” jeered Hickson. “You certainly think a lot of yourself, don’t
you? Who are you, anyhow?”
“I’m _Mr._ Burke, and I’ve got feelings. I’m going to lunch.” Teddy
stalked grandly toward the elevator. The moment he had turned his back
on Hickson he snickered. Then his mirth died away as he muttered: “I
hope I see Miss Leonard to-day.”
About the middle of the afternoon Teddy’s hopes were realized. He spied
his former teacher at the far end of the department moving slowly up
and down the aisles formed by the tables, her interest apparently
absorbed by the various engines of housekeeping. As she continued to
wander innocently about, every now and then she halted a salesperson
to converse briefly. At the conclusion of one of these momentary
interviews Teddy saw her take a little book from her shopping bag and
write in it. Directly after that she stopped Mr. Duffield as he hurried
by her. The alert watcher then noted that she pointed out to the aisle
manager the salesperson she had just addressed, and again jotted
something down in her book.
“Mr. Duffield’s in it,” was the boy’s wise conclusion. “Guess I might
as well get in the game, too.”
Marching jauntily up to the teacher, Teddy boldly addressed her. “Good
afternoon, Miss Leonard. Looks as if you’d catch a lot of folks this
afternoon. It’s so busy down here, though. You can’t blame the sales
much if they give you a wrong direction.” Teddy presented the acme of
affability as he launched this dart.
It struck home. Miss Leonard flushed to the roots of her brown hair.
She frowned with vexation, then she laughed. “You are a wise little
boy, Teddy. Who told you so much?”
“Oh, I’m not ’sactly blind.” Teddy grinned cheerfully. “Say, Miss
Leonard, I know a fellow here who doesn’t know where some of the things
in this store are. He thinks he does, but he’s got another think
coming. One day he sent a man clear to the fourth floor for sporting
goods. They’re on the balcony, you know.” Teddy’s sad experience of the
previous year with a refractory baseball had irrevocably fixed in his
mind the location of sporting goods.
“Those are the very persons I wish to trip,” returned Miss Leonard.
“You see, Teddy, of late there have been so many complaints from
customers who have been misdirected by employees of the store
that something had to be done about it. Just a little while back
the management distributed printed lists of the location of every
department in the store, which every person was supposed to study. I
wish you’d point this man out to me. I’ll test him.”
“See that fat man over there?” Teddy pointed toward a not far distant
spot where a plump, sleek individual stood raptly gazing at a select
company of blue and white agate ware that adorned a long, low shelf.
“He’s the one. Ask him--ask him where soda straws are. His name’s
Jarvis. He’s an efficiency crank and our assistant buyer.”
Miss Leonard looked a trifle blank. As a matter of fact, she herself
did not know the answer to this simple question. Privately, she
determined to find out. Still it would never do to admit such ignorance
to this guileful child.
“Thank you, Teddy,” she said with an elaborate carelessness that in no
wise deceived the wide-awake youngster. Her change of face had already
informed him of her defective information.
“If he doesn’t answer right will he get reported?” was Teddy’s eager
question.
“He surely will,” smiled Miss Leonard. “If he preaches efficiency he
ought to practice it.”
“That’s what I think.” Teddy wriggled with wicked satisfaction. “If
I see you writing in your book after you ask him, I’ll know that he
didn’t know.”
Miss Leonard cast a quizzical glance at the small plotter. “Would you
like me to report him, Teddy?” was her amused question.
“Well, if a fellow doesn’t know where things are, I s’pose he ought to
be reported.” Teddy took an evasive but firm stand for duty.
“I suppose so.” The teacher flashed Teddy a mischievous glance and
moved briskly down upon the unsuspecting victim. Assuming the
bewildered air of a shopper who implores guidance she paused before the
smug assistant and inquired sweetly, “Will you please tell me where I
can find soda straws?”
“Soda straws?” Mr. Jarvis repeated uneasily. “Oh, yes. Certainly,
Madam, delighted to be of service to you. Soda straws are--they are--at
the soda fountain, of course.”
“But where is the soda fountain?”
“It is----” Mr. Jarvis gulped nervously. His efficient manner of living
flouted the delectable concoctions of the soda fountain. Hence he was
unprepared to disclose the location of so useless a haunt. “You will
find it on the first balcony.” Providentially, he had chanced to recall
seeing ices served there at small tables. He wildly guessed the soda
fountain to be in the immediate vicinity of these tables.
“Thank you.” Miss Leonard turned abruptly away in time to hide the
dimpling smile that lighted her attractive features. Retiring to a safe
distance she gleefully recorded Mr. Jarvis’ wild attempts at direction.
She had no doubt that from some safe nook a pair of mischievous black
eyes were bent on her as she made the fatal record. But before she
wended her steps officeward, she passed through a wide, high-arched
doorway that divided house furnishings from a flourishing commercial
village devoted to women’s wear. On and on she went through busy seas
of feminine apparel; through an enterprising display of trimmed hats.
At the very end of the basement, where a huge sign spelled “Subway,”
she turned a corner and brought up at a hissing marble fountain,
surrounded by long counters before which sat rows of persons busily
engaged in the partaking of delicious cheer.
Leaning over an end of the counter she beckoned a white-jacketed young
man. “Can I buy soda straws here?” she questioned.
“No, Miss. We don’t sell them here. You’ll find them all the way back
in house furnishings.” He darted away to appease a clamoring patron.
“The little imp!” muttered Miss Leonard. She was not referring to the
white-coated young man. Nevertheless, she smiled and continued to smile
as she made further notes in her faithful journal, then sought a nearby
elevator.
Meanwhile, in Department 40, Teddy Burke was also engaged in making a
few notes. A new line now appeared in his tiny leather-covered book. It
read: “November 30th. Canned again.”