A QUEER TWIST OF FATE
The first person to receive the surprise which Teddy Burke had
predicted was Mr. Brady. What amazed and displeased him the following
morning was to behold a hilarious crowd of customers and salespersons
gathered about a table which displayed for its feature the remarkable
novel of modern society entitled, “The Débutante.”
“What’s the meaning of this?” was his curt question as he forged into
the middle of the group. As the query left his lips he became petrified
with astonishment at the mysterious and cruel change that had assailed
the much-heralded society bud over night. Her sweetly smiling lips were
now decorated with a huge, bright-blue, upcurving mustache for which
a certain gentleman of royalty might well have yearned. Her soulful
eyes were hidden by round blue goggles, through which she appeared to
squint at the world. Around her hapless throat hung an ornamental blue
chain that would have more fittingly graced the neck of a benighted
heathen. Worse yet, her pretty ears had been extended to triangular
points. Altogether she was a most remarkable specimen of original but
terrifying art.
“Who did that?” Mr. Brady choked with rage as he ripped the offending
picture from the table. “Why didn’t some one of you take it down at
once?”
“It was so funny,” giggled Miss Porter.
Scenting trouble in the air the few customers who had happened to swell
the group now moved off with smiling faces.
“It’s a disgrace to this department,” stormed the assistant. “Go and
attend to your stock, all of you.” He shooed the lingerers away with an
impatient sweep of his arms.
Remembering that he had set Leon Atkins to arranging the table the
previous afternoon he immediately suspected him of the outrage. The
next instant saw him clumping down the main aisle of the department,
the decorated débutante in one hand, on the trail of the miscreant.
His search ended when he bumped squarely into Leon Atkins, who was
lumbering toward him from the opposite direction.
“Whada----” began Leon. This tone underwent a quick change. “Oh, excuse
me, Mr.----”
“I’ll excuse you. Look at this!” The assistant thrust the blue and
white outrage before Leon’s eyes.
Leon caught one glimpse of the picture and burst into laughter.
“You’ll laugh on the other side of your face, young man, before I’m
through with you. You did this.”
“Aw, cut it out. You’re daffy!” Amazed at the accusation, Leon forgot
to whom he was speaking. “Aw, excuse me, Mr. Brady. I didn’t mean that.
I was so taken back I spoke ’fore I thought. D’y’ think I did that?” He
pointed to the picture. “Not on your life.”
“But you were the last one at that table,” persisted Mr. Brady.
“Can’t help it. It wasn’t me that done it. Catch me carryin’ a blue
pencil. It’s against the rules of the store, ’less you’re a boss.” Leon
delivered this reminder with an air of virtuous wisdom. “Mebbe it was
45 that did it. Seems to me I’ve seen him with a blue pencil up’n the
stock-room. I won’t say for sure.”
Although Leon was by nature a sluggard, his wits now sprang to work.
Only too well he recalled laying down the blue pencil he had been
sharpening to answer the call of the aisle manager. He now wondered
what had become of it. He calculated shrewdly that if it had been found
on the table Mr. Brady would now have it in his possession. Further, he
would have demanded of Leon if it belonged to him. Leon decided within
himself that the pencil had somehow escaped notice. He determined to
hunt for it as soon as he could and summarily dispose of it.
Mr. Brady stared at him, as though half inclined to credit the
insinuation against Harry which Leon had just voiced. “This doesn’t
look like Harding’s work,” he declared. “How could he have done it
without your knowing it? It was after five o’clock last night when you
came to me for this picture. It was all right when I gave it to you.
Besides, he was away over on the other side of the department unloading
a truck. I remember seeing him.”
Leon shrugged his shoulders. “I can’t tell you nothin’ about it, ’cept
that it was pretty near half past when I set that there picture on top
of a stacka books. It was all right then. Just’s I did it, Mr. Drayton
calls me and I goes to see what he wants. After that the bell rang and
I beat it outta here.”
“Humph! Then how did _this_ happen?” Mr. Brady again thrust the
offending picture at Leon.
“How do you s’pose I know?” whined the boy. “How do lotsa things happen
’round this dump? How did Miss Breeden’s table get mixed up that day?
You better ask 45 a few things. I ain’t done nothin’.”
“This department is not a dump,” rebuked Mr. Brady severely. “Don’t let
me hear you again refer to it as such. As for this outrage, I’m going
to sift it to the bottom. If I find you’ve lied to me, I’ll have you
discharged.”
“I tell you I didn’t do it,” called Leon after the assistant’s
retreating form. “Gee,” he reflected. “I gotta find that pencil. If I
find it I guess I know where I can hide it.”
Making his way to the table from which the cruelly transformed
débutante had been mercifully snatched, Leon prowled cautiously about
it, at the same time keeping up a prudent watch for danger. Making sure
that he was not under special observation, he leaned upon a corner of
it, his black eyes roving desperately over its closely packed contents.
Of a sudden he emitted a grunt of satisfaction. Coyly resting between
two piles of books he had glimpsed the object of his search. When Teddy
Burke had flung it aside to beat a hasty retreat, it had rolled off the
book on which he had placed it and dropped to a shallow shelter between
the two stacks of volumes where Leon had discovered it.
“I gotta hustle,” was his next thought as he moved with unusual speed
toward a stairway. Once on the tenth floor he hoped fortune would favor
him. Whether he could put into execution the cowardly act that he
purposed depended on two things.
Up in the stock-room Harry Harding was manfully endeavoring to bury his
sorrows in zealous toil. The instant he had reported to Mr. Drayton
that morning he had gone directly to the tenth floor. A huge bulk
of surplus stock was awaiting a brief abiding place in the bins, and
Mr. Brady had decreed that it must be put there without delay. An
innate sense of neatness prompted Harry always to remove his coat
while performing a task of this nature. When Leon slouched into the
stock-room, Harry was energetically at work in his shirtsleeves, his
back turned to the other boy.
Leon halted to grin sardonically at the patient, hurrying lad, too
deeply engrossed in his task to discover that he was not alone. His
straying, furtive glance leaped from Harry to a blue serge coat that
hung on a nail within easy reach. Breathlessly Leon tiptoed to it.
His hand glided into a convenient pocket. Then, silently as a shadow,
he withdrew and darted toward a stairway. He preferred the labor of
ascending and descending nine flights of stairs to risk being seen on
an elevator.
Toward noon Harry finished his work. He was just about to draw on
his coat when Mr. Atkins appeared in the doorway of the stock-room.
“You’re wanted downstairs, 45,” he said roughly, then vanished into the
receiving room.
Hastily donning his coat, Harry caught the first elevator down to
the department. The summons no doubt meant nothing more than the
appointment to some new task. Despite Mr. Brady’s disbelief that Harry
was up to the mark, he depended on the boy a great deal more than he
ever took the time to stop and realize.
“Where’s Mr. Brady?” was Harry’s question of Mr. Denby. “Have you seen
him lately?”
The fiction salesman cast Harry a curious glance. “He’s in the office
with Mr. Rexford. You’re due to catch it. It’s too bad. I’ll bet my
week’s salary you didn’t do it. Don’t let Brady put it all over you,
Harry.”
“Didn’t do what?” Harry’s voice rose in bewildered anxiety. “Oh, Mr.
Denby, please tell me what you mean.”
“By George, I will. I’ve got a right to warn you before----”
A hand suddenly dropped on Harry’s shoulder. “You’re wanted in Mr.
Rexford’s office, 45. Don’t loiter here.” Mr. Drayton was frowning down
upon him.
With one desperate, appealing look at Mr. Denby, Harry started for the
buyer’s office, his heart in his throat.
“Good morning, Harry,” greeted Mr. Rexford as the boy entered. Mr.
Brady merely glared and said nothing. Other than the boy, only the
two men occupied the office. The buyer swung round from his desk and
leveled a peculiarly searching glance at Harry. Reaching to one side
of his desk his hand settled on something. “Do you know anything about
this, my boy?” He held the ill-fated picture up to Harry’s gaze.
For an instant Harry was seized with a wild desire to laugh. No one
could view Teddy’s fanciful handiwork unmoved. With an effort Harry
kept his features sober. Amazement quickly conquered his inclination
for mirth. “How could I possibly know anything about it?” His reply
contained a note of wonder.
“There, Brady. I hope you are satisfied.” Mr. Rexford’s comment was
tinged with cool reserve. He had given small credence to the tale the
assistant had brought him.
“I’m _not_ satisfied. I wouldn’t take the word of any of these boys.
They are all alike when it comes to mischief. Now listen to me, 45. Are
you positively sure you know nothing of this?”
“I am.” Harry lifted his head in a proud gesture of denial. “I know
nothing whatever about it. I can’t understand why and of what you are
accusing me. Won’t you please tell me?” His blue eyes sadly sought Mr.
Rexford’s.
“Between five and half-past five yesterday afternoon, Harry, someone
deliberately took this picture from a table, spoiled it and then
returned it to the same table,” related Mr. Rexford. “Mr. Brady at once
suspected young Atkins. He denied it, but said something that led Mr.
Brady to suspect you of having a hand in it.”
“Oh-h!” Harry drew a long, agonized breath. Again he had Leon to thank
for this new difficulty in which Mr. Brady seemed determined to place
him.
“It is not only the spoiling of the picture that matters,” continued
the buyer gravely. “You see it has been marked with a blue pencil. You
know the rule regarding blue pencils.”
“Yes, sir.” Harry’s response was very faint. Suddenly he brightened.
“But I never carry a blue pencil, Mr. Rexford. I wouldn’t dream of
doing so. This is the kind I always use.”
Harry’s hand went to his left coat pocket. He made a curious, gasping
sound, then allowed it to remain there.
“Let’s see the kind of pencil you use,” rasped the assistant. In that
audible intake of breath he read guilt.
Slowly Harry’s clenched hand left his pocket and unclosed. On his
outstretched palm lay a blue pencil.
“I knew it!” exploded the assistant. “You see now, Mr. Rexford? He
lied.”
“Harry, I can’t believe----”
“You mustn’t believe, Mr. Rexford.” Harry’s interruption rang out
with a fierce intensity that made the two men stare. All the pent-up
bitterness of his young soul flashed into hot words. “This pencil
doesn’t belong to me. I never put it there. I won’t stand for such
injustice. I won’t be accused of what I didn’t do. Do you hear me? I
won’t! I won’t!”
“Harry, Harry!” remonstrated the buyer. Yet he gloried in the lad’s
vehement outburst. The boy’s whole bearing indicated truth and
innocence.
“I can’t help it.” Harry refused to be thus checked. “Ever since I came
back from my vacation things have gone wrong for me. Neither of you
will ever know what I’ve had to put up with, because I’m not going to
tell you. But I’m not to blame for this. I’m going to leave the store
as soon as you’re through with me. There are some things a fellow can’t
and won’t stand.”
“You are not going to leave the store,” put in Mr. Rexford firmly. “I
believe you, Harry.”
“I don’t,” contested Mr. Brady stubbornly. “I’ve told you again and
again that this boy’s a sneak. If you choose to pet him and shut your
eyes to----”
“That will do, Brady.” Mr. Rexford held up an imperative hand.
“Whatever I may choose to do is no concern of yours. Now I wish this
matter dropped. Don’t let me hear of it again.” With a decided hand he
ripped the troublesome picture across and dropped it into the waste
basket. “You may go,” he commanded the assistant.
“Have it your own way,” Mr. Brady flung back over his shoulder as he
sought the door.
Alone together man and boy faced each other. “Now, Harry, I wish you
to tell me what you meant by saying that things have gone wrong with
you.” Mr. Rexford rose and laid a kind hand on Harry’s shoulder.
The boy’s lip quivered. He made no reply. Gradually mastering himself,
his mouth set in the old firm line of secrecy. “I’m sorry, Mr. Rexford,
but I can’t tell tales. You--oh, please don’t ask me to.”
“All right, I won’t. I know you didn’t use a blue pencil on that
wretched picture,” mused the man. “Yet the other boy insists that
he didn’t. It may have been some mischievous messenger from another
department. Around half-past five he would not have been noticed.”
Harry lifted a startled face to the buyer. He never heard the word
“mischief” without associating it with Teddy Burke. A swift flashing
panorama of facts crossed his brain. Teddy had sworn to be even with
Leon. Teddy had visited the department at that time last evening. Leon
had been arranging the table. It was all plain except the blue pencil.
Yet he could not betray Teddy. As he fitted the pieces of the puzzle
together he became painfully aware of Mr. Rexford’s acute survey.
“What is it, Harry? I believe you have guessed the guilty party.
Whom do you suspect? Speak up. I told Brady to drop it just for your
sake, but if it is one of the messengers, I’ll take it up. I won’t
countenance strange boys making my department ridiculous.”
Harry wavered between affection for Teddy and loyalty to Mr. Rexford.
“I’m not sure, Mr. Rexford. I do suspect someone. I can’t tell you his
name.”
Mr. Rexford looked displeased. Harry’s secrecy piqued him. Under his
quiet, kindly exterior lay a strong vein of stubbornness. Harry had
aroused it. Yet his dignity would not permit him to continue the
argument. “Very well,” he said coldly. “I won’t try to force your
confidence. You may go.”
As Mr. Rexford abruptly turned away from him to his desk, Harry saw a
towering wall suddenly erect itself between him and the man he revered.
His lips moved as though to make a last appeal, but no sound came from
them. With a long, anguished look at the stern figure before the desk,
Harry left the office with the bitter knowledge that one small boy’s
mischief had been the means of cutting him off from his best friend.