ALL’S WELL THAT ENDS WELL
“So you are Harry Harding. Sit down here, Harry. I should like to talk
with you.” The senior partner of Martin Brothers waved a distinctly
embarrassed boy into a chair opposite his own and surveyed the lad with
an earnest, kindly gaze.
Inwardly Harry was wildly cogitating the reason for this interview
which had been thrust upon him. It could hardly pertain to the affair
of the cash box. It was four days since that had happened. In four
days an excitement of that nature has ample time to die out in such
a busy world of trade. Yet Mr. Martin did not seem displeased; quite
the contrary. His singularly youthful dark eyes, which contrasted so
sharply with his gray hair and mustache, were filled with friendliness.
“Mr. Keene has told me so much that is good of you, I thought I should
like to see the boy who has looked out so thoroughly for my interests
and for those of my employees. Your prompt action saved the store a
loss on last Friday. You are greatly to be commended for it.”
“It was all in the day’s work, sir,” Harry replied, his already flushed
face turning pinker. “I only remembered the woman’s face and suspected
she wasn’t a real messenger.”
“It takes a pretty smart boy to remember a thing like that at the right
moment,” smiled the senior partner. “Mr. Prescott tells me you were
instrumental in breaking up that chain of thieving last year. He says
he would like to have you on his staff. Do you wish me to place you
there?”
“Oh, no, sir!” Harry expressed emphatic disapproval of such a change.
“I shouldn’t like to be a detective in the least. I just happened to
get into both those affairs.”
Mr. Martin smiled whimsically. “You’re rather different from the
average youngster. Most boys would jump at a chance to become a sleuth.
What would you like to become?” he questioned, staring hard at Harry.
“A business man, sir. I’d like to learn a lot about a big store like
this; about the way things are done here. Then if ever I had a chance
to go into business for myself, I know just what to do and how to do
it.”
“So you’d prefer becoming a business man. I should say you had already
made a fair start. How would you like some day to be a book buyer?”
Harry’s answer came somewhat haltingly.
“I don’t know,” he said. “I’ve thought a good deal about that. In one
way I’d like it and in another way I wouldn’t.”
“Tell me just what you mean,” tactfully urged the man.
“I think----” began Harry. “You see it’s like this. If I were some day
to go into business for myself I don’t believe it would be in books.
I don’t know yet just what it would be. I won’t know, either, for
a long time to come. I’d like to stay with Mr. Rexford, of course.
Still in another year I ought to be something more than a stock boy.
I don’t want to be a salesman, and even if I knew enough I couldn’t
be an assistant by that time. I’d still be considered too young for
such a responsible position.” Drawn out to speak of what lay nearest
his heart, Harry had quite forgotten his brief embarrassment. He was
opening his mind to his interested listener in the same frank fashion
in which he might have talked to Teddy Burke.
“I understand,” nodded Mr. Martin. “As you say you are still rather
young to talk with any certainty of your future. But you’ve made a good
start, young man; a good start. Keep on in the same way and some day
you’ll find yourself where you hope to be. You can’t do it in a day,
or a month, or a year. You must build your future, stone upon stone.
It won’t be easy. Nothing worth having is easy to get. Remember that.
Now, Harry, I am very glad to have met you; glad to have such a boy as
you in my store. I shall not forget you. Every now and then I shall
send for you to come to me to ask you how you are progressing.”
“Thank you, Mr. Martin,” Harry rose, believing the pleasant interview
to be at an end. “I shall try always to have good reports to bring
you.” He was about to say “good morning” and depart when the senior
partner halted him.
“Wait a moment,” he commanded. Picking up a sealed envelope on his
desk he tendered it to the amazed boy. “This is for you, with Martin
Brothers’ heartiest thanks. You are not to open it until you are in
your own home.”
Harry drew back, the ruddy color leaving his cheeks. “Oh, I
couldn’t----” he stammered.
“This envelope does not contain what you think it holds,” returned Mr.
Martin, his eyes twinkling. “Whatever it contains I insist that you
accept it.”
Reluctantly Harry took the envelope. A sudden mist flashed across his
blue eyes. He tried to speak, but could not. For an instant the whole
room became a blur. Then he managed to articulate an unsteady, “I thank
you, Mr. Martin. Good morning.” Completely unnerved by his astonishing
good fortune, he cast an eloquent look toward the man at the desk and
hurried from the office.
Regaining Department 84 his first move was to seek Mr. Rexford’s
office. He felt that he ought to tell the buyer of his recent call on
the senior partner. The day following the affair of the cash box, Mr.
Rexford had come to him and said: “Well, Harry, I hear that you saved
the store considerable money yesterday. Hereafter Prescott will have
to look out for his laurels. I understand he is anxious to have you
transferred to his office. You don’t want to go, do you?” And Harry had
answered with a decided, “I do not.” Mr. Rexford had appeared vastly
relieved at the reply and offered Harry his hand in unspoken apology
for certain brusque speeches he had given utterance to, directly after
the trouble over the stolen ring.
It was now most disappointing to the boy to find Mr. Rexford’s office
deserted of his presence, just when he wished most to see him. Later
he learned from Mr. Brady, who, since Leon’s removal, had grown quite
friendly, that the buyer had gone out of the city for a day or two. So
Harry hugged his good news until lunch time, when he could relate it to
Teddy.
Teddy was vastly impressed. “I guess you’re it,” he observed, his black
eyes glowing. “What do you s’pose is in that envelope? Let’s see it.”
Harry took the envelope from a coat pocket. Teddy hefted, pinched
and fingered it in crafty speculation. “It’s quite heavy. Maybe it’s
a picture of Mr. Martin,” he guessed. “He might want you to have it
to remember him by.” His accompanying grin belied the seriousness of
his guess. “Wouldn’t you like to have me walk clear home with you
to-night?” he asked slyly.
“You funny Teddy,” laughed Harry. “Of course I would. I was going to
ask you to.”
There was one other person to whom Harry felt bound to confide his
good news. That person was Margaret Welch. On his way from luncheon he
sought her desk.
“Why, here’s Nick Carter the second!” exclaimed the jolly exchange
clerk.
“Don’t tease me,” protested Harry, smiling. “I want to tell you
something.” Modestly he spoke of the honor that had so recently been
his.
“Well, I never!” Miss Welch became all smiles. “You certainly are the
candy kid. Be sure you tell me to-morrow what was in that envelope.
And Prescott’s aching to get hold of you! But none of that Sherlock
business for yours. Say, Harry, I wanted to ask you something, but I
kept forgetting it. How did that girl put over that cash box stunt?
You was up in Prescott’s office when she was. Did she tell? Now don’t
cry. I know you hate to talk about it. Still you can oblige your friend
Irish for once. Her middle name’s Rubber.”
Harry’s face had clouded as Miss Welch brought up the subject he had
resolutely put behind him. Her final speech made him smile. “She
told Mr. Prescott that she had been watching the cashier in jewelry
for a week. She had a cash box made to look like those in the store.
The receipt pad she had was almost the same as those they use in Mr.
Wiggins’ office. She thought no one would notice the difference until
after she got away. It was easy enough to dress in black like the store
girls, I suppose.”
“Hm! She must have figured out the whole cash system pretty well,”
mused Miss Welch. “Say, Harry, did you know Breeden’s going to leave
Saturday night?”
“No.” Harry showed some surprise. “It’s funny, Miss Welch, but Miss
Breeden has been quite nice to me lately. I never thought she would be
after what happened last Spring.”
“Ha, ha!” Miss Welch seemed vastly amused. “There’s a reason, and this
is it. Breeden’s going to be married soon, not to Farley, but somebody
else. She and Farley smashed their wedding ring plans right after New
Year’s. I heard about it just a few days back.”
Harry went back to his work feeling that the last ghost had, indeed,
been laid.
“Let’s take the street car home,” was Teddy’s audacious proposal after
work that night.
“You’re more curious about what’s in that envelope than I am,” laughed
Harry.
“Course I am. I want to see Mr. Martin’s picture,” grinned his
unabashed chum.
It was a thrilling moment for Harry when with Teddy at his left, his
mother at his right, he tore open the concealing envelope, to find a
small pasteboard-covered book, bearing the printed legend, “Martin
Brothers’ Bank.” Underneath was written, “Harry Harding.”
“Hooray!” shrieked Teddy.
Harry had already opened the book. He gasped, then overcome, hid his
face against his mother’s ever ready shoulder. “Mothery!” he whispered
in choking ecstasy.
Harry suddenly raised his head from his mother’s shoulder, his blue
eyes shining. “I thought last year that the twenty-dollar gold piece
was splendid. But, a hundred dollars! I’m going to give it straight to
you, Mothery!”
“You’ll do no such thing,” declared Mrs. Harding with a shake of her
head. “This money is yours and you must keep it in the bank and try to
add a little to it whenever you can. That’s what Mr. Martin means you
to do.”
“I’m going to write a letter to Mr. Edward Martin to-night,” announced
Harry. “I’d like to have him know how much this means to me.” Fondly he
patted the bank book.
“Summer’s coming,” observed Teddy irrelevantly, his black eyes dreamy.
“So it is. I know what made you think about it just now, too. You’re
remembering last vacation and----”
“The Year of Promise,” supplemented Teddy. “It’s been some year,
hasn’t it?”
“Yes, it has. When we sat under that tree last summer and read that
story, I never thought we were going to have such a queer winter in the
store. My mother says nobody can become great or broad-minded without
having troubles,” mused Harry.
“I think my mind _is_ broader,” returned Teddy seriously. “My head’s
bigger than it was last year.”
Harry burst into rollicking laughter. Teddy glared reproof, then
giggled. “It’s so,” he contended. “I wear a size larger hat’n I did a
year ago. That’s a sign, all right.”
“There are lots of other signs besides that,” reminded Harry warmly.
“I’m lucky to have you for my chum, Teddy Burke.”
“You mean just the other way ’round.” Teddy’s thin hand sought Harry’s
in a firm renewal of their boyish covenant. Builded upon the foundation
of loyalty, theirs was a friendship that would defy time and change.
THE END
Transcriber’s Notes:
--Text in italics is enclosed by underscores (_italics_).
--Printer's, punctuation and spelling inaccuracies were silently
corrected.
--Archaic and variable spelling has been preserved.
--Variations in hyphenation and compound words have been preserved.
End of Project Gutenberg's Harry Harding's Year of Promise, by Alfred Raymond