At school Tom knew a dozen boys well enough to speak to, but the fact that he had no time to join them in their after-school or holiday pursuits and pleasures kept him from forming any close friendships. When the others hurried away to the athletic field to play football or watch it, Tom plodded across to Cummings and Wright’s. But he followed closely and patriotically the fortunes of the Amesville High eleven, listened avidly to the chat of the fellows at school, and read the accounts of the contests with rival teams in the morning paper. Never having seen a football game, Tom would have liked mighty well to go out and look on some afternoon, but the only glimpse of football he got was one day when he was despatched by street car to deliver a forgotten tool to Steve Connors, who was doing a job of plumbing in a house on the north of town. The trolley car left him two blocks from his destination, and when he saw a crowd of boys in an open field and heard the shouting he correctly surmised that he had happened on the athletic field and the high school team in action. He delivered the tool to Connors and then, on his way back, joined the throng of boys and girls on the side lines and watched interestedly for as long as his conscience would let him. After ten minutes he tore himself reluctantly away, very much wishing himself a gentleman of leisure! And yet he did make a friend finally, and it happened in this way. After Tom had been with Cummings and Wright a month or so, he was permitted to wait on customers occasionally when the others were busy. Joe had initiated him into the mysteries of the cost marks and he had eventually got so that he could translate the puzzling letters that adorned every article into numerals and knew at a glance that, for instance “F O Z” meant that the article had cost $1.37 and that the following “G L Y” intimated that it was to be sold for $1.75. As time passed Tom became more and more a member of the selling force and speedily reached a degree of efficiency that made it no longer necessary for him to consult Joe Gillig or one of the partners before disposing of goods. November had passed, Tom had eaten his Thanksgiving dinner at the farm, the high school football team had finished a not too glorious season, and now, in the first week of December, a hard freeze had come and at school the fellows were eagerly talking skating and hockey. One afternoon, just as it was getting dark in the store, Joe called to Tom, who was marking a case in the packing room. “Tom, come up and wait on a customer, will you?” shouted Joe down the stairway. Mr. Cummings, Mr. Wright, and Joe were all busy when Tom emerged from the basement, and Joe nodded toward the front of the store. “See what that lady wants, Tom,” he said. “And as you come by switch on the lights, will you?”