“I’ll bet you did!” Mr. Cummings chuckled. “I know that uncle of yours, son, from A to Izzard, and there isn’t a meaner old skinflint in Muskingum County! He owes me nearly sixty-five dollars, and he’s been owing it for nearly six years, and I guess he’ll keep on owing it unless I sue him for it. Bought a pump of me and then claimed it didn’t work right and wouldn’t ever send it back or pay for it, the old rascal! Yes, I guess sure enough you did better working somewheres else, son!” Tom had nothing to say to this. Perhaps, as a dutiful nephew, he should have stood up for Uncle Israel, but the hardware dealer’s estimate of Mr. Bowles was a very general one and Tom had long since become accustomed to hearing just such remarks passed. Finally, as the merchant seemed to have finished talking, Tom said: “I’m sorry. Well, I guess I’ll be going on. Unless--unless you think maybe----” “Wait a minute.” Mr. Cummings had opened the slide at the back of the showcase and was absent-mindedly rearranging some boxes of pocket-knives and scissors. At last, shutting the slide again briskly: “Look here, son, maybe you and I can make a dicker yet. Two and a half isn’t a whole lot of money, even if times are pretty bad. I might give you that much and not go broke, eh? How long do you suppose you could work here at the store ordinarily?” “Why, I could be around by half-past six, I think, sir, and work until about eight-twenty-five. The school ain’t--isn’t far. Then after school I’d stay around as long as you wanted me. I--I’d like mighty well to work for you, sir.” “Hm. Well, you look pretty strong and healthy. There’d be a lot of heavy work to do. Hardware’s hefty stuff to handle, son.” Tom nodded, undismayed. “I wasn’t exactly thinking of hiring anyone yet awhile. Usually along about November we have an extra helper, but fall is a dull time, mostly. What about Saturdays? Don’t have to go to school then, do you?” “No, sir, I could be here all day Saturday. I forgot to tell you that. I’d like, though, to get the seven-forty-six train Saturday nights. I’m aiming to get home over Sundays. Of course, if there was a lot to do, I’d be perfectly willing to stay and help, sir.” “We-ell----” Mr. Cummings frowned thoughtfully at a lurid powder advertisement that hung nearby. “Tell you what you do, son. Had your dinner yet?” “No, sir.” “You go and have your dinner and then come back. My partner will be in at one and I’ll see what he says. Then, if he don’t want you, you haven’t wasted any time and you can try somewhere else.” “Thank you. What time’ll I come back?” “Say half-past one. That will give you most an hour for dinner. Guess if you’ve been walking around town all forenoon you’ll want most an hour, eh?” And Mr. Cummings smiled in a friendly, almost jovial way. “Yes, sir,” returned Tom. His own smile was fainter. “I’ll be back then. Much obliged. An’--and I hope the other--I hope your partner will let me come.”