He had not the heart now to purloin so much as a macaroon. No murderer ever dreaded an encounter with the ghost of the defunct victim more quailingly than Pete feared meeting Ned. He lived too in absolute terror of the junior "typos" and galley-boys, who he fancied had entered into a conspiracy to decoy him out and thrash him by way of partisanship for Ned, for now and again Pete contemplated the unvarnished truth and was for the nonce oblivious of the fact that only his own guilty conscience and Ned were aware that he had sworn falsely and maliciously in the effort to compass the ruin of his friend. So often, however, did some fellow employee of Ned's come to the shop that it might well warrant Pete's conclusion. He had persuaded his grandfather to let him "tend shop" as a subterfuge to keep him indoors and protect him from the chance encounter he feared. He had made the most sacred promises in regard to devouring the stock, for Pete's capacities in this line were formidable, and so far he had kept his pledge, for his appetite had vanished. "I'd ruther ye had teeth like mine," his grandfather had said, showing an eight-dollar set in a grin, "for then ye could hypothecate 'em, and with that security in the safe I'd feel more sure o' ye!" But Pete had begun to repent of his bargain, now that the curiosity of the composing-room had turned in his direction. He could sometimes have screamed with affright when the little bell on the door of the cake-shop tinkled as it opened, announcing an entrance, and, sent from the back room to wait on the customer, he would behold on the other side of the counter the round, rosy face and preternaturally sharp, alert eyes of one of the cub-printers. But for the counter between them Pete could not have stood his ground. The junior employees of the paper developed a taste for tarts that must have wrought stomachic havoc and financial wreck. In these crucial interviews the vacillating gourmand invariably found it difficult to determine exactly what it was that he wanted to eat. "Cream-puffs,--have you heard anything more about the fire?" "Naw! an' don't wanter!" replies Pete. "Not _those_,--some with chocolate a-top. Who do _you_ think set the theatre afire?" "Dunno! Chocolate ain't never on cream-puffs, nohow." "Well--what's _that_ then? Do you think that Ned knows who burnt it?" "I dunno nuthin' 'bout Ned! _Them?_ just plain chocolate cake." "Well--you swore to lots about Ned, considering you don't 'know nothing' about him. I wonder he doesn't thrash you!" "He dassent!" cries Pete tumultuously. Whereupon the cub holds up his chin and looks critically over the counter at Pete, who sidles back and forth under this menacing gaze, and wonders if the cub can jump over the counter, and if anybody--grandpa, even "mommer"--is within call! "Why don't you thrash Ned, then! They tell me he called you a liar in open court! And he is a small boy."