Mr. Abraham Smith, as the country customer called himself, paid for the small bill of goods which he had purchased.

“How shall we ship them?” asked the clerk.

“You needn’t mind. Just lay them by. Might have to buy something else before I go back and can have all sent together.”

“Very well,” said the clerk. “That will be all right.”

“I’ve got a deal to ’tend to, you see,” said Mr. Smith, confidentially. “Ain’t seen my city relatives fer two years, and they’re a bit r’iled about it. Good day, Mr.—What did you say your name was?”

“Harvey.”

“Good-day, Mr. Harvey. I’ll call ag’in. I want to have another chat with Mr. Leonard about family matters.”

Mr. Smith left the office, quite innocent of the fact that he left a breeze of amusement behind him.

Will met him on his way out.

“Want them things shipped?” he asked.

“Well, not just now,” said Mr. Smith, slowly. “Lay them away till I call around ag’in.”

“What did you say was the best growin’ potater?” asked Will, posting himself in the doorway.

“The Peachblows, down our way.”

“Ain’t Murphies good?”

Mr. Smith brushed past him as if he was tired of being catechised.

“I know a durn sight more about ’taters than you do, that’s certain,” said Will to himself. “There’s somethin’ underhand at work here. If I don’t twig what it is afore long, my name ain’t Willful Will.”

“What are you doing here?” said Mr. Wilson, just then entering. “Can you find no work, that you must be lounging round the front door? Come in. I will find something for you to do.”

He spoke sharply, as if much displeased at Will’s idleness.

“Dunno that I’m much afeard of work,” said the latter. “Nobody round here says that. No use throwin’ hints as if I wasn’t ready to do what I take holt of.”

“I wish no impudence,” said Mr. Wilson, angrily. “People here are expected to attend to their duties, without answering back everything that is said to them.”

“The folks that brought me up,” retorted Will, “learnt me that what’s sass for the goose is sass for the gander. Don’t throw stones at a fellar if you don’t want them throwed back at you. What do you want me to do?”

“To save your impertinence for the street vagabonds who were your old companions,” said Mr. Wilson hotly. “Don’t try it on, here. I don’t want to point out your work. You can find it for yourself, or get out of this establishment, whichever you prefer.”

“When I get orders from head-quarters I’ll slide,” called Will after him, as he was walking away with dignity. “You can put that in your pipe and smoke it, Gus Wilson. I don’t keer the curl of a pig’s tail for a chap like you.”

Mr. Wilson turned back, as red as a beet in the face.

“I see, my lad,” he said, slowly and with bitter emphasis, “that store-keeping is not in your vein. Come to the office. I will have you paid off, and will give a character for your next situation.”

He was a different man, now, in his cool, studied bitterness, than he had been in the flush of anger.

“I ain’t taking a discharge jist now, Gus Wilson,” he said, defiantly. “Maybe you don’t know who you’re talkin’ to, or you’d haul in your horns several feet. If you go playin’ that dodge on me, if I don’t put a ring in your nose that’ll lead you around like a calf, then sell me out.”

Will walked swaggeringly away, with a glance over his shoulder at his opponent, that seemed to have more effect on that individual than his words.

He stood looking after the boy with a perplexed air, the red gradually dying out of his visage, and a slight pallor taking its place.

Breaking from his momentary reverie, he walked hastily back to the office, paying no further attention to Will, who stood some distance back, coolly regarding him.

“That shot struck between wind and water,” said the boy, with a grimace.

As he was passing the office on his way back into the store, the door of Mr. Leonard’s room opened, and his name was called.

“Wonder if Gus has been at work a’ready?” he said to himself.

But the chief clerk was busily engaged at his own desk as Will went through the counting-room, and Mr. Leonard simply wished to send him on an errand to the post-office.

“Counted them Milton cloths last night and this morning,” said Will. “Ain’t reported yet.”

“How many pieces did you make them?”

“Ninety-seven.”

“I don’t think you have done your work very carefully Will,” said the merchant, smiling. “Here is the invoice, you see. One hundred pieces. And here is Joe Ware’s tally, marked correct.”

“I don’t keer three cents for Joe Ware’s tally,” said Will, balancing himself on the arm of a chair. “I counted them goods, and here’s my tally. If it ain’t O. K., I’ll eat an elephant. I ain’t much of a reader, but I can count the straightest streak you ever saw.”

“But the pieces would not fit evenly in the boxes if any of them was short,” said Mr. Leonard.

“Nor they don’t, neither,” persisted Will. “You never seen sich packing.”

“That will do, Will. Leave your tally here, and be off on your errand. I am glad to see you are so diligent.”

With a flush of pleasure Will left the office and the store.

He had scarcely disappeared when his employer hastily rose, and opening the door of the office, called Mr. Johnson.

“Do you think Joe Ware was correct in his count of those Milton cloths?” he asked.

“Certainly,” replied Mr. Johnson, in surprise. “I never knew him to make a mistake.”

“Yet I would prefer to have them counted again. Please go into the basement yourself, and keep the account of them while one of the men removes them from the cases.”

“Very well, sir,” replied Mr. Johnson, leaving the office in great astonishment. Such an order had never been given before during his years of service with Mr. Leonard. There was obviously something wrong.

Mr. Johnson was absent for a considerable time, during which the merchant pushed aside his work pettishly and rose and paced the floor of his office. His mind was evidently in an unsettled state.

Will returned and delivered the stamps and envelopes he had been sent for, and passed out again to his duties in the store, with a sharp glance at his restless employer.

Finally Mr. Johnson made his appearance.

“Well, sir, what result?” asked the merchant, hastily.

“It is the strangest thing,” said Mr. Johnson; “Ninety-seven pieces.”

“Are you sure?” asked Mr. Leonard, seating himself, nervously. “Can there be no mistake?”

“Ninety-seven is correct. There is one piece short in each of three cases,” was the reply.

“This is a very mysterious business,” replied the merchant, seriously. “Yesterday afternoon they were all correct. This morning they are three pieces short. What can have occurred in the night? There is no evidence of burglary. The store was firmly closed this morning?”

“It was, sir. I never heard of a stranger business. Nothing of the kind has ever happened here before.”

“Never been found out here before would be more correct,” said Mr. Leonard.

“Why, sir, do you think such things have been going on previously?” asked Mr. Johnson, in greater astonishment.

“I do not know what to think,” replied the merchant. “May not the three pieces have been removed this morning? Perhaps a sale may have been made. I wish you would make full inquiry through the store.”

Mr. Johnson did so, and returned with the word that no one had touched them.

“Call Will here,” said Mr. Leonard, in quick tones. His nervous manner was quite gone.

He wrote hastily, folded and sealed the note.

“Take this to the Central Station,” he said to Will. “Ask for Mr. Fitler, and deliver it into his hands.”

“And if I don’t find him in?”

“Inquire where he is, and hunt him up. I wish him to have it as soon as possible.”

“There won’t no grass grow under my feet,” said Will, setting his cap jauntily. “Not on the Philadelfy pavement, anyhow.”

“Come with me into the basement, Mr. Johnson,” said the merchant. “I wish to take a look around.”

The basement was a long, dimly-lighted room, broken here and there by iron columns which sustained the upper floors. It was well filled with cases of goods, all of which had been opened and covered again to preserve them from dampness, though the room was thoroughly dry.

The long underground apartment was closely examined, and a smaller, dark, sub-cellar, as well. Nothing was discovered. Everything appeared to be in its usual state. The windows and doors had not been disturbed. The mystery of the loss of the three pieces of cloth deepened.

The lower cellar was devoted to coal, empty cases and various occasional necessaries. Its darkened walls were well cobwebbed. Its narrow apertures for light could scarcely have admitted a rat.

Mr. Leonard returned to his office in deep perplexity and concern.