Across the street from Martin Brothers’ great store a very impatient Teddy Burke was keeping a fidgeting vigil for Harry Harding. The moon-faced clock on a neighboring tower showed twenty-five minutes to seven. Indifferent to the ever-moving procession of eager home-seekers, traveling their accustomed evening trail toward food, rest and recreation, Teddy stood firmly planted against the sheltering wall of a cigar store, well out of the path of the surging stream of pedestrians. To active Teddy, thirty-five minutes of waiting seemed a long period of time. He had taken up his watch at precisely six o’clock and now he was growing restless. Only the reassuring thought that Harry would not fail him kept him lingering on the corner. He sighed with relief as he finally sighted Harry across the street, and, forsaking the friendly, sustaining wall, advanced to meet his dilatory partner.

“Did you think I was never coming?” greeted Harry. “I’m sorry to be so late. I had to finish a job I began right after lunch. There’s to be a mid-summer sale, beginning to-morrow. I was afraid I’d have to stay longer, but Mr. Brady said I could hustle the stuff down early in the morning.”

“Oh, I s’posed you was lost in the stock-room, or twenty thousand leagues under a truck, or up the elevator to the North Pole, or captured by the trouble-hunters of 84,” invented Teddy derisively.

Harry smiled whimsically. “I was in the stock-room, but not lost. I was in a truck, but not twenty thousand leagues under it. I went up the elevator, but only as far as the tenth floor, and I met a trouble-hunter, but wasn’t captured.”

“You talk like the answer to a riddle,” snickered Teddy.

“And you talk like a catalogue of boys’ books,” retorted Harry good-humoredly.

“I don’t feel like one,” grumbled Teddy. “I feel hot under the collar. I’m mad. I’m so mad the freckles on my face hurt.” The boy’s black eyes blazed an accompanying declaration of wrath.

“What has happened?” Quick concern was mirrored in the sympathetic glance Harry shot toward Teddy. Evidently his chum’s day had not been free from annoyance.

“It’s that old Percolator,” was the somewhat mystifying response. “He’s got it in for Mr. Everett.”

The announcement that so innocuous an article as a coffee-pot should aspire to revenge might well have amazed Harry. The pronoun “he” was enlightening, however. Teddy was merely resorting to his disrespectful naming habit.

“I suppose ‘he’ looks like a percolator?” The corners of Harry’s mouth twitched suspiciously.

“Yes, he does,” snapped Teddy. “Round and fat and shiny and hard. He’s the new assistant buyer and he makes me sick.”

“Have you told him his new name yet?” teased Harry. Privately, he had jumped to the conclusion that Teddy’s grievance was not very serious. “What did he call you down for?”

“This is no joke,” flung back Teddy. “It’s serious.” He plunged into a recital of his encounter with the stout young man, ending with Hickson’s confidence. “I asked Mr. Hickson if I could tell you about it,” he added, “and he said he guessed you could be trusted to keep still.”

“That was nice in him.” Harry looked pleased. Through the agency of Teddy he and the red-haired salesman were on very friendly terms. “And you say that this Mr. Jarvis is an efficiency man?”

“Yep; he’s crazy. That’s just the same thing. I’d like to say something about him to Mr. Everett, but I don’t know what to say or how to say it.”

“You’d better not.” Harry shook his head. “If Mr. Everett doesn’t know it, I don’t believe he’d like to hear it from his stock boy. If he does know it, then telling him that you know it, too, wouldn’t help him any. All you can do is to keep your eyes open and your mouth shut. If you see a chance to do something nice for Mr. Everett, go ahead and do it. But don’t try to injure this other man. That would put you on the same level with him.”

“Oh, I’ll let him live,” assured Teddy sarcastically. “I won’t say that he’ll have a real happy life, though. Can up the Percolator before he does his winter canning’s goin’ to be my motto.”

“Look out that you don’t get canned,” was Harry’s warning advice.

“I’d rather it’d be me than Mr. Everett,” Teddy returned, ungrammatical but loyal. “I’ll watch myself. I gotta stay in 40 now to fight for the man that’s good to me.”

“I know how you feel. I hope you’re mistaken about this Mr. Jarvis. Maybe he’s just fussy and not really underhanded.”

“Time’ll tell,” prophesied Teddy gloomily. “What happened to you to-day? You said you’d something to tell me.”

It was Harry’s turn to make a recital of his day’s difficulties. A brief stay in the book department after luncheon had put him in possession of several facts that pertained strictly to his disagreeable acquaintance of the stock-room. The boy’s name was Leon Atkins. He was the son of the man in the book receiving room. Fred Alden had left the store directly after Harry had gone on his vacation and Mr. Atkins had asked Mr. Rexford to give his son the position thus open. The boy had made regular application in the employment office and at Mr. Rexford’s request had been placed in Department 84. He was far from a model stock boy, but Mr. Rexford had been out of the city for over a week and, consequently, was not aware of the youth’s delinquency. All this Harry now related to Teddy, who listened with due solemnity.

“I guess he’ll get fired when Mr. Rexford comes back,” was his sage observation when Harry had finished. “I wouldn’t stand for a lazy kid like that. He might make folks think you wasn’t any good either.”

“I’ve thought of that. Still, I wouldn’t care to complain to Mr. Rexford. Mr. Denby told me that poor Mr. Atkins has had an awful time with this boy. He was expelled from school and after that he went to work. He’s had half a dozen positions and lost them all. Mr. Atkins only gets twenty dollars a week and he has a wife and six children to support. This boy is the only one old enough to work, and his father needs his help. I’m sorry for Mr. Atkins.”

“I’m sorry for you,” snorted Teddy. “You’ll be sorry for yourself, too, if you let this fellow put it all over you and say nothing.”

“He sha’n’t impose upon me.” Harry’s lips set in a decisive line. “I’m going to do my work just the same as if he weren’t around. Then he can’t hurt me.”

“If he gets too smart just show him to me.” Teddy puffed out his chest like a belligerent bantam rooster.

“Ha, ha!” Harry’s boyish laugh rang out.

“You think I couldn’t settle him?” sputtered Teddy.

“He’s twice as large as you, Ted. Thank you, just the same, but I’m not afraid of him. All I ask is for him to let me alone.”

“I’ll bet I could lick him.” A mere matter of size was nothing to the undaunted Teddy. Privately, he registered a vow to get in immediate touch with the bully and find out his weak points.

“There isn’t going to be any fighting if I can help it. That’s not what I’m in the store for. Maybe if he sees that he can’t bother me, he’ll mind his own business. I hope so. By the way, Teddy, I’m going to start for the store to-morrow at the same old time.”

The two boys had reached the point where their ways diverged as Harry made this announcement.

“I’m not. Catch me getting in before I have to. Eight o’clock for mine.”

“Then I won’t see you here in the morning. Good night.” Harry turned away.

Teddy’s freckled face fell. “Aw, rats!” he muttered. “Hey, there!”

Harry turned, trying hard not to smile. He knew how to deal with Teddy. His decision had been reached after sober thought. He was confident that it would be wise for him and his chum to adhere to their original hour for entrance in the store. He had expected a revolt on Teddy’s part and calculated accordingly.

“You wait here for me in the morning,” commanded the little boy. “I guess I can stand seven-thirty, if you can. Good night. Don’t you forget. I’ll be here same as ever.”

“I’ll wait for you. Good night.”

With a farewell wave of his hand to Teddy, Harry set off to cover the few blocks that lay between him and home, his mind busy with Teddy’s problem rather than his own. He had already chosen his own course and intended to stick to it. A happy little smile played about his lips as he recalled his partner’s ungrudging loyalty not only to him but to Mr. Everett. Were Mr. Rexford in Mr. Everett’s position Harry felt sure that he would leave no stone unturned in his effort to be of service to this esteemed friend. He hoped, however, that Mr. Everett would have no need of his chum’s kindly offices. Close acquaintance with Teddy had taught him that the inflammable youngster was quite apt to catch fire from a single spark. That which loomed large on his horizon to-day was likely to dwindle into insignificance to-morrow. Before the end of the week, Teddy’s opinion of Mr. Jarvis might undergo a marked change.

Taking the narrow stairs two at a time, Harry burst into the tiny living-room, and swooped down upon his mother as she sat stitching away for dear life on a half-finished blouse.

“My land, Harry, you are a regular cyclone,” she protested. Her sewing slipped from her lap as she wound her arms about her tempestuous son and returned his bear-like hug.

“That’s because I’m anxious to let you know how much I love you, Mothery. After spending every day for two whole weeks with you, you can’t blame me for trying to make up to-night for missing you to-day.”

“I’ve missed you, too.” The little woman sighed and patted her son’s curly head. “I am afraid that two weeks in the country completely spoiled me. I certainly had a wonderful rest, but now I must sew as hard as I can to pay for taking a holiday.”

“You needed it, Mothery. I wish you could have lived in that dandy bungalow all summer.” Harry’s happy face clouded. “It’s a shame for you to have to come back to this hot old city and sew, sew, sew.”

“We ought to be thankful for even two weeks away from it, Son,” reminded his mother gently. “How did you get on at the store to-day? You are awfully late to-night. I waited to eat supper with you, though. I can’t bear to eat alone. I suppose I’ll have to, when you begin night school.”

“Only two nights a week. It doesn’t begin until October. I had a pretty good day. Mr. Rexford’s away, so I couldn’t see him. I saw Miss Welch. She’s as pretty and funny as ever. The stock boy that worked with me has left. I met the new one to-day, but he isn’t much like Fred. His name is Leon Atkins, and his father is in the receiving room of 84.”

Mrs. Harding listened interestedly as Harry rattled off this information. She was always glad to learn of his doings at the big store, yet she never made the mistake of questioning him too closely.

“Speaking of Mr. Atkins reminds me, Mothery, that I want to ask you something. It would be very hard for a man to support a wife and six children on twenty dollars a week, wouldn’t it?”

“I should say it would.” Mrs. Harding nodded with emphasis. “It would take pretty close managing to do it. With rent and food and clothing—children are so hard on shoes—twenty dollars would melt away like snow in the sun. But what made you ask me that?”

“Oh, Mr. Denby, the new fiction salesman, told me that about Mr. Atkins. I was thinking that he must be glad that his son can work and earn something to help him. You see, Mothery, it’s just like this. I don’t like this new boy very well, and I’m afraid he doesn’t like me. It isn’t going to be pleasant for us to work together. I feel as though I ought to be nice to him because he’s helping his father earn their living. But it’s going to be hard to get along with him.”

“What sort of boy is he?” Mrs. Harding regarded her son with an anxious face. “I hope he isn’t a bad, worthless boy, Harry?”

“He’s a big bully, and he hates work.” Harry’s young voice rang with disapproval. “He wanted to fight me in the stock-room this morning. Of course, I wouldn’t think of doing such a thing in the store. But if he tries to bother me outside the store, I’m afraid I’ll have to pitch into him and give him a good licking. I don’t want to do it. If Mr. Keene heard of it he might discharge us both. He needs the work and so do I.”

“What does Teddy think about it?” Mrs. Harding did not appear shocked at her quiet son’s sudden warlike attitude.

“Oh, he says he’ll do it himself if I say the word. Only this boy’s about twice as big as Ted.”

Their eyes meeting, mother and son laughed. Mrs. Harding’s face grew grave instantly as she said: “I don’t like to think of your getting into a fist fight, Harry. Such things are brutal and better avoided. But you must not forget that you have as much right to stand up for yourself as any other boy. I believe if you try hard you can find some other way to make this boy respect your rights.”

“I’m going to try, of course. But, Mothery, if I should come home from work some evening with a black eye, you’ll know what’s happened. I’m only telling you this beforehand so that you’ll understand if anything like that does happen. If you say I mustn’t then I won’t, no matter what he says or does.”

Mrs. Harding looked long at the earnest young face of her boy. “I’m not going to say you mustn’t,” she returned rather wistfully. The realization that Harry was rapidly coming into man’s estate filled her with a curious sense of sadness. The curly-haired baby whose first tottering steps she had so patiently guided had little to do with this resolute, keen-eyed youth at her side. “You must do as your own conscience dictates. Above all things, Harry, I wish you to be a good man and true; the kind of man your father was. If you were to pick a fight with some boy merely because you didn’t like him, you’d only be wronging yourself. But if it were the other way round, remember even a worm will turn. But if some of these fine evenings you do come home with a black eye, well—I suppose I’ll doctor you up, cook you an extra good supper and ask no questions.”