Once outside the office Harry’s thoughts were again directed toward leaving the store. Nothing would ever be the same again between himself and Mr. Rexford. The old friendly relations were now broken forever. Mr. Rexford had defended him, and he had repaid the buyer’s kindness by refusing to reveal the identity of the author of the mischief. Yet he had not found it within his heart to betray Teddy. Had he done so, Mr. Rexford might have decided to take the matter higher. That would have meant dismissal from the store for Teddy. Harry could not bear to think of it.

But should he leave the store under a cloud? He knew himself to be guiltless of any wrong doing. To leave Martin Brothers now would appear as a direct admission not only of guilt but of failure. Resolutely Harry put that thought away from him, also. He would stay. Some day the clouds might lift. Some day Mr. Rexford might understand. There was also the question of Teddy to be considered. Were he to acquaint the impish little boy with the havoc he had created, Teddy would rush to Mr. Rexford and confess his sins. He was too much of a man to allow Harry to bear the brunt of his iniquities. That would probably mean Teddy’s dismissal, too. Harry resolved that he would bear his cross in silence.

If Harry had entertained any doubt of Teddy’s innocence, it would have been rudely dispelled by a question which the latter asked at luncheon that day.

“Say,” he blurted, fixing his round, child-like eyes on Harry. “What’s a deebuttanty?”

Harry did not fall into the trap. He divined instantly that Teddy was burning to know the result of his prank. Assuming an elaborate carelessness he was far from feeling, Harry replied, “I guess you mean dÉbutante.” He spelled the word.

“Yes, that’s it. Is it Rooshun?”

“No; it is a French word. It means a young lady who is just coming out in society. What made you ask?”

“Oh, I just wanted to know.” Teddy’s face fell. He wondered if his splendid effort had amounted to nothing. “Very likely the old Clothes-pole saw it and took it away ’fore anyone else got a look at it,” was his disappointed reflection. He was on the point of telling Harry what he had done. Then he changed his mind. It might not strike Harry as a particularly clever trick. Nevertheless, as he returned to house furnishings that afternoon he felt rather pleased with himself. At least he had done his best to get the obnoxious Clothes-pole into trouble. It was not his fault that Leon had thus escaped. Had he known the true state of affairs he would have been a most distressed and repentant Teddy.

As Christmas drew nearer, however, Teddy was privately worried over the peculiar change in Harry. He seemed sad and dejected. On the way home after work he said little, allowing Teddy to do most of the talking. The merry, boyish laugh with which he usually responded to his chum’s funny sallies had quite deserted him. He had also ceased to confide the annoyances he daily underwent at Leon’s hands. Teddy became possessed of the idea that Harry’s subdued demeanor was entirely due to fresh persecution. He longed more than ever to worst Harry’s enemy by holding him up to the whole store in his true colors. Since the affair of the picture he had not dared to more than skirt the book department. It was now overrunning with salespersons hired for the grand Christmas rush. Whatever he might find to do to add to Leon’s discomfiture was certain to be observed.

Night school was also an unsafe place for his operations. Unsafe in that Teddy did not choose there to court risks. His semi-weekly drill was the pride of his heart. While at it he had no inclination for mischief. Although Leon was in company D, to which Teddy belonged, the little boy kept his distance. Love of drill and school were too strong to admit of trifling. To Teddy they were as things apart from his usual prankish self. Occasionally while at his studies he would forget himself far enough to make a derisive face at the ungainly figure lounging at a desk on the opposite side of the room. He would then concoct elaborate methods of “getting even,” only to let them die a quick death as he made a fresh attack on his lessons.

On the last evening of school, preparatory to its close until after the holidays, Teddy left the dairy lunch for the fifth-floor barracks, feeling unutterably lonely. Due to an overwhelming amount of night work to be done in Department 84, Harry had been excused from school. He had eaten supper with Teddy, then hurried back to work, leaving his chum to make his disconsolate way upstairs to drill.

In this dark mood Teddy scornfully eschewed taking one of the few elevators now running and clumped dejectedly up the long flight of stairs, pausing at each landing for a brief rest. Rounding the corner of the third flight he halted to peer aimlessly down the long aisle that opened into the picture department. Of a sudden his gaze came to a focus on a tall, ungainly figure, bobbing about the decorative entrance that was one of the beauty spots of the store. In that bobbing form Teddy instantly recognized Leon Atkins. Here and there he flitted, poking at one object, laying irreverent fingers on another. Now he dipped grotesquely forward to seize what looked like a long, slender, black stick. Pausing, he juggled the stick, catching it in one hand or the other, balancing it first on the end of his nose then on the tips of his long fingers. His eyes becoming riveted on something directly in front of him, Teddy saw him raise the long, black stick on high and leap forward as though about to annihilate an enemy.

“What’s the Clothes-pole up to?” wondered Teddy. Soundlessly he stole along the polished floor toward the cavorting Leon. The entrance to “pictures” was illuminated by an overhanging arc light turned on for the benefit of the night workers, most of whom were now at supper. By its white radiance Teddy was able to discern clearly the object of Leon’s capering attentions. It was a huge oil painting reposing on a strongly built easel.

On either side of the entrance to the galleries an imposing bronze dragon supported from one upraised, gripping paw a gaily-colored lantern of painted silk. These fantastic beasts were of Chinese origin. In consequence, they owned many tortuous curves, from which terrifying spines and points stood out in every direction. Under the lanterns their savage heads drooped low, with glaring eyes, snarling jaws and an array of sharp-pointed, bristling whiskers. A little to the right of one of them stood the easel, its precious freight apparently under the crouching watch of his formidable dragonship.

Unaware of an audience to his manoeuvers, Leon brandished his weapon and went through the performance of charge, retreat and charge again. Curious to discover why the picture should call forth such unusual action on the part of the sluggard, Teddy took advantage of the other’s preoccupation to slip softly nearer.

If in the past Dame Fortune had attended Teddy Burke, for once she basely deserted her small favorite. As Teddy noiselessly advanced, he had just time to glimpse a remarkably realistic representation of a battle scene with a regiment in furious attack. Then something happened. He caught a fleeting vision of a lengthy body plunging riotously forward. This time Leon charged farther than he had intended. Unable to check himself he dashed plump into the easel and fell sprawling under it. The heavy canvas swayed, tottered, poised briefly in air and descended sidewise like a huge avalanche.

Crash! The major part of the heavily framed painting hit the floor with a noise not unlike thunder. Simultaneous with the crash came an ominous ripping sound. The baleful Chinese guardian had added to the effect by impaling a side of the ill-fated painting on one of his numerous murderous horns.

Teddy darted forward, uttering a shrill cry of horror. Leon, however, stood not upon the order of his going. Picking himself up, he tore off in the direction from which Teddy had come and clattered down the stairs, craven fear lending wings to his feet.

“Stop!” yelled Teddy. Turning to pursue Leon, he felt himself being spun about by the momentum of a heavy gripping hand on his shoulder.

“Caught in the act!” roared a fearsome voice. It proceeded from the owner of the gripping hand, a big man, who glared threateningly down upon his captive. “Tried to run away, eh? But I got you, you young vandal!”

Teddy tried to twist himself free of that iron grasp. “Let me go,” he choked, his black eyes blazing. “I didn’t do it. You’ve got the wrong boy.”

“Oh, no, I haven’t,” was the sarcastic reply. “Don’t try to put anything like that over on me. You’re the only boy I’ve seen so far.” Not for an instant did the cruel hold relax.

Having heard the ominous crash from the interior of the picture department, two more men now came running to the scene.

“Whew!” ejaculated one of them. Both stared aghast at the wreck. Stooping over the other grasped the maltreated painting, partially raising it from the floor. The man who had indulged in the horrified exclamation now sprang to the assistance of his companion. Between them they disengaged it from the dragon’s horn and held it upright.

But it was a sorry sight. The spiked bronze protuberance had been the means of ripping a long gash in the canvas, which cut in two a particularly fine figure of a soldier.

“This is a positive crime,” burst forth the big man. “The picture’s ruined. It’s one of the Martin collection, you know. Belongs to Mr. Edward. It used to hang above the central archway on the third floor. He had it moved up here over Christmas because he thought it would look nice at this entrance. I was telling him only yesterday that I wouldn’t risk a valuable painting like that on an easel. It was worth five thousand dollars. It’s not worth five now, thanks to this little ruffian.” He cast a withering glance at poor Teddy.

“I didn’t do it,” shrieked Teddy, his freckled face white with righteous rage. “I won’t be blamed for something I didn’t do!” Unknowingly, Teddy had uttered Harry’s very words of a few days past.

“Tell that to the marines,” sneered the big man. “If you didn’t, who did?”

“It was another fellow. I’m not saying who. He was here before I got here. He had that in his hand.” Teddy pointed to Leon’s hastily discarded implement of warfare. It was a woman’s black silk umbrella, tightly rolled. It lay on the floor precisely where Leon had fallen. “I was going up to the barracks and when I got to this floor I saw this fellow waving it around in front of that picture. I wondered what he was doing, and I came up to see. Just’s I got here, he smashed into the easel with it and tipped it over. Then he ran down those stairs. I yelled at him, but he kept on running. That’s the truth. I never went near the old picture.”

“You’re a pretty foxy kid to cook up a mess of yarns as quick as all that,” jeered his captor.

“They’re not yarns,” contradicted Teddy. “I don’t tell lies.”

“Oh, keep quiet, you little rat,” growled the big man, giving Teddy an ungentle shake.

“What do you suppose Mr. Edward’ll say when he hears about it?” said one of the two men who had run to the scene.

“Search me,” retorted the big man gloomily. “He’s got himself to blame for putting the picture here. He’ll fire this rowdy, but what’s that amount to when the damage is done?”

It amounted to a good deal to Teddy Burke. “Won’t you please believe me?” he pleaded, very near to tears. “I told you the truth. I did, I did.” His voice rose to a desperate wail.

“Maybe the boy is on the square,” suggested the other of the two men. He had been somewhat impressed by Teddy’s plea.

“Forget it,” growled the big man. “These boys are all alike. You can’t believe any of them. They’re always ready for mischief and just as quick to wriggle out of it. I’m going to take him to Keene. He’s up at the barracks. These kids all work for him. He’ll read the riot act to this one and can him. If he don’t, Mr. Martin will. He’ll froth at the mouth when he sees this.” He jerked his head toward the picture.

Teddy’s dejected face brightened at mention of Mr. Keene. There at least, was someone who would believe him. “I wish you would take me to Mr. Keene,” he cried out vehemently. “He’ll see, if you won’t, that I’m telling the truth.”

“My, what a brave boy!” jibed the big man. “Come on. We’ll see how much stock Keene’ll take in that fairy tale of yours.”

To the little red-haired boy came the most dreadful moment of his short life when he was marched into the well-filled drill room ahead of the determined picture salesman. His Titian head drooped in shame as the man loudly recounted the misdeed in which he had played no part to the superintendent of the store messenger force.

Mr. Keene made no comment as the salesman blared forth the wretched tale. His kind eyes rested gravely upon Teddy, as though he could not believe what he was hearing.

“Leave this boy to me,” he said, when the man had finished his recital. “Go over there, Teddy, and sit down. I will talk with you later.”

Burdened with shame, Teddy sought a bench at one side of the room. He seated himself upon it too crushed even to think. Five minutes afterward the drill began. Teddy watched it with unseeing eyes. To him the ranks of uniformed boys were as so many shadows. He did not even try to ascertain if Leon were among them. But Leon was not there. He, too, had been excused that evening to help in Department 84. His presence at the entrance to the picture department had been due to one of the numerous jaunts about the store which he was prone to take whenever the fancy seized him.

The next hour seemed a year to poor Teddy. Would the endless tramp of feet never cease? Those boys must be tired. It was ages since they had begun to drill. Ah, it was over at last. They had broken ranks and now were trooping to the smaller side room to put away their equipment. Mr. Keene would soon be ready for him. The superintendent was looking toward him. Teddy sat up from the despondent attitude into which he had fallen. From his usually rougish face every vestige of color had fled. But one thought lived behind his anguished eyes. Would Mr. Keene believe him?