On the following morning Mr. Jarvis was distinctly nonplussed by a summons to the office of the system manager of Martin Brothers. Once there he was shown a neatly typed report of his lapses of yesterday and sarcastically taken to task for his lack of knowledge in regard to store geography, and, yet more reprehensible, his ignorance of a certain very humble portion of his own stock, namely soda straws.

To complete his humiliation he was handed a printed list of the store’s departments and their location and curtly requested to study it. The manager’s dry comment, “One of the first principles of store efficiency should consist in a thorough knowledge of the store itself,” rankled in the assistant’s soul. He left the office consumed with a dull, helpless rage against the unknown spotter who had brought him to grief, little dreaming that the prime offender marched daily about Department 40.

In some peculiar manner, explainable only by a certain Titian-haired youth, the story of Mr. Jarvis’ fatal attempts at direction crept about the department and the salespeople of 40 enjoyed a good laugh at his expense. Although Teddy could not know it, his little joke on the assistant had been the means of striking the first definite blow for Mr. Keene. The shrewd system manager had not been impressed by Mr. Jarvis, and he mentally ticketed the assistant as a man of pretension rather than worth. Later this secret opinion was destined to be brought to bear on a number of conditions in house furnishings hitherto unrevealed.

But while Teddy Burke was sailing serenely along from one day to another, Harry Harding’s working hours were not filled with unalloyed content. With the beginning of December the book department saw the first stirrings of the rush, which, until Christmas, made it one of the busiest spots in the store.

The vast amount of books that had to be carted from the stock-room to the department made Leon Atkins’ frequent presence on the tenth floor a disagreeable necessity. The moment he was out of Mr. Brady’s sight he fell back into his slothful habits. True, he no longer napped in the bins, neither did he distinguish himself by any really useful effort.

He deemed it prudent, however, to let Harry strictly alone. He firmly believed that Harry had been the one to call Mr. Brady’s attention to his derelictions, and he was a trifle afraid to court a further exposure. Intent on exacting petty revenge, he made it a point to aggravate Harry by every possible means that would defy detection. To return from his luncheon only to find a certain bin he had left in perfect order reduced to chaos was a common occurrence with Harry. Books which he placed in one bin had a trick of mysteriously disappearing at the very time they were needed. Later, after he had listened to the grumbling of the salespeople because he had failed to produce instantly the stock they required, a distracted search would reveal them roosting placidly in an alien bin.

Harry knew only too well by whose hands his truck was spirited away on a busy morning when he needed it most. Unable to secure the loan of another truck he had toiled wearily throughout a whole day lugging heavy piles of books downstairs by hand. When in desperation he had spent almost the whole of the following morning in frantic search for his missing truck, he had finally discovered it in a remote corner of the tenth floor securely chained and padlocked to a staple in the wall.

Harry felt that he was above noticing such petty meannesses. Were he to accuse Leon as author of them he knew that the latter would make loud denial. He had no wish to reopen the squabbles of early Fall. Still, the frequent admonitions of the impatient members of the department, “Now do try to hurry those books down, 45,” or “What makes you so slow, boy?” cut him to the quick.

Of late it seemed to him that Mr. Rexford had treated him a trifle less kindly than was his wont. He sadly wondered if anyone had complained of him to the buyer. Before he had gone on his vacation he and Mr. Rexford had been on the most friendly terms. As a matter of fact, the increasing business of the department had completely occupied the buyer. Only one adverse criticism against Harry had reached his ears, but that was a long one.

In speaking to Mr. Brady of the boy’s usefulness, the assistant had said with a shake of his head: “Harding is not the boy he was last year. You’ve spoiled him by making too much of him. That Farley affair, together with winning that prize for his address last June, has given him a swelled head. He’s one of the sly, quiet kind that pretends to be an angel, but just the same he’s careless and a trouble maker. When he’s in the stock-room he picks on Atkins’ boy all the time. Atkins himself told me so. He’s getting so he can’t be relied on to fix a table right. He mixed one for Miss Breeden a while ago and we had a row with a customer over two-priced books under a one-priced sign. I called Miss Breeden down for inattention to her stock, but it was more young Harding’s fault than hers.”

“It is hard to believe all that, Brady,” had been Mr. Rexford’s incredulous reply.

“Can’t help it. It’s the truth,” Mr. Brady had insisted. He was really honest in this. Mr. Atkins and Miss Breeden had done their best to thus impress him.

Mr. Rexford had silently reserved judgment of Harry until hearing the boy’s side of the story. Twice he had set out to seek the lad and question him. Both times he had been interrupted in his quest. Afterward business stress had driven it from his mind. If he had chanced to encounter Harry face to face an understanding would have no doubt ensued, but, as it happened, he saw him only from a distance and at times when he was occupied with other things. And thus an intangible shadow rose between the boy who was ever earnestly striving to do his best and the man whose good opinion he valued above all.

Several mornings after Harry had rescued his truck from durance vile, his work took him to the selling-floor for the morning. A long row of shelves that ended where the jewelry department began were awaiting a refilling of titles temporarily out of stock. The shelves were under the charge of a pleasant young woman who handled the rebound fiction and her confidence in Harry was sufficient to allow him to go on with the work she had begun while she served a steady stream of customers. From his position before the shelves, he glanced now and then toward the exchange desk where Miss Welch reigned supreme. He also had an excellent view of the jewelry department and in his boyish way he marveled at the number of people who were able to purchase the costly articles that lay beyond his reach.

At either end of a counter very close to him which was devoted to the display of expensive rings lounged a detective. During the month of December the great department stores are obliged to keep an especially vigilant watch over their jewelry sections. At such a time light-fingered gentry are always abroad and each year the stores suffer from their depredations.

It was in one of the occasional glances which Harry leveled at the ring counter that his cursory attention became fixed on a well-dressed woman who was engaged in critical examination of a small tray of rings. Harry watched her in fascination as she tried on one ring after another and held up a plump white hand to view the effect. Now and then she turned for approval to her companion, a slender, very blonde young woman with shifty blue eyes. By the alert watch which the salesman behind the counter kept on the tray Harry knew that the rings must be valuable.

At length the woman narrowed her field of selection to one ring, a good-sized ruby set between two equally large diamonds. She held it up for her companion’s inspection. The blonde girl shook her head and shrugged her disapproval of it. Harry noted that she immediately turned her eyes to another part of the tray. While the elder woman focussed the salesman’s attention, Harry saw the other’s slim fingers dislodge a ring at the extreme edge of the tray. She regarded it casually, made a move as though to return it to its velvet bed, examined it again and carelessly laid it on the counter close beside the tray. Had the salesman been less occupied he might have noticed this. His attention, however, was on the prospective buyer of the other ring. The woman was holding it toward him, her forefinger on the ruby. As she touched it she shook her head vehemently. The man smiled a refutation of her protest. Reaching into a coat pocket he drew forth a small lens. Holding it to his eye he took the ruby ring from the older woman’s hand and peered at it through his glass.

Just then Harry saw something which made him grow hot and cold. While the salesman was thus engaged, the older woman kept her eyes directly on him. One plump hand lightly grazed the edge of the tray as she leaned far forward. With the swiftness of lightning it left the counter and dropped to her side, carrying with it the ring which the younger woman had carelessly neglected to replace.

Amazement of the daring theft dazed the boy for an instant. Then he realized that he must act with all speed. It was evident that he had seen something which had not been observed by even the detectives. He glanced toward one end of the counter to note that one of them had disappeared. At the other end stood Mr. Prescott, his gaze focussed on a group of women near him.

For a second the obnoxious duty of fastening theft upon a woman caused Harry to falter briefly. Then he squared his shoulders and walked resolutely to where Mr. Prescott stood. A backward glance informed him that the two pilferers were still at the ring counter. Had he looked back once more he would have discovered that the blonde young woman was no longer in evidence. Her companion alone remained there, still deep in conversation with the salesman over the ruby ring.

“Mr. Prescott.” Harry’s voice sank to a breathless whisper. “Come quick. I saw a woman steal a ring. She has it in her coat pocket now. She’s still at the counter talking to the salesman.”

Mr. Prescott’s eyes narrowed. His face became an emotionless mask as he muttered without perceptible movement of the lips, “Which is she? Don’t point. Walk toward her, stop for a second directly behind her, then walk on. Don’t look back at me.”

Implicitly Harry followed the detective’s directions, then went back to his work. He dared not look again toward the ring counter, although he knew nothing would happen there. Mr. Prescott would trail the woman entirely out of the store before seeking to detain her. When an hour later he was summoned to Mr. Prescott’s office, he went trembling in every limb. Having done his duty to Martin Brothers, a painful experience was ahead of him.

As the door of the detective’s office closed behind him, he instinctively felt that something had gone wrong. True, the prisoner was there, seated on an oak bench, the picture of raging innocence. Mr. Prescott, too, looked like a thundercloud as he beckoned Harry to his desk. “Is this the woman you say you saw steal a ring?” he coldly questioned.

Harry quailed inwardly, but his tones were firm as he replied: “Yes, sir. This is the woman.”

“He lies,” burst forth the prisoner furiously. “I wouldn’t dream of doing such a dreadful thing!”

“Please be still, Madam,” snapped the detective. “I’ll hear what you have to say later.” Scowling at poor Harry, he continued: “What kind of a ring was it? Tell me what you saw.”

“I can’t describe the ring, sir.” Harry went on to relate what he had seen.

“It’s not so,” shouted the accused. “I was alone. A young woman who stood beside me asked me several questions about the prices of the rings in that tray, but she was a stranger to me. I never saw her before. I merely spoke to her because she spoke to me. Your store will pay for this insult! I’ll bring suit against Martin Brothers.”

“Now, now, Madam. Not so fast. If you have been unjustly accused we will do all in our power to make reparation. I have sent for one of our woman detectives. You will have to submit to being searched.”

“Let her search me then,” defied the prisoner. “I am not afraid. The idea of taking a boy’s word against a customer’s! Oh, you’ll regret this.”

“You may go, Harding.” Mr. Prescott’s face was an angry red as he issued the stern command. The woman’s censure had flicked him on the raw. Remembering Harry’s clever work in the case of Farley, he had taken the boy’s word and made the arrest. Now he wondered if he had made a fool of himself.