When on the next morning Teddy Burke returned to Department 40 he was hailed as a hero and petted outrageously by his delighted friends in house furnishings. Mr. Jarvis, however, appeared not to see him. He was deeply disgusted to behold “that red-headed imp” again entering into what he fondly dreamed of making his undisputed domain. He had never reckoned Teddy Burke as an obstacle until after it had slowly dawned upon him that a Teddyless department was highly conducive to his peace of mind. Luck had recently favored him in that two days before Teddy’s return Mr. Everett had succumbed to a severe attack of bronchitis that promised to keep him away from house furnishings for at least two or three weeks. Mr. Jarvis was now bent on making his temporary reign of buyer a permanent one. He did not, therefore, classify the reinstatement of 65 as an undisguised blessing.

“Where’s Mr. Everett?” was Teddy’s first inquiry of Sam Hickson after making the rounds of 40 and receiving its joyful approval of his return. “I want to see him most of all. He fought like a good one for me the day I got fired. That was some day! Whew! I’ll never forget it.”

“Mr. Everett’s sick,” informed Hickson gloomily. “He’s got bronchitis. Couldn’t have come down with it at a worse time. Your friend the Percolator worried him into it, I guess. Poor fellow, he’s had his hands full with the crazy loon.”

“That’s too bad.” Teddy showed real concern. “Where does he live? I might go’n see him.”

“I wish you would!” exclaimed Hickson heartily. “He thinks a lot of you, Reddy. Maybe you could get him to change his mind.”

“Change his mind about what?” Teddy’s face registered round-eyed alarm. He wondered if Hickson could mean——

“He’s going to resign.” The salesman spoke Teddy’s thought. “Just before he was taken sick he told me that another store’d made him a good offer. More salary than he gets here. He’d rather not take it. He’s built up this department and he loves it. But he can’t stand Jarvis. When you spoke of going to see him it just came to me that you’d be the very one to let him know how much we need him here. He’s promised to take me with him. I’ll go, of course. But I hate like sixty to leave Martin Brothers. They’ve been fine to me.”

Teddy gasped. His whole world seemed to be on the verge of tumbling down about him. Without Mr. Everett and genial Sam Hickson, what a desert spot 40 would become! He would go, too. Still, there was Harry to think of and Mr. Keene. Besides, no other store had a school like Martin Brothers, or a military company like the Minute Men.

“It’s awful,” he breathed, aghast at the dreadful prospect. “If I hadn’t got fired I’d have done my last canning before this and sealed up the can.”

“You had your own troubles,” sympathized Hickson, “but you behaved like a brick. I’m glad that young sneak got his. The story’s gone all over the store.”

“I guess I’m some hero.” Teddy puffed out his chest.

“You’ll do, but don’t go and spoil it all by getting a swelled head,” was Hickson’s dampening advice.

“I won’t.” Teddy grinned, quite unoffended at this jolt. “I’ve got to get busy an’ look after the perky Percolator. He must have missed me a lot.”

“I noticed he did run up and kiss you this morning,” jibed the salesman.

“I’da punched his fat face if he had,” threatened Teddy, looking utter repugnance of such a horrible possibility.

At luncheon that day, the first with Harry in many weeks, Teddy remarked sourly: “I lost a lot of time by getting fired. The old Percolator’s been buzzing around to beat the band. Mr. Everett’s sick. Mr. Hickson says he’s going to resign from kettles and pans. I’m going to see him one of these nights. I found out where he lives. Mr. Hickson says Mr. Everett’ll be glad to see me.”

“I’m sure he will,” nodded Harry. “Oh, Ted, I’ve got something funny to tell you. One day while you were out of the store I was talking to Miss Welch about you. I didn’t tell her that it was Leon who spoiled Mr. Martin’s painting, but she said that something I said made her suspect him. You see I asked her to watch out and if she ever heard anything that might help to prove you didn’t do it, to let me know. Of course she doesn’t get much chance to leave her desk, but she remembered a man in the store who goes all over it. She’s known him ever since she came here.”

“The Dustless Duster?” guessed Teddy.

Harry nodded. “Miss Welch told him the whole story. She even told him Leon’s name and described him. Mr. Ferris, that’s the Dustless Duster’s real name, said he knew Leon was a bad boy. He told her about reporting him for sleeping in the bin, and that he’d seen Leon poking around the store in all sorts of places where he had no business to be. He began to keep his eye on the precious Clothes-pole. He thought if he could catch him doing any more mischief, he would take him to Mr. Keene and scare him into telling about the painting. So, to please Miss Welch, every once in a while when he was near the book stock-room, he’d poke his head in the lower door to see how Leon was behaving. But he never caught him at anything until the morning we had the fight. We didn’t see him but he saw us and heard everything we said. So you see you owe a whole lot to the kind Dustless Duster.”

“I wish I could do something grand for him,” replied Teddy, his small face aglow. “I’m going to if I ever get a chance. Say, Harry, what a lot of nice men there are in this store.”

“The finest in the world,” came the enthusiastic response. “Mr. Rexford’s first with me, though, and Mr. Keene next. A while back I thought my Year of Promise was going to be a big fizzle, but it’s getting better every minute. There’s only one thing I wish was different. I wish that business about the ring hadn’t happened. It makes me feel silly every time I think of it. Still I know I wasn’t wrong.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t care about that,” consoled Teddy. “You did your best. These people that steal for a living are too sharp for boys like us.”

“I never dare look at Mr. Prescott. I always feel ashamed. I haven’t seen him much lately, but I suppose I shall next month. There’s going to be a great big sale in silverware, so he’ll be around jewelry, I guess.” Harry did not seem elated at the prospect.

“That’s nothing to cry about. Think of me and the Percolator. Some little puzzle.” Teddy looked as solemn as though his was the responsibility of bearing the weight of the world upon his thin shoulders.

Afternoon found him trailing his plump aversion with a will born of his devotion to Mr. Everett. Now alone at the helm, Mr. Jarvis was rapidly discovering how difficult it was to be in half a dozen places at once. If he remained in the office to receive and argue with the numerous traveling salesmen who were forever dropping in, he was obliged to let the department run itself. Then, too, he was not fitly equipped to meet these bland-faced, smoothly-spoken sons of commerce whose business it is to exalt their own wares above those of a rival manufacturer. Their steady flow of irresistible argument bewildered him. To hide his ignorance of this branch of Mr. Everett’s work he met these men with a high and mighty manner intended to cover up his lack of knowledge of house furnishings.

Naturally, they went away highly disgruntled, to talk him over among themselves when they chanced to encounter one another in a certain hotel in the city to which most of the travelers engaged in selling house furnishings gravitated as a kind of wayside home. It is the most usual thing in the world for traveling salesmen who carry similar lines of goods to hang together when their day’s work is done. Rivals though they may be, their favorite pastime consists in congregating to talk about the lines of goods which they make their living by selling. Among them Mr. Everett was known and respected, whereas Mr. Jarvis was dubbed a “joke” and a “mistake.”

Mr. Jarvis, however, was not aware of these very personal opinions of himself. Privately, he yearned to put aside his haughty manner, to buy right and left of these insistent clamorers. He had been ordered, however, to buy lightly and use the utmost judgment in purchasing that little. Martin Brothers were not taking chances on a man who had still to prove his superiority over Mr. Everett. True, Mr. Jarvis was in line for promotion, should Mr. Everett resign his position, as it was rumored that he intended to do. But Mr. Jarvis’ future as buyer of Department 40 was still vague.

But while the ambitious assistant wrestled with the buying problems of Mr. Everett’s department, the salespeople in kettles and pans heartily welcomed his frequent absences from the selling floor. The rumor that Mr. Everett intended to resign had been wafted about the department with the result that it went far toward ruining the strict but kindly discipline the buyer had ever maintained. A curious spirit of insurrection, which had long lain dormant, sprang suddenly into life. Threats of “The day Mr. Everett’s resignation goes in, mine goes in, too,” became a familiar mutter about the department.

When first the news of the buyer’s illness had been received, his flock had been inspired with the desire to do their level best for his sake. They had continued to remain in this beatific state until word of his impending resignation had reached them. Then their good resolutions were swallowed up in revolutionary mutterings. Their minds continually on this sore subject, their salesmanship suffered in consequence. No longer did they work with might and main to make the day’s receipts count. They served with due courtesy customers who wished to buy, but no one went out of his or her way to bring in additional sales. They made no concerted plan to revolt. They simply did so, each in his own fashion.

The second week of Mr. Everett’s absence Mr. Jarvis was taken to task for the falling off of sales in Department 40 and admonished to do better. The next evening he held a meeting of the salespeople under his charge after the store had closed. He lectured touchingly on the beauty of efficiency in selling to a company of young men and women who listened to him with the stolid faces of wooden Indians. And the next day’s receipts dropped a trifle lower.

“Halt!” challenged Sam Hickson late one afternoon as Teddy Burke flitted past him.

Teddy halted, assuming a strictly military carriage.

“March!” ordered the salesman. “March back here a minute. I’ve got something on my mind.”

“I’m s’prised,” beamed Teddy, trotting back. “I never would have thought it.”

“That’ll do,” warned Hickson. “Look here, I thought you were going to see Mr. Everett? If you went, you kept pretty still about it.”

“I didn’t go.” Teddy came to instant sobriety. “I’ve been waiting.”

“Waiting for what?”

“To jam on the lid. Don’t you understand? If I could go to Mr. Everett and say, ‘Don’t resign. The perky Percolator’s canned,’ he’d come back to 40 when he got well.”

“You’ll never go then,” predicted Hickson. “You’re crazy, Reddy. You can’t wish the fellow out and watch him go. It would take something pretty serious to rush him out of here. You and I aren’t the kind to try any crooked work.”

“I wouldn’t do anything dishonest to him for the world.” Teddy flared up like a torch. “You must have a nice idea of me, Mr. Sam Hickson.”

“Now don’t get excited,” placated the man. “Didn’t you hear me say that you and I weren’t that kind?”

“Y-e-s. Anyhow, something might happen.”

“It’ll have to happen in a hurry then, or it’ll be no use,” was Hickson’s disheartened opinion.

“I’m going to go and sit on one of those big whales o’ clothes hampers down by the office an’ think,” announced Teddy. “I don’t want you to come talking to me’n disturb my think-tank, either.”

“I’ve got something better to do,” laughed his friend. “I’m going to count up my book.”

With a backward grin over one shoulder, Teddy strolled thoughtfully toward the clothes hamper. Testing it carefully to insure that even his light weight upon it would not result in catastrophe, the boy seated himself. Chin on hands, buried in thought, he resembled a wise young owl on a perch.

“Where can I find Mr. Everett?” A crisp voice broke up Teddy’s meditations.

“At home in bed,” leaped to Teddy’s lips, but courtesy prevailed. “Mr. Everett is sick, sir,” was what he did say. “He hasn’t been here for over three weeks.”

“You don’t say so! Hmm! Who is his assistant and where will I find him?”

Teddy was about to go in search of Mr. Jarvis, but changed his mind. He decided that he felt like indulging in a little further conversation with this tall, good-looking stranger who smiled upon him so pleasantly.

“His assistant’s Mr. Jarvis. He’s an efficiency man.”

“You don’t say so!” repeated the stranger, raising his eyebrows. His amusement appeared to deepen.

“Yep.” Teddy forgot himself. “He knows all ’bout efficiency.”

“And does he like to talk about it?” a peculiar gleam shot into the man’s eyes.

“Does he?” Teddy warmed to the subject. “He eats it alive. He c’n talk yards of it and never lose his breath.”

“That is good. I am interested in efficiency myself. Where did you say I would find him?”

“I didn’t say.” Teddy’s brief liking for the pleasant stranger vanished. Here was another efficiency crank. Sliding from his makeshift throne he peered up and down the department. “There he is, down among the ice-chests.” The little boy turned a scornful back on the man and marched off. “Wait till he tries to sell the Percolator a ton of tinware or a kitchen stove,” muttered the lad. “He’ll get his head froze off. Funny. He looked nice. Not a bit like a fishy old fishiency fish. Guess I’ll watch him get the freeze.”

Teddy watched and saw something that made him open his eyes. At first glance it looked as though his prediction would be verified. Almost instantly the assistant’s haughty stare broke up in a fatuous smile. “What do you know about that?” wondered Teddy, as he saw the two men shake hands. “I s’pose they found out that they were both fishy fishes.”

In this Teddy had made a most accurate guess. Thanks to his own yearning for conversation he had put in the stranger’s possession a most valuable method of approaching the unapproachable assistant. As it happened the man represented a house against whom Mr. Everett had a grudge of long standing. For several years he had refused to buy of them, due to a fault which they had of taking orders at one price and delivering them at another a trifle higher than quotation. Mr. Everett had been supported by the firm in his refusal to deal with them, and for a long time they had not ventured to send a representative to call on him.

The pleasant stranger had heard of the assistant from a friendly traveler staying at the same hotel with him and had determined to take advantage of Mr. Everett’s absence to try to place an order. It is to be doubted whether he had any extreme interest in efficiency, but he hailed it as a trusty bridge on which to place his feet.

Mr. Jarvis was naturally delighted at last to meet a man after his own heart. In triumph he led him into Mr. Everett’s office, there to extoll the beauties of efficiency to his heart’s content. At the end of a two-hour session the smiling stranger left with a good-sized order on his book, while Mr. Jarvis was equally certain that he also had done well.

The result of his well-doing did not become manifest until several days had passed. A call to the system manager’s office sent him hurrying there in the hope of being informed of Mr. Everett’s resignation as buyer, followed by his appointment to the position. His interview with the manager was totally different from expectation. He was informed that he had bought neither wisely nor well. In a heart-to-heart talk with that august individual it soon became evident that Mr. Jarvis knew very little about the relative merits and prices of kettles and pans and less about the firms that manufactured them. Efficiency of his sort withered beside the clear business judgment of Mr. Everett.

But the worst was yet to come. The following day Mr. Jarvis again held down a chair in the assistant manager’s office to learn what that far-seeing individual thought of him as a business man. He had not been placed in his proper sphere, the manager concluded and suggested pertinently that if he cared to remain in the store another position suitable to his somewhat peculiar abilities might be found for him.

At the end of that session Mr. Jarvis returned to the department which he in a few short weeks had so nearly succeeded running into the rocks. But he did not remain there. No, indeed. He collected his possessions and shook the dust of Department 40 from his feet without so much as a farewell word to kettles and pans. And the next elevator bore him upward to that mysterious haunt known as the Bureau of Adjustment, where in settling the claims of a claim-hungry public his fatal efficiency might soar unheeded and undisturbed.

“Who stole the perky Percolator?” demanded Teddy Burke on the morning following Mr. Jarvis’ flight from house furnishings. “I haven’t seen his sweet face this morning.”

Sam Hickson laughed happily. “You won’t see it unless you go up to the Bureau of Adjustment. He bubbled up once too often, I guess, and the system manager got him.”

“Why, when, what for?” almost shouted Teddy in wild excitement.

“I don’t know much about it. I only know he’s gone. Duffield just told me. I hope Mr. Everett hasn’t sent in his resignation yet. If he hasn’t, he might come back.”

“And is the Percolator canned for good?” gasped Teddy.

“He sure is.”

“Then I’m going to see Mr. Everett to-night.” Teddy skipped joyfully up an aisle to interview Miss Newton on the subject. Miss Newton was busy, however, with a customer. She looked so amiable and smiling that he decided she had heard the news. Seized with a brilliant thought he jerked the little leather-covered book from his pocket. There was just room on the page for one more item. So he wrote, “March 14. Canned for good, but not by me.”

And it was not until some time afterward that Teddy Burke learned just how important a part he had played in the final canning of the “perky Percolator.”