n her broad irony
about his not hunting for employment, there was really a tiny seed of
truth. She felt sure that two or three persons who had seemed about to
employ him had failed to do so because they detected the defect in his
hearing, and in one or two cases she was right.

Other persons paused on the same corner where Richling stood, under the
same momentary embarrassment. One man, especially busy-looking, drew
very near him. And then and there occurred this simple accident,--that
at last he came in contact with the man who had work to give him. This
person good-humoredly offered an impatient comment on their enforced
delay. Richling answered in sympathetic spirit, and the first speaker
responded with a question:--

"Stranger in the city?"

"Yes."

"Buying goods for up-country?"

It was a pleasant feature of New Orleans life that sociability to
strangers on the street was not the exclusive prerogative of gamblers'
decoys.

"No; I'm looking for employment."

"Aha!" said the man, and moved away a little. But in a moment Richling,
becoming aware that his questioner was glancing all over him with
critical scrutiny, turned, and the man spoke.

"D'you keep books?"

Just then a way opened among the vehicles; and the man, young and
muscular, darted into it, and Richling followed.

"I _can_ keep books," he said, as they reached the farther curb-stone.

The man seized him by the arm.

"D'you see that pile of codfish and herring where that tall man is at
work yonder with a marking-pot and brush? Well, just beyond there is a
boarding-house, and then a hardware store; you can hear them throwing
down sheets of iron. Here; you can see the sign. See? Well, the next is
my store. Go in there--upstairs into the office--and wait till I come."

Richling bowed and went. In the office he sat down and waited what
seemed a very long time. Could he have misunderstood? For the man did
not come. There was a person sitting at a desk on the farther side of
the office, writing, who had not lifted his head from first to last,
Richling said:--

"Can you tell me when the proprietor will be in?"

The writer's eyes rose, and dropped again upon his writing.

"What do you want with him?"

"He asked me to wait here for him."

"Better wait, then."

Just then in came the merchant. Richling rose, and he uttered a rude
exclamation:--

"_I_ forgot you completely! Where did you say you kept books at, last?"

"I've not kept anybody