ou would like to see them first. We'll manage
to get off an hour earlier than usual this afternoon, and go up and take
a look at them."

"It seems to me Mr. Murdock and that boy are pretty thick together,"
said the book-keeper, glancing through the glass partition. He could see
that they were conversing earnestly, but of course couldn't hear a word
that was said. "What he or Mr. Rockwell can see in the young rascal
passes my comprehension."

He called sharply to Dick, and ordered him to go to the post-office for
letters.

"All right," said Dick.

"And mind you don't loiter by the way," said the book-keeper, sharply.
"You were gone long enough at the bank this morning. Did you come right
back?"

"No," said Dick.

"Why didn't you?"

"There was somewhere else I wanted to go."

"On your own business, or Mr. Rockwell's?"

"On my own business."

"So I thought. I shall report you to Mr. Rockwell," said Gilbert,
triumphantly.

"I wouldn't, if I were you," said Dick, coolly.

"And why not, you young rascal?"

"Because he knows it already."

"Knows it already," repeated the book-keeper, discomfited. "Well, I hope
he gave you a good scolding."

"I am sorry to disappoint you," said Dick; "but he knows it, because he
gave me leave to go."

"I don't believe it," said Gilbert, mortified to find that Dick was in
the right after all.

"Then perhaps you'd better ask Mr. Rockwell."

"I will," said Gilbert, who really had no intention of doing so. "You
must have had some very urgent private business," he added, with a
sneer.

"You're right, there," said Dick.

"Playing marbles with some of your ragamuffin friends, I suppose."

"Playin' marbles is a very refined and intellectual amusement," said
Dick; "but I don't play marbles in business hours."

"Where did you go?" said the book-keeper, impatiently. "I don't want any
of your impertinence."

"I went to the savings bank," said Dick.

"I suppose you have a very large account there," sneered Gilbert.

"Yes," said Dick, quietly; "pretty large."

"It's to be hoped you won't withdraw your patronage, or the bank might
fail."

"Then I won't," said Dick. "Shall I go to the post-office now?"

"Yes, and be quick about it."

The book-keeper had some curiosity as to the amount of Dick's account at
the savings bank, but there was no good chance for him to inquire, and
he accordingly returned to his writing, more prejudiced against Dick
than ever.

On the whole