UNDER A CLOUD

“Hey, boy!  What’s your name?”

“Bob Chester.”

“Where are you going with that basket of groceries?”

“To deliver an order to one of my guardian’s customers.”

“Are you honest?”

“I hope so, sir,” replied Bob, his face expressing surprise that his probity should be questioned.

The man who had hailed Bob Chester appeared to be about twenty-five years old, and his clothes were well-fitting, giving him the air of a man of means.  With him were two other men; one of whom, several years older, was also well dressed.  The third member of the group was entirely different from the others.  His clothes were grotesque, and bore every trace of having been purchased in some country store.  His derby hat was green-black, and apparently a size too small, judging from the manner in which it rested on his head.  Had not his appearance bespoken that he was a stranger come from the country to see the sights of New York, his face, sunburned and honest, would have proclaimed him as one unaccustomed and unfamiliar with the wiles of a great city.

Prior to his having been addressed, the boy who had given his name as Bob Chester had noticed the difference between the three men as they stood in earnest conversation on the sidewalk, and instinctively he had been attracted by the frankness of the countryman’s face.  He had been wondering why the two New Yorkers were so interested in the other man, but the unexpectedness of his being accosted had driven all thought from his mind, and he had given his answers as though compelled by the searching glance the younger of the two men had directed at him.

All three watched him intently, and as he made his answer that he hoped he was honest, the elder of the New Yorkers exclaimed: 

“I think he will do, Harry.”

“Well, if you say so, all right,” returned the other, and then turning to Bob, he asked: 

“Would your guardian object seriously if you did not deliver your order for about half an hour?”

“I don’t know.  Saturday is always a busy day at the store, and Mr. Dardus always scolds me if I don’t get right back.  It doesn’t make any difference to him how far I have to go, he always thinks I should be back within fifteen minutes after I have started.  So I’d rather not delay—­because I don’t like to be scolded,” added the boy, as though by way of apologizing for his refusal.

“Well, if we gave you a dollar, don’t you think you could stand the old man’s scolding, if you were half an hour late?” asked the elder of the New Yorkers, at the same time putting his hand in his pocket and drawing forth a large roll of bills, which he opened ostentatiously.  The figures were so large that Bob’s eyes seemed as though they would pop out of his head, so eagerly did they scan them.  The man extracted a dollar bill.

The sight of so much money in the possession of one man fairly hypnotized the boy, and he replied: