"Is this Mr. Len Dardus?" asked Foster, walking up to the counter,
behind which this repelling creature stood.
"That's my name," snapped the proprietor of the store, adding as he
scrutinized his questioner closely:
"What do _you_ want?"
"I want to know if you have a boy working for you by the name of Bob
Chester."
"I have, but I won't have after to-night, I can tell you. I have no use
for lazy boys, and for laziness he can't be beaten. Here I sent him to
deliver some goods more than two hours ago, and he hasn't got back yet,
and this is my busiest day."
So disagreeable was the tone in which the old man spoke that Foster
could not refrain from remarking:
"Well, you do not seem to be overrushed with trade just now. However,
that is neither here nor there. How long have you had Bob in your
employ?"
"Ever since he was big enough to be of any service to me."
"He's a good boy, isn't he?"
"No, he's not. Didn't I just tell you he has been gone over two hours,
delivering an order that should not have taken him more than fifteen
minutes at the most? No good boy would dawdle so about his business.
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