Randolph Bartlett's unfailing presence at his own fireside on every
Sabbath evening.
"That is strange," Mr. Bangs commented dryly. "Miss Enid Bartlett
telephoned an hour ago that her brother and his wife were out of the
city."
Quin was visibly embarrassed. He was not used to treading the quicksands
of duplicity, and he felt himself sinking.
"Young man," said Mr. Bangs sternly, "I am inclined to think you are
deceiving me."
"No," said Quin with spirit, "I haven't deceived you; but I did lie to
Miss Eleanor's aunt over the telephone."
"What was your object?"
"Well, I couldn't tell her Mr. Bartlett was stewed, could I?"
Mr. Bangs gave a short, contemptuous laugh. "As I thought," he said.
"That will do."
But Quin had no intention of going until he had spoken a word in his own
behalf. The idea had just occurred to him that by obtaining a position
with Bartlett & Bangs he could add another link to the chain that was to
bind him to Eleanor.
"You don't happen to have a job for me?" he inquired of the back of Mr.
Bangs's bald, dome-like head.
"A job?" repeated Mr. Bangs, glancing over his shoulder at Quin's
uniform.
"Yes, sir.
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