"It is a true story."

"Do you mean to say Crawford trusts you buy goods for him?"

"So it seems."

"He must be getting weak-headed."

"Suppose you call and give him that gratifying piece of information."

Just then the train came thundering up, and Ben jumped aboard. Tom
Davenport looked after him with a puzzled glance.

"I wonder whether that boy tells the truth," he said to himself. "He
thinks too much of himself, considering what he is."

It never occurred to Tom that the remark would apply even better to
him than the boy he was criticising. As a rule we are the last to
recognize our own faults, however quick we may be to see the faults of
others.

Two hours later Ben stood in front of the large dry-goods jobbing
house of Stackpole & Rogers, in White Street.

He ascended the staircase to the second floor, which was very spacious
and filled with goods in great variety.

"Where is the department of prints?" he inquired of a young man near
the door.