something good to say, rather resented his silence. It forced him into
taking the initiative, a position which placed him from the first at a
disadvantage.

"Any luck with the Yank, Mr. Burton?" he inquired, with anxious
civility.

Burton shook his head.

"None at all," he confessed. "He wouldn't have anything to do with the
house."

"Has any one been letting on to him about it, do you think?"

"I don't think so," Burton replied. "I don't think any one else has
mentioned it to him at all. He seems to be a complete stranger here."

"Couldn't have been quite at your best, could you, Mr. Burton, sir?
Not your usual bright and eloquent self, eh?"

The boy grinned and then ducked, expecting a missile. None came,
however. Alfred Burton was in a very puzzled state of mind, and he
neither showed nor indeed felt any resentment. He turned and faced his
subordinate.

"I really don't know, Clarkson," he admitted. "I am sure that I was
quite polite, and I showed him everything he wished to see; but, of
course, I had to tell him the truth about the place."

"The what?" young Clarkson inquired, in a mystified tone.