Part 52

“Mr. Benton, if you please.”

“I mean, Mr. Benton.”

“Perhaps I was when I begun. But now I am nineteen.”

“Nineteen?”

“Yes, that is to say, I'm within a few months of being nineteen. What do you think of my moustache?”

“I hadn't noticed it.”

“The store's rather dark,” muttered Mr. Benton, who seemed a little annoyed by this answer. “If you'll come a little nearer you can see it.”

Drawing near, Paul, after some trouble, descried a few scattering hairs.

“Yes,” said he, wanting to laugh, “I see it.”

“Coming on finely, isn't it?” asked Mr. Nicholas Benton, complacently.

“Yes,” said Paul, rather doubtfully.

“I don't mind letting you into a secret,” said Benton, affably, “if you won't mention it. I've been using some of the six weeks' stuff.”

“The what?” asked Paul, opening his eyes.

“Haven't you heard of it?” inquired Benton, a little contemptuously. “Where have you been living all your life? Haven't you seen it advertised,--warranted to produce a full set of whiskers or moustaches upon the smoothest face, etc. I got some a week ago, only a dollar. Five weeks from now you'll see something that'll astonish you.”

Paul was not a little amused by his new companion, and would have laughed, but that he feared to offend him.

“You'd better get some,” said Mr. Benton. “I'll let you just try mine once, if you want to.”

“Thank you,” said Paul; “I don't think I want to have a moustache just yet.”

“Well, perhaps you're right. Being a boy, perhaps it wouldn't be advisable.”

“When does Mr. Smith come in?”

“Not till nine.”

“And the other clerks?”

“About eight o'clock. I shan't come till eight, to-morrow morning.”

“There's one thing I should like to ask you,” said Paul. “Of course you won't answer unless you like.”

“Out with it.”

“How much does Mr. Smith pay you?”

“Ahem!” said Benton, “what does he pay you?”

“A dollar and a quarter a week.”

“He paid me a dollar and a half to begin with.”