CHAPTER III

DECLARING WAR ON THE PERCOLATOR

But while Harry Harding was wrestling with a difficulty that had risen on the very threshold of his Year of Promise, Teddy Burke had made a most triumphant return to the humble kingdom of house furnishings. From Mr. Everett, the buyer, down to Miss Newton, the Gobbler, Teddy was hailed as a long-lost brother.

“I am very glad to see _you_ back again, 65,” was Mr. Duffield’s beaming greeting, and this genial sentiment was echoed by the others of the department as Teddy flitted about among them, his thin little hand stretched forth in ready comradeship, his freckled face wreathed with smiles.

“Well, Reddy, how’s business?” was Sam Hickson’s jovial question. Having made the round of the department, Teddy now proceeded to line himself up beside his old friend for a brief chat before his duties of the day grew too brisk to permit further social amenities.

“That’s a nice question to ask me,” sniffed Teddy. “How do you s’pose I know how business is when I’ve been off in the country enjoying myself?”

“Well, you’ve answered it just the same,” teased the salesman. “Enjoying yourself in the country was your business, wasn’t it?”

“I guess you must have been chewing smart-weed,” retorted Teddy. “Wonder if I’d be as smart if I ate some. Tell me where you get it and I’ll try it.”

“Same place where you get yours,” grinned Hickson tolerantly. “It only agrees with red-headed folks.”

Teddy’s jolly giggle at this witticism was infectious. Hickson laughed, too, out of sheer pleasure at seeing his little friend again.

“I’ll bet this kettles and pans crowd down here missed me,” was Teddy’s next modest assertion.

“You are just right about that. We all got a good rest. No more peace in kettles and pans with you running around loose.”

“I’ve reformed.” Teddy made this amazing statement with the air of one who has donned the difficult mantle of reform with the utmost ease.

“I didn’t quite get that.” Sam Hickson’s hand cupped his ear as an assistant to hearing.

“I’ve reformed.” Teddy repeated his announcement, looking slightly ruffled. “I’m going to bee-have just like an angel. You watch me and see. I’m going to give kettles and pans the biggest s’prise they ever had.”

Sam Hickson laughed uproariously. “I’ll warrant you will,” he agreed. “You’ve already given ’em a few shocks along the line of ‘bee-having.’ I guess they can stand a few more.”

“I guess they can.” Teddy’s wide, roguish smile again sprang into evidence. It faded as he leaned forward to peer owlishly at a short, rotund young man who had just come into view from around a towering pile of tinware on a table at their left. “Say, who’s he and where’d he come from? I’ve seen him every two minutes since I struck 40, but I haven’t been introduced to him yet.”

Hickson shrugged his shoulders.

“He’s our new assistant buyer. Willard left, you know, just before you went on your vacation. What have you got to say about that? Look him over. Name him and you can have him to take home with you.” There was decided rancor in the man’s voice.

Teddy made thoughtful inventory of the neat young man, surveying him curiously from his aggressively smooth black hair to his narrow, glistening shoes. An expression of seraphic innocence lurked in the youngster’s black eyes as he murmured, “He--he--looks like a--one of those fat, shiny little coffee-pots--a----” Teddy wrestled with the word. “A percolator!” he cried out triumphantly.

“Ha, ha, ha!” shouted Hickson. “You hit it that time, Reddy!” His face sobered, however. The stout young man had heard both Teddy’s shrill accents and Hickson’s accompanying burst of laughter. Now he charged briskly down upon the culprits, rebuke in his eye. Luckily for them, he had not the remotest idea that he was the object of their mirth. He was merely aware of undue boisterousness in his vicinity that warranted stern reproof.

“What is the cause of so much noise?” he rapped out sharply. “How much have you on your book, Hickson? And you,” he glared at Teddy, “go to your own department. Don’t loiter here.”

“I have to stay here.” Teddy regarded the questioner with the wistful gaze of a prisoner.

“What are you waiting for? Why must you stay here?” came the curt challenge.

“I’m not waiting for anything.”

“Then you don’t have to stay here. Go----”

“But I _do_ have to stay here,” contradicted Teddy with gentle, tantalizing dignity. “I belong in this department. I’m s’prised that you didn’t know it.”

“Humph!” With an indignant snort the stout young man wheeled and trotted off up the aisle.

Apparently deep in enumerating his sales, Sam Hickson’s broad shoulders were shaking with silent merriment during this interesting bit of dialogue.

“Oh, you Reddy!” he gasped when the disturber had passed out of hearing. “That’s the time you put one over on--on the Percolator.”

“What’s the matter with him, anyhow?” Teddy personified disgust. “I s’posed everybody here had seen _me_ this morning. His ears must be better’n his eyes. What’s he got to say about the way we act? Mr. Willard never used to talk like that.”

“I know it.” Hickson grew suddenly glum. “I’m going to tell you something, Teddy, but keep it to yourself. This fellow is a trouble-hunter! He’s got a game to play and I can see through him. I’ve had my eye on him ever since he hit 40, and, between you and me, he’s after Mr. Everett’s job. He’s what you call an efficiency man.”

“I didn’t call him that. I called him a percolator. He’s just like one. I’ll bet when he gets mad he fizzles up, the way those coffee-pots do when the demonstrator pours hot water into ’em.”

“He doesn’t get mad,” grumbled Hickson. “I wish he would. I’d feel then that he was a man instead of a bossing machine.”

“He might get mad some day,” predicted Teddy hopefully. “I’d like to see him bubble up.” His fertile brain was already beginning to consider ways and means by which this greatly desired result might be attained. “Do you b’lieve he’s after Mr. Everett’s job?” The little boy shot a peculiar glance at the gloomy-faced salesman.

“I don’t believe it, I’m sure of it.”

“Then I sha’n’t reform just yet.” Teddy drew himself up, mischievous purpose in his declaration. “I’m going to make the old Percolator bubble up. I’ll make him boil over so many times he’ll wish he’d never heard of house furnishings. Course, if he lets Mr. Everett alone, I’ll let him alone. But if he thinks he is going to be buyer of this department instead of Mr. Everett, then he’d better look out. Mr. Everett’s the best buyer that ever lived, and I’m going to fight for him.”

“You’re a good little friend, Teddy.” Sam Hickson patted the lad’s slender shoulder. “You’d better go slow, though. You can’t do anything much except get yourself into trouble for your pains. I’m sorry I said anything. Maybe I’m wrong about it. Only I can’t help noticing things.”

“What things?” persisted Teddy.

“Oh, this fellow, Jarvis, that’s his name, runs to the front with everything. Then he’s hard on the people in 40. Follows us up all the time. Calls us down if we lose a sale. Won’t let us say a word to each other. If he sees two of us standing together he chases us. When we _are_ busy selling, he butts in with a crazy lot of talk and spoils the sale. It makes the customers mad, but he can’t see it. Miss Newton went to Mr. Everett about it the first time he bothered her. Mr. Everett told him to quit it and he went to the front and told some kind of a yarn that got Mr. Everett a call down. First one he’s ever had and he’s been with Martin Brothers eight years. If this Jarvis can do that, and here less than two weeks, what will he do when he’s been here a year?”

“Maybe he won’t be here a year.” Again confidence lurked in Teddy’s speech.

“You mean maybe _we_ won’t be here, but _he_ will.” Hickson was far from optimistic. “There’s a customer. They’re few and far between these hot days.” The salesman moved away, leaving Teddy to ponder over this new unpleasant state of affairs.

“Sixty-five.” Mr. Duffield’s voice sounded the beginning of action.

Teddy darted off, obedient to the call. From that time on he found no further chance to reflect over what he had heard. When he went to his luncheon at twelve o’clock, he was kept busy by Harry and his boy friends. Both Harry and Teddy had become too well known and liked among the store messengers to escape notice when they appeared in the lunch room.

It was not until the two boys had passed the lunch-room time-desk on their way back to their respective departments that Teddy found an opportunity to say, “I’ve got something to tell you.”

“I’ve something to tell, myself,” was Harry’s quick response. “We’ll have to wait until after the store closes, though.”

“Wait for me outside. No more assembly for us. I’m kind of sorry. I’ll miss the line up.”

“So shall I,” nodded Harry. “So long.”

The two boys separated, each with his own problem to consider.

The moment that Teddy reached Department 40, his alert eyes scanned the wide expanse of house furnishings until they sought out a certain neat, rotund person against whom he had vowed to wage a determined campaign. Teddy strolled calmly down one aisle, then began a furtive dodging in and out among the engines of housekeeping until he reached a spot where he could conveniently observe without being observed. He studied the elegant Mr. Jarvis with a thoughtful gaze that a philosopher might well have envied, then he stole stealthily away to presently appear at a distant end of the department. Had Mr. Jarvis been aware that he was under the close surveillance of one small, red-haired, mischievous boy, it would not have in the least disturbed his bland equanimity. But he was destined to learn quite a number of things about Teddy Burke that had nothing to do with efficiency, as he saw it.