Johnny Geer was a great help. He was back in Roger's office, and with the
sharp wits he had gained in his eighteen years of fighting for a chance to
stay alive, now at Roger's elbow John was watching like a hawk for all the
little ways and means of pushing up the business. What a will the lad had
to down bodily ills, what vim in the way he tackled each job. His shrewd
and cheery companionship was a distraction and relief. John was so funny
sometimes.
"Good-morning, Mr. Gale," he said, as Roger came into the office one day.
"Hello, Johnny. How are you?" Roger replied.
"Fine, thank you." And John went on with his work of opening the morning's
mail. But a few minutes later he gave a cackling little laugh.
"What's so funny?" Roger asked.
"Fellers," was the answer. "Fellers. Human nature. Here's a letter from
Shifty Sam."
"Who the devil is he? A friend of yours?"
"No," said John, "he's a 'con man.' He works about as mean a graft as any
you ever heard of. He reads the 'ads' in the papers--see?--of servant girls
who're looking for work. He makes a specialty of cooks. Then he goes to
where they live and talks of some nice family that wants a servant right
away. He claims to be the butler, and he's dressed to look the part. 'There
ain't a minute to lose,' he says. 'If you want a chawnce, my girl, come
quick.' He says 'chawnce' like a butler--see? 'Pack your things,' he tells
her, 'and come right along with me.
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