CHAPTER VI
Uncle Bobbie Wicks pulled down the top of his desk and heard the lock
click with a long sigh of satisfaction, for a glance at his large,
old-fashioned hunting-case watch told him that it was nearly eleven
o'clock. It was a dismal, dreary, rainy night; just the sort of a night
to make a man thank God that he had a home; and those who had homes
to go to were already there, except a few business men, who like Mr.
Wicks, were obliged to be out on work of especial importance.
Locking the rear door of the office and getting hastily into his rain
coat, the old gentleman took his hat and umbrella from the rack and
stepped out into the storm. As he was trudging along through the wet,
his mind still on business, a gleam of light from the window of Udell's
printing office caught his eye. "Hello!" he said to himself; "George
is working late tonight; guess I'll run in and see if he's got that
last batch of bill-heads fixed yet; we'll need 'em tomorrow morning.
Howdy, George," he said, a few seconds later; and then stopped, for
it was not Udell, but Dick, who was bending over the stone; and in
place of working with the type, he was playing a game of solitaire,
while he pulled away at an old corn-cob pipe.
"Good evening," said the young man, pausing in his amusement,
"What can I do for you?"
"I see ye got a job," said Uncle Bobbie.
"Yes," Dick replied, as he shuffled the cards; "and a very good one
too."
"Huh! looks like ye weren't overworked just now.
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