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“And what are you going to do?”

“I’m goin’ to count them, if it takes me all night.”

“You needn’t mind them. They have already been counted,” said Mr. Johnson, a salesman who had approached during this talk. “Mr. Leonard will let you free from the task.”

“Mebbe he’d best wait till he’s asked!” said Will, resolutely. “I don’t blow hot and cold with no man, and I don’t let no man blow hot and cold with me. He laid it onto me heavier than suits me, and now I’m going to let him see that I can do as I’m told. I don’t keer if everybody in the store has counted them cloths. That’s my job and I’m bound to put her through.”

Will hastened to the cellar stairs, and down into the basement, where the cases of cloth in question stood, freshly opened.

He labored on an hour, for two hours, in lifting the heavy rolls of cloths from the cases, counting, and replacing them. It was quite dark here, and he lit the gas at the start. He did not, in fact, know how long he had been engaged, when the light suddenly dimmed and went out.