Then some one stirred, and, looking down
the room, they saw an old man bent over a book open on a table near a
dusty window. He wore big horn spectacles and was evidently extremely
nearsighted, for he kept his face so near the book that his nose
almost touched the pages.
"That must be Mr. Hale," said Betty. "I wonder if it's all right to
interrupt him?"
"I should say the only way to make him understand you're here, would
be to go up and take that book away," rejoined Bobby.
"He can't be very anxious to sell anything, or he'd pay more
attention to his store," giggled Betty.
"I'll wait here," said Bobby hastily, as Betty moved toward the rear
of the store. "I'd probably say the wrong thing anyway. Let me see,
I'll be reading this fat brown book. They all look alike to me, but
this may be thrilling in spots."
Betty approached the motionless old man, whose lean brown forefinger
traced the curious black characters in the book before him so slowly
that it did not seem to budge at all.
"I beg your pardon?" she said tentatively.
No response.
"I want to ask you----" Betty began again, a little breathlessly.
"I want to ask you about a boy named Bob Henderson."
"Name's Hale," said the old man, without looking up and speaking in
a cracked, hoarse voice.
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