Ben Pepper Part 7

"Hey?" The busy worker raised his head in astonishment to stare into the chubby face thrust into his own.

"The big man, the one who's ahead of you all?" said Joel, impatiently, waving his arms around comprehensively to take in the whole counting room.

"Oh, Mr. Persons, I guess he means," contributed the man at the neighboring desk. By this time everybody in the department had become interested, and pens were laid down and heads were bobbed up.

"Yes, yes," cried Joel, quite delighted to recognize the name that in his excitement had slipped away. "Where is he?" drumming on the desk impatiently.

"In there, kid," the bookkeeper stuck his penholder over his shoulder, and following its lead, Joel was soon within a little office, that, if he had taken time to notice, would have showed him "Private" in big letters across the door.

But Joel hadn't time to waste on anything but the matter in hand, and he plunged up to the desk and burst out: "It was my fault, and I want to pay for it. Don't let him make the little girl pay, please don't." He laid hold of the gray-haired man's arm at this last, and held on with a grip, for Mr. McKenzie hurried up.

Mr. Persons dropped his pen in astonishment. His mouth flew open, but he said not a word.

"I'll explain it, sir," began the floor-walker, with deference, but he had a withering look for Joel. "You see, one of the--"

"Oh, don't let him tell it," burst in Joel, in terror, and gripping the arm on the desk worse than ever; "he wants that poor little girl to pay." He brought his black eyes so close to the gray-bearded face that the countenance holding them obscured everything else.

"I'll tell you how it is, sir," said McKenzie, hastily.

"On the contrary, I'll let the boy tell his story," said Mr. Persons, dryly. "Now, then, what is it, my lad?" and he brought his eyes, just as sharp in their way, although the palest of blue ones, to bear on Joel's face.

So Joel, perfectly happy now that he had the telling of the story in his own way, began with great satisfaction, and never stopped to draw breath until he turned to pull out his pocket-book. Then he tugged at Mamsie's big shawl-pin till he grew quite red in the face. At last it was out, and so was the money. "How much is it?" he cried.

"Oh, you want to pay for it?" asked Mr. Persons, with a keen look into his flushed face.

"Yes, sir," Joel bobbed his black head. "How much is it?" he demanded again, this time impatiently. Since it was all settled, he began wildly to think of Ben and Polly and the others.

"Mr. Persons," this time the floor-walker got back of the big office chair, and whispered the information as to who the boy was, without Joel's hearing a word.

Mr. Persons nodded. "Well," he said to Joel, his face not moving a muscle, "you may give me a dollar, my lad, and we'll consider that everything is all squared up in regard to the injury to that doll."

So Joel counted out a dollar from his h.o.a.rded silver pieces and put them into Mr. Persons's hand, the floor-walker staring in amazement at his employer. Then he fastened up his pocket again, sticking Mamsie's big shawl-pin in tighter than ever.

"All right, thank you, sir," and he marched out through the rows of men at their desks in the big counting room, all curiously staring at him as he pa.s.sed.

Outside he found Ben and Polly making anxious inquiries of every one; David following closely, beyond saying a word, and Phronsie, who didn't know that he was lost, only that the poor sick doll had to be left to get a new head on.

"What _have_ you been about, Joe?" cried Ben, for even David was not quite clear how it all had happened.

"Oh, something--" said Joel, carelessly craning his neck to look about on all sides. "Oh, whickets! There she is." And he was gone again, this time in chase of a small cash-girl.

When everything was finally all explained, and the cash-girl had stepped off with a radiant face, Ben drew his charges off into a quiet corner, and said quite decidedly, "See here, now, we'll buy Grandpapa's present first, and make sure of it."

"Yes, do," said Polly, "for we never will get through in all this world.

Well, what shall we choose, Ben?"

"What do you choose?" asked Ben, looking only at her.

"Oh, I know, I know," said Joel, eagerly.

"Hush, Joe, let Polly say."

"I don't know," said Polly.

"Polly doesn't know," broke in Joel, "let me tell; I know something splendid, Ben."

"You be still, Joe," said Ben, "and let Polly think."

"Why, I thought perhaps he'd like books," said Polly, slowly, wrinkling up her brows in little puckers.

"Hoh!" exclaimed Joel, in great disgust, "books aren't any good. I know--"

"Books will be fine, Polly," said Ben, smiling approval. "Anything else for second choice?"

"No," said Polly, "I can't think of another thing. Grandpapa has got just every single thing in the world, I do believe," she brought up with a sigh.

"I heard him say he'd broken his gold pen," said Ben, "the other day."

"Oh, Bensie!" cried Polly, with sparkling eyes, and seizing his arm, "how perfectly splendid you are to always think up the right things."

"No, I don't, Polly." Ben was guilty of contradiction, but his cheek glowed. "You always get ahead of me with twenty plans while I'm thinking up one."

"But your one is the best," laughed Polly, squeezing his arm affectionately. "Oh, now let's hurry and buy the gold pen."

"Well, do you children want it?" asked Ben, looking around at them, "because it must be something that we all like, else Grandpapa won't care anything for it."

"Phoo!" cried Joel, horribly disappointed at such a quiet present.

"What's an old pen, anyway? Can't write with it, without a handle."

"Well, we are going to give the handle, of course," said Ben, "only it must be a black one, for we haven't money enough for a solid gold one."

"And did you suppose we'd give Grandpapa a pen without a handle, Joey?"

said Polly, quite horror-stricken at the very idea.

"Well, you said pen," persisted Joel.

"And so it is pen," said Ben, gayly, his spirits rising fast, "and handle, too. Well, now, do you vote for it, Joe?" and he slapped his back.

"Yes," said Joel, "if you'll give the handle, too."

And David saying "yes," then Polly had to explain it all to Phronsie.

"And just think, pet, you can sit by him at his table, and watch him write with it," she finished.

"Oh, I want to buy my dear Grandpapa a pen," cried Phronsie, dreadfully excited and hopping up and down; "do, Bensie, please get it now, this very one minute!"

IV