"No, it isn't for Mrs. Baggert, Mr. Track," and Tom seemed a bit embarrassed.
"No? Well, then, Tom—of course it's none of my affair, except to sell you a good stone, but if this brooch is for a young lady, I can't recommend anything nicer. Do you think you will take this; or do you prefer to look at some others?"
"Oh, I think this will do, Mr. Track. I guess I'll take"
Tom's words were interrupted by a sudden action on the part of the jeweler. Mr. Track ran from behind the showcase and hastened toward the front door.
"Did you see him, Tom?" he cried. "I wonder which way he went?"
"Who?" asked the lad, following the shopkeeper.
"That man. He's been walking up and down in front of my place for the last ten minutes—ever since you've been in here, in fact, and I don't like his looks."
"What did he do?"
"Nothing much, except to stare in here as if he was sizing my place up."
"Sizing it up?"
"Yes. Getting the lay of the land, so he or
