10
The tip of Dalen’s pen scrawled a few numbers onto the yellow page of his ledger. He looked up to see half a dozen bookkeepers sitting at slanted desks very much like his own. One of those was Jim Potts.
The young man seemed to be perfectly happy working away for Harmon Brothers’ Bookkeeping for twenty cents an hour. But then his previous job had involved mucking out stables with no compensation other than room and board. And poor lodgings at that.
“And how are we doing in here?” Mr. Harmon asked.
A barrel-chested fellow in a white shirt and black vest, he strode through the aisle between the desks with a jovial smile, pausing to clap each man on the shoulder. He was handsome for a fellow in his middle years, tanned with a cleft chin and thick, dark hair that showed only a few threa
