"Probably through Nolan, Jackson or Felter," said Franklin, bitterly. "They are my enemies."
"Yes, I know you had trouble with them before."
Just then the bookkeeper was called away, and Franklin was left standing by the desk alone. The mind and heart of the young electrician were full. What should he do next?
"I'll remain here and fight it out!" he said, setting his teeth. "Mr. Buckman shall hear what I have to say whether he will or not."
Close beside the bookkeeper's desk was a door leading to the superintendent's private office. Without being observed by any one Franklin slipped through this door.
The private office was very plainly furnished, containing nothing further than a desk and several easy chairs. The desk was closed, something Franklin noted with satisfaction.
"He can't think I came in here during his absence to pry into his affairs," he thought, bitterly, and sat down in a far corner to wait.
Nearly half an hour passed—it seemed an age to the anxious youth—before Thomas Buckman came bustling into his office, evidently still strongly excited over what had occurred.
He did not notice Franklin at first, and, walking over to his desk, he opened that article of furniture with a quick roll and a bang.
