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whether you mean it or not, you always say
sir.
And when you nearly knock someone over, whether you mean it or not, you apologize.”
    “I do apologize,
sir,
” Carver said. He hoped his tone communicated how little he meant it.
    But the man wasn’t offended. A slight smile brought the edge of his lips into the same light as his eyes. “That you are. You are one sorry boy. Where are you going in such a rush?”
    Once more, Carver looked up and down the street. “Nowhere.”
    The man cackled. “Just like the rest of the damn fools in this city, eh?” He stretched the cane out. It almost touched the tip of Carver’s nose. “At least you know it. That’s something, isn’t it?”
    He put the cane down. “Are you Carver Young?”
    “What?”
    “I thought you weren’t deaf. Are you Carver Young?”
    “Yes,” Carver said. “And who are you… sir?”
    Saying nothing, the man hobbled inside, leaving Carver feeling very much like a stupid boy, not knowing what to say or do.

8
    CARVER stared at the door a good long time. Was that Miss Petty’s surprise? Was he going to be adopted by a… a gnome?
    What could he do? Run away and not come back. He’d be thrown out soon enough anyway. He’d joked with Delia about it, but he
could
become a newsboy, spending nights in one of their lodges. It was better than working in a funeral parlor.
    How long would it take to pack?
    He headed back in, pelted by body heat and party sounds. Finn was in the same spot, staring enviously as Colonel Waring chatted happily with Bulldog. Mrs. Echols grabbed his chin and turned him back.
    “Pssst!”
    Delia was waving her hands at him. Maybe he could visit her at the
Times
when he picked up his newspapers for delivery. He took a step in her direction,but she motioned for him to stay put and frantically pointed in the direction of the back hallway where Miss Petty’s office was. Where was Miss Petty anyway? Or the undertaker? Ah. Delia was trying to tell him they were in her office.
    He should just go pack, but the thought of leaving Ellis forever slowed him. Maybe he should at least try to find out what the gnome had to say.
    He slipped into the hallway and gently closed the door behind him. Miss Petty’s office door was wide open, its light casting the oblong shadow of two talking figures. Carver pressed himself against the wall and inched along. Two feet from the door he still couldn’t hear them. He did see them, though, reflected in the Humpty Dumpty glass. He dared another foot in time to hear the stranger say, in a dismissive tone, “Of course he
writes
a fine letter, but in person the boy is not nearly as impressive as I’d hoped.”
    Letter?
The one he’d sent to Roosevelt? What other letter would there
be
? Carver’s heart began to pound.
    “I’ll leave my card and let you return to your guests,” said the man, rising from his seat. He laid it upright against the desk lamp.
    “Thank you, Mr. Hawking,” Miss Petty said.
    Hawking. Did he work for Roosevelt? Had Carver ruined a
second
chance by nearly barreling him over, then being snotty about it?
    Any second now they’d enter the hall. He doubted that finding him spying would improve Mr. Hawking’s opinion of him, but he’d never make it out in time. Why had he closed the stupid door behind him? The supply closet he often hid in was just past the office door. It wasn’t far, but he’d have to cross right in front of them to reach it.
    When Hawking rose and faced Miss Petty, he put his back tothe door, covering her view and giving Carver the chance he needed. He crouched, raced by and slipped into the supply closet. He kicked a mop but caught the stick before it clattered to the floor.
    “So sorry to have wasted your time,” Miss Petty said as they entered the hall.
    Hawking grunted. “If he puts on some weight, the boy could become a bouncer. At least then his people-shoving abilities would be put to good use.”
    Carver bit his lip. He
had
ruined it. He might