LITMIR.BIZ

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coolly.

      He sat down in an arm-chair, and took up the morning paper.

      The book-keeper was decidedly provoked by his coolness. He felt that he had not impressed Dick with his dignity or authority, and this made him angry.

      "Bring that paper to me, young man," he said; "I want to consult it."

      "Very good," said Dick; "you can come and get it."

      "I can't compliment you on your good manners," said the other.

      "Good manners don't seem to be fashionable here," said Dick, composedly.

      Apparently the book-keeper did not want the paper very particularly, as he did not take the trouble to get up for it. Dick therefore resumed his reading, and the other dug his pen spitefully into the paper, wishing, but not quite daring, to order Dick out of the counting-room, as it might be possible that he had come by appointment.

      "Did you come to see Mr. Rockwell?" he asked, at length, looking up from his writing.

      "Yes," said Dick.

      "Did he tell you to come?"

      "Yes."

      "What was that you said about coming to work?"

      "I said I had come here to work."

      "Who engaged you?"

      "Mr. Rockwell."

      "Oh, indeed! And how much are you to receive for your valuable services?"

      "You are very polite to call my services valuable," said Dick. "I hope they will be."

      "You haven't answered my question."

      "I have no objection, I'm sure. I'm to get ten dollars a week."

      "Ten dollars a week!" echoed the book-keeper, with a scornful laugh. "Do you expect you will earn that?"

      "No, I don't," said Dick, frankly.

      "You don't!" returned the other, doubtfully. "Well, you're more modest than I thought for. Then why are you to get so much?"

      "Perhaps Mr. Rockwell will tell you," said Dick, "if you tell him you're very particular to know, and will lose a night's rest if you don't find out."

      "I wouldn't give you a dollar a week."

      "Then I'm glad I aint goin' to work for you."

      "I don't believe your story at all. I don't think Mr. Rockwell would be such a fool as to overpay you so much."

      "P'r'aps I shouldn't be the only one in the establishment that is overpaid," observed Dick.

      "Do you mean me, you young rascal?" demanded the book-keeper, now very angry.

      "Don't call names. It isn't polite."

      "I demand an answer. Do you mean to say that I am overpaid?"

      "Well," said Dick, deliberately, "if you're paid anything for bein' polite, I should think you was overpaid considerable."

      There is no knowing how long this skirmishing would have continued, if Mr. Rockwell himself had not just then entered the counting-room. Dick rose respectfully at his entrance, and the merchant, recognizing him at once, advanced smiling and gave him a cordial welcome.

      "I am glad to see you, my boy," he said. "So you didn't forget the appointment. How long have you been here?"

      "Half an hour, sir."

      "I am here unusually early this morning. I came purposely to see you, and introduce you to those with whom you will labor. Mr. Gilbert, this is a young man who is going to enter our establishment. His name is Richard Hunter. Mr. Gilbert, Richard, is our book-keeper."

      Mr. Gilbert nodded slightly, not a little surprised at his employer's cordiality to the new boy.

      "So the fellow was right, after all," he thought. "But it can't be possible he is to receive ten dollars a week."

      "Come out into the ware-room, and I will show you about," continued Mr. Rockwell. "How do you think you shall like business, Richard?"

      Dick was on the point of saying "Bully," but checked himself just in time, and said instead, "Very much indeed, sir."

      "I hope you will. If you do well you may depend upon promotion. I shall not forget under what a heavy obligation I am to you, my brave boy."

      What would the book-keeper have said, if he had heard this?

      "How is the little boy, sir?" asked Dick.

      "Very well, indeed. He does not appear even to have taken cold, as might have been expected from his exposure, and remaining in wet clothes for some time."

      "I am glad to hear that he is well, sir."

      "You must come up and see him for yourself, Richard," said Mr. Rockwell, in a friendly manner. "I have no doubt you will become good friends very soon. Besides, my wife is anxious to see and thank the preserver of her boy."

      "I shall be very glad indeed to come, sir."

      "I live at No. – Madison Avenue. Come to-morrow evening, if you have no engagement."

      "Thank you, sir."

      Mr. Rockwell now introduced Dick to his head clerk with a few words, stating that he was a lad in whose welfare he took a deep interest, and he would be glad to have him induct him into his duties, and regard with indulgence any mistakes which he might at first make through ignorance.

      The head clerk was a pleasant-looking man, of middle age, named Murdock; very different in his manners and bearing from Mr. Gilbert, the book-keeper.

      "Yes, sir," he said, "I will take the young man under my charge; he looks bright and sharp enough, and I hope we may make a business man of him in course of time."

      That was what Dick liked. His heart always opened to kindness, but harshness always made him defiant.

      "I'll try to make you as little trouble as possible, sir," he said. "I may make mistakes at first, but I'm willin' to work, and I want to work my way up."

      "That's right, my boy," said Mr. Murdock. "Let that be your determination, and I am sure you will succeed."

      "Before Mr. Murdock begins to instruct you in your duties," said Mr. Rockwell, "you may go to the post-office, and see if there are any letters for us. Our box is No. 5,670."

      "All right, sir," said Dick; and he took his hat at once and started.

      He reached Chatham Square, turned into Printing House Square, and just at the corner of Spruce and Nassau Streets, close by the Tribune Office, he saw the familiar face and figure of Johnny Nolan, one of his old associates when he was a boot-black.

      "How are you, Johnny?" he said.

      "Is that you, Dick?" asked Johnny, turning round. "Where's your box and brush?"

      "At home."

      "You haven't give up business,—have you?"

      "I've just gone into business, Johnny."

      "I mean you aint give up blackin' boots,—have you?"

      "All except my own, Johnny. Aint that a good shine?" and Dick displayed his boot with something of his old professional pride.

      "What you up to now, Dick? You're dressed like a swell."

      "Oh," said Dick, "I've retired from shines on a fortun', and embarked my capital in mercantile pursuits. I'm in a store on Pearl Street."

      "What store?"

      "Rockwell & Cooper's."

      "How'd you get there?"

      "They wanted a partner with a large capital, and so they took me," said Dick. "We're goin' to do a smashin' business. We mean to send off a ship to Europe every day, besides what we send to other places, and expect to make no end of stamps."

      "What's the use of gassin', Dick? Tell a feller now."

      "Honor bright, then, Johnny, I've got a place at ten dollars a week, and I'm goin' to be 'spectable. Why don't you turn over a new leaf, and try to get up in the world?"

      "I aint

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