CHAPTER XXVIII.
IN BUSINESS FOR HIMSELF.
Only strong characters are able to lift themselves out of poverty andadversity by sheer force of will, unaided by any one. Such a characterHerbert Randolph proved himself to be. For nearly three months he hadfaced the most discouraging prospects. With education, with a knowledgeof accounts, with splendid intelligence, with manly pride and nobleambition, he went from luxurious banking apartments to the cold wintrystreets, down, down the cheerless and grim descent, till he reachedthe bottom, where he found himself in competition with the dregs ofhumanity--one of them, as far as his employment went. Imagine this proudspirited boy humbled to the degree of bidding side by side for work witha ragged Italian, a broken down and blear eyed drunkard, a cruel facedrefugee from the penitentiary, or a wretched, unkempt tramp. How hisyoung, brave heart must have ached as he found himself working onthe hoist or in the street with loathsome characters of thissort--characters that purity and self respect could only shun asa pestilence.
But this he was forced to do--either this, or to acknowledge his citycareer a failure, and return home with crushed spirits and shatteredpride, a disappointment to his father and mother and the butt of ruderural jokes for his more or less envious neighbors.
The latter is just what most boys would have done, but not so youngRandolph. His eyes were closed to any such escape from his presentwretched condition. Herein he showed his superior strength. But howlittle he realized, as he worked with dogged determination at thesecheerless tasks, that this very employment would lead him into thelight, as it ultimately did. Boys see nothing but drudgery in suchemployment, or in any humble position. They want to commence work atsomething genteel. An easy clerical position like the one young Randolphhad with Mr. Goldwin appeals strongly to their taste. Fine clothes,white hands, little work and short hours--these are in great demandamong boys. Young Randolph, indeed, was no exception to the rule. Hesought a position in a bank and got it. Fortunately for him, however,the bank failed, and he was thrown into the streets. But for this hewould have been a clerk still--a little three dollar machine, whichbears no patent, and possesses no especial value over the ten thousandother machines capable of performing similar work. His dream of wealthand position would in all probability never have materialized. He woulddoubtless have in time become a head clerk at a respectable salary. Buthow little this would have satisfied his ambition! His desire to be atthe head of the firm could never have been realized, for he would nothave had the money to place himself there. The result would have beenclerking, clerking, miserable, aimless clerking, and nothing more.But now, through what seemed to him his misfortune had come goodfortune--through the drudgery of the hoist had come a business of hisown--a growing, paying, business--_a business of great possibilities_.The suffering he had undergone did him no permanent harm. On thecontrary it enabled him to appreciate more keenly the opportunity henow had for making money and supplying himself with the necessaries, andsome of the luxuries, of life.
Young Randolph's brokerage business grew day by day as he added newcustomers and learned how to manage it more successfully. In a littletime he saw the necessity of having a place where his customers couldreach him by mail or messenger. He therefore arranged with a party onNassau Street to allow him desk room. Then followed this card:
+------------------------------------------------+ | HERBERT RANDOLPH, | | | | 111 NASSAU STREET, | | | | BUYS AND SELLS NEW YORK. | | ALL KINDS OF FOREIGN COIN AND PAPER. | | | | United States Silver and Postage | | Stamps a Specialty. | +------------------------------------------------+
It was with much pleasure that he studied these neatly printed cards.The first thing he did after receiving them from the printer was toinclose one in a letter to his mother. He had already written herglowing accounts of his growing business, and he felt that this cardwould give a realism to his pen pictures that he had been unable toimpart. He thought long and with pride how sacredly that little bit ofpasteboard would be treasured by his parents--how proudly they wouldshow it to their neighbors, and the comments that it would bring forth.
Then he took one over to Bob Hunter, who exhibited no little surprise ashe read it admiringly.
Later in the evening he and the newsboy went as usual to visit TomFlannery, who now, poor boy, seemed to be yielding to that dreaddisease--consumption. How his face brightened up as he looked at thecard with scarcely less pride than if it had been his own!
"I wish I could get into that business, Herbert, when I get well," saidhe, turning the card languidly in his thin, emaciated fingers; "you'n'me'n' Bob. Yes, I would like that, for we always had such good timestogether, didn't we, Bob?"
"Yes, we did, Tom," answered Bob, tenderly. "I guess as good times asanybody ever had, even if we didn't have much money."
"So I think, Bob. I've thought of it a good many times while I've beensick here--of the detective business and all, and how grand you managedthe whole thing. But then you always done everything grand, Bob. None erthe boys could do it like you."
"You do some things much better than I could, Tom," said Bob.
"No, Bob. I never could do nothing like you."
"You bear your sickness more patiently than I could, and that is harderto do than anything I ever did," replied Bob.
"Well, I have to do it, you know, Bob. There ain't no other way, isthere, Herb----"
The last part of the word was lost in violent coughing that racked theboy's feeble frame terribly.
"I am afraid you are talking too much, Tom," said Herbert. "We must notallow you to say any more at present."
Ten days later, and Tom had grown too weak to be dressed. Part of thetime he lay bolstered up in bed, but even this taxed his strength tooheavily. He had become very much wasted, and was little more than askeleton. All hope of his recovery had been given up, and it was nowsimply a question of how long he could be kept alive. Bob and Herbertbrought him choice fruits, and drew liberally from their slender purses,to buy for him whatever would tend to make him more comfortable or wouldgratify his fancy.
Poor Mrs. Flannery was almost overcome with sorrow as she saw her boywasting away and sinking lower and lower as each day passed by. He washer only child, and she loved him with all the force of her greatmother's heart.
At length the end came. Bob and Herbert were present with thegrief-stricken mother, trying to comfort her and struggling to repressthe sorrow each felt at the close approach of death.
For several hours the sick boy had been in a sort of stupor from whichit seemed probable that he would never rally. He lay like one dead,scarcely breathing. Towards midnight, however, he opened his eyes andlooked upon the three tear stained faces beside his bed. An expressionof deepest pity settled upon his countenance, and he spoke with mucheffort, saying:
"Don't cry, mother; don't feel so bad for me. You have Bob and Herbertleft. They will look out for you when I am gone," whispered the dyingboy faintly, and he turned his eyes for confirmation to the friend whohad never failed him.
"Yes," answered Bob, pressing the sufferer's hand warmly. "We will doeverything you could wish us to for your mother--you would have done itfor either of us, Tom."
The latter's eyes moistened and grew bright with a feeling of joy atthis assurance from Bob--this last proof of his true friendship.
"I knew it before, mother," he said, nerving himself for the effort,"but it makes me happy to hear him say it before you--to hear him say itbefore I go."
"And you may rely upon me also, Tom, to join Bob in doing for yourmother whatever would please you most," said Herbert, unable to keepback the hot tears.
"Yes, I am sure of that, Herbert. You and Bob are just alike, and can domore than I could if I had lived. I am so glad I knew you, Herbert,"continued t
he dying boy, his face flushing with momentary animation ashe recalled the past. "What good times we have had, you and me and Bob!I thought they would last always, but--but--well I wish I might havelived to go into business with you. I would have tried my best to pleaseyou, and----"
"What is it?" asked Herbert, noticing the sufferer's hesitation.
"I was going to ask you if the business, your new business, wouldn't getbig enough to take Bob in with you--to make him a partner, so he canmake a lot of money, too. I was almost afraid to ask you, but----"
"That is already fixed," said Bob hoarsely, almost overcome by thesolicitude of his dying friend. "Herbert gave me an interest in thebusiness today, and I shall commence working with him as soon as I amneeded."
"I am so glad, so glad," responded the sufferer faintly, and with asmile that told plainly the joy this knowledge gave him. "It's all rightnow," he continued slowly, and with greater effort, for the littlestrength he had left was fast leaving him. "You will be taken care of,mother, and Bob will be taken care of by Herbert," he went on, sinkinginto a half unconscious state. "I know they will do well and will makerich men and have everything in the world that they want. I wish Icould see them then with a big banking house and clerks and privateoffices and errand boys and electric bells and fine carriages and horsesand a brown stone house in the avenue, may be."
TOM FLANNERY'S DEATHBED.]
In a little while he regained full consciousness as if by a powerfuleffort, and said in a faint whisper:
"There is one thing more, mother--my knife, my little brass knife."
Mrs. Flannery brought it and placed it in his thin hands.
He looked at it with such a strange expression of affection--a littlewell worn knife of inexpensive make. How long he had carried it in hispocket, how many times he had held it in his hand, and now--yes, now, heheld it for the last time--only this little knife, yet his all, his onlylegacy.
"You won't want it, will you, mother?" said he, with moist eyes andstruggling with emotion.
"No, no, Tommy," sobbed the broken hearted mother.
"I knew you wouldn't," said he, "for I want to give it to Bob. It ain'tmuch, I know, Bob," he continued, addressing the latter; "but it's all Ihave. You will keep it, won't you, to remember me by? When you get to bea man--a rich business man with fine offices and a house of your own,look at this knife sometimes--my knife, and think of me, and how we usedto work together. Yes, you will do so, won't you, Bob?"
"I will, Tom, I will," answered Bob, as he took the little knife intohis own hands. "I will keep it always to remind me of you," and he bowedhis head upon the bed beside his dying friend and cried with sinceregrief.
"It's all right now," responded the sufferer. "All right," he repeated,as his mother pressed her lips to his forehead.
"All right," again, so feebly that the last word fainted half spoken byhis dying lips.
In a few moments the last death struggle was over. He was gone,poor Tom, the honest, trustful boy with a pure heart and noblefriendship--cut off in the morning of his life by a sickness brought onby exposure, and an exposure made necessary that he might earn the meansto supply his humble wants. A cruel world this seems sometimes, when onereflects how unevenly the joys and sorrows, and luxuries and misery aredistributed among brothers and sisters, neighbors and countrymen.
Boy Broker; Or, Among the Kings of Wall Street Page 31