CHAPTER IX.
ROSWELL CRAWFORD AT HOME.
While Fosdick and Dick are devoting their evenings to study, under theguidance of Mr. Layton, we will direct the reader's attention to a younggentleman who considered himself infinitely superior in the social scaleto either. Roswell Crawford could never forget that Dick had once been aboot-black, and looked upon it as an outrage that such a boy should beearning a salary of ten dollars a week, while he--a gentleman's son--wasonly paid four, which he regarded as a beggarly pittance. Roswell'sfather had once kept a small dry goods store on Broadway, but failedafter being in business a little less than a year. This constituted hisclaim to gentility. After his failure, Mr. Crawford tried several kindsof business, without succeeding in any. His habits were not strictlytemperate, and he had died two years previous. His wife hired a house inClinton Place, and took boarders, barely succeeding in making both endsmeet at the end of the year. The truth was that she was not a goodmanager, and preferred to talk of her gentility and former wealth tolooking after the affairs of the household. She was very much like herson in this respect.
Among Mrs. Crawford's boarders was Mr. Gilbert, who is already known tothe reader as the book-keeper of Rockwell & Cooper. It has beenmentioned also that he was Roswell's cousin, being a son of Mrs.Crawford's only brother. He, too, was not unlike his aunt and cousin,and all three combined to hate and despise Dick, whom Mrs. Crawford sawfit to regard as her son's successful rival.
"How's the boot-black, Cousin James?" asked Roswell, on the eveningsucceeding that which Dick had passed at Mr. Rockwell's.
"Putting on airs worse than ever," replied Gilbert.
"Mr. Rockwell has a singular taste, to say the least," said Mrs.Crawford, "or he wouldn't hire a boy from the streets, and give him suchextravagant wages. To pay such a vagabond ten dollars a week, when a boyof good family, like Roswell, can get but four, is perfectlyridiculous."
"I don't believe he gets so much," said Roswell. "It's only one of hisbig stories."
"You're mistaken there," said Gilbert. "He does get exactly that."
"Are you sure of it?"
"I ought to be, since I received directions from Mr. Rockwell to-day topay him that amount to-morrow night, that being the end of the week."
"I never heard of such a thing!" ejaculated Mrs. Crawford. "The man mustbe a simpleton."
"If he is, there's another besides him."
"Who do you mean?"
"Mrs. Rockwell."
"Has she made acquaintance with the boot-black, then?" asked Roswell,with a sneer.
"Yes, he visited them last evening at their house."
"Did he tell you so?"
"Yes."
"I should think they'd feel honored by such a visitor."
"Probably they did, for Mrs. Rockwell made him a present of a goldwatch."
"WHAT!" exclaimed Roswell and his mother in concert.
"It's true. I sent him out to ask the time to-day, when he pulled out anew gold watch with an air of importance, and told me the time."
"Was it a good watch?"
"A very handsome one. It must have cost, with the chain, a hundred andtwenty-five dollars."
"The idea of a boot-black with a gold watch!" exclaimed Roswell, with asneer. "It's about as appropriate as a pig in a silk dress."
"I can't understand it at all," said Mrs. Crawford. "It can't be thathe's a poor relation of theirs, can it?"
"I should say not. Mr. Rockwell wouldn't be likely to have a relationreduced to blacking boots."
"Is the boy so attractive, then? What does he look like?"
"He's as bold as brass, and hasn't got any manners nor education," saidRoswell.
Poor Dick! His ears ought to have tingled, considering the complimentarythings that were said of him this evening. But luckily he knew nothingabout it, and, if he had, it is doubtful whether it would have troubledhim much. He was independent in his ideas, and didn't trouble himselfmuch about the opinion of others, as long as he felt that he was doingright as nearly as he knew how.
"Do you think this strange fancy of Mr. Rockwell's is going to last?"inquired Mrs. Crawford. "I wish Roswell could have got in there."
"So do I, but I couldn't accomplish it."
"If this boy should fall out of favor, there might be a chance forRoswell yet; don't you think so?" asked Mrs. Crawford.
"I wish there might," said Roswell. "I'd like to see that beggar's pridehumbled. Besides, four dollars a week is such a miserable salary."
"You thought yourself lucky when you got it."
"So I did; but that was before I found out how much this boot-black wasgetting."
"Well," said Gilbert, "he isn't a favorite of mine, as you know wellenough. If there's anything I can do to oust him, I shall do it."
"Couldn't you leave some money in his way? He might be tempted to stealit."
"I don't know yet what course would be best. I'll try to get him intotrouble of some kind. But I can tell better by and by what to do."
Gilbert went up to his room, and Mrs. Crawford and Roswell were leftalone.
"I wish you were at Rockwell & Cooper's, Roswell," said his mother.
"So do I, mother; but it's no use wishing."
"I don't know about that. Your cousin ought to have some influencethere."
"The boot-black's in the way."
"He may not be in the way always. Your cousin may detect him insomething that will cause his discharge."
"Even if he does, I've tried once to get in there, and didn't succeed.They didn't seem to take a fancy to me."
"I shouldn't expect them to, if they take a fancy to a common streetboy. But when they find him out, they may change their opinion of you."
"I don't know how that will be, mother. At any rate, I think I ought toget more than four dollars a week where I am. Why, there's Talbot, onlytwo years older than I, gets eight dollars, and I do more than he. Totell the truth, I don't like the place. I don't like to be seen carryinground bundles. It isn't fit work for a gentleman's son."
Roswell forgot that many of the most prosperous merchants in the citybegan in that way, only on less wages. One who wants to climb the ladderof success must, except in very rare cases, commence at the lowestround. This was what Roswell did not like. He wanted to begin half-wayup at the very least. It was a great hindrance to him that he regardedhimself as a gentleman's son, and was puffed up with a correspondingsense of his own importance.
The more Roswell thought of his ill-requited services, as he consideredthem, the more he felt aggrieved. It may be mentioned that he wasemployed in a dry goods store on Sixth Avenue, and was chiefly engagedin carrying out bundles for customers. A circumstance which occurredabout this time deepened his disgust with the place.
About the middle of the next week he was carrying a heavy bundle to ahouse on Madison Avenue. Now it happened that Mr. Rockwell, who, it willbe remembered, lived on the same street, had left home that morning,quite forgetting an important letter which he had received, and whichrequired an early answer. He therefore summoned Dick, and said,"Richard, do you remember the location of my house?"
"Yes, sir," said Dick.
"I find I have left an important letter at home. I have written a lineto my wife, that she may know where to look for it. I want you to go upat once."
"Very well, sir."
Dick took the note, and, walking to Broadway, jumped on board anomnibus, and in a few minutes found himself opposite the Fifth AvenueHotel. Here he alighted, and, crossing the Park, entered Madison Avenue,then as now lined with fine houses.
Walking briskly up the avenue, he overtook a boy of about his own size,with a large bundle under his arm. Glancing at him as he passed, herecognized Roswell Crawford.
"How are you, Crawford?" said Dick, in an offhand manner.
Roswell looked at the speaker, whom he recognized.
"I'm well," said he, in a stiff, ungracious manner.
Ashamed of the large bundle he was carrying, he would rathe
r have beenseen by any boy than Dick, under present circumstances. He did not failto notice Dick's neat dress, and the gold chain displayed on his vest.Indeed there was nothing in Dick's appearance which would have beeninconsistent with the idea that he lived on the avenue, and was, whatRoswell claimed to be, a gentleman's son. It seemed to Roswell that Dickwas immensely presumptuous in swaggering up Madison Avenue in such astyle, as he mentally called it, and he formed the benevolent design of"taking down his pride," and making him feel uncomfortable, if possible.
"Have you lost your place?" he inquired.
"No," said Dick, "not yet. It's very kind of you to inquire."
"I suppose they pay you for walking the streets, then," he said, with asneer.
"Yes," said Dick, composedly; "that's one of the things they pay mefor."
"I suppose you like it better than blacking boots?" said Roswell, who,supposing that Dick was ashamed of his former occupation, felt amalicious pleasure in reminding him of it.
"Yes," said Dick, "I like it better on the whole; but then there's someadvantages about boot-blackin'."
"Indeed!" said Roswell, superciliously. "As I was never in the business,I can't of course decide."
"Then I was in business for myself, you see, and was my own master. NowI have to work for another man."
"You don't seem to be working very hard now," said Roswell, enviously.
"Not very," said Dick. "You must be tired carrying that heavy bundle.I'll carry it for you as far as I go."
Roswell, who was not above accepting a favor from a boy he didn't like,willingly transferred it to our hero.
"I carried it out just to oblige," he said, as if he were not in thedaily habit of carrying such packages.
"That's very kind of you," said Dick.
Roswell did not know whether Dick spoke sarcastically or not, andtherefore left the remark unnoticed.
"I don't think I shall stay where I am very long," he said.
"Don't you like?" asked Dick.
"Not very well. I'm not obliged to work for a living," added Roswell,loftily, but not altogether truly.
"I am," said Dick. "I've had to work for a living ever since I was sixyears old. I suppose you work because you like it."
"I'm learning business. I'm going to be a merchant, as my father was."
"I'll have to give up the bundle now," said Dick. "This is as far as Iam going."
Roswell took back his bundle, and Dick went up the steps of Mr.Rockwell's residence and rang the door-bell.
Fame and Fortune; or, The Progress of Richard Hunter Page 9