”I am going to work here,“ answered Phil simply.
”Going to work here!“ repeated Mr. Wilbur in surprise. ”Has old Pitkin engaged you?“
”Mr. Pitkin engaged me yesterday,“ Phil replied.
”I didn't know he wanted a boy. What are you to do?“
”Go to the post-office, bank, and so on.“
”You're to be errand boy, then?“
”Yes.“
”That's the way I started,“ said Mr. Wilbur patronizingly.
”What are you now?“
”A salesman. I wouldn't like to be back in my old position. What wages are you going to get?“
”Five dollars.“
”Five dollars a week!“ ejaculated Mr. G. Washington Wilbur, in amazement. ”Come, you're chaffing.“
”Why should I do that? Is that anything remarkable?“
”I should say it was,“ answered Mr. Wilbur slowly.
”Didn't you get as much when you were errand boy?“
”I only got two dollars and a half. Did Pitkin tell you he would pay you five dollars a week.“
”No; Mr Carter told me so.“
”The old gentleman--Mr. Pitkin's uncle?“
”Yes. It was at his request that Mr. Pitkin took me on.“
Mr. Wilbur looked grave.
”It's a shame!“ he commenced.
”What is a shame; that I should get five dollars a week?“
”No, but that I should only get a dollar a week more than an errand boy. I'm worth every cent of ten dollars a week, but the old man only gives me six. It hardly keeps me in gloves and cigars.“
”Won't he give you any more?“
”No; only last month I asked him for a raise, and he told me if I wasn't satisfied I might go elsewhere.“
”You didn't?“
”No, but I mean to soon. I will show old Pitkin that he can't keep a man of my experience for such a paltry salary. I dare say that Denning or Claflin would be glad to have me, and pay me what I am worth.“
Phil did not want to laugh, but when Mr. Wilbur, who looked scarcely older than himself, and was in appearance but a callow youth, referred to himself as a man of experience he found it hard to resist.
”Hadn't we better be going up stairs?“ asked Phil.
”All right. Follow me,“ said Mr. Wilbur, ”and I'll take you to the superintendent of the room.“
”I am to report to Mr. Pitkin himself, I believe.“
”He won't be here yet awhile,“ said Wilbur.
But just then up came Mr. Wilbur himself, fully half an hour earlier than usual.
Phil touched his hat politely, and said:
”Good-morning.“
”Good-morning!“ returned his employer, regarding him sharply. ”Are you the boy I hired yesterday?“
”Yes, sir.“
”Come up-stairs, then.“
Phil followed Mr. Pitkin up-stairs, and they walked together through the sales-room.
”I hope you understand,“ said Mr. Pitkin brusquely, ”that I have engaged you at the request of Mr. Carter and to oblige him.“
”I feel grateful to Mr. Carter,“ said Phil, not quite knowing what was coming next.
”I shouldn't myself have engaged a boy of whom I knew nothing, and who could give me no city references.“
”I hope you won't be disappointed in me,“ said Phil.
”I hope not,“ answered Mr. Pitkin, in a tone which seemed to imply that he rather expected to be.
Phil began to feel uncomfortable. It seemed evident that whatever he did would be closely scrutinized, and that in an unfavorable spirit.
Mr. Pitkin paused before a desk at which was standing a stout man with grayish hair.
”Mr. Sanderson,“ he said, ”this is the new errand boy. His name is--what is it, boy?“
”Philip Brent.“
”You will give him something to do. Has the mail come in?“
”No; we haven't sent to the post-office yet.“
”You may send this boy at once.“
Mr. Sanderson took from the desk a key and handed it to Philip.
”That is the key to our box,“ he said. ”Notice the number--534. Open it and bring the mail. Don't loiter on the way.“
”Yes, sir.“
Philip took the key and left the warehouse. When he reached the street he said to himself:
”I wonder where the post-office is?“
He did not like to confess to Mr. Sanderson that he did not know, for it would probably have been considered a disqualification for the post which he was filling.
”I had better walk to Broadway,“ he said to him self. ”I suppose the post-office must be on the principal street.“
In this Phil was mistaken. At that time the post- office was on Nassau Street, in an old church which had been utilized for a purpose very different from the one to which it had originally been devoted.
Reaching Broadway, Phil was saluted by a bootblack, with a grimy but honest-looking face.
”Shine your boots, mister?“ said the boy, with a grin.
”Not this morning.“
”Some other morning, then?“
”Yes,“ answered Phil.
”Sorry you won't give me a job,“ said the bootblack. ”My taxes comes due to-day, and I ain't got enough to pay 'em.“
Phil was amused, for his new acquaintance scarcely looked like a heavy taxpayer.
”Do you pay a big tax?“ he asked.
”A thousand dollars or less,“ answered the knight of the brush.
”I guess it's less,“ said Phil.
”That's where your head's level, young chap.“
”Is the post-office far from here?“
”Over half a mile, I reckon.“
”Is it on this street?“
”No, it's on Nassau Street.“
”If you will show me the way there I'll give you ten cents.“
”All right! The walk'll do me good. Come on!“
”What's your name?“ asked Phil, who had become interested in his new acquaintance.
”The boys call me Ragged Dick.“
It was indeed the lively young bootblack whose history was afterward given in a volume which is probably familiar to many of my readers. At this time he was only a bootblack, and had not yet begun to feel the spur of that ambition which led to his subsequent prosperity.
”That's a queer name,“ said Phil.
”I try to live up to it,“ said Dick, with a comical glance at his ragged coat, which had originally been worn by a man six feet in height.
He swung his box over his shoulder, and led the way to the old post-office.
CHAPTER XII.
MR. LIONEL LAKE AGAIN.
PHIL continued his conversation with Ragged Dick, and was much amused by his quaint way of expressing himself.
When they reached Murray Street, Dick said:
”Follow me. We'll cut across the City Hall Park. It is the shortest way.“
Soon they reached the shabby old building with which New Yorkers were then obliged to be content with as a post-office.
Phil secured the mail matter for Pitkin & Co., and was just about leaving the office, when he noticed just ahead of him a figure which looked very familiar.
It flashed upon him of a sudden that it was his old train acquaintance, Lionel Lake. He immediately hurried forward and touched his arm.
Mr. Lake, who had several letters in his hand, started nervously, and turned at the touch. He recognized Phil, but appeared not to do so.
”What do you wish, boy?“ he asked, loftily.“
”I want to speak a word with you, Mr. Lake.“
The young man shrugged his shoulders.
”You are mistaken in the person,“ he said. ”My name is not Lake.“
”Very likely not,“ said Phil significantly, ”but that's what you called yourself when we met on the train.“
”I repeat, boy, that you are strangely mistaken. My name is“--he paus
ed slightly--”John Montgomery.“
”Just as you please. Whatever your name is, I have a little business with you.“
”I can't stop. My business is urgent,“ said Lake.
”Then I will be brief. I lent you five dollars on a ring which I afterward discovered to be stolen. I want you to return that money.“
Mr. Lake looked about him apprehensively, for he did not wish any one to hear what Phil was saying.
”You must be crazy!“ he said. ”I never saw you before in the whole course of my life.“
He shook off Phil's detaining hand, and was about to hurry away, but Phil said resolutely:
”You can't deceive me, Mr. Lake. Give me that money, or I will call a policeman.“
Now, it happened that a policeman was passing just outside, and Lake could see him.
”This is an infamous outrage!“ he said, ”but I have an important appointment, and can't be detained. Take the money. I give it to you in charity.“
Phil gladly received and pocketed the bank-note, and relinquishing his hold of Mr. Lake, rejoined Dick, who had been an interested eye-witness of the interview.
”I see you've got pluck,“ said Dick. ”What's it all about?“
Phil told him.
”I ain't a bit s'prised,“ said Dick. ”I could tell by his looks that the man was a skin.“
”Well, I'm even with him, at any rate,“ said Phil.
”Now I'll be getting back to the office. Thank you for your guidance. Here's a quarter.“
”You only promised me ten cents.“
”It's worth a quarter. I hope to meet you again.“
”We'll meet at Astor's next party,“ said Dick, with a grin. ”My invite came yesterday.“
”Mine hasn't come yet,“ said Phil, smiling.
”Maybe it'll come to-morrow.“
”He's a queer chap,“ thought Phil. ”He's fit for something better than blacking boots. I hope he'll have the luck to get it.“
Phil had been detained by his interview with Mr. Lake, but he made up for it by extra speed, and reached the warehouse in fair time. After delivering the letters he was sent out on another errand, and during the entire day he was kept busy.
Leaving him for the moment we go back to the Pitkin mansion, and listen to & conversation between Mr. and Mrs. Pitkin.
”Uncle Oliver is getting more and more eccentric every day,“ said the lady. ”He brought home a boy to lunch to-day--some one whom he had picked up in the street.“
”Was the boy's name Philip Brent?“ asked her husband.
”Yes, I believe so. What do you know about him?“ asked the lady in surprise.
”I have engaged him as errand boy.“
”You have! What for?“ exclaimed Mrs. Pitkin.
”I couldn't help it. He brought a letter from your uncle, requesting me to do so, and offering to pay his wages out of his own pocket.“
”This is really getting very serious,“ said Mrs. Pitkin, annoyed. ”Suppose he should take a fancy to this boy?“
”He appears to have done so already,“ said her husband dryly.
”I mean, suppose he should adopt him?“
”You are getting on pretty fast, Lavinia, are you not?“
”Such things happen sometimes,“ said the lady, nodding. ”If it should happen it would be bad for poor Lonny.“
”Even in that case Lonny won't have to go to the poor-house.“
”Mr. Pitkin, you don't realize the danger. Here's Uncle Oliver worth a quarter of a million dollars, and it ought to be left to us.“
”Probably it will be.“
”He may leave it all to this boy. This must be prevented.“
”How?“
”You must say the boy doesn't suit you, and discharge him.“
”Well, well, give me time. I have no objection; but I suspect it will be hard to find any fault with him. He looks like a reliable boy.“
”To me he looks like an artful young adventurer,“ said Mrs. Pitkin vehemenntly. ”Depend upon it, Mr. Pitkin, he will spare no pains to ingratiate himself into Uncle Oliver's favor.“
It will be seen that Mrs. Pitkin was gifted--if it can be called a gift--with a very suspicious temperament. She was mean and grasping, and could not bear the idea of even a small part of her uncle's money going to any one except her own family. There was, indeed, another whose relationship to Uncle Oliver was as close--a cousin, who had estranged her relatives by marrying a poor bookkeeper, with whom she had gone to Milwaukee. Her name was never mentioned in the Pitkin household, and Mrs. Pitkin, trusting to the distance between them, did not apprehend any danger from this source. Had she known Rebecca Forbush was even now in New York, a widow with one child, struggling to make a living by sewing and taking lodgers, she would have felt less tranquil. But she knew nothing of all this, nor did she dream that the boy whom she dreaded was the very next day to make the acquaintance of this despised relation.
This was the way that it happened:
Phil soon tired of the room he had taken in Fifth Street. It was not neatly kept, and was far from comfortable. Then again, he found that the restaurants, cheap as they were, were likely to absorb about all his salary, though the bill-of-fare was far from attractive.
Chance took him through a side-street, between Second and Third Avenues, in the neighborhood of Thirteenth Street,
Among the three and four-story buildings that lined the block was one frame-house, two-story-and- basement, on which he saw a sign, ”Board for Gentlemen.“ He had seen other similar signs, but his attention was specially drawn to this by seeing a pleasant-looking woman enter the house with the air of proprietor. This woman recalled to Philip his own mother, to whom she bore a striking resemblance.
”I would like to board with one whose face recalled that of my dear dead mother,“ thought Phil, and on the impulse of the moment, just after the woman had entered, he rang the door-bell.
The door was opened almost immediately by the woman he had just seen enter.
It seemed to Phil almost as if he were looking into his mother's face, and he inquired in an unsteady voice:
”Do you take boarders?“
”Yes,“ was the answer. ”Won't you step in?“
CHAPTER XIII.
PHIL'S NEW HOME.
THE HOUSE was poorly furnished with cheap furniture, but there was an unexpected air of neatness about it. There is a great difference between respectable and squalid poverty. It was the first of these that was apparent in the small house in which our hero found himself.
”I am looking for a boarding-place,“ said Philip. ”I cannot afford to pay a high price.“
”And I should not think of asking a high price for such plain accommodations as I can offer,“ said Mrs. Forbush. ”What sort of a room do you desire?“
”A small room will answer.“
”I have a hall-bedroom at the head of the stairs. Will you go up and look at it?“
”I should like to do so.“
Mrs. Forbush led the way up a narrow staircase, and Philip followed her.
Opening the door of the small room referred to, she showed a neat bed, a chair, a wash-stand, and a few hooks from which clothing might be hung. It was plain enough, but there was an air of neatness which did not characterize his present room.
”I like the room,“ he said, brightening up. ”How much do you charge for this room and board?“
”Four dollars. That includes breakfast and supper,“ answered Mrs. Forbush. ”Lunch you provide for yourself.“
”That will be satisfactory,“ said Phil. ”I am in a place down town, and I could not come to lunch, at any rate.“
”When would you like to come, Mr.----?“ said the widow interrogatively.“
”My name is Philip Brent.“
”Mr. Brent.“
”I will come some time to-morrow.“
”Generally I ask a small payment in advance, as a guarantee that an applicant will really come, but I am sure I can trust
you.“
”Thank you, but I am quite willing to conform to your usual rule,“ said Phil, as he drew a two-dollar bill from his pocket and handed it to the widow.
So they parted, mutually pleased. Phil's week at his present lodging would not be up for several days, but he was tired of it, and felt that he would be much more comfortable with Mrs. Forbush. So he was ready to make the small pecuniary sacrifice needful.
The conversation which has been recorded took but five minutes, and did not materially delay Phil, who, as I have already said, was absent from the store on an errand.
The next day Phil became installed at his new boarding-place, and presented himself at supper.
There were three other boarders, two being a young salesman at a Third Avenue store and his wife. They occupied a square room on the same floor with Phil. The other was a female teacher, employed in one of the city public schools. The only remaining room was occupied by a drummer, who was often called away for several days together. This comprised the list of boarders, but Phil's attention was called to a young girl of fourteen, of sweet and attractive appearance, whom he ascertained to be a daughter of Mrs. Forbush. The young lady herself, Julia Forbush, cast frequent glances at Phil, who, being an unusually good-looking boy, would naturally excite the notice of a young girl.
On the whole, it seemed a pleasant and social circle, and Phil felt that he had found a home.
The next day, as he was occupied in the store, next to G. Washington Wilbur, he heard that young man say:
”Why, there's Mr. Carter coming into the store!“
Mr. Oliver Carter, instead of making his way directly to the office where Mr. Pitkin was sitting, came up to where Phil was at work.
”How are you getting along, my young friend?“ he asked familiarly.
”Very well, thank you, sir.“
”Do you find your duties very fatiguing?“
”Oh, no, sir. I have a comfortable time.“
”That's right. Work cheerfully and you will win the good opinion of your employer. Don't forget to come up and see me soon.“
”Thank you, sir.“
”You seem to be pretty solid with the old man,“ remarked Mr. Wilbur.
The Errand Boy; or, How Phil Brent Won Success Page 5