“Is Mr. Smith in?” inquired Paul, of the nearest clerk.
“You’ll find him at the lower end of the store. How many yards, ma’am?”
This last was of course addressed to a customer.
Paul made his way, as directed, to the lower end of the store.
A short, wiry, nervous man was writing at a desk.
“Is Mr. Smith in?” asked Paul.
“My name; what can I do for you?” said the short man, crisply.
“I saw an advertisement in the Tribune for a boy.”
“And you have applied for the situation?” said Mr. Smith.
“Yes, sir.”
“How old are you?” with a rapid glance at our hero.
“Sixteen–nearly seventeen.”
“I suppose that means that you will be seventeen in eleven months and a half.”
“No, sir,” said Paul, “I shall be seventeen in three months.”
“All right. Most boys call themselves a year older. What’s your name?”
“Paul Prescott.”
“P. P. Any relation to Fanny Fern?”
“No, sir,” said Paul, rather astonished.
“Didn’t know but you might be. P. P. and F. F. Where do you live?”
Paul mentioned the street and number.
“That’s well, you are near by,” said Mr. Smith. “Now, are you afraid of work?”
“No sir,” said Paul, smiling, “not much.”
“Well, that’s important; how much wages do you expect?”
“I suppose,” said Paul, hesitating, “I couldn’t expect very much at first.”
“Of course not; green, you know. What do you say to a dollar a week?”
“A dollar a week!” exclaimed Paul, in dismay, “I hoped to get enough to pay for my board.”
“Nonsense. There are plenty of boys glad enough to come for a dollar a week. At first, you know. But I’ll stretch a point with you, and offer you a dollar and a quarter. What do you say?”
“How soon could I expect to have my wages advanced?” inquired our hero, with considerable anxiety.
“Well,” said Smith, “at the end of a month or two.”
“I’ll go home and speak to my uncle about it,” said Paul, feeling undecided.
“Can’t keep the place open for you. Ah, there’s another boy at the door.”
“I’ll accept,” said Paul, jumping to a decision. He had applied in so many different quarters without success, that he could not make up his mind to throw away this chance, poor as it seemed.
“When shall I come?”
“Come to-morrow”
“At what time, sir?”
“At seven o’clock.”
This seemed rather early. However, Paul was prepared to expect some discomforts, and signified that he would come.
As he turned to go away, another boy passed him, probably bent on the same errand with himself.
Paul hardly knew whether to feel glad or sorry. He had expected at least three dollars a week, and the descent to a dollar and a quarter was rather disheartening. Still, he was encouraged by the promise of a rise at the end of a month or two,–so on the whole he went home cheerful.
“Well, Paul, what luck to-day?” asked Mr. Cameron, who had just got home as Paul entered.
“I’ve got a place, Uncle Hugh.”
“You have,–where?”
“With Smith & Thompson, No.–Broadway.”
“What sort of a store? I don’t remember the name.”
“It is a retail dry-goods store.”
“Did you like the looks of your future employer?”
“I don’t know,” said Paul, hesitating, “He looked as if he might be a pretty sharp man in business, but I have seen others that I would rather work for. However, beggars mustn’t be choosers. But there was one thing I was disappointed about.”
“What was that, Paul?”
“About the wages.”
“How much will they give you?”
“Only a dollar and a quarter a week, at first.”
“That is small, to be sure.”
“The most I think of, Uncle Hugh, is, that I shall still be an expense to you. I hoped to get enough to be able to pay my board from the first.”
“My dear boy,” said the sexton, kindly, “don’t trouble yourself on that score. It costs little more for three than for two, and the little I expend on your account is richly made up by the satisfaction we feel in your society, and your good conduct.”
“You say that to encourage me, Uncle Hugh,” said Paul. “You have done all for me. I have done nothing for you.”