Phil knew of no better way, and he followed Signor Orlando’s advice.
After a frugal breakfast at the Bowery restaurant, he invested a few pennies in the two papers mentioned, and began to go the rounds.
The first place was in Pearl Street.
He entered, and was directed to a desk in the front part of the store.
”You advertised for a boy,“ he said.
”We’ve got one,“ was the brusque reply.
Of course no more was to be said, and Phil walked out, a little dashed at his first rebuff.
At the next place he found some half a dozen boys waiting, and joined the line, but the vacancy was filled before his turn came.
At the next place his appearance seemed to make a good impression, and he was asked several questions.
”What is your name?“
”Philip Brent.“
”How old are you?“
”Just sixteen.“
”How is your education?“
”I have been to school since I was six.“
”Then you ought to know something. Have you ever been in a place?“
”No, sir.“
”Do you live with your parents?“
”No, sir; I have just come to the city, and am lodging in Fifth Street.“
”Then you won’t do. We wish our boys to live with their parents.“
Poor Phil! He had allowed himself to hope that at length he was likely to get a place. The abrupt termination of the conversation dispirited him.
He made three more applications. In one of them he again came near succeeding, but once more the fact that he did not live with his parents defeated his application.
”It seems to be very hard getting a place,“ thought Phil, and it must be confessed he felt a little homesick.
”I won’t make any more applications to-day,“ he decided, and being on Broadway, walked up that busy thoroughfare, wondering what the morrow would bring forth.
It was winter, and there was ice on the sidewalk. Directly in front of Phil walked an elderly gentleman, whose suit of fine broadcloth and gold spectacles, seemed to indicate a person of some prominence and social importance.
Suddenly he set foot on a treacherous piece of ice. Vainly he strove to keep his equilibrium, his arms waving wildly, and his gold-headed cane falling to the sidewalk. He would have fallen backward, had not Phil, observing his danger in time, rushed to his assistance.
CHAPTER VIII.
THE HOUSE IN TWELFTH STREET.
WITH some difficulty the gentleman righted himself, and then Phil picked up his cane.
”I hope you are not hurt, sir?“ he said.
”I should have been but for you, my good boy,“ said the gentleman. ”I am a little shaken by the suddenness of my slipping.“
”Would you wish me to go with you, sir?“
”Yes, if you please. I do not perhaps require you, but I shall be glad of your company.“
”Thank you, sir.“
”Do you live in the city?“
”Yes, sir; that is, I propose to do so. I have come here in search of employment.“
Phil said this, thinking it possible that the old gentleman might exert his influence in his favor.
”Are you dependent on what you may earn?“ asked the gentleman, regarding him attentively.
”I have a little money, sir, but when that is gone I shall need to earn something.“
”That is no misfortune. It is a good thing for a boy to be employed. Otherwise he is liable to get into mischief.“
”At any rate, I shall be glad to find work, sir.“
”Have you applied anywhere yet?“
Phil gave a little account of his unsuccessful applications, and the objections that had been made to him.
”Yes, yes,“ said the old gentleman thoughtfully, ”more confidence is placed in a boy who lives with his parents.“
The two walked on together until they reached Twelfth Street. It was a considerable walk, and Phil was surprised that his companion should walk, when he could easily have taken a Broadway stage, but the old gentleman explained this himself.
”I find it does me good,“ he said, ”to spend some time in the open air, and even if walking tires me it does me good.“
At Twelfth Street they turned off.
”I am living with a married niece,“ he said, ”just on the other side of Fifth Avenue.“