_Number -- Chartres-Street._
With the first ray of the morning light, Gulian was awake. Without
disturbing his brother, he rose, dressed himself, and took a survey of
his chamber by daylight. It was a large, gloomy-looking room, unceiled
and unpainted, and the rough beams and rafters looked like the ponderous
ribs of some antediluvian monster, which might crumble in at any time,
and bury all beneath them. The windows were large, but dingy and
begrimed with the unmoved dust of years; and spiders' webs hung in
profuse festoons from the dirty sashes. A quantity of old barrels,
boards, wine casks, and other lumber, were carelessly thrown in one
corner, and the door which opened upon the staircase was covered with
big-lettered advertisements, in such diversified type that it seemed as
if the old door was "making faces" all the time, to improve its Punch
and Judyish appearance. The windows looked down into the courtyards of
adjoining dwellings, which were built up so high that no view was
afforded beyond. As Guly looked down now, he saw the servants hurrying
about with their turbaned heads and ebony faces, busied with
preparations for the morning meal; laughing and joking as they passed
one another, apparently as happy in these narrow gloomy courts as though
they were the possessors of the proud mansions adjoining.
Such was the view from two of the windows of the room. There was another
one covered partially by a tattered and dusty painted shade, at the
southern extremity of the apartment, but Guly did not approach it, not
caring to look down upon what he thought must be a third edition of
kitchen scenery.
Opposite the bed was a pile of empty dry goods boxes; and one or two
pieces of furniture of the same description were placed about the room,
which, with the addition of one store stool, minus a bottom, served for
seats.
The bedstead was of common stained wood, furnished with a tester and
flimsy mosquito bar, through the grim and smoky folds of which were
visible sheets of unbleached factory muslin, an emaciated mattress, and
a pair of lean pillows, which seemed quite lost in the much too large
cases which covered them. The boy sighed as he took in all the dinginess
and gloom, and his heart throbbed yearningly for the pleasant room
which, even in adversity, had been his at home, cheered and enlivened so
often, too, by the presence of his tender mother.
"It isn't time to get up yet, is it, Gulian?" said Arthur, half-rousing
himself, then closing his weary lids again. "The sun isn't up yet, is
it?"
"The sun never gets into this room, Arthur; we can only know when it's
up by the increased light."
"I was dreaming of home; oh! such a pleasant dream! I must sleep a
little longer," murmured Arthur again, in the lingering tones of one but
half-awake.
"Not this morning, brother. Come, we must up, and be doing. I hear them
opening the store below; we shouldn't be late the first morning, you
know, dear Arthur. It is too late to sleep."
Alas! that this first bright dream of home, in that old gloomy room,
should ever have been broken! Alas! that the first sweet slumber, on
that rude couch, should have had its awaking! Alas! for the beauty of
that boyish face, radiant in the flush and glow of early youth, with the
halo of home dreams upon it, that it had not there and then chilled and
crumbled! Alas! for the innocence and purity of that buoyant spirit,
that it had not then taken its flight to brighter realms, forewarned of
the dark time coming, when it would quake to find in conscience's
depths, that, indeed, "it was too late to sleep."
Upon going down stairs the first person the brothers met was Jeff, who
stood at the foot of the staircase, looking up as if expecting them.
They returned his cheerful and respectful salutation kindly, and passed
on to the front door, where Wilkins stood in his shirt-sleeves; leaning
against the door-post, reading the morning paper.
He raised his eyes as they approached, and nodded to them, and, somewhat
to Guly's surprise, inquired how they had rested, adding that the room
needed some cleaning before it could be made habitable for human beings,
and he would see to it.
They thanked him, and, as he resumed his reading, they could do nothing
more than stand in the door and look out, or walk briskly up and down
the floor for exercise. The clerks began to gather in after a while, all
of whom gave the young strangers a passing greeting, as they stationed
themselves at their respective places. At length beginning to experience
the craving of naturally good appetites, they walked up to Wilkins, and
inquired where they were expected to board.
"Good gracious! sure enough!" said he, flinging his paper on the
counter, "I came near forgetting you; and would have been off to
breakfast without you in a minute more. Come on," and he put on his coat
as he went out of the door, and led the way down street. They only
walked a couple of blocks, then entered a large room, opening upon the
street, with glazed glass doors, which stood open on account of the heat
of the morning.
"I always eat here, as it is cheaper than to take a boarding-house, I
think; and, besides, you can always have just what you call for. If you
take my advice, you'll take your meals here, too," said Wilkins,
assuming a very patronizing air, as he rang the little table bell for
the waiter.
Arthur thanked him for his kindness, and asked him when they would
probably see Mr. Delancey.
"He's only in the store from nine in the morning till three in the
afternoon," replied Wilkins. "You will see him shortly after we get back
there."
When their meal was over, arm in arm they took their way back to the
store. It wasn't nine o'clock yet, so they didn't walk very briskly, but
looked about them, and made their comments to each other on the
appearance of the buildings, the streets, etc., etc., and Arthur drew
some comparisons between them and those in New-York. They reached the
store almost at the same time that a pony-chaise, driven by a very
respectable-looking negro man, drew up at the door. A tall, spare
gentleman, in a suit of black, stepped out of it, and after reaching
back for his walking-stick, entered the building. He had, apparently,
seen about fifty winters; he was active enough to be fifty, but he was
wrinkled and skinny enough to be sixty. His hair was quite grey, and of
a dry, husky nature, which prevented its ever looking smooth; and, in
consequence, it stuck straight up in front, and straight out at the
sides, in a very bristling and business-like manner. He had a deep
frown between the eyes, which were of a cold stone color, of a most
peculiar expression, and exceedingly quick and restless; always darting
hither and thither, never as if looking for a bright side to anything,
but always as if seeking for something amiss. His nose was high and
pinched, but long, also, and very hooked; so hooked that it seemed as if
each nostril had baited a corner of his mouth, and drawn it up in
speaking distance, so that when it was open, the end of that prodigious
nasal organ might refresh itself by looking down his throat.
There was a firmness in his tread, as he passed through the store,
looking quickly to the right and left, without turning his head, which
told of energy and decision; but there was in the whole appearance of
the man something repugnant and disagreeable, and a shadow seemed to
fall on every face he passed, so that the whole line of clerks, ranged
on either side behind the counters, and a moment before so cheerful and
bright, looked as if a pall had been dropped over them after he had gone
by.
Gulian and Arthur had shrunk back at his first entrance, and felt as
certain at that moment that this man was Mr. Delancey as they did a few
minutes afterwards, when Wilkins took them up, and formally introduced
them.
"So, you've come?" said he, by way of greeting, and turning his keen
eyes upon them alternately, as Wilkins named them, "which of you is it
that's been in the business before?"
"I, sir," said Arthur, stepping forward.
"What do you know about it? what have you been accustomed to
doing--anything more than sweeping out and cleaning the lamps?"
"I never swept out, or cleaned a lamp, in my life, sir. I have sold
goods, and sometimes taken charge of the books in the book-keeper's
absence."
"No airs, young man--don't want any exhibitions of pride here; you'll
have to do whatever you're set at in my service, if it's washing
windows. Can you make out, a bill?"
Arthur's face was very red, and angry words were on his lips, but Guly's
hand that moment touched his arm, and pressed it gently. He remembered
all, and answered calmly that he could.
"Step up here, then, and let me see you do it," said Mr. Delancey,
making room for him to use the large desk.
Arthur obeyed, and in a clear, bold hand, drew up the bill properly, and
handed it to him.
He ran it over with his eyes quickly and eagerly, as if certain of
finding a flaw; and there was something like disappointment in the tone
of his voice as he said, briefly, "Right, sir," and laid it down.
There was a moment's pause, during which Mr. Delancey busied himself in
writing down a great many figures on a piece of paper. When he had
finished he handed it to Arthur, with a look of triumph in his face, and
said, "Let's see you solve this problem correctly, if you can."
That sneering "if you can," to Arthur's mind seemed to imply so much
doubt of his capacity, that he felt stung to the quick; and it was with
a gesture of pride and impatience, which he could not repress, that he
took the paper. He returned it to the desk in a few minutes, and again
those cold gray eyes ran over his work, and again they showed
disappointment when it proved to be right.
"Wilkins," said Mr. Delancey, turning to that individual, who had
remained standing near, "Give this young man the vacancy in the bleached
goods department, which Jones left."
Mr. Wilkins moved away to fulfill the order, and Arthur was about to
follow him, when his employer called him back.
"It is my custom," said he, "to give young clerks the first year a
merely nominal salary, but as you seem to be pretty well acquainted with
the business, and have a face that may win custom, you will get liberal
pay. I will give you five hundred a year. Five hundred--but mark me,
sir, you've got to earn it!--every picayune of it, sir, you've got to
work for. When any clerk is caught idling or dawdling about these
premises, he's turned out, neck and heels, with only just what he can
scrape together on the shortest possible notice. I hope we understand
each other. Go, now."
Arthur bowed, and moved away with Wilkins, who pointed out his place to
him, and having introduced him to the young men on either side of him,
returned to his position near the big desk.
After dismissing Arthur, Mr. Delancey seemed entirely to have forgotten
Gulian, and leaned stiffly back in his chair, regarding the lines of
clerks and the customers, who now began to flock in, without taking any
notice of him. When Wilkins approached, however, and cast a meaning
glance toward him, he seemed suddenly to remember Gulian, and turning
round, said, bluntly:
"Come here, sir."
Guly's face had lost every vestige of color, and his heart beat so
violently that it seemed to make him tremble all over, and he came
forward hesitatingly, with his eyes cast upon the floor.
"So, you know nothing at all about a store, eh?"
"No, sir."
"Well, I think, for my part, such a white-livered, baby-faced chap as
you are would have been better off at your mother's apron strings, than
coming so far from home to get initiated."
No answer, but the pale face and golden head drooped a trifle lower.
"Do you know your multiplication-table?"
"Yes, sir."
"Step up here, and repeat it."
Without lifting his eyes Guly obeyed; and stepping forward, commenced in
a low tone to repeat the table.
"Louder, sir!" exclaimed Mr. Delancey, angrily; "how do you suppose I
can hear such a muttering as that?"
The throbbing in his breast increased to such a degree, that Guly felt
as if he could not breathe. He reached up and laid one white delicate
hand upon the desk tightly, for support, then summoning all his courage,
he elevated his voice, and went on, mechanically, to repeat what, in
calm moments, he knew as well as A B C, but which now seemed to be a
sort of dead memory, which would desert him every moment.
"Louder, sir!" again shouted his tormentor, as his voice unconsciously
lulled again. "What do you want to play the fool in this way for? If you
know it, speak up."
There was a sudden turning of heads by the clerks nearest the desk
towards the spot, attracted by the unusually loud tone of the
proprietor. Guly felt, rather than saw, that he had become the object of
attention, and with a last effort raised his voice, and commenced
another number, but suddenly he ceased altogether, the white hand slid
from the desk, and he fell fainting at Delancey's feet.
Wilkins sprang quickly forward, with a hot flush burning on either
cheek, and lifted the boy like a baby in his arms. As he did so he cast
a look full of deep and mysterious meaning upon Delancey. It was a look
difficult for a mere observer to interpret, but the merchant quailed
visibly beneath it, and turned aside his head.
Wilkins bore the quiet figure in his arms farther back into the shadow
of the staircase, and placing him in a large chair which stood there,
bathed his temples with camphor water, and held it to his nostrils,
gazing upon him meanwhile with an intense and anxious gaze. At length
the snowy lids, with their curve of golden lashes, trembled slightly,
then opened wide, and the blue eyes were raised an instant, appealingly,
to the face which bent kindly over him.
"A drop of water, Mr. Wilkins, if you please."
It was brought, and he drank eagerly.
"Are you better?"
"Yes, Wilkins, almost well."
He dropped his head upon his hand a moment, and those to whom he was
visible saw his lips move earnestly for a moment or two.
"I can go on without any trouble, I think," he said, in a voice of
gentle earnestness, referring to his unsaid table.
"You needn't say any more unless you would like to," returned Wilkins;
"I am sure you know it."
"I would rather," said Guly, firmly.
He rose, and, with Wilkins at his side, again approached the desk where
Mr. Delancey had resumed his stiff position, leaning back in his chair.
"He will finish, if you please, sir," said Wilkins, with the respectful
bow of an inferior, but at the same time fixing his eyes sternly on the
merchant's face.
Mr. Delancey assumed an air of attention, and Guly, taking his old
station in front of him, commenced in a clear, distinct voice, and
repeated the table unfalteringly, from beginning to end.
"There! why couldn't you have done that in the first place, without
acting such a namby-pamby farce, I'd like to know?"
"I had not the power, sir."
"Well, what do you s'pose you're good for in a dry goods store, anyway,
eh? Look at that!" and he lifted one of the boy's small white hands by
the tips of the fingers, and held it towards the light, as if he would
look through it, then dropped it with a contemptuous "Umph!"
"What shall we do with him, Wilkins?"
"Give him the embroidery department. His hands are just fit for such
delicate work, and besides it will just put him under my eye."
"Poh! he'll make such ruinous mistakes, that I'll never be able to stand
it, sir. Give him Harper's place in the thread and tape, up here, then
he'll be under my eye."
Guly shuddered.
"He'll do well, sir, in the place I propose," Wilkins returned quietly,
but firmly. "With a little instruction, I'll answer for him; and there's
a freer circulation of air down there, something he needs."
"Well, take him along, and see what you can do with him. I expect
nothing more than that he'll die on my hands, before he's earned enough
to pay his funeral expenses."
Wilkins turned, and beckoned the boy to follow him.