RICHARD BRIGGS.
Gilbert told his story briefly.
“So you see,” he said in conclusion, “my position is like yours, after
all. I am thrown upon my own exertions, and must face the world, without
the help of money.”
“I’m truly sorry,” said John, in a tone of sympathy.
“Thank you, John; I knew you would be; but do you know, I am not sure
whether I am so very sorry myself.”
“But it must be hard for you to give up the hope of wealth.”
“I needn’t give up the hope,” said Gilbert, “only if the hope is to be
realized I shall have to make it for myself. As far as that goes I am no
worse off than you; but there is one advantage you have over me.”
“You are a better scholar than I am.”
“I don’t mean that. You have a father and mother and sister to encourage
you, while I have no one.”
“You have a friend, Gilbert; but he can’t help you much.”
“I know that, old fellow. You have been my most intimate friend for the
last three years, and I hope and believe that our friendship is going to
last. But I can’t help feeling alone in the world.”
“Why don’t you ask your guardian about your father?”
“I mean to; but I don’t believe he will tell me.”
“Have you any idea what views he has for you?”
“Not the slightest. I suppose he will provide me with a place
somewhere.”
“Then you are entirely in the dark as to your prospects?”
“Entirely so.”
“I wish you would write to me, Gilbert, after you are settled. I shall
want to know all about it.”
“I will certainly write. In fact, you will be my only correspondent. You
must write me about yourself, too.”
“There won’t be much to write. My life will be uneventful. But you may
like to hear news of the village and the school, that is, after vacation
is over. I’ll write all that I think will interest you.”
“Thank you. You may be sure I shall want to hear. And now, John, I must
bid you good-night, and good-by, for I am to start early in the morning,
and have not yet packed my trunk.”
“Good-night, then. Take care of yourself, Gilbert.”
“The same to you, John.”
So the two boys parted, but they saw each other once more. As Gilbert
was about to get into the cars, John came up hurriedly and gave him a
farewell shake of the hand.
“He’s a capital fellow,” thought Gilbert. “I hope he’ll have good luck,
and that we shall meet again soon.”
An hour and a half brought our hero to the city. He stepped upon the
platform, and getting upon a horse-car rode down-town to his guardian’s
office. He had a check for his trunk, but did not claim it at once, not
feeling certain what would be his destination.
In a busy street, not five minutes’ walk from Wall Street, was the
office of Richard Briggs. Gilbert had no trouble in finding it, for he
had been there before. Now, however, he had a new feeling as he entered
the handsomely fitted-up room. He was no longer the wealthy ward, but as
it appeared the humble dependent of the rich merchant whom he was to
meet. The change was not an agreeable one, but he had made up his mind
that he must face whatever was disagreeable in his position in a manly
way.
“Is Mr. Briggs in?” he inquired, of a clerk who was writing at a desk.
“Yes; but I don’t know if he will see you.”
“He sent for me.”
“Oh, did he? Well, he’s in there.”
The clerk pointed to an inner room, partitioned off from the main
office.
Gilbert approached it, and as the door was partially open entered, and,
removing his hat, said, “Good-morning, Mr. Briggs.”
Mr. Briggs was a short man, inclined to be corpulent, with marked
features.
He turned as he heard Gilbert’s salutation.
“So you received my letter,” he said.
“Dr. Burton did.”
“Yes, I wrote to him. It’s all the same.”
“I thought I had better come up at once, sir.”
“You did right.”
“I was rather surprised at what your letter contained. Dr. Burton let me
read it.”
“You fancied yourself rich?” said the merchant, coldly.
“Yes, sir; I had always been led to suppose so.”
“I never told you so.”
“You did not tell me I was poor, and would have to make my own way.”
“You complain of that, do you?” demanded Mr. Briggs, frowning.
“I wish I had known it before.”
“It wasn’t necessary to tell you. As to that, my judgment is of course
superior to yours. You understand, do you, that you must now go to
work?”
“I am ready, sir.”
“Have you improved your time while at school?”
“Dr. Burton could tell you better than I as to that.”
“He would be more reliable, of course. Still you must have some idea.
Give me your own impressions. If you misrepresent, I shall find you
out.”
“I shall not misrepresent, sir.”
“Of course not,” said Mr. Briggs, ironically. “I suppose you were a
model scholar.”
“No; I was not; but I think I did pretty well.”
“What do you know?”
“I can tell you how far I have been in my studies. I have been so far in
Latin and Greek that in another year—perhaps less—I should be prepared
for Yale College.”
“You won’t go there. You can’t expect me to pay your expenses.”
“I don’t,” said Gilbert, promptly. “I was only trying to give you an
idea of what I knew.”
“Very well. Are you good in arithmetic?”
“Yes, sir.”
“How far have you been?”
“Through the book.”
“That is well. How do you write?”
“Shall I give you a specimen of my writing, sir?”
“Yes. Here is a pen. Write anything you like. You may copy the first
three lines of this newspaper article.”
Gilbert did so.
“That will do very well. You don’t write rapidly enough, but you will in
time. I shall get you a place as soon as possible. Where is your trunk?”
“At the depot.”
“You can have it sent to my house. You will stay there till I can get
you a boarding-place or make some other arrangement for you. Do you know
where I live?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Give your check to an expressman, and tell him to bring it round. Stay,
here is my son. I will put you in his charge.”
A boy, about Gilbert’s age, had just entered the office. He was the
counterpart of his father, and no one could be likely to mistake the
relationship. He glanced at Gilbert, but did not speak.
“Randolph, this is Gilbert Greyson,” said his father.
“Good-morning,” said Randolph, curtly. “Father, I want five dollars.”
“What for? It seems to me you are always wanting money.”
“Everybody needs money,” said the son, pertly. “I want to go to a
matinée this afternoon.”
“I want you to go with Gilbert; he is going to stop with us a short
time.”
“He’s old enough to take care of himself,” said Randolph, unpleasantly.
“I can get along by myself,” said Gilbert, quickly. “I don’t want to
trouble your son.”
There was no great self-denial in this. It did not seem to our hero that
he should particularly enjoy Randolph’s companionship.
“At any rate you can go with him to the office of Adams’ Express. He
wants to send for his trunk.”
“Will you give me the five dollars, then?”
“Here it is. Don’t come again for a week.”
“All right. Come along, whatever your name is.”
This last polite invitation was addressed to our hero, who answered,
shortly, “My name is Gilbert Greyson.”
“Well, come along. I’m in a hurry.”
When they had reached the street, Randolph’s curiosity led him to say,
“I thought you were at school.”
“So I was; but your father sent for me.”
“He’s your guardian, isn’t he?”
“So I thought; but he tells me I have no money, and must work for my
living.”
“Oh, indeed!” said Randolph, superciliously. “That’s quite a different
matter.”
Gilbert didn’t like his tone, but did not want to quarrel without cause.
They walked on without further conversation.
Presently Randolph said, “There’s the express office. Now you can look
after yourself.”
He darted off, and Gilbert entered the office, not sorry to be rid of
his uncongenial companion.