HUNTING A JOB
When Phil managed to shake off his enthusiastic friends and return to
his home, he found that Phœbe had gone out. Entering the kitchen
to ask Aunt Hyacinth where his sister was, he found the black mammy
preparing the supper.
“Don’ know whar she am, Marse Phil, I’se shuah,” she said. “But Miss
Phœbe’s sartin to be back ’fo’ long.”
Phil turned to go; then he paused, and after a moment’s thought
inquired:
“Auntie, who pays our grocery bills?”
“I do, chile,” she answered, giving him an odd look.
“And where do you get the money?” he continued.
Auntie was beating eggs for a custard. She pretended not to hear him.
Phil repeated the question.
“Marse Ferg’son done gi’ me a lot,” said she, in a matter of course
way.
“Forty dollars, I believe,” the boy rejoined, rather bitterly.
“Mo’ ’n dat, honey; lots mo’.”
“When?”
“’Fore we shifted oveh to dis yeah house. Den he done guv me fohty
dollehs mo’, an’ said dat were all dere was left. But I guess it’ll do,
all right.”
“Auntie,” said Phil, taking both her hands and looking her squarely in
the eyes, “tell me truly; is any of that last forty dollars left?”
A look of genuine distress crossed her honest face.
“No, honey,” she admitted, in a low voice.
“Then, where does the money come from that we’re living on now?”
“H--m. Miss Phœbe done guv it to me.”
“Phœbe!”
“Miss Phœbe; shuah.”
“Where could Phœbe get any money?” he inquired, wonderingly.
“Yo’ haf to ask heh, I guess, Marse Phil.”
He reflected a moment.
“Auntie, you’re keeping something from me; something I ought to know;
and it isn’t right to treat me so,” he declared.
She made no reply to this.
“Phœbe hasn’t any money; or, if she’s been trying to earn some, it
must be mighty little. See here: I’ll finish school next week, and then
I’m going to take care of the family myself, and look after things.
Don’t you know I’m the head of the Darings, Auntie, and entitled to
know all about our affairs? So tell me, where does all the money come
from to pay the grocer, and the butcher, and all the rest?”
“Miss Phœbe done guv me some,” she persisted, half frightened at his
earnestness.
“And the rest, Auntie?”
She twisted her apron in her hands and cast an appealing glance into
his stern face.
“Tell me, Auntie!”
“Well, yo’ see, Marse Phil,” she began, slowly, “I’ve got a little
money what useter b’long to yo’ dead papa.”
“My father!”
“Dat’s a fac’, honey. Ol’ Marse allus done pay me mo’ wages’n I could
earn, nohow. I kep’ sayin’ I didn’ want no money; but he insis’,
chile; dat ol’ Marse Wallace insis’ I take all he guv me. Law sakes, I
don’ neveh need no money, Marse Phil. What ’n a world _I_ need money
fo’--now yo’ tell me, ef yo’ can! But I gotter take it, or make Marse
Wallace mad. So, I put it in de bank fo’ safe keepin’, an’ jus’ bided
mah time to git even. ’Twan’t mine, honey, shuah ’nuff; but I jes’ let
it stay in de bank fo’ ’mehgencies.”
Phil’s face was a study. It grew red and white, stern and dismayed
by turns. It was not that he resented accepting assistance from Aunt
Hy; she seemed one of the family; but that the Darings should be so
miserably poor as to be dependent upon the services of their black
mammy for support was so shameful that he could scarcely bear the
thought.
“I’m an able-bodied young man,” said he to Phœbe a little later,
when the girl had returned from her errand, “and, instead of wasting my
muscles and energies on athletic games, all these months, I should have
been at work for the family.”
“You didn’t know, dear.”
“I _ought_ to have known, Phœbe. That’s no excuse.”
“I’m sure that everything has happened for the best, Phil,” she
replied, tenderly. “We’ve gone along, somehow, and I was anxious that
we should both be able to complete our high school course. It’s so near
the end, now, that we’d better stick it out.”
“Do you know that Auntie has been spending her savings to buy food for
us?”
“Yes; but she doesn’t need the money just now and we will pay her back
some time.”
“She says that you have given her money, too.”
“Just a trifle, Phil,” she replied, after a brief hesitation.
“Where did it come from, Phœbe?”
“I--I earned it.”
“How?”
She unclasped her hand and showed him a bright five-dollar gold piece.
“That’s my last week’s wage--as an amateur typist. I’ve been copying
manuscript for Reverend Doctor Huntley.”
Phil couldn’t help it; he gathered his twin into his arms and cried
like a baby, while Phœbe sobbed on his shoulder and was glad the
secret was out at last. There were not many secrets between these two.
Finally, when they had quieted down and could smile into each other’s
eyes again, the girl explained how she had found the work and how the
kindly clergyman had secured a typewriter for her and been very patient
with her mistakes until she had thoroughly mastered it.
“He said, to-day, that it was the neatest and most correct copying he
had ever seen,” she added, proudly.
The discovery that Phœbe had been working while he played added fuel
to Phil’s remorse. He wanted to quit school at once and seek work, but
Phœbe argued long and patiently and at last prevailed upon him to
complete his course. It would only require a couple of weeks more to do
this, and meantime he could be inquiring for work in the village.
“I’ll not be likely to find it, though,” he predicted. “Riverdale is a
dull place, and I’m afraid I’ll have to go to the city.”
“Oh, no!” she exclaimed, for the twins had never been parted in their
lives, and she could not endure the thought. “I’m sure that some
position may be found here, and although the pay will not be as liberal
as in the city, your expenses will be much less. And, above all, we can
then remain together.”
“I’ll see what can be done,” he promised, kissing her affectionately;
and then the younger ones came trooping in to end their conversation.
For several days it seemed as if Phil’s prediction would be fulfilled.
No position was offered him, although the entire village was canvassed.
Many of the graduating class were sons of merchants, who intended
taking them into their stores. For that reason it was a bad time of the
year to seek for work.
Phil went to Mr. Ferguson and asked if it would be right for him to
apply at the sugar factory for a job. He did not know his father’s
successor, a stern looking man who had been sent by the syndicate to
manage the plant, and who was a stranger to Riverdale.
“I’ll see him myself, lad,” decided the lawyer. “I’ve met Mr. Atkins in
business ways, and believe I would have more influence with him than
you. Come and see me again to-morrow and I’ll report results.”
After school the next day Phil kept the appointment, trying hard to
hope that Mr. Ferguson had succeeded. But the old lawyer shook his
head, gravely.
“Nothing there for you, Phil,” he said. “Atkins claims it’s his dull
season, but I know better. No doubt the man could give you employment,
if he chose, but he doesn’t care to have a Daring in the office. An old
prejudice against your father for fighting the trust so long.”
“You haven’t thought of any other opening, sir, have you?”
“Not just yet. But, I’ll keep my eye open for you, Phil, and let you
know if anything offers. Keep your courage, lad. There’s something for
everybody in this world.”
This bit of philosophy fell upon deaf ears. Phil was quite discouraged
as he went slowly down the stairs to the street. In the doorway he
paused, for Ned Thurber had halted before him. Ned was the clerk in
Spaythe’s Bank.
“Congratulate me, Phil,” he said. “I’ve an offer to go to St. Louis, at
a big salary.”
Phil shook his hand.
“Are you going, Ned?” he asked eagerly.
“Of course. I’ll be assistant teller in one of the biggest banks there.”
“Who will take your place at Spaythe’s?”
“I don’t know yet. Just got the offer this morning, you see; but I’ve
talked with Mr. Spaythe and promised him that I’d stay until he can get
someone to take my place. That won’t be easy, though--unless he imports
someone.”
“Couldn’t I fill the place, Ned?”
“You! I thought you were going to college.”
“I--I’ve decided not to,” replied Phil.
“But you’ve no experience in banking.”
“No other young fellow in town has, for that matter.”
“That’s true,” said the other, thoughtfully.
“I’d like the job, Ned,” pleaded Phil.
“In that case I’ll speak to the old man about you. I’ve an idea you
could fill Eric’s place, while Eric could climb to my position as head
bookkeeper. His father ought not to object to that, and I’m sure you
could do Eric’s work easily. Another thing is in your favor, Phil. The
Daring name is rather popular around here, especially with the farmers,
and that counts with a man like Spaythe. The more I think of it, the
more I believe we’ve hit the right combination. Trust me to help work
it out, for I want to get away as soon as possible.”
Phil did not leave this unexpected chance wholly to Ned’s management,
however. He went back and told Judge Ferguson about it, and then he met
Eric, the banker’s only son and Phil’s friend. Eric was also employed
at the bank and he was astonished and delighted when Phil proposed
taking Eric’s place--thus advancing him to the more important post of
bookkeeper, to be vacated by Ned Thurber.
“I’ll go and talk to father about it at once,” he said.
That same day Mr. Spaythe was approached by no less than four people in
the interests of Phil Daring. First, came his son Eric, who told him
Phil was a prince of good fellows. Then Ned Thurber pointed out the
fact that the popularity of the Darings would add prestige to the bank.
Presently, Judge Ferguson walked in and vouched for Phil’s character
and ability, offering to stand sponsor for the boy, if he was given the
place. Finally, Phœbe Daring stole into the bank and timidly asked
to see Mr. Spaythe.
He looked at her curiously as she entered his private room; a pretty
and modest young girl, he thought.
“I met Mr. Thurber a little while ago, and he says that he is going
away to St. Louis,” she began. “So I thought I would come here and ask
if you won’t take brother Phil in his place. I’m Phœbe Daring, you
know.”
Mr. Spaythe nodded.
“I know. You’ve often been here with your father, in the old days. But
you’re growing fast now, Miss Phœbe.”
“I need to grow, sir, for I must mother the other children. Of course
you know how poor we are. Father always banked here, I remember; so you
know, perhaps better than I do, our present circumstances.”
“How old is Phil now?”
“Sixteen, sir.”
“H--m. That is rather young.”
“But he is big for his age, Mr. Spaythe. He’s nearly six feet tall, and
as strong as anything.”
“Do you think we bank by main strength, Miss Daring?”
“Phil will graduate next week, at High. He hopes to be at the head of
his class.”
Mr. Spaythe drummed thoughtfully on the desk with his fingers.
“I’m going to consider your application, my dear,” he said, quite
genially for him. “Ask your brother to come and see me.”
Phœbe hurried away, overjoyed at her success. She astonished Phil
that evening by saying that she had made an appointment for him to see
Mr. Spaythe. He tore up the little note that he had intended to mail
to the banker, then kissed his twin sister and thanked her for her
assistance. Only Mr. Spaythe knew whose influence had induced him to
consider giving the position to an inexperienced, untried youth, fresh
from high school. Perhaps, after all, it was the remembrance of his old
friendship for the elder Daring.
Anyhow, Phil had a long interview with the old banker and came away
engaged to fill the vacancy made by Ned Thurber’s withdrawal. As soon
as school closed he was to begin work.
There was great rejoicing among the Darings that evening. Aunt Hyacinth
made them one of her famous shortcakes for supper, to celebrate the
occasion, and Phil became a hero to his younger brother and sisters,
because he was about to step from youth to manhood and become a
breadwinner.