ROBERT RECEIVES A LETTER.
As Palmer looked at the stalwart black-bearded man facing him a
terrible fear sent a tremor through his slender frame. Suppose the
fellow had come to inflict punishment upon him? Suppose he had a
cowhide somewhere concealed about his clothes? He felt ready to sink
through the floor.
"I hope," he said tremulously, "you found my letter satisfactory. I--I
didn't know Alameda--I mean Mrs. Churchill--was married."
"Oh, that's all right. So you supposed her single?"
"I assure you I do."
"Well, at any rate she got even with you. She told me of the pitcher of
water she threw on you out of the window. How did it feel?"
"Very wet," responded Palmer with a faint smile.
"Good joke!" said Churchill, laughing boisterously. "I wish I had been
there."
Somehow Palmer did not enjoy having the scene which had been so
harrowing to him recalled. Yet this man must be propitiated.
"I was there," he said with a feeble attempt at a joke.
"So you were, so you were. When Alameda told me about it I nearly
laughed myself to death."
Palmer began to recover from his alarm. Evidently the injured husband
was not disposed to take things seriously, for he seemed in a good
humor.
"I hope you don't object to my admiring your wife?" he said.
"No, it does credit to your taste, but I can't have you flirting with
her."
"I assure you my intentions were and are strictly honorable."
"Oh, Alameda will take care of that. I'll tell you what I came about."
"As long as it isn't about a duel, I don't mind," thought Palmer.
"My wife is to have a benefit next Thursday evening. Tickets are a
dollar each. How many will you take?"
"I'll take one."
"Better take two. You can scare up some young lady to take with you."
"I don't know many young ladies."
"Don't tell me that. You were not so very bashful with Alameda."
"I--I believe I'll take two."
"All right! Here they are."
"I'm afraid I haven't got two dollars with me," said Palmer
embarrassed. In fact, he lived so closely up to his income that he
seldom had that amount about him.
Peter Churchill frowned a little.
"I can't leave the tickets without the money," he said.
"I'll lend you the money, Mr. Palmer," said Robert.
"Thank you," said the senior clerk gratefully.
"Won't you take a couple of tickets, young fellow?" asked Churchill.
"No, sir. I will use one of Mr. Palmer's tickets."
The tickets were paid for and transferred to Palmer's vest-pocket. Then
Alameda's husband left the office.
"I'm glad he's gone," said Livingston Palmer feebly. "I--I really
thought he'd come in to horsewhip me."
"I guess he could do it," said Robert, with a smile.
"Isn't he a terrible looking ruffian? To think the divine Alameda
should be married to such a man!"
"It's a pity she didn't meet you first. But I say, Mr. Palmer, you'd
better give up paying attentions to her. It wouldn't be safe."
"I shall never dare to speak to her again."
"And you won't try to alienate her affections from him."
"No," answered Palmer fervently. "I--I feel that I have had a narrow
escape."
Two weeks passed without any event of importance. Robert had no
difficulty in "getting the run" of the business in the office, and
it is not too much to say that he became in that short time quite as
efficient as Livingston Palmer, though the latter had been in the
office for several years. Robert was on the whole satisfied with his
position, but it must be confessed that he was looking around for
something better.
"I am sure Mr. Marden wouldn't want me to remain here if I could
improve myself," he thought. "In fact, I think he would like me the
better for striking out for myself."
"It's a terribly dull life--this in a stuffy office," said Livingston
Palmer one day. Since his upsetting with the variety singer the senior
clerk had hardly known what to do with himself.
"That's true," answered Robert. "But it's much better than doing
nothing."
"That's true."
"When I struck out from home I was at first afraid I would be left
stranded."
"Humph! that wouldn't happen to me," said Palmer loftily. "I am certain
I could strike something at once, if I tried."
Robert did not agree with his fellow clerk, since he had seen many a
poor fellow on the streets begging for work of any kind. But he saw it
would be useless to attempt to argue Palmer out of his high opinion of
himself.
On the day following there came a long letter for Robert. It was
postmarked Timberville, Michigan, and was from Dick Marden.
"My dear Robert," wrote the miner, "I've been wanting to drop you a
few lines for some time, but could not get around to do it. When I
arrived here I found my uncle, Felix Amberton, very ill, and I have
had to take practically entire charge of his affairs. My uncle is
a bachelor like myself, so he hadn't even a wife to depend upon in
this emergency.
"My uncle owns a large lumber interest here, close to the upper end
of the State, and several Canadians are trying to force him into a
sale of his lands at a low price. They claim to have some hold upon
the land.
"I must say I wish you were up here with me--to help run the lumber
office. I have to be out on the lands a greater part of the time,
and the office clerk is not to be trusted, since he is a great
friend of the Canadians I mentioned. I am in hopes that my uncle
will soon recover, to take charge for himself."
Dick Marden's letter interested Robert greatly. The confinement of city
life was beginning to tell on the boy, who had heretofore lived more or
less in the open at home.
"I'd like to go to Timberville," he said to Palmer, when he showed the
communication. "The smell of pine and spruce would do a fellow a world
of good."
"It wouldn't suit me," said Palmer, with a decided shake of his head.
"Why, you have no amusements in a place like that--no theaters, no
concerts, no billiard parlors, nothing."
"And yet people get along very well without them," smiled Robert.
"They can't have very elevated tastes."
"Perhaps more elevated than you think, Livingston. I've known some
lumbermen who were very well educated."
"If I made a change do you know what I would do?" asked Palmer.
"No."
"I would go on the stage," said the senior clerk earnestly.
"What stage? Perhaps the variety stage the adorable Alameda is on, eh?"
"No! no! I am done with that forever. I would go in for tragedy."
"Tragedy doesn't pay, so I've heard said."
"Good, real talent will pay, I feel sure of it."
"And what would you play, Hamlet?"
"I would play all of Shakespeare's plays, but the part of Sparticus the
Gladiator would suit me better."
"Did you ever act?"
"Twice--at the Twice-a-week Club. We gave Julius Cæsar, and I was
Cæsar. The performance was a great success from an artistic standpoint."
"How about it financially?"
"Well, to tell the truth, we ran about thirty-three dollars behind."
"Which proves what I said, that tragedy doesn't pay," said Robert, with
a short laugh.
"My support was very poor, and, besides, our performance was not
advertised widely enough."
"I presume the newspapers gave you some favorable notices."
"No, they did nothing of the sort. We had not given them much
advertising and so they ignored us. You know they won't do a thing
without being paid for it."
"I didn't know it. I thought they gave the news. Why, sometimes they
condemn a play even while they advertise it."
"Never mind, they ought to have praised our play, but they didn't." And
here Palmer walked away and the subject was dropped.