WALTER MEETS PROFESSOR ROBINSON
Two weeks passed. Walter applied for all sorts of situations, but
obtained no engagement. Meanwhile his money steadily diminished, till he
awoke one morning to find only seventy-five cents in his purse. Things
were getting decidedly serious.
“I wonder if there is any poorhouse in Chicago,” thought Walter, not
wholly in jest. “It is not the sort of home I should prefer, but it is
better than genteel starvation.”
He went out, breakfasted, and at the restaurant picked up a copy of the
Chicago _Times_. This was a piece of luck, for it saved him from the
small expenditure necessary to secure it. He turned to the department of
Help Wanted, and looking down the column came to this notice:
“WANTED--By a traveling lecturer, a young man who can make himself
generally useful; one who plays the violin preferred. Apply to PROFESSOR
ROBINSON, Hotel Brevoort.”
Walter knew this hotel. It was located on Madison Street, and was on the
European plan.
“That will suit me,” he said to himself. “I must lose no time in making
application. I can play the violin fairly well. If it will help me to a
position, I will bless the violin.”
In ten minutes he was at the hotel, inquiring for Professor Robinson.
“He is in his room,” said the clerk, “You can go up at once.”
Guided by a bell-boy, Walter reached the door of No. 65 and knocked.
“Come in!” said a deep bass voice.
Opening the door he found himself in the presence of a stout man,
inclined to be tall, with a long, full beard, who glanced at him
inquiringly.
“Professor Robinson, I believe?” said Walter.
“I am the man,” answered the professor.
“I have come to apply for a position. I have read your advertisement in
the _Times_.”
“Just so! Let me look at you.”
Walter blushed a little while the professor transfixed him with his
glittering eye. He anxiously hoped that he would bear inspection.
“Humph! I think you'll do. How old are you?”
“Eighteen.”
In fact, Walter's birthday had been passed in Chicago.
“You are rather young. Can you play on the violin?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Let me hear you.”
The professor pointed to a violin on the bed.
“I am glad he doesn't expect me to furnish the violin,” Walter said to
himself.
He took the instrument from its case, and trying the strings began to
play a series of familiar airs. The violin was not a Stradivarius, but
it was of good quality, and responded satisfactorily to the efforts of
the young musician. Professor Robinson listened attentively, and nodded
his approval.
“You play better than the last young man I had.”
Walter was glad to hear it.
“I may as well tell you the nature of your duties, in case I engage you.
I call myself a traveling lecturer, but this may convey an erroneous
idea. I am the discoverer of Professor Robinson's Liquid Balm, which
is warranted to cure more diseases than any other patent preparation
in existence. I won't go into particulars, for these can be read in my
circular. Now, it is my custom to go from one town to another, engage
a hall if the weather requires, otherwise gather a crowd around me in a
public place, and lecture about the merits of my remarkable preparation.
You, besides assisting me in a general way, are expected to draw and
entertain the crowd by your performance on the violin. Can you sing?”
Walter shook his head.
“I am afraid,” he said, “that if I should undertake to sing it would
drive away the crowd.”
“Very well! It isn't necessary, though it would have helped. Now, what
are your ideas as to compensation?”
As the professor spoke, he leaned back in his chair and awaited a reply.
“I hardly know what it would be right to ask,” returned Walter
hesitatingly. “How much did you pay your last assistant?”
“I paid him fifteen dollars a month and his traveling expenses.”
This was a good deal more than Walter had made since he had undertaken
to earn his own living, yet there seemed small chance of laying up
anything out of it.
“May I ask, sir,” he inquired, “do you meet with pretty good success in
disposing of your balm?”
“Yes; the public knows a good thing when it is brought to its
attention.”
“Would you be willing to pay my expenses and ten per cent. commission on
sales?”
“Why do you prefer this to a stated salary?”
“Because it would be an incentive to do my best. Then if I helped you to
a successful sale I should be paid in proportion.”
“I have an idea. You look blooming and healthy. Are you willing I should
advertise you as one who has been snatched from death by my celebrated
balm?”
“I don't think I would like it, sir. It would be imposing upon the
public.”
“I merely suggested it, but I won't insist upon it. I suppose you are
thoroughly honest and reliable?”
Walter smiled.
“I don't know that my assurance will satisfy you, but I can truly say
that I am.”
“You look it, and I trust a good deal to appearances. I will accept your
assurance.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“Can you join me at once?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Then I will expect you to bring your baggage here during the day--the
sooner the better. You will then receive your instructions.”
Walter was very glad to hear this, for his purse was so nearly exhausted
that it was comforting to think his lodging and meals would hereafter
be paid by some one else. When he came to reflect upon the nature of his
duties--general assistant to a quack doctor, playing on village commons
and in country halls to draw a crowd of prospective customers, he felt
that it was hardly a thing to be proud of. With his college training
he ought to be qualified for something better, but the cold, hard fact
stared him in the face that it was the only employment that offered, and
he must accept it or starve. Walter had become practical. His limited
acquaintance with the world had made him so, and he was not going to
refuse bread and butter because it was offered by a quack doctor.
Within an hour Walter had given up his room--the rent had been paid in
advance--and transferred his luggage to the Hotel Brevoort, where he was
assigned a small apartment on the upper floor.
“I shall leave the city in two days,” said the professor. “I have put an
advertisement into the daily papers which brings customers to the hotel,
but I depend chiefly upon my sales on the road.”
“Do you travel on the cars?” asked Walter.
“No; I have a neat wagon in which I carry a supply of bottles of balm,
and this enables me to stop where I like. I prefer villages to very
large towns and cities. It is better for me to visit places where there
are no drug-stores, as the people are more dependent on what is brought
to them.”
“When you are in the city shall I get my commission?”
“Ahem! I am not clear as to that,” answered Professor Robinson
thoughtfully. “You see you are not called upon to play.”
“Suppose you give me five per cent. in Chicago and large places.”
“Very well. I will do so. I will settle with you at the end of every
week, if that will be satisfactory.”
“Yes, sir.”
Two days afterward a light wagon drew up in front of the hotel, drawn
by a strong horse, and Walter helped the professor to put a trunk
of medicine in the back part. Then he seated himself with Professor
Robinson on the front seat, and they set out in the direction of the
suburbs.
A new life was opening before Walter. What it would lead to he could not
guess. At any rate, it promised him a living, and this was a practical
advantage which he had learned to appreciate.
“How long have you been in this business, professor?” he asked.
“Ten years,” answered the professor.
“How did you happen to go into it?”
“I'll tell you. Ten years ago I found myself in a tight place. I was on
my uppers, as the actors say. A friend, who was a drug clerk, gave me
the recipe for my balm, I borrowed a hundred dollars, had a quantity
made up, and set out on the road.”
“And now?”
“Now I am worth fifteen thousand dollars, well invested, and can make a
good living every year.”
All this was encouraging to Walter. He was eager to begin his work.