MR. BRADFORD'S OFFICE.
Mr. Bradford was removed to Chicago in the afternoon, and at his
luxurious house was considerably better off than in the farmer's best
chamber.
He had to keep his room for three or four weeks, but the fracture was
not a serious one, and though confined to the house he was on the whole
very comfortable for a sick man. His sickness did not interfere with,
nor delay the carrying out of his promise to Paul. He arranged to have
the train boy enter his service immediately, and to that end, on the
morning after his removal, dispatched Paul to his counting-house with a
verbal message to his book-keeper that Paul was to be employed there.
"It happens," he said to Paul, "that I have really a vacancy for a
boy. The one I have hitherto employed, and who is in fact still in my
employ, is to prepare for college in accordance with the wishes of
a wealthy uncle, who has offered to defray his expenses, and it is
understood that I will release him as soon as I can suit myself with
another boy."
"That is lucky for me," said Paul.
"Yes, things happen favorably for you."
"I hope I shall be able to perform my duties to your satisfaction,"
said Paul.
"I do not doubt it. There is nothing very difficult, and John (the
present boy) can in a single day give you all the information you need.
By the by, Mr. Manson, the book-keeper, will be somewhat disappointed,
as he wanted the place for his nephew."
"I don't like to stand in the way of any other boy," said Paul,
considerately.
"You will not. This nephew--Julius Clay--I happen to know is an
unreliable boy, who is disobedient at home, and would not give me
satisfaction. In any event I wouldn't take him."
"Won't Mr. Manson be prejudiced against me?" asked Paul.
"He has no right to be. I am under no obligations to employ a boy I
have no confidence in, however nearly related he may be to Mr. Manson.
In any event I shall be your friend, and I am inclined to think that
will be sufficient to save you from annoyance."
Nevertheless Paul, who had some knowledge of human nature, felt sorry
that his entrance at the office was likely to prove disagreeable to a
man occupying so important a position as the book-keeper.
"However, Mr. Bradford is my friend," he said to himself, "and I won't
trouble myself."
Mr. Manson had, of course, heard of his employer's narrow escape from
death, and he had gone up to congratulate him, but had not actually
seen him, Mr. Bradford at the time being asleep. He knew nothing of the
details of the casualty, except what he had read in the daily papers,
and was quite ignorant of Paul's existence even. He therefore had no
warning of the engagement which was to bring disappointment to him and
his nephew.
About ten o'clock in the morning--for Paul had previously called by
appointment at Mr. Bradford's house--our hero entered that gentleman's
counting-room.
Sitting on a high stool was a tall, thin, sallow-complexioned man, who
looked to be rather over thirty years of age.
This was Emanuel Manson, the book-keeper.
To do him justice it must be admitted that Mr. Manson was an excellent
book-keeper. He understood his business thoroughly, and was rapid
and accurate. Personally Mr. Bradford had never liked him, but he
appreciated his abilities, and did not allow personal feeling to
interfere with retaining him.
"Business is business, and friendship is friendship," the manufacturer
said to himself. "There is many a man whom I would like better, who
yet might prove very inefficient in my business. I should be foolish to
discharge Manson."
So Mr. Manson was likely to retain his place so long as he did not
offend his employer in any inexcusable way. Mr. Bradford was a mild
man, but when he was roused he could act with decision.
Mr. Manson turned on his stool as Paul entered.
"Well, boy, what do you want?" he asked, in a manner that could not be
considered affable.
"Is this Mr. Manson?" asked Paul, removing his hat.
"Yes. Why?" demanded the book-keeper, curtly.
"I come from Mr. Bradford," said our hero.
"Well, deliver your message, and don't take up my time unnecessarily."
Paul felt that he should dislike him, but answered, politely:
"He has engaged me as office-boy."
"Engaged _you_!" exclaimed the book-keeper, frowning. "Who are you?"
It was hard to answer politely, but Paul did.
"My name is Paul Palmer," he said, composedly.
"And where did you fall in with Mr. Bradford, pray?"
Paul felt that the book-keeper had no business to ask these questions,
but he resolved that, so far as he was concerned, there should be
nothing to complain of, and he responded in the same tone as before:
"On the train."
"And what were you doing on the train, if I may inquire?"
"Selling papers and magazines."
"Oh! a train boy!"
"Yes, sir."
"Have you ever been in a position before?"
"Not in an office."
"What under heaven could induce Mr. Bradford to engage you?" asked the
book-keeper, irritably.
"I must refer you to Mr. Bradford himself," answered Paul, with dignity.
"I shall certainly speak to Mr. Bradford on the subject," said Mr.
Manson, significantly. "I am inclined to think there is some mistake.
We have a boy already."
"Mr. Bradford told me he wished to leave, and that in a day he would
initiate me into my duties."
"Mr. Bradford has about the same as engaged another boy," said the
book-keeper, with increasing irritability. "He must have forgotten it."
"I shall be ready to make way for him whenever Mr. Bradford says the
word," said Paul, quietly.
Manson was surprised and displeased to find Paul so calm. It was easy
to see that he was not a boy who would allow himself to be bullied or
trodden upon. Mr. Manson already hated him for that. He was a natural
tyrant, and liked to see boys quail under his displeasure. The present
boy was a mild, good-natured boy, whom he could easily make nervous.
Indeed, John Graves was a boy more fond of study than business, and
he hailed the termination of his engagement with the more pleasure,
because Mr. Manson found so much fault, and gave him so much discomfort.
At that moment John entered. He naturally looked inquiringly at Paul,
but he addressed himself to the book-keeper.
"Here is the mail, Mr. Manson," he said.
"Why weren't you gone a week for it?" snarled the book-keeper.
"I went as fast as I could, sir," said John, troubled.
"Didn't you stop to play on the way?"
"No, sir."
"Humph! When I was a boy I could do twice as much in a given time as
you. Here is a boy who has been sent to take your place--_for the
present_."
These last words were pronounced with an emphasis which Paul
understood, though John did not. He only heard what he considered to be
the intelligence of his own release.
"Then can I go?" he asked, eagerly.
"No; you are to remain through the day to instruct this new boy in his
duties."
"All right."
"Go to the bank with these checks, and you, whatever your name is, can
go with him."
When the two boys were in the street, John asked, pleasantly:
"What is your name?"
"Paul Palmer. And yours?"
"John Graves. So you are going to be my successor?"
"Yes; I hope you are not sorry to go?"
"Oh, I am delighted. Now I can go to school, and get away from old
Manson. But I suppose I ought not to say anything against him to you."
"I have had a little specimen of his manners. He doesn't seem to like
my coming into the office."
"No; he wanted the place for his nephew, Julius Clay."
"Do you know Julius?"
"Yes; he's just such another as his uncle in temper, but not in
ability. Mr. Manson is an excellent book-keeper, but Julius would
make a poor office-boy. Do you think you can stand the book-keeper's
temper?"
"I will get along with him as well as I can," answered Paul. "Mr.
Bradford is my friend."
"That is good; but you'll hate old Manson before the end of a week."