MARK'S FIRST IMPRESSIONS.
Probably my readers already understand that the bookstore in which Mark
has secured a place is the same in which Roswell Crawford is employed.
This circumstance, if Mark had only known it, was likely to make his
position considerably less desirable than it would otherwise have been.
Mr. Baker, the proprietor of the store, was very considerate in his
treatment of those in his employ, and Mr. Jones, his chief clerk, was
good-natured and pleasant. But Roswell was very apt to be insolent and
disagreeable to those who were, or whom he considered to be, in an
inferior position to himself, while his lofty ideas of his own dignity
and social position as the "son of a gentleman," made him not very
desirable as a clerk. Still he had learned something from his bad luck
thus far. He had been so long in getting his present place, that he
felt it prudent to sacrifice his pride in some extent for the sake of
retaining it. But if he could neglect his duties without attracting
attention, he resolved to do it, feeling that six dollars was a
beggarly salary for a young gentleman of his position and capacity. It
was unfortunate for him, and a source of considerable annoyance, that
he could get no one except his mother to assent to his own estimate
of his abilities. Even his Cousin Gilbert, who had been Rockwell &
Cooper's book-keeper before Richard Hunter succeeded to the position,
did not conceal his poor opinion of Roswell; but this the latter
attributed to prejudice, being persuaded in his own mind that his
cousin was somewhat inclined to be envious of his superior abilities.
At the time that Mark was so suddenly engaged by Mr. Baker, Roswell had
gone out to dinner. When he returned, Mark had gone out with the parcel
to West Twenty-first Street. So they missed each other just at first.
"Well, Crawford," said Mr. Jones, as Roswell re-entered the store, "Mr.
Baker has engaged a new boy."
"Has he? What sort of a fellow is he?"
"A little fellow. He doesn't look as if he was more than ten years old."
"Where is he?"
"Mr. Baker sent him on an errand to Twenty-first Street."
"Humph!" said Roswell, a little discontented, "I was going to recommend
a friend of mine."
"There may be a chance yet. This boy may not suit."
In about five minutes Mr. Baker and Mr. Jones both went out to dinner.
It was the middle of the day, when there is very little business, and
it would not be difficult for Roswell to attend to any customers who
might call.
As soon as he was left alone, Roswell got an interesting book from the
shelves, and, sitting down in his employer's chair, began to read,
though this was against the rules in business hours. To see the pompous
air with which Roswell threw himself back in his chair, it might have
been supposed that he was the proprietor of the establishment, though
I believe it is true, as a general rule, that employers are not in the
habit of putting on so many airs, unless the position is a new one, and
they have not yet got over the new feeling of importance which it is
apt to inspire at first.
While Roswell was thus engaged Mark returned from his errand.
He looked about him in some uncertainty on entering the store, not
seeing either Mr. Baker or the chief clerk.
"Come here," said Roswell, in a tone of authority.
Mark walked up to the desk.
"So you are the new boy?" said Roswell, after a close scrutiny.
"Yes."
"It would be a little more polite to say 'Yes sir.'"
"Yes, sir."
"What is your age?"
"Ten years."
"Humph! You are rather young. If I had been consulted I should have
said 'Get a boy of twelve years old.'"
"I hope I shall suit," said Mark.
"I hope so," said Roswell, patronizingly. "You will find us very easy
to get along with if you do your duty. We were obliged to send away a
boy this morning because he played instead of going on his errands at
once."
Mark could not help wondering what was Roswell's position in the
establishment. He talked as if he were one of the proprietors; but his
youthful appearance made it difficult to suppose that.
"What is your name?" continued Roswell.
"Mark Manton."
"Have you been in any place before?"
"No, sir."
"Do you live with your parents?"
"My parents are dead."
"Then whom do you live with?"
"With my guardian."
"So you have a guardian?" said Roswell, a little surprised. "What is
his name?"
"Mr. Hunter."
"Hunter!" repeated Roswell, hastily. "What is his first name?"
"Richard I believe."
"Dick Hunter!" exclaimed Roswell, scornfully, "Do you mean to say that
he has charge of you?"
"Yes," said Mark, firmly, for he perceived the tone in which his friend
was referred to, and resented it. Moreover the new expression which
came over Roswell's face brought back to his recollection the evening
when, for the first time in his life, he had begged in Fulton Market,
and been scornfully repulsed by Roswell and his mother. Roswell's
face had at first seemed familiar to him, but it was only now that he
recognized him. Roswell, on the other hand, was not likely to identify
the neatly dressed boy before him with the shivering little beggar of
the market. But it recurred to him all at once that Dick had referred
to his ward as a match boy.
"You were a match boy?" he said, in the manner of one making a grave
accusation.
"Yes, sir."
"Then why didn't you keep on selling matches, and not try to get a
place in a respectable store?"
"Because Mr. Hunter thought it better for me to go into a store."
"Mr. Hunter! Perhaps you don't know that your guardian, as you call
him, used to be a boot-black."
"Yes, he told me so."
"They called him 'Ragged Dick' then," said Roswell, turning up his
nose. "He couldn't read or write, I believe."
"He's a good scholar now," said Mark.
"Humph! I suppose he told you so. But you mustn't believe all he tells
you."
"He wouldn't tell anything but the truth," said Mark, who was bolder in
behalf of his friend than he would have been for himself.
"So he did tell you he was a good scholar? I thought so."
"No, he told me nothing about it; but since I have lived with him I've
heard him read French as well as English."
"Perhaps that isn't saying much," said Roswell, with a sneer. "Can you
read yourself?"
"Yes."
"That is more than I expected. What induced Mr. Baker to take a boy
from the street is more than I can tell."
"I suppose I can run errands just as well, if I was once a match boy,"
said Mark, who did not fancy the tone which Roswell assumed towards
him, and began to doubt whether he was a person of as much importance
as he at first supposed.
"We shall see," said Roswell, loftily. "But there's one thing I'll
advise you, young man, and that is, to treat me with proper respect.
You'll find it best to keep friends with me. I can get you turned away
any time."
Mark hardly knew whether to believe this or not. He already began to
suspect that Roswell was something of a humbug, and though it was not
in his nature to form a causeless dislike, he certainly did not feel
disposed to like Roswell. He did not care as much for any slighting
remarks upon himself, as for the scorn with which Roswell saw fit to
speak of his friend, Richard Hunter, who by his good offices had won
the little boy's lasting gratitude. Mark did not reply to the threat
contained in these last words of Roswell.
"Is there anything for me to do?" he asked.
"Yes, you may dust off those books on the counter. There's the duster
hanging up."
This was really Roswell's business, and he ought to have been at work
in this way instead of reading; but it was characteristic of him to
shift his duties upon others. He was not aware of how much time had
passed, and supposed that Mark would be through before Mr. Barker
returned. But that gentleman came in while Roswell was busily engaged
in reading.
"Is that the way you do your work, Roswell?" asked his employer.
Roswell jumped to his feet in some confusion.
"I thought I had better set the new boy to work," he said.
"Dusting the books is your work, not his."
"He was doing nothing, sir."
"He will have plenty to do in carrying out parcels. Besides, I don't
know that it is any worse for him to be idle than you. You were reading
also, which you know is against the rules of the store." Roswell made
no reply, but it hurt his pride considerably to be censured thus in
presence of Mark, to whom he had spoken with such an assumption of
power and patronage.
"I wish I had a store of my own," he thought, discontentedly. "Then I
could do as I pleased without having anybody to interfere with me."
But Roswell did not understand, and there are plenty of boys in the
same state of ignorance, that those who fill subordinate positions
acceptably are most likely to rise to stations where they will
themselves have control over others.
"I suppose you have not been to dinner," said Mr. Baker, turning to
Mark.
"No, sir."
"You board in St. Mark's Place, I think you said?"
"Yes, sir."
"Very well, here is a parcel to go to East Ninth Street. You may call
and leave that at the address marked upon it, and may stay out long
enough for dinner. But don't be gone more than an hour in all."
"No, sir."
"I am glad that boy isn't my employer," thought Mark, referring of
course to Roswell Crawford, who, by the way, would have been indignant
at such an appellation. "I like Mr. Baker a great deal better."
Mark was punctual to his appointment, and in a little less than an hour
reported himself at the store again for duty.