BAD ADVICE.
Roswell pursued his way home with a general sense of discontent. Why
should he be so much worse off than Richard Hunter, who had only been a
ragged boot-black three years before? The whole world seemed to be in a
conspiracy to advance Richard, and to keep him down. To think he should
be only earning six dollars a week, while Dick, whom he considered so
far beneath him, was receiving twenty, was really outrageous. And now
he had pushed a low dependent of his into Baker's store where Roswell
was obliged to associate with him!
Certainly Roswell's grievances were numerous. But there was one thing
he did not understand, that the greatest obstacle to his advancement
was himself. If he had entered any situation with the determination
to make his services valuable, and discharge his duties, whatever
they might be, with conscientious fidelity, he would have found his
relations with his employer much more agreeable and satisfactory.
Mrs. Crawford still kept the house in Clinton Place, letting nearly all
the rooms to lodgers. In this way she succeeded in making both ends
meet, though with considerable difficulty, so that she had not the
means to supply Roswell with the spending money he desired. Her nephew,
James Gilbert, Richard Huntley's predecessor as book-keeper, still
boarded with her. It will be remembered by the readers of "Fame and
Fortune," that this Gilbert, on being questioned by Mr. Rockwell as to
his share in the plot against Dick, had angrily resigned his position,
thinking, probably, that he should lose it at any rate.
It so happened that business was generally depressed at this time, and
it was three months before he succeeded in obtaining another place, and
then he was compelled to work for eight hundred dollars, or two hundred
less than he had formerly received. This was a great disappointment to
him, and did not help his temper much, which had never been very sweet.
He felt quite exasperated against Dick, whom, very much against his
wishes, he had seen the means of promoting to his own place. Indeed,
on this point, he sympathized heartily with Roswell, whose dislike to
Richard Hunter has already been shown.
"Well, mother," said Roswell, as he entered Mrs. Crawford's presence,
"I'm getting tired of Baker's store."
"Don't say so, Roswell," said his mother, in alarm. "Remember how long
it took you to get the place."
"I have to work like a dog for six dollars a week," said Roswell.
"Yes," said his cousin, with a sneer, "that's precisely the way you
work. Dogs spend their time running round the street doing nothing."
"Well, I have to work hard enough," said Roswell, "but I wouldn't mind
that so much, if I didn't have to associate with low match boys."
"What do you mean, Roswell?" asked his mother, who did not understand
the allusion.
"Baker hired a new boy to-day, and who do you think he turns out to be?"
"Not that boy, Ragged Dick?"
"No, you don't think he would give up Cousin James' place, where he
gets a thousand dollars a year, to go into Baker's as boy?"
"Who was it, then?"
"He used to be a ragged match boy about the streets. Dick Hunter picked
him up somewhere, and got him a situation in our store, on purpose to
spite me, I expect."
As the reader is aware, Roswell was mistaken in his supposition, as
Mark obtained the place on his own responsibility.
"The boot-black seems to be putting on airs," said Mrs. Crawford.
"Yes, he pretends to be the guardian of this match boy."
"What's the boy's name?"
"Mark Manton."
"If I were Mr. Baker," said Mrs. Crawford, "I should be afraid to take
a street boy into my employ. Very likely he isn't honest."
"I wish he would steal something," said Roswell, not very charitably.
"Then we could get rid of him, and the boot-black would be pretty well
mortified about it."
"He'll be found out sooner or later," said Mrs. Crawford. "You may
depend on that. You'd better keep a sharp lookout for him, Roswell. If
you catch him in stealing, it will help you with Mr. Baker, or ought
to."
This would have comforted Roswell more, but that he was privately of
opinion that Mark was honest, and would not be likely to give him any
chance of detecting him in stealing. Still, by a little management
on his part, he might cause him to fall under suspicion. It would of
course be miserably mean on his part to implicate a little boy in a
false charge; but Roswell _was_ a mean boy, and he was not scrupulous
where his dislike was concerned. He privately decided to think over
this new plan for getting Mark into trouble.
"Isn't dinner ready, mother?" he asked, rather impatiently.
"It will be in about ten minutes."
"I'm as hungry as a bear."
"You can always do your part at the table," said his cousin
unpleasantly.
"I don't know why I shouldn't. I have to work hard enough."
"You are always talking about your hard work. My belief is that you
don't earn your wages."
"I should think it was a pity if I didn't earn six dollars a week,"
said Roswell.
"Come, James, you're always hard on Roswell," said Mrs. Crawford. "I am
sure he has hard times enough without his own relations turning against
him."
James Gilbert did not reply. He was naturally of a sarcastic turn,
and, seeing Roswell's faults, was not inclined to spare them. He might
have pointed them out, however, in a kindly manner, and then his young
cousin might possibly been benefited; but Gilbert felt very little
interest in Roswell.
Immediately after dinner Roswell took up his cap. His mother observed
this, and inquired, "Where are you going, Roswell?"
"I'm going out to walk."
"Why don't you go with your cousin?"
James Gilbert had also taken his hat.
"He don't want to be bothered with me," said Roswell, and this
statement Gilbert did not take the trouble to contradict.
"Why can't you stay in and read?"
"I haven't got anything to read. Besides I've been cooped up in the
store all day, and I want to breathe a little fresh air."
There was reason in this, and his mother did not gainsay it, but still
she felt that it was not quite safe for a boy to spend his evenings out
in a large city, without any one to look after him.
Roswell crossed Broadway, and, proceeding down Eighth Street, met a boy
of about his own age in front of the Cooper Institute.
"How long have you been waiting, Ralph?" he asked.
"Not long. I only just came up."
"I couldn't get away as soon as I expected. Dinner was rather late."
"Have a cigar, Roswell?" asked Ralph.
"Yes," said Roswell, "I don't mind."
"You'll find these cigars pretty good. I paid ten cents apiece."
"I don't see how you can afford it," said Roswell. "Your cigars must
cost you considerable."
"I don't always buy ten-centers. Generally I pay only five cents."
"Well, that mounts up when you smoke three or four in a day. Let me
see, what wages do you get?"
"Seven dollars a week."
"That's only a dollar more than I get," said Roswell.
"I know one thing, it's miserably small," said Ralph. "We ought to get
twice what we do."
"These shop-keepers are awfully mean," said Roswell, beginning to puff
away at his cigar.
"That's so."
"But still you always seem to have plenty of money. That's what puzzles
me," said Roswell. "I'm always pinched. I have to pay my mother all
my wages but a dollar a week. And what's a dollar?" he repeated,
scornfully.
"Well," said Ralph, "my board costs me all but a dollar. So we are
about even there."
"Do you pay your board out of your earnings?"
"I have to. My governor won't foot the bills, so I have to."
"Still you seem to have plenty of money," persisted Roswell.
"Yes, I look out for that," said Ralph Graham, significantly.
"But I don't see how you manage. I might look out all day, and I
wouldn't be any the better off."
"Perhaps you don't go the right way to work," said his companion,
taking the cigar from his mouth, and knocking off the ashes.
"Then I wish you'd tell me the right way."
"Why, the fact is," said Ralph, slowly, "I make my employer pay me
higher wages than he thinks he does."
"I don't see how you can do that," said Roswell, who didn't yet
understand.
Ralph took the cigar, now nearly smoked out, from his mouth, and threw
it on the pavement. He bent towards Roswell, and whispered something in
his ear. Roswell started and turned pale.
"But," he said, "that's dishonest."
"Hush!" said Ralph, "don't speak so loud. Oughtn't employers to pay
fair wages,--tell me that?"
"Certainly."
"But if they don't and won't, what then?"
"I don't know."
"Well, I do. We must help ourselves, that is all."
"But," said Roswell, "what would be thought of you if it were found
out?"
"There's plenty of clerks that do it. Bless you, it's expected. I heard
a man say once that he expected to lose about so much by his clerks."
"But I think it would be better to pay good wages."
"So do I, only you see they won't do it."
"How much do you--do you make outside of your salary?" asked Roswell.
"From three to five dollars a week."
"I should think they'd find you out."
"I don't let them. I'm pretty careful. Well, what shall we do this
evening? There's a pretty good play at Niblo's. Suppose we go there."
"I haven't got money enough," said Roswell.
"Well, I'll pay for both to-night. You can pay another time."
"All right!" said Roswell, though he did not know when he should have
money enough to return the favor. They crossed to Broadway, and walked
leisurely to Niblo's Garden. The performance lasted till late, and it
was after eleven when Roswell Crawford got into bed.