HARRY ARRIVES IN THE CITY.
On going back to the store, Harry showed the senior salesman the letter
his mother had received.
Now John Gaylord was in the main a good-natured young man, but he was
not without the failings incident to humanity. It happened that he had
himself been secretly desirous of going to the city, and obtaining some
position which promised better than that of chief salesman in a country
store. But he had no friends to help him in New York, and he was wise
enough to feel that it would not be expedient to throw up a fair place
in the country for the uncertain prospect of one in the city. But,
for all that, he used to think oftentimes that his business abilities
deserved something better than weighing out tea and sugar in small
quantities for country customers. So when he learned that Harry Raymond,
an inexperienced boy, had received an offer which he would gladly have
accepted himself, he naturally felt a little envious, and provoked with
Harry for his good fortune.
“What do you think of it, Mr. Gaylord?” asked Harry.
“I think you had better stay where you are,” was the unsatisfactory reply.
This was rather a damper to Harry, who had expected to be congratulated.
“Why?” he asked.
“Because you’re a mere boy, and can’t expect to earn twelve dollars a
week.”
“No, I don’t suppose I shall at first; but then, you see, Mr. Fairchild
was a friend of my father.”
“But, when he finds that you don’t earn your money, he’ll get
dissatisfied with you, and send you home.”
“I don’t know about that,” said Harry, stoutly. “I mean to do my best.”
“You have no experience.”
“I shall get it.”
“Oh, well, suit yourself,” said the young man; “only if it turns out as
I tell you, you mustn’t be surprised.”
Harry made no reply, being rather offended at the manner in which his
communication had been received. He did not suspect that John Gaylord
was secretly envying him all the while, and contrasting his own poor
prospects very discontentedly with Harry’s. But he was not in the least
discouraged. He had faith in himself, and felt sure that if he did his
best, as he meant to, he should get on well enough. He gave Mr. Porter
notice that he should leave him at the end of the week. The latter
congratulated him on his good prospects, and expressed satisfaction with
his services while in his employ.
The next day, as if by accident, Squire Turner entered the store, and,
advancing to the counter behind which Harry was standing, said with
unusual graciousness:—
“Well, my young friend, how are you getting on?”
“Very well, thank you, sir,” said Harry.
“I think Mr. Porter may find it for his interest to engage you
permanently.”
“I have accepted another situation,” said our hero, with a little
excusable importance.
“Indeed!” said the squire, in assumed surprise. “In Vernon?”
“No, sir, in New York.”
“I am surprised to hear it. It is not easy to obtain a situation in the
city. How did you hear of it?”
“A friend of my father’s, a commission merchant in Nassau Street, wrote
to my mother, yesterday, offering it to me.”
“What is his name? I may know him.”
“Lemuel Fairchild.”
“Lemuel Fairchild,” repeated the squire, slowly. “I don’t recognize the
name. So you are going to accept it?”
“Yes, I am going up Monday morning. I am to have twelve dollars a week.”
“An excellent salary. Well, I am glad to hear you are so fortunate. When
I go up to the city, I will call and see how you are getting along. What
is the number?”
Harry gave the address, which the squire copied down in his pocket-book,
and with a friendly salutation left the store. He had found out what he
wanted to know, that the decoy letter had been received, and that the
plan was likely to work well.
“He has swallowed the bait,” he said to himself, with satisfaction. “I
hope the rest of the plan will work as well. I shall not dare to draw my
insurance money till he is out of the way.”
The cordial manner of the squire impressed Harry rather favorably. In
fact, he felt very much puzzled about him. It seemed hard to believe that
he was meditating a fraud upon the insurance company. But, as might be
expected, his own affairs occupied the greater portion of his thoughts,
which was just what Squire Turner wished. The change in his mode of life
was so great and so important that he could scarcely think of anything
else. Besides, there were preparations to be made for his departure.
He needed a new suit of clothes. It would be inconvenient to pay for
them now, but the village tailor readily promised to give him a four
weeks’ credit until he should be able to pay him out of his wages in his
new place. This suit was to cost twenty dollars, and so good progress
was made in getting it ready that Harry was able to wear it on Sunday
to church, where he received the congratulations of his friends and
school-mates.
As Harry had never been to New York, he was placed under the care of a
gentleman who proposed going to the city on Monday.
He was up bright and early, having slept little, if the truth must be
told, on account of the excitement which he felt. His mother was up, of
course, also, and prepared a better breakfast than usual.
“I don’t know how I shall get along without you, Harry,” she said,
despondently. “The house will be lonely.”
“Oh, I’ll come home soon to pass Sunday, mother,” said Harry. “Besides,
you shall hear from me; I’ll write twice a week, regularly. Then you’ll
know I’m doing well.”
“I’m afraid you’ll get run over in the streets; they are so crowded with
wagons.”
Harry only laughed at this.
“Don’t fear,” he said. “I’m old enough to take care of myself. You forget
how old I am, mother.”
“You’re only fifteen.”
“A boy of fifteen ought to be smart enough not to get run over. You see,
mother, you’re a woman, and don’t know much about boys. I’ll do well
enough, and you’ll feel better about my going away, soon.”
What Harry said was partly true. If the situation which he intended to
fill had been a genuine one, his pluck and good principle would have been
likely to insure his success. But he little knew what a plot had been
formed against him, and what a series of adventures lay before him ere
he would again see his mother and home. Could he have foreseen all this,
brave as he was, he might well have quailed. But he supposed that all was
fair and aboveboard, and that he would have nothing to encounter beyond
the usual experiences of a boy in a city counting-room.
Time never waits for any one, and the hour of parting came. Harry hastily
embraced his mother and little sister, and with a certain swelling of
the heart which he could not quite repress, hurried out into the road to
the carriage which was to convey him to the railroad station.
Mr. Falkland, his companion, was not a resident of Vernon, but had
visited the place on business, and had readily undertaken to act as
Harry’s guardian as far as the city. He spoke civilly to our hero, and
asked him how he expected to like the city. But after getting into the
cars, he took out a book and began to read. Harry took a seat behind,
where he could look out of the window, and was sufficiently interested
in watching the varied scenery through which he was whirled rapidly by
the cars. His spirits began to rise once more, and bright dreams of the
success he was going to achieve in the city swept across his mental
vision. He was undecided whether, when he got rich, which he confidently
hoped to be at twenty-five, he would install his mother in a nice house
in the city, or build a house for her in Vernon, say as large as Squire
Turner’s. However, as he wisely concluded, there was no immediate
necessity for deciding about this. He might leave it subject to further
reflection.
So the train whirled on at the rate of twenty-five miles an hour, and in
about two hours he found the houses growing more and more numerous, until
the cars came to a final pause in the New York depot.
Mr. Falkland put his book into his carpet-bag.
“You have never been in the city before, I think,” he said.
“No, sir.”
“Then, of course, you don’t know the way anywhere. I’ll go with you at
once to Nassau Street (that’s the place, I believe), and then you’ll be
all right.”
Harry was a little bewildered by the strangeness and novelty of the
scenes to which he was introduced. So this was the great city of which
he had heard so much. It was here that he was to work his way. Most boys
would have felt a momentary depression and loss of confidence, but Harry
had a good deal of faith and courage.
“Plenty of men succeed here,” he said to himself; “and I’m bound to
succeed too.”
Just then his courage was reinforced by the thought of his motto, and he
repeated to himself, “‘Sink or swim, live or die, survive or perish,’”
closing the quotation in a manner suited to his circumstances and
determination.
After a while they reached Nassau Street, and the number which was
mentioned in the letter.
“What is Mr. Fairchild’s business?” inquired Mr. Falkland.
“He is a commission merchant.”
His companion looked rather surprised at this statement, as Nassau Street
is scarcely the place where a commission merchant would be likely to
establish himself. However, he did not feel called upon to express any
opinion on the subject to Harry. It was, no doubt, all right, and he had
business of his own to occupy his thoughts. As long as he conducted Harry
safely to his destination, he would have done all that he had agreed to
do.
They paused at the foot of the staircase, at the bottom of which, on
either side, was a sort of directory of names occupying the apartments
above. Opposite No. 7 was the name, Lemuel Fairchild.
Harry pointed it out to his companion.
“That is the right name, is it?” asked Mr. Falkland.
“Yes, sir.”
“Well, I suppose you won’t have any trouble in finding it. You don’t need
me to go up with you, do you?”
“Oh, no, sir,” said our hero, promptly. “I’m all right now.”
“Good-by, then.”
“Good-by. I thank you for your care of me.”
Harry shook hands with Mr. Falkland, and ascended the stairs. The
staircase was rather narrow, and not particularly clean. It did not look
quite so magnificent as Harry had anticipated, whose ideas of places of
business in the city were rather brighter than the reality. But, then, he
reflected that people at any rate got rich in the city, and that was the
main point.
When he arrived at the head of the stairs he saw four doors, the highest
number, of course, going up to 4. It would be necessary to climb another
flight. This he did, and found himself very soon standing before No. 7.
He was not quite sure whether he ought to knock, or go directly in. On
the whole, he thought it best to knock.
“Come in!” said a voice from within.
Harry opened the door, and found himself in the presence of his employer.