ON THE TRAIL OF A JOB
“I don’t know what we are going to do, Harry, if the cost of living
goes any higher.” Mrs. Harding stared across the little center table
at her sixteen-year-old son, an expression of deep worry looking out
of her patient, brown eyes. “A dollar used to seem like quite a lot of
money, but it doesn’t go far these days. I’ve spent every cent I dare
this week for groceries, and we’ve still three days to go until I’ll
have the money for this dress. I’ve got to sew every minute to get it
done. Thank goodness, the rent’s paid for this month. But you must
have a new pair of shoes and I don’t know where they are going to come
from.” The little woman sighed, then attacked her sewing with fresh
energy. “I can’t stop even to complain,” she added bravely.
“You’ll just _have_ to let me go to work, Mother.” Harry Harding laid
the text-book he was studying on the table and regarded his mother with
serious eyes.
“But I don’t want to take you out of school, Harry,” she protested.
“You are getting along so well. Why, next year you’ll be in high
school.”
“No, I won’t, Mother. Do you think that a great big boy like me is
going to let his mother support him any longer? It’s time I went to
work. Besides, I haven’t the money for clothes and books and all the
other things high school fellows have to have. I’m past sixteen. Lots
of boys have to go to work when they’re only fourteen. I guess it won’t
hurt me any to begin now.”
“But I want you to have an education, Harry. If your father had lived,
he intended to let you go through high school and then to college.”
Mrs. Harding’s voice trembled a little. The sudden death of her
husband two years previous had been a shock from which she had never
quite recovered. It was hard for her even to mention his name without
shedding tears.
“I’ll get an education, somehow, and work, too,” returned Harry
confidently. “There are night schools where a fellow can go and learn
things. Please let me quit school to-morrow and try,” he pleaded. “I
can’t earn much at first, but even three dollars a week’ll help some.
I’ve got to start some time, you know. If you won’t let me go to work I
could sell papers after school.”
“No, you couldn’t,” retorted his mother with decision. “I’d rather
have you leave school than see you racing around the city streets
selling papers. That’s one thing you sha’n’t do.”
“Then let me go and hunt a job,” begged the boy.
“I’ll think it over. Now go on studying your lesson and don’t tease me
any more about it.”
Harry took up his book obediently enough. His frequent pleading to
leave school to go to work had always been promptly vetoed by his
mother. She had struggled desperately to keep her son in school and
was willing to go on with the struggle. It was Harry himself who had
repeatedly begged her to allow him to take his place in the work-a-day
world. She could never quite bring herself to the point of consenting
to the boy’s plea. But, to-night, as she thought darkly of their
poverty and of their continual fight against actual want she was nearer
consent than she had ever been before.
Perhaps Harry felt this, for it was not long until the book went down
on the table again. “Do say you’ll let me try, Mother,” he implored
earnestly. “You don’t know how much it means to me. It isn’t as if I’d
stop trying to learn things as soon as I started to work. I’d study
harder than ever. Just think how much the money would help us after
I’d been working awhile. Why, some of the greatest men that ever lived
had to quit school and go to work when they were lots younger than I.
Benjamin Franklin did, and so did Abraham Lincoln. Just yesterday the
teacher read us a story of how Lincoln earned his first dollar when he
was a boy.”
Mrs. Harding looked wistfully at her son’s eager face. “My little son,
do you want to help mother so much?” she asked tenderly. Her voice
trembled a little.
“You know I do. Oh, Mother, may I try? Are you going to say ‘yes’ at
last?” Harry sprang from his chair and going to his mother’s chair
slipped his arm around her neck.
“Well,” began the little woman reluctantly, “if you are so set on
working, I guess you might as well try it. But remember, Harry, if you
don’t like it, you can go back to school. We’ll get along some way.”
“But I shall like it,” protested Harry. “I’ve always said I was going
to be a business man when I grew up. If I start right now maybe I’ll be
one in a few years.”
“But where are you going to look for work, child?” asked Mrs. Harding.
Now that she had given her son the longed-for sanction to make his own
way, she began to feel something of his boyish enthusiasm.
“I don’t know,” returned Harry thoughtfully. Then, seized with a sudden
inspiration, “I guess I’ll look in the _Journal_. That always has a lot
of advertisements.”
Picking up the evening paper, which lay on the center table, Harry
turned its leaves to the column of “Male Help Wanted,” and scanned it
earnestly. “Here’s one, Mother. ‘Boy wanted for errands, good chance
for advancement. Opportunity to learn business. 894 Tyler.’ That
sounds good.” Taking the stub of a lead pencil from his pocket, Harry
carefully marked it. “Oh, here’s another. ‘Bright boy for office work.
1684 Cameron.’” This advertisement was duly checked. Harry went eagerly
down the column until he had marked six advertisements. “There, that
will do to start with. If I don’t get a position at any of those places
I’ll try again when to-morrow’s paper comes out. But surely some of
them will have a chance for me. It’s nine o’clock. I guess I’ll go to
bed right now, so as to be up bright and early in the morning.”
Piling his books on one arm, Harry went over to his mother and kissed
her good night. “You must keep thinking hard that I’m going to get one
of those positions, Mother,” he said brightly. Then he went into the
tiny room that was really half of his mother’s room, curtained off for
his use. Harry was very proud of his little room. It was so small it
held nothing but his cot bed, one chair, a small table and a bamboo
book-case of two shelves, which he had bought in a second-hand store
for a quarter. This held the few books he owned and was dear to his
heart.
After he had undressed and lay down on his bed he found that he was too
much excited over the prospect of his new venture to sleep. Already
he could see himself in a beautiful office, with soft rugs on the
floor and shining oak furniture. He could imagine himself saying,
“Yes, sir,” and “no, sir,” to his employer, and listening with alert
respectfulness to his orders. He would prove himself so willing to work
and perform whatever he was given to do so faithfully that in time he
would be promoted to something better. His favorite story-book hero,
Dick Reynolds, had begun work as an office boy and had done wonderful
things. Why couldn’t the same things happen again to him?
When at ten o’clock his mother stole into the room, as was her nightly
custom before going to bed, for a last look at her son, she saw two
bright, wide-awake eyes peering at her. “This will never do, little
man,” she said, patting his cheek. “You must go to sleep, if you are
anxious to be up early to-morrow morning.”
“I’ll try, Mother,” sighed Harry, “but I just can’t help thinking about
it.”
After his mother had kissed him again and gone to her own room, Harry
shut his eyes tightly and resolved to go to sleep. When finally the
sandman did visit him, he dreamed that he was Dick Reynolds and had
secured a position in a bank. He was the president’s office boy, and
the president had sent him to the City Hall with a bag full of bank
notes. He ran all the way from the bank to the Hall and was just going
in the door when two boys leaped out from behind it and tried to take
the bag away from him. He fought like a tiger, but he had to hang on to
the bag with one hand while he knocked down the thieves with the other.
As fast as he knocked them down they bobbed up again. Finally, one of
them hit him over the head with an arithmetic. It was his own book. He
recognized it by the green paper cover he had put on it. He wondered as
he fought how the boy happened to have his arithmetic. Then the other
boy suddenly took a long coil of rope from under his coat and lassoed
him. He felt himself falling, falling. He struck the pavement with a
terrible crash. Then----
“Why, Harry, what is the matter?” The City Hall, the money bag, even
the robbers had faded away, and Harry found himself sitting on the bare
floor, blinking up at his mother, who bent anxiously over him.
“I guess I must have been asleep, Mother, and fell out of bed.” Harry
eyed his mother sheepishly. “I dreamed I had a job in a bank and was
fighting two fellows who tried to take a whole lot of money away from
me. What time is it?”
“It’s ten minutes to twelve. Now, go straight to sleep, or I won’t call
you early.”
Harry obediently climbed back into bed and was not heard from again
that night. It seemed to him as though he had hardly gone to sleep
before he heard his mother calling, “Six o’clock, Harry.” The boy was
out of bed in an instant. He pattered to the window, rubbing the sleep
out of his eyes as he went. The light of a perfect day in early October
shone in as he raised the shade. If good weather were a happy omen,
then surely he would obtain that which he was going forth so earnestly
to seek.
His mother had taken special pains with his breakfast that morning, and
though he was quivering with excitement over what was to be his first
venture into the busy world of trade, he tried to show his appreciation
of her tender thoughtfulness by eating a hearty meal. In his neat,
blue serge suit, he had put on his Sunday best, his well-shined shoes
and his clean, white shirt with its immaculate collar, he was above
reproach as far as attire went, and his bright, boyish face with its
clear, blue eyes and clean-cut, resolute mouth made him a boy to be
proud of. So his mother thought as she looked approvingly at him across
the table. She stifled the sigh of regret that her boy must so early
take his place among the bread-winners, and listened to his eager plan
of what he intended to do with an encouraging smile.
“Well, Mother, I’m off. That was a dandy breakfast. You know what I
like, don’t you. I wish all the boys in the world had mothers like
you. I don’t know when I’ll be back. If I don’t come home all day,
you’ll know I’m working.” Reaching to the nail where he always hung his
cap, Harry stood for an instant with it in his hand. Then he kissed his
mother and went manfully down the two flights of stairs to the street.
He had clipped from the paper the section of the want column with the
advertisements he had marked. Now he studied it earnestly and set out
for the Tyler Street address. It was at least fifteen squares from his
home, but the clock on a nearby church had just chimed out the hour
of seven. In his pocket reposed twenty cents in small change. He had
earned it by doing errands after school. But he made up his mind that
not a penny of it should go for carfare if he could help it. He had
plenty of time to walk. He would very likely reach the place he had
selected for his first call before the office was open. He wondered
what sort of building it would be, and whether it was an office
building or a factory. More than one person glanced in friendly fashion
at the erect, manly lad as he hurried along. There was something in his
earnest young face that commanded attention and instant approbation.
“There it is,” he murmured as, after a half-hour’s brisk walk he came
opposite a tall rather dingy-looking brick building. “That must be the
office over there where the sign is hanging out.”
Hurrying across the street the boy approached the door over which hung
the sign, “The Knickerbocker Worsted Mills.” He read it aloud, then
looked a trifle disappointed. This did not exactly accord with his
ideas of a position. Then he laughed at his own mental hesitation.
“What do you care if it _is_ a mill office, Harry Harding,” he
murmured. “It’s work you’re looking for, and you can’t expect to have
everything just the way you want it.”
Turning the knob on the door that bore a small sign of “Office,” the
boy opened it and stepped inside a long room that had the shining
oak furniture of his dreams. This room was divided off into many
compartments by little oak fences with swinging gates. Near the door,
at a little desk, sat a boy of about his own age. As he stepped into
the room the boy rose to meet him.
“Whada yuh want?” he asked superciliously.
“Good morning,” said Harry politely. “I came in answer to your
advertisement in the _Journal_ for a boy. To whom do I go?”
“Yuh don’t _go_ unless I let yuh in,” declared the boy ill-naturedly.
“Anyway, the position’s filled. The boss just hired a boy about ten
minutes ago. That’s him over there.” He pointed to a black-haired lad,
who had just emerged from a room adjoining the long office. “That’s
the kid. Yuh better beat it. Nothin’ doin’ around here.”
“Can’t I see the manager or--or--someone?” persisted Harry.
“Naw, yuh can’t. Think I wanta get my head snapped off by buttin’ in
where Mr. Warner’s openin’ his mail? Guess I know my business. Didn’t
the boss just say, ‘Fred, if any more boys come here answerin’ our ad,
tell ’em we’ve hired a boy?’ There’s nothin’ doin’, I tell yuh. Can’t
yuh understand that?”
“Yes, I can understand that,” retorted Harry with spirit. “What I can’t
understand is how a big firm like this happens to have such a rude
office boy. Good morning.”
Harry walked away, his cheeks burning, eyes snapping, leaving the
disagreeable boy to gaze after him in positive astonishment.
Once outside the office, Harry paused and taking out the section of
newspaper he had marked, scanned it earnestly. The next nearest place
he had selected was at least a mile and a half from where he stood. It
was twenty minutes to eight o’clock. “I guess I’d better ride,” mused
Harry. “The earlier I reach a place, the better my chance will be to
get something to do. I hope all the places won’t be like that mill.
Why, I didn’t have a chance to talk to a soul except that smart office
boy.”
When, at a few minutes after eight o’clock, Harry climbed the steps of
an imposing building of white stone, and was waved to a door on the
right by a uniformed attendant, he entered a good-sized ante-room, only
to find it filled with boys of anywhere from fourteen to eighteen years
of age. They were not making so much noise as one might expect at least
fifteen active boys to make, yet a distinct buzz of conversation was
going on.
Harry paused irresolutely. His eyes met those of a thin, red-haired,
black-eyed boy with a mischievous face who stood just to the right of
the door. The black-eyed boy grinned in friendly fashion. “Hullo,” he
said.
“Good-morning,” returned Harry, answering the grin with a pleasant
smile. “Are all these boys looking for the same position?”
“Yep,” nodded the black-eyed boy. “I guess the fellow that’s in the
office now is going to get it. He’s been there quite a while.”
He had hardly finished speaking when the door to the inner office
opened and a tall, severe-looking man appeared. “We won’t need you,
boys,” he said curtly. “The position is filled.” He waved his arm as
though to shoo the waiting throng of lads out of the ante-room, then
disappeared. The door closed after him with a reverberating bang that
shattered the hopes of the fifteen waiting youngsters.
“Huh,” ejaculated the black-eyed boy in disgust, “no more offices like
this for me. I’ve been to two before this, and every time I’m too
late. I guess these fellows that get the jobs get up in the middle of
the night. Me for Martin’s Department Store. That’s where I ought to
have gone in the first place.”
“Do they need boys there?” asked Harry. He had walked beside his new
acquaintance as far as the door. Here they paused. The attendant eyed
them threateningly.
“I hope so. Come on. Let’s get out of here. That man in the uniform
will hurt his eyes tryin’ to look a hole through us.” The thin little
boy urged Harry out of the building and down the steps to the street.
“Say, what’s your name?” he asked curiously.
“Harry Harding. What is yours?”
“My name’s Theodore Burke, but everybody calls me Ted or Teddy, and I
just quit school to find a job.”
“I haven’t quit yet,” declared Harry, “but I’m going to as soon as I
find work.”
“Then you didn’t get fired?”
“Oh, no. I am going to work to help my mother. I am obliged to find
work.”
“I had a fight with the teacher,” related Teddy, with unabashed candor.
“She said I was a menace to the West Park School, and she was going to
have me put in a school for tough kids. So I gave the fellows my stuff
and beat it at recess. Ma was mad, but she got over it right away and
said I could go to work if I wanted to.”
“The teacher couldn’t put you in a school for tough boys, unless you
did something pretty bad,” informed Harry.
“I put a rubber snake in a girl’s seat,” confessed Ted, “and she
hollered like anything.” His black eyes twinkled.
Harry laughed. “Nobody could put you in a reform school for that,” he
said wisely. “The teacher was trying to scare you. I guess you’re just
full of mischief, that’s all.”
“I guess I am,” agreed Ted, “but, anyhow, I’m not goin’ back to West
Park School again.”
“Was that your school? I’ve been going to the Winthrop School. It’s on
the North Side. I’d be in high school next year if I kept on.”
“So would I,” nodded Teddy, “but not for mine. I’d rather work.”
“I’d rather go to school,” sighed Harry, “but I can’t.”
“Say, wouldn’t it be funny if we’d both get a job at Martins’?” queried
Teddy.
“What makes you think they need boys there? There was no advertisement
in the paper.”
“Oh, I know a boy that quit there yesterday for an office job, and he
told me that there was always a chance there for a fellow that wasn’t
afraid to work.”
“Is that so?” Harry brightened visibly. “Suppose we go down there right
away,” he proposed. “What time does the store open?”
“Half past eight.” Teddy Burke took a dollar watch from his pocket and
consulted it, saying, “It’s twenty after now. We can walk all right and
be there by 8:45. That’s early enough.”
Without further parley the two boys set out for Martin Brothers’
Department Store, the largest retail concern of its kind in the city.
Accustomed as they were to the roar of the city streets, they talked on
earnestly in their boyish voices, oblivious to the noise.
“Here we are,” announced Teddy, at last, as they paused before a huge
stone edifice that towered high above the neighboring buildings. “Let’s
go in at that big middle door. Then we can ask someone the way to the
office.”
“Suppose we ask that man standing in front of the elevators,” suggested
Harry a moment later, as they threaded their way in and out of the
crowded aisles. Suiting the action to the word, he approached the man
and asked his question.
“All the way down, turn to your right, and four aisles over,” repeated
the man mechanically.
“Thank you,” Harry replied doubtfully. “‘All the way down, turn to your
right, and four aisles over,’” he repeated.
“That’s clear as mud,” was Teddy’s satirical comment.
“I guess we can find it. Let me see. We have to go clear down to that
desk. Come on.” Harry led the way. From the desk they made the turning
to the right and counted the aisles.
“I see it,” Teddy cried, pointing straight ahead.
“Yes, there it is.”
A dozen steps down a short, narrow aisle brought the boys to an
enclosure railed off from the passage by a flat-topped, breast-high
partition of oak. Within the enclosure were several desks. At these
desks young men and women were seated. Beyond the enclosure they caught
sight through half-opened doors of an inner office with a shining
desk, before which a grave, middle-aged man was sitting. Along the
wall, facing the outer office, were long, oak benches. These were but
sparsely occupied. A gray-haired woman occupied the end of one of them.
The length of a bench from her two young girls sat, talking in whispers
and glancing furtively at the young man who received the aspirants for
positions.
It seemed hours to both lads before their turn came. “Well, boys, what
is it?” asked the young man kindly. He had a dark, alert face, and
dark, penetrating eyes.
“We came to apply for work in the store, sir.” It was Harry who
answered, at a nudge from Ted.
“How old are you?”
“He is fifteen and I am sixteen, sir,” replied Harry.
“You will have to go to Mr. Keene’s office to fill your application
blanks. He has charge of the store messenger service, and of all the
boys who work here.”
“Where is his office, sir?”
“On the third floor, Warren Street front; north-east corner.”
“Thank you, sir. Do you think Mr. Keene needs any boys?” Harry could
not refrain from asking the question.
“I don’t know, my boy,” smiled the young man, “but if he does need any
help, I shouldn’t be surprised if he gave you a trial.”
Harry’s eyes glowed with eagerness to know his fate. Thanking the young
man, he nudged Ted to come on.
“Let’s not bother with the elevator,” he proposed. “That’s the way
to the Warren Street side. As soon as we find the stairway we can go
straight to Mr. Keene’s office.”
The prospective wage-earners skipped nimbly up the long flights of
stairs, bent on reaching their goal as fast as sturdy young leg-power
could carry them. After a little inquiry they managed to bring up
at their goal. Here they found themselves standing before a large,
railed-in space similar to that of the main office on the first
floor. On a closed door at the left of this space appeared the magic
words, “Mr. Keene.” The two lads brought up at the railing and looked
uncertainly about them, not quite sure what their next move would be.
A pretty young woman with curly brown hair and pink cheeks rose from
a nearby typewriter desk. “Well, boys?” she interrogated with an
encouraging smile.
“We’d like to see Mr. Keene.” As before, Harry was spokesman.
“Sit down there and wait a few minutes.” She pointed to an oak settee.
“Mr. Keene is busy with his mail just now. You can see him when he
has finished. I will tell him about you when I go into his office for
dictation.”
Just then there was a loud buzzing sound. The young woman picked up her
notebook and hurried toward the office door marked “Mr. Keene,” leaving
two anxious boys to wonder what fortune had in store for them.