NO BOY WANTED.
After leaving the Hotel Dantzic, with his unexpected supply of money,
Jack walked smilingly down toward the business part of the city. For a
while he only studied signs and looked into great show-windows; and he
became more and more confident as he thought how many different ways
there were for a really smart boy to make a fortune in New York. He
decided to try one way at just about nine o'clock.
"The city's a busy place!" thought Jack, as he walked along. "Some
difference between the way they rush along on Monday and the way they
loitered all day Sunday!"
He even walked faster because the stream of men carried him along. It
made him think of the Cocahutchie.
"I'll try one of these big clothing places," he said, about nine
o'clock. "I'll see what wages they're giving. I know something about
tailoring."
He paused in front of a wide and showy-looking store on Broadway. He
drew a long breath and went in. The moment he entered he was
confronted by a very fat, smiling gentleman, who bowed and asked:
"What can we do for you, sir?"
"I'd like to know if you want a boy," said Jack, "and what wages you're
giving. I know--"
"After a place? Oh, yes. That's the man you ought to see," said the
jocose floor-walker, pointing to a spruce salesman behind a counter,
and winking at him from behind Jack.
The business of the day had hardly begun, and the idle salesman saw the
wink. Jack walked up to him and repeated his inquiry.
"Want a place, eh? Where are you from? Been long in the business?"
Jack told him about Crofield, and about the "merchant tailors" there,
and gave a number of particulars before the very dignified and
sober-faced salesman's love of fun was satisfied; and then the salesman
said:
"I can't say. You'd better talk with that man yonder."
There was another wink, and Jack went to "that man," to answer another
string of questions, some of which related to his family, and the
Sunday-school he attended; and then he was sent on to another man, and
another, and to as many more, until at last he heard a gruff voice
behind him asking, "What does that fellow want? Send him to me!"
Jack turned toward the voice, and saw a glass "coop," as he called it,
all glass panes up to above his head, excepting one wide, semicircular
opening in the middle. The clerk to whom Jack was talking at that
moment suddenly became very sober.
"Head of the house!" he exclaimed to himself. "Whew! I didn't know
he'd come;" Then he said to Jack: "The head partner is at the
cashier's desk. Speak to him."
Jack stepped forward, his cheeks burning with the sudden perception
that he had been ridiculed. He saw a sharp-eyed lady counting money,
just inside the little window, but she moved away, and Jack was
confronted by a very stern, white-whiskered gentleman.
"What do you want?" the man asked.
"I'd like to know if you'll hire another boy, and what you're paying?"
said Jack, bravely.
"No; I don't want any boy," replied the man in the coop, savagely.
"You get right out."
"Tell you what you _do_ want," said Jack, for his temper was rising
fast, "you'd better get a politer set of clerks!"
"I will, if there is any more of this nonsense," said the head of the
house, sharply. "Now, that's enough. No more impertinence."
Jack was all but choking with mortification, and he wheeled and marched
out of the store.
"I wasn't afraid of him," he thought, "and I ought to have spoken to
him first thing. I might have known better than to have asked those
fellows. I sha'n't be green enough to do that again. I'll ask the
head man next time."
That was what he tried to do in six clothing-stores, one after another;
but in each case he made a failure. In two of them, they said the
managing partner was out; and then, when he tried to find out whether
they wanted a boy, the man he asked became angry and showed him the
door. In three more, he was at first treated politely, and then
informed that they already had hundreds of applications. To enter the
sixth store was an effort, but he went in.
"One of the firm? Yes, sir," said the floor-walker. "There he is."
Only a few feet from him stood a man so like the one whose face had
glowered at him through that cashier's window in the first store that
Jack hesitated a moment, but the clerk spoke out:
"Wishes to speak to you, Mr. Hubbard."
"This way, my boy. What is it?"
Jack was surprised by the full, mellow, benevolent voice that came from
under the white moustaches.
"Do you want to hire a boy, sir?" he inquired.
"I do not, my son. Where are you from?" asked Mr. Hubbard, with a
kindlier expression than before.
Jack told him, and answered two or three other questions.
"From up in the country, eh?" he said. "Have you money enough to get
home again?"
"I could get home," stammered Jack, "but there isn't any chance for a
boy up in Crofield."
"Ten chances there for every one there is in the city, my boy," said
Mr. Hubbard. "One hundred boys here for every place that's vacant.
You go home. Dig potatoes. Make hay. Drive cows. Feed pigs. Do
_anything_ honest, but get out of New York. It's one great
pauper-house, now, with men and boys who can't find anything to do."
"Thank you, sir," said Jack, with a tightening around his heart. "But
I'll find something. You see if I don't--"
"Take my advice, and go home!" replied Mr. Hubbard, kindly.
"Good-morning."
"Good-morning," said Jack, and while going out of that store he had the
vividest recollections of all the country around Crofield.
"I'll keep on trying, anyway," he said. "There's a place for me
somewhere. I'll try some other trade. I'll do _anything_."
So he did, until one man said to him:
"Everybody is at luncheon just now. Begin again by and by; but I'm
afraid you'll find there are no stores needing boys."
"I need some dinner myself," thought Jack. "I feel faint. Mister," he
added aloud, "I must buy some luncheon, too. Where's a good place?"
He was directed to a restaurant, and he seated himself at a table and
ordered roast beef in a sort of desperation.
"I don't care what it costs!" he said. "I've got some money yet."
Beef, potatoes, bread and butter, all of the best, came, and were eaten
with excellent appetite.
Jack was half afraid of the consequences when the waiter put a bright
red check down beside his plate.
"Thirty cents?" exclaimed he joyfully, picking it up. "Why, that's the
cheapest dinner I've had in New York."
"All right, sir. Come again, sir," said the waiter, smiling; and then
Jack sat still for a moment.
"Six dollars, and, more too," he said to himself; "and my room's paid
for besides. I can go right on looking up a place, for days and days,
if I'm careful about my money. I mustn't be discouraged."
He certainly felt more courageous, now that he had eaten dinner, and he
at once resumed his hunt for a place; but there was very little left of
his smile. He went into store after store with almost the same result
in each, until one good-humored gentleman remarked to him:
"My boy, why don't you go to a Mercantile Agency?"
"What's that?" asked Jack, and the man explained what it was.
"I'll go to one right away," Jack said hopefully.
"That's the address of a safe place," said the gentleman writing a few
words. "Look out for sharpers, though. Plenty of such people in that
business. I wish you good luck."
Before long Jack Ogden stood before the desk of the "Mercantile Agency"
to which he had been directed, answering questions and registering his
name. He had paid a fee of one dollar, and had made the office-clerk
laugh by his confidence.
"You seem to think you can take hold of nearly anything," he said.
"Well, your chance is as good as anybody's. Some men prefer boys from
the country, even if they can't give references."
"When do you think you can get me a place?" asked Jack.
"Can't tell. We've only between four hundred and five hundred on the
books now; and sometimes we get two or three dozen fixed in a day."
"Five hundred!" exclaimed Jack, with a clouding face. "Why, it may be
a month before my turn comes!"
"A month?" said the clerk. "Well, I hope not much longer, but it may
be. I wouldn't like to promise you anything so soon as that."
Jack went out of that place with yet another idea concerning "business
in the city," but he again began to make inquiries for himself. It was
the weariest kind of work, and at last he was heartily sick of it.
"I've done enough for one day," he said to himself. "I've been into I
don't know how many stores. I know more about it than I did this
morning."
There was no doubt of that. Jack had been getting wiser all the while;
and he did not even look so rural as when he set out. He was really
beginning to get into city ways, and he was thinking hard and fast.
The first thing he did, after reaching the Hotel Dantzic, was to go up
to his room. He felt as if he would like to talk with his sister Mary,
and so he sat down and wrote her a long letter.
He told her about his trip, all through, and about his German friends,
and his Sunday; but it was anything but easy to write about Monday's
experiences. He did it after a fashion, but he wrote much more
cheerfully than he felt.
Then he went down to the supper-room for some tea. It seemed to him
that he had ordered almost nothing, but it cost him twenty-five cents.
It would have done him good if he could have known how Mary's thoughts
were at that same hour turning to him.
At home, Jack's father and Mr. Magruder were talking about Jack's land,
arranging about the right of way and what it was worth, while he sat in
his little room in the Hotel Dantzic, thinking over his long, weary day
of snubs, blunders, insults and disappointments.
"Hunting for a place in the city is just the meanest kind of work," he
said at last. "Well, I'll go to bed, and try it again to-morrow."
That was what he did; but Tuesday's work was "meaner" than Monday's.
There did not seem to be even so much as a variation. It was all one
dull, monotonous, miserable hunt for something he could not find. It
was just so on Wednesday, and all the while, as he said, "Money will
just melt away; and somehow you can't help it."
When he counted up, on Wednesday evening, however, he still had four
dollars and one cent; and he had found a place where they sold bread
and milk, or bread and coffee, for ten cents.
"I can get along on that," he said; "and it's only thirty-cents a day,
if I eat three times. I wish I'd known about it when I first came
here. I'm learning something new all the time."
Thursday morning came, and with it a long, gossipy letter from Mary,
and an envelope from Crofield, containing a letter from his mother and
a message from his father written by her, saying how he had talked a
little--only a little--with Mr. Magruder. There was a postscript from
Aunt Melinda, and a separate sheet written by his younger sisters, with
scrawly postscripts from the little boys to tell Jack how the workmen
had dug down and found the old church bell, and that there was a crack
in it, and the clapper was broken off.
Jack felt queer over those letters.
"I won't answer them right away," he said. "Not till I get into some
business. I'll go farther down town today, and try there."
At ten o'clock that morning, a solemn party of seven men met in the
back room of the Mertonville Bank.
"Gentlemen of the Board of Trustees, please come to order. I suppose
we all agree? We need a teacher of experience. The academy's not
doing well. The lady principal can't do everything. She must have a
good assistant."
"Who's your candidate, Squire Crowninshield?" asked Judge Edwards.
"I'm trustee as Judge of the County Court. I've had thirty-one
applications for my vote."
"I've had more than that," said the Squire good humoredly. "I won't
name my choice till after the first ballot. I want to know who are the
other candidates first."
"So do I," said Judge Edwards. "I won't name mine at once, either.
Who is yours, Elder Holloway?"
"We'd better have a nominating ballot," remarked the Elder, handing a
folded slip of paper to Mr. Murdoch, the editor of the _Eagle_. "Who
is yours, Mr. Jeroliman?"
"I haven't any candidate," replied the bank-president, with a worried
look. "I won't name any, but I'll put a ballot in."
"Try that, then," said General Smith, who was standing instead of
sitting down at the long table. "Just a suggestion."
Every trustee had something to say as to how he had been besieged by
applicants, until the seventh, who remarked:
"I've just returned from Europe, gentlemen. I'll vote for the
candidate having the most votes on this ballot. I don't care who wins."
"I agree to that," quickly responded General Smith, handing him a
folded paper. "Put it in, Dr. Dillingham. It's better that none of us
should do any log-rolling or try to influence others. I'll adopt your
idea."
"I won't then," said Squire Crowninshield, pleasantly but very
positively. "Murdoch, what's the name of that young woman who edited
the _Eagle_ for a week?"
"Miss Mary Ogden," said the editor, with a slight smile.
"A clever girl," said the Squire, as he wrote on a paper, folded it,
and threw it into a hat in the middle of the table. He had not heard
Judge Edwards's whispered exclamation:
"That reminds me! I promised my wife that I'd mention Mary for the
place; but then there wasn't the ghost of a chance!"
In went all the papers, and the hat was turned over.
"Now, gentlemen," said General Smith, "before the ballots are opened
and counted, I wish to ask: Is this vote to be considered regular and
formal? Shall we stand by the result?"
"Certainly, certainly," said the trustees in chorus.
"Count the ballots!" said the Elder.
The hat was lifted and the count began.
"One, two, three, four, five, six, seven--for Mary Ogden," said Elder
Holloway calmly.
"I declare!" said General Smith. "Unanimous? Why, gentlemen, we were
agreed! There really was no difference of opinion whatever."
"I'm glad she is such a favorite," said Judge Edwards; "but we can't
raise the salary on that account. It'll have to remain at forty
dollars a month."
"I'm glad she's got it!" said Mr. Murdoch. "And a unanimous vote is a
high testimonial!"
And so Mary was elected.
Each of them had other business to attend to, and it was not until
Judge Edwards went home, at noon, that the news was known to Mary, for
the Judge carried the pleasant tidings to Mary Ogden at the
dinner-table.
"Oh, Judge Edwards!" exclaimed Mary, turning pale. "I? At my age--to
be assistant principal of the academy?"
"There's only the Primary Department to teach," said the Judge
encouragingly. "Not half so hard as that big, overgrown Sunday-school
class. Only it never had a good teacher yet, and you'll have hard work
to get it into order."
"What will they say in Crofield!" said Mary uneasily. "They'll say I'm
not fit for it."
"I'm sure Miss Glidden will not," said Mrs. Edwards, proudly. "I'm
glad it was unanimous. It shows what they all thought of you."
Perhaps it did; but perhaps it was as well for Mary Ogden's temper that
she could not hear all that was said when the other trustees went home
to announce their action.
It was a great hour for Mary, but her brother Jack was at that same
time beginning to think that New York City was united against him,--a
million and a half to one.
He had been fairly turned out of the last store he had entered.