AT THE POST-OFFICE.
The New York Post-Office is built of brick, and was formerly a church.
It is a shabby building, and quite unworthy of so large and important a
city. Of course Dick was quite familiar with its general appearance; but
as his correspondence had been very limited, he had never had occasion
to ask for letters.
There were several letters in Box 5,670. Dick secured these, and,
turning round to go out, his attention was drawn to a young gentleman of
about his own age, who, from his consequential air, appeared to feel his
own importance in no slight degree. He recognized him at once as Roswell
Crawford, a boy who had applied unsuccessfully for the place which
Fosdick obtained in Henderson's hat and cap store.
Roswell recognized Dick at the same time, and perceiving that our hero
was well-dressed, concluded to speak to him, though he regarded Dick as
infinitely beneath himself in the social scale, on account of his former
employment. He might not have been so condescending, but he was curious
to learn what Dick was about.
"I haven't seen you for some time," he said, in a patronizing tone.
"No," said Dick, "and I haven't seen you for some time either, which is
a very curious coincidence."
"How's boot-blacking, now?" inquired Roswell, with something of a sneer.
"Tip-top," said Dick, not at all disturbed by Roswell's manner. "I do it
wholesale now, and have been obliged to hire a large building on Pearl
Street to transact my business in. You see them letters? They're all
from wholesale customers."
"I congratulate you on your success," said Roswell, in the same
disagreeable manner. "Of course that's all humbug. I suppose you've got
a place."
"Yes," said Dick.
"Who are you with?"
"Rockwell & Cooper, on Pearl Street."
"How did you get it?" asked Roswell, appearing surprised. "Did they know
you had been a boot-black?"
"Of course they did."
"I shouldn't think that they would have taken you."
"Why not?"
"There are not many firms that would hire a boot-black, when they could
get plenty of boys from nice families."
"Perhaps they might have secured your services if they had applied,"
said Dick, good-humoredly.
"I've got a place," said Roswell, in rather an important manner. "I'm
very glad I didn't go into Henderson's hat and cap store. I've got a
better situation."
"Have you?" said Dick. "I'm glad to hear it. I'm always happy to hear
that my friends are risin' in the world."
"You needn't class me among your friends," said Roswell, superciliously.
"No, I won't," said Dick. "I'm goin' to be particular about my
associates, now that I'm gettin' up in the world."
"Do you mean to insult me?" demanded Roswell, haughtily.
"No," said Dick. "I wouldn't on any account. I should be afraid you'd
want me to fight a duel, and that wouldn't be convenient, for I haven't
made my will, and I'm afraid my heirs would quarrel over my extensive
property."
"How much do you get a week?" asked Roswell, thinking it best to change
the subject.
"Ten dollars," said Dick.
"Ten dollars!" ejaculated Roswell. "That's a pretty large story."
"You needn't believe it if you don't want to," said Dick. "That won't
make any difference to me as long as they pay me reg'lar."
"Ten dollars! Why, I never heard of such a thing," exclaimed Roswell,
who only received four dollars a week himself, and thought he was doing
well.
"Do you think I'd give up a loocrative business for less?" asked Dick.
"How much do you get?"
"That's my business," said Roswell, who, for reasons that may be
guessed, didn't care to mention the price for which he was working.
Judging Dick by himself, he thought it would give him a chance to exult
over him.
"I suppose it is," said Dick; "but as you was so partic'lar to find out
how much I got, I thought I'd inquire."
"You're trying to deceive me; I don't believe you get more than three
dollars a week."
"Don't you? Is that what you get?"
"I get a great deal more."
"I'm happy to hear it."
"I can find out how much you get, if I want to."
"You've found out already."
"I know what you say, but I've got a cousin in Rockwell & Cooper's."
"Have you?" asked Dick, a little surprised. "Who is it?"
"It is the book-keeper."
"Mr. Gilbert?"
"Yes; he has been there five years. I'll ask him about it."
"You'd better, as you're so anxious to find out. Mr. Gilbert is a friend
of mine. He spoke only this morning of my valooable services."
Roswell looked incredulous. In fact he did not understand Dick at all;
nor could he comprehend his imperturbable good-humor. There were several
things that he had said which would have offended most boys; but Dick
met them with a careless good-humor, and an evident indifference to
Roswell's good opinion, which piqued and provoked that young man.
It must not be supposed that while this conversation was going on the
boys were standing in the post-office. Dick understood his duty to his
employers too well to delay unnecessarily while on an errand, especially
when he was sent to get letters, some of which might be of an important
and urgent nature.
The two boys had been walking up Nassau Street together, and they had
now reached Printing House Square.
"There are some of your old friends," said Roswell, pointing to a group
of ragged boot-blacks, who were on the alert for customers, crying to
each passer, "Shine yer boots?"
"Yes," said Dick, "I know them all."
"No doubt," sneered Roswell. "They're friends to be proud of."
"I'm glad you think so," said Dick. "They're a rough set," he continued,
more earnestly; "but there's one of them, at least, that's ten times
better than you or I."
"Speak for yourself, if you please," said Roswell, haughtily.
"I'm speakin' for both of us," said Dick. "There's one boy there, only
twelve years old, that's supported his sick mother and sister for more'n
a year, and that's more good than ever you or I did.--How are you, Tom?"
he said, nodding to the boy of whom he had spoken.
"Tip-top, Dick," said a bright-looking boy, who kept as clean as his
avocation would permit. "Have you given up business?"
"Yes, Tom. I'll tell you about it some other time. I must get back to
Pearl Street with these letters. How's your mother?"
"She aint much better, Dick."
"Buy her some oranges. They'll do her good," and Dick slipped half a
dollar into Tom's hand.
"Thank you, Dick. She'll like them, I know, but you oughtn't to give so
much."
"What's half a dollar to a man of my fortune?" said Dick. "Take care of
yourself, Tom. I must hurry back to the store."
Roswell was already gone. His pride would not permit him to stand by
while Dick was conversing with a boot-black. He felt that his position
would be compromised. As for Dick, he was so well dressed that nobody
would know that he had ever been in that business. The fact is, Roswell,
like a great many other people, was troubled with a large share of
pride, though it might have puzzled himself to explain what he had to be
proud of. Had Dick been at all like him he would have shunned all his
former acquaintances, and taken every precaution against having it
discovered that he had ever occupied a similar position. But Dick was
above such meanness. He could see that Tom, for instance, was far
superior in all that constituted manliness to Roswell Crawford, and,
boot-black though he was, he prepared to recognize him as a friend.
When Dick reached the store, he did not immediately see Mr. Rockwell.
He accordingly entered the counting-room where Gilbert, the book-keeper,
was seated at a desk.
"Here are the letters, Mr. Gilbert," said Dick.
"Lay them down," said the book-keeper, sourly. "You've been gone long
enough. How many did you drop on the way?"
"I didn't know I was expected to drop any," said Dick. "If I had been
told to do so, I would have obeyed orders cheerfully."
Mr. Gilbert was about to remark that Dick was an impudent young rascal,
when the sudden entrance of Mr. Rockwell compelled him to suppress the
observation, and he was obliged to be content with muttering it to
himself.
"Back already, Richard?" said his employer, pleasantly. "Where are the
letters?"
"Here, sir," said Dick.
"Very well, you may go to Mr. Murdock, and see what he can find for you
to do."
Mr. Rockwell sat down to read his letters, and Dick went as directed to
the head clerk.
"Mr. Rockwell sent me to you, Mr. Murdock," he said. "He says you will
find something for me to do."
"Oh, yes, we'll keep you busy," said the head clerk, with a manner very
different from that of the book-keeper. "At present, however, your
duties will be of rather a miscellaneous character. We shall want you
partly for an entry clerk, and partly to run to the post-office, bank,
and so forth."
"All right, sir," said Dick. "I'm ready to do anything that is required
of me. I want to make myself useful."
"That's the right way to feel, my young friend. Some boys are so
big-feeling and put on so many airs, that you'd think they were partners
in the business, instead of beginning at the lowest round of the ladder.
A while ago Mr. Gilbert brought round a cousin of his, about your age,
that he wanted to get in here; but the young gentleman was altogether
too lofty to suit me, so we didn't take him."
"Was the boy's name Roswell Crawford?"
"Yes; do you know him?"
"Not much. He thinks I'm too far beneath him for him to associate with,
but he was kind enough to walk up Nassau Street with me this morning,
just to encourage me a little."
"That was kind in him, certainly," said the head clerk, smiling. "Unless
I am very much mistaken, you will be able to get along without his
patronage."
"I hope so," said Dick.
The rest of the day Dick was kept busy in various ways. He took hold
with a will, and showed himself so efficient that he made a favorable
impression upon every one in the establishment, except the book-keeper.
For some reason or other Mr. Gilbert did not like Dick, and was
determined to oust him from his situation if an opportunity should
offer.