Fame and Fortune Part 19

"Yes, sir," said Roswell, with a little hesitation.

"How much more would satisfy you?"

"Two dollars more,--for the present," said Roswell, beginning to feel a little hopeful.

"That is six dollars a week."

"Yes, sir."

"And how soon would you expect another advance?" asked Mr. Turner, quietly.

"In about six months."

"You are quite moderate in your demands, certainly."

There was something in Mr. Turner's tone which struck Roswell as unfavorable, and he hastily said in his own justification:--

"There's a friend of mine, no older than I am, who gets ten dollars a week."

Certainly Roswell must have spoken inadvertently, or he would hardly have referred to d.i.c.k as his friend; but his main idea at present was to produce an impression upon the mind of Mr. Turner.

"Is your friend in a dry goods store?" asked Mr. Turner.

"No, sir."

"Then I don't see that his wages have any bearing upon your case. There may be some special circ.u.mstances that affect his compensation. How long has he been in the service of his present employer?"

"Only a week or two."

"Is this his first place?"

"Yes, sir."

"It may be that he is some relative of his employer."

"That isn't very likely," said Roswell, his lip curling. "He used to be a boot-black about the streets."

"Indeed!" said Mr. Turner, keenly. "I think you said he was a friend of yours."

"No, sir," said Roswell, proudly; "I haven't the honor."

"You certainly said 'There's a friend of mine, no older than I am, who gets ten dollars a week.'"

"I didn't mean to speak of him as my friend," said Roswell; "I'm a gentleman's son."

"If you are, his friendship might do you no harm. If he receives the wages you state, he must be a smart fellow. If he didn't earn as much, probably he would not receive it."

"I don't believe he'll keep his place long," muttered Roswell, his wish being father to the thought.

"If he doesn't, you may be able to succeed him," said Mr. Turner. "I shall be compelled to refuse your request. Indeed, so far from increasing your compensation, I have been considering during the last week whether it would not be for my interest to get another boy in your place."

"Sir!" exclaimed Roswell, in dismay.

"I will give you my reasons. You appear to think yourself of too great consequence to discharge properly the duties of your position."

"I don't understand you, sir," stammered Roswell.

"I believe you claim to be a gentleman's son."

"Yes, sir," said Roswell. "My father used to keep a store on Broadway."

"And I am led to suppose you think it incompatible with your dignity to carry bundles to different parts of the city."

"I would rather stand behind the counter and sell goods," said Roswell.

"Of course you will be a salesman in time, if you stick to business faithfully. But it so happens that we didn't hire you as a salesman, but as a boy, whose chief business it should be to carry bundles. But we don't want to impose a disagreeable duty upon you. Therefore, if you think upon reflection that you would prefer not to continue in your situation, we will hire somebody else."

"That won't be necessary, sir," said Roswell, considerably crest-fallen.

"You are content, then, to remain?"

"Yes, sir."

"And upon four dollars a week?"

"Yes, sir. I suppose I may hope to have my wages increased some time?"

"When we find your services worth more, you shall receive more," said Mr. Turner. "That is fair,--isn't it?"

"Yes, sir."

"Then here is your money. I didn't mean to talk so long; but it's as well to come to an understanding."

Roswell left the store considerably crest-fallen. He found that, instead of regarding him worth an advance of wages, Mr. Turner had had it in his mind to discharge him; and that hurt his pride. It was certainly very singular that people shouldn't be more impressed with the fact that he was a gentleman's son. He could not have received less deference if he had been an ex-boot-black, like d.i.c.k himself. He certainly was no more contented than before, nor was his self-appreciation materially diminished. If the world did not recognize his claims, there was one comfort, his mother appreciated him, and he appreciated himself. As to his cousin, he did not feel quite so certain.

"Why are you so late, Roswell?" asked his mother, looking up from her work as he entered. "It seems to me they kept you later than usual at the store, even for Sat.u.r.day evening."

"I'm sick of the store," said Roswell, impatiently.

"What's the matter?"

"I asked old Turner to-night if he wouldn't raise my wages," said Roswell.

"Well, what did he say?"

"He said he wouldn't do it."

"Did he give any reason?"