Alger Horatio Jr.
Fame and Fortune; or, The Progress of Richard Hunter
CHAPTER IX.
ROSWELL CRAWFORD AT HOME
While Fosdick and Dick are devoting their evenings to study, under the guidance of Mr. Layton, we will direct the reader's attention to a young gentleman who considered himself infinitely superior in the social scale to either. Roswell Crawford could never forget that Dick had once been a boot-black, and looked upon it as an outrage that such a boy should be earning a salary of ten dollars a week, while he—a gentleman's son—was only paid four, which he regarded as a beggarly pittance. Roswell's father had once kept a small dry goods store on Broadway, but failed after being in business a little less than a year. This constituted his claim to gentility. After his failure, Mr. Crawford tried several kinds of business, without succeeding in any. His habits were not strictly temperate, and he had died two years previous. His wife hired a house in Clinton Place, and took boarders, barely succeeding in making both ends meet at the end of the year. The truth was that she was not a good manager, and preferred to talk of her gentility and former wealth to looking after the affairs of the household. She was very much like her son in this respect.
Among Mrs. Crawford's boarders was Mr. Gilbert, who is already known to the reader as the book-keeper of Rockwell & Cooper. It has been mentioned also that he was Roswell's cousin, being a son of Mrs. Crawford's only brother. He, too, was not unlike his aunt and cousin, and all three combined to hate and despise Dick, whom Mrs. Crawford saw fit to regard as her son's successful rival.
"How's the boot-black, Cousin James?" asked Roswell, on the evening succeeding that which Dick had passed at Mr. Rockwell's.
"Putting on airs worse than ever," replied Gilbert.
"Mr. Rockwell has a singular taste, to say the least," said Mrs. Crawford, "or he wouldn't hire a boy from the streets, and give him such extravagant wages. To pay such a vagabond ten dollars a week, when a boy of good family, like Roswell, can get but four, is perfectly ridiculous."
"I don't believe he gets so much," said Roswell. "It's only one of his big stories."
"You're mistaken there," said Gilbert. "He does get exactly that."
"Are you sure of it?"
"I ought to be, since I received directions from Mr. Rockwell to-day to pay him that amount to-morrow night, that being the end of the week."
"I never heard of such a thing!" ejaculated Mrs. Crawford. "The man must be a simpleton."
"If he is, there's another besides him."
"Who do you mean?"
"Mrs. Rockwell."
"Has she made acquaintance with the boot-black, then?" asked Roswell, with a sneer.
"Yes, he visited them last evening at their house."
"Did he tell you so?"
"Yes."
"I should think they'd feel honored by such a visitor."
"Probably they did, for Mrs. Rockwell made him a present of a gold watch."
"What!" exclaimed Roswell and his mother in concert.
"It's true. I sent him out to ask the time to-day, when he pulled out a new gold watch with an air of importance, and told me the time."
"Was it a good watch?"
"A very handsome one. It must have cost, with the chain, a hundred and twenty-five dollars."
"The idea of a boot-black with a gold watch!" exclaimed Roswell, with a sneer. "It's about as appropriate as a pig in a silk dress."
"I can't understand it at all," said Mrs. Crawford. "It can't be that he's a poor relation of theirs, can it?"
"I should say not. Mr. Rockwell wouldn't be likely to have a relation reduced to blacking boots."
"Is the boy so attractive, then? What does he look like?"
"He's as bold as brass, and hasn't got any manners nor education," said Roswell.
Poor Dick! His ears ought to have tingled, considering the complimentary things that were said of him this evening. But luckily he knew nothing about it, and, if he had, it is doubtful whether it would have troubled him much. He was independent in his ideas, and didn't trouble himself much about the opinion of others, as long as he felt that he was doing right as nearly as he knew how.
"Do you think this strange fancy of Mr. Rockwell's is going to last?" inquired Mrs. Crawford. "I wish Roswell could have got in there."
"So do I, but I couldn't accomplish it."
"If this boy should fall out of favor, there might be a chance for Roswell yet; don't you think so?" asked Mrs. Crawford.
"I wish there might," said Roswell. "I'd like to see that beggar's pride humbled. Besides, four dollars a week is such a miserable salary."
"You thought yourself lucky when you got it."
"So I did; but that was before I found out how much this boot-black was getting."
"Well," said Gilbert, "he isn't a favorite of mine, as you know well enough. If there's anything I can do to oust him, I shall do it."
"Couldn't you leave some money in his way? He might be tempted to steal it."
"I don't know yet what course would be best. I'll try to get him into trouble of some kind. But I can tell better by and by what to do."
Gilbert went up to his room, and Mrs. Crawford and Roswell were left alone.
"I wish you were at Rockwell & Cooper's, Roswell," said his mother.
"So do I, mother; but it's no use wishing."
"I don't know about that. Your cousin ought to have some influence there."
"The boot-black's in the way."
"He may not be in the way always. Your cousin may detect him in something that will cause his discharge."
"Even if he does, I've tried once to get in there, and didn't succeed. They didn't seem to take a fancy to me."
"I shouldn't expect them to, if they take a fancy to a common street boy. But when they find him out, they may change their opinion of you."
"I don't know how that will be, mother. At any rate, I think I ought to get more than four dollars a week where I am. Why, there's Talbot, only two years older than I, gets eight dollars, and I do more than he. To tell the truth, I don't like the place. I don't like to be seen carrying round bundles. It isn't fit work for a gentleman's son."
Roswell forgot that many of the most prosperous merchants in the city began in that way, only on less wages. One who wants to climb the ladder of success must, except in very rare cases, commence at the lowest round. This was what Roswell did not like. He wanted to begin half-way up at the very least. It was a great hindrance to him that he regarded himself as a gentleman's son, and was puffed up with a corresponding sense of his own importance.
The more Roswell thought of his ill-requited services, as he considered them, the more he felt aggrieved. It may be mentioned that he was employed in a dry goods store on Sixth Avenue, and was chiefly engaged in carrying out bundles for customers. A circumstance which occurred about this time deepened his disgust with the place.
About the middle of the next week he was carrying a heavy bundle to a house on Madison Avenue. Now it happened that Mr. Rockwell, who, it will be remembered, lived on the same street, had left home that morning, quite forgetting an important letter which he had received, and which required an early answer. He therefore summoned Dick, and said, "Richard, do you remember the location of my house?"
"Yes, sir," said Dick.
"I find I have left an important letter at home. I have written a line to my wife, that she may know where to look for it. I want you to go up at once."
"Very well, sir."
Dick took the note, and, walking to Broadway, jumped on board an omnibus, and in a few minutes found himself opposite the Fifth Avenue Hotel. Here he alighted, and, crossing the Park, entered Madison Avenue, then as now lined with fine houses.
Walking briskly up the avenue, he overtook a boy of about his own size, with a large bundle under his arm. Glancing at him as he passed, he recognized Roswell Crawford.
"How are you, Crawford?" said Dick, in an offhand manner.
Roswell looked at the speaker, whom he recognized.
"I'm well," said he, in a stiff, ungracious manner.
Ashamed of the large bundle he was carrying, he would rather have been seen by any boy than Dick, under present circumstances. He did not fail to notice Dick's neat dress, and the gold chain displayed on his vest. Indeed there was nothing in Dick's appearance which would have been inconsistent with the idea that he lived on the avenue, and was, what Roswell claimed to be, a gentleman's son. It seemed to Roswell that Dick was immensely presumptuous in swaggering up Madison Avenue in such a style, as he mentally called it, and he formed the benevolent design of "taking down his pride," and making him feel uncomfortable, if possible.
"Have you lost your place?" he inquired.
"No," said Dick, "not yet. It's very kind of you to inquire."
"I suppose they pay you for walking the streets, then," he said, with a sneer.
"Yes," said Dick, composedly; "that's one of the things they pay me for."
"I suppose you like it better than blacking boots?" said Roswell, who, supposing that Dick was ashamed of his former occupation, felt a malicious pleasure in reminding him of it.
"Yes," said Dick, "I like it better on the whole; but then there's some advantages about boot-blackin'."
"Indeed!" said Roswell, superciliously. "As I was never in the business, I can't of course decide."
"Then I was in business for myself, you see, and was my own master. Now I have to work for another man."
"You don't seem to be working very hard now," said Roswell, enviously.
"Not very," said Dick. "You must be tired carrying that heavy bundle. I'll carry it for you as far as I go."
Roswell, who was not above accepting a favor from a boy he didn't like, willingly transferred it to our hero.
"I carried it out just to oblige," he said, as if he were not in the daily habit of carrying such packages.
"That's very kind of you," said Dick.
Roswell did not know whether Dick spoke sarcastically or not, and therefore left the remark unnoticed.
"I don't think I shall stay where I am very long," he said.
"Don't you like?" asked Dick.
"Not very well. I'm not obliged to work for a living," added Roswell, loftily, but not altogether truly.
"I am," said Dick. "I've had to work for a living ever since I was six years old. I suppose you work because you like it."
"I'm learning business. I'm going to be a merchant, as my father was."
"I'll have to give up the bundle now," said Dick. "This is as far as I am going."
Roswell took back his bundle, and Dick went up the steps of Mr. Rockwell's residence and rang the door-bell.
CHAPTER X.
A STORE ON SIXTH AVENUE
Roswell kept on his way with his heavy bundle, more discontented than ever. The bundle seemed heavier than ever. Dick had no such bundles to carry. He had an easier time, his business position was better, and his wages more than double. And all this in spite of the glaring fact that Roswell was a gentleman's son, and Dick wasn't. Surely fortune was very blind, and unfair in the distribution of her favors.
"I suppose he'll be crowing over me," thought Roswell, bitterly, judging from what would have been his own feeling had the case been reversed. "I hope he'll have to go back to boot-blacking some day. I wish mother'd buy me a gold watch and chain. There'd be some sense in my wearing it."
Roswell evidently thought it very inappropriate that Dick should wear a handsome gold watch, more especially as he was quite sure beforehand that his mother would not gratify his own desire to possess one. Still he resolved to ask.
There was another thing he meant to ask. Feeling that his services were worth more than the wages he received, and convincing himself that his employers would be unwilling to lose him, he determined to ask an advance of two dollars a week, making six dollars in all. Not that he considered that even this would pay him, but as he could hardly hope that he would be appreciated according to his deserts, he limited his request to that sum. He concluded to defer making his application until Saturday evening, when he would receive his week's wages.
He consulted his mother upon this subject, and she, having nearly as high an opinion of her promising son as he had himself, consented to the application. If his cousin, James Gilbert, had heard of his intention, he was enough of a business man to have dissuaded him from the attempt. Though he saw fit to espouse the cause of Roswell against Dick, it was more because he disliked the latter than because he was blind to the faults of the former. Indeed, he had a very moderate opinion of his young cousin's capabilities.
The days slipped by, and Saturday night came. It was nine o'clock before Roswell was released, the Saturday-night trade being the best of the week. The other clerks had been paid, Roswell's turn coming last, because he was the youngest.
The designation of the firm was Hall & Turner. Mr. Hall, the senior partner, usually went home early in the evening; and Mr. Turner, the junior partner, a man of about thirty-five, attended to the evening business, and paid the weekly wages.
"Here, Crawford," he said, counting out four one dollar bills; "it's your turn now."
"I want to speak to you for a moment, Mr. Turner," said Roswell, beginning to feel a little nervous; for now that the time had come for making his request, he felt a little uncertain how it would be received.
"Very well," said his employer, showing a little surprise; "be quick about it, for I want to get through."
"I want to know if you will not be willing to raise my wages," said Roswell, rather awkwardly.
"On what ground do you ask for it?" said Mr. Turner, looking up.
"I thought I might be worth more," said Roswell.
"How long have you been in my employment,—do you remember?"
"About four months," said Roswell.
"Do you think you have learned enough in that time to make you worth more?"
"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 Dick 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 circumstances 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 Dick 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 Saturday 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?"
"He said I didn't earn any more. He's a stingy old hunks, any way, and I wish I was in another place."
"So do I; but it isn't so easy to get a new position. You had better stay in this till another offers."
"I hate carrying bundles through the streets. It isn't fit work for a gentleman's son."
"Ah, if your poor father had lived, things would have been very different with us all!" said Mrs. Crawford, with a sigh. She chose to forget that previous to his death her late husband's habits had been such that he contributed very little to the comfort or support of the family.
"I wouldn't care if I were a salesman," continued Roswell; "but I don't like being an errand boy. I'd just as lives go to the post-office for letters, or to the bank with money, but, as for carrying big bundles of calico under my arm, I don't like it. I was walking on Madison Avenue the other day with a ten-pound bundle, when the boot-black came up, dressed handsomely, with a gold watch and chain, and exulted over me for carrying such a big bundle."
There was a little exaggeration about this, for Dick was very far from exulting over Roswell, otherwise he certainly would not have volunteered to carry the bundle himself. But it often happens that older persons than Roswell are not above a little misrepresentation now and then.
"He's an impudent fellow, then!" said Mrs. Crawford, indignantly. "Then Mr. Hall won't raise your wages?"
"It wasn't Mr. Hall I asked. It was Mr. Turner," said Roswell.
"Didn't he hold out any hopes of raising your wages hereafter?"
"He said he would raise them when I deserve it. He don't amount to much. He's no gentleman," said Roswell, scornfully.
"Who's no gentleman?" inquired James Gilbert, who chanced just then to enter the room.
"Mr. Turner."
"Who's Mr. Turner?"
"My employer,—Hall & Turner, you know."
"What's amiss with him?"
"I asked him to raise my wages to-night, and he wouldn't."
"Umph! How much did you ask for?"
"Two dollars more a week."
"You're a fool!"
"What!" said Roswell, astonished.
"What!" exclaimed Mrs. Crawford, angrily.
"I say the lad's a fool to ask for so large an advance so soon. Of course his employers refused it. I would, in their place."
"You're very hard upon the poor boy!" said Mrs. Crawford. "I thought you were his friend."
"So I am; but he's acted foolishly for all that. He should have known better."
"I ought to be worth six dollars, if your boot-black is worth ten," responded Roswell.
"He isn't worth ten."
"Why do you pay him that, then?"
"It's Mr. Rockwell who pays him, not I. Why he does it, I can't say. It isn't because he earns it. No boy of his age, or yours either, can earn ten dollars a week."
"At any rate he gets ten, and I get only four. I certainly earn more than that," said Roswell.
"I am not so sure about that," said his cousin. "But if it will afford you any comfort, I'll venture to make the prediction that he won't remain in Rockwell & Cooper's employment a week longer."
"Has anything happened?" asked Roswell, eagerly.
"Not yet," said James Gilbert, significantly.
"Then something is going to happen?"
"You need not trouble yourself to ask questions. Wait patiently, and when anything happens I'll let you know."
Here James Gilbert left the room, and went up to his own chamber. His words had excited hope in both Roswell and his mother. The former felt that it would be a satisfaction to him to learn that Dick had lost his situation, even if he failed to get it himself.
