SHIFTING FOR HIMSELF;
OR,
GILBERT GREYSON’S FORTUNES.
BY
HORATIO ALGER, Jr.,
AUTHOR OF “RAGGED DICK,” “TATTERED TOM,” “LUCK AND PLUCK,” “BRAVE AND BOLD” SERIES.
THE JOHN C. WINSTON CO.,
PHILADELPHIA,
CHICAGO, TORONTO.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
FAMOUS ALGER BOOKS.
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=RAGGED DICK SERIES.= By HORATIO ALGER, JR. 6 vols. 12mo. Cloth.
RAGGED DICK.
FAME AND FORTUNE.
MARK THE MATCH BOY.
ROUGH AND READY
BEN THE LUGGAGE BOY.
RUFUS AND ROSE.
=TATTERED TOM SERIES.= By HORATIO ALGER, JR. 4 vols. 12mo. Cloth. FIRST SERIES.
TATTERED TOM.
PHIL THE FIDDLER.
PHIL THE FIDDLER
SLOW AND SURE
=TATTERED TOM SERIES.= 4 vols. 12mo. Cloth. SECOND SERIES.
JULIUS.
THE YOUNG OUTLAW.
SAM’S CHANCE.
THE TELEGRAPH BOY.
=CAMPAIGN SERIES.= By HORATIO ALGER, JR. 3 vols.
FRANK’S CAMPAIGN.
PAUL PRESCOTT’S CHARGE.
CHARLIE CODMAN’S CRUISE.
=LUCK AND PLUCK SERIES.= By HORATIO ALGER, JR. 4 vols. 12mo. Cloth. FIRST SERIES.
LUCK AND PLUCK.
STRONG AND STEADY.
STRIVE AND SUCCEED.
=LUCK AND PLUCK SERIES.= 4 vols. 12mo. Cloth. SECOND SERIES.
TRY AND TRUST.
BOUND TO RISE.
RISEN FROM THE RANKS.
HERBERT CARTER’S LEGACY.
=BRAVE AND BOLD SERIES.= By HORATIO ALGER, JR. 4 vols. 12mo. Cloth.
BRAVE AND BOLD.
JACK’S WARD.
SHIFTING FOR HIMSELF.
WAIT AND HOPE.
=PACIFIC SERIES.= By HORATIO ALGER, JR. 4 vols. 12mo.
THE YOUNG ADVENTURER.
THE YOUNG MINER.
THE YOUNG EXPLORERS.
BEN’S NUGGET.
=ATLANTIC SERIES.= By HORATIO ALGER, JR. 4 vols.
THE YOUNG CIRCUS RIDER.
DO AND DARE.
HECTOR’S INHERITANCE.
HELPING HIMSELF.
=WAY TO SUCCESS SERIES.= By HORATIO ALGER, JR. 4 vols. 12mo. Cloth.
BOB BURTON.
THE STORE BOY.
LUKE WALTON.
STRUGGLING UPWARD.
=NEW WORLD SERIES.= By HORATIO ALGER, JR. 3 vols. 12mo. Cloth.
DIGGING FOR GOLD.
FACING THE WORLD.
IN A NEW WORLD.
Other Volumes in Preparation.
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COPYRIGHT BY A. K. LORING, 1876.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
To
JOSEPH T. PRESTON,
OF NEW YORK,
WHO HONORABLY REPRESENTS THE “ART PRESERVATIVE OF
ALL ARTS,” WITHOUT WHOSE AID AUTHORS WOULD
WRITE TO LITTLE PURPOSE,
This Volume is Dedicated
WITH FRIENDLY REGARD.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
PREFACE.
“Shifting for Himself” records the experiences of a boy who, in the course of a preparation for college, suddenly finds himself reduced to poverty. He is obliged to leave his books, and give up his cherished plans. How cheerfully Gilbert Greyson accepted the situation, and settled down to regular work, what obstacles he encountered and overcame, and what degree of success he met with in the end, the reader of this story will learn.
Though it must be admitted that Gilbert was more fortunate than the majority of boys in his position, it is claimed that he displayed qualities which may wisely be imitated by all boys who are called upon to shift for themselves. In the last three years many thousand American boys have been compelled, like Gilbert, to give up their cherished hopes, and exchange school-life for narrow means and hard work. Nothing is more uncertain than riches; and such cases are liable to occur at all times. I shall be glad if the story of Gilbert Greyson and his fortunes gives heart or hope to any of my young readers who are similarly placed. The loss of wealth often develops a manly self-reliance, and in such cases it may prove a blessing in disguise.
NEW YORK, Oct. 20, 1876.
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SHIFTING FOR HIMSELF;
OR,
GILBERT GREYSON’S FORTUNES.
--------------
CHAPTER I.
TWO SCHOOL-FELLOWS.
Dr. Burton’s boarding-school was in a ferment of hope and expectation. To-morrow was the end of the term, and vacation, so dear to the heart of every school-boy, was close at hand.
The school was not a large one. There were twenty-four boarding pupils, and an equal number of day-scholars from the village of Westville, in which the school had been established twenty years before. It was favorably situated, being only forty miles from New York. Half the boarding-scholars were from the city, and half from more distant places. Generally two or three pupils were sent to college each year, and, as the principal was a thorough scholar, maintained a creditable, often a high rank.
The school-session was over, and the boys separated into little knots. The day-scholars mostly went home, carrying their books under their arms.
Among the little knots we must direct particular attention to two boys, one a boarding-scholar, the other a day-scholar. The first was Gilbert Greyson, a handsome, spirited boy of sixteen; the other, John Munford, of about the same age, and much more plainly dressed. John was the son of a carpenter, of limited means, and had already begun to learn his father’s business. But the father was sensible of the advantages of education, and had permitted his son to spend six months of each year at school, on condition that he would work the balance of the time. This arrangement seemed fair to John, and he took care, whether he studied or worked, to do both in earnest.
“How do you feel about vacation, John?” asked Gilbert.
“I was in no hurry to have it come, Gilbert. It is likely to be a very long vacation to me.”
“How so?”
“I have got through my school-life.”
“What! Are you not coming back next term?” asked Gilbert, with evident disappointment, for John was his most intimate friend.
“Neither next term, nor any other term, Gilbert, I am sorry to say.”
“Have you finished your education, then?”
“So far as school goes.”
“I am sorry for that. I shall miss you more than any one else.”
“We shall still meet, I hope. I shall be at work; but there will be times—in the evening—when we can see each other.”
“No doubt; but that won’t be like sitting at the same desk, and studying together. You had better let me ask your father to send you one more year.”
John shook his head.
“No, Gilbert, it ought not to be. My father is poor you know, and it has been a sacrifice to him to spare me half the year thus far. Now I must go to work in earnest, and perfect myself in my trade, that I may relieve him of all expense on my account.”
“I suppose you are right, John; but I shall miss you none the less. Somehow I never could be reconciled to your becoming a carpenter. You are not cut out for it.”
“Don’t you think I will make a good one?” asked John, smiling.
“I am sure you will; but that isn’t the question. Do you think you are better fitted for that than for anything else?”
“No, I don’t.”
“Do you prefer that trade to any other business?”
“No; but I can’t choose for myself. I should rather be a teacher, or a lawyer; but there is small chance for either. For either I should be obliged to study years, and I can’t afford to do that. A carpenter I am to be, and I will try to make a good one. Now, your case is different. You are going to school next year, I suppose?”
“Yes, I suppose so. That is as my guardian determines, and no letter has been received from him yet. I believe Dr. Burton is expecting one to-day or to-morrow.”
“You won’t spend the summer here, I suppose, Gilbert?”
“I am hoping to make a little tour, as I did last year.”
“You went to the White Mountains then.”
“Yes, and had a jolly good time.”
“Where will you go this year?”
“I want to go to Niagara, stopping on the way at Saratoga. I have estimated that I can do it for a hundred dollars,—the same that my last summer’s trip cost me.”
“It must be splendid to travel,” said John, enthusiastically. “I mean to see something of the world some day, though I suspect that I shall be a pretty old boy before I am able to. I have no guardian to send me money. I must earn my money before I spend it.”
“I never earned a dollar in my life,” said Gilbert. “I wonder how it would seem if I had to support myself, and make my own way in the world.”
“It would seem hard at first. It comes natural to me; but then I have been differently brought up from you.”
“I rather envy you, John,” said Gilbert, thoughtfully. “You are so much more self-reliant, so much better able to take care of yourself.”
“It’s the difference in the training, Gilbert. I’ve no doubt it’s in you; but circumstances have never brought it out. You expect to go to Yale College a year hence, don’t you?”
“I expect to; at least that has been Dr. Burton’s plan; but my guardian has never expressed his opinion. He has simply given his consent to my pursuing the course preparatory to entrance. I presume I shall go, however.”
“What sort of a man is your guardian?”
“I have never seen much of him. He lives in the city, you know; but he never seemed to care to have me in his home much. He is a merchant, and appears to be wealthy. At any rate, he lives in a fine house up-town, and keeps up a good style of living.”
“Who appointed him your guardian?”
“I don’t know. I suppose my father.”
“Is your father living?”
“I don’t know.”
“Don’t know!” exclaimed John, opening his eyes.
“It seems strange to you; but I cannot give any explanation. My guardian tells me I shall know some time; meanwhile I am to ask no questions.”
“Did that satisfy you?”
“No; but when I pressed my question I was silenced. I was told that I must be satisfied with being so well provided for, without trying to penetrate into matters that did not concern me.”
“I should think it did concern you.”
“So I do think; but there is no use in thinking about it. It would only perplex me to no purpose.”
“I can’t put myself in your place at all. To me it seems so natural to have a father and mother, and sister. How lonely you must feel!”
“I have never been used to them. And that makes a difference. Sometimes, to be sure, I begin to think over the matter and wish that I had ties like other boys; but it doesn’t last long. But here we are at your home.”
“Come in a minute, Gilbert.”
“I don’t know if I ought. I shall be late to supper, and the doctor wouldn’t like that.”
“Take supper with us.”
“Yes, take supper with us,” echoed John’s mother, a pleasant, motherly-looking woman, who heard her son’s words of invitation as he opened the door.
Gilbert hesitated.
The little table spread for tea looked so much more comfortable and home-like than the long table at the doctor’s, that he was strongly tempted.
“We may not have as nice a supper as the doctor,” continued Mrs. Munford, “but you may not mind that for once.”
“You give the doctor’s table too much credit,” said Gilbert, smiling. “He doesn’t mean to pamper any of us, or make us gluttons. I would a great deal rather take supper here.”
“Then stay, Gilbert.”
“I will,” said Gilbert, in a tone of quick decision. “If the doctor scolds, why let him.”
“He won’t feel anxious about your not being back, will he?” asked Mrs. Munford.
“No; he knows I can take pretty good care of myself. Besides, it will be a saving to him, all the more because I have a very good appetite.”
All laughed, for Dr. Burton, though on the whole a very worthy man, had the reputation of being what New Englanders call close. It was thought that he was more economical than he needed to be. At any rate he had made his school profitable, and was assessed for a very considerable sum in the list of village property-holders.
“How do you do, Mary?” said Gilbert, offering his hand to a girl of ten, John’s sister, who just then entered the room.
“Pretty well,” said Mary, shyly.
“Don’t blush so, Mary,” said John, teasing her as brothers are apt to do.
“I wasn’t blushing,” said Mary, indignantly.
“Just because Gilbert spoke to you.”
“You are too bad, John,” said his mother.
“How soon will supper be ready, mother?” asked John.
“In half an hour. Why; are you very impatient?”
“No; but I thought there might be time for Gilbert and me to have a catch in the yard.”
“I’ll tell you of a better way of filling up your time.”
“What is that?”
“I am almost out of wood. Can’t you saw me up a little?”
“I am afraid it will be dull to Gilbert to look on,” said John.
“I don’t propose to look on. You shall saw, and I will split.”
“I don’t like to set a visitor to work,” said Mrs. Munford. “I didn’t expect you to work for your supper.”
“I shall enjoy it all the more. Come along, John. You’ll see what execution I will make with your wood-pile.”
As the two boys passed out into the woodshed, Mrs. Munford said, “I like Gilbert. Though he is rich, he doesn’t put on any airs, but makes himself at home even among such plain people as we are.”
CHAPTER II.
THE GUARDIAN’S LETTER.
When supper was over, the boys took a walk, bringing round by the large square house occupied by Dr. Burton for his boarding-school. They had got within a few rods when John observed one of the younger boys running towards them.
“There’s little Evans,” he said. “He looks as if he had a message for you, Gilbert.”
“From the doctor, I suppose. I’m in for a scolding, probably.”
By this time Evans had reached them.
“You’re wanted, Greyson,” he said. “Why weren’t you home to supper?”
“Is the doctor mad?”
“I don’t know. He seems anxious to see you.”
“All right. Then I’ll go in. I must bid you good-night, John. Business before pleasure, you know, or rather business after pleasure.”
“I hope the business won’t be serious.”
“I hope not. Good-night.”
“Good-night, Gilbert.”
There was a small room about twelve feet square, which was known as Dr. Burton’s study. There was a desk beside the window, and book-shelves occupying the sides of the room. Hither it was that refractory or disobedient pupils were summoned, to receive admonition from the principal. In his early experience as teacher he had employed a sterner sort of discipline, but later he had substituted words for blows—very wisely, as I think.
Gilbert went at once to the doctor’s study.
Dr. Burton was a tall, spare man, with strongly marked features, and on the whole rather a stern face. He looked toward the door as Gilbert opened it.
“Good-evening, sir,” said Gilbert.
“You were absent from supper without notice or permission, Greyson,” the doctor began.
“Yes, sir.”
“Where were you?”
“I walked home with John Munford, and was invited to take supper there.”
“I should have had no objection, if you had asked me. John Munford is one of my most reliable pupils, both in study and deportment.”
Gilbert was pleased at this commendation of his friend.
“I hope you will excuse me for absence without permission,” he said, apologizing with a good grace.
“You are excused, Greyson.”
Supposing that the interview was over, Gilbert bowed, and was about to leave the room, but was stopped by the doctor.
“Stay,” he said; “I have something more to say to you.”
“What else have I done?” thought Gilbert, in surprise.
“Sit down,” said the teacher.
Gilbert seated himself.
“How long have you been here, Greyson?”
“Six years, sir.”
“In a year more you would be ready for college,” said the doctor, musing.
“Why does he say ‘would’? Why not ‘will’?” thought Greyson.
“Am I to go to college?” asked Gilbert.
“I thought it probable; but I have just learned that your guardian has other views for you.”
“Have you a letter from my guardian?” asked Gilbert, eagerly.
“Yes; it only reached me this afternoon. Would you like to read it?”
“Very much, sir.”
“Here it is,” said Dr. Burton, opening his desk, and drawing therefrom a letter enclosed in a buff envelope.
Gilbert quickly reached out for it.
This was the material portion of the letter, which Gilbert read with hurried interest:—
“Circumstances will not permit my ward remaining with you another year. I may say plainly that, should he do so, I should be compelled to defray the expense out of my own pocket, and consideration for my own family will not justify me in doing that. I have never, as you know, promised positively that he should go to college. It was barely possible that funds would be forthcoming which would admit of such a course; but it is now quite certain that there is no chance of it.
“He has already, as I should judge from your letters, considerably more than an average education,—more, indeed, than I had when I began my career,—and he ought to be satisfied with that. He has led an easy life hitherto. Now it is time that he did something for himself. Upon receipt of this letter, will you, as soon as may be, send him to me in New York? I will then confer with him as to his future plans.”
This letter was signed Richard Briggs.
Gilbert read it with a mixture of feelings. He was making an unpleasant discovery. Though he knew little about his own affairs, he had always cherished the idea that he had considerable property, and that his path in life would be smoothed as only money can smooth it. He was not especially fond of money, nor did he ever presume on its supposed possession, but it was certainly comfortable to think that he was not poor.
Now it appeared that he had been all his life under a mistake. He was not a favored child of fortune after all, but a poor boy,—as poor, very likely, as his friend John Munford, from whom he had just parted. No wonder he looked with some bewilderment in the doctor’s face when he had completed reading the letter.
The doctor, though a stern man, felt for the boy’s disappointment. He, too, had been under the impression that Gilbert was at least comfortably provided for.
“Well, Greyson,” he said, “I suppose this letter surprises you.”
“Yes, sir, it does,” answered Gilbert, slowly. “I always supposed that I had money to depend upon.”
“I don’t like to reflect upon your guardian, but it seems to me he ought to have apprised you beforehand of what you had to expect.”
“I wish he had.”
“Do you feel very much disappointed?” asked the doctor, eying his pupil with interest.
“Considerably, sir. It is hard to fancy myself a poor boy, with my own way to make in the world.”
“It might have been worse. You have, as your guardian suggests, more than an average education.”
“Thanks to you, sir.”
“And to your own application,” added the doctor, gratified by this tribute.
“I am glad you think so, sir. I hope it will help me in life.”
“Undoubtedly it will. Besides, you will have the influence of your guardian to assist you. He will probably procure you a good place in some counting-room.”
“I wish he had told me something about myself; where the money came from which had paid my bills hitherto.”
Gilbert looked inquiringly at the doctor, as if to ask whether he could throw any light upon these points. But he was destined to be disappointed, for the doctor said, “He has not seen fit to take me into his confidence. I know no more than you do on this subject. Perhaps, in your approaching interview with him, he may give you information on the subject.”
“I will ask him, at all events,” said Gilbert. “When do you think it best that I should leave, Dr. Burton?”
“He wishes you to be sent ‘as soon as may be,’” said the doctor, consulting the letter. “I should think you had better go to-morrow, or the next day.”
“I will go to-morrow,” said Gilbert, promptly.
“Can you get ready so soon?”
“I will pack to-night, sir.”
“That shall be as you wish. If you would prefer to wait till another day, you can of course do so.”
“Thank you, sir; but I want to see my guardian as soon as possible. Will you permit me, as the cars start early to-morrow, to go to-night, and bid good-by to John Munford?”
Under ordinary circumstances Dr. Burton would have declined this application, but he felt that it was only natural, and he gave the required permission without hesitation.
John Munford was astonished when, on opening the front door, he saw the school-fellow from whom he had so recently parted.
“What’s the matter, Gilbert?” he asked; “has anything happened?”
“Yes,” answered Gilbert. “Get your hat and take a walk with me. I’ll tell you on the way.”
CHAPTER III.
RICHARD BRIGGS.
Gilbert told his story briefly.
“So you see,” he said in conclusion, “my position is like yours, after all. I am thrown upon my own exertions, and must face the world, without the help of money.”
“I’m truly sorry,” said John, in a tone of sympathy.
“Thank you, John; I knew you would be; but do you know, I am not sure whether I am so very sorry myself.”
“But it must be hard for you to give up the hope of wealth.”
“I needn’t give up the hope,” said Gilbert, “only if the hope is to be realized I shall have to make it for myself. As far as that goes I am no worse off than you; but there is one advantage you have over me.”
“You are a better scholar than I am.”
“I don’t mean that. You have a father and mother and sister to encourage you, while I have no one.”
“You have a friend, Gilbert; but he can’t help you much.”
“I know that, old fellow. You have been my most intimate friend for the last three years, and I hope and believe that our friendship is going to last. But I can’t help feeling alone in the world.”
“Why don’t you ask your guardian about your father?”
“I mean to; but I don’t believe he will tell me.”
“Have you any idea what views he has for you?”
“Not the slightest. I suppose he will provide me with a place somewhere.”
“Then you are entirely in the dark as to your prospects?”
“Entirely so.”
“I wish you would write to me, Gilbert, after you are settled. I shall want to know all about it.”
“I will certainly write. In fact, you will be my only correspondent. You must write me about yourself, too.”
“There won’t be much to write. My life will be uneventful. But you may like to hear news of the village and the school, that is, after vacation is over. I’ll write all that I think will interest you.”
“Thank you. You may be sure I shall want to hear. And now, John, I must bid you good-night, and good-by, for I am to start early in the morning, and have not yet packed my trunk.”
“Good-night, then. Take care of yourself, Gilbert.”
“The same to you, John.”
So the two boys parted, but they saw each other once more. As Gilbert was about to get into the cars, John came up hurriedly and gave him a farewell shake of the hand.
“He’s a capital fellow,” thought Gilbert. “I hope he’ll have good luck, and that we shall meet again soon.”
An hour and a half brought our hero to the city. He stepped upon the platform, and getting upon a horse-car rode down-town to his guardian’s office. He had a check for his trunk, but did not claim it at once, not feeling certain what would be his destination.
In a busy street, not five minutes’ walk from Wall Street, was the office of Richard Briggs. Gilbert had no trouble in finding it, for he had been there before. Now, however, he had a new feeling as he entered the handsomely fitted-up room. He was no longer the wealthy ward, but as it appeared the humble dependent of the rich merchant whom he was to meet. The change was not an agreeable one, but he had made up his mind that he must face whatever was disagreeable in his position in a manly way.
“Is Mr. Briggs in?” he inquired, of a clerk who was writing at a desk.
“Yes; but I don’t know if he will see you.”
“He sent for me.”
“Oh, did he? Well, he’s in there.”
The clerk pointed to an inner room, partitioned off from the main office.
Gilbert approached it, and as the door was partially open entered, and, removing his hat, said, “Good-morning, Mr. Briggs.”
Mr. Briggs was a short man, inclined to be corpulent, with marked features.
He turned as he heard Gilbert’s salutation.
“So you received my letter,” he said.
“Dr. Burton did.”
“Yes, I wrote to him. It’s all the same.”
“I thought I had better come up at once, sir.”
“You did right.”
“I was rather surprised at what your letter contained. Dr. Burton let me read it.”
“You fancied yourself rich?” said the merchant, coldly.
“Yes, sir; I had always been led to suppose so.”
“I never told you so.”
“You did not tell me I was poor, and would have to make my own way.”
“You complain of that, do you?” demanded Mr. Briggs, frowning.
“I wish I had known it before.”
“It wasn’t necessary to tell you. As to that, my judgment is of course superior to yours. You understand, do you, that you must now go to work?”
“I am ready, sir.”
“Have you improved your time while at school?”
“Dr. Burton could tell you better than I as to that.”
“He would be more reliable, of course. Still you must have some idea. Give me your own impressions. If you misrepresent, I shall find you out.”
“I shall not misrepresent, sir.”
“Of course not,” said Mr. Briggs, ironically. “I suppose you were a model scholar.”
“No; I was not; but I think I did pretty well.”
“What do you know?”
“I can tell you how far I have been in my studies. I have been so far in Latin and Greek that in another year—perhaps less—I should be prepared for Yale College.”
“You won’t go there. You can’t expect me to pay your expenses.”
“I don’t,” said Gilbert, promptly. “I was only trying to give you an idea of what I knew.”
“Very well. Are you good in arithmetic?”
“Yes, sir.”
“How far have you been?”
“Through the book.”
“That is well. How do you write?”
“Shall I give you a specimen of my writing, sir?”
“Yes. Here is a pen. Write anything you like. You may copy the first three lines of this newspaper article.”
Gilbert did so.
“That will do very well. You don’t write rapidly enough, but you will in time. I shall get you a place as soon as possible. Where is your trunk?”
“At the depot.”
“You can have it sent to my house. You will stay there till I can get you a boarding-place or make some other arrangement for you. Do you know where I live?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Give your check to an expressman, and tell him to bring it round. Stay, here is my son. I will put you in his charge.”
A boy, about Gilbert’s age, had just entered the office. He was the counterpart of his father, and no one could be likely to mistake the relationship. He glanced at Gilbert, but did not speak.
“Randolph, this is Gilbert Greyson,” said his father.
“Good-morning,” said Randolph, curtly. “Father, I want five dollars.”
“What for? It seems to me you are always wanting money.”
“Everybody needs money,” said the son, pertly. “I want to go to a matinée this afternoon.”
“I want you to go with Gilbert; he is going to stop with us a short time.”
“He’s old enough to take care of himself,” said Randolph, unpleasantly.
“I can get along by myself,” said Gilbert, quickly. “I don’t want to trouble your son.”
There was no great self-denial in this. It did not seem to our hero that he should particularly enjoy Randolph’s companionship.
“At any rate you can go with him to the office of Adams’ Express. He wants to send for his trunk.”
“Will you give me the five dollars, then?”
“Here it is. Don’t come again for a week.”
“All right. Come along, whatever your name is.”
This last polite invitation was addressed to our hero, who answered, shortly, “My name is Gilbert Greyson.”
“Well, come along. I’m in a hurry.”
When they had reached the street, Randolph’s curiosity led him to say, “I thought you were at school.”
“So I was; but your father sent for me.”
“He’s your guardian, isn’t he?”
“So I thought; but he tells me I have no money, and must work for my living.”
“Oh, indeed!” said Randolph, superciliously. “That’s quite a different matter.”
Gilbert didn’t like his tone, but did not want to quarrel without cause.
They walked on without further conversation.
Presently Randolph said, “There’s the express office. Now you can look after yourself.”
He darted off, and Gilbert entered the office, not sorry to be rid of his uncongenial companion.
CHAPTER IV.
GILBERT MAKES A NEW ACQUAINTANCE.
Having arranged about his trunk, Gilbert took one of the University-Place cars at the Astor House, and rode up-town. Mrs. Briggs might not know of his coming, and the trunk might be refused.
The house was a four-story brown-stone front, with English basement, differing in no wise from the thousands of fashionable mansions to be seen in the upper part of the city.
Gilbert rang the bell.
“Is Mrs. Briggs at home?” he inquired of the servant, who answered the bell.
“I don’t know, sir. I’ll see. Will you send your name?”
Gilbert drew out a neat visiting-card bearing his name. The servant took it, and carried it to her mistress.
“Take a seat in the parlor, sir,” she said, on her return. “Mrs. Briggs will be down directly.”
The large parlor was showily furnished, in the regulation style. There was a chilly splendor about it that carried with it no idea of comfort or home feeling. Gilbert’s attention was drawn to a family portrait near the front windows. There were three figures,—Mr. Briggs, Randolph, and a lady, who was probably Mrs. Briggs. She had a high forehead, a thin face, cold blue eyes, and pinched lips. Gilbert privately decided that he should not like the original of that portrait.
While he was examining it Mrs. Briggs entered.
“Mr. Greyson?” she asked, in a chilly way.
“Yes, madam.”
“I believe I have not met you before. You are Mr. Briggs’ ward or protégé?”
“Yes, madam.”
“I thought you were at a boarding-school somewhere in the country.”
“So I have been, madam; but the term is at an end, and Mr. Briggs sent for me to come to the city.”
“Indeed! Have you seen Mr. Briggs this morning?”
“Yes, madam. It is by his direction that I have ordered my trunk brought here.”
The lady arched her eyebrows slightly.
“Then you propose to favor us with a visit,” she said.
There was a slight emphasis on the word favor, which Gilbert felt to be a sneer.
“I am at Mr. Briggs’ disposal,” he answered. “He ordered me to come here first. I hope I may not give you any trouble.”
“Oh, no; you will excuse my remaining with you—I have an engagement. I will tell the servants to receive your trunk, and put it in your room. Our lunch will be ready at one o’clock.”
“Thank you,” said Gilbert, hastily; “I think I shall not be here at lunch. I want to go about the city.”
It was eleven o’clock; and he was sure he could not kill the time in that frigid parlor for two hours.
“Very well,” said Mrs. Briggs; “then we shall see you at dinner. Our dinner-hour is six.”
“Thank you, madam.”
“If you come earlier, you can ask to be shown to your room.”
Gilbert thanked her again.
“Now I must leave you. Good-morning.”
Mrs. Briggs sailed out of the room, and Gilbert, following her, let himself out into the street.
“So that’s what they call a city mansion,” he said to himself. “I’d ten times rather be in my room at Dr. Burton’s. I felt as if I was in danger of stifling in that showy parlor. I hope I am not going to live there.”
Gilbert had nowhere to go; but the city was a novelty, and he wandered about the streets, looking about him with the keen interest of a country visitor.
A short walk brought him to the Fifth Avenue Hotel. He had heard of it often, but never seen the interior. Attracted by curiosity he went in. He took a seat near the door, and idly watched the people who were continually going out and coming in. Among the latter he soon saw a familiar face. Randolph Briggs lounged in, swinging a light cane.
“Hallo!” he said, noticing Gilbert, “you here!”
“So it seems,” said Gilbert.
“You aint going to stop here, are you?”
“For the present, I am staying at your house.”
“Oh, yes, I forgot. Been up there?”
“Yes.”
“Did you see mother?”
“For a few minutes.”
“Didn’t she invite you to lunch?”
“Yes; but I thought I should like to look round the city a little.”
“What do you expect to do?”
“I suppose I must get a place. As I have no property, I must do something to earn my living.”
“You don’t expect to stay at our house, do you?”
“I don’t expect anything. I feel bound to be guided by your father.”
“You see it would be awkward to have an office-boy at our table, meeting our friends.”
“I suppose so,” said Gilbert, his lip curling.
“It wouldn’t be proper.”
“I suppose you know best.”
“Probably father will find you some cheap boarding-house. That will be better for you, you know.”
“It’s a pity you were not my guardian,” said Gilbert.
“Why?”
“Because you seem to understand so well what is best for me.”
Randolph looked puzzled. Was this penniless boy chaffing him, or was he in earnest? Randolph’s vanity led him to think the latter.
“Yes, of course I do. I’ve lived in the city all my life. I ought to know what’s what. Do you play billiards?”
“No; I never learned.”
“There’s a billiard-room below. I thought we might have a game.”
“I never played a game in my life.”
“Then there would be no fun for me. I guess I’ll go in and get a drink. Are you thirsty?”
“No, thank you.”
“I’m going to the theatre afterwards—a matinée. I’ve only got one ticket, but you can buy one at the door.”
“Thank you; I would rather walk about the streets this afternoon.”
Randolph lounged into the bar-room, ordered his drink, then lounged out again.
He nodded carelessly to Gilbert as he went out.
“See you by and by,” he said.
Gilbert bowed.
“It doesn’t strike me I shall like that boy,” he said to himself. “I wonder if his father knows about his drinking.”
Gilbert amused himself for a little while longer watching those who entered and departed from the great hotel. Then he went out into the street, and proceeded down Broadway. He made slow progress, for there was much to interest a stranger like himself in the busy life of the street. At length it occurred to him that he would go to Central Park, of which he had heard a great deal. By this time he had strayed to Sixth Avenue and Fourteenth Street.
At the same time with Gilbert a young girl of thirteen entered the car, and, as chance would have it, she and our hero were seated side by side.
Presently the conductor made his rounds.
First he presented his hand for the young girl’s fare. She felt in her pocket, but apparently in vain. Her face flushed, and she looked very much embarrassed.
“I think I forgot to bring my money,” she murmured. “I will get out.”
“By no means,” said Gilbert, promptly. “Permit me to pay your fare. For two,” he said, handing a ten-cent stamp to the conductor.
“You are very kind,” said the young girl, looking relieved. “I live in Forty-eighth Street, and should not have liked to walk so far. I am sure I can’t tell how I happened to forget my money; I am ever so much obliged to you.”
“Oh, don’t mention it,” said Gilbert, privately thinking his new acquaintance one of the prettiest girls he had ever met.
“Will you give me your name and residence,” she asked, “that I may send you the money?”
“With pleasure, on condition that you won’t think of repaying such a trifle,” said Gilbert.
He drew out a card, added his guardian’s residence, and passed it to his companion.
“At any rate,” said the young girl, “you must call, and let mamma thank you for your politeness to me. This is mine.”
She handed Gilbert a petite card, with the name of
“LAURA VIVIAN,
“No. — West 48th Street.”
“Thank you,” said Gilbert. “I will call with pleasure, but not to receive thanks.”
After this the two young people continued to converse with a freedom upon which they would not have ventured if older and more conventional; and Gilbert was really sorry when his fair companion arrived at her street and got out.
CHAPTER V.
AT THE DINNER-TABLE.
At five o’clock Gilbert started from the park, where he had sauntered about for several hours, and reached the house of Mr. Briggs half an hour or more before dinner.
“Your room is ready,” said the servant, who had received her instructions. “Shall I show you the way up?”
“If you please. Has my trunk come?”
“Yes, sir.”
“The dinner-hour is six, I believe.”
“Yes, sir. The bell will ring at that time.”
Gilbert understood that he was expected to remain in his room till dinner-time. That, however, would have been his choice.
He followed the servant to a small hall-bedroom on the third floor, where he found his trunk awaiting him. He opened it, and, taking out his comb and brush, and a clean collar, made his dinner toilet. A new life had opened before him, and he could not help wondering what it would be like. In the midst of his meditations came the sound of the bell, and he went downstairs.
Mr. Briggs was already present.
“Well,” said he, stiffly, “so you found your way here?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Did you see Mrs. Briggs?”
“Yes, sir.”
“And how have you spent the day?”
“I spent the afternoon at Central Park.”
“Was Randolph with you?”
“No, sir. It wasn’t necessary; I found my way without any trouble.”
Here Mrs. Briggs entered.
She nodded slightly to Gilbert, and said, in a chilly way:—
“Take that seat, Mr. Greyson.”
Gilbert seated himself, and Randolph, who entered directly afterwards, sat down opposite.
“You were not with Gilbert to-day, Randolph,” said his father.
“No, sir.”
“Where were you?”
“At the theatre.”
“Humph! you go to the theatre too much.”
“How can you say so, Mr. Briggs?” said the mother, who, though her heart was cold to all beside, fairly idolized her son, and as a consequence foolishly indulged him.
“This is the second time he has been this week.”
“The boy is young, and needs recreation.”
“It seems to me it is all recreation with him, and no work. When I was a boy, I was lucky if I could go to a place of amusement once in three months.”
“You hadn’t got a rich father,” said Randolph.
“I am not made of money,” muttered Mr. Briggs, “though you seem to think I am.”
“Really, Mr. Briggs,” said his wife, “it is ridiculous to expect Randolph to spend as little as you did when you were a boy. The circumstances are quite different.”
Mr. Briggs frowned, but did not answer.
“What did you do with yourself?” asked Randolph, turning to Gilbert.
“I went to Central Park. It is a beautiful place.”
“I never go there,” said Randolph. “You meet only low persons there.”
“I saw many driving about in handsome carriages. Are they low?”
“Of course not. I meant only low persons walk there.”
“Randolph is right,” said his mother.
“Still I think I shall go again,” said Gilbert.
“Oh, it’s different with you. You are a poor boy, aint you?” said Randolph, bluntly.
Gilbert colored a little.
“I only know what your father has told me,” said he.
“Have you got any property of Gilbert’s, father?” asked Randolph.
“This is not the time to ask such questions,” said his father, looking annoyed.
“Why not? There is no company—no one but ourselves.”
“Ahem!” said Mr. Briggs, clearing his throat: “there was a very small property, but it has all been spent on Gilbert’s education.”
“Who left him the property?” asked Randolph, persistently.
Gilbert was interested in the answer to this question, and he looked with eager inquiry at his guardian, hoping that he would reveal what he had so long desired to know.
“You are very curious,” said Mr. Briggs, displeased.
“There’s no reason why you shouldn’t tell me; is there, father?”
“No,” answered his father, slowly. “The money was left him by his father, who was an old schoolmate of mine. He died in the West Indies, and sent me the money in trust for his son, to provide for him as long as it lasted. It was exhausted nearly a year since, but I kept Gilbert at school till now at my own expense. Now the time has come when he must shift for himself.”
“Rather hard on you, Gilbert,” said Randolph.
“I am willing to look out for myself,” said Gilbert, quietly. “My father did all he could for me. I have a good education, thanks partly to you, Mr. Briggs, and I ought to be able to make my way.”
“Oh, you are welcome,” said Mr. Briggs, rather uncomfortably.
“You have done more than could have been expected, Mr. Briggs,” said his wife. “Why did you not take the boy from school months ago?”
“I wanted him to have a fair education.”
“It seems to me he was already sufficiently educated for his sphere in life,” said the lady. “I don’t believe in educating persons beyond their station.”
There was something in the lady’s remarks which grated harshly upon the ear of our young hero. What right had Mrs. Briggs to assume that his station was inferior to hers? The dislike which he had already begun to entertain for her was increased. He found it impossible to like any of the family, but he had insight enough to see that in cold selfishness Mrs. Briggs exceeded her husband and son.
“It seems to me,” said Mr. Briggs, in answer to his wife’s last remark, “that a good education is a good thing for any one to possess, be he rich or poor.”
“You wouldn’t advise a boy that was going to be a mechanic to study Latin or Greek, would you?”
“If he liked it.”
“Then I can’t agree with you,” retorted the lady, sharply; “I consider it simply time and money thrown away.”
“Have you studied Latin and Greek, Gilbert?” asked Randolph.
“Yes.”
“Have you gone far in them?”
“In a year I should have been ready to enter Yale College.”
“And after all I suppose you will be a mechanic.”
“Why should I be?” demanded Gilbert.
“You have no money.”
“I suppose there are other kinds of business I can learn.”
“Perhaps so.”
Apparently tiring of the subject, Randolph turned to his mother.
“Has any invitation come for me?” he asked.
“Invitation—to what?”
“I hear that Laura Vivian is going to give a party. I didn’t know but she might invite me.”
“The Vivians do not visit us. I should be glad to become acquainted. They move in the very first society. Do you know Laura?”
“I knew her at dancing-school. I used to dance with her sometimes. She was a great favorite. All the boys wanted her for a partner.”
“It is hardly likely she will invite you. I wish she would.”
“What is the name of the young lady?” asked Gilbert, interested.
“Laura Vivian. What interest can you feel in her?”
“I made the young lady’s acquaintance this afternoon,” said Gilbert, quietly.
“Laura Vivian? Impossible.”
“Doesn’t she live in West Forty-eighth Street?”
“Yes.”
“Then it is the same one, as you will see by this card.”
Here Gilbert produced the card referred to in the last chapter.
“How on earth did you get acquainted with her?” exclaimed Mrs. Briggs. “Who introduced you?”
“I believe I introduced myself,” said Gilbert, smiling. “I’ll tell you all about it,” and he recounted the circumstances of his acquaintance.
“She invited you to call?” exclaimed Randolph, enviously.
“Yes.”
“Do you mean to go?”
“I shall go once, out of politeness.”
“She will think you want to be repaid your five cents,” said Mrs. Briggs, disagreeably.
“I don’t think she will,” said Gilbert. “At any rate I will take the risk.”
“Will you take me with you?” asked Randolph.
“I hardly think it would be proper,” said Gilbert; “but if I have a second invitation I may take the liberty of doing so.”
“Gilbert is right,” said Mr. Briggs.
Randolph was disappointed, and indulged in a sneer at a penniless boy like Gilbert calling on a young lady of high social position. But Gilbert did not choose to notice it.
CHAPTER VI.
HOW GILBERT GOT ON.
When dinner was over, Gilbert found that he was not going to have the pleasure of Randolph’s companionship.
“Where are you going, Randolph?” asked his father, as Randolph was leaving the room.
“I’m going out.”
“Perhaps Gilbert may like to go with you,” suggested Mr. Briggs.
“I’ve got an engagement,” said Randolph, shortly.
“When was it made?”
“This afternoon.”
“Don’t let me interfere with Randolph’s engagements,” said Gilbert, hastily.
“Won’t you feel lonely?” asked Mr. Briggs.
“Oh, no, sir. I shall take a walk down Broadway. There will be plenty to take up my attention.”
“Randolph can hardly be expected to give up his engagement,” said Mrs. Briggs. “I am surprised, Mr. Briggs, that you should expect it.”
Mr. Briggs muttered something about politeness.
Gilbert protested again that he could get along very well by himself, and the matter dropped.
Presently he went out, and Mrs. Briggs, who had been waiting her opportunity, commenced an attack upon her husband.
“What are your plans for this boy, Mr. Briggs?” she asked. “Are you going to support him in idleness?”
“Certainly not. I shall find him a place as soon as I can.”
“What claim has he upon you, I should like to know?”
“He has only me to look out for him.”
“What of that?”
“He was the son of my old schoolmate.”
“I have old schoolmates, too, and some, I suppose, are in want; but I am not going to adopt their children.”
“This boy was especially recommended to me, and what property his father left was given in trust to me for him.”
“Well, it’s all used up, isn’t it?”
“Yes.”
“Then your trust is at an end.”
“What are you driving at, wife?”
“I want to know whether you expect this boy to remain in your house.”
“I see no objection.”
“I do. You will be pampering him at the expense of your own son.”
Mr. Briggs shrugged his shoulders.
“I apprehend,” he said, “that our household expenses will not be increased materially by Gilbert’s remaining here.”
“Clothes and board cost something. Besides, he is not a fit companion for Randolph.”
“Why not?”
“He is a poor boy.”
“He has the education and manners of a young gentleman. It strikes me that he is quite the equal of Randolph in these respects.”
“You are always ready to side against your own boy.”
“I don’t want to spoil him.”
“You seem to prefer this new boy.”
“Not at all. Must I be unjust to every other boy, because I have a son of my own?”
“You know what I mean well enough.”
“The point seems to be, that you don’t want Gilbert in the house.”
“No.”
“What shall I do with him?”
“Let him shift for himself.”
Mr. Briggs shook his head.
“The world would talk,” said Mr. Briggs.
“Let them talk!” said the lady, independently.
“It isn’t best to incur the reproach of your fellow-men.”
“Well, get him a cheap boarding-house: that’s more suited to his station in life than a home like ours.”
“Let him stay here a few days, and I will see what I can do.”
Mrs. Briggs would have preferred to have Gilbert leave the next day, but decided to accept the concession made by her husband. He was placed in a difficult position, but did not venture to tell his wife all. The truth was, for I do not mean to make a mystery of it, he had wronged Gilbert most grievously. The sum of money placed in his hands in trust for our hero had been not a small sum, but seventy-five thousand dollars. Gilbert’s father, trusting all to the honor of his friend, had exacted no guaranties of good faith. So far as Mr. Briggs knew, no living person was aware of the amount of Gilbert’s inheritance. There was no one, so far as he knew, to contradict his assertion that it had all been expended in the education of our hero. Yet it troubled him. He had made up his mind to wrong the boy, but he was not so hardened as to do it without some qualms of conscience. He meant to do something for him, get him a place, and give him a home in his own family; but here, as we see, Mrs. Briggs had interfered with his plans. He could not make up his mind to throw Gilbert wholly upon his own resources, and he was disappointed at his wife’s opposition. He was not wholly a bad man, but the temptation of appropriating Gilbert’s money had been too great, and he had yielded. He had used it in his business, and a sudden call for it would have very much embarrassed him.
Meanwhile Gilbert set out on his walk. The crowded city streets, which had interested him in the daytime, assumed a new charm in the evening. Walking slowly along, looking in at the brilliantly lighted windows, he did not feel the need of companionship. In fact, he was rather glad that Randolph was not with him, for he had already satisfied himself that they had very little in common.
GILBERT MEETS MR. VIVIAN.
Half an hour had passed, when all at once he heard his name called.
“Good-evening, Mr. Greyson,” said a sweet voice.
Turning quickly, he recognized Laura Vivian.
“Good-evening, Miss Vivian,” he said, pleased at the meeting.
“Papa,” said Laura, “this is Mr. Greyson, who was so polite to me in the cars.”
Then for the first time Gilbert noticed that Laura was accompanied by a pleasant-looking gentleman of middle age.
“I am glad to meet you, Mr. Greyson,” said Mr. Vivian, cordially. “My daughter has told me that you extricated her from a dilemma.”
“It isn’t worth mentioning, sir,” said Gilbert. “I am ashamed to be thanked for such a little thing.”
“It was a trifle, no doubt, but a mark of kind attention no less. My daughter and I are out for a walk. If you have no engagement, will you join us?”
“With great pleasure, sir,” said Gilbert; and he spoke sincerely.
“Do you live in the city?” asked Mr. Vivian.
“I have been at a boarding-school hitherto, but I have now come to the city to live.”
“Do your parents reside here?”
Gilbert looked sober.
“I have no parents,” he said.
“Indeed!” said Mr. Vivian, in a voice of sympathy.
“Indeed I have no relatives that I am aware of; Mr. Richard Briggs, a merchant of this city, is my guardian.”
“Richard Briggs? I know of him.”
“I ought to say, however,” added Gilbert, who did not wish to sail under false colors, “that I can hardly continue to call him my guardian, as he informs me that my little property has been all expended on my education, and that I am now penniless, and must work for my living.”
“I don’t consider that a misfortune,” said Mr. Vivian. “It will make a man of you the sooner. But about this property, do you know how much it amounted to originally?”
“No, sir.”
“Hasn’t Mr. Briggs ever rendered an account to you?”
“No, sir. I have always supposed that I should be rich until within a week. Then, for the first time, I was told that I must withdraw from school, and get a place.”
“Mr. Briggs has not treated you fairly in leaving you uninformed as to your real position,” said Mr. Vivian, gravely.
“I won’t blame him, but I wish he had told me earlier.”
By this time they had reached a fashionable confectioner’s.
“Come in with us, and have an ice-cream,” said Mr. Vivian.
“Thank you, sir,” said Gilbert, and the three entered and sat down at one of the small tables.
At a table near by sat Randolph Briggs. Looking up by chance, he was astonished to see his father’s penniless ward in such company.
“By Jove!” he muttered, “that young beggar has more cheek than any one I know of.”
He would have liked to have joined the party, but even he had not the assurance to force himself upon them. So he sat watchful and envious, his jealousy excited by the evident favor with which Gilbert was regarded.
“If Mr. Vivian knew he hadn’t a cent in the world, he wouldn’t be quite so cordial,” he thought.
But Mr. Vivian did know. The trouble was that Randolph did not know him, or he would not have suspected him of such regard for wealth and its possession.
CHAPTER VII.
A SPITEFUL WOMAN.
Randolph lost no time in going home to report what he had seen. Both his father and mother were surprised to see him back so soon.
“I am glad you came home early,” said his mother.
“Did you see anything of Gilbert while you were out?” asked his father.
“Do you suppose, Mr. Briggs, that Randolph is going to follow your beggarly ward?” demanded Mrs. Briggs, sharply.
“He might have met him,” said her husband, in an apologetic tone.
“I did meet him,” said Randolph, in so significant a tone that both his father and mother looked at him for an explanation.
“Where do you think I saw him?” continued Randolph.
“In some low place,” suggested his mother.
“Not at all. He was eating an ice-cream at Delmonico’s.”
“Pretty well for a penniless boy!” said Mrs. Briggs. “I suppose he expects us to supply him with money to pay for his extravagant outlays.”
“Oh, he didn’t pay for it himself. He got Mr. Vivian to treat him.”
“Mr. Vivian!”
“Yes: he had picked up Mr. Vivian and Laura somewhere, and probably suggested going in to take an ice-cream.”
“No doubt Mr. Vivian invited him,” said Mr. Briggs, who did not allow dislike to run away with his common-sense.
“He is certainly the most forward and impudent boy I ever met,” exclaimed Mrs. Briggs, whose annoyance arose largely from Gilbert’s succeeding better with the Vivians than her own son.
“Really, my dear,” expostulated her husband, “I am sure you do the boy injustice.”
“Don’t call me ‘my dear,’” said Mrs. Briggs, scornfully. “I can’t see what has got into you. You certainly must be wilfully blind if you don’t see through the artfulness of that boy.”
“What has he done?”
“He has wormed himself into the intimacy of Mr. Vivian; that is what he has done.”
“Why shouldn’t he? If Mr. Vivian is inclined to befriend him, it will be a saving to me.”
“It won’t be for long. Mr. Vivian will find him out, and cast him off.”
“I don’t know that there is anything in particular to find out. He seems to me as good as the average of boys.”
“Well, Mr. Briggs, I can only say that you seem infatuated about him. I beg to say that I am not.”
“That is apparent,” said her husband, smiling.
“Moreover,” added his wife, provoked, “I wish to tell you that it is disagreeable to me to have him in the house. So the sooner you can find a boarding-house for him the better.”
“Well, I will, if you insist upon it.”
“I do insist upon it.”
“Then I will try in a day or two to find him a home.”
“Mark my words, Mr. Briggs: you will find, sooner or later, that my prejudice against him is not so foolish as you imagine. That boy will turn out badly.”
“I hope not.”
“It’s all very well hoping; but you’ll see.”
Randolph now got up to go.
“Where are you going, Randolph?” asked his mother.
“I am going out a while; I can’t say where.”
“Why can’t you be satisfied to stay at home?”
“Oh, it’s so stupid staying at home,” said Randolph. “I want to go where there’s something going on.”
“It isn’t a very good plan for a boy of your age to spend his evenings about the street,” said Mr. Briggs.
“Why shouldn’t he go out?” said Mrs. Briggs, in the spirit of opposition. “You haven’t anything to say about your favorite being out.”
“The city is new to him. If he went out every evening like Randolph, I should think it a bad plan.”
“I suppose you would find some excuse for him.”
“Really,” said Mr. Briggs, “I shall be quite as anxious to get him out of the house as you, if you keep up such an incessant attack.”
“If you are going to talk to me in this style, I will retire,” said Mrs. Briggs, stiffly.
Suiting the action to the word, she rose and left the room. Her husband made no opposition. Indeed, as her temper was, he felt her withdrawal a relief. He settled himself down to the comfortable reading of an evening paper, and had about completed its perusal when the bell rang, and Gilbert entered the room.
“Well, Gilbert, did you have a pleasant time?” asked his guardian.
“Yes, sir; unexpectedly so. I met Mr. Vivian and his daughter, and went to Delmonico’s with them.”
“You found him an agreeable man, no doubt?”
“Yes, sir; he treated me very kindly for a stranger.”
“He has a high reputation,” said Mr. Briggs.
“Is he in business?”
“Yes; he is an importer, and is generally considered very wealthy. He is a prudent, conservative man, who avoids dangerous risks, and so meets with few losses.”
“He has invited me to call next Friday evening at his house.”
“You had better go, by all means. His friendship may be valuable to you.”
“I am glad you approve of my going, for I am sure I shall enjoy it.”
“Now, Gilbert,” said Mr. Briggs, clearing his throat, “as we have a good opportunity, I will say a few words about my plans for you.”
“I wish you would, sir. I am anxious to know what is to be my path in life.”
“I propose to get you into some store or counting-room in the city.”
“Yes, sir. That is what I should like.”
“And,” continued Mr. Briggs, rather embarrassed, “it will probably be necessary for you to obtain a boarding-place nearer the business part of the city than you would be here.”