CHAPTER IV.
IN WHICH PHIL IS CHIVALROUS, BUT HAS HIS EYES OPENED.
I thought that the conductor was rather hard on the old lady, though I was willing to allow that his duty admitted of no compromise.
"Did you ever hear the like on't?" exclaimed the old lady. "Put me out of the car! He's a mean man, and I hate mean folks wus'n pizen."
"I suppose he has his duty to perform," I mildly suggested.
"'Tain't his duty to put a lone and onprotected woman out of the car; and he wouldn't do it if my son Charles was here."
I concluded that if her son Charles were there, he would pay her fare, like a dutiful son as he was. Presently the whistle on the locomotive sounded, and we heard the scraping of the brakes, as the train prepared to stop. The conductor promptly appeared, and again demanded her fare or a ticket. The old lady seemed to be greatly troubled, and I expected to have the whole seat to myself from this station.
"Suthin must be done!" said the old lady.
"That's so; give me your ticket or the twelve dollars," replied the official.
"I can't do one nor t'other. I hain't got the money, and my ticket's gone."
"Very well, madam. Then you must leave the train."
"But I don't know a soul here. Won't you trust me till we get to Chicago?"
"I don't know you, and we do not give credit for fares."
"Mr. Collingsby, over there, knows me. My son's his pardner in business."
"Very well, madam; if that is the case, there will be no trouble about it," added the polite official, as he turned to the dignified gentleman, and stated the case.
Mr. Collingsby glanced at the old lady, and shook his head, with a deprecatory smile.
"I have not the pleasure of the lady's acquaintance," said he, after a hasty glance at her face, as he turned his attention to his newspaper again.
"She says her son is your partner in business," suggested the conductor.
"That may be; but I don't know the lady. I am not aware that I ever saw her," answered the head of the firm, without raising his eyes from his paper.
"What is your name, madam?" demanded the conductor.
"Don't he know my name? Don't he know the name of his own pardner?"
"I asked your name, madam."
"My name's Whippleton—Mrs. Whippleton; and my son's his pardner."
"She says her name is Whippleton, and that her son is your partner," said the conductor, again appealing to the dignified head of the firm.
"I don't dispute it, sir," replied Mr. Collingsby, coldly. "My partner's name is Whippleton, but I don't know that lady. As I said, I am not aware that I ever saw her before."
"Shall I trust her for her fare?"
"Do as you please. As I don't know her, I cannot vouch for her," replied Mr. Collingsby, in a tone which implied that, if the conductor knew what he was about, he would not disturb him any further on the disagreeable subject.
"Mr. Collingsby does not know you, madam."
"That's what I call mean!" ejaculated Mrs. Whippleton, bitterly. "I don't believe he'd know his own father if the old man didn't wear a fashionable hat."
"He doesn't dispute what you say; but he doesn't know you. I must have your fare, madam."
"I keep telling you, I hain't got no money."
"Then you must get out here."
"You don't mean so!"
"Yes, I do. Shall I help you out with your baggage?"
"But I'll pay you when I get to Chicago."
"That won't do. In a word, madam, I don't believe you lost your ticket."
"Goodness! Do you think I'd lie about it?"
"I'm sorry to say I do think so. If I mistake not, you have tried this game on before."
"What imperance!"
"Come, madam, be in a hurry!" persisted the conductor, reaching forward and taking the old lady's largest bundle from the rack.
"I should like to speak to you a moment, Mr. Conductor," I interposed, unable any longer to contain my indignation.
"What do you want?"
I rose, and requested him to go with me to the rear of the car.
"Speak quick, young man. Do you know this woman?" demanded the bustling official.
"No; but I will be responsible for her fare," I replied, with as much dignity as Mr. Collingsby could have assumed. "If she don't pay you when we get to Chicago, I will."
"Will you, indeed! That is very kind of you; but we don't do business in that way," laughed the conductor, with a glance which indicated how much he pitied my greenness. "She has money enough, and she didn't buy any ticket. It is only a trick to get rid of paying her fare."
"I will be responsible for the fare."
"Pay it now, then," added the conductor, shrugging his shoulders.
I do not know what it was that prompted me to this chivalrous action in favor of a very disagreeable old lady; but I felt like a Christian who was fighting the battle of his enemy. I took out my porte-monnaie, and from the fifty-three dollars I had left of the sum I had taken to pay my expenses, I gave the conductor twelve. He handed me a check for the old lady, jumped out, and started the train. He treated me as though he thought I was a fool; and I was myself inclined to believe he was more than half right.
Several passengers had left the car at this station, and when I returned to my seat, I found that Mr. Collingsby had changed his place for one where he had a whole chair to himself, at some distance from the old lady. I had no doubt he was glad to escape from the vicinity of the troublesome passenger; but he still read his newspaper, as though nothing had for a moment ruffled the current of his thoughts.
"I knew he wouldn't dare to put me out of the car!" said Mrs. Whippleton, as I resumed my seat at her side. "Don't talk to me! He didn't dare to perpetuate such an outrage."
"We are all right now," I replied.
"Yes, we are. Put me out! I should like to seen him done it! I should! I reckon my son Charles would have taught him what it was to perpetuate such an outrage on his mother. As for that Mr. Collingsby, he's a mean man! Only to think that he didn't know me!"
"Have you ever met him?"
"Have I? Yes, I have. I have been in the counting-room when he was there, and he looked right at me! And now he don't know me! No matter; that conductor didn't dare to put me out of the car! He would have lost his place if he had."
I handed her the check which the gentlemanly official had given me.
"What's that?"
"Your check."
"He's gettin' very perlite. How came he to give you this?"
"Because I paid your fare," I replied, in a low tone; for I did not care to expose my innocence to the people around me.
"You did?"
"Yes; he would certainly have put you out of the car if I had not."
"I don't believe a word on't."
"I do, Mrs. Whippleton. He says you have done the same thing before."
"He's a fearful liar. I'll tell my son Charles all about it, and, if he has any influence, that man shall smart for it."
"I don't think the conductor is to blame. He only did his duty."
"Then you think I'm to blame," said she, putting on her dignity.
"If you lost your ticket—"
"Do you think I didn't lose it?" she interposed, quick to catch even an implied imputation.
"Of course I think you did lose it. But the conductor cannot pass every one who says he has lost his ticket."
"Well, I don't care. It was a mean trick, and I'll tell Charles all about it."
"I wouldn't say anything to him about it. It will only worry him; and the conductor isn't to blame."
"Do you think it is right to put a lone woman out of the car because she lost her ticket?"
"The conductor didn't know you."
"Yes, he did know me. I rid over this road only a week ago, when I went down to St. Louis to see my nephew."
It was useless to argue the point with her. Perhaps, if she had made no fuss when she got into the car, the conductor might have entertained a different opinion of her. I wanted to obtain some information of her in regard to the Collingsby family; and I am willing to offer this as the reason for my chivalrous conduct.
"You know Mr. Collingsby, if he does not know you," I said, in order to introduce the subject.
"He's my son's pardner in business."
"Are you personally acquainted with him?"
"Well, I can't say I am much acquainted with him. His folks and ourn don't visit much, for, you see, the Collingsbys are rich and smart."
"He has a brother, I have heard."
"Yes; his brother Joseph is in Europe, with his wife and his sister."
"His sister?" I queried, deeply interested in this branch of the topic.
"Her name's Louise. She merried a good-for-nothin' feller in St. Louis, and left him; so she's a grass widder now."
"Did you ever see her?"
"I never did; but law sake, I've hearn my son Charles tell all about 'em. He knows 'em, root and branch; and they are all on 'em jest about as proud as Lucifer, and as consayted as a pullet over her fust egg. They're rich, and that's all that can be said on 'em. My son Charles does all the business of the firm, and if it wan't for him they'd all gone to ruin long ago."
"But this Mr. Collingsby has a father?"
"Yes; and he's jest like all the rest on 'em. They are all proud and consayted, and they come naterally enough by it, for the old man thinks the ground ain't good enough for him to tread on."
"But he is not in business now?"
"Ain't he, though? Yes, he is. He's the sleepin' pardner of the house of Collingsby and Whippleton. He put some money into it; but my son Charles finds all the brains."
Of course I could not help having a very high estimate of her son Charles; but I was not quite prepared to believe that my grandfather and my uncles were so deficient in everything but pride as she represented. Mrs. Whippleton continued to enlighten me in regard to the character and antecedents of the Collingsbys until the train stopped for dinner. I got out, and took a lunch, after the old lady had refused my invitation to do so. Reflecting that she had no money, I carried her a cup of tea and some sandwiches, which she did not refuse. The tea was hot and strong, and in refined and elegant phrase, she informed me that it "went to the right spot." I returned the cup and saucer as the bell rang, and resumed my place at her side.
"You are a real nice young man, and I'm only sorry I didn't take you into the seat with me when you fust got in," said she, apparently overcome by my chivalrous devotion to her comfort.
"Thank you, madam," I replied. "I remembered that you said you had not money enough even to buy a dinner, and I always like to do as I'd be done by."
"But I ain't so poor as you think for. I will pay you for my fare and for my tea," she continued; and, to my astonishment, she took from the folds of her dress a roll of bills, which had been carefully pinned in.
"I thought you had no money!" I exclaimed, amazed at the sight I saw.
"I didn't want to rob you. I hate mean folks, and I ain't afeered on 'em," she added, as she handed me the twelve dollars I had paid on her account.
"But you may find your ticket," I suggested.
"I don't expect to find it," she replied, with abundant resignation.
"If you do, I will get the money for it."
"I shall not find it. To tell the truth, I didn't have no ticket," she answered, in a low tone, and with a vile chuckling, which indicated that she was not to blame, even if her clever trick had failed.
I took the twelve dollars, and considered myself the luckiest person in the world. I did not blame Mr. Collingsby for not recognizing her, even if he did know her, and I begrudged the quarter I had expended upon her in tea and sandwiches.
CHAPTER V.
IN WHICH PHIL TAKES A ROOM AT MRS. WHIPPLETON'S BOARDING-HOUSE.
It was quite a shock to me to find that one whom I had supposed to be honest was guilty of a deliberate attempt to defraud the railroad company out of the sum of twelve dollars; who had resorted to gross lies and mean deception to carry her point. Upon my honor and conscience, I would rather have lost the twelve dollars I had advanced than had the old woman turn out to be a swindler. She might be fussy, she might be disagreeable, she might be a dozen things that are uncomfortable and unpleasant, if she had onlymeantto be true and honest, and I could have respected her.
I was amazed; first, that she could be guilty of such a vile trick; and second, that she had had the hardihood to acknowledge it, even to a boy like me. My respect for the knowledge and penetration of the gentlemanly conductor rose about ten degrees, and I was tempted to say to myself that I would never again interfere in behalf of another "lone woman," especially if she was the mother of one as smart as her son Charles.
"You needn't tell that nasty conductor what I say," said Mrs. Whippleton, as if conscious that she had been imprudent in revealing so much to me.
"I don't think he needs to be told. It appears now that he understood the case perfectly," I replied, disgusted with my seat-mate. "He said you did not have any ticket, and that it was all a trick to evade paying your fare."
"He didn't know that. He may say just the same thing six times, and be mistaken five on 'em."
"Didn't you intend to pay your fare?"
"Perhaps I should, if they hadn't pussicuted me so in the beginning."
"But you didn't buy a ticket."
"No, I didn't. You are a green boy. What difference does it make to this railroad company whether I paid my fare or not? They've got money enough."
"But they wouldn't make much if people didn't pay."
"It don't make no difference if one don't pay now and then. You hain't seen much of the world yet, my boy. When you have lived to be as old as I am, you'll know more."
"I hope I shall not live so long as to be proud of being dishonest," I replied, with considerable spirit.
"Dishonest? What do you mean by that? Do you pretend to say I'm dishonest?"
"Well, madam, we needn't quarrel about words; but, if I had tried to cheat the railroad company out of twelve dollars, or twelve cents, I should call it being dishonest."
"You are a silly boy."
"I hope I always shall be silly, then. I should think God had forsaken me, if I could deliberately try to wrong any one."
"You haven't seen the world. I have worked hard in my time. It took me a good while to earn twelve dollars; and when I see a chance to save twelve dollars, I generally always does so."
"You don't steal twelve dollars—do you—when you get a chance?"
"Steal! I hope not. I never did such a thing in my life. No, I'm an honest woman; everybody that knows me will say that. If that nasty conductor had used me well, I should have paid my fare; but it won't make no difference to the company whether I did or not. Why shouldn't Mr. Collingsby pay his fare as well as me?"
"He did; I saw him give up his ticket."
"You are a green boy. His ticket! It was a free pass. His father is a great railroad man, and the whole family ride for nothing whenever they please. It is just as right that I should go free as he; and I can tell you, if I can get over the road for nothing, it is my duty to do so—a duty I owe to myself and to my son Charles. You must live and learn, young man; and when you can go over the road for nothing, don't waste twelve dollars."
I did not like the old lady's philosophy, though I have since learned that there are a great many people in the world who think it is no sin to cheat a railroad corporation out of a few dollars, more or less. I once heard a man, who pretended to be a gentleman, boasting that he evaded paying his fare in the train because the conductor did not call for it. I hold him to be a swindler, just as much as though he had been called upon for his ticket. When he got into the car, he virtually bargained with the railroad company to convey him a certain distance for a certain price. No matter if the conductor did not formally demand payment; it was his duty to pay, and he was just as much a swindler and a thief, as though he had stolen or cheated some individual out of the money.
I feel better now, after venting my righteous indignation on this subject. I have a good deal more respect for the thief who steals your money, or the gentlemanly swindler who plunders you of it by the polite tricks of his art, than for these pretentious knaves who lie without uttering a word, and steal without lifting a finger.
Mrs. Whippleton continued, for an hour, to assure me that I was extraordinarily green, imparting a lesson on worldly wisdom, which, I am happy to say, at the age of twenty-eight, has been utterly wasted upon me.
"You haven't seen much of the world, and you don't know what's what yet; but I like you, young man. You have behaved very well to a lone woman, and you shan't lose nothing by it," she continued.
"I am entirely satisfied," I replied.
"I didn't mean you should lose anything by me. I might have cheated you out of twelve dollars just as easy as nothing."
I was certainly very much obliged to her for her kind consideration in this respect; and I was forced to acknowledge the truth of her proposition. Though I despised her, I could not help seeing that she had been just towards me.
"I am very much obliged to you for not doing it," I replied.
"No; I never cheat nobody; and I hate mean folks. It would have been mean in me to let you lose twelve dollars after what you did for me. If it hadn't been for you I should have been put out of the car."
"But you had money to pay your fare."
"I wouldn't pay that nasty conductor after I had told him I had no money. One has to be persistent."
"I think you have been consistent all the way through."
"Thank'ee. After what you did, and the tea you fetched, I felt an interest in you; and it ain't many folks I do feel an interest in."
Of course not! Not many people would have done anything for her to induce her to feel an interest in them.
"I reckon you don't belong in Chicago," she continued.
"I do not. I never was there."
"Well, it's a wicked place."
Any place must be wicked from her stand-point.
"I suppose it is no worse than any city of its size."
"I don't know's it is. I suppose you have friends there."
"No."
"Well, where you goin' to stop, then?"
"I don't know yet. I shall go to some hotel, I suppose."
"Hotels are awful dear."
"I think I can stand it for a week or so at a cheap hotel. I don't mean to go to the Tremont House."
"Don't waste your money in that way, you silly boy. It will cost you a dollar and a half a day to live at any hotel."
"What shall I do?" I asked, willing to profit by the old lady's knowledge, while I abhorred her principles.
"I keep boarders myself; and I only charge 'em four dollars a week. I don't take none for a week or two; but I'll take you, after what's happened, at the same price. You can save six or seven dollars in this way."
"I thank you, Mrs. Whippleton. I'm very much obliged to you, and will go to your house."
I was really relieved by this friendly offer, for I did not like to go to a hotel among total strangers. Whatever Mrs. Whippleton was morally could not affect me as a boarder for a brief period, while the saving of expense was a great item to me. When the train arrived at Chicago, the old lady gathered up her bundles, with my assistance, and we walked to her house, which was at a considerable distance from the station. The dwelling was a large, plain house. I found that it was furnished in a very cheap style. The landlady called a servant girl, who conducted me to a small room over the entry, in which there was a narrow bed. It did not compare favorably with my quarters at Mrs. Greenough's, but I thought I could stand it for a week. When I went down stairs, I was invited to tea with the old lady. I came to the conclusion that the boarders in the house paid full price for all they had, for the butter was very strong, and the dishes were not particularly clean.
Before we had finished our supper, Mr. Charles Whippleton was announced. He came into the room where the old lady was sipping her tea, and after casting a sharp look at me, he threw himself into a large rocking-chair, which was evidently kept for the especial use of his mother. He was well dressed, and after I had heard so much about the man, I scrutinized his features quite closely. I was not favorably impressed, for there was an expression of sharpness and cunning in his face which did not suit me. Mrs. Whippleton did not take the trouble to introduce me.
"Got home, mother?" said he, without wasting any of his breath in affectionate terms.
"I have, thank fortin; but I didn't expect to get home."
"Why, what's the matter now?" demanded the dutiful son, whose question implied that something was always the matter.
Mrs. Whippleton informed him what was the matter now, including a detailed account of her grievances. To my surprise, the affectionate son informed her that she was an old fool, glancing at me, as though, after a day's experience with his maternal parent, I ought to be able to confirm his rash statement in the fullest manner.
I prudently held my peace.
"I may be an old fool, but I know when I am insulted."
"I would rather given fifty dollars than had you appeal to Mr. Collingsby."
"He's a mean man."
"Perhaps he is; but I must keep on the right side of him."
"You can keep on the right side of him, Charles; but don't ask me to do so, for I hate mean folks. If I should meet that man in the street to-night, I wouldn't speak to him."
"He wouldn't cry if you didn't," sneered Mr. Charles.
"I don't know as I should ever have got home, if this young man had not took care on me."
Mr. Whippleton glanced at me again, as though he thought I was as big a fool as his maternal parent.
"Well, let all that go," continued the dutiful son. "Did you see Rufus in St. Louis?"
"I did see him; and only to think on't, after I had taken all that trouble and spent all that money, he wouldn't come," replied the old lady, indignantly.
"I hope you are satisfied now," added Mr. Charles, with much disgust.
"Well, I had my visit, any how."
"What's the reason Rufus won't come?"
"His folks don't want him to leave home. They say he isn't very well—just as though I couldn't take care on him!"
"Very well; you've kept me out of a clerk for three weeks for his sake, and that is all it amounts to."
Mr. Charles departed in disgust; and Mrs. Whippleton explained that she had been to St. Louis to induce her nephew's son, a young man of eighteen, to take the place of entry clerk in the counting-room of the firm. That was just such a place as I wanted; and, while the garrulous landlady was detailing the particulars, I considered whether I should apply for it.
CHAPTER VI.
IN WHICH PHIL IS ENGAGED AS ENTRY CLERK FOR COLLINGSBY AND WHIPPLETON.
I intended to be a clerk, but I had not thought of such a thing as applying for a situation in Chicago. I did not like the idea of being separated from my father; but, when I learned that there was a vacancy in the counting-room of Messrs. Collingsby and Whippleton, I was tempted to obtain it if I could. I did not expect or desire to make a violent assault upon my grandfather, but to reach him by easy and gradual approaches. A situation in the house of which he was the silent partner I thought would help me amazingly. It seemed to me that I could not plan anything better to accomplish my purpose.
I could get acquainted with my uncle and my grandfather. I hoped that I might even be able to do something to win their regard and favor. Certainly the first step towards such a result was to place myself in a position where I could see them occasionally. I did not like the looks of Mr. Whippleton, and I was afraid he had imbibed the worldly wisdom of his mother. But this feeling was not to weigh against the immense advantages I might derive from meeting the Collingsbys. The more I thought of the matter, the more I was inclined to apply for the place. I believed that I was fully competent to keep a set of books by double entry, and certainly I was fit for an entry clerk.
"What kind of a place is it that you wished your nephew to fill, Mrs. Whippleton?" I asked, after Mr. Charles had gone.
"Well, I don't know much about it, but Charles called it an entry clerk. I suppose he has to do his work out in the entry because the counting-room isn't big enough, or because he ain't smart enough to come into the presence of such mighty men as that Mr. Collingsby."
"How much do they pay him?"
"I don't know exactly; but not more'n four or five dollars a week—just enough for him to starve on. You see, I heard that my nephew's son wanted a place, and couldn't get one in St. Louis. I thought, this would be a good chance for him. I wanted to make 'em a visit, for they owed me some money I lent 'em. I told Charles he must take Rufus, and I put him off till I was able to go to St. Louis. The spring business was comin' on, and he couldn't wait; so I hurried off. I got the money my nephew owed me; but they wouldn't let the boy come to Chicago, though I told 'em I went down purpose arter him. Charles fretted a good deal because I made him wait; but Charles minds his mother, if he is sassy sometimes. He knows I've got some money that I can't take with me when I leave this world for a better one."
I thought it was rather impudent for her to talk about a better world, when she was doing all she could to make this a mean one; and I doubted whether, unless she mended her ways, the other would be a better one to her.
"I have two merried daughters that need what little I've got more than Charles does; and he owes me now for what I let him have to set up in business. He owes all he has in this world to me," continued the old lady, complacently.
"He wants an entry clerk immediately?" I suggested.
"Yes; Charles has had to do all the work himself, for, you see, he keeps the books of the firm. Well, he does all the business, for that matter. He's all there is of the firm, except the money the Collingsbys put in. Howsomever, I suppose it's just as well that Rufus didn't come, for ef he had, I should had to board him for three dollars a week; and he's a growin' boy, and eats more'n a man."
"Do you think I could get this place?"
"You! My stars! I don't know!" exclaimed the old lady. "Can you write?"
"Yes."
"Good at figgers?"
"Pretty good, I think."
"They want somebody that's smart. Charles was afraid Rufus wouldn't do, but I desisted on having on him; and Charles knows I'm smart enough to make a will now if I take a notion."
"I didn't think of looking for a place in Chicago," I added; "but this looks like a good chance."
"Why didn't you say so before Charles went off? If you want the place, you shall have it. I say so, and I know what I'm saying; and Charles has been afraid all along that I might make a will."
"I should like to go on trial; but I don't know that I can stay in Chicago a great while."
"They want somebody right off, and somebody that's smart."
"I think I could suit them. I can keep books; and besides, I have worked at carpentering for two years, and I know something about lumber. Where is your son now? Is he in the house?"
"Sakes, no!" exclaimed the old lady, beginning to be excited. "He don't board here; 'tain't smart enough for him; but I'll go with you and see him."
"Thank you, Mrs. Whippleton."
"I'm pretty tired; but I'm allus willin' to do what I can for a feller-cretur. I went clear down to St. Louis to help my nephew's son; and I'll do as much for you as I would for him."
"I won't trouble you to go with me. If you will tell me where he is, I will go alone."
"That won't do. I must lay down the law to Charles; and if he dares to do any different from what I tell him, he won't touch any more of my money—that's all."
I did not exactly like the idea of having Mr. Charles placed under compulsion to take me, whether he liked me or not; and I decided, if he objected to the arrangement, to take myself out of his way. We walked to the residence of Mr. Charles, which was a genteel house in a good section of the city. He had a parlor and bed-room, and seemed to live in good style. Before she said anything about me, Mrs. Whippleton took her son into the entry, where, I suppose, she "laid down the law" to him."
"My mother says you want a place as entry clerk," said Mr. Charles, when they returned to the parlor, where I was seated.
"Yes, sir," I replied, with becoming deference.
"When can you go to work?"
"At once, sir."
"To-morrow morning?"
The Examination in Book-keepingThe Examination in Book-keeping.Page 73.
"Yes, sir."
He then questioned me in regard to my knowledge of book-keeping and arithmetic, and wanted to know if I understood board measure, and could read lumber marks. I told him I had been a carpenter, and knew all about lumber. I could keep a set of books by double entry, and thought I was competent to perform all sorts of mercantile calculations. But he was too shrewd and suspicious to take me on my own recommendation. He gave me a sheet of paper, pen, and ink, and told me to write my name.
"Farringford!" exclaimed he, as he read what I wrote.
"Yes, sir; that is my name."
"Do you belong to the Farringfords of St. Louis?"
"Yes; but I was brought up on the upper Missouri."
"Well, your name is nothing in your favor; however, that isn't your fault," he added, magnanimously; but fortunately he said no more on that subject. "Now, what is the interest on two thousand dollars for six months at eight per cent?"
"Eighty dollars," I replied, as soon as he had the question out of his mouth, for my father had practised me thoroughly in all the short methods of computing interest.
He gave me half a dozen other problems; but, as he selected only those which he could solve in his own mind, I was very prompt in my replies. He then wrote out an example in averaging accounts, and as it was not a difficult one, and involved only round numbers, I did it very readily.
"But the most important thing with us," added Mr. Whippleton, "is simple addition. I don't like to wait half an hour for a clerk to run up a column of figures."
He then wrote about twenty sums of money, each having five or six figures, and told me to add them. My father had always assured me that simple addition tried the young accountant more than anything else, and he had insisted that I should practise it until I could run up a column as rapidly as my eye could take in the figures. I had used this exercise for months, until I flattered myself I could give the sum of a column as quick as any practised book-keeper. At the same time, he had taught me his own method, that of taking two figures at once, and adding their sum to the result already obtained. It was just as easy for one quick at figures to add thirteen, sixteen, eighteen, or nineteen, as it was to add three, six, eight, or nine. Thus, if the figures in the column were 6, 5, 4, 7, 9, 3, 8, 2, 9, 1, my father added them in couples, for it required no effort of the mind to add six and five, four and seven, nine and three, eight and two, or nine and one; and the mental process was eleven, twenty-two, thirty-four, forty-four, fifty-four.
I had practised this system until I could carry it along as rapidly as I could by adding a single figure at a time. Mr. Whippleton made his figures in duplicate when he wrote them, and added one himself to prove that I was right or wrong. Before he was half done, I had my result.
"You are wrong," said he, decidedly, when he had finished. "I would rather have you use twice as much time, and have the result right, than do it quick, and have it wrong. Accuracy first, and speed next."
That was just what my father had always told me, and I was rather mortified at the failure. I went over the columns again, with the same result.
"I get it so again, sir," I replied, when I had added the columns in an opposite direction from that taken the first time.
Mr. Whippleton added his figures a second time; but there was still two hundred dollars' difference in the two amounts.
"You add mine and I will add yours," said he, as we exchanged papers.
This time I made his figures come out right; but I was also astonished to find that he too made mine come out correctly.
"I see it, sir," I added. "In the fourth item the five on your paper is a three on mine, and we are both right."
"Exactly so! You'll do, young man, though I should like to see you make out a bill. We sell Tobey Tinkum forty-two thousand Michigan pine boards, clear, at thirty dollars;" and he proceeded to give me several items, which I could not have written down if I had not been a carpenter, for the technical terms would have bothered and defeated me.
When my late employer, Mr. Clinch, found that I had some knowledge of arithmetic and accounts, he used to set me at work on his bills, to see if they were cast up correctly. This experience had prepared me for precisely the ordeal I was at present undergoing. I wrote the bill as handsomely as I could, though without straining over it, and figured up the prices, extending them and adding them. The examiner seemed to be very much pleased, and wanted to know where I had learned so much about the lumber business. I explained, and told him I had used about all my evenings for two years in studying.
"You'll do," said he. "Now, what wages do you expect?"
"I don't know; what do you pay?"
"Well, we pay three or four dollars a week. As you are pretty good at figures, we will give you four."
"I made more than that at my trade. I can't afford to work for four dollars a week, sir. It would only pay my board."
"What do you ask?"
"I will work eight weeks, say, at six dollars a week."
Mr. Whippleton objected; but I was firm. He evidently thought I was just the person he wanted, and he finally consented to my terms, but insisted upon making the time a year. I told him I could not agree for a longer time than I had named without consulting my father. He yielded this point also, and I promised to be at the counting-room of Collingsby and Whippleton the next morning.
I walked home with Mrs. Whippleton, who again assured me that she was always willing to do what she could for a "feller-cretur."
CHAPTER VII.
IN WHICH PHIL TAKES HIS PLACE AT THE DESK, AND IS ENGAGED FOR A YEAR.
When I reached the house of Mrs. Whippleton, I took my writing materials from my bag, and wrote a long letter to my father, detailing the incidents of my journey, and explaining the motives which had induced me to take the situation in the counting-room of Collingsby and Whippleton. I was satisfied that he would not object, though he might not fully approve the course I had taken. I was up very early the next morning, and made a hurried survey of the city before breakfast. I walked from Washington Street, where my boarding-house was located, through Halstead Street, to the north branch of the Chicago River, where I found the lumber-yard of the firm. I read the sign and examined the locality with interest.
I ate my breakfast at half past six; and though the beefsteak was very tough, and the butter very strong, I sustained my reputation as a good eater. I had lived too long in the wilderness, where we did not often have any butter, to be thrown off my balance by the accident of a rancid article, and I had certainly eaten buffalo meat that was as much tougher than any beef as sole leather is tougher than brown paper. Strong butter and tough beef are not good, I allow; but they are by no means the sum total of human misery. I had a clean conscience, and I ate a hearty breakfast.
I had been told to be at the counting-room at half past seven; but I was on hand at seven. I saw several salesmen and laborers in the lumberyard, but there was no one in the counting-room. I seated myself, and picked up the morning paper. I did not find any paragraph announcing my arrival at the great city of the west; and I suppose it was of no great consequence. However, I found enough to interest me, till I was disturbed by the entrance of a young man about my own age.
"Good morning, sir," said he, briskly, as he glanced curiously at me. "What can I do for you?"
"Nothing," I replied.
"Didn't know but you had an order."
"No, I have no order."
He looked at me as though he thought I ought to tell him what I wanted.
"Can I sell you any lumber to-day?" he continued.
"I don't think you can. I'm waiting to see Mr. Whippleton," I answered, in order to save him the trouble of any unnecessary questioning.
"If you are in a hurry you had better not wait, for he hardly ever gets here till eight o'clock," said the young man, as he went to the desk and opened an account book.
"I'm in no hurry. I'm going to work here."
"Is that so?"
"That's so."
"Who engaged you?"
"Mr. Whippleton—last evening."
"What are you going to do?"
"I am engaged as entry clerk."
"Good! I'm glad to hear it. I'm yours truly. Who are you?"
"I'm yours truly," I replied, laughing.
"You're a brick! My name is Land Limpedon. What's yours?"
"Philip Farringford."
"Capital! Philip Farringford, I'm deuced glad to see you if you are to be the entry clerk. I've had to do some of that work, and I don't like it. I don't think writing is my forte. I suppose you can write."
"I can make my mark."
"That's about all I can do. You have come at just the right time. We are driven with business. By the way, you needn't wait for Mr. Whippleton. I'll set you at work. I've just sold a bill, and want it entered. Take your pen, old boy, and show us whether you can spatter the ink or not. By the way, are you a hard brick or a soft brick?"
"I think you will find me a hard brick," I replied, at a venture, for I had no idea of the technical significance of the terms he used.
"Capital! That's a Chicago brick. Did you come from the country?"
"I came from St. Louis."
"Capital, still! You don't smell of mullein and cornstalks. Here's a good pen. Just enter these items, and give me a bill of them," he rattled on, taking a memorandum book from his side pocket. "A Chicago brick! That's the brick for me."
I took the pen, and stood at the desk.
"I can break you in before Whippleton gets here. Now, charge, F. P. Moleuschott—got that down?"
"Yes."
"Capital! The point of your pen is greasy. But I'll bet a quarter you didn't spell the man's name right," he added, looking at the page of the sales book where I had entered it. "'Pon my word you did, though! These Dutchmen's names bothered me so that I used to get almost choked to death before I could speak one of them."
I had always been a diligent student of the literature of the sign-boards, and I was tolerably familiar even with German proper names. It is a good plan for a young man who is going into business to read the signs in the streets as he passes along.
Mr. Land Limpedon rattled off a long bill of small items, and jumbled in the technical terms of the trade, with the evident intention of bothering me; but I was posted, and did not have to ask him to repeat a single item. I entered the charge, and made out the bill.
"Capital!" exclaimed the young salesman, as he glanced at the bill. "I couldn't have done it any better myself."
I was willing to believe him as I glanced at the page of the sales book where he had made entries, and saw what a villanous hand he wrote, and what blots and blunders he had inflicted upon the innocent white paper. However, he was good-natured, and did not pretend to be a book-keeper; so I was willing to forgive him.
"What time does Mr. Collingsby come to the counting-room?" I asked, as he was looking over the bill.
"The young man comes about nine or ten; but he don't stay here much of the time. Some days the old gentleman looks in about eleven, and some days he don't," replied Land, as he left the office.
I was at the desk, and had made my first debit. The situation was novel, but it was pleasing. It wasDesk and Debit, for which I had been seeking for weeks.
The counting-room was divided into two apartments. In the first, which occupied the front of the building, were the desk, the safe, the books, and the papers. All the general business of the firm was transacted here; and my position was behind the desk in this room. Separated from it by a partition composed mostly of ground glass windows was the other apartment, whose interior I had not yet seen. As Mr. Whippleton was the bookkeeper, and had the general charge of the finances of the firm, I concluded that the interior room was appropriated to the use of the dignified senior partner and his father, the special partner, when the latter chose to honor the establishment with his presence.
While I was taking a deliberate survey of the premises where I was to pass at least several weeks, two salesmen, with their memoranda in their hands, bustled into the counting-room, each attended by a customer, to whom he had sold a bill of lumber. They had been informed by Land of the debut of the new entry clerk, and they read off their sales to me, which I entered upon the book, giving them bills for the purchasers. One of them paid his bill, and I was looking for the cash book when Mr. Whippleton made his appearance.
"So you are really at work, Philip," said he, as he glanced at the sales book.
"Yes, sir; I have made a beginning. I was looking for the cash book, sir."
"I keep the cash book myself," added he, in a manner which indicated that I was not to meddle with it.
But I found enough to do in making bills and charges. It was early in the spring, and there was a great deal of building in the city. Business was very driving, and I had all I could do. It was the same thing over and over again all day long; but I enjoyed my occupation in spite of its monotony.
About nine o'clock Mr. Richard Collingsby entered the counting-room. He passed my desk, glanced at me, and entered the sacred precincts of his sanctorum. Mr. Whippleton immediately made him a visit, and doubtless informed his senior that he had engaged an entry clerk. I did not see the dignified partner again till he left the counting-room at two o'clock. He did not even glance at me this time, and probably had no suspicion that he had ever seen me before. I was too insignificant a mortal to engage his attention even for a single instant. Yet he was my own uncle, though I might be in the same office with him for years without his knowing the fact.
At twelve o'clock I went to dinner. As I passed through the yard, I saw lying on the bank of the river a beautiful sail-boat, which attracted my attention. It was about thirty feet long, and had quite a large cabin in the forward part. I had hardly ever seen a sail-boat, and I was much interested in her.
"Whose is this?" I asked, as Land Limpedon joined me on his way to dinner.
"Mr. Whippleton's; he's a regular water bird, and in the summer he spends all his spare time in that boat."
"Does he sail on this river?" I asked, glancing at the muddy lagoon.
"No; he takes her out on the lake, and goes off for a fortnight in her, when he can spare the time."
I had had some experience with boats on the upper Missouri, and had some taste for them, though I had never even been in a sail-boat. I hoped Mr. Whippleton would take it into his head to invite me some time to sail with him. I went to dinner with the image of the boat's sharp bow and graceful lines lingering in my mind. The beef was no tougher at noon than it was in the morning, and I think Mrs. Whippleton was convinced that I was not a profitable boarder at four dollars a week.
But I do not intend to weary my reader by giving the monotonous details of my daily experience at the desk. I discharged my duties faithfully, and to the entire satisfaction of Mr. Whippleton. On the second day, I saw Mr. Collingsby, senior. Like his dignified son, he took no notice of me. Possibly he asked my name in the private office; but I never knew whether it gave them any uneasiness or not, though I am very confident neither of them suspected that I was the son of Louise Collingsby. The name was not so uncommon as to indicate that I belonged to the hated Farringfords of St. Louis.
Whatever may have been said in the private office, nothing came to me from either of the men in whom I was so deeply interested; and it often occurred to me, as the weeks passed by, that I was doing nothing to accomplish my great mission in Chicago. My father answered my letter, and advised me, if I had a good place, to keep it. I wrote to him every week, and received a letter from him as often.
The eight weeks for which I had been engaged passed off, and I hinted to the junior partner that my time was out.
"Very well; you can go on just as you have," said he.
"I don't care about going on any farther at six dollars a week," I replied.
"What do you want?"
"Eight, sir."
"I will speak to Mr. Collingsby."
He did speak to him, and my salary was advanced to eight dollars a week for a year. I was satisfied I was earning that amount, and Mr. Whippleton intimated that he should require me to do more of the general book-keeping.