“You don't live in Elm Bank?” said the young girl, inquiringly.
“No,” answered Walter, swelling with pardonable pride. “I am going there on business.”
“Have you ever been there before?” asked his fair companion.
“No.”
“You look young to be in business.”
“I haven't been in business long,” returned Walter, wondering if he looked so very young. Then he added, with a sudden impulse, “I am an insurance agent.”
“Are you? I—I thought—”
“What did you think?” asked Walter, a little curious.
“I would rather not say it.”
“I wish you would.”
“You will promise not to be offended?”
“Yes.”
“I have been told that insurance agents are very cheeky.”
Walter laughed.
“I don't know about that,” he said. “I haven't been in the business long enough yet. Do you know if any insurance agents have visited Elm Bank lately?”
“No, I don't think so.”
“Perhaps you would like to have your life insured?” said Walter, with a humorous look.
“Can you insure me fifty cents' worth?”
“I am afraid not.”
“Then I must put it off, for that is all the money I have.”
Conversation drifted into other channels, and was kept up till the cars slowed down and the conductor, putting his head in at the door, called out, “Elm Bank.”
Walter and his companion rose and, leaving the car, stepped out on the platform. Walter asked leave to carry a small bundle belonging to the young lady.
“Could you recommend any one who is likely to want his life insured?” he asked.
His companion pointed to a small house some quarter of a mile distant, but plainly visible on account of its high location.
“That house belongs to a German named Louis Fishbach,” she said. “He has a little money, and earns good wages in a shoe shop. He has a wife and four young children. Perhaps he will be willing to insure.”
“Thank you. I will try him.”
“I will leave you here, as I live in a different direction. I am sure I am much obliged to you for your politeness, Mr.—” Here she hesitated.
“Sherwood,” supplied Walter.
“Mr. Sherwood. My name is Jennie Gilbert.”
“Good afternoon, Miss Jennie,” said Walter, politely removing his hat.
He stopped a moment and watched the retreating figure of the young girl.
“I hope I shall meet her again some time,” he said to himself.
“I say, who be you?”
Walter turned quickly, and found himself confronted by a stout, hulking young fellow, broad-shouldered, and dressed in country fashion. He was, judging from his appearance, about twenty-one years of age. His tone and face indicated that he was displeased.
“Why do you want to know?” asked Walter coldly.
“Why do I want to know? I'll tell you why I want to know. I ain't goin' to have any city dude chinning up to my best girl.”
“Is Miss Jennie Gilbert your best girl?” asked Walter.
“Well, she can be if she wants to be. I picked her out a year ago, and as soon as she is old enough I'm goin' to let her know it.”
“Then she isn't your best girl now?”
“No matter whether she is or not. I ain't goin' to have you paying 'tentions to her.”
“I don't see what business it is of yours,” retorted Walter.
“You'll find out if I give you a lickin'!” growled the other, handling the stick which he carried in a suggestive manner.
Walter was inclined to retort in kind, but all at once it struck him as foolish to get into a quarrel about a girl whom he had known less than an hour.
“If it will make you feel any better,” he said, “I'll tell you that I got acquainted with Miss Gilbert in the cars this afternoon. I never met her before, and, as I live in Chicago, I don't suppose I shall ever meet her again.”
The young man's face cleared up.
“Come, that's honest,” he said. “I thought you wanted to cut me out.”
“If Miss Gilbert likes you I shan't interfere,” said Walter. “Now I'm going to talk business. I would like to insure your life.”
“What's that? You ain't a doctor, be you?”
“No.”
Walter proceeded to explain in as simple terms as he could command the object and methods of life insurance.
The young man scratched his head.
“When do I get the money?” he asked.
“It is paid after your death.”
“Then it won't do me any good.”
“No; but suppose you have a wife and children—you would like to leave them something, wouldn't you?”
“I might live longer than my wife,” suggested the young man triumphantly.
Walter found that his new acquaintance could only be influenced by considerations of personal advantage, and was compelled to give up the attempt to insure him.
He kept on his way till he reached the house of Mr. Fishbach, to whom he had been recommended.
Fortunately for his purpose, the shoe shop in which the German was employed was closed for the day, and Walter found him at home mending a wagon in the back yard.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Fishbach,” said Walter, raising his hat politely.
“I don't know who you are,” answered Mr. Fishbach, with a scrutinizing glance.
“I should like to insure your life.”
“You want to insure my life—what's dat?”
“If you will tell me your age, I will explain to you.”
“I was forty-nine next Christmas. You ain't the census man, eh?”
“No; that is quite another matter. Now, Mr. Fishbach,” continued Walter, referring to a pamphlet in his hand, “if you will pay to the company which I represent forty-four dollars every year, when you die a thousand dollars will be paid to your wife, or any one else you may name.”
“You won't pay me till I am dead, eh?”
“No.”
“How will I know you pay then?”
“We do business on the square. We keep our promises.”
“You pay the money to my widow, eh?”
“Yes. If you pay twice as much we will pay two thousand dollars.”
“What good will that do me, eh?”
“You will leave your wife comfortable, won't you?”
“If she gets much money she'll maybe marry again.”
“Perhaps so.”
“And the money will go to her second husband, eh?”
“If she chooses to give it to him.”
“By jiminy, that won't suit me. I will spend my money myself.”
“But if you die, how will your wife and children get along?”
“What makes you think I'm goin' to die, eh? Do I look delicate?”
As Walter surveyed the stout, rotund figure of Mr. Fishbach he could not help laughing at the idea of his being delicate.
“You look likely to live,” he was forced to admit. “Still, life is uncertain.”
“You can't scare Louis Fishbach, young man. My father lived till seventy-seven and my mother was seventy-five. My children can take care of themselves when I die, and they can look after the old woman.”
Walter used such other arguments as occurred to him, but his German friend was not to be moved, and he rather despondently put his documents into his pocket and went out into the street.
“I had no idea I should find it so difficult,” he reflected.
Life insurance seemed to him so beneficent, and so necessary a protection for those who would otherwise be unprovided for, that he could not understand how any one who cared for his wife and children could fail to avail himself of its advantages.
After leaving the house of Mr. Fishbach he kept on in the same direction. Being unacquainted in Elm Bank, he had to trust to chance to guide him.
A little distance beyond was an old-fashioned, two-story house.
“Perhaps I had better call,” thought Walter, and he entered the path that led to the side door. He had scarcely taken three steps when he was startled by a scream that seemed to proceed from the interior.
“Help! help!” was the cry that reached him.
He started to run, and on reaching the door opened it without ceremony. The sight that confronted him was one to test his courage.
To understand the scene in which Walter became an actor a brief explanation is necessary.
The occupant of the house was a woman of perhaps thirty-five. Her husband, Ephraim Gregory, was employed in Chicago, and went to and from the city every day. It was somewhat inconvenient to live at Elm Bank, but both he and his wife were fond of the country, and were willing to submit to some inconvenience for the sake of the sweet, pure air and rural surroundings. They had one child, a little girl of five.
Twenty minutes previous Mrs. Gregory had been sitting at her sewing, with little Rosa on the floor beside her, when, without the ceremony of a knock, the outer door was opened and a tall, powerful man, whose garb and general appearance indicated that he was a tramp, entered the room.
“What do you want?” asked Mrs. Gregory, rising in alarm.
“I'm hungry,” answered the tramp, in a hoarse voice.
He might be hungry, but his breath indicated that he had been drinking. Mrs. Gregory would gladly have dismissed him, but she was afraid to do so. If only her husband had been at home!
“Sit down,” she said, “and I will find you something.”
She went to the pantry and returned with some bread and cold meat, which she set before her uncouth visitor.
“If you will wait five minutes I will make you some tea,” she said.
“I don't want any slops,” said her visitor, scornfully. “Give me brandy.”
“I have none.”
“Then whisky, gin—anything!”
“We don't keep liquors in the house. My husband and I never drink them.”
At this he swore in a manner that terrified his unwilling hostess, and anathematized her for a temperance crank. This aroused her spirit.
“If you want liquor,” she said, “you may go where it is sold. I won't supply it to you or anybody else. If you want hot tea you can have it.”
“Give it to me, then.”
Mrs. Gregory hastened to steep some tea—she had hot water all ready—and set it before the ruffian. He ate and drank eagerly, voraciously, and did not leave a crumb behind him. He had certainly spoken the truth when he said he was hungry. Then he arose, and she hoped he would go. But he turned to her with a significant look.
“I want money,” he said.
“I can give you none,” she answered, her heart sinking.
“Oh, yes, you can.”
“Are you a thief?” she demanded, with a flash of spirit.
“You can call me that if you like.”
There was little hope of shaming him, she saw.
“Look here, missis,” he went on roughly, “you've got money in the house, and I must have it.”
“How do you know that I have money in the house?”
“Your husband brought some home last night. It is here now.”
This was true, and she was startled to find how much this man knew.
“Do you know my husband?” she asked.
“Yes, I know him. His name is Ephraim Gregory. He had some money paid him yesterday and it is here. I don't know where it is, but you do. Get it, and be quick about it!”
Mrs. Gregory saw by this time that her visitor was a desperate villain and that she was in a critical position. He might, since he knew so much, know the amount of money which her husband had entrusted to her for safekeeping. If she could buy him off for five dollars she would do so.
“Will you go if I give you five dollars?” she asked.
He laughed.
“No, I won't. Why should I take five dollars when you have a hundred here?”
She turned pale. The worst was true, then. This man had in some mysterious manner discovered the exact sum which she had in charge. Why had not her husband kept it in his own possession? It would have been more prudent.
“I can't give you the money,” she said, pale but resolute.
“Oh, yes, you will!” he answered mockingly.
“Go away, please,” she said in a pleading tone. “I have given you a meal, though you had no claim on me. Let that be sufficient.”
“You can't fool me!” he replied roughly. “Bring me the money, or it will be the worse for you.”
“I cannot!” she gasped.
“Then, by Heaven, I'll brain you!”
As he spoke he raised the chair on which he had been sitting and held it in position above his head, ready to bring it down upon the helpless woman.
Then it was that she uttered the piercing scream which brought Walter into the house.
His astonished glance rested on the terrified woman, with her little girl clinging in alarm to her dress, cowering beneath the chair which seemed ready to descend upon her.
Walter did not hesitate a moment. Though the tramp was possessed of twice his strength, he darted forward and grasped him by the arm.
“What are you about?” he demanded sternly.
The tramp turned at the unexpected interference and partially lowered the chair.
“What business is it of yours, you impudent young jackanapes?” he growled.
“I will make it my business,” said Walter, bravely. “I won't see a lady struck down by a ruffian!”
“Take care how you talk. I can twist you round my finger, you manikin!” “What does this man want?” asked Walter, turning to Mrs. Gregory.
“He demands money,” was her answer.
“So he is a thief!” exclaimed Walter, contemptuously.
“I'll fix you for that!” growled the tramp, with a frown.
Walter quickly explored the room in search of a weapon, for he saw that he would have to defend himself.
There was a fireplace in the apartment, and resting beside it was a poker of large size. Walter sprang for this, and, grasping it firmly, brandished it in a threatening manner.
“Go upstairs, madam,” he said, “and lock yourself in. I will attend to this man.”
The tramp burst into a contemptuous laugh.
“Why, you young whippersnapper!” he said, “I could handle half a dozen boys like you.”
“I don't like to leave you in the power of this man,” said Mrs. Gregory. “He will kill you.”
“Right you are, ma'am!”' growled the giant. “That's just what I am going to do.”
The lady turned pale. She was frightened, but her concern for Walter's safety overcame her fear for herself.
“I shall stay here,” she said, “It would be cowardly to leave you.”
“Take my advice, boy,” growled the tramp, “and clear out of here. It is no concern of yours.”
Walter did not answer, but, keen, alert, vigilant, he fixed his eye warily on his formidable opponent.
“Well, youngster,” said the tramp impatiently, “did you hear me?”
“Yes, I heard you.”
“Leave this room, or I'll smash you!”
“Smash away!” retorted Walter.
Though he was barely five feet six inches in height, while the tramp was fully six feet, his muscles had been toughened by exercise in the college gymnasium and by rowing in the college crew, and he was wonderfully quick in his motions.
Feeling that the time for forbearance was over, and irritated beyond measure by Walter's audacity, the tramp prepared to carry out his threat. He raised the chair and with a downward sweep aimed at Walter's head.
Had the blow taken effect, this story would never have been written. But Walter's quick eye foresaw the movement, and, springing aside, he dodged the blow and brought down the poker on the muscular part of the giant's arm with what force he could command. There was a howl of pain, and the tramp's arm hung limp and lifeless at his side, while with the other he clasped it in evident suffering.
“You murderous young villain!” he shrieked. “I'll kill you for that!”
Walter felt that he was in a dangerous position.
“Leave the room, please!” he said to Mrs. Gregory. “You will be in my way.” She obeyed, for her champion had shown himself worthy to command, and Walter sprang to the other side of the table, placing it between him and his foe.
By this time the tramp had got ready for an attack. He dashed round the table after Walter, and finally succeeded, in spite of the boy's activity, in grasping him by the shoulder.
“Ah!” he said, with a deep sigh of content, “I've got you now. I'll pay you for that blow!”
Walter felt that he had never been in such a tight place before.
Walter was fortunate enough not to lose his head under any circumstances. He noticed that his opponent held him by his right hand, and it was his right arm which had been lamed. Naturally, therefore, it had lost some of its strength. This was his opportunity. With a sudden twist he wriggled out of the giant's grasp, and, understanding that it was dangerous to be at too close quarters, he threw open the outer door and dashed into the yard.
Whether this would, on the whole, have helped him, was uncertain, as the tramp could probably outrun him, but just in the nick of time a team appeared, driven by a young man, perhaps twenty-five, of remarkable size. Hiram Nutt was six feet six inches in height, the tallest man in the county, and he was as athletic as he was tall. He tipped the scales at two hundred and ten pounds, and was famous for his feats of strength. He was a farmer's son and lived at Elm Bank.
When he saw Walter dash out of the house, pursued by an ill-looking tramp, he thought it high time to interfere.
“What's up?” he demanded, still retaining his seat in the wagon.
“None of your business!” retorted the tramp, too angry to be prudent, “The kid's been impudent, and I'm going to pound him to a jelly.”
Meanwhile, Walter was leading the tramp a chase round the wagon, narrowly escaping seizure.
“Help me!” exclaimed Walter, panting.
“If you do, I'll lay you out!” exclaimed the pursuer, who had been too much occupied to notice the formidable size of the young man in the wagon.
Hiram Nutt smiled—a smile of conscious strength.
“Jump in the wagon, boy!” he said. “I'll take care of you.”
Walter obeyed directions, and the tramp tried to follow him.
But in an instant Hiram had risen to his full height and, leaping to the ground, hurried to the rear of the vehicle and caught hold of the tramp. The latter tried to resist, but he was like a child in the grasp of a man. He looked up in amazement, for he was proud of his strength.
“What museum did you escape from, you—monster?” he panted.
Hiram laughed.
“Never mind,” he said. “It's well I'm here. Now, boy, who is this man?”
“I found him in that house, ready to strike down the lady who lives there because she would not give him what money she had.”
Hiram Nutt's brows contracted.
“Why, you thieving scoundrel!” he cried, vigorously shaking his captive, “you dared to threaten Mrs. Gregory? Did he hurt the lady?” he added anxiously.
“No; I heard her cry for help and rushed in. Then he turned upon me.”
“He might have killed you!”
“I wish I had!” ejaculated the tramp, with a scowl.
“Where is Mrs. Gregory now?”
“I told her to go upstairs.”
Just then the lady, who from an upper window had observed the discomfiture and capture of her enemy, came out.
“Oh, Mr. Nutt,” she exclaimed, “I am so glad you came along! I was afraid this brave boy would get hurt.”
“It isn't he that will get hurt now,” said Nutt, significantly. “How came this fellow in your house?”
“He came in half an hour ago and asked for food.”
“And you gave it to him?”
“Yes; I got ready a lunch for him and made him some tea, though he wanted liquor.”
“And this was the way of repaying the favor?”
“He had heard in some way that my husband brought home some money last evening and he demanded it. I wish, Mr. Nutt, you would take charge of it till my husband comes home. I don't dare to have it in the house.”
“It won't be necessary, for there comes your husband.”
It was true. Ephraim Gregory turned the corner of the street, and paused in surprise at the spectacle before him.
“What's the matter, Lucy?” he asked.
She briefly explained.
“I am so glad you are at home,” she sighed. “But how do you happen to come so early?”
“I think it was a presentiment of evil. I thought of the money I had left with you, and it occurred to me that it might expose you to danger. So I got leave of absence and took an early train for Elm Bank.”
“What shall I do with this fellow, Mr. Gregory?” asked Hiram.
“I'll go into the house and get a rope to tie him. Then we'll take him to the lock-up.”
“Let me go!” said the tramp, uneasily. “I was only joking.”
“You carried the joke too far, my friend,” said Hiram, significantly. “I'll take you round to the lock-up—by way of joke—and Judge Jones will sentence you to the penitentiary—just to help the joke along.”
“Let me go!” whined the tramp, now thoroughly subdued. “I am a poor man, and that's what led me to do wrong.”
“I suppose you never indulged in such a little joke before?”
“No; this is the first time.”
“Probably you are a church member when you are at home,” said Hiram, in a tone of sarcasm. “You're a good man gone wrong, ain't you?”
“Yes,” said the tramp.
“You look like it. Such good men as you are better off in jail.”
“I'll leave town and never come back—I will, on my honor!” pleaded the tramp, earnestly.
“I don't put any confidence in what you say. Ah, here's the rope. Now, hold still, if you know what's best for yourself.”
The tramp attempted resistance, but a little vigorous shaking up by his captor soon brought him to terms. In five minutes, with his hands and feet firmly tied, he was on his way to the lock-up. Mr. Gregory and Walter accompanied him in the wagon.
“Now, Mr. Sherwood,” said Gregory, when their errand was completed, “I want to thank you for your brave defense of my wife.”
“I only did what any one would do under the same circumstances,” said Walter, modestly.
“Any one of the requisite courage. You put yourself in danger.”
“I didn't think of that, Mr. Gregory.”
“No, I suppose not, but it is proper that I should think of it. You have placed me under an obligation that I shall not soon forget. You must do me the favor to come home to supper with me and pass the night. Will it interfere seriously with your business?”
“I am a life-insurance agent,” said Walter, “or, at least, I am trying to be, but have not yet succeeded in writing a policy.”
“I have been thinking of insuring my life for a small sum. If you come home with me you may talk me into doing it.”
“Then I will certainly accept your invitation,” said Walter, smiling.
“My wife made me promise to keep you. She wants to show her gratitude. Besides, you may be wanted to appear against the prisoner to-morrow morning.”
“I shall be glad to help him to his deserts,” said Walter. “The sooner he is locked up the better it will be for the community.”
Walter had no reason to regret his acceptance of the invitation. Mrs. Gregory exerted herself to the utmost in providing an appetizing supper, far in advance of anything he would have had set before him at his boarding-house, Mrs. Canfield being an indifferent cook. Generally her butter was strong and her tea weak, while the contrary should have been the case, and her biscuit heavy with saleratus. Walter thoroughly enjoyed his supper, and was almost ashamed of his appetite. But it gave his hostess great pleasure to see his appreciation of the meal, and she took it as a compliment to herself as a cook.
After supper Walter and Mr. Gregory sat down to business. He explained the methods of the insurance company for which he was acting as agent, and found Mr. Gregory an interested and intelligent listener.
“You may write me a policy for a thousand dollars,” he said.
“You will need to pass a medical examination,” said Walter.
“Certainly; will our village physician do?”
“Yes.”
“Then take your hat and walk over with me. It is only half-a-mile distant.”
The whole matter was adjusted that evening, and Walter was pleased to feel that he had made a successful start in his new business.
The next morning the tramp was brought before Justice Jones, who arranged to hold court early to oblige Walter and Mr. Gregory, and the prisoner received a sentence of a year's confinement. He gave the name of Barney Fogg, and under that name received his sentence. He scowled fiercely while Walter was giving his evidence, and as he was taken from the court-room handcuffed, he turned toward our hero and said: “It's your turn now, young bantam, but I'll be even with you yet.”
“What a terrible man!” said Mr. Gregory, shuddering. “I hope I shall never see him again.”
One swallow doesn't make a summer, and one policy doesn't establish the success of an insurance agent. Walter received from Mr. Perkins five dollars commission on the policy he had written at Elm Bank, and this encouraged him to renewed efforts. But in the fortnight following he only succeeded in writing a policy for two hundred and fifty dollars, for a man who designed it to meet his funeral expenses. For this Walter received one dollar and a quarter. He made numerous other attempts, but he found, though he understood the subject thoroughly, that his youth operated against him. He decided that he was wasting his time, and one morning he waited on Mr. Perkins and resigned his agency.
“Have you anything else in view?” asked that gentleman.
“No, sir.”
“Then why don't you keep on till you have secured another position?”
“Because it takes up my time, and prevents my getting anything else.”
“I don't know but you are right, Mr. Sherwood. You have made a good beginning, and if you were ten years older I think you would make a successful agent.”
“I can't afford to wait ten years,” returned Walter, with a smile.
“If ever you want to come back, I will start you again.”
Walter thanked Mr. Perkins, and left the office.
He now began to explore the columns of the daily papers, in the hope of finding some opening, but met with the usual rebuffs and refusals when he called upon advertisers.
At length he saw the following advertisement in the ChicagoTribune:
“WANTED—A confidential clerk at a salary of fifteen dollars per week. As a guarantee of fidelity, a small deposit will be required. LOCKE & GREEN, No. 257 1-2 State Street.”
“Fifteen dollars a week!” repeated Walter hopefully. “That will support me very comfortably. If I get it I will change my boarding-place, for I don't like Mrs. Canfield's table. I shall feel justified in paying a little more than I do now.”
The only thing that troubled him was as to the deposit. Though he had economized as closely as he knew how, he had made quite an inroad upon his small capital, and had only forty-six dollars left. He had been in Chicago four weeks, and had not yet been able to write home that he had found a permanent position. He had written about his insurance agency, and had not failed to chronicle his first success.
This letter Doctor Mack had read to his housekeeper, Miss Nancy Sprague.
“Well, Nancy,” he said, “Walter is at work.”
“You don't say so, doctor! What is he doing?”
“He is a life-insurance agent.”
“Is that a good business?”
“Walter writes that one agent is making a hundred and twenty-five dollars a week,” answered the doctor, with a humorous twinkle in his eye.
“I'm glad Master Walter has got such a good business,” said the housekeeper, brightening up. “That's a great sum for a boy like him to make.”
“It isn't he that has made it, Nancy. There are very few that do, and those have to be old and experienced men.”
“Well, he'll make a good living, anyhow.”
“Perhaps so,” answered the doctor dubiously, for he understood better than Nancy how precarious were the chances of an inexperienced agent. He was not at all surprised when Walter wrote later that though he had met with some success, he thought it better to look for a situation with a regular salary attached.
“He's gaining a little knowledge of the world,” thought the guardian. “I don't think he'll be able to indulge in luxurious living for the present. It won't be long, probably, before he runs out of money.”
It was with a hopeful spirit that Walter started for the office of Locke & Green. He was pretty well acquainted with Chicago by this time, and had no difficulty in locating any office in the business part of the city.
No indication was given in the advertisement of the business carried on by Locke & Green. As to that, however, Walter felt indifferent. His chief concern was the weekly salary of fifteen dollars, which he needed very much.
Arrived at the number indicated, Walter ran upstairs, and with some difficulty found the office in a small room on the fourth floor. A card on the door bore the names:
Again there was no clue to the business carried on by the firm.
Walter was not sure whether he ought to knock, but finally decided to open the door and enter. He found himself in a room scarcely larger than a small bedroom, with a small desk in one corner. At this sat a man with long hair, industriously writing in a large blank book. He glanced at Walter as the door opened.
“Wait a moment, young man!” he said, in a deep bass voice. “I will be at leisure in two minutes.”
He wrinkled up his face, turned back several pages, appeared thoughtfully considering some problem, and then wrote again rapidly.
Finally he turned—he was seated in a revolving chair—and placing his two hands together, palms inward, said abruptly: “Well, young man, what can I do for you?”
“I believe you advertised in theTribunethis morning for a confidential clerk?”
“Yes.”
“I should like to apply for the position, if it is still vacant.”
“We have not yet filled the place,” said Mr. Locke. “We have had several applications, but the post is a very responsible one, and we are, of course, very particular.”
“I am afraid my chance is very small, then,” thought Walter.
“Still, I like your appearance, and it is possible that you may suit. Have you business experience?”
“Not much, sir. Indeed, till a short time since I was a college student.”
“Yale or Harvard?”
“No, sir; Euclid College.”
“Ahem; small, but very respectable. Your name?”
“Walter Sherwood.”
“How long were you in college?”
“Two years.”
“Left of your own accord?”
“Oh, yes, sir.”
“Just so. I thought perhaps you might have been suspended or expelled.”
“I can refer you on that point to the president or any of the professors.”
“Oh, I will take your word for it.”
“I left college on account of losing my property.”
“Ah, indeed!” said Mr. Locke doubtfully. “Perhaps you noticed that we require a small deposit as a guarantee of fidelity.”
“Yes, sir. I have a little money.”
Mr. Locke looked relieved.
“Of course,” continued he loftily, “doing the business we do, money is of comparatively little importance to us, except as a guarantee of fidelity. How much did you say you had?”
“I didn't say, sir. I could deposit twenty-five dollars with you.”
Mr. Locke shrugged his shoulders.
“That is very little,” he said.
“True, sir, but it is a good deal to me. It will be enough to insure my fidelity.”
“We had a young man here this morning,” said Mr. Locke musingly, “who was willing to deposit a hundred dollars with us.”
“Indeed, sir! I wonder you did not take him.”
“We should, so far as the money went, but I could see by his appearance that there was no business in him. Our clerk must be quick, sharp, alert. The young man was very much disappointed.”
“I couldn't deposit any such sum as that, Mr. Locke.”
“It will not be necessary. Still, twenty-five dollars is very small. You couldn't say thirty, could you? That is merely equal to two weeks' salary.”
“Yes, sir. I might be willing to deposit thirty dollars. May I ask what business you are interested in?”
“We have control for the Western States of a valuable patent—a folding-table—and we have several hundred agents out, who report in general by letter.”
“That accounts for the small office,” thought Walter.
“Come here a moment, and I will give you an idea how we carry on business. Here, for instance, is a page devoted to B. Schenck. He is operating for us in Minnesota. You will observe that his remittances for the last four weeks aggregate three hundred and sixty-seven dollars. He has been doing very well, but we have others who do better. On the next page is our account with G. Parker. His month's work amounts to two hundred and eighty-nine dollars.”
“What would my duties be, sir?”
“To keep the office when I am out, receive letters, and answer them, and see agents.”
“I think I could do that, sir.”
“Hours from nine to five. I think you will suit me. If at the end of the week I don't find you satisfactory, I will pay you your wages and return your money.”
“Very well, sir. I accept the position.”
“You may as well hand me the money, and go to work to-day.” Walter drew out thirty dollars, the greater part of his little store, and handed it to Mr. Locke.
Mr. Locke tucked it carelessly into his vest pocket, and taking his hat said: “Sit down here, and if any agents come in, tell them I will be back at one o'clock. That is all you will need to do to-day.”