Paul Prescott's Charge

“All right, Uncle Hugh. I’ll be down in a jiffy.”

About half-past ten Paul started on his way to Mr. Danforth’s counting-room. It was located on Wall Street, as he learned from the card which had been given him by Mrs. Danforth. He felt a little awkward in making this call. It seemed as if he were going to receive thanks for the service which he had rendered, and he felt that he had already been abundantly repaid. However, he was bound in courtesy to call, since he did so at the request of Mrs. Danforth.

It was a large stone building, divided up into offices, to which Paul had been directed. Mr. Danforth’s office he found after a little search, upon the second floor.

He opened the door with a little embarrassment, and looked about him.

In one corner was a small room, used as a more private office, the door of which was closed. In the larger room the only one whom he saw, was a boy, apparently about his own age, who was standing at a desk and writing.

This boy looked around as Paul entered, and he at once recognized in him an old acquaintance.

“George Dawkins!” he exclaimed in surprise.

The latter answered in a careless indifferent tone, not exhibiting any very decided pleasure at meeting his old schoolmate.

“Oh, it’s you, Prescott, is it?”

“Yes,” said Paul, “I haven’t met you since you left our school.”

“No, I believe we have not met,” said Dawkins, in the same tone as before.

“How long have you been in this office?” asked our hero.

“I really can’t say,” said Dawkins, not looking up.

“You can’t say!”

“No, I’m rather forgetful.”

Paul could not help feeling chilled at the indifferent manner in which his advances were met. He had been really glad to see Dawkins, and had addressed him with cordiality. He could not conceal from himself that Dawkins did not seem inclined to respond to it.

“Still,” thought Paul, extenuatingly, “perhaps that is his way.”

As the conversation began to flag, Paul was reminded of his errand by Dawkins saying, in a tone which was half a sneer, “Have you any business with Mr. Danforth this morning, or did you merely come in out of curiosity?”

“I have called to see Mr. Danforth,” said Paul.

“He is usually pretty busy in the morning,” said Dawkins.

“He directed me to call in the morning,” said Paul, sturdily.

“Oh, indeed!” said Dawkins, a little surprised. “I wonder,” he thought, “what business this fellow can have with Mr. Danforth. Can he be fishing for a place?”

“Mr. Danforth is engaged with a visitor just now,” he at length condescended to say; “if your time is not too valuable to wait, you can see him by-and-by.”

“Thank you,” said Paul, rather nettled, “you are very polite.”

To this Dawkins made no reply, but resumed his pen, and for the next ten minutes seemed entirely oblivious of Paul’s presence.

Our hero took up the morning paper, and began, as he had so often done before, to look over the list of wants, thinking it possible he might find some opening for himself.

About ten minutes later the door of the inner office opened, and two gentlemen came out. One was a gentleman of fifty, a business friend of Mr. Danforth’s, the other was Mr. Danforth himself.

The former remarked, on seeing Paul, “Is this your son, Danforth?”

“No,” said the merchant, nodding in a friendly manner to Paul.

“That’s a good joke,” thought Dawkins, chuckling to himself; “Mr. Danforth must be immensely flattered at having a sexton’s adopted son taken for his.”

After a final word or two on business matters, and arrangements for another interview, the visitor departed, and Mr. Danforth, now at leisure, turned to Paul.

“Now my lad,” he said kindly, “if you will follow me, we shall have a chance to talk a little.”

Paul followed the merchant into his office, the door of which was closed, much to the regret of Dawkins, who had a tolerably large share of curiosity, and was very anxious to find out what business Paul could possibly have with his employer.

“Take that seat, if you please;” said Mr. Danforth, motioning Paul to an arm-chair, and sitting down himself, “Mrs. Danforth told me from how great a peril you rescued her. You are a brave boy.”

“I don’t know,” said Paul, modestly, “I didn’t think of the danger. If I had, perhaps I should have hesitated.”

“If you had not been brave you would have thought of your own risk. My wife and myself are under very great obligations to you.”

“That more than repays me for all I did,” said Paul, in a tone of mingled modesty and manliness.

“I like the boy,” thought Mr. Danforth; “he is certainly quite superior to the common run.”

“Have you left school?” he inquired, after a pause.

“Yes, sir. Last term closed my school life.”

“Then you have never been in a situation.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Indeed! Before you left school?”

“No, sir, since.”

“You did not like it, then?”

“No, sir,” said Paul.

“And was that the reason of your leaving?”

“No, sir; my employer was not satisfied with me,” said Paul, frankly.

“Indeed! I am surprised to hear this! If you have no objection, will you tell me the circumstances?”

Paul related in a straightforward manner the difficulty he had had with Smith & Thompson.