Paul Prescott's Charge

“I hope you don’t think I did wrong,” he concluded.

“By no means,” said Mr. Danforth, warmly. “Your conduct was entirely creditable. As for Smith, I know of him. He is a sharper. It would have done you no good to remain in his employ.”

Paul was pleased with this commendation. He had thought it possible that his dismissal from his former situation might operate against him with the merchant.

“What are your present plans and wishes?” asked Mr. Danforth, after a slight pause.

“I should like to enter a merchant’s counting-room,” said Paul, “but as such places are hard to get, I think I shall try to get into a store.”

Mr. Danforth reflected a moment, then placing a piece of paper before our hero, he said, “Will you write your name and address on this piece of paper, that I may know where to find you, in case I hear of a place?”

Paul did as directed. He had an excellent handwriting, a point on which the merchant set a high value.

The latter surveyed the address with approval, and said, “I am glad you write so excellent a hand. It will be of material assistance to you in securing a place in a counting-room. Indeed, it has been already, for I have just thought of a place which I can obtain for you.”

“Can you, sir?” said Paul, eagerly.

“Where is it?”

“In my own counting-room,” said Mr. Danforth, smiling.

“I am very much obliged to you,” said Paul, hardly believing his ears.

“I was prepared to give it to you when you came in, in case I found you qualified. The superiority of your handwriting decides me. When can you come?”

“To-morrow, if you like, sir.”

“I like your promptness. As it is the middle of the week, however, you may take a vacation till Monday. Your salary will begin to-morrow.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“I will give you five dollars per week at first, and more as your services become more valuable. Will that be satisfactory?”

“I shall feel rich, sir. Mr. Smith only gave me a dollar and a quarter.”

“I hope you will find other differences between me and Mr. Smith,” said the merchant, smiling.

These preliminaries over, Mr. Danforth opened the door, and glancing at Dawkins, said, “Dawkins, I wish you to become acquainted with your fellow clerk, Paul Prescott.”

Dawkins looked surprised, and anything but gratified as he responded stiffly, “I have the honor of being already acquainted with Mr. Prescott.”

“He is a little jealous of an interloper,” thought Mr. Danforth, noticing the repellent manner of young Dawkins. “Never mind, they will get acquainted after awhile.”

When George Dawkins went home to dinner, his father observed the dissatisfied look he wore.

“Is anything amiss, my son?” he inquired.

“I should think there was,” grumbled his son.

“What is it?”

“We’ve got a new clerk, and who do you think it is?”

“Who is it?”

“The adopted son of old Cameron, the sexton.”

“Indeed,” said Mrs. Dawkins. “I really wonder at Mr. Danforth’s bad taste. There are many boys of genteel family, who would have been glad of the chance. This boy is a low fellow of course.”

“Certainly,” said her son, though he was quite aware that this was not true.

“What could have brought the boy to Danforth’s notice?” asked Dawkins, senior.

“I don’t know, I’m sure. The boy has managed to get round him in some way. He is very artful.”

“I really think, husband, that you ought to remonstrate with Mr. Danforth about taking such a low fellow into his counting-room with our George.”

“Pooh!” said Mr. Dawkins, who was a shade more sensible than his wife, “he’d think me a meddler.”

“At any rate, George,” pursued his mother, “there’s one thing that is due to your family and bringing up,—not to associate with this low fellow any more than business requires.”

“I certainly shall not,” said George, promptly.

He was the worthy son of such a mother.

XXVI

A VULGAR RELATION

At the end of the first week, Paul received five dollars, the sum which the merchant had agreed to pay him for his services. With this he felt very rich. He hurried home, and displayed to the sexton the crisp bank note which had been given him.

“You will soon be a rich man, Paul,” said Mr. Cameron, with a benevolent smile, returning the bill.

“But I want you to keep it, Uncle Hugh.”

“Shall I put it in the Savings Bank, for you, Paul?”

“I didn’t mean that. You have been supporting me—giving me board and clothes—for three years. It is only right that you should have what I earn.”

“The offer is an honorable one on your part, Paul,” said the sexton; “but I don’t need it. If it will please you, I will take two dollars a week for your board, now, and out of the balance you may clothe yourself, and save what you can.”

This arrangement seemed to be a fair one. Mr. Cameron deposited the five dollar note in his pocket-book, and passed one of three dollars to Paul. This sum our hero deposited the next Monday morning, in a savings bank. He estimated that he could clothe himself comfortably for fifty dollars a year. This would leave him one hundred towards the payment of the debt due to Squire Conant.

“By-and-by my salary will be raised,” thought Paul. “Then I can save more.”

He looked forward with eager anticipation to the time when he should be able to redeem his father’s name, and no one would be entitled to cast reproach upon his memory.

He endeavored to perform his duties faithfully in the office, and to learn as rapidly as he could the business upon which he had entered. He soon found that he must depend mainly upon himself. George Dawkins seemed disposed to afford him no assistance, but repelled scornfully the advances which Paul made towards cordiality. He was by no means as faithful as Paul, but whenever Mr. Danforth was absent from the office, spent his time in lounging at the window, or reading a cheap novel, with one of which he was usually provided.