style="font-size:15px;"> “Mr. Pitkin?” said Phil interrogatively.
“Well?” said the small man, frowning instinctively.
“I have a note for you, sir.”
Phil stepped forward and handed the missive to Mr. Pitkin.
The latter opened it quickly and read as follows:
The boy who will present this to you did me a service this morning. He is in want of employment. He seems well educated, but if you can’t offer him anything better than the post of errand boy, do so. I will guarantee that he will give satisfaction. You can send him to the post-office, and to other offices on such errands as you may have. Pay him five dollars a week and charge that sum to me. Yours truly, OLIVER CARTER.
Mr. Pitkin’s frown deepened as he read this note.
“Pish!” he ejaculated, in a tone which, though low, was audible to Phil. “Uncle Oliver must be crazy. What is your name?” he demanded fiercely, turning suddenly to Phil.
“Philip Brent.”
“When did you meet—the gentleman who gave you this letter?”
Phil told him.
“Do you know what is in this letter?”
“I suppose, sir, it is a request that you give me a place.”
“Did you read it?”
“No,” answered Phil indignantly.
“Humph! He wants me to give you the place of errand boy.”
“I will try to suit you, sir.”
“When do you want to begin?”
“As soon as possible, sir.”
“Come to-morrow morning, and report to me first.”
“Another freak of Uncle Oliver’s!” he muttered, as he turned his back upon Phil, and so signified that the interview was at an end.
CHAPTER XI
PHIL ENTERS UPON HIS DUTIES
Phil presented himself in good season the next morning at the store in Franklin Street. As he came up in one direction the youth whom he had seen in the store the previous day came up in the opposite direction. The latter was evidently surprised.
“Halloo, Johnny!” said he. “What’s brought you here again?”
“Business,” answered Phil.
“Going to buy out the firm?” inquired the youth jocosely.
“Not to-day.”
“Some other day, then,” said the young man, laughing as if he had said a very witty thing.
As Phil didn’t know that this form of expression, slightly varied, had become a popular phrase of the day, he did not laugh.
“Do you belong to the church?” asked the youth, stopping short in his own mirth.
“What makes you ask?”
“Because you don’t laugh.”
“I would if I saw anything to laugh at.”
“Come, that’s hard on me. Honor bright, have you come to do any business with us?”
It is rather amusing to see how soon the cheapest clerk talks of “us,” quietly identifying himself with the firm that employs him. Not that I object to it. Often it implies a personal interest in the success and prosperity of the firm, which makes a clerk more valuable. This was not, however, the case with G. Washington Wilbur, the young man who was now conversing with Phil, as will presently appear.
“I am going to work here,” answered Phil simply.
“Going to work here!” repeated Mr. Wilbur in surprise. “Has old Pitkin engaged you?”
“Mr. Pitkin engaged me yesterday,” Phil replied.
“I didn’t know he wanted a boy. What are you to do?”
“Go to the post-office, bank, and so on.”
“You’re to be errand boy, then?”
“Yes.”
“That’s the way I started,” said Mr. Wilbur patronizingly.
“What are you now?”
“A salesman. I wouldn’t like to be back in my old position. What wages are you going to get?”
“Five dollars.”
“Five dollars a week!” ejaculated Mr. G. Washington Wilbur, in amazement. “Come, you’re chaffing.”
“Why should I do that? Is that anything remarkable?”
“I should say it was,” answered Mr. Wilbur slowly.
“Didn’t you get as much when you were errand boy?”
“I only got two dollars and a half. Did Pitkin tell you he would pay you five dollars a week.”
“No; Mr Carter told me so.”
“The old gentleman—Mr. Pitkin’s uncle?”
“Yes. It was at his request that Mr. Pitkin took me on.”
Mr. Wilbur looked grave.
“It’s a shame!” he commenced.
“What is a shame; that I should get five dollars a week?”
“No, but that I should only get a dollar a week more than an errand boy. I’m worth every cent of ten dollars a week, but the old man only gives me six. It hardly keeps me in gloves and cigars.”
“Won’t he give you any more?”
“No; only last month I asked him for a raise, and he told me if I wasn’t satisfied I might go elsewhere.”
“You didn’t?”
“No, but I mean to soon. I will show old Pitkin that he can’t keep a man of my experience for such a paltry salary. I dare say that Denning or Claflin would be glad to have me, and pay me what I am worth.”
Phil did not want to laugh, but when Mr. Wilbur, who looked scarcely older than himself, and was in appearance but a callow youth, referred to himself as a man of experience he found it hard to resist.
“Hadn’t we better be going up stairs?” asked Phil.
“All right. Follow me,” said Mr. Wilbur, “and I’ll take you to the superintendent of the room.”
“I am to report to Mr. Pitkin himself, I believe.”
“He won’t be
