store!” exclaimed Eben, disdainfully.
“Yes, it seems the only thing you have left. It’s your own fault that you are not still a salesman in the city.”
Eben took the cigar from his mouth, and thought rapidly.
“Well,” he said, after a pause, “if I agree to do this, what will you pay me?”
“What will I pay you?”
“Yes, will you pay me ten dollars a week—the same as I got at Hanbury & Deane’s?”
“Ten dollars a week!” ejaculated Ebenezer, “I don’t get any more than that myself.”
“I guess there’s a little mistake in your calculations, father,” said Eben, significantly. “If you don’t make at least forty dollars a week, including the post office, then I am mistaken.”
“So you are—ridiculously mistaken!” said his father, sharply. “What you presume is entirely out of the question. You forget that you will be getting your board, and Tom Tripp only received a dollar and a half a week without board.”
“Is that all you pay to Herbert Carr?”
“I pay him a leetle more,” admitted Ebenezer.
“What will you give me?”
“I’ll give you your board and clothes,” said Ebenezer, “and that seems to be more than you made in Boston.”
“Are you in earnest?” asked Eben, in genuine dismay.
“Certainly. It isn’t a bad offer, either.”
“Do you suppose a young man like me can get along without money?”
“You ought to get along without money for the next two years, after the sums you’ve wasted in Boston. It will cripple me to pay your bills,” and the storekeeper groaned at the thought of the inroads the payment would make on his bank account.
“You’re poorer than I thought, if seventy-five dollars will cripple you,” said Eben, who knew his father’s circumstances too well to be moved by this representation.
“I shall be in the poorhouse before many years if I undertake to pay all your bills, Eben.”
After all, this was not, perhaps, an exaggeration, for a spendthrift son can get through a great deal of money.
“I can’t get along without money, father,” said Eben, decidedly. “How can I buy cigars, let alone other things?”
“I don’t want you to smoke cigars. You’ll be a great deal better off without them,” said his father, sharply.
“I understand; it’s necessary to my health,” said Eben, rather absurdly.
“You won’t smoke at my expense,” said Ebenezer, decidedly. “I don’t smoke myself, and I never knew any good come of it.”
“All the same, I must have some money. What will people say about a young man of my age not having a cent in his pocket? They think my father is very mean.”
“I’ll allow you fifty cents a week,” said Mr. Graham, after a pause.
“That won’t do! You seem to think I am only six or seven years old!”
Finally, after considerable haggling, Mr. Graham agreed to pay his son a dollar and a half a week, in cash, besides board and clothes. He reflected that he should be obliged to board and clothe his son at any rate, and should save a dollar and a half from Herbert’s wages.
“Well,” he said, “when will you be ready to go to work?”
“I must have a few days to loaf, father. I have been hard at work for a long time, and need some rest.”
“Then you can begin next Monday morning. I’ll get Herbert to show you how to prepare the mail, so that you won’t have any trouble about the post-office work.”
“By the way, father, how do you happen to have the post office? I thought Mrs. Carr was to carry it on.”
“So she did, for a time, but a woman ain’t fit for a public position of that kind. So I applied for the position, and got it.”
“What’s Mrs. Carr going to do?”
“She’s got her pension,” said Ebenezer, shortly.
“Eight dollars a month, isn’t it?”
“Yes.”
“That ain’t much to support a family.”
“She’ll have to do something else, then, I suppose.”
“There isn’t much to do in Wayneboro.”
“That isn’t my lookout. She can take in sewing, or washing,” suggested Ebenezer, who did not trouble himself much about the care of his neighbors. “Besides there’s Herbert—he can earn something.”
“But I’m to take his place.”
“Oh well, I ain’t under any obligations to provide them a livin’. I’ve got enough to take care of myself and my family.”
“You’d better have let her keep the post office,” said Eben. He was not less selfish than his father, but then his own interests were not concerned. He would not have scrupled, in his father’s case, to do precisely the same.
“It’s lucky I’ve got a little extra income,” said Ebenezer, bitterly; “now I’ve got your bills to pay.”
“I suppose I shall have to accept your offer, father,” said Eben, “for the present; but I hope you’ll think better of my California plan after a while. Why, there’s a fellow I know went out there last year, went up to the mines, and now he’s worth five thousand dollars!”
“Then he must be a very different sort of a person from you,” retorted his father, sagaciously. “You would never succeed there, if you can’t in Boston.”
“I’ve never had a chance to try,” grumbled Eben.
There was sound sense in what his father said. Failure at home is very likely to be followed by failure away from home. There have been cases that seemed to disprove my assertion, but in such cases failure has only been changed into success by earnest work. I say to my young readers, therefore, never give up a certainty at home to tempt the chances of success in a distant State, unless you are prepared for disappointment.
When the engagement had been made with Eben, Mr. Graham called Herbert to his presence.
“Herbert,” said he, “I won’t need you after Saturday night. My son is going into the store, and will do all I require. You can tell him how to prepare the mails, et cetery.”
“Very well, sir,” answered Herbert. It was not wholly a surprise, but it was a disappointment,
