Bound to Rise 7

Bound to Rise 7

"What do you want, then?" asked the official, but not roughly.

 

"Do you know of anyone that wants to hire a boy?"

 

"Who's the boy?"

 

"I am. I want to get a chance to work."

 

"What kind of work?"

 

"Any kind that'll pay my board and a little over."

 

"I don't know of any place," said the postmaster, after a little

thought.

 

"Isn't there any shoe shop where I could get in?"

 

"That reminds me--James Leavitt told me this morning that his boy was

going to Boston to go into a store in a couple of months. He's been

pegging for his father and I guess they'll have to get somebody in his

place."

 

Harry's face brightened at this intelligence.

 

"That's just the kind of place I'd like to get," he said.

 

"Where does Mr. Leavitt live?"

 

"A quarter of a mile from here--over the bridge. You'll know it well

enough. It's a cottage house, with a shoe shop in the backyard."

 

"Thank you, sir," said Harry. "I'll go there and try my luck."

 

"Wait a minute," said the postmaster. "There's a letter here for Mr.

Leavitt. If you're going there, you may as well carry it along. It's

from Boston. I shouldn't wonder if it's about the place Bob Leavitt

wants."

 

"I'll take it with pleasure," said Harry.

 

It occurred to him that it would be a good introduction for him, and

pave the way for his application.

 

"I hope I may get a chance to work for this Mr. Leavitt," he said to

himself. "I like the looks of this village. I should like to live here

for a while."

 

He walked up the street, crossing the bridge referred to by the

postmaster, and looked carefully on each side of him for the cottage and

shop. At length he came to a place which answered the description, and

entered the yard. As he neared the shop he heard a noise which indicated

that work was going on inside. He opened the door, and entered.

 

 

 

 

 

CHAPTER XII. THE NEW BOARDER

 

 

Harry found himself in a room about twenty-five feet by twenty. The

floor was covered with scraps of leather. Here stood a deep wooden box

containing a case of shoes ready to send off. There was a stove in the

center, in which, however, as it was a warm day, no fire was burning.

There were three persons present. One, a man of middle age, was Mr.

James Leavitt, the proprietor of the shop. His son Robert, about

seventeen, worked at an adjoining bench. Tom Gavitt, a journeyman, a

short, thick-set man of thirty, employed by Mr. Leavitt, was the third.

 

The three looked up as Harry entered the shop.

 

"I have a letter for Mr. Leavitt," said our hero.

 

"That is my name," said the eldest of the party.

 

Harry advanced, and placed it in his hands.

 

"Where did you get this letter?"

 

"At the post office."

 

"I can't call you by name. Do you live about here?"

 

"No, I came from Granton."

 

No further questions were asked just then, as Mr. Leavitt, suspending

work, opened the letter.

 

"It's from your Uncle Benjamin," he said, addressing Robert. "Let us see

what he has to say."

 

He read the letter in silence.

 

"What does he say, father?" asked Robert.

 

"He says he shall be ready to take you the first of September. That's in

six weeks--a little sooner than we calculated. I wish it were a little

later, as work is brisk, and I may find it difficult to fill your place

without paying more than I want to."

 

"I guess you can pick up somebody," said Robert, who was anxious to go

to Boston as soon as possible.

 

"Won't you hire me?" asked Harry, who felt that the time had come for

him to announce his business.

 

Mr. Leavitt looked at him more attentively.

 

"Have you ever worked in a shop?"

 

"No, sir."

 

"It will take you some time to learn pegging."

 

"I'll work for my board till I've learned."

 

"But you won't be able to do all I want at first."

 

"Suppose I begin now," said Harry, "and work for my board till your son

goes away. By that time I can do considerable."

 

"I don't know but that's a good idea," said Mr. Leavitt. "What do you

think, Bob?"

 

"Better take him, father," said Robert, who felt that it would

facilitate his own plans.

 

"How much would you want after you have learned?" asked the father.

 

"I don't know; what would be a fair price," said Harry.

 

"I'll give you three dollars a week and board," said Mr. Leavitt, after

a little consideration--"that is, if I am satisfied with you."

 

"I'll come," said Harry, promptly. He rapidly calculated that there

would be about twenty weeks for which he would receive pay before the

six months expired, at the end of which the cow must be paid for. This

would give him sixty dollars, of which he thought he should be able to

save forty to send or carry to his father.

 

"How did you happen to come to me?" asked Mr. Leavitt, with some

curiosity.

 

"I heard at the post office that your son was going to the city to work,

and I thought I could get in here."

 

"Is your father living?"

 

"Yes, my father and mother both."

 

"What business is he in?"

 

"He is a farmer; but his farm is small, and not very profitable."

 

"So you thought you would leave home and try something else?"

 

"Yes, sir."

 

"Well, we will try you at shoemaking. Robert, you can teach him what you

know about pegging."

 

"Come here," said Robert. "What is your name?"

 

"Harry Walton."

 

"How old are you?"

 

"Fifteen."

 

"Did you ever work much?"

 

"Yes, on a farm."

 

"Do you think you'll like shoemaking better?"

 

"I don't know yet, but I think I shall. I like almost anything better

than farming."

 

"And I like almost anything better than pegging. I began when I was only

twelve years old, and I'm sick of it."

 

"What kind of store is it you are going into?"

 

"Dry goods. My uncle, Benjamin Streeter, mother's brother, keeps a dry

goods store on Washington street. It'll be jolly living in the city."

 

"I don't know," said Harry thoughtfully. "I think I like a village just

as well."

 

"What sort of a place is Granton, where you come from?"

 

"It's a farming town. There isn't any village at all."

 

"There isn't much going on here."

 

"There'll be more than in Granton. There's nothing to do there but to

work on a farm."

 

"I shouldn't like that myself; but the city's the best of all."

 

"Can you make more money in a store than working in a shoe shop?"

 

"Not so much at first, but after you've got learned there's better

chances. There's a clerk, that went from here ten years ago, that gets

fifty dollars a week."

 

"Does he?" asked Harry, to whose rustic inexperience this seemed like an

immense salary. "I didn't think any clerk ever got so much."

 

"They get it often if they are smart," said Robert.

 

Here he was wrong, however. Such cases are exceptional, and a city fry

goods clerk, considering his higher rate of expense, is no better off

than many country mechanics. But country boys are apt to form wrong

ideas on this subject, and are in too great haste to forsake good

country homes for long hours of toil behind a city counter, and a poor

home in a dingy, third-class city boarding house. It is only in the

wholesale houses, for the most part, that high salaries are paid,

and then, of course, only to those who have shown superior energy and

capacity. Of course some do achieve success and become rich; but of the

tens of thousand who come from the country to seek clerkships, but a

very small proportion rise above a small income.

 

"I shall have a start," Robert proceeded, "for I go into my uncle's

store. I am to board at his house, and get three dollars a week."

 

"That's what your father offers me," said Harry.

 

"Yes; you'll earn more after a while, and I can now; but I'd rather live

in the city. There's lots to see in the city--theaters, circuses, and

all kinds of amusements."

 

"You won't have much money to spend on theaters," said Harry, prudently.

 

"Not at first, but I'll get raised soon."

 

"I think I should try to save as much as I could."

 

"Out of three dollars a week?"

 

"Yes."

 

"What can you save out of that?"

 

"I expect to save half of it, perhaps more."

 

"I couldn't do that. I want a little fun."

 

"You see my father's poor. I want to help him all I can."

 

"That's good advice for you, Bob," said Mr. Leavitt.

 

"Save up money, and help me."

 

Robert laughed.

 

"You'll have to wait till I get bigger pay," he said.

 

"Your father's better off than mine," said Harry.

 

"Of course, if he don't need it, that makes a difference."

 

Here the sound of a bell was heard, proceeding from the house.

 

"Robert," said his father "go in and tell your mother to put an extra

seat at the table. She doesn't know that we've got a new boarder."

 

He took off his apron, and washed his hands. Tom Gavitt followed his

example, but didn't go into the house of his employer. He lived in a

house of his own about five minutes' walk distant, but left the shop at

the same time. In a country village the general dinner hour is twelve

o'clock--a very unfashionably early hour--but I presume any of my

readers who had been at work from seven o'clock would have no difficulty

in getting up a good appetite at noon.

 

Robert went in and informed his mother of the new boarder. It made no

difference, for the table was always well supplied.

 

"This is Harry Walton, mother," said Mr. Leavitt, "our new apprentice.

He will take Bob's place when he goes."

 

"I am glad to see you," said Mrs. Leavitt, hospitably.

 

"You may sit here, next to Robert."

 

"What have you got for us to-day, mother?" asked her husband.

 

"A picked-up dinner. There's some cold beef left over from yesterday,

and I've made an apple pudding."

 

"That's good. We don't want anything better."

 

So Harry thought. Accustomed to the painful frugality of the table at

home, he regarded this as a splendid dinner, and did full justice to it.

 

In the afternoon he resumed work in the shop under Robert's guidance.

He was in excellent spirits. He felt that he was very fortunate to have

gained a place so soon, and determined to write home that same evening.

 

 

 

 

 

CHAPTER XIII. AN INVITATION DECLINED

 

 

The summer passed quickly, and the time arrived for Robert Leavitt to go

to the city. By this time Harry was well qualified to take his place. It

had not been difficult, for he had only been required to peg, and

that is learned in a short time. Harry, however, proved to be a quick

workman, quicker, if anything, than Robert, though the latter had been

accustomed to the work for several years. Mr. Leavitt was well satisfied

with his new apprentice, and quite content to pay him the three dollars

a week agreed upon. In fact, it diminished the amount of cash he was

called upon to pay.

 

"Good-by, Harry," said Robert, as he saw the coach coming up the road,

to take him to the railroad station.

 

"Good-by, and good luck!" said Harry.

 

"When you come to the city, come and see me."

 

"I don't think I shall be going very soon. I can't afford it."

 

"You must save up your wages, and you'll have enough soon."

 

"I've got another use for my wages, Bob."

 

"To buy cigars?"

 

Harry shook his head. "I shall save it up to carry home."

 

"Well, you must try to make my place good in the shop."

 

"He can do that," said Mr. Leavitt, slyly; "but there's one place where

he can't equal you."

 

"Where is that?"

 

"At the dinner table."

 

"You've got me there, father," said Bob, good-naturedly. "Well, good-by

all, here's the stage."

 

In a minute more he was gone. Harry felt rather lonely, for he had grown

used to working beside him. But his spirits rose as he reflected that

the time had now come when he should be in receipt of an income. Three

dollars a week made him feel rich in anticipation. He looked forward

already with satisfaction to the time when he might go home with money

enough to pay off his father's debt to Squire Green. But he was not

permitted to carry out his economical purpose without a struggle.

 

On Saturday evening, after he had received his week's pay, Luke

Harrison, who worked in a shop near by, met him at the post office.

 

"Come along, Harry," he said. "Let us play a game of billiards."

 

"You must excuse me," said Harry.

 

"Oh, come along," said Luke, taking him by the arm; "it's only

twenty-five cents."

 

"I can't afford it."

 

"Can't afford it! Now that's nonsense. You just changed a two-dollar

note for those postage stamps."

 

"I know that; but I must save that money for another purpose."

 

"What's the use of being stingy, Harry? Try one game."

 

"You can get somebody else to play with you, Luke."

 

"Oh, hang it, if you care so much for a quarter, I'll pay for the game

myself. Only come and play."

 

Harry shook his head.

 

"I don't want to amuse myself at your expense."

 

"You are a miser," said Luke, angrily.

 

"You can call me so, if you like," said Harry, firmly; "but that won't

make it so."

 

"I don't see how you can call yourself anything else, if you are so

afraid to spend your money."

 

"I have good reasons."

 

"What are they?"

 

"I told you once that I had another use for the money."

 

"To hoard away in an old stocking," said Luke, sneering.

 

"You may say so, if you like," said Harry, turning away.