Mr. Robbins often talked to his boys in this way, and he had finally succeeded in convincing Bob that it was not best to despise the day of small things, and that the surest road to prosperity was the one his father had pointed out. Like his brother, Bob had been in the habit of spending every cent he made, and more, too, if he could get it; but of late he had taken to saving, and now he had grown to be, to quote from Gus, “the very quintessence of meanness.” But he had money in the bank, and being safely out of debt, he was not continually harassed by duns as his brother was. More than that, he got into the way of being very attentive to his work (one good habit leads to another, you know), and before he had been in the store a year he was given entire charge of one branch of his father’s business, and his wages were increased. This left Gus at the very lowest round of the ladder. He was obliged to open the store in the morning, build the fires and sweep out, and he looked upon this as very degrading work. He grew more negligent and discontented every day, and always made it a point, after the store was closed for the night, to make up for the tiresome hours he had spent behind the counter. He often wished for Ned Ackerman. When the latter was in his father’s employ he had a companion who was always ready to join him in any thing; but Ned was in Texas, Bob had gone back on him, and Gus was very lonely. Our discontented dry-goods clerk received a very severe blow, and the little ambition he had was all crushed out of him when his younger brother was placed over him. It was a disgrace that he could not put up with, and so he tried to run away from it. There was a news-depôt for sale in the city, and Gus could have purchased it on very advantageous terms, if he had only had the money; but he didn’t have it. Mr. Robbins, who knew more about his son’s habits than Gus thought he did, would not advance it, and so Gus was obliged to stay in the store. Everything seemed to be working against him, and Gus grew desperate. He spent his money as fast as it was paid to him, and when it gave out, he went as deeply in debt as he could go. He had always been able to satisfy his creditors by paying them a little every month; but now they were getting impatient, and were all presenting their bills at once. “Fifteen dollars!” repeated Gus, as he walked toward his own counter. “To-morrow afternoon!” he murmured, as he chucked one of the bolts of calico spitefully upon the shelf. “Moses! won’t there be a row, unless I can think up some plausible story between this time and that! I must owe at least fifty dollars—almost three months’ wages. I wish I could leave here this very night, and never set eyes on this town again! But how can I get away without money? That’s the question.”