Conduct of life -- Juvenile fiction; New York (N.Y.) -- Juvenile fiction; Poverty -- Juvenile fiction; Success -- Juvenile fiction
He went up to a window, and in a tone inaudible to Mr. Onthank asked the
price of a particular stock. Of course an answer was given, so that they
appeared to be conferring together. Then he rejoined his Orange County
friend, and they walked slowly to the end of the counter.
"Now we'll go out," said Clayton. "I have one or two calls to make on
the street."
"Do you trust your clerks to do the work while you are away?"
"Oh, yes, they understand their duties. Things will go on like
clockwork. You see we have a perfect system."
"You don't do business alone, do you?"
"No, there are several of us in the firm. I may say frankly that I only
have one-fourth interest in the business. Still I am well paid, very
well paid."
"I s'pose you have to pay a big rent."
"Ten thousand dollars a year."
"You don't say! Why, you can get a big store where I live for only
twelve dollars a month."
"Very likely; but there is a good deal of difference between the country
and the city. Now let us walk along Broadway, down to the Battery. We
will sit down there, and I will tell you what I can offer your son."
In a few minutes they were sitting on one of the benches, looking out to
Governor's Island.
"It's a great privilege to live in New York, Mr. Onthank. I think your
son would enjoy it."
"I know he would. Why, Ephraim would give all his old boots to be at
work here."
"If they were all cowhide boots like yours the offer wouldn't be very
tempting," thought Clayton.
"Yes," he said, "I can easily believe it. May I ask what wages your son
would expect."
"Well, I reckon twenty-five to thirty dollars a month would satisfy
him."
"Twenty-five to thirty dollars a month! Why, my dear friend, what are
you thinking of?"
"I thought he couldn't live in the city in good style for less," said
the farmer, deprecatingly.
"Of course, of course, but you don't understand me. I wouldn't think of
offering him less than seventy-five dollars a month, to begin with."
"Gosh! you don't mean it?" said the farmer, his eyes opened wide.
"Certainly I do. That is the minimum salary I pay my clerks."
"Why, Ephraim would feel as rich as a king with that salary. When can
you make room for him?" he added anxiously.
"I must ask a few questions first. Has your son a fair education?"
"He attended the district school till he was fifteen."
"Then I suppose he is well up in the fundamental rules of arithmetic?"
"What's them?"
"I suppose he can add, subtract and multiply."
"Oh, yes."
"And write a fair hand?"
"He's pooty good at writin'."
"I presume he will do. Now, Mr. Onthank, I will tell you how I am
placed. There will be a vacancy next week, but a merchant up town wants
me very much to take his son. He will pay a liberal premium."
"What's that?"
"We always expect our clerks to pay a premium on entering our service.
How much money have you brought with you?"
"I've got two hundred dollars in my wallet. But what has that to do with
it?"
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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