Alger Horatio Jr.
Chester Rand; or, The New Path to Fortune
CHAPTER XXIII.
CHESTER IS DISCHARGED
"Well," said David Mullins, addressing his cousin Felix, "did you go to the Fifth Avenue Hotel last evening?"
"Yes, Cousin David."
"Did you see that man from Minneapolis and Chester?"
"Yes."
"Where did they go?"
"I don't know."
"You don't know?" frowned Mullins. "And why not, I should like to know?"
"Because I went to Palmer's Theater."
"So that is the way you spent the quarter I gave you?" exclaimed the bookkeeper, indignantly.
"I couldn't go to Palmer's on that."
"Did you go with them?" asked Mullins, hopefully.
"No, but Mr. Perkins gave me money to go."
"What made him do it?"
"He thought I was a friend of Chester."
"How much did he give you?"
"I occupied a dollar seat," answered Felix, noncommittally.
He did not care to mention that the sum given him was two dollars, half of which he still had in his pocket.
"Humph! so he gave you a dollar. Why didn't you take it and stay with them?"
"Because he gave it to me expressly for the theater. It would have looked strange if I had stayed with them after all."
"I would have found a way, but you are not smart."
Felix did not make any reply, being content with having deceived his cousin as to Mr. Perkins' gift.
"I say, Cousin David, aren't you going to bounce that boy pretty quick and give me his place?"
"Yes, as soon as I get a good excuse."
"Will you do it to-day?"
"No; it would look strange. You may be sure I won't keep him long."
At this point Chester came into the office and was surprised to see Mr. Mullins and Felix already there. Usually the bookkeeper did not show up till half an hour later.
"Good-morning," said Mullins, smoothly. "Did you dine with Mr. Perkins last evening?"
"Yes, sir."
"I suppose you went to the theater?"
"No; Mr. Perkins preferred to take a walk, as he has not been in New York since he was a boy. Did you enjoy the play, Felix?"
"Yes, thank you. It was very nice. I am ever so much obliged to Mr. Perkins for the money to go."
"Mr. Perkins must be a rich man?" said Mullins, interrogatively.
"I think he is pretty well off," answered Chester.
"How long does he stay in the city?"
"He was to leave this morning. He is going to Washington."
David Mullins was glad to hear this. It would make it easier for him to discharge Chester.
He dispatched him on an errand, and was about to make some entries in the books when Dick Ralston strolled in.
"How are you, Dick? Can I do anything for you this morning?"
"Yes; you can let me have a hundred dollars."
"I can't do that," answered the bookkeeper, with a slight frown.
"You'll have to settle up soon," said Ralston, in a surly tone.
"Give me time, can't you? I can't do everything in a minute. What is the matter with you? You look as if you had got out of the wrong side of the bed."
"I had a disagreeable thing happen last evening. Who should appear to me on Madison Avenue but the old man."
"Your father?"
"Yes; he left a good, comfortable home up in the country, and came here to see if he couldn't get some money out of me."
"Did he?"
"I gave him a quarter and advised him to go back. He seems to think I am made of money."
"So he has a comfortable home?"
"Yes," answered Ralston, hesitating slightly. "He's better off than I am in one way. He has no board to pay, and sometimes I haven't money to pay mine."
"I suppose he is staying with friends or relatives," said Mullins, who was not aware that Mr. Ralston, senior, was the inmate of a poorhouse.
"It is an arrangement I made for him. I felt angry to see him here, and I told him so. However, he isn't likely to come again. Have you heard from Fairchild yet?"
"No; it isn't time. He won't reach Chicago till this evening or to-morrow morning."
"Meanwhile—that is, while he is away—you have full swing, eh?"
"Yes; I suppose so."
"Then you'll be a fool if you don't take advantage of it."
David Mullins did not answer. He repented, now that it was too late, that he had placed himself in the power of such a man as Dick Ralston. As long as he owed him seven hundred and fifty dollars there was no escaping him, and Mullins felt very uncomfortable when he considered what steps the gambler wanted him to take to get free from his debts.
At this moment a dignified-looking gentleman living on West Forty-seventh Street entered the office. He was the owner of a large building, of which Mr. Fairchild acted as agent. He looked askance at Dick Ralston, whose loud dress and general appearance left little doubt as to his character.
"Is Mr. Fairchild in?" the caller asked.
"No, sir; he started for the West yesterday."
"I am sorry."
"I can attend to your business, Mr. Gray."
"No, thank you. I prefer to wait. How long will Mr. Fairchild be absent?"
"Probably six weeks."
The gentleman took his leave, with another side glance at Ralston.
When he had gone, Ralston said, "Who is that, Mullins?"
"Mr. Gray, a wealthy banker, living on Forty-seventh Street."
"So? Why didn't you introduce me to the old duffer? I might have made something out of him."
"He is not your style, Dick. He wouldn't care to be introduced to a stranger."
"So he puts on airs, does he?"
"No; but he is rather a proud, reserved man."
"Thinks himself better than his fellow men, I suppose," sneered the gambler.
"I can't say, but it wouldn't have been policy to make you acquainted. If you won't be offended, Dick, I will say that though I am personally your friend, I am afraid that it isn't best for you to be here so much."
"So you are getting on your high horse, Mullins, are you?"
"No; but you are too well known, Dick. If you were only an ordinary man, now, it would be different, but your striking appearance naturally makes people curious about you."
Dick Ralston was not insensible to flattery, and this compliment propitiated him. He was about to go out when Chester entered, returning from his errand.
"How are you, kid?" inquired Ralston.
"Very well, Mr. Ralston," answered Chester, coldly, for he could not forget how the gambler had treated his old father.
"Well, did you pass the evening with that cowboy from Minneapolis?"
"I spent the evening with Mr. Perkins."
"Of course! That's what I mean. Has he got money?"
"He didn't tell me."
"He gave Felix money to go to the theater," interposed Mullins.
"Is that so? He seems to be liberal. I'd like to cultivate his acquaintance. How long is he going to stay at the Fifth Avenue?"
"He left for Washington this morning."
"I am sorry to hear it. Another chance gone, Mullins."
The bookkeeper looked warningly at Ralston. He did not care to have him speak so freely before the office boy.
"I don't suppose we are likely to have any business with Paul Perkins," he said. "I offered to sell him a house, but he doesn't care to locate in New York."
Things went on as usual for the rest of the day. Mr. Mullins, if anything, treated Chester better than usual, and the office boy began to think that he had done the bookkeeper injustice. Felix spent considerable of his time in the office, spending his time in reading nickel libraries, of which he generally carried a supply with him.
On the next day, about three o'clock in the afternoon, Chester was sent downtown on an errand. He was delayed about ten minutes by a block on the Sixth Avenue car line. When he entered the office, Mullins demanded, sharply, "What made you so long?"
Chester explained.
"That's too thin!" retorted the bookkeeper. "I have no doubt you loitered, wasting your employer's time."
"That isn't true, Mr. Mullins," said Chester, indignantly.
"You won't mend mattters by impertinence. It is clear to me that you won't suit us. I will pay you your wages up to this evening, and you can look for another place."
"Mr. Fairchild engaged me, Mr. Mullins. It is only right that you should keep me till he returns, and report your objections."
"I don't require any instructions from you. You are discharged—do you understand?"
"Yes," answered Chester, slowly.
"You needn't wait till evening. Here is your money. Felix will take your place for the present."
"Yes, Cousin David," returned Felix, with alacrity.
"I protest against this sudden discharge," said Chester, "for no fault of my own, Mr. Mullins."
"You have said enough. I understand my business."
There was nothing for Chester to do but to accept the dismissal. It took him by surprise, for though he anticipated ill treatment, he had not expected to be discharged.
"Well, Felix," said the bookkeeper, "you've got the place at last."
"Yes," smiled Felix, complacently. "Didn't Chester look glum when you bounced him?"
"I don't know and I don't care. I have no further use for him. He's too fresh!"
CHAPTER XXIV.
INTRODUCES MR. SHARPLEIGH, THE DETECTIVE
Chester was not so much disturbed by his discharge, so far as it related to his own welfare, as by the thought that Mr. Fairchild's interests were threatened. He felt that his absent employer ought to be notified at once.
Accordingly he went to the Fifth Avenue Hotel and telegraphed to Chicago:
"I am discharged. Felix Gordon is in my place. Will write."
A few hours later Chester received the following message at his lodgings.
"Your telegram received. Will write you instructions. Fairchild."
Two days later Chester received a letter requesting him to call at once on a well-known detective, give him all the available information and request him to keep careful watch of Mr. Mullins and his operations, and interfere if any steps were taken prejudicial to Mr. Fairchild's interests.
Chester called on the detective and was fortunate enough to find him in. He expected to see a large man of impressive manners and imposing presence, and was rather disappointed when he found a small personage under the average height, exceedingly plain and unpretentious, who might easily have been taken for an humble clerk on a salary of ten or twelve dollars a week.
Mr. Sharpleigh listened attentively to Chester's communication, and then proceeded to ask questions.
"Do you know anything of Mr. Mullins outside of the office?" he asked.
"A little, sir."
"Has he any bad habits? Is he extravagant? Does he drink?"
"I have never seen any evidence that he drank," answered Chester. "Perhaps he may drink a glass of wine or beer occasionally."
"I don't mean that. He is not what may be called an intemperate man?"
"No, sir."
"Any other objectionable habits?"
"I think he gambles."
"Ha! this is important. What makes you think so?"
"He seems to be intimate with a man who, I am told, is a well-known gambler."
"Who is it?"
"Dick Ralston."
"Ralston is as well known as any gambler in the city. How is it that this has not excited the suspicions of Mr. Fairchild?"
"I don't think Mr. Fairchild knows it."
"Then Ralston doesn't come into the office?"
"He did not when Mr. Fairchild was in town. As soon as Mr. Fairchild left he came at once, and now spends considerable time there."
"Probably Mullins owes him money lost in gambling."
"I think he does. I overheard him one day urging Mr. Mullins to give him money."
"That makes it probable. Do you know if they keep company outside?"
"I have seen them walking late in the evening."
"Why do you think Mr. Mullins discharged you?"
"He wanted the place for a cousin of his."
"What name?"
"Felix Gordon."
"Is he there now?"
"Yes; Felix was taken on when I was discharged."
"At once?"
"Yes. He was in the office, probably waiting for the vacancy."
"The plan seems to have been cut and dried. What sort of a boy is Felix?"
"I don't know him very well. He seems on confidential terms with Mr. Mullins."
"Did the bookkeeper have any other reasons for disliking you?"
"Yes; I interfered to prevent his cheating a mechanic out of his month's rent."
"State the circumstances."
Chester did so.
"How long has Mr. Mullins been in Mr. Fairchild's employ?"
"About five years, I think I have heard."
"That speaks well for him. Probably his acquaintance with Ralston is recent, or he would have done something before this to insure his discharge."
There was a short silence, and Chester asked: "Have you any more questions, Mr. Sharpleigh?"
"Not at present. Will you give me your address?"
Chester did so.
"I will send for you if I need you. I think you can help me materially. You seem to have a clear head, and are observing."
It was the evening for Chester to call at Prof. Hazlitt's.
"I passed your office this morning, Chester," said Arthur Burks, "and thought of calling in, but I was in haste."
"You wouldn't have found me, Arthur. I am discharged."
"What!" exclaimed Arthur, in surprise. "What complaint does Mr. Fairchild make of you?"
"None at all. He is out of the city. The bookkeeper, who dislikes me, discharged me, and gave the place to his cousin."
"I am awfully sorry. What will you do?"
"I have some money saved up. Besides, I shall devote more time to drawing. I made a sketch yesterday which Mr. Conrad thinks I will get ten dollars for."
"That is fine. I never earned ten dollars in my life."
"You have never felt obliged to work, except in school."
"I take care not to injure my health in studying," said Arthur, with a laugh.
"I will speak to uncle Edgar, and he will arrange to have you come four times a week instead of two. Then you will earn more money from him."
"Thank you, Arthur. I should like that."
Prof. Hazlitt, on being spoken to, ratified this arrangement, so that Chester's mind was easy. He knew now that he would be able to support himself and more, too.
Chester soon had something more to encourage him. He received at his lodgings the following letter:
"Mr. Chester Rand.
"Dear Sir: We are about to establish a new comic weekly, which we shall call The Phœnix. It is backed by sufficient capital to insure its success. Our attention has been called to some illustrations which you have furnished to some of our successful contemporaries, and we shall be glad to secure your services. We may be able to throw considerable work in your way. Please call at our office as soon as possible.
"Editors of the Phœnix."
Chester was quite exhilarated by this letter. He felt that it was a proof of his growing popularity as an artist, and this was particularly gratifying. Besides, his income would be largely, at any rate considerably, increased. He lost no time in presenting himself at the office of The Phœnix.
It was located in a large office building on Nassau Street. He took the elevator and went upstairs to the sixth floor. On the door of a room a little way from the elevator he saw the name, and knocked.
"Come in!" was the response.
Chester opened the door and found himself in the presence of a man of about forty, with a profusion of brown hair shading a pleasant countenance. He looked up inquiringly as Chester entered.
"Is this the editor of The Phœnix?" inquired Chester, respectfully.
"The Phœnix will have no existence till next week," answered the other, pleasantly. "I expect to be its editor."
"I came in answer to your letter."
"To my letter?" repeated the editor, puzzled.
"Yes; my name is Chester Rand."
"What!" exclaimed the brown-haired man, almost incredulously. "You—a boy? How old are you?"
"Sixteen."
"And you are a contributor to Puck and other papers?"
"Yes, sir."
"You must be a smart boy. Shake hands."
Chester shook hands with a smile.
"Will my being a boy make any difference?" he asked.
"Not if your work is satisfactory. Are you willing to work exclusively for The Phœnix?"
"Yes, sir; that is, if I may be allowed to complete a contract I have made."
"What sort of a contract?"
"I am illustrating Prof. Hazlitt's ethnological work. I think it may take me some months more, working evenings."
"That won't interfere with us. I was afraid you might be under an engagement with a rival publication."
"No, sir. So far as that goes I will confine myself to The Phœnix if–"
"Terms are satisfactory, I suppose."
"Yes, sir."
"Then I will agree to pay you twenty-five dollars a week for the first six months. I may be able to do better afterward."
Chester was dazzled. Twenty-five dollars a week! What would Silas Tripp say to that or his enemy, the bookkeeper.
"I accept," he answered, promptly.
CHAPTER XXV.
CHESTER MEETS ANOTHER ARTIST
"Where do you wish me to work?" asked Chester, after a pause.
"You can work at home, but you can call at the office every day to leave your work and receive instructions."
"All right, sir. When do you wish me to commence?"
"At once. Have you any work ready? I asked because we want to get out the first number as soon as possible."
"I have one sketch and have several ideas jotted down."
"Good! Deliver as much as possible to-morrow."
Chester returned home in a high state of exultation. He would be paid less for individual sketches, but, on the other hand, he would have a steady income and an assured market for all he might produce. It seemed a wonderful promotion from five dollars a week to twenty-five. To be sure, when in the real estate office he had picked up extra compensation for outside work, but this was precarious and could not be depended on. With twenty-five dollars a week he would feel rich. This set him to considering that he must have a better room if he was to do work at home. In the same house where he now occupied a hall bedroom was a large, square room well lighted with two windows, well furnished and having a good writing desk, left by some previous tenant in part payment of arrears of rent, which he could have for five dollars a week. He had often thought he would like to occupy it, and wished he might find an agreeable roommate who would share the expense with him. Now he felt that he could bear the expense alone. He lost no time in securing it and moving his few belongings in.
Mrs. Crosby, his landlady, was rather surprised.
"You must be doing well," she said.
Chester smiled.
"I have been discharged from my position in the real estate office," he said.
"Then," said the landlady, in some dismay, "isn't it imprudent to take a more expensive room?"
"I have secured a much better place."
"Oh! that alters the case. Is it likely to be permanent?"
"If I lose it I will go back to my old room."
"I am sure I am glad to hear of your good luck, Mr. Rand. It is very seldom that a young man of your age–"
"Call me a boy. I am not a young man yet."
"You seem to be getting on as well as a young man. I think you are real smart."
"You mustn't flatter me, Mrs. Crosby. You will make me vain. I forgot to say that I shall be a considerable part of the time in my room. That is why I want a larger one."
"But when will you work?" asked the landlady, puzzled.
"I shall work in my room."
"But what work can you do there?"
"I am an artist; that is, I am to make drawings for a new magazine."
"You don't say so? Will that pay?"
"Very handsomely."
"I hope you will show me some of them. I never met an artist before."
"I am afraid I am not much of an artist. I can show you one of my pictures now."
Chester took from the table a number of Puck and pointed out a sketch.
"That's pretty good," said the landlady. "You wouldn't get more than thirty-five cents for such a picture, would you?"
"I was paid five dollars for that."
"Do tell!" exclaimed Mrs. Crosby, who was brought up in a country town and still used some of the expressions which were familiar to her in early days. "I can't hardly believe it. It seems foolish to pay so much for such a little thing."
"I don't think it foolish, Mrs. Crosby. It must pay them, or they wouldn't keep on doing it."
Chester moved into his new room and enjoyed his ample accommodations very much. The next day he went to the office of The Phœnix and carried in two sketches. They were fortunate enough to win the approval of the editor.
"I see you are practical and understand what we want, Mr. Rand," he said. Just behind Chester was a man of fifty, rather shabby and neglectful in his personal appearance. He might be described as an artist going to seed. Whatever talent he might have had originally had been dulled and obscured by chronic intemperance.
"Excuse me, sir," he said, deferentially, "but I would like to submit a couple of sketches. I am Guy Radcliff."
"Glad to see you, Mr. Radcliff. Let me examine them."
"I am afraid," said the editor, after a brief examination, "that these are not quite what we want."
"Is it possible?" exclaimed Mr. Radcliff, indignantly. "You scorn my work, yet accept the sketches of that boy!" pointing at Chester with withering contempt.
"Because he has given me what I want."
"I was a famous artist before he was born."
"Very likely, and had done good work. But this is not good work."
"Sir!"
"My dear sir, don't be offended. I don't care for the age of any of my contributors. I know something of your famous successes, and I hope next time to approve and buy what you bring me."
Mr. Radcliff seemed only half propitiated. He and Chester went out together.
"What is your name, boy?" asked the artist.
"Chester Rand."
"I never heard of you."
"I am only a beginner," said Chester, modestly.
"You seem to have got in with Fleming."
"I may not keep in with him."
"Are you doing pretty well?"
"Yes, for a boy."
"Have you got a loose quarter about you? I haven't done much work lately, and am hard up."
Chester took half a dollar from his pocket and handed it to the elder man. His compassion was stirred as he felt for Radcliff's humiliation in being obliged to make such an appeal to a boy like himself.
"Thank you. You're a gentleman. I'll return it soon," said Radcliff, looking relieved. "Good luck to you! You're a good fellow, after all."
"I wish you good luck, too, Mr. Radcliff."
Chester did not need to be told what had brought the elder artist into such an impecunious condition. His face with its unnatural flush showed that his habits had been far from creditable.
"If I needed anything to keep me from drinking, Mr. Radcliff's example would be sufficient," thought Chester. He had before now been invited to take a drink at some convenient saloon, but he had never been tempted to do so.
Two days later Chester was walking through Union Square when he came face to face with Felix Gordon.
Felix espied him first.
"Hello! Chester," said his successor.
"Hello! I didn't see you."
"I envy you."
"Why?"
"You have nothing to do but to enjoy yourself," answered Felix, significantly.
"Oh, that's it!" said Chester, smiling. He saw that Felix thought him to be out of employment.
"That was the case with you before you succeeded me in the real estate office. How do you like it?"
"Pretty well, but I think I ought to get more salary. You got five dollars, didn't you?"
"Yes."
"I will try and get six when Mr. Fairchild gets back."
"I wish you success."
"You don't feel any grudge against me for taking your place?"
"No; it wasn't you who got me discharged."
"I thought you'd be in to get a letter of recommendation from cousin David."
"Would he give me one?"
"I don't know. Are you trying to get a place?"
"No."
Felix looked surprised.
"You ain't rich, are you?" he asked.
"No; what makes you ask?"
"I don't see how you can live without any salary."
"I couldn't. I ought to tell you that I have got a place."
"You have?" exclaimed Felix, in surprise, and it must be confessed, disappointment.
"Yes."
"Where is it?"
"In the office of a new paper."
"What is it?"
"The Phœnix, a comic paper just started."
"Where is the office?"
"In Nassau Street."
"Then why are you not there?"
"I don't have to be there all the time."
"Do you get good pay?"
"Yes."
"How much?"
"I get more than I did at the real estate office."
"You don't say!"
"Yes. I was in luck."
"Do you get six dollars?"
"More. I don't care to tell you just how much I get."
"By the way, there was an old man in the office yesterday inquiring after you."
"Did he give his name?"
"Yes. He said his name was Silas Tripp."
"What on earth brought Mr. Tripp to New York?" Chester asked himself.
This question will be answered in the next chapter.
