Alger Horatio Jr.
Walter Sherwood's Probation
CHAPTER X
AT THE INDIANA HOUSE
Walter paused before a modest hotel on Monroe Street—we will call it the Indiana House—and, entering, went up to the desk and inquired the rates of board.
“Are you commercial?” asked the clerk.
“Not at present, sir.”
“We make special terms for commercial travelers. We will give you a small room on the third floor for one dollar and a half a day.”
This was as cheap as Walter expected to find it at a hotel, and he signified his acceptance.
“Front!” called the clerk.
A red-haired boy about Walter’s age came forward.
“Take this young man up to No. 36,” said the clerk.
“Yessir,” answered the bell-boy, pronouncing the two words in one.
There was no elevator in the house, and Walter followed the boy up two flights of stairs to the third landing. The boy opened the door of a room with a small window looking out into an inner court.
“Here you are!” he said, and he put the valise on the floor.
“Thank you,” said Walter.
As he spoke he drew a dime from his vest pocket and deposited it in the hand of the red-haired attendant.
The effect was magical. The bell-boy’s listless manner vanished, his dull face lighted up, and his manner became brisk.
“Thank you, sir. Is there anything you want? If you do, I’ll get it for you.”
Walter looked about him. Soap, water, towels—all were in sight.
“Not just now,” he answered, “but I am going to take a wash, and shall probably use up all the water. Some time this evening you may bring me some more.”
“All right, sir. Just you ring when you want it.”
He went off, and Walter was left alone. First, he took a thorough wash, which refreshed him very much after his long and dusty ride. Then he changed his linen, brushed his clothes with a hand-brush he had brought in his valise and carefully combed his hair.
“I feel a hundred per cent. better,” he soliloquized. “Here I am in Chicago and now the battle of life is to begin.”
Walter was sanguine and full of hope. His life had always been easy, and he did not know what it was to work for a living. Besides, the fact may as well be told—he had a very comfortable opinion of his own abilities. He felt that he was no common boy. Was he not a sophomore, or rather a junior-elect, of Euclid college? Did he not possess a knowledge more or less extensive of Latin, Greek and mathematics, with a smattering of French and German, not to speak of logic, rhetoric, etc.? For one of his age he considered himself quite accomplished, and he persuaded himself that the world would receive him at his own estimate. It would be very strange if he could not earn a living, when hundreds and thousands of his age, without a tithe of his knowledge, managed to live.
Walter went downstairs, and, as it would not be supper-time for two hours, went out to walk. He wanted to get some idea of the busy city which was for a time at least, to be his home. He walked through Monroe Street until he reached State. At the corner he caught sight of a palatial structure, nearly opposite.
“What building is that?” he asked of a boy.
“Where’s year eyes?” returned the boy. “That’s the Palmer House.”
Walter gazed admiringly at the showy building, and wished that he could afford to put up there. It was as far ahead of the Indiana House as a city is ahead of a country village. He continued his walk until he reached the lake front, and looked with interest at the great sheet of water which spread out before him like an inland sea. He walked along the lake front for a few squares, and then, striking back into the city, saw the Tremont House, the Court-house, the Sherman house, and other handsome buildings. On his way he met hundreds of people walking briskly, and all seeming occupied.
“If all these people make a living, why shouldn’t I?” he asked himself. “I think I am as smart as the average.”
Secretly Walter thought himself a great deal smarter. It must be remembered that Walter was not quite eighteen—a self-conceited age—and he over-estimated his strength and ability. On the whole, it is fortunate that the young do not comprehend the difficult struggle that lies before them, or they would become discouraged before they had fairly entered upon it. It is well that they should be hopeful and sanguine. They are more likely to succeed.
Walter wandered around in a desultory way, and it was more than an hour before he reached the hotel at which he was stopping. As he entered the public room he started back in surprise, as his glance rested on a man wearing a white hat. Surely this was the man who had sold him the gold watch. How did it happen that he was not on the way to Dakota?
He coughed, with a view to attracting the attention of his railroad acquaintance.
The ruse succeeded. The man turned, and evidently recognized Walter. He looked doubtful, not having yet met his confederate nor learned how the plot had come out.
“I believe I met you on the train,” said Walter, smiling.
The smile decided the other that it would be safe to acknowledge the acquaintance.
“Yes, I remember you now.”
“You sold me a watch?”
“Yes,” answered the other, hesitating.
“I thought you wanted to take a train to Dakota this evening?” went on Walter.
“So I do, but it doesn’t go till eight o’clock. May I ask what time it is? You know I sold you my watch.”
“I suppose that is Chicago time,” said Walter, pointing to a clock on the left-hand side of the office.
“I wonder whether he’s got the watch still?” thought the other. “He must have, as he makes no fuss about it.”
Walter was waiting cunningly to see if his railroad acquaintance would betray himself.
“I’m awfully sorry to part with the watch,” he said. “If you keep it, I may buy it back some time.”
“I’m sorry I can’t oblige you,” said Walter, “but I have sold it already.”
“Sold the watch already!” ejaculated the man in the white hat. “Did you sell it since you reached Chicago?”
“No; I sold it on the train.”
“You don’t mean it!” exclaimed the other, in amazement. “Who did you sell it to?”
“Jim Beckwith,” answered Walter.
“Jim Beckwith!”
The man in the white hat stared at Walter with an air of startled perplexity that almost made our hero laugh.
“Yes, that’s what he said his name was, or rather somebody told me it was his name.”
“Jim Beckwith bought that watch of you!” repeated the stranger slowly.
“Yes; do you know him?”
“I have heard of him,” said the other.
“Oh, I nearly forgot to say that he claimed the watch as his—said you had stolen it from him.”
“Jim Beckwith said that?”
“Yes.”
“And you gave it up to him?”
“Yes, but not till he paid me the twenty dollars I gave for it.”
The other was more and more mystified.
“Jim Beckwith gave you twenty dollars?” he said.
“Yes. That leaves me all right. If you want to buy it back at any time you must apply to him.”
The man in the white hat stared at Walter as if he was a museum freak.
“Boy,” he said, in a tone of enforced admiration, “you’re smart!”
“I am glad you think so, sir,” returned Walter. “You pay me a compliment.”
“How old are you?”
“Seventeen.”
“A seventeen-year-old boy who can get the better of Jim Beckwith is smart, and no mistake.”
“Perhaps you wouldn’t mind telling me whether it’s true that the watch belongs to Mr. Beckwith, as he says?”
“I bought it of another man, who may have stolen it from him,” said he of the white hat, cautiously.
“Well, you’ll have to settle with him. I’m out of it!”
While Walter was speaking, an extraordinary change came over the countenance of the man in the white hat. The color faded from his cheeks and he half rose from his seat. He was not looking at Walter, but beyond him, toward the door. Walter turned, following his look, and when he saw who had entered he understood the situation.
CHAPTER XI
THE MAN FROM DAKOTA
The man who had just entered the reading-room was no other than Detective Green.
He nodded pleasantly to Walter.
“So you have put up here,” he said. “Well, it is a good place. And is this gentleman a friend of yours?” indicating the man in the white hat.
“I bought the watch from him.”
“Ha! I thought so. I see you know me, Steve Ashton.”
“Yes, sir,” answered Ashton, nervously. “I hope you are well.”
“You are very kind. Then you really hope I am well?”
“Of course. Why shouldn’t I?”
“Well, there are some of your companions, I hear, who are not so cordial—Jim Beckwith, for instance. By the way, you have some business arrangements with Jim Beckwith?”
“I know him, sir,” answered Astern, hesitatingly. “You know him well, I suspect. So you sold my young friend here a watch?”
“Yes, sir.”
“At a remarkable sacrifice?”
“Yes, sir. It was worth more than he paid for it.”
“And yet it seemed likely to be a losing bargain for him. It would have been—but for me.”
Ashton looked at Walter inquiringly. The latter smiled.
“You gave me credit for being smarter than I was,” said Walter. “Mr. Green, here, came to my assistance.”
“I think, Mr. Ashton,” said Detective Green, with suavity, “that you have a wife and family in Dakota?”
“I, sir—”
“Yes; and it was to obtain money to join them that you sold your watch on the train?”
“Yes, sir,” answered Ashton, faintly.
“I am going to give you a bit of advice. It will be wise for you to go to Dakota, as you planned. This is a wicked city—in spots—and I am afraid you have been keeping bad company. How long have you known Beckwith?”
“About six months.”
“And he drew you into this business?”
“Yes, sir.”
“I thought so. You are new to the profession. Still, I knew you. I make it a point to get acquainted with the new men. Is the watch honestly yours?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Get it back from Beckwith, and then drop his acquaintance. If necessary, leave Chicago. Have you a trade?”
“Yes, sir. I am a machinist.”
“It is a good trade. Go back to it. Is that advice friendly?”
“Yes, sir,” answered Ashton, with more confidence. “I didn’t expect to get friendly advice from Detective Green.”
“Perhaps not. You didn’t know me, that was all. You looked upon me as an enemy, I suppose?”
“Yes, sir.”
“I am an enemy to those who are incurably bad. I think you were meant for an honest man.”
“So I was, sir. I should be still if I hadn’t met with Jim Beckwith.”
“Have done with him, then. If you follow my advice you need not fear meeting with me again.”
The detective went up to the desk, bought a cigar and then left the room, with a nod to Ashton and Walter.
“Will you follow his advice?” asked Walter.
“Yes, I will. Hereafter I will depend upon honest work for an honest livelihood. What is your name?”
“Walter Sherwood.”
“Then, Walter Sherwood, I am glad I did not succeed in robbing you. Yet I am glad I met you. It will lead to my reformation. Will you give me your hand?”
“Willingly.”
Steve Ashton shook the proffered hand energetically.
“If I can do you a favor at any time I shall be glad to do so.”
“Perhaps you can. I cannot afford to live at a hotel. Can you recommend me to some respectable but modest-priced boarding-house?”
“Yes. The widow of a machinist who used to be employed in the same shop as myself keeps a few boarders. I think she would take you for six dollars a week, or five if you have a friend to room with you.”
“Can you show me the place after supper—that is, unless you are in a hurry to start for Dakota?” He added, with a smile.
“I never was in Dakota in my life,” said Ashton. “I told you a lie.”
“I was beginning to think so.”
“But I shall drop all that. From this time on you can trust me.”
After supper Walter went round with Ashton to a house in Harrison Street—the boarding-house referred to. The door was opened by a careworn woman of middle age.
“How do you do, Mr. Ashton?” she said, with an inquiring look.
“Very well, thank you, Mrs. Canfield. Have you any rooms vacant?”
“Are you asking for yourself?”
“No, for my young friend here, Mr. Sherwood.”
“Do you want a large room or a small one?” asked Mrs. Canfield, brightening up a little.
“That depends a little on the price,” answered Walter.
“I can give you a hall bedroom and board for five dollars and a half a week.”
“Can you show me the room?”
“Be kind enough to follow me.”
Walter followed the landlady up a narrow staircase, or rather two of them, and was shown a hall bedroom, which seemed to be uncomfortably full, though it only contained a bedstead, a chair, a very small bureau and a washstand. There was scarcely room for him to stand unless he stood on the bed. It was indeed vastly different from his nice college room and from his comfortable chamber at home.
“I should like to see a larger room,” said Walter, not venturing to make any comment on the hall room.
He was shown an adjoining apartment, about ten feet by twelve. It was small, but decidedly preferable to the other.
“How much do you charge for this room, Mrs. Canfield?”
“I shall have to charge you six dollars if you occupy it alone, but if you can get another young gentleman to occupy it with you I will say ten dollars for the two.”
“I will take it alone at first. Can I move in tomorrow morning?”
“I will have it ready for you by eleven o’clock.”
“That will do.”
“How do you like it?” asked Ashton, when they were in the street.
“I think I can make it do.”
“I suppose you have been used to something better?”
“Yes.”
“I can direct you to a better house.”
“Thank you, but six dollars a week is all I can afford at present. I have no income, but I shall look for a place at once.”
“You haven’t any trade, have you?”
“No,” answered Walter, with a smile. Brought up as he had been, it seemed odd to be asked if he had a trade.
“Some trades pay very well. I have a nephew who is a bricklayer. He gets from three to four dollars a day.”
“I am afraid I should not like that business. Besides, it would take a good while to learn it.”
Walter smiled to himself as he pictured some of his aristocratic college friends seeing him laying bricks. He was not a snob, nor would he have disdained to notice a friend or school companion filling such a position, but he felt that Providence must have something in store for him more congenial, though perhaps less lucrative.
“I have a cousin who is a carpenter,” proceeded Ashton. “He makes two dollars and a half a day, and supports a wife and three children in comfort.”
“I wonder if I could support a family on fifteen dollars a week?” thought Walter. “Fortunately, I have only to support myself. I ought to be able to do that in a large city like Chicago.”
Reared in comfort, Walter knew very little of the competition and struggles of workingmen, and had an idea that he would be able easily to command a salary of ten dollars a week, though he was wholly disqualified for any special line of business. This he set down as the minimum. Paying six dollars a week for board, he calculated that he could get along on this salary with extreme economy. Fortunately, he was pretty well provided with clothing, or would be when he had sent for his trunk, and would not find it necessary for some time to come to purchase anything, except probably a pair of shoes, a necktie, or some trifle. Then probably his pay would soon be raised, and this would make him comfortable.
That evening Walter went to Hooley’s Theater and occupied a dollar seat. It was hardly prudent, but he had seventy dollars still, and that seemed to him a large sum. He enjoyed the play, and got a sound night’s rest after it.
The next morning he settled his hotel bill, took his gripsack in his hand, and walked over to his new boarding-house.
CHAPTER XII
IN SEARCH OF EMPLOYMENT
“Wanted—A young man of seventeen or eighteen in an insurance office, No. 169 La Salle Street.”
This notice attracted the attention of Walter as he ran his eyes over the advertising columns of the Chicago Times on the second day after his arrival in the city.
“I think that will suit me,” he said to himself. “It is a nice, respectable business, and I think I should like it. I will go to the office and make inquiries.”
He entered a large building, devoted to offices, and ascended to the third story, where he found the office of Perkins & Windermere, the names given in the advertisement. A young man of about his own age was coming out of the office as he entered—an unsuccessful applicant, Walter inferred.
Opening the door, he saw a man of about forty seated in a revolving chair at a desk.
“I believe you advertised for an assistant,” began Walter, as the occupant of the chair turned round.
“Yes,” replied Mr. Perkins—for it was he—eying Walter with a scrutinizing glance.
“I would like to apply for the position.”
“Humph! Do you know anything of the insurance business?”
“Not practically, sir.”
“That’s against you.”
“I think I could soon familiarize myself with it so as to make myself useful.”
“How old are you?”
“Very nearly eighteen.”
“Do you live in Chicago?”
“I do now. I have recently come from the East.”
“What education have you?”
“I spent two years at Euclid College,” answered Walter, with conscious pride.
“So you are a college student?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Humph! That won’t do you any good.”
“I hope it won’t do me any harm, sir,” said Walter, somewhat nettled.
“No, unless it has made you conceited. I am a graduate of the People’s College.”
“I don’t think I have heard of that, sir.”
“I mean the common school. Don’t think much of college myself. They don’t help in our business. They didn’t have any insurance companies in Greece or Rome, did they?”
“I never heard of any, sir.”
“I thought not. You see, we of to-day are rather ahead of Demosthenes and Cicero, and those old fellows. I suppose Rome was quite a sizable place.”
“I have always heard so,” answered Walter.
“I’ll bet a quarter it wasn’t as big or as smart a place as Chicago. I don’t believe they had any such hotel there as the Palmer House, or any dry-good store as big as Marshall Field’s.”
“I don’t believe they did,” Walter admitted.
“Did Rome ever win the baseball championship?” demanded Mr. Perkins.
“No, sir.”
“I thought not. Then what’s the use in spending four years over those old fellers? How is it going to help you?”
“I don’t expect it will help me to earn a living, sir. Do you think you can employ me?”
“What are your ideas as to a salary, young man?”
“I thought of ten dollars,” said Walter, hesitatingly.
“Ten dollars!” ejaculated Mr. Perkins. “Just what I thought. Because you’ve been to college you think you are worth a big salary.”
“Do you call that a big salary, sir?” asked Walter, disconcerted.
“It wouldn’t be if you had a couple of years’ experience, but for a beginner it is simply—enormous.”
“What did you expect to pay?” asked Walter, in a depressed tone.
“Five dollars is about the figure.”
“I couldn’t work for that, sir. It wouldn’t pay my board.”
“Where are you boarding—at the Palmer House?” inquired Perkins, rather sarcastically.
“No, sir. I am at a cheap boarding-house on Harrison Street, where I pay six dollars a week,” answered Walter, with spirit.
“Then I don’t think we can make a bargain, although I rather like your looks.”
This, at any rate, was a little encouraging.
“But I can’t pay your figure. I’ll tell you what you’d better do.”
“I shall be glad of any advice.”
“Become an agent. You look as if you had a gift of the gab. A successful life insurance agent will make a good deal more than ten dollars a week.”
“Can I get such a position?” asked Walter, hopefully.
“Yes. I’ll employ you myself, on a commission, of course. You’ll be paid according to your work I’ve known an agent to make a hundred and twenty-five dollars in a single week.”
“If you think I can do it, sir, I’ll try.”
“Very well. Have you ever studied life insurance?”
“No, sir, but I have a general idea of it.”
“I will give you some documents—instructions to agents, etc. Take these home, study them, and come to me when you think you understand it well enough to talk people into it.”
Mr. Perkins opened his desk, and selecting some papers handed them to Walter.
“When you come again, if there is anything you don’t see into, let me know, and I’ll explain it to you.”
“Thank you, sir.”
Walter went home and set himself to studying the insurance documents given him by Mr. Perkins. Here he found his college training of service. It was like studying a science, and Walter, who went to work systematically, soon came to understand the system, with the arguments for and against it. He made calculations of the expenses attending the different classes of life insurance, selecting the ages of thirty, forty and fifty as illustrations. The result was that when he went round to the office the next day he felt considerable confidence in his ability to talk up insurance.
Mr. Perkins seemed surprised to see him so soon.
“Do you think you understand the duties of a canvasser?” he asked.
“Yes, sir.”
“You haven’t devoted much time to it. You only took the documents yesterday.”
“True, sir; but I have spent several hours in examining them.”
“Were there any things you did not understand?”
Walter mentioned one or two points.
“Now, that I may get an idea of your working ability, suppose you try to insure me. I will take the part of an ordinary business man who is unfamiliar with the subject.”
Walter was not bashful, and saw at once the value of this suggestion.
Without going into details, it may be stated that he acquitted himself very creditably.
“You surprise me,” Mr. Perkins admitted. “You seem to have made yourself quite familiar with the subject. I will take you into my employment as an agent and allow you half commission.”
“Do you wish me to operate in the city?”
“It will be better for you to start outside. I will send you to Elm Bank, about fifteen miles distant. Once there, I shall leave you to your own discretion. I will pay your fare there and back, and trust to your doing something to repay me for the outlay.”
“Very well, sir.”
Walter took the necessary directions, and after dinner took a train out to the suburban town which I have called Elm Bank, though this is not the real name. He congratulated himself on so soon obtaining employment, though it remained to be seen how he would succeed. However, Walter was sanguine, not as yet having put himself in a position to meet the rebuffs which are sure to lie in wait for agents of any kind. He thought over his prospects with pleased anticipations. He felt that the position was much higher than that of a boy in an office. It was one usually filled by men of maturity and business experience. Besides, if successful, the rewards would be ample. The thought of the agent who made a hundred and twenty-five dollars in a single week occurred to him and encouraged him. He would have been content with a salary of ten dollars a week, but here was a business which might lead to a great deal more.
He seated himself next to a girl of sixteen, with a pleasant face and frank, cordial manner.
Presently the girl tried to raise the window—she occupied the seat next to it—but it resisted her efforts.
“Will you allow me to try?” asked Walter, politely.
“Thank you. You are very kind.”
Walter leaned over and succeeded in raising it.
“Thank you,” said the young lady. “I am only going to Elm Bank, but I like the fresh air, even for a short distance.”
Here was a surprise for Walter.
“Are you going to Elm Bank?” he said. “So am I.”
