Alger Horatio Jr.
Walter Sherwood's Probation
CHAPTER XIX
WALTER MEETS PROFESSOR ROBINSON
Two weeks passed. Walter applied for all sorts of situations, but obtained no engagement. Meanwhile his money steadily diminished, till he awoke one morning to find only seventy-five cents in his purse. Things were getting decidedly serious.
“I wonder if there is any poorhouse in Chicago,” thought Walter, not wholly in jest. “It is not the sort of home I should prefer, but it is better than genteel starvation.”
He went out, breakfasted, and at the restaurant picked up a copy of the Chicago Times. This was a piece of luck, for it saved him from the small expenditure necessary to secure it. He turned to the department of Help Wanted, and looking down the column came to this notice:
“WANTED—By a traveling lecturer, a young man who can make himself generally useful; one who plays the violin preferred. Apply to PROFESSOR ROBINSON, Hotel Brevoort.”
Walter knew this hotel. It was located on Madison Street, and was on the European plan.
“That will suit me,” he said to himself. “I must lose no time in making application. I can play the violin fairly well. If it will help me to a position, I will bless the violin.”
In ten minutes he was at the hotel, inquiring for Professor Robinson.
“He is in his room,” said the clerk, “You can go up at once.”
Guided by a bell-boy, Walter reached the door of No. 65 and knocked.
“Come in!” said a deep bass voice.
Opening the door he found himself in the presence of a stout man, inclined to be tall, with a long, full beard, who glanced at him inquiringly.
“Professor Robinson, I believe?” said Walter.
“I am the man,” answered the professor.
“I have come to apply for a position. I have read your advertisement in the Times.”
“Just so! Let me look at you.”
Walter blushed a little while the professor transfixed him with his glittering eye. He anxiously hoped that he would bear inspection.
“Humph! I think you’ll do. How old are you?”
“Eighteen.”
In fact, Walter’s birthday had been passed in Chicago.
“You are rather young. Can you play on the violin?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Let me hear you.”
The professor pointed to a violin on the bed.
“I am glad he doesn’t expect me to furnish the violin,” Walter said to himself.
He took the instrument from its case, and trying the strings began to play a series of familiar airs. The violin was not a Stradivarius, but it was of good quality, and responded satisfactorily to the efforts of the young musician. Professor Robinson listened attentively, and nodded his approval.
“You play better than the last young man I had.”
Walter was glad to hear it.
“I may as well tell you the nature of your duties, in case I engage you. I call myself a traveling lecturer, but this may convey an erroneous idea. I am the discoverer of Professor Robinson’s Liquid Balm, which is warranted to cure more diseases than any other patent preparation in existence. I won’t go into particulars, for these can be read in my circular. Now, it is my custom to go from one town to another, engage a hall if the weather requires, otherwise gather a crowd around me in a public place, and lecture about the merits of my remarkable preparation. You, besides assisting me in a general way, are expected to draw and entertain the crowd by your performance on the violin. Can you sing?”
Walter shook his head.
“I am afraid,” he said, “that if I should undertake to sing it would drive away the crowd.”
“Very well! It isn’t necessary, though it would have helped. Now, what are your ideas as to compensation?”
As the professor spoke, he leaned back in his chair and awaited a reply.
“I hardly know what it would be right to ask,” returned Walter hesitatingly. “How much did you pay your last assistant?”
“I paid him fifteen dollars a month and his traveling expenses.”
This was a good deal more than Walter had made since he had undertaken to earn his own living, yet there seemed small chance of laying up anything out of it.
“May I ask, sir,” he inquired, “do you meet with pretty good success in disposing of your balm?”
“Yes; the public knows a good thing when it is brought to its attention.”
“Would you be willing to pay my expenses and ten per cent. commission on sales?”
“Why do you prefer this to a stated salary?”
“Because it would be an incentive to do my best. Then if I helped you to a successful sale I should be paid in proportion.”
“I have an idea. You look blooming and healthy. Are you willing I should advertise you as one who has been snatched from death by my celebrated balm?”
“I don’t think I would like it, sir. It would be imposing upon the public.”
“I merely suggested it, but I won’t insist upon it. I suppose you are thoroughly honest and reliable?”
Walter smiled.
“I don’t know that my assurance will satisfy you, but I can truly say that I am.”
“You look it, and I trust a good deal to appearances. I will accept your assurance.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“Can you join me at once?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Then I will expect you to bring your baggage here during the day—the sooner the better. You will then receive your instructions.”
Walter was very glad to hear this, for his purse was so nearly exhausted that it was comforting to think his lodging and meals would hereafter be paid by some one else. When he came to reflect upon the nature of his duties—general assistant to a quack doctor, playing on village commons and in country halls to draw a crowd of prospective customers, he felt that it was hardly a thing to be proud of. With his college training he ought to be qualified for something better, but the cold, hard fact stared him in the face that it was the only employment that offered, and he must accept it or starve. Walter had become practical. His limited acquaintance with the world had made him so, and he was not going to refuse bread and butter because it was offered by a quack doctor.
Within an hour Walter had given up his room—the rent had been paid in advance—and transferred his luggage to the Hotel Brevoort, where he was assigned a small apartment on the upper floor.
“I shall leave the city in two days,” said the professor. “I have put an advertisement into the daily papers which brings customers to the hotel, but I depend chiefly upon my sales on the road.”
“Do you travel on the cars?” asked Walter.
“No; I have a neat wagon in which I carry a supply of bottles of balm, and this enables me to stop where I like. I prefer villages to very large towns and cities. It is better for me to visit places where there are no drug-stores, as the people are more dependent on what is brought to them.”
“When you are in the city shall I get my commission?”
“Ahem! I am not clear as to that,” answered Professor Robinson thoughtfully. “You see you are not called upon to play.”
“Suppose you give me five per cent. in Chicago and large places.”
“Very well. I will do so. I will settle with you at the end of every week, if that will be satisfactory.”
“Yes, sir.”
Two days afterward a light wagon drew up in front of the hotel, drawn by a strong horse, and Walter helped the professor to put a trunk of medicine in the back part. Then he seated himself with Professor Robinson on the front seat, and they set out in the direction of the suburbs.
A new life was opening before Walter. What it would lead to he could not guess. At any rate, it promised him a living, and this was a practical advantage which he had learned to appreciate.
“How long have you been in this business, professor?” he asked.
“Ten years,” answered the professor.
“How did you happen to go into it?”
“I’ll tell you. Ten years ago I found myself in a tight place. I was on my uppers, as the actors say. A friend, who was a drug clerk, gave me the recipe for my balm, I borrowed a hundred dollars, had a quantity made up, and set out on the road.”
“And now?”
“Now I am worth fifteen thousand dollars, well invested, and can make a good living every year.”
All this was encouraging to Walter. He was eager to begin his work.
CHAPTER XX
ON THE ROAD
On a small common, near the center of the village of Brandon—for special reasons I do not give the real names of places visited by the travelers—Professor Robinson halted his wagon and signed to Walter to commence playing.
“Give ‘em something popular,” he said.
Walter struck up “Annie Rooney,” and followed it up with “McGinty.”
Within ten minutes fifty persons were gathered about the wagon. Then the professor held up his hand and Walter stopped.
“Gentlemen,” began the professor, “my young assistant will soon charm you again with the dulcet strains of his violin. But it is necessary for me to combine business with pleasure, and it affords me satisfaction to call your attention to the surpassing merits of my Liquid Balm, only twenty-five cents a bottle. It is a sovereign remedy for most of the diseases that flesh is heir to. All diseases of the stomach, liver, and lungs are, if not cured, very greatly mitigated by this wonderful medicine. It is the only remedy for consumption that can be relied upon. Why, gentlemen, a year since I was selling in a small town in Ohio. Among those who gathered about me was a hollow-cheeked man with a churchyard cough. He asked me if I would undertake to cure him. I answered that I would guarantee nothing, but was convinced that his life would be prolonged by the use of my balm. He bought half-a-dozen bottles. Where do you think that man is now?”
Voice in the crowd: “In the grave.”
“Not a bit of it, gentlemen. He is hale and hearty, his face is full, his color healthy, and he tips the scales at one hundred and seventy-five pounds. I was myself surprised at the extraordinary efficacy of my wonderful medicine. He used in all a dozen bottles, giving me a second order later on, and so for the paltry sum of three dollars was drawn back from the brink of the grave, and restored to life and health. Now, who will buy a bottle?”
This appeal sold eight bottles.
A saffron-faced man came forward and asked if the balm could cure liver-complaint.
“My friend,” said the professor, “if you will try the balm—you ought to have half-a-dozen bottles, as it is uncertain when I shall come this way again—your liver will become O. K. and your face will be as fresh and blooming as that of a twelve-year-old boy.”
This prospect seemed so encouraging that the saffron-faced man bought four bottles, and took the professor’s address.
At the end of about twenty minutes Walter struck up again, a lively dancing tune, and was listened to with evident pleasure.
When all who desired the balm seemed to have invested, the professor brought out a supply of toilet soaps, and sold to the amount of a couple of dollars.
At the end of two hours he packed up his wares, Walter took a seat beside him, and they started for the next village.
“You had a pretty good sale, professor,” said Walter.
“Yes; as well as I can calculate I took in about ten dollars.”
Walter reflected with pleasure that his commission would amount to a dollar.
The professor had another way of utilizing remedies. When he put up for the night at a hotel, he usually succeeded in paying a part of his hotel bill in medicine or toilet articles. As his average profits on the former were seventy per cent., and on the latter forty, it may be seen that this was greatly to his advantage. Walter did not wonder that he had already accumulated a small competence.
On the fourth evening, as Walter was leaving the supper-table, a tall young man, looking something like the stock pictures of Uncle Sam, came up to him.
“Say, young fellow,” he commenced, “some of us young people are going to have a dance at the schoolhouse hall, but we haven’t got no fiddler. Peter Jackson, who generally plays for us, has got the lumbago and can’t play. What’ll you charge?”
“What do you generally pay Mr. Jackson?” asked Walter.
“Three dollars an evening.”
“Do you think I can play as well as he?”
“You kin play enough sight better. He can’t play no tunes that ain’t fifty years old.”
“Very well, I will charge you the same, that is, if the professor doesn’t object.”
“Go ahead and see him and let me know.”
Walter sought the professor and laid the matter before him.
“All right!” was the answer. “I’ve no objection. You can give me one-third of the money and keep the rest yourself. Is that satisfactory?”
“Perfectly so, sir.” Walter played till one o’clock. He felt rather tired when he got through, but he saw that he was making a favorable impression, and the two dollars which he would receive for himself would be of great service.
The man who first spoke to him paid him the money.
“I hope I gave satisfaction,” said Walter.
“Yes, you did, and no mistake; but some of the girls were sorry they couldn’t have you for a partner.”
Walter blushed.
“I am afraid,” he said, “that I couldn’t play and dance, too.”
At his age few young men are indifferent to the favorable opinion of young ladies, and Walter would have been glad to have participated in the dancing. However, just at present, money was more acceptable to him than anything else.
When the week was concluded, the professor looked over his accounts and ascertained that Walter’s commission amounted to nine dollars and sixty cents. The two dollars he had received for outside services carried his week’s earnings to nearly twelve dollars.
He had been out with Professor Robinson a month when he had a surprise. It was in the town of Glenwood. His violin drew the usual crowd, who were listening with complimentary attention, when a young man, who casually paused to judge of the musician’s merits, started in amazement.
“By Jove!” he exclaimed to a young lady who accompanied him. “That’s my classmate, Sherwood.”
“What do you mean, Hugh?” asked the young lady.
“I mean that the young man who is playing the violin is my college classmate, Walter Sherwood.”
“But what on earth can have put him in such a position? Is he poor?”
“He had the reputation of being rich in college, but I remember that at the close of the sophomore year he was reported to have lost his money.”
“He is nice-looking!” said the young lady, after a critical examination of Walter.
“Yes, and he’s no end of a nice fellow. I am truly sorry that he is so reduced.”
“Shall you go and speak to him?”
“Yes; but I shall have to wait till he is at leisure.”
“Then I will go home by myself and leave you to confer together; and, by the way, Hugh, you know we are to have a little company to-night. Do you think your friend would play for us? He really plays uncommonly well.”
“I will invite him as a guest. I shouldn’t want to treat him as a professional performer. We can afford to treat him as an equal, for he is of good family, and brought up as a gentleman.”
“I am quite willing to receive him as such.”
Hugh Longwood remained in the crowd, and when the playing was over pushed up to the wagon. Walter was assisting the professor in serving out bottles of the famous balm.
“You may give me a bottle, Walter,” said Longwood.
“By gracious, Hugh Longwood!” exclaimed Walter. “Who would have expected to see you here?”
“This is my home. But we certainly do meet under strange circumstances. What on earth led you into this business?”
“Thrift, thrift, Hugh,” answered Walter, with a smile. “Let me tell you that I am making a good living and benefiting my fellow men.”
“But it is such a change from Euclid College.”
“True.”
“Such a come down!”
“I don’t know about that. I am afraid my career there was not particularly creditable. Now I am working and earning my own living. Can you wait till we get through here? Then I will talk with you as long as you like.”
“Agreed. I am curious to hear of your adventures.” Professor Robinson proposed to stay in Glenwood overnight, so that Walter had plenty of time to see his friend.
“My sister is to have a party of friends this evening, and she commissions me to invite you.”
“But,” hesitated Walter, “I have no dress suit here.”
“You look well enough.”
“Besides, I am filling a very humble position.”
“We know who you are, and that you are a gentleman. That is enough. Will you come?”
“Yes, I will,” answered Walter, heartily. “It will be like a taste of the old life.”
“And if we should ask you to favor us on the violin?”
“I shall be glad to contribute to the pleasure of the evening. But you haven’t told me why you are not back at college.”
“My father is anxious to have me help him in his business. His health is not what it was. Not being likely to set the river on fire in any literary profession, I decided to give up the college for the counting-room.”
“I think you did right.”
CHAPTER XXI
MISS LONGWOOD’S PARTY
At eight o’clock Walter reached the Longwood mansion. It would have been early for a party in the city, but Glenwood people were sensible, and, beginning early, were able to close in good season.
The house was a handsome one, and the rooms, tastefully furnished, were blazing with light, and already half full.
Walter was quite at home in society, and advancing, greeted Hugh and his sister, by whom he was cordially received, and introduced to other members of the family.
About nine o’clock dancing commenced. Walter did not think it out of place to ask the hand of Laura Longwood, being so intimate with her brother. She had just accepted his invitation to dance, when a dark-complexioned young man, dressed in the extreme of the fashion, and evidently possessing a very high opinion of his appearance and position, approached, and with a ceremonious bow said: “Miss Longwood, may I have the pleasure of dancing with you?”
“Not this time, Mr. Murdock,” answered the young lady. “I am engaged to Mr. Sherwood.”
Murdock upon this turned his glance upon Walter, whose dress, it must be confessed, was scarcely befitting the occasion, but it will readily be understood that he could not carry a dress suit about with him.
“Oh!” said Murdock, and his scornful glance spoke volumes.
“Let me introduce you to Mr. Sherwood, my brother’s friend,” continued the young lady.
“I am indeed honored by the introduction,” said Murdock, bowing very low.
Walter colored, for it was evident that the tone was ironical. He bowed coldly, but did not speak.
The music struck up, and the dancing began. Though Walter was plainly dressed, he was a good dancer, and Miss Longwood had no occasion to be ashamed of her partner.
Murdock approached Hugh Longwood, who was busy in forming sets and was not dancing.
“Who is that dancing with your sister?” he asked abruptly.
“A college friend of mine—Walter Sherwood.”
“He looks poor.”
“I believe he has met with a reverse of fortune.”
“His face looks familiar. I am quite sure I have seen him somewhere.”
“He only arrived in town to-day.”
“I have it! He was playing the violin for a faker on the town common this afternoon.”
“Yes; it was there I met him.”
“Good heavens! and you invited him to your party?”
“Why not?” demanded Hugh coldly.
“The assistant and companion of a wandering faker!”
“No, Mr. Murdock, I did not invite him, for my sister saved me the trouble.”
“I don’t see how you could sanction her doing it.”
“It strikes me, Murdock, you are interfering beyond your province. Walter Sherwood, you will be good enough to remember, is a gentleman by birth and education, and a college classmate of mine.”
“That may all be, but think of his position!”
“Suppose we drop this discussion,” said Hugh frigidly. “I shall invite whom I please, and shall ask advice of no one.”
“Oh, if you take it that way, I will be silent.”
“It will be as well.”
The dance was over, and Murdock, approaching Miss Longwood once more, asked her hand for the next dance. She accepted, and they took their places on the floor.
“I can hardly expect to equal your last partner,” said Murdock, in an ill-tempered tone.
Laura Longwood looked at him for a moment without speaking. She was ashamed of his ill breeding.
“Perhaps not,” she answered composedly. “Mr. Sherwood is a very good dancer.”
“I did not refer to that. I referred rather to his social position.”
“He is of good family, I believe, but you need not be too modest as regards yourself.”
“You overwhelm me,” returned Murdock, with an exaggerated bow; “and you really think me the equal of Mr. Sherwood?”
“Is it necessary to discuss this question?” asked Laura, becoming more and more disgusted with her partner.
“I think I saw the gentleman this afternoon playing the violin on the wagon of a traveling faker.”
“Yes, I saw him also.”
“It is an excellent position for a young man—of family!” continued Murdock, with a scornful curl of the lip.
“Suppose we change the subject, Mr. Murdock,” said Laura Longwood, with dignity. “If you desire a similar position you can speak to Mr. Sherwood.”
“You are really very—very amusing, Miss Longwood,” said Murdock, biting his lip. “I really don’t aspire to such prominence. Besides, I don’t play on the violin.”
“That is a pity. It is a very fine instrument.”
When the dance was concluded Murdock sought another, but was rather curtly refused. His efforts to injure Walter had only led to his own discomfiture. When, a little later, he saw Walter a second time dancing with Miss Longwood, he began to hate him.
During the last hour Walter obligingly consented to play on his favorite instrument, and his performance gave pleasure to the entire company, Murdock alone excepted.
When the party broke up, it chanced that Murdock and Walter took leave at the same time. Walter was slightly in advance when Murdock, quickening his pace, came up with him.
“Mr. Sherwood, I believe,” he said.
“Yes, sir,” answered Walter. “I believe I am addressing Mr. Murdock.”
“You are. I hope you will pardon my giving you a little kindly advice.”
“I certainly will if it is friendly,” answered Walter.
“Then, don’t you think you were a little out of place this evening?”
“What do you mean?” asked Walter quickly. “Where was I out of place?”
“At Miss Longwood’s party.”
“Why should I be? She invited me.”
“No doubt.”
“As her brother’s friend and classmate.”
“That is all very well, but you don’t seem to consider your present position.”
“Will you be good enough to tell me what is my present position?”
“You know better than I can tell you. You are the assistant of a low faker.”
“I accompany Professor Robinson as a musical assistant, if that is what you mean.”
“Professor Robinson!” repeated Murdock scornfully. “Where did he get his title?”
“You will have to ask him,” said Walter, smiling.
“That is not the point, however. You are in his employ?”
“Well?”
“And yet you attend an evening party given by a young lady of high social position.”
“Mr. Murdock, you may be surprised to learn that it is by no means the first social party of the kind that I have attended.”
“That was before you became a faker.”
“You will oblige me by not calling me a faker. I am earning my living honestly. I don’t know your business.”
“I am a lawyer,” said Murdock haughtily.
“I wish you success in your chosen profession.”
“You are truly kind!” said Murdock, in an unpleasant tone.
Walter looked at him gravely.
“Mr. Murdock,” he said, “you have volunteered to give me advice.”
“Which you are not inclined to take.”
“Because I consider you officious in offering it. Now let me give you some advice.”
“I shall be grateful, I am sure.”
“Then let me advise you hereafter to mind your own business!”
“You are impertinent!” said Murdock angrily.
“That is my opinion of you. One thing more; you are quite at liberty to advise Miss Longwood not to take any notice of me.”
“I shall do so.”
“And you may be sure that I shall not call upon her without an invitation. It is hardly necessary to say this, as I leave town to-morrow, and it may be a long time before I visit Glenwood again.”
Murdock heard this with satisfaction, for Walter’s good looks and the evident favor with which he was regarded by Laura Longwood had made him jealous. He could not help, however, launching a final sarcasm.
“Don’t think me unkind, my good fellow!” he said patronizingly. “I feel kindly disposed and as a proof will ask you to send round a bottle of your balm to my office. Shall I pay for it in advance?”
“No. I will mention your request to the professor, and he will probably be glad to furnish you with his medicine. Goodnight!”
They had reached the hotel, and Walter entered.
“That fellow is a snob,” he said to himself. “He wishes me to feel that one in my position cannot be a gentleman. If he is one, I don’t want to be. All his sneers won’t make me ashamed of earning my living by an honest use of any gift that God has given me.”
