Stratemeyer Edward
Out For Business or Robert Frost's Strange Career
CHAPTER X.
ROBERT GETS A PLACE
"You can go out and take a walk, Robert, while I go with Mr. Gray to his office."
"All right, sir."
"Now," said Marden, as they emerged into State street, "will you take the boy?"
"Yes, but I can't pay him much."
"How much?"
"Five dollars a week."
"That won't support him. He has been well brought up, and will need twelve."
Peter Gray stopped short and whistled in his surprise.
"I can't possibly pay twelve dollars to any clerk, not even if he were experienced—and this boy probably isn't."
"He knows nothing of the business."
"Then, Marden–"
"Stop a minute! I propose that you shall pay him twelve dollars a week, but I will undertake to pay seven of it."
"You must take a great interest in the lad."
"I do—a most unusual interest."
"Of course that will make a difference."
"I should say so."
"In that case he can come at once."
"He will come day after to-morrow. To-morrow I want to show him Chicago."
"All right. Oh, there is one thing I must mention. I have another clerk—twenty-two years of age—whom I only pay ten dollars a week. He mustn't know that the boy gets twelve."
"Very well; I will caution Robert. Should the young man find out, let him understand that only five dollars come from you."
"That will be satisfactory."
Marden went to the office of his old acquaintance. It was small, but as large as many in the same line of business.
At four he returned to the hotel.
"Well, Robert," he said, "it's arranged. You will go to work on Thursday morning. Here is the card of your employer. To-morrow I will go round the city with you."
"Shall I receive enough to pay my board, Mr. Marden," asked Robert anxiously.
"You will receive twelve dollars a week."
Robert was amazed.
"I don't see how Mr. Gray should be willing to pay me so much," he said.
Marden smiled.
"Oh, he has a little private arrangement with me. There is another clerk, considerably older than you. He is not to know how much you get. Let him understand that it is five dollars."
"I understand. How generous you are, Mr. Marden."
"Not Mr. Marden—Dick."
"Well, Dick. But you ought not to pay so much for me."
"Why not? Consider me your uncle, and take care to do credit to my recommendation."
"I will," said Robert earnestly. "Shall you remain in the city, Uncle Dick?"
"I may come here now and then, but I expect day after to-morrow to go to the northern part of Michigan, to visit an old friend there, who is in the lumber business."
"Then, hadn't I better be looking for a boarding-place?"
"Well thought of. We'll look over the Record and hunt up a place."
Within an hour Robert had selected a small room not far from La Salle street, where he was to have full board for five dollars a week. The room was not equal to the one he had at home, but he would spend very little time there.
During the day following, Robert and his miner friend made an extensive tour of Chicago, and Robert felt impressed with the magnitude of the city and the extent of the business that was carried on in it.
"Do you think you shall like Chicago, Robert?"
"Yes, Uncle Dick; I begin to feel like a man of business already."
"And you will be contented?"
"Yes, but I shall miss you."
"I am glad to hear that, boy. Let me see, how long have we known each other?"
"Only two days."
"And yet you seem like my own boy. I never had anyone belonging to me before."
"You may get tired of me, Uncle Dick."
"Perhaps so, but I don't believe it."
"Will you write to me?"
"I'm not much on letter writing, but I reckon I'll be able to scribble a few lines occasionally."
Robert remained with the miner till Thursday morning, and then made his way to Mr. Gray's office.
He found a tall young man with tallowy hair and freckles standing behind the counter.
"What can I do for you, boy?" he asked with lofty politeness.
Robert smiled.
"I'm the new clerk," he said. "Didn't Mr. Gray mention me?"
"I believe he did say something about hiring a boy. What's your name?"
"Robert Frost."
"Well, Frost, my name is Mr. Livingston Palmer."
"Indeed! Are you related to Mr. Palmer who keeps the hotel?"
"I—ahem! I believe we are distantly related. Do your people live in Chicago?"
"No. Some distance out in the country."
"Got a father and mother?"
"No, a mother—and a step-father."
"I sympathize with you. So have I a step-father. He drinks."
"I don't think that is true of Mr. Talbot—my step-father—but if he did, I should not dislike him any more. How do you like this business?"
"So-so."
"Does Mr. Gray treat you well?"
"Well, I can't complain. He doesn't pay me enough salary."
"That is a common complaint, I suppose," said Robert, smiling.
"How much are you to get?"
"From Mr. Gray—five dollars."
"That's what I got the first year. Now I only get ten."
"That is considerably more."
"Yes, but it isn't enough. Why, I am the brains of the establishment."
Robert was amused. But he saw that Mr. Livingston Palmer was quite in earnest.
"How about the boss?"
"Oh, he's a fair business man, but he couldn't get along without me."
"Then I hope he won't have to. I will take it as a favor if you will help me along. I am quite inexperienced. I never was in any business before."
"Yes, I'll look after you. If Mr. Gray knew what was to his interest, he would take me into partnership."
"Did you ever suggest it to him?"
"Well, no, not exactly, but I've given him a delicate hint, but he never seemed to understand what I meant."
Just then Peter Gray came in. He looked quite insignificant compared with either of his two clerks, but Robert soon found that he was a hustler and a good man of business.
"So you are here on time?" he said pleasantly.
"Yes, sir."
"Where is my old friend, Marden?"
"He starts this forenoon for Michigan."
"So? He seems to feel a great interest in you."
"I am glad to say he does."
"He says you are a smart, go-ahead boy. I hope you will prove so."
"I'll try, Mr. Gray."
"If you try you'll succeed. Now, let me tell you a little about the business. You understand that this is a cut-rate railroad ticket office?"
"Yes, sir."
"You'll soon get to understand our way of doing business—that is, if you pay attention."
"I will do that."
The day passed, and Robert, who was on the alert, began to get an insight into the business. He found that it was not very hard, and could be soon mastered. He was not as much impressed as he expected to be by the business ability of Mr. Livingston Palmer, who had claimed to be the "brains of the business." It seemed to him that Mr. Palmer was slow, and prone to make mistakes, but those were only his first impressions, which might be modified hereafter.
The office closed at six.
"Where do you board, Frost?" asked the senior clerk.
Robert told him.
"I have a room, and get my meals at restaurants."
"I don't think I should like that so well."
"We live on the same street. Have you any engagement this evening?"
"No."
"I would invite you to go to some amusement with me, but I am almost broke."
"Then suppose you go to some amusement with me, Mr. Palmer?"
"With pleasure," said the elder clerk, brightening up—"that is, if you don't mind the expense."
"No, I can afford it."
"I don't see how you can on five dollars a week."
"Oh, I have an allowance besides."
"You're in luck. I wish I had."
Mr. Palmer selected a variety theater, and Robert purchased two orchestra seats, although he would have preferred some performance of a higher class.
"Do you know why I wanted to come here?" asked Palmer in a low confidential tone.
"No. Why?"
"There's a girl that sings here—she's a daisy, and I have reason to think that she's sweet on me. There's her name on the bill—Alameda Churchill. When she comes out, give me your opinion of her."
CHAPTER XI.
MR. PALMER'S INFATUATION
In about twenty minutes Miss Churchill appeared. She was a stout young lady, weighing at least one hundred and sixty pounds. She had a high color, black hair, and a loud metallic voice.
Mr. Palmer surveyed her with rapt intensity.
"That's she!" he whispered. "Didn't I tell you she was a daisy?"
Robert was tempted to smile. He had a very indefinite idea of what might be considered a feminine daisy, but he recognized his companion's conception of the term.
Miss Churchill sang in a loud voice and with plenty of action one of the popular songs of the day. Livingston Palmer looked the picture of rapture. With his head thrown back and his eyes fastened upon his charmer, he could hardly fail to attract her attention.
She paused between two of the verses, and looked at him with a smile.
"Did you see?" he whispered in delight, "she smiled at me."
"Yes," answered Robert, "I noticed that she did."
"It looks as if she was sweet on me, don't you think so?"
"Perhaps so, I don't know much about young ladies. I can't read their thoughts."
"How would it do for me to write her a note?"
"What could you write? You don't know her?"
"But she has taken notice of me. I might ask her for an interview."
"I don't feel competent to give you advice, Mr. Palmer; I am only a boy."
"That is true. I—I think I will venture."
"But what will it lead to? Your attachment is not serious, I presume?"
"I don't know but it may be. The fact is, Robert, I am in love."
"Were you ever in love before, Mr. Palmer?"
"Never. This is the first time I have met my ideal."
"You surely wouldn't think of marrying her," said Robert.
"Why not?"
"I thought perhaps you would not care to marry on ten dollars a week."
"I could not. But she is probably earning considerably more. If we both of us worked, there would be a nice income between us."
"Then you would not object to your wife appearing in a theater?"
"No, Robert. I have no narrow prejudices."
"Then you think she would marry you?"
"You saw for yourself how sweetly she smiled on me. Oh, Robert, I am very happy!" and the infatuated young man looked in the seventh heaven of bliss.
"Excuse me for ten minutes, Robert," he said. "I am going into the Sherman House to write a note. I will try to get it to her this evening."
Robert smiled. He was a good deal amused by Palmer's romantic infatuation, but he did not feel called upon to remonstrate with him.
"I will wait for you here," he said.
In fifteen minutes Livingston Palmer returned to his seat.
"Well, have you written the note?" asked Robert.
"Yes, here it is. Cast your eye over it, and see what you think of it."
Robert glanced at the note.
This was the way it was expressed:
"Adorable Alameda:
"Doubtless you will know from whom this note comes. It is from the young man in the fourth row of the orchestra on whom you smiled so sweetly this evening. I am sure you read my devotion in my face. I have never spoken to you, but I feel that I love you, and I have never loved before. Will you appoint a time when I can meet you? Perhaps I flatter myself too much when I say that you seem to be kindly disposed towards me. I will send this by the usher, and will beg for a reply.
"Yours devotedly,
"Livingston Palmer."
"What do you think of it?" asked Palmer eagerly.
"I think it ought to make a favorable impression on the young lady," said Robert, doubtfully, however.
"I think it is pretty good, myself," said Palmer complacently.
When the entertainment was over, Palmer went up to one of the ushers.
"My friend," he said, "do you know Miss Alameda Churchill, the singer?"
"Yes, sir."
"Can you manage to put this note into her hands?"
"When?"
"To-night."
"Well, I might if–"
"I will pay you for your trouble."
"All right, sir. I see you are a gentleman. Give it to me."
"I shall be glad if she will send me an answer."
A few minutes later the usher returned.
"Did you give it to her?" asked Palmer eagerly.
"Yes, sir."
"Did she send an answer?"
"Here it is."
It was a small scrap of paper, folded diagonally.
Palmer opened and read it, his heart beating with feverish excitement. Then he smiled.
"Shall I read it to you, Robert?" he asked.
"Yes, if you like."
"Many thanks for your pretty note. To-morrow evening at eleven be under the window at No. 98 Lemore street.
"Alameda."
"What do you think of that?" said Livingston Palmer triumphantly. "Do you notice that she signs herself Alameda?"
"Yes."
"That seems nice and friendly, doesn't it?"
"Yes, it seems so."
"She is evidently taken with me. Oh, Robert, I never was so happy."
Robert, of course, being a boy, could not enter fully into Palmer's feelings. However, he answered in a sympathetic tone which satisfied his fellow clerk.
"I never thought I should be so fortunate," he said. "Oh, Robert, you don't know how I feel towards that girl."
"No, I suppose not, Mr. Palmer."
"It isn't to be expected, for you are only a boy."
"Yes, I am only a boy."
"I suppose I was the same at your age. How fortunate it was that you invited me to accompany you this evening. I feel under the greatest obligations to you," and Palmer, seizing our hero's hand, shook it with impulsive energy.
"I am sure you are quite welcome, Mr. Palmer."
Robert was beginning to be weary. To his mind, Palmer seemed to be acting in a very silly manner. However, as he reflected, he was only a boy, and could not comprehend the effect of a grand passion on a man like his fellow clerk.
The next day Palmer was like a man in a dream. He was at his desk in the office, but he found it hard to attend to his duties in an intelligent manner. He made some ludicrous blunders, which finally attracted his employer's notice.
"It seems to me, Mr. Palmer," he said quietly, "that you are not quite yourself. Where did the man you just waited on wish to go?"
"Alameda," blurted out Palmer. "No," he corrected himself in some confusion, "Denver, Colorado."
"You seem to have Alameda on the brain. We don't sell tickets to Alameda."
"No, sir."
"Do you know where Alameda is?"
"No," answered Palmer hesitatingly.
"I believe there is such a place in California, but we never had any tickets for it."
"Yes, sir."
"For the rest of the day try to keep your wits about you."
"Do you think he suspects?" asked Palmer in a whisper to Robert, when Mr. Gray had gone out for a minute.
"No; how should he?"
"Really, I hope not. It makes me feel embarrassed and confused."
"I see it does. Can't you put the matter out of your mind during business hours?"
"I will try to, but oh, Robert, when I think of to-night I feel like dancing a Highland fling right in the office."
"If you did I am sure Mr. Gray would think you were crazy."
"Of course, I don't mean that exactly, Robert, I was speaking figuratively."
"You refer to the figure you would cut when you were dancing the Highland fling?"
"I see you are witty, Robert."
"No one ever accused me of that before," said Robert demurely.
Livingston Palmer laughed, and managed with an effort to devote himself for the rest of the day strictly to business.
"You will be with me to-night, Frost," he said, as they closed the office, and started on their way to supper.
"Do you mean that I am to go to 98 Lemore street with you?"
"Yes, you could stand on the other side of the street."
"Your appointment is at eleven o'clock. What are you going to do before that time comes? Will you go to the theater?"
"No. I could not enjoy it. May I pass the evening in your room?"
"Certainly, if you like."
"You know we can speak of her. That will be better than having my thoughts taken up by a variety entertainment. But, oh, how long the evening will be!"
"We shall get through it after a while. You might go round and take supper with me. I look upon you as my confidential friend."
CHAPTER XII.
AN UNLOOKED-FOR SCENE
As the clocks of the city struck eleven Robert and his friend Palmer turned into Lemore street. It was a small, narrow street, lined with brick houses, and evidently far from fashionable. The house indicated by the singer was no better than its neighbors.
"I wonder which is her room?" murmured Palmer. "There seems to be no light in any of the windows."
But as he spoke, one of the windows was lighted up by a lamp, which was lighted from within.
"That's her room," said Palmer joyfully. "She is expecting me."
The curtain was lifted, and the fair face of Alameda peered out. She looked across the street and smiled, as she caught sight of Palmer and his young companion.
"You see?"
"Yes. Perhaps I had better go now."
"No; stay till she opens the window and speaks to me."
"Very well, if you wish it."
Livingston Palmer walked across the street, and taking a harmonica from his pocket, started on a tune. It was the only instrument on which he knew how to play, and that is why he selected it. It might have been hard to distinguish the tune, but that was not of so much importance. He felt that it was the proper thing to do, to serenade his charmer.
Robert maintained his position, and wondered what would come next. He had not long to wait.
The window opened, and Alameda leaned out with something in her hand.
The next moment Palmer was drenched by the contents of a pitcher, which Alameda poured out, locating him with careful precision, so that he should receive the full benefit of it.
Palmer started with a cry of dismay, and turned quickly. But too late. His collar, his hat, and coat were thoroughly wet. It was certainly very aggravating, and his mortification was increased by a hard, cold laugh, evidently proceeding from his charmer.
"Good-night," she said, and then shut the window.
Robert hurried across the street to where Palmer was standing motionless, as if dazed. He did not laugh, as most boys would have done, for he felt indignant at the treatment his unlucky companion had received.
"Are you much wet?" he asked in a tone of sympathy.
"Yes," answered Livingston Palmer in a hollow voice. "But it is not that that troubles me. She is false, heartless. Oh, Robert, my heart is broken!"
And the poor fellow actually shed tears.
"Brace up, Palmer!" said Robert in a cheery voice. "She is not worthy of you. You are lucky to have found her out so soon."
"Perhaps you are right," said Palmer in a mournful voice. "But how could she be so false, so cruel?"
"You had not known her long?"
"No."
"And you will soon forget her, now that you know how false she is."
"I don't know, Robert," said the poor fellow sadly. "I don't think I shall ever get over it."
"Oh, yes, you will. You will meet someone else, who will appreciate your devotion."
They heard the window opening again, and fearing a second deluge, drew quickly away.
It was just in time, for the pitcher was again emptied, but this time the water only wet the sidewalk.
"Surely you can't love her after that," said Robert.
"No. She is not what my fancy painted her. What can I do?"
"You had better let the matter drop."
"No. I will go home and write her a reproachful letter. I will make her ashamed of herself."
"Better not. She will only laugh at it."
"But it will make me feel better. I—would you mind going into the Sherman House with me while I write the letter?"
"Better wait till to-morrow."
"No, it will ease my breaking heart if I write to her to-night."
Sympathizing with his friend, Robert made no further opposition, and Palmer stepped into the Sherman House, procured a sheet of paper, and wrote thus:
"Perfidious Girl:
"How could you find it in your heart to treat so cruelly one who loves you so wildly? You led me to think that you returned my love, at any rate that you felt an interest in me. I have just returned from the house in Lemore street. I will not refer to the way you received me. It was cruel and unwomanly. I feel that my heart has received a wound from which it will never recover. Yet, if you acted in a thoughtless manner, and did not mean to wound me, I am ready to forgive and forget all. Once more I will come to your side, and renew my vows of devotion. I put my business address below, and shall be most glad to hear from you.
"Your faithful friend,
"Livingston Palmer."
"What do you think of that, Robert?" asked Palmer, handing the boy the letter to read.
"I wouldn't have said anything about going back to her, if I had been you."
"But perhaps she only meant it in fun. Girls sometimes act that way."
"Not if they love a person."
"But if there is any chance of getting in with her again, I don't want to lose it."
"Well, Mr. Palmer, if you are satisfied with the letter, you had better mail it."
"I'll get a stamp and mail it to-night."
"Now I think we had better go home and go to bed."
"I shall not sleep to-night, Robert," said Palmer mournfully. "My poor heart is too sore;" and he placed his hand on the place where he supposed his heart to be.
"I am glad I am not old enough to have any heart troubles."
"Yes, you are fortunate. But your time will come."
Robert doubted whether he should ever be affected like Palmer, but he dropped the subject, and went home to bed.
Palmer appeared at business the next day. His face showed a mild melancholy, but there were no indications of a breaking heart.
Whenever the postman entered the office, he looked up hopefully. But there was no letter for him till three o'clock. And then it was not directed in a feminine hand. But he opened it eagerly. As he read it his face became blanched. Then he laid it down on the counter and beckoned to Robert. Mr. Gray was not in the office.
"Is the letter from her?" asked Robert.
"No, but it is about her. Read it."
Robert cast his eye over the letter. It was written in a large masculine hand. It ran thus:
"Mr. Livingston Palmer.
"Dear Sir: You have dared to write an insulting letter to my wife and I demand an apology. You are evidently seeking to alienate her affections from me. If ever she should forsake me it won't be for such a man as you. She requests me to say that your attentions are unwelcome, and that she has never given you any encouragement. If you renew them, I will horsewhip you on sight.
"Yours, etc.,
"Peter Churchill.
"Should you take offense at my letter, I am willing to meet you on the field of honor. You have the choice of weapons."
"So Alameda is a married woman?" said Robert, rather amused.
"Yes."
"And her husband charges you with trying to alienate her affections?"
"It is terrible!" murmured Palmer.
"And he hints at a duel. Shall you meet him on the field of honor, Mr. Palmer?"
"No! no! I wouldn't fight a duel for anything. What do you think I had better do?"
"Write a letter of apology. Tell him you did not know she was a married woman, and will withdraw your attentions."
"I will. I—I don't think I love her any more, now that I know she is another man's wife."
"You are quite right. It would not be honorable."
"Still she encouraged me."
"You had better not say anything about that. Mr. Churchill might take offense, and insist on your fighting a duel."
"My dream is at an end. I will never think of her again."
"You are wise."
Livingston Palmer wrote a letter of apology, and mailed it just after supper. After that he seemed more cheerful. Robert concluded that his heart was not quite broken.
The next day about eleven o'clock a large dark-complexioned man with black hair and whiskers and a deep, hoarse voice entered the office.
"What can I do for you, sir?" asked Robert, who was nearest the door.
"Is Mr. Livingston Palmer employed here?"
"Yes, sir. That is he."
The new arrival strode up to where Palmer was standing.
"Mr. Palmer," he said. "I have received your letter. I am Peter Churchill."
Palmer turned pale, his knees knocked together, and he looked terror-stricken.
