The Errand Boy; Or, How Phil Brent Won Success. Alger Horatio Jr.
Signor, in a pleased tone to Phil. “People point me out on the streets.”
“Very gratifying, no doubt,” said our hero, but it occurred to him that he would not care to be pointed out as a performer at Bowerman’s. Signor Orlando, however, well-pleased with himself, didn’t doubt that Phil was impressed by his popularity, and perhaps even envied it.
They didn’t stay till the entertainment was over. It was, of course, familiar to the signor, and Phil felt tired and sleepy, for he had passed a part of the afternoon in exploring the city, and had walked in all several miles.
He went back to his lodging-house, opened the door with a pass-key which Mrs. Schlessinger had given him, and climbing to his room in the third story, undressed and deposited himself in bed.
The bed was far from luxurious. A thin pallet rested on slats, so thin that he could feel the slats through it, and the covering was insufficient. The latter deficiency he made up by throwing his overcoat over the quilt, and despite the hardness of his bed, he was soon sleeping soundly.
“To-morrow I must look for a place,” he said to Signor Orlando. “Can you give me any advise?”
“Yes, my dear boy. Buy a daily paper, the Sun or Herald, and look at the advertisements. There may be some prominent business man who is looking out for a boy of your size.”
Phil knew of no better way, and he followed Signor Orlando’s advice.
After a frugal breakfast at the Bowery restaurant, he invested a few pennies in the two papers mentioned, and began to go the rounds.
The first place was in Pearl Street.
He entered, and was directed to a desk in the front part of the store.
“You advertised for a boy,” he said.
“We’ve got one,” was the brusque reply.
Of course no more was to be said, and Phil walked out, a little dashed at his first rebuff.
At the next place he found some half a dozen boys waiting, and joined the line, but the vacancy was filled before his turn came.
At the next place his appearance seemed to make a good impression, and he was asked several questions.
“What is your name?”
“Philip Brent.”
“How old are you?”
“Just sixteen.”
“How is your education?”
“I have been to school since I was six.”
“Then you ought to know something. Have you ever been in a place?”
“No, sir.”
“Do you live with your parents?”
“No, sir; I have just come to the city, and am lodging in Fifth Street.”
“Then you won’t do. We wish our boys to live with their parents.”
Poor Phil! He had allowed himself to hope that at length he was likely to get a place. The abrupt termination of the conversation dispirited him.
He made three more applications. In one of them he again came near succeeding, but once more the fact that he did not live with his parents defeated his application.
“It seems to be very hard getting a place,” thought Phil, and it must be confessed he felt a little homesick.
“I won’t make any more applications to-day,” he decided, and being on Broadway, walked up that busy thoroughfare, wondering what the morrow would bring forth.
It was winter, and there was ice on the sidewalk. Directly in front of Phil walked an elderly gentleman, whose suit of fine broadcloth and gold spectacles, seemed to indicate a person of some prominence and social importance.
Suddenly he set foot on a treacherous piece of ice. Vainly he strove to keep his equilibrium, his arms waving wildly, and his gold-headed cane falling to the sidewalk. He would have fallen backward, had not Phil, observing his danger in time, rushed to his assistance.
CHAPTER VIII
THE HOUSE IN TWELFTH STREET
With some difficulty the gentleman righted himself, and then Phil picked up his cane.
“I hope you are not hurt, sir?” he said.
“I should have been but for you, my good boy,” said the gentleman. “I am a little shaken by the suddenness of my slipping.”
“Would you wish me to go with you, sir?”
“Yes, if you please. I do not perhaps require you, but I shall be glad of your company.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“Do you live in the city?”
“Yes, sir; that is, I propose to do so. I have come here in search of employment.”
Phil said this, thinking it possible that the old gentleman might exert his influence in his favor.
“Are you dependent on what you may earn?” asked the gentleman, regarding him attentively.
“I have a little money, sir, but when that is gone I shall need to earn something.”
“That is no misfortune. It is a good thing for a boy to be employed. Otherwise he is liable to get into mischief.”
“At any rate, I shall be glad to find work, sir.”
“Have you applied anywhere yet?”
Phil gave a little account of his unsuccessful applications, and the objections that had been made to him.
“Yes, yes,” said the old gentleman thoughtfully, “more confidence is placed in a boy who lives with his parents.”
The two walked on together until they reached Twelfth Street. It was a considerable walk, and Phil was surprised that his companion should walk, when he could easily have taken a Broadway stage, but the old gentleman explained this himself.
“I find it does me good,” he said, “to spend some time in the open air, and even if walking tires me it does me good.”
At Twelfth Street they turned off.
“I am living with a married niece,” he said, “just on the other side of Fifth Avenue.”
At the door of a handsome four-story house, with a brown-stone front, the old gentleman paused, and told Phil that this was his residence.
“Then, sir, I will bid you good-morning,” said Phil.
“No, no; come in and lunch with me,” said Mr. Carter hospitably.
He had, by the way, mentioned that his name was Oliver Carter, and that he was no longer actively engaged in business, but was a silent partner in the firm of which his nephew by marriage was the nominal head.
“Thank you, sir,” answered Phil.
He was sure that the invitation was intended to be accepted, and he saw no reason why he should not accept it.
“Hannah,” said the old gentleman to the servant who opened the door, “tell your mistress that I have brought a boy home to dinner with me.”
“Yes, sir,” answered Hannah, surveying Phil in some surprise.
“Come up to my room, my young friend,” said Mr. Carter. “You may want to prepare for lunch.”
Mr. Carter had two connecting rooms on the second floor, one of which he used as a bed-chamber. The furniture was handsome and costly, and Phil, who was not used to city houses, thought it luxurious.
Phil washed his face and hands, and brushed his hair. Then a bell rang, and following his new friend, he went down to lunch.
Lunch was set out in the front basement. When Phil and Mr. Carter entered the room a lady was standing by the fire, and beside her was a boy of about Phil’s age. The lady was tall and slender, with light-brown hair and cold gray eyes.
“Lavinia,”