Rupert's Ambition

CHAPTER XII.

CLAYTON'S SCHEME

About ten o'clock in the forenoon Clarence Clayton entered the Somerset Hotel and looked about for the Orange County farmer. Clayton was clean shaved, his shoes were brilliantly polished, and there was a rose in his buttonhole.

"My dear old friend," he said, with effusion, as he espied Josiah Onthank sitting near the door, "I hope you are feeling in the best of health this fine morning."

"Thank you, Mr. Clayton. I feel pooty smart. Why, you're all dressed up. You look as if you'd just come out of a bandbox."

"Men in my position have to be particular about their appearance. Now if I was in the country I wouldn't care, but I have an appointment with Mr. Vanderbilt this morning, and, of course, I must be particular."

"Do you know Mr. Vanderbilt?" asked Mr. Onthank, considerably impressed.

"Intimately. I dined at his house last week."

Mr. Clayton took in with a quick glance the dress and outward appearance of his rustic friend. Mr. Onthank certainly did not look as if he had just stepped out of a bandbox. His clothing was dusty, and his shoes were innocent of blacking.

"My friend," he said, "if you will pardon the suggestion, it would be well to have your boots blacked."

"I didn't bring any blacking with me," responded the farmer. "Besides, I had 'em blacked last Sunday."

"As you are going to Wall Street, and may meet some of the prominent people of the city, it will be well to have them blacked this morning. Leave it to me. I will find a boy who will do it for a nickel."

"I always black my own boots when I am to home."

"In the city we employ bootblacks."

"Five cents seems pooty good pay for blackin' boots. It don't take more'n five minutes."

"Oh, well, the poor boys need the money. I look upon it in that light."

"To be sure!" and Mr. Onthank began to look upon his companion as a very kind-hearted man.

Out in the street they came upon a boy who was quite ready to undertake the job. Before he got through, however, he began to think there wasn't much profit in it. The farmer's shoes were of cowhide, and absorbed a great deal of blacking. Still the boy was an expert, and made them look better than they ever had before.

"That's worth a dime," he said.

"I won't pay it," declared the farmer. "Ten cents for blackin' a pair of boots! Why it's ridiculous!"

There might have been an angry discussion, but Clayton drew a dime from his pocket and put it into the boy's outstretched palm.

"Very likely he's got a mother to support," he said. "Besides, he's made your boots look fine."

"That's so," assented the farmer, looking complacently at the boy's work. "He seems to know his business. Mrs. Onthank would be surprised if she could see me now."

He walked along with unwonted pride, ever and anon glancing delightedly at his renovated boots.

"I can't make 'em look like that," he said. "They look better than they did when they was new, but ten cents is an awful price to pay."

They walked along Broadway till they reached Wall Street, down which they turned.

Mr. Onthank was considerably impressed by the tall and stately buildings on Broadway.

"Is your office near here, Mr. Clayton?" he asked.

"Yes, quite near."

Near the junction of Wall and New Streets Clayton led the way into a handsome office, occupied by a firm of well-known brokers.

"This is my office," he said. "Don't ask me any questions till we come out."

They entered the room, but many were entering, and no particular notice was taken of them.

"There's a sight of clerks," said the farmer. "You must do a big business."

"We do. Wait here a minute till I speak to my cashier."

He went up to a window, and in a tone inaudible to Mr. Onthank asked the price of a particular stock. Of course an answer was given, so that they appeared to be conferring together. Then he rejoined his Orange County friend, and they walked slowly to the end of the counter.

"Now we'll go out," said Clayton. "I have one or two calls to make on the street."

"Do you trust your clerks to do the work while you are away?"

"Oh, yes, they understand their duties. Things will go on like clockwork. You see we have a perfect system."

"You don't do business alone, do you?"

"No, there are several of us in the firm. I may say frankly that I only have one-fourth interest in the business. Still I am well paid, very well paid."

"I s'pose you have to pay a big rent."

"Ten thousand dollars a year."

"You don't say! Why, you can get a big store where I live for only twelve dollars a month."

"Very likely; but there is a good deal of difference between the country and the city. Now let us walk along Broadway, down to the Battery. We will sit down there, and I will tell you what I can offer your son."

In a few minutes they were sitting on one of the benches, looking out to Governor's Island.

"It's a great privilege to live in New York, Mr. Onthank. I think your son would enjoy it."

"I know he would. Why, Ephraim would give all his old boots to be at work here."

"If they were all cowhide boots like yours the offer wouldn't be very tempting," thought Clayton.

"Yes," he said, "I can easily believe it. May I ask what wages your son would expect."

"Well, I reckon twenty-five to thirty dollars a month would satisfy him."

"Twenty-five to thirty dollars a month! Why, my dear friend, what are you thinking of?"

"I thought he couldn't live in the city in good style for less," said the farmer, deprecatingly.

"Of course, of course, but you don't understand me. I wouldn't think of offering him less than seventy-five dollars a month, to begin with."

"Gosh! you don't mean it?" said the farmer, his eyes opened wide.

"Certainly I do. That is the minimum salary I pay my clerks."

"Why, Ephraim would feel as rich as a king with that salary. When can you make room for him?" he added anxiously.

"I must ask a few questions first. Has your son a fair education?"

"He attended the district school till he was fifteen."

"Then I suppose he is well up in the fundamental rules of arithmetic?"

"What's them?"

"I suppose he can add, subtract and multiply."

"Oh, yes."

"And write a fair hand?"

"He's pooty good at writin'."

"I presume he will do. Now, Mr. Onthank, I will tell you how I am placed. There will be a vacancy next week, but a merchant up town wants me very much to take his son. He will pay a liberal premium."

"What's that?"

"We always expect our clerks to pay a premium on entering our service. How much money have you brought with you?"

"I've got two hundred dollars in my wallet. But what has that to do with it?"

"A great deal, my friend. The premium must be paid down at once, and that guarantees your son the place."

"How much do you ask?"

"The merchant I refer to is willing to pay two hundred dollars, but between ourselves I don't favor engaging his son. I have been told that he drinks. I hope your son doesn't drink?"

"Ephraim drinks cider at Thanksgivin', but he never drinks anything stronger."

"I am glad to hear it. Intemperance is very objectionable in our business. Now about the premium. I will agree to take your son for a hundred and fifty dollars, though I have never before accepted less than two hundred."

"A hundred and fifty dollars is a good deal of money," said Ezekiel, cautiously.

"So it is, but think of the advantages. Think of his getting seventy-five dollars a month, to begin with. Why in six months I shall probably raise him to a hundred dollars a month."

Ezekiel Onthank was dazzled, and Clayton saw that he was. He felt that he had almost landed the fish for which he was angling.

"I guess I'll take a day to think on't," said the farmer.

"I would advise you to accept at once. The other party may get in ahead of you."

"Can't you give us the refusal of it for a day?"

"Really I don't see how I can."

"A hundred and fifty dollars is a good deal of money, and I want to think it over."

"My dear friend, I don't see the need of it. Such situations are not to be had every day. Why, the young man's salary the first year, supposing he were promoted in six months, would amount to over a thousand dollars. Deducting the premium, that would leave your son nearly nine hundred dollars. That's a good income, isn't it?"

"Yes, so 'tis. Why our minister only gets six hundred dollars a year, and he's a man of forty-odd."

"Exactly. You see what a brilliant prospect Ephraim will have. Really I ought to insist on the full premium of two hundred dollars."

Clayton did his utmost to induce the farmer to decide at once, but Mr. Onthank had promised Rupert not to do anything without talking the matter over with him, and he kept his word.

"Well," said Clayton, "I'll give in to you. I'll give you twenty-four hours to think over the matter, but of course I must ask you to pay me something for the favor. Give me five dollars on account of the premium, and you shall have a day to make up your mind."

This Mr. Onthank finally agreed to, and when the matter was settled they walked back to the Somerset Hotel.

"You had better not say much about our negotiation," Clayton advised, "till the matter is decided."

CHAPTER XIII.

CLAYTON'S DISAPPOINTMENT

Josiah Onthank never for a moment doubted the good faith of the clever swindler who was dazzling him with the prospect of a fine situation for his son. He was a man well to do, and over and above his farm was easily worth five thousand dollars in bonds and money interest.

Still he was reluctant to part with a hundred and fifty dollars, for this seemed to him a good deal of money. Yet if it would secure his son a position in the city with a large income it would be worth while. At any rate he would lay the matter before Rupert, and ask his advice.

During the afternoon he had a chance to speak with the bell-boy.

"I've got something to tell you," he said.

"All right, sir."

"I've seen the young man I spoke to you about."

"Did he make you any offer?"

"Yes; he promised to give my son a place in his office at seventy-five dollars a month."

"Where is his office?"

"In Wall Street. It's big and fine. He must do a raft of business."

"He is very kind to give your son a place."

"Yes, but he wants a premium of a hundred and fifty dollars. That's what bothers me. A hundred and fifty dollars is a pile of money. What do you think of it?"

"If you could really get a place for your son at seventy-five dollars a month—a permanent place—it would be worth the money."

"So 'twould, so 'twould. Then you'd advise me to pay the money?"

"He wants it in advance, doesn't he?"

"Yes."

"Did you get into the office?"

"Yes."

"How do you know it is his?"

"He told me so," answered Mr. Onthank, in surprise.

"Is that all the evidence you have?"

"He went and spoke to one of the men—his cashier, he told me. You don't think there's anything wrong, do you?"

"I think, Mr. Onthank, the man is trying to swindle you."

"You don't say!" ejaculated the farmer.

"Have you given him any money?"

"No. Yes, come to think on't, I have. I gave him five dollars for a refusal of the place. He said another man was after it."

"You haven't lost much yet. If you should give him a hundred and fifty dollars you would lose it all."

"What makes you think so? He seems like a gentleman."

"My information comes from a private detective."

"Well, well, I guess I've been a fool," said the farmer, in a tone of disappointment and mortification. "What do you advise me to do?"

"I will consult with the detective first, and tell you."

The next day Clarence Clayton made his appearance. Though, not quite so sanguine as at first, he still hoped to carry out his original plan and obtain possession of the bulk of the farmer's money.

He found Mr. Onthank waiting for him in the reading room.

"Well, my friend," he said, "I presume you have made up your mind to secure a position for your son?"

"You don't think you could let me have it for less?" asked Mr. Onthank, who had been instructed what to say.

"I don't see how I can. Nor can I give you long to decide. The other party is waiting for me at the Fifth Avenue Hotel, and if you don't come to terms he will."

"You see it's rather a risk," said the farmer. "Suppose I pay my money and you don't keep your part of the agreement."

"You seem to be very suspicious, Mr. Onthank," returned Clayton, assuming indignation. "I am well known in the city as a man of the highest honor."

"Just so," said the farmer. "Still, I should like to have you give me a paper, agreein' to give Ephraim a position. Then I should feel safe."

"I see no objection to that," said Clayton. "I'll make it out here."

He sat down at the table, and in a few minutes handed Ezekiel Onthank the following agreement:

"In consideration of a hundred and fifty dollars paid to me by Mr. Ezekiel Onthank, of Orange County, New York, I hereby promise to give his son Ephraim a place in my Wall Street office, with a salary to begin with of seventy-five dollars per month. The engagement is to commence on the first of next month.

"Is that satisfactory, Mr. Onthank?" he asked.

"I reckon so," said the farmer, reading the document slowly. "Do you want the money to-day?"

"Certainly."

"Then I will go and get it."

Mr. Clayton leaned back in his chair in a pleasant frame of mind. He chuckled to himself as he thought of the ease with which he had imposed upon his rural dupe.

"Mr. Onthank thinks he is sharp," he soliloquized. "He may change his opinion after awhile."

The farmer did not keep him waiting long. He re-entered the reading room, but not alone. Richard Darke was with him.

Clarence Clayton started to his feet in dismay. He recognized the detective at once.

"Sit down, Mr. Clayton," said Darke, smoothly. "I see you have been doing a stroke of business with my friend, Mr. Onthank."

Clayton did not speak. He did not know what to say.

"Let me see the paper, Mr. Onthank."

The farmer handed it to the detective, who read it aloud slowly.

"You agree to give his son a situation in your Wall Street office? By the way, where is the office?" and the detective bent a penetrating glance on the face of the adventurer.

"I believe I made a little mistake," muttered Clayton. "Give me back the paper, and I will correct it."

"It is quite immaterial. It will do as it stands. You have not told me where your office is."

"I took him into it."

"Have you given him any money, Mr. Onthank?"

"I gave him five dollars yesterday."

"What for?"

"To get the refusal of the place."

"Very good. I see Mr. Clayton is a man of business. On the whole, however, I don't think you have got full value for your money. Young man, I will trouble you to return the five dollars to my country friend."

"I—I am afraid I haven't got it with me," said Clayton, uncomfortably.

"How much have you?"

After searching his pockets the adventurer produced two dollars.

"Will it be convenient for you to remain in the city and prosecute this man?" asked the detective, turning to the farmer.

"No—no. I want to leave town this afternoon."

"Then I am afraid we shall have to let him go. The three dollars you have lost you must consider paid for experience. If it makes you more cautious in future it will be well expended."

"So 'twill, so 'twill," said the farmer. "Much obleeged to ye, squire, for gettin' me out of a scrape."

"You are still more indebted to the young bell-boy," indicating Rupert. "Let me suggest that you can't do better than to offer him the money you have saved from our sharp friend here."

"I'll do better than that," said the farmer. "I will give him ten dollars. He has saved me from making a fool of myself."

"You see, Clayton," said the detective, "that it is better to be honest than a knave. The bell-boy has made more in this affair than you."

"Can I go?" asked Clayton, crestfallen.

"Yes, and don't let me see you here again. I shall have my eye on you, and the next time you won't get off so easily."

Clayton lost no time in availing himself of this permission. In sadness and disappointment he left the hotel, inwardly resolving never to enter it again.

"Why wasn't I satisfied with the five dollars?" he asked himself. "Confound that young bell-boy! He has spoiled my game. But for him I would be able to live in clover for a couple of months."

The farmer started on his return to Orange County in the afternoon. Before going he handed Rupert a ten-dollar bill.

The bell-boy was surprised. He knew nothing of Mr. Darke's recommendation, and did not expect such liberality from Ezekiel Onthank, whom he looked upon as a poor man.

"I don't think I ought to take it, Mr. Onthank," he said.

"You needn't hesitate, sonny. I can afford it. I don't wear as good clothes as the young sprig that tried to swindle me, but I ain't a poor man by no means. If you ever have time to pay me a visit in Orange County I'll make you welcome and see that you have a good time."

"Thank you, Mr. Onthank. If I should hear of a good situation for your son I will let you know, and I won't charge a hundred and fifty dollars for it, either. I haven't got an office in Wall Street, though."

"That was a good joke. That 'ere Clayton was a pooty smart rascal, after all."

"Ho, ho!" laughed the farmer.

"Shall you invite him to visit you in Orange County, Mr. Onthank?"

"I guess he wouldn't accept. We live plain, and he's a rich Wall Street broker. But we'll be glad to see you at any time."

CHAPTER XIV.

THE YOUNG NEWSBOY

Rupert had engaged a room on Bleecker Street. It is not a fashionable locality, but the time was when A. T. Stewart and other men of social standing lived upon it.

Rupert's room, a small hall bedroom, cost him two dollars per week. It was rather large for a hall room, and was clean and well furnished, beyond the average of such rooms in that locality. The house was kept by a widow, a Mrs. Stetson, a good, hard-working woman, who deserved a better fate than the position of a lodging-house keeper.

Usually Rupert reached his room about eight o'clock in the evening. He left the hotel at seven, and stopped for supper on the way. Arrived at his room he generally spent an hour in reading or studying (he had undertaken to review his arithmetic, thinking that some time he might obtain a situation where a good knowledge of that science might be needed).

He had nearly reached the house where he lodged on the evening after the departure of Mr. Onthank from the Somerset Hotel, when his attention was drawn to a boy of ten with a bundle of the "Evening News" under his arm. He was shedding tears quietly. Rupert had a warm heart and was always kind to younger boys.

He was touched by the little fellow's evident distress and spoke to him.

"What is the matter, Johnny?" he asked.

"I can't sell my papers," answered the boy.

"How many have you got left?"

"Twelve copies."

"How many did you have in the first place?"

"Twenty."

"Then you have only sold eight?"

"Yes, sir."

"So that you are behindhand unless you sell more. Have you a father and mother living?"

The boy answered in the affirmative.

"I shouldn't think they would let you go out selling papers so late."

"They are very poor," answered the boy, in a sorrowful tone.

"Doesn't your father work?"

"Yes, he works for Mr. Lorimer, on Third Avenue."

Rupert's attention was aroused. This Lorimer, as the reader has already been told, was his father's former partner, and, as Rupert believed, the cause of his failure.

"If your father has a position I should think he would be able to support his family."

"Mr. Lorimer only pays him five dollars a week," explained the boy.

"Only five dollars a week!" repeated Rupert, in amazement. "Doesn't he pay more to his other salesmen?"

"Yes, but he knew father was poor, so he told him he must work for that or leave the store."

Rupert was not altogether surprised to hear this, as he knew that Lorimer was a mean man who had no consideration for the poor.

"Where do you live?" he asked.

"In that big house," answered the boy, pointing to a tall tenement, one of the shabbiest on the street. "We live on the fifth floor, but I guess well have to move out to-morrow."

"Why?"

"Father hasn't been able to save enough to pay the rent."

"What rent do you pay?"

"Six dollars. Father has only got three dollars toward it."

"What is your name?"

"Harry Benton."

"Well, Harry, I am not very rich, but I can help you a little. I will take all your papers, to begin with."

The little boy's face brightened.

"You are very kind," he said.

"And now you may take me to your home. Perhaps I can think of some way to relieve your father."

"Come this way, then," said Harry.

Rupert followed him to the entrance of the tenement house.

"I don't know but you'll be tired going up so many stairs," he said. "We live on the top floor."

"I'm not a very old man yet," laughed Rupert. "I guess I can stand it if you can."

The halls were dark and dingy, and there was an unwholesome tenement-house odor. Through one open door Rupert caught sight of a drunken man lying prone on the floor. Evidently the occupants of the house were for the most part of a low class. But when Rupert followed his little guide into the home of his parents on the upper floor, he found respectable, and not squalid, poverty. There was an air of neatness pervading the room, while Harry's parents looked thoroughly honest. Mr. Benton gazed inquiringly at Rupert.

"I hope you'll excuse my intrusion," said Rupert, politely, "but your little boy seemed in trouble and I ventured to come upstairs with him."

"I couldn't sell my papers," explained Harry. "He took all I had left," indicating Rupert.

"You were very kind to my little boy," said Mrs. Benton, gratefully. "Won't you sit down? This is my husband."

Mr. Benton was a man of medium size. His features were worn and sad.

"Pray take a seat," he said. "We haven't many callers and fewer friends. We can appreciate kindness, as we meet with it so seldom."

"Harry tells me you are in the employ of Mr. Lorimer on Third Avenue."

"Yes."

"He says you are poorly paid."

"Five dollars a week can hardly be considered liberal," returned Mr. Benton, with a faint smile.

"Mr. Lorimer is a very mean man."

"Do you know him?"

"Yes. He was my father's partner in Buffalo."

"Your father is not in business with him now?"

"My poor father died. I have every reason to think that Mr. Lorimer swindled him out of a large sum of money, and brought on his financial ruin."

"I am sorry to hear it," said Benton, gravely.

"Does he pay other salesmen as poorly as he pays you?"

"There may be two or three others as poorly paid, but I think that he knew of my poverty and took advantage of it. At any rate he called me to the office one day, and told me that I must accept a reduction from eight dollars to five or leave his service. You can imagine how I decided. With my wife and child to be supported I had no choice. That was a month since, and my life has been a hard struggle from that time. I have been obliged to let Harry sell papers in the streets, though the poor boy cannot earn more than from ten to fifteen cents a day in that way."

"Harry told me that you would have difficulty in paying your rent."

"Yes," answered Mr. Benton, despondently. "We lack three dollars of the sum required, and our landlord is a hard man. I am afraid we shall be turned into the street."