Helping Himself

TWO VIEWS OF TOM CALDER

Thus far nothing had been said about the compensation Grant was to receive for his work in the broker’s office.  He did not like to ask, especially as he knew that at the end of the first week the matter would be settled.  When he found that he was to remain for the present at the house of his employer he concluded that his cash pay would be very small, perhaps a dollar a week.  However, that would be doing quite as well as if he paid his own board elsewhere, while he enjoyed a much more agreeable and luxurious home.  He would be unable to assist his father for a year or two; but that was only what he had a right to expect.

When Saturday afternoon came, Mr. Reynolds said:  “By the way, Grant, I must pay you your week’s wages.  I believe no sum was agreed upon.”

“No, sir.”

“We will call it six dollars.  Will that be satisfactory?”

“Very much so, Mr. Reynolds; but there will be a deduction for board.”

Mr. Reynolds smiled.

“That is a different matter,” he said.  “That comes to you as Herbert’s companion.  It is worth that to me to have my boy’s happiness increased.”

Grant was overjoyed at the bright prospect opened before him, and he said, with glowing face:  “You are very kind, Mr. Reynolds.  Now I shall be able to help my father.”

“That is very creditable to you, my boy.  Willis, you may pay Grant six dollars.”

Willis Ford did so, but he looked very glum.  He estimated that, including his board, Grant would be in receipt of twelve dollars a week, or its equivalent, and this was only three dollars less than he himself received, who had been in the office five years and was a connection of the broker.

“It’s a shame,” he thought, “that this green, country boy should be paid nearly as much as I—­I must call and tell mother.”

Grant was a very happy boy that evening.  He resolved to lay aside three dollars a week to send to his mother, to save up a dollar a week and deposit it in some savings bank, and make the other two dollars answer for his clothing and miscellaneous expenses.

On the next Monday afternoon Grant walked home alone, Mr. Reynolds having some business which delayed him.  He thought he would walk up Broadway, as there was much in that crowded thoroughfare to amuse and interest him.

Just at the corner of Canal Street he came across Tom Calder.  Tom was standing in a listless attitude with his hands in his pockets, with apparently no business cares weighing upon his mind.

“Hello, Grant!” he said, with sudden recognition.

“How are you, Tom?”

“I’m all right, but I’m rather hard up.”

Grant was not surprised to hear that.

“You see, there’s a feller owes me seven dollars, and I can’t get it till next week,” continued Tom, watching Grant’s face to see if he believed it.

Grant did not believe it, but did not think it necessary to say so.

“That’s inconvenient,” he remarked.

“I should say it was.  You couldn’t lend me a couple of dollars, could you?”

“I don’t think I could.”

Tom looked disappointed.

“How much do you get?” he asked.

“Six dollars a week.”

“That’s pretty good, for a boy like you.  I wish you’d take a room with me.  It would come cheaper.”

“I shall stay where I am for the present,” said Grant.

He did not care to mention, unless he were asked, that he was making his home at the house of Mr. Reynolds, as it might either lead to a call from Tom, whom he did not particularly care to introduce to his new friends, or might lead to a more pressing request for a loan.

“Where are you boarding?” asked Grant, after a pause.

“In Clinton Place.  I have a room there, and get my meals where I like.  There’s a chap from your office that lives in the same house.”

“Who is it?” asked Grant, anxiously.

“It’s Willis Ford.”

“Is that so?” returned Grant, in surprise.  “Do you know him?”

“Only a little.  I don’t like him.  He’s too stuck up.”

Grant made no comment, but in his heart he agreed with Tom.

“Are you doing anything?” he asked.

“Not just yet,” answered Tom, “I expect a good job soon.  You haven’t a quarter to spare, have you?” Grant produced the desired sum and handed it to his companion.  He didn’t fancy Tom, but he was willing to help him in a small way.

“Thanks,” said Tom.  “That’ll buy my supper.  I’ll give it back to you in a day or two.”

Grant did not think there was much likelihood of that, but felt that he could afford to lose this small sum.

Four days later he met Tom in Wall Street.  But what a change!  He was attired in a new suit, wore a fancy necktie, while a chain, that looked like gold, dangled from his watch pocket.  Grant stared at him in amazement.

“How are you, Grant?” said Tom, patronizingly.

“Very well, thank you.”

“I hope you are a-doin’ well.”

“Very well.  You seem to be prosperous.”

“Yes,” answered Tom, languidly, evidently enjoying his surprise.  “I told you I expected to get into something good.  By the way, I owe you a quarter—­there it is.  Much obliged for the accommodation.”

Grant pocketed the coin, which he had never expected to receive, and continued to regard Tom with puzzled surprise.  He could not understand what business Tom could have found that had so altered his circumstances.  He ventured to inquire.

“I wouldn’t mind tellin’ you,” answered Tom, “but, you see, it’s kind of confidential.  I’m a confidential agent; that’s it.”

“It seems to be a pretty good business,” remarked Grant.

“Yes, it is; I don’t work for nothin’, I can tell you that.”

“I’m glad of your good luck, Tom,” said Grant, and he spoke sincerely.  “I hope you’ll keep your agency.”

“Oh, I guess I will!  A feller like me is pretty sure of a good livin’, anyway.  Hello, Jim!”

This last was addressed to a flashily dressed individual—­the same one, in fact, that Grant had seen on a former occasion with Tom.

“Who’s your friend?” asked Jim, with a glance at Grant.

“Grant Thornton.  He’s from my place in the country.  He’s in the office of Mr. Reynolds, a broker in New Street.”

“Introduce me.”

“Grant, let me make you acquainted with my friend, Jim Morrison,” said Tom, with a flourish.

“Glad to make your acquaintance, Mr. Thornton,” said Jim Morrison, jauntily, offering his hand.

“Thank you,” said Grant, in a reserved tone; for he was not especially attracted by the look of Tom’s friend.  He shook hands, however.

“Come ‘round and see us some evenin’, Grant,” said Tom.  “We’ll take you round, won’t we, Jim?”

“Of course we will.  Your friend should see something of the city.”

“You’re the feller that can show him.  Well, we must be goin’.  It’s lunch time.”

Tom pulled out a watch, which, if not gold, was of the same color as gold, and the two sauntered away.

“What in the world can Tom have found to do?” Grant wondered.