Joe the Hotel Boy; Or, Winning out by Pluck, Pluck by Jr. Horatio Alger [ereader android txt] 📗
- Author: Pluck by Jr. Horatio Alger
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Having finished, our hero paid his bill and left the restaurant. He scarcely knew which way to turn, but resolved to look over the newspapers first and see if any positions were offered.
While in the reading room he saw Josiah Bean and his acquaintance leave the hotel and walk in the direction of Broad street.
A little later Joe took from the paper he was reading the addresses of several people who wanted help, and then he, too, left the hotel.
The first place he called at was a florist's establishment, but the pay was so small he declined the position.
“I could not live on three dollars per week,” he said.
“That is all we care to pay,” answered the proprietor, coldly. “It is more than other establishments pay.”
“Then I pity those who work at the other places,” returned Joe, and walked out.
CHAPTER XV.
WHAT HAPPENED TO JOSIAH BEAN.
In the meantime Josiah Bean and the slick-looking individual turned into Broad street and made their way to a certain establishment known as the Eagle's Club.
Here Henry Davis called another man aside.
“Say, Foxy, do you know anybody down to Barwell & Cameron's?” he asked, in a low tone, so that the old farmer could not hear.
“Yes—a clerk named Chase.”
“Then come down and introduce me.”
“What's the game?”
“Never mind—there's a tenner in it for you if it works.”
“Then I'm on, Bill.”
“Hush—my name is Henry Davis.”
“All right, Hank,” returned Foxy, carelessly.
He came forward and was introduced to the old farmer in the following fashion:
“Mr. Richard Barlow—of Barlow & Small, manufacturers.”
All three made their way to the establishment of Barwell & Cameron, and then Henry Davis was introduced under that name to a clerk.
As soon as Foxy had departed the slick-looking individual turned to the clerk and called the old farmer forward.
“This is my esteemed friend, Mr. Josiah Bean, of Haydown Center. He has business with Mr. Cameron, I believe.”
“I'm here to collect six hundred dollars,” said Josiah Bean. “Mr. Cameron writ me some letters about it.”
“Very well, sir. Sit down, gentlemen, and I'll tell Mr. Cameron.”
The two were kept waiting for a few minutes and were then ushered into a private office. Through Chase, the clerk, Henry Davis was introduced and then Josiah Bean. All the papers proved to be correct, and after the old farmer had signed his name he was given a check.
“See here, I want the cash,” he demanded.
“Very well,” said Mr. Cameron. “Indorse the check and I'll have the money drawn for you across the street.”
The farmer wrote down his name once more, and a few minutes later received his six hundred dollars in twelve brand-new fifty-dollar bills.
“Gosh! Them will be nice fer Mirandy to look at,” was his comment, as he surveyed the bills.
“Be careful that you don't lose them, Mr. Bean,” cautioned Henry Davis, as the two left the establishment.
“Reckon the best thing I can do is to git back to hum this afternoon,” remarked Josiah Bean, when he was on the street.
“Oh, now you are in town you'll have to look around a bit,” said the slick-looking individual. “You can take a train back to-morrow just as well. Let me show you a few of the sights.”
This tickled the old farmer and he agreed to remain over until the next noon. Then Henry Davis dragged the old man around to various points of interest and grew more familiar than ever.
While they were at the top of one of the big office buildings Henry Davis pretended to drop his pocketbook.
“How careless of me!” he cried.
“Got much in it?” queried Josiah Bean.
“Three thousand dollars.”
“Do tell! It's a powerful sight o' money to carry so careless like.”
“It is. Maybe you had better carry it for me, Mr. Bean.”
“Not me! I ain't goin' to be responsible fer nobody's money but my own—an' Mirandy's.”
“Better see if your own money is safe.”
Josiah Bean got out his wallet and counted the bills.
“Safe enough.”
“Are you sure? I thought there was only five hundred and fifty.”
“No, six hundred.”
“I'll bet you ten dollars on it.”
“What! can't I count straight,” gasped the old farmer, much disturbed. “Six hundred I tell you,” he added, after he had gone over the amount once more.
“If there is I'll give you the ten dollars,” answered the slick one. “Let me count the bills.”
“All right, there ye be, Mr. Davis.”
Henry Davis took the wallet and pretended to count the bills.
“Hullo, what's that?” he cried, whirling around.
“What's wot?” demanded Josiah Bean, also looking around.
“I thought I heard somebody cry fire.”
“Don't say thet! Say, let's git out o' here—I don't want to look at the sights.”
“All right—here's your money. I guess it's six hundred after all,” answered the slick-looking individual, passing over the wallet.
They hurried to the elevator and got into quite a crowd of people.
“Wait for me here,” said Henry Davis, as they walked past the side corridor. “I want to step in yonder office and send a message to a friend.”
He ran off, leaving the old farmer by himself. Josiah Bean looked around him nervously.
“I guess that wasn't no cry o' fire after all,” he mused. “Well, if there's a fire I kin git out
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