The Errand Boy; Or, How Phil Brent Won Success, Jr. Horatio Alger [beach read .TXT] 📗
- Author: Jr. Horatio Alger
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“I am sure he would,” said Phil warmly.
“But he is in Florida, and will probably remain there for a month or two at least,” said Mrs. Forbush, sighing. “But even if he were in the city I suppose Lavinia would do all in her power to keep us apart.”
“I have no doubt she would, Mrs. Forbush. Though she is your cousin, I dislike her very much.”
“I suppose the boy with whom you were talking was her son Alonzo?”
“Yes; he is about the most disagreeable boy I ever met. Both he and his mother seem very much opposed to my having an interview with your uncle.”
“Lavinia was always of a jealous and suspicious disposition,” said Mrs. Forbush. “I have not seen Alonzo since he was a baby. He is two years older than my Julia. He was born before I estranged my relatives by marrying a poor man.”
“What are you going to do, Mrs. Forbush, about the rent?” asked Phil, in a tone of sympathy.
“I don't know. I shall try to get the landlord to wait, but I don't know how he will feel about it.”
“I wish I had plenty of money. I would gladly lend you all you need.”
“I am sure you would, Philip,” said Mrs. Forbush. “The offer does me good, though it is not accompanied by the ability to do what your good heart dictates. I feel that I am not without friends.”
“I am a very poor one,” said Phil. “The fact is, I am in trouble myself. My income is only five dollars a week, and my expenses are beyond that. I don't know how I am going to keep up.”
“You may stay with me for three dollars a week, if you cannot pay four,” said Mrs. Forbush, forgetting her own troubles in her sympathy with our hero.
“No, Mrs. Forbush, you can't afford it. You need money as much as I do, and perhaps more; for you have more than yourself to support.”
“Yes, poor Julia!” sighed the mother. “She is born to a heritage of poverty. Heaven only knows how we are going to get along.”
“God will provide for us, Mrs. Forbush,” said Philip. “I don't know how it is, but in spite of my troubles I feel cheerful. I have a confidence that things will come out well, though I cannot possibly imagine how.”
“You are young, and youth is more inclined to be hopeful than maturer years. However, I do not wish to dampen your cheerfulness. Keep it, and let it comfort you.”
If Phil could have heard the conversation that took place between Mrs. Pitkin and Alonzo after their departure, he might have felt less hopeful.
“It is dreadfully annoying that that woman should turn up after all these years!” said Mrs. Pitkin, in a tone of disgust.
“Is she really your cousin, ma?” asked Alonzo.
“Yes, but she disgraced herself by a low marriage, and was cast off.”
“That disposes of her, then?”
“I don't know. If she could meet Uncle Oliver, I am afraid she would worm herself into his confidence and get him to do something for her. Then it is unfortunate that she and that boy have fallen in with each other. She may get him to speak to Uncle Oliver in her behalf.”
“Isn't he working for pa?”
“Yes.”
“Why don't you get pa to discharge him while Uncle Oliver is away?”
“Well thought of, Alonzo! I will speak to your father this very evening.”
CHAPTER XXII. PHIL IS “BOUNCED.”
Saturday, as is usual in such establishments, was pay-day at the store of Phil's employers. The week's wages were put up in small envelopes and handed to the various clerks.
When Phil went up to the cashier to get his money he put it quietly into his vest-pocket.
Daniel Dickson, the cashier, observing this, said:
“Brent, you had better open your envelope.”
Rather surprised, Phil nevertheless did as requested.
In the envelope, besides the five-dollar bill representing his week's salary, he found a small slip of paper, on which was written these ominous words:
“Your services will not be required after this week.” Appended to this notice was the name of the firm.
Phil turned pale, for to him, embarrassed as he was, the loss of his place was a very serious matter.
“What does this mean, Mr. Dickson?” he asked quickly.
“I can't inform you,” answered the cashier, smiling unpleasantly, for he was a selfish man who sympathized with no one, and cared for no one as long as he himself remained prosperous.
“Who handed you this paper?” asked Phil.
“The boss.”
“Mr. Pitkin?”
“Of course.”
Mr. Pitkin was still in his little office, and Phil made his way directly to him.
“May I speak to you, sir?” asked our hero.
“Be quick about it then, for I am in a hurry,” answered Pitkin, in a very forbidding tone.
“Why am I discharged, sir?”
“I can't go into details. We don't need you any longer.”
“Are you not satisfied with me?”
“No!” said Pitkin brusquely.
“In what respect have I failed to satisfy you, sir?”
“Don't put on any airs, boy!” returned Pitkin. “We don't want you, that's all.”
“You might have given me a little notice,” said Phil indignantly.
“We made no stipulation of that kind, I believe.”
“It would only be fair, sir.”
“No impertinence, young man! I won't stand it! I don't need any instructions as to the manner of conducting my business.”
Phil by this time perceived that his discharge was decided upon without any reference to the way in which he had performed his duties, and that any discussion or remonstrance would be unavailing.
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