Chester Rand; or, The New Path to Fortune, Jr. Horatio Alger [good books for high schoolers .txt] 📗

his room. I am Rob Fisher.”

“I suppose that means Robert Fisher?”

“Yes, but everybody calls me Rob.”

“Are you a relation of Mr. Conrad?”

“Yes, I am his cousin. I live just outside of the city, but I am visiting my cousin for the day. I suppose you don’t know much about New York?”

“I know nothing at all.”

“I am pretty well posted, and I come into the city pretty often. Just follow me. Shall I carry your valise?”

“Oh, no; I am older than you and better able to carry it. What street is this?”

“Forty-second Street. We will go to Fifth Avenue, and then walk down to Thirty-fourth Street.”

“That is where Mr. Conrad lives, isn’t it?”

“Yes; it is one of the wide streets, like Fourteenth and Twenty-third, and this street.”

“There are some fine houses here.”

“I should think so. You live in Wyncombe, don’t you?”

“Yes; the houses are all of wood there.”

“I suppose so. Mr. Conrad tells me you are an artist,” said Rob, eying his new friend with curiosity.

“In a small way.”

“I should like to see some of your pictures.”

“I can show you one,” and Chester opened his copy of Puck and pointed to the sketch already referred to.

“Did you really draw this yourself?”

“Yes.”

“And did you get any money for it?”

“Ten dollars,” answered Chester, with natural pride.

“My! I wish I could get money for drawing.”

“Perhaps you can some time.”

Bob shook his head.

“I haven’t any talent that way.”

“What house is that?” asked Chester, pointing to the marble mansion at the corner of Thirty-fourth Street.

“That used to belong to A. T. Stewart, the great merchant. I suppose you haven’t any houses like that in Wyncombe?”

“Oh, no.”

“We will turn down here. This is Thirty-fourth Street.”

They kept on, crossing Sixth and Seventh Avenues, and presently stood in front of a neat, brownstone house between Seventh and Eighth Avenues.

“That is where Mr. Conrad lives,” said Rob.

CHAPTER XI.

CHESTER’S FIRST EXPERIENCES IN NEW YORK.

The bell was rung, and a servant opened the door.

“I will go up to Mr. Conrad’s room,” said Rob.

The servant knew him, and no objection was made. They went up two flights to the front room on the third floor. Rob opened the door without ceremony and entered, followed by Chester.

He found himself in a spacious room, neatly furnished and hung around with engravings, with here and there an oil painting. There was a table near the window with a portfolio on it. Here, no doubt, Mr. Conrad did some of his work. There was no bed in the room, but through an open door Chester saw a connecting bedroom.

“This is a nice room,” he said.

“Yes, cousin Herbert likes to be comfortable. Here, give me your valise, and make yourself at home.”

Chester sat down by the window and gazed out on the broad street. It was a pleasant, sunny day, and everything looked bright and attractive.

“You are going to live in New York, aren’t you?” asked Rob.

“Yes, if I can make a living here.”

“I guess cousin Herbert will help you.”

“He has already. He has obtained a place for me in a real estate office at five dollars a week.”

“I think I could live on five dollars a week.”

“I suppose it costs considerable to live in New York.”

Chester felt no apprehension, however. He was sure he should succeed, and, indeed, he had reason to feel encouraged, for had he not already engaged two hundred dollars’ worth of work?—and this sum seemed as much to him as two thousand would have done to Mr. Conrad.

An hour glided by rapidly, and then a step was heard on the stairs.

“That’s cousin Herbert,” said Rob, and he ran to open the door.

“Hello, Rob. Did you find Chester?”

“Yes, here he is!”

“Glad to see you, Chester,” said the artist, shaking his hand cordially; “you must excuse my not going to meet you, but I was busily engaged on a large drawing for Harper’s Weekly, and, feeling in a favorable mood, I didn’t want to lose the benefit of my inspiration. You will find when you have more experience that an artist can accomplish three times as much when in the mood.

“I am glad you didn’t leave off for me. Rob has taken good care of me.”

“Yes, Rob is used to the city; I thought you would be in safe hands. And how do you like my quarters?”

“They are very pleasant. And the street is so wide, too.”

“Yes, I like Thirty-fourth street. I lodge, but I don’t board here.”

Chester was surprised to hear this. In Wyncombe everyone took his meals in the same house in which he lodged.

“And that reminds me, don’t you feel hungry? I don’t ask Rob, for he always has an appetite. How is it with you, Chester?”

“I took a very early breakfast.”

“So I thought,” laughed Conrad. “Well, put on our coats, and we’ll go to Trainor’s.”

They walked over to Sixth Avenue and entered a restaurant adjoining the Standard Theater. It was handsomely decorated, and seemed to Chester quite the finest room he was ever in. Ranged in three rows were small tables, each designed for four persons. One of these was vacant, and Conrad took a seat on one side, placing the two boys opposite.

“Now,” he said, “I had better do the ordering. We will each order a different dish, and by sharing them we will have a variety.”

There is no need to mention of what the dinner consisted. All three enjoyed it, particularly the two boys. It was the first meal Chester had taken in a restaurant, and he could not get rid of a feeling of embarrassment at the thought that the waiters, who were better dressed than many of the prominent citizens of Wyncombe, were watching him. He did not, however, allow this feeling to interfere with his appetite.

“Do you always eat here, Mr. Conrad?” asked Chester.

“No; sometimes it is more convenient to go elsewhere. Now and then I take a table d’hote dinner.”

“I don’t think I can afford to come here often,” Chester remarked, after consulting the bill of fare and the prices set down opposite the different dishes.

“No; it will be better for you to secure a boarding place. You want to be economical for the present. How did you leave your mother?”

“Very well, thank you, Mr. Conrad. We have been very fortunate in securing a boarder who pays eight dollars a week, so that mother thinks she can get along for the present without help from me.”

“That is famous. Where did you get such a boarder in Wyncombe?”

“It is a lady, the cousin of Mr. Gardener, the lawyer. She will be company for mother.”

“It is an excellent arrangement. Now, boys, if you have finished, I will go up and settle the bill.”

As they left the restaurant, Mr. Conrad said:

“In honor of your arrival, I shall not work any more to-day. Now, shall we go back to my room, or would you like to take a walk and see something of the city?”

The unanimous decision was for the stroll.

Mr. Conrad walked down Broadway with the boys, pointing out any notable buildings on the way. Chester was dazzled. The great city exceeded his anticipations. Everything seemed on so grand a scale to the country boy, and with his joyous excitement there mingled the thought: “And I, too, am going to live here. I shall have a share in the great city, and mingle in its scenes every day.”

Rob was used to the city, and took matters quietly. He was not particularly impressed. Yet he could not help enjoying the walk, so perfect was the weather. As they passed Lord & Taylor’s, a lady came out of the store.

“Why, mother,” said Rob, “is that you?”

“Yes, Rob. I came in on a shopping excursion, and I want you to go with me and take care of me.”

Rob grumbled a little, but, of course, acceded to his mother’s request. So Chester was left alone with Mr. Conrad.

“How do you feel about coming to New York, Chester?” asked his friend. “You are not afraid of failure, are you?”

“No, Mr. Conrad, I feel very hopeful. Something has happened to me to-day that encourages me very much.”

“What is it?”

Chester told the story of his meeting with Prof. Hazlitt, and the proposition which had been made to him.

“Why, this is famous,” exclaimed Conrad, looking pleased. “I know of Prof. Hazlitt, though I never met him. He was once professor in a Western college, but inheriting a fortune from his uncle, came to New York to pursue his favorite studies. He does not teach now, but, I believe, delivers an annual course of lectures before the students of Columbia College. He is a shrewd man, and the offer of employment from him is indeed a compliment. I am very glad you met him. He may throw other work in your way.”

“I hope I can give him satisfaction,” said Chester. “It makes me feel rich whenever I think of the sum I am to receive. Two hundred dollars is a good deal of money.”

“To a boy like you, yes. It doesn’t go very far with me now. It costs a good deal for me to live. How much do you think I have to pay for my room—without board?”

“Three dollars a week,” guessed Chester.

Mr. Conrad smiled.

“I pay ten dollars a week,” he said.

Chester’s breath was quite taken away.

“Why, I did not think the whole house would cost as much—for rent.”

“You will get a more correct idea of New York expenses after a while. Now, let me come back to your plans. You had better stay with me for a few days.”

“But I am afraid I shall be putting you to inconvenience, Mr. Conrad.”

“No; it will be pleasant for me to have your company. On Monday morning I will go with you to the office of the real estate broker who is to employ you.”

Chester passed Sunday pleasantly, going to church in the forenoon, and taking a walk with Mr. Conrad in the afternoon. He wrote a short letter to his mother, informing her of his safe arrival in the city, but not mentioning his engagement by Prof. Hazlitt. He preferred to wait till he had an interview with the professor, and decided whether he could do the work satisfactorily.

“Your future employer is Clement Fairchild,” said the artist. “His office is on West Fourteenth Street, between Seventh and Eight Avenues.”

“What sort of a man is he?” asked Chester.

“I don’t know him very well, but I believe he does a very good business. You will know more about him in a week than I can tell you. There is one comfort, and that is that you are not wholly dependent upon him. I advise you, however, to say nothing in the office about your art work. Business men sometimes have a prejudice against outside workers. They feel that an employee ought to be solely occupied with their interests.”

“I will remember what you say, Mr. Conrad.”

Chester looked forward with considerable curiosity and some anxiety to his coming interview with Mr. Fairchild.

CHAPTER XII.

A REAL ESTATE OFFICE.

About eight o’clock on Monday morning Chester, accompanied by his friend Conrad, turned down Fourteenth Street from Sixth Avenue and kept on till they reached an office over which was the sign:

“Clement Fairchild, Real Estate.”

“This is the place, Chester,” said the artist. “I will go in and introduce you.”

They entered the office. It was of fair size, and contained a high desk, an office table covered with papers, and several chairs. There was but one person in the office, a young man with black whiskers and mustache and an unamiable expression. He sat on a high stool, but he was only reading the morning paper. He turned lazily as he heard the door open, and let his glance rest on Mr. Conrad.

“What can I do for you?” he asked, in a careless tone.

“Is Mr. Fairchild in?” asked the artist.

“No.”

“When will he be in?”

“Can’t say, I am sure. If you have any business, I will attend to it.”

“I have no special business, except to introduce my young friend here.”

“Indeed!” said the clerk, impudently. “Who