Part 37 (1/2)

CHAPTER XXVIII.

IN BUSINESS FOR HIMSELF.

Only strong characters are able to lift themselves out of poverty and adversity by sheer force of will, unaided by any one. Such a character Herbert Randolph proved himself to be. For nearly three months he had faced the most discouraging prospects. With education, with a knowledge of accounts, with splendid intelligence, with manly pride and n.o.ble ambition, he went from luxurious banking apartments to the cold wintry streets, down, down the cheerless and grim descent, till he reached the bottom, where he found himself in compet.i.tion with the dregs of humanity--one of them, as far as his employment went. Imagine this proud spirited boy humbled to the degree of bidding side by side for work with a ragged Italian, a broken down and blear eyed drunkard, a cruel faced refugee from the penitentiary, or a wretched, unkempt tramp. How his young, brave heart must have ached as he found himself working on the hoist or in the street with loathsome characters of this sort--characters that purity and self respect could only shun as a pestilence.

But this he was forced to do--either this, or to acknowledge his city career a failure, and return home with crushed spirits and shattered pride, a disappointment to his father and mother and the b.u.t.t of rude rural jokes for his more or less envious neighbors.

The latter is just what most boys would have done, but not so young Randolph. His eyes were closed to any such escape from his present wretched condition. Herein he showed his superior strength. But how little he realized, as he worked with dogged determination at these cheerless tasks, that this very employment would lead him into the light, as it ultimately did. Boys see nothing but drudgery in such employment, or in any humble position. They want to commence work at something genteel. An easy clerical position like the one young Randolph had with Mr. Goldwin appeals strongly to their taste. Fine clothes, white hands, little work and short hours--these are in great demand among boys. Young Randolph, indeed, was no exception to the rule. He sought a position in a bank and got it. Fortunately for him, however, the bank failed, and he was thrown into the streets. But for this he would have been a clerk still--a little three dollar machine, which bears no patent, and possesses no especial value over the ten thousand other machines capable of performing similar work. His dream of wealth and position would in all probability never have materialized. He would doubtless have in time become a head clerk at a respectable salary. But how little this would have satisfied his ambition! His desire to be at the head of the firm could never have been realized, for he would not have had the money to place himself there. The result would have been clerking, clerking, miserable, aimless clerking, and nothing more.

But now, through what seemed to him his misfortune had come good fortune--through the drudgery of the hoist had come a business of his own--a growing, paying, business--_a business of great possibilities_.

The suffering he had undergone did him no permanent harm. On the contrary it enabled him to appreciate more keenly the opportunity he now had for making money and supplying himself with the necessaries, and some of the luxuries, of life.

Young Randolph's brokerage business grew day by day as he added new customers and learned how to manage it more successfully. In a little time he saw the necessity of having a place where his customers could reach him by mail or messenger. He therefore arranged with a party on Na.s.sau Street to allow him desk room. Then followed this card:

+------------------------------------------------+ | HERBERT RANDOLPH, | | | | 111 Na.s.sAU STREET, | | | | BUYS AND SELLS NEW YORK. | | ALL KINDS OF FOREIGN COIN AND PAPER. | | | | United States Silver and Postage | | Stamps a Specialty. | +------------------------------------------------+

It was with much pleasure that he studied these neatly printed cards.

The first thing he did after receiving them from the printer was to inclose one in a letter to his mother. He had already written her glowing accounts of his growing business, and he felt that this card would give a realism to his pen pictures that he had been unable to impart. He thought long and with pride how sacredly that little bit of pasteboard would be treasured by his parents--how proudly they would show it to their neighbors, and the comments that it would bring forth.

Then he took one over to Bob Hunter, who exhibited no little surprise as he read it admiringly.

Later in the evening he and the newsboy went as usual to visit Tom Flannery, who now, poor boy, seemed to be yielding to that dread disease--consumption. How his face brightened up as he looked at the card with scarcely less pride than if it had been his own!

”I wish I could get into that business, Herbert, when I get well,” said he, turning the card languidly in his thin, emaciated fingers; ”you'n'

me'n' Bob. Yes, I would like that, for we always had such good times together, didn't we, Bob?”

”Yes, we did, Tom,” answered Bob, tenderly. ”I guess as good times as anybody ever had, even if we didn't have much money.”

”So I think, Bob. I've thought of it a good many times while I've been sick here--of the detective business and all, and how grand you managed the whole thing. But then you always done everything grand, Bob. None er the boys could do it like you.”

”You do some things much better than I could, Tom,” said Bob.

”No, Bob. I never could do nothing like you.”

”You bear your sickness more patiently than I could, and that is harder to do than anything I ever did,” replied Bob.

”Well, I have to do it, you know, Bob. There ain't no other way, is there, Herb----”

The last part of the word was lost in violent coughing that racked the boy's feeble frame terribly.

”I am afraid you are talking too much, Tom,” said Herbert. ”We must not allow you to say any more at present.”

Ten days later, and Tom had grown too weak to be dressed. Part of the time he lay bolstered up in bed, but even this taxed his strength too heavily. He had become very much wasted, and was little more than a skeleton. All hope of his recovery had been given up, and it was now simply a question of how long he could be kept alive. Bob and Herbert brought him choice fruits, and drew liberally from their slender purses, to buy for him whatever would tend to make him more comfortable or would gratify his fancy.

Poor Mrs. Flannery was almost overcome with sorrow as she saw her boy wasting away and sinking lower and lower as each day pa.s.sed by. He was her only child, and she loved him with all the force of her great mother's heart.

At length the end came. Bob and Herbert were present with the grief-stricken mother, trying to comfort her and struggling to repress the sorrow each felt at the close approach of death.