When Conrad succeeded Ben as Mrs. Hamilton's private secretary, he was elated by what he considered his promotion. His first disappointment came when he learned that his salary was to be but five dollars a week. He did not dare to remonstrate with his employer, but he expressed himself freely to his mother.
"Cousin Hamilton might afford to pay me more than five dollars a week," he said bitterly.
"It is small," said his mother cautiously, "but we must look to the future."
"If you mean till Cousin Hamilton dies, it may be twenty or thirty years. Why, she looks healthier than you, mother, and will probably live longer."
Mrs. Hill looked grave. She did not fancy this speech.
"I don't think we shall have to wait so long," she said. "When you are twenty-one Cousin Hamilton will probably do something for you."
"That's almost five years," grumbled Conrad.
"At any rate we have got Ben Barclay out of the house, that's one comfort."
"Yes, I am glad of that; but I'd rather be in my old place than this, if I am to get only five dollars a week."
"Young people are so impatient," sighed Mrs. Hill. "You don't seem to consider that it isn't alone taking Ben's place, but you have got rid of a dangerous rival for the inheritance."
"That's true," said Conrad, "and I hated Ben. I'd rather any other boy would cut me out than he."
"Do you know what has become of him?"
"No; I expect that he has gone back to the country--unless he's blacking boots or selling papers downtown somewhere. By Jove, I'd like to come across him with a blacking-brush. He used to put on such airs. I would like to have heard Cousin Hamilton give him the grand bounce."
Nothing could be more untrue than that Ben putting on airs, but Conrad saw him through the eyes of prejudice, and persuaded himself that such was the fact. In reality Ben was exceedingly modest and unassuming, and it was this among other things that pleased Mrs. Hamilton.
Conrad continued to find his salary insufficient. He was still more dissatisfied after an interview with one of his school companions, a boy employed in a Wall Street broker's office.
He was just returning from an errand on which Mrs. Hamilton had sent him, when he overtook Fred Lathrop on his way uptown.
The attention of Conrad was drawn to a heavy gold ring with a handsome stone on Fred's finger.
"Where did you get that ring?" asked Conrad, who had himself a fancy for rings.
"Bought it in Maiden Lane. How do you like it?"
"It is splendid. Do you mind telling me how much you paid?"
"I paid forty-five dollars. It's worth more."
"Forty-five dollars!" ejaculated Conrad. "Why, you must be a millionaire. Where did you get so much money?"
"I didn't find it in the street," answered Fred jocularly.
"Can't you tell a feller? You didn't save it out of your wages, did you?"
"My wages? I should say not. Why, I only get six dollars a week, and have to pay car fare and lunches out of that."
"Then it isn't equal to my five dollars, for that is all clear. But, all the same, I can't save anything."
"Nor I."
"Then how can you afford to buy forty-five dollar rings?"
"I don't mind telling you," said Fred. "I made the money by speculating."
"Speculating!" repeated Conrad, still in the dark.
"Yes. I'll tell you all about it."
"Do! there's a good fellow."
"You see, I bought fifty Erie shares on a margin."
"How's that?"
"Why I got a broker to buy me fifty shares on a margin of one per cent. He did it to oblige me. I hadn't any money to put up, but I ............
Join or Log In!
You need to log in to continue reading
(Left Keyword <-) Previous:
Chapter 33 Good News
Back
Next:
Chapter 35 Turning The Tables
(Right Keyword:->)