Chapter XI. Phil Enters Upon His Duties - Page 2

shame!" he commenced.

"What is a shame; that I should get five dollars a week?"

"No, but that I should only get a dollar a week more than an errand boy. I'm worth every cent of ten dollars a week, but the old man only gives me six. It hardly keeps me in gloves and cigars."

"Won't he give you any more?"

"No; only last month I asked him for a raise, and he told me if I wasn't satisfied I might go elsewhere."

"You didn't?"

"No, but I mean to soon. I will show old Pitkin that he can't keep a man of my experience for such a paltry salary. I dare say that Denning or Claflin would be glad to have me, and pay me what I am worth."

Phil did not want to laugh, but when Mr. Wilbur, who looked scarcely older than himself, and was in appearance but a callow youth, referred to himself as a man of experience he found it hard to resist.

"Hadn't we better be going up stairs?" asked Phil.

"All right. Follow me," said Mr. Wilbur, "and I'll take you to the superintendent of the room."

"I am to report to Mr. Pitkin himself, I believe."

"He won't be here yet awhile," said Wilbur.

But just then up came Mr. Wilbur himself, fully half an hour earlier than usual.

Phil touched his hat politely, and said:

"Good-morning."

"Good-morning!" returned his employer, regarding him sharply. "Are you the boy I hired yesterday?"

"Yes, sir."

"Come up-stairs, then."

Phil followed Mr. Pitkin up-stairs, and they walked together through the sales-room.

"I hope you understand," said Mr. Pitkin brusquely, "that I have engaged you at the request of Mr. Carter and to oblige him."

"I feel grateful to Mr. Carter," said Phil, not quite knowing what was coming next.

"I shouldn't myself have engaged a boy of whom I knew nothing, and who could give me no city references."

"I hope you won't be disappointed in me," said Phil.

"I hope not," answered Mr. Pitkin, in a tone which seemed to imply that he rather expected to be.

Phil began to feel uncomfortable. It seemed evident that whatever he did would be closely scrutinized, and that in an unfavorable spirit.

Mr. Pitkin paused before a desk at which was standing a stout man with grayish hair.

"Mr. Sanderson," he said, "this is the new errand boy. His name is--what is it, boy?"

"Philip Brent."

"You will give him something to do. Has the mail come in?"

"No; we haven't sent to the post-office yet."

"You may send this boy at once."

Mr. Sanderson