Cast Upon the Breakers by Jr. Horatio Alger (i love reading books TXT) 📕

“Oh, thank you, ma’am! you’re a gentleman,” said Mike overjoyed. “No, I don’t mean that but I hope you’ll soon get a handsome husband.”

“My young friend, I don’t care to marry, though I appreciate your good wishes. I am an old maid from principle. I am an officer of the Female Suffrage Association.”

“Is it a good payin’ office, ma’am?” asked Mike, visibly impressed.

“No, but it is a position of responsibility. Please tell me your name that I may make a note of it.”

“My name is Michael Flynn.”

“I see. You are of Celtic extraction.”

“I don’t know, ma’am. I never heard that I was. It isn’t anything bad, is it?”

“Not at all. I have some Celtic blood in my own veins. If you ever come to Boston you can inquire for Miss Pauline Peabody.”

“Thank you, ma’am,” said Mike, who thought the lady rather a “queer lot.”

“Now I must call upon my lawyer, and leave the receipt which I came so near losing.”

“Well, I’m in luck,” thought Mike. “I’ll go home and dress up, and apply for a position as telegraph boy.”

When Rodney came home at supper time he found Mike, dressed in his Sunday suit.

“What’s up now, Mike?” he asked. “Have you retired from business?”

“Yes, from the bootblack business. Tomorrow I shall be a telegraph boy.”

“That is good. You haven’t saved up ten dollars, have you?”

“I saved up two, and a lady gave me ten dollars for findin’ her pocketbook.”

“That’s fine, Mike.”

There chanced to be a special demand for telegraph boys at that time, and Mike, who was a sharp lad, on passing the necessary examination, was at once set to work.

He was immensely fond of his blue uniform when he first put it on, and felt that he had risen in the social scale. True, his earnings did not average as much, but he was content with smaller pay, since the duties were more agreeable.

In the evenings under Rodney’s instruction he devoted an hour and sometimes two to the task of making up the deficiencies in his early education. These were extensive, but Mike was naturally a smart boy, and after a while began to improve rapidly.

So three months passed. Rodney stood well in with Mr. Goodnow, and was promoted to stock clerk. The discipline which he had revived as a student stood him in good stead, and enabled him to make more rapid advancement than some who had been longer in the employ of the firm. In particular he was promoted over the head of Jasper Redwood, a boy two years older than himself, who was the nephew of an old employee who had been for fifteen years in the house.

Jasper’s jealousy was aroused, and he conceived a great dislike for Rodney, of which Rodney was only partially aware.

For this dislike there was really no cause. Rodney stood in his way only because Jasper neglected his duties, and failed to inspire confidence. He was a boy who liked to spend money and found his salary insufficient, though he lived with his uncle and paid but two dollars a week for his board.

“Uncle James,” he said one day, “when do you think I will get a raise?”

“You might get one now if it were not for the new boy.”

“You mean Ropes.”

“Yes, he has just been promoted to a place which I hoped to get for you.”

“It is mean,” grumbled Jasper. “I have been here longer than he.”

“True, but he seems to be Mr. Goodnow’s pet. It was an unlucky day for you when he got a place in the establishment.”

“Did you ask Mr. Goodnow to promote me?”

“Yes, but he said he had decided to give Archer’s place to Ropes.”

Archer was a young clerk who was obliged, on account of pulmonary weakness, to leave New York and go to Southern California.

“How much does Ropes get now?”

“Seven dollars a week.”

“And I only get five, and I am two years older. They ought to have more regard for you, Uncle James, or I, as your nephew, would get promoted.”

“I will see what we can do about it.”

“I wish Ropes would get into some scrape and get discharged.”

It was a new idea, but Jasper dwelt upon it, and out of it grew trouble for Rodney.