"You're a brick! My name is Land Limpedon. What's yours?"

"Philip Farringford."

"Capital! Philip Farringford, I'm deuced glad to see you if you are to be the entry clerk. I've had to do some of that work, and I don't like it. I don't think writing is my forte. I suppose you can write."

"I can make my mark."

"That's about all I can do. You have come at just the right time. We are driven with business. By the way, you needn't wait for Mr.

Whippleton. I'll set you at work. I've just sold a bill, and want it entered. Take your pen, old boy, and show us whether you can spatter the ink or not. By the way, are you a hard brick or a soft brick?"

"I think you will find me a hard brick," I replied, at a venture, for I had no idea of the technical significance of the terms he used.

"Capital! That's a Chicago brick. Did you come from the country?"

"I came from St. Louis."

"Capital, still! You don't smell of mullein and cornstalks. Here's a good pen. Just enter these items, and give me a bill of them," he rattled on, taking a memorandum book from his side pocket. "A Chicago brick! That's the brick for me."

I took the pen, and stood at the desk.

"I can break you in before Whippleton gets here. Now, charge, F. P.

Moleuschott--got that down?"

"Yes."

"Capital! The point of your pen is greasy. But I'll bet a quarter you didn't spell the man's name right," he added, looking at the page of the sales book where I had entered it. "'Pon my word you did, though!

These Dutchmen's names bothered me so that I used to get almost choked to death before I could speak one of them."

I had always been a diligent student of the literature of the sign-boards, and I was tolerably familiar even with German proper names. It is a good plan for a young man who is going into business to read the signs in the streets as he pa.s.ses along.

Mr. Land Limpedon rattled off a long bill of small items, and jumbled in the technical terms of the trade, with the evident intention of bothering me; but I was posted, and did not have to ask him to repeat a single item. I entered the charge, and made out the bill.

"Capital!" exclaimed the young salesman, as he glanced at the bill. "I couldn't have done it any better myself."

I was willing to believe him as I glanced at the page of the sales book where he had made entries, and saw what a villanous hand he wrote, and what blots and blunders he had inflicted upon the innocent white paper.

However, he was good-natured, and did not pretend to be a book-keeper; so I was willing to forgive him.

"What time does Mr. Collingsby come to the counting-room?" I asked, as he was looking over the bill.

"The young man comes about nine or ten; but he don't stay here much of the time. Some days the old gentleman looks in about eleven, and some days he don't," replied Land, as he left the office.

I was at the desk, and had made my first debit. The situation was novel, but it was pleasing. It was DESK AND DEBIT, for which I had been seeking for weeks.

The counting-room was divided into two apartments. In the first, which occupied the front of the building, were the desk, the safe, the books, and the papers. All the general business of the firm was transacted here; and my position was behind the desk in this room. Separated from it by a part.i.tion composed mostly of ground gla.s.s windows was the other apartment, whose interior I had not yet seen. As Mr. Whippleton was the bookkeeper, and had the general charge of the finances of the firm, I concluded that the interior room was appropriated to the use of the dignified senior partner and his father, the special partner, when the latter chose to honor the establishment with his presence.

While I was taking a deliberate survey of the premises where I was to pa.s.s at least several weeks, two salesmen, with their memoranda in their hands, bustled into the counting-room, each attended by a customer, to whom he had sold a bill of lumber. They had been informed by Land of the debut of the new entry clerk, and they read off their sales to me, which I entered upon the book, giving them bills for the purchasers. One of them paid his bill, and I was looking for the cash book when Mr. Whippleton made his appearance.

"So you are really at work, Philip," said he, as he glanced at the sales book.

"Yes, sir; I have made a beginning. I was looking for the cash book, sir."

"I keep the cash book myself," added he, in a manner which indicated that I was not to meddle with it.

But I found enough to do in making bills and charges. It was early in the spring, and there was a great deal of building in the city.

Business was very driving, and I had all I could do. It was the same thing over and over again all day long; but I enjoyed my occupation in spite of its monotony.

About nine o'clock Mr. Richard Collingsby entered the counting-room. He pa.s.sed my desk, glanced at me, and entered the sacred precincts of his sanctorum. Mr. Whippleton immediately made him a visit, and doubtless informed his senior that he had engaged an entry clerk. I did not see the dignified partner again till he left the counting-room at two o'clock. He did not even glance at me this time, and probably had no suspicion that he had ever seen me before. I was too insignificant a mortal to engage his attention even for a single instant. Yet he was my own uncle, though I might be in the same office with him for years without his knowing the fact.

At twelve o'clock I went to dinner. As I pa.s.sed through the yard, I saw lying on the bank of the river a beautiful sail-boat, which attracted my attention. It was about thirty feet long, and had quite a large cabin in the forward part. I had hardly ever seen a sail-boat, and I was much interested in her.

"Whose is this?" I asked, as Land Limpedon joined me on his way to dinner.

"Mr. Whippleton's; he's a regular water bird, and in the summer he spends all his spare time in that boat."

"Does he sail on this river?" I asked, glancing at the muddy lagoon.

"No; he takes her out on the lake, and goes off for a fortnight in her, when he can spare the time."

I had had some experience with boats on the upper Missouri, and had some taste for them, though I had never even been in a sail-boat. I hoped Mr. Whippleton would take it into his head to invite me some time to sail with him. I went to dinner with the image of the boat's sharp bow and graceful lines lingering in my mind. The beef was no tougher at noon than it was in the morning, and I think Mrs. Whippleton was convinced that I was not a profitable boarder at four dollars a week.

But I do not intend to weary my reader by giving the monotonous details of my daily experience at the desk. I discharged my duties faithfully, and to the entire satisfaction of Mr. Whippleton. On the second day, I saw Mr. Collingsby, senior. Like his dignified son, he took no notice of me. Possibly he asked my name in the private office; but I never knew whether it gave them any uneasiness or not, though I am very confident neither of them suspected that I was the son of Louise Collingsby. The name was not so uncommon as to indicate that I belonged to the hated Farringfords of St. Louis.

Whatever may have been said in the private office, nothing came to me from either of the men in whom I was so deeply interested; and it often occurred to me, as the weeks pa.s.sed by, that I was doing nothing to accomplish my great mission in Chicago. My father answered my letter, and advised me, if I had a good place, to keep it. I wrote to him every week, and received a letter from him as often.

The eight weeks for which I had been engaged pa.s.sed off, and I hinted to the junior partner that my time was out.

"Very well; you can go on just as you have," said he.

"I don't care about going on any farther at six dollars a week," I replied.

"What do you want?"

"Eight, sir."

"I will speak to Mr. Collingsby."

He did speak to him, and my salary was advanced to eight dollars a week for a year. I was satisfied I was earning that amount, and Mr.

Whippleton intimated that he should require me to do more of the general book-keeping.

CHAPTER VIII.

IN WHICH PHIL TAKES A SAIL ON THE LAKE WITH MR. WHIPPLETON.

"Phil, do you know anything about a boat?" asked Mr. Whippleton, one Sat.u.r.day afternoon, at the close of the month of May.