Driven from Home; Or, Carl Crawford's Experience by Jr. Horatio Alger (golden son ebook TXT) 📖

When they left the factory Mr. Jennings said, with a smile:

“Now you are one of us, Carl. To-morrow you begin work.”

“I am glad of it, sir.”

“You don’t ask what salary you are to get.”

“I am willing to leave that to you.”

“Suppose we say two dollars a week and board—to begin with.”

“That is better than I expected. But where am I to board?”

“At my house, for the present, if that will suit you.”

“I shall like it very much, if it won’t inconvenience you.”

“Hannah is the one to be inconvenienced, if anyone. I had a little conversation with her while you were getting ready for dinner. She seems to have taken a liking for you, though she doesn’t like boys generally. As for me, it will make the home brighter to have a young person in it. Hannah and I are old-fashioned and quiet, and the neighbors don’t have much reason to complain of noise.”

“No, sir; I should think not,” said Carl, with a smile.

“There is one thing you must be prepared for, Carl,” said Mr. Jennings, after a pause.

“What is that, sir?”

“Your living in my house—I being your employer—may excite jealousy in some. I think I know of one who will be jealous.”

“Leonard Craig?”

“And his uncle. However, don’t borrow any trouble on that score. I hope you won’t take advantage of your position, and, thinking yourself a favorite, neglect your duties.”

“I will not, sir.”

“Business and friendship ought to be kept apart.”

“That is right, sir.”

“I am going back to the house, but you may like to take a walk about the village. You will feel interested in it, as it is to be your future home. By the way, it may be well for you to write for your trunk. You can order it sent to my house.”

“All right, sir; I will do so.”

He went to the post office, and, buying a postal card, wrote to his friend, Gilbert Vance, as follows:

“Dear Gilbert:—Please send my trunk by express to me at Milford, care of Henry Jennings, Esq. He is my employer, and I live at his house. He is proprietor of a furniture factory. Will write further particulars soon.

“Carl Crawford.”

This postal carried welcome intelligence to Gilbert, who felt a brotherly interest in Carl. He responded by a letter of hearty congratulation, and forwarded the trunk as requested.

Carl reported for duty the next morning, and, though a novice, soon showed that he was not without mechanical skill.

At twelve o’clock all the factory hands had an hour off for dinner. As Carl passed into the street he found himself walking beside the boy whom he had succeeded—Leonard Craig.

“Good-morning, Leonard,” said Carl, pleasantly.

“Good-morning. Have you taken my place in the factory?”

“Yes.”

“Do you think you shall like it?”

“I think I shall, though, of course, it is rather early to form an opinion.”

“I didn’t like it.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t want to grow up a workman. I think I am fit for something better.”

“Mr. Jennings began as a factory hand.”

“I suppose he had a taste for it. I haven’t.”

“Then you like your present position better?”

“Oh, yes; it’s more genteel. How much does Jennings pay you?”

“Two dollars a week and board.”

“How is that? Where do you board?”

“With him.”

“Oh!” said Leonard, his countenance changing. “So you are a favorite with the boss, are you?”

“I don’t know. He gave me warning that he should be just as strict with me as if we were strangers.”

“How long have you known him?”

Carl smiled.

“I met him for the first time yesterday,” he answered.

“That’s very queer.”

“Well, perhaps it is a little singular.”

“Are you a poor boy?”

“I have to earn my own living.”

“I see. You will grow up a common workman.”

“I shall try to rise above it. I am not ashamed of the position, but I am ambitious to rise.”

“I am going to be a bookkeeper,” said Leonard. “My uncle is going to teach me. I would rather be a bookkeeper than a factory hand.”

“Then you are right in preparing yourself for such a post.”

Here the two boys separated, as they were to dine in different places.

Leonard was pleased with his new position. He really had very little to do. Twice a day he went to the post office, once or twice to the bank, and there was an occasional errand besides. To Carl the idleness would have been insupportable, but Leonard was naturally indolent. He sat down in a chair by the window, and watched the people go by.

The first afternoon he was in luck, for there was a dog fight in the street outside. He seized his hat, went out, and watched the canine warfare with the deepest interest.

“I think I will buy you a system of bookkeeping,” said his uncle, “and you can study it in the office.”

“Put it off till next week, Uncle Julius. I want to get rested from the factory work.”