Have you ever thought about what fiction is? Probably, such a question may seem surprising: and so everything is clear. Every person throughout his life has to repeatedly create the works he needs for specific purposes - statements, autobiographies, dictations - using not gypsum or clay, not musical notes, not paints, but just a word. At the same time, almost every person will be very surprised if he is told that he thereby created a work of fiction, which is very different from visual art, music and sculpture making. However, everyone understands that a student's essay or dictation is fundamentally different from novels, short stories, news that are created by professional writers. In the works of professionals there is the most important difference - excogitation. But, oddly enough, in a school literature course, you don’t realize the full power of fiction. So using our website in your free time discover fiction for yourself. The Errand Boy; Or, How Phil Brent Won Success by Jr. Horatio Alger (i like reading books .TXT) 📖
- Author: Jr. Horatio Alger
Book online «The Errand Boy; Or, How Phil Brent Won Success by Jr. Horatio Alger (i like reading books .TXT) 📖». Author Jr. Horatio Alger
“I am sorry to say that I can't help feeling prejudiced against you,” returned the president dryly; “but I won't allow this feeling to injure you if, upon inquiring, I find that you are otherwise an efficient officer.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“I am glad that my presence has saved this boy from being the victim of an injustice. Let this be a lesson to you in future.”
The conductor walked away, looking quite chop-fallen, and Philip turned to his new friend.
“I am very much indebted to you, sir,” he said. “But for you I should have found myself in serious trouble.”
“I am glad to have prevented an injustice, my lad. I am sorry I could not save you from loss also. That enterprising rogue has gone off with five dollars belonging to you. I hope the loss will not be a serious one to you.”
“It was more than a third part of my capital, sir,” said Phil, rather ruefully.
“I am sorry for that. I suppose, however, you are not dependent upon your own resources?”
“Yes, sir, I am.”
“Have you no parents, then?” asked Mr. Grant, with interest.
“No, sir; that is, I have a step-mother.”
“And what are your plans, if you are willing to tell me?”
“I am going to New York to try to make a living.”
“I cannot commend your plan, my young friend, unless there is a good reason for it.”
“I think there is a good reason for it, sir.”
“I hope you have not run away from home?”
“No, sir; I left home with my step-mother's knowledge and consent.”
“That is well. I don't want wholly to discourage you, and so I will tell you that I, too, came to New York at your age with the same object in view, with less money in my pocket than you possess.”
“And now you are the president of a railroad!” said Phil hopefully.
“Yes; but I had a hard struggle before I reached that position.”
“I am not afraid of hard work, sir.”
“That is in your favor. Perhaps you may be as lucky as I have been. You may call at my office in the city, if you feel inclined.”
As Mr. Grant spoke he put in Phil's hand a card bearing his name and address, in Wall Street.
“Thank you, sir,” said Phil gratefully. “I shall be glad to call. I may need advice.”
“If you seek advice and follow it you will be an exception to the general rule,” said the president, smiling. “One thing more—you have met with a loss which, to you, is a serious one. Allow me to bear it, and accept this bill.”
“But, sir, it is not right that you should bear it,” commenced Phil. Then, looking at the bill, he said: “Haven't you made a mistake? This is a TEN-dollar bill.”
“I know it. Accept the other five as an evidence of my interest in you. By the way, I go to Philadelphia and Washington before my return to New York, and shall not return for three or four days. After that time you will find me at my office.
“I am in luck after all,” thought Phil cheerfully, “in spite of the mean trick of Mr. Lionel Lake.”
CHAPTER VI. SIGNOR ORLANDO.
So Phil reached New York in very fair spirits. He found himself, thanks to the liberality of Mr. Grant, in a better financial position than when he left home.
As he left the depot and found himself in the streets of New York, he felt like a stranger upon the threshold of a new life. He knew almost nothing about the great city he had entered, and was at a loss where to seek for lodgings.
“It's a cold day,” said a sociable voice at his elbow.
Looking around, Phil saw that the speaker was a sallow-complexioned young man, with black hair and mustache, a loose black felt hat, crushed at the crown, giving him rather a rakish look.
“Yes, sir,” answered Phil politely.
“Stranger in the city, I expect?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Never mind the sir. I ain't used to ceremony. I am Signor Orlando.”
“Signor Orlando!” repeated Phil, rather puzzled.
“Are you an Italian?”
“Well, yes,” returned Signor Orlando, with a wink, “that's what I am, or what people think me; but I was born in Vermont, and am half Irish and half Yankee.”
“How did you come by your name, then?”
“I took it,” answered his companion. “You see, dear boy, I'm a professional.”
“A what?”
“A professional—singer and clog-dancer. I believe I am pretty well known to the public,” continued Signor Orlando complacently. “Last summer I traveled with Jenks & Brown's circus. Of course you've heard of THEM. Through the winter I am employed at Bowerman's Varieties, in the Bowery. I appear every night, and at two matinees weekly.”
It must be confessed that Phil was considerably impressed by the professional character of Signor Orlando. He had never met an actor, or public performer of any description, and was disposed to have a high respect for a man who filled such a conspicuous position. There was not, to be sure, anything very impressive about Signor Orlando's appearance. His face did not indicate talent, and his dress was shabby. But for all that he was a man familiar with the public—a man of gifts.
“I should like to see you on the stage,” said Phil respectfully.
“So you shall, my dear boy—so you shall. I'll get you a pass from Mr. Bowerman. Which way are you going?”
“I don't know,” answered Phil, puzzled. “I should like to find a cheap boarding-house, but I don't know the city.”
“I do,” answered Signor Orlando promptly. “Why not come to my house?”
“Have you a house?”
“I mean my boarding-house. It's some distance away. Suppose we take a horse-car?”
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