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Fame and Fortune

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<h2>CHAPTER IX.</h2> <h3>ROSWELL CRAWFORD AT HOME.</h3> While Fosdick and Dick are devoting their evenings to study, under the guidance of Mr. Layton, we will direct the reader's attention to a young gentleman who considered himself infinitely superior in the social scale to either. Roswell Crawford could never forget that Dick had once been a boot-black, and looked upon it as an outrage that such a boy should be earning a salary of ten dollars a week, while he—a gentleman's son—was only paid four, which he regarded as a beggarly pittance. Roswell's father had once kept a small dry goods store on Broadway, but failed after being in business a little less than a year. This constituted his claim to gentility. After his failure, Mr. Crawford tried several kinds of business, without succeeding in any. His habits were not strictly temperate, and he had died two years previous. His wife hired a house in Clinton Place, and took boarders, barely succeeding in making both ends meet at the end of the year. The truth was that she was not a good manager, and preferred to talk of her gentility and former wealth to looking after the affairs of the household. She was very much like her son in this respect. Among Mrs. Crawford's boarders was Mr. Gilbert, who is already known to the reader as the book-keeper of Rockwell & Cooper. It has been mentioned also that he was Roswell's cousin, being a son of Mrs. Crawford's only brother. He, too, was not unlike his aunt and cousin, and all three combined to hate and despise Dick, whom Mrs. Crawford saw fit to regard as her son's successful rival. "How's the boot-black, Cousin James?" asked Roswell, on the evening succeeding that which Dick had passed at Mr. Rockwell's. "Putting on airs worse than ever," replied Gilbert. "Mr. Rockwell has a singular taste, to say the least," said Mrs. Crawford, "or he wouldn't hire a boy from the streets, and give him such extravagant wages. To pay such a vagabond ten dollars a week, when a boy of good family, like Roswell, can get but four, is perfectly ridiculous." "I don't believe he gets so much," said Roswell. "It's only one of his big stories." "You're mistaken there," said Gilbert. "He does get exactly that." "Are you sure of it?" "I ought to be, since I received directions from Mr. Rockwell to-day to pay him that amount to-morrow night, that being the end of the week." "I never heard of such a thing!" ejaculated Mrs. Crawford. "The man must be a simpleton." "If he is, there's another besides him." "Who do you mean?" "Mrs. Rockwell." "Has she made acquaintance with the boot-black, then?" asked Roswell, with a sneer. "Yes, he visited them last evening at their house." "Did he tell you so?" "Yes." "I should think they'd feel honored by such a visitor." "Probably they did, for Mrs. Rockwell made him a present of a gold watch." "What!" exclaimed Roswell and his mother in concert. "It's true. I sent him out to ask the time to-day, when he pulled out a new gold watch with an air of importance, and told me the time." "Was it a good watch?" "A very handsome one. It must have cost, with the chain, a hundred and twenty-five dollars." "The idea of a boot-black with a gold watch!" exclaimed Roswell, with a sneer. "It's about as appropriate as a pig in a silk dress." "I can't understand it at all," said Mrs. Crawford. "It can't be that he's a poor relation of theirs, can it?" "I should say not. Mr. Rockwell wouldn't be likely to have a relation reduced to blacking boots." "Is the boy so attractive, then? What does he look like?" "He's as bold as brass, and hasn't got any manners nor education," said Roswell. Poor Dick! His ears ought to have tingled, considering the complimentary things that were said of him this evening. But luckily he knew nothing about it, and, if he had, it is doubtful whether it would have troubled him much. He was independent in his ideas, and didn't trouble himself much about the opinion of others, as long as he felt that he was doing right as nearly as he knew how. "Do you think this strange fancy of Mr. Rockwell's is going to last?" inquired Mrs. Crawford. "I wish Roswell could have got in there." "So do I, but I couldn't accomplish it." "If this boy should fall out of favor, there might be a chance for Roswell yet; don't you think so?" asked Mrs. Crawford. "I wish there might," said Roswell. "I'd like to see that beggar's pride humbled. Besides, four dollars a week is such a miserable salary." "You thought yourself lucky when you got it." "So I did; but that was before I found out how much this boot-black was getting." "Well," said Gilbert, "he isn't a favorite of mine, as you know well enough. If there's anything I can do to oust him, I shall do it." "Couldn't you leave some money in his way? He might be tempted to steal it." "I don't know yet what course would be best. I'll try to get him into trouble of some kind. But I can tell better by and by what to do." Gilbert went up to his room, and Mrs. Crawford and Roswell were left alone. "I wish you were at Rockwell & Cooper's, Roswell," said his mother. "So do I, mother; but it's no use wishing." "I don't know about that. Your cousin ought to have some influence there." "The boot-black's in the way." "He may not be in the way always. Your cousin may detect him in something that will cause his discharge." "Even if he does, I've tried once to get in there, and didn't succeed. They didn't seem to take a fancy to me." "I shouldn't expect them to, if they take a fancy to a common street boy. But when they find him out, they may change their opinion of you." "I don't know how that will be, mother. At any rate, I think I ought to get more than four dollars a week where I am. Why, there's Talbot, only two years older than I, gets eight dollars, and I do more than he. To tell the truth, I don't like the place. I don't like to be seen carrying round bundles. It isn't fit work for a gentleman's son." Roswell forgot that many of the most prosperous merchants in the city began in that way, only on less wages. One who wants to climb the ladder of success must, except in very rare cases, commence at the lowest round. This was what Roswell did not like. He wanted to begin half-way up at the very least. It was a great hindrance to him that he regarded himself as a gentleman's son, and was puffed up with a corresponding sense of his own importance. The more Roswell thought of his ill-requited services, as he considered them, the more he felt aggrieved. It may be mentioned that he was employed in a dry goods store on Sixth Avenue, and was chiefly engaged in carrying out bundles for customers. A circumstance which occurred about this time deepened his disgust with the place. About the middle of the next week he was carrying a heavy bundle to a house on Madison Avenue. Now it happened that Mr. Rockwell, who, it will be remembered, lived on the same street, had left home that morning, quite forgetting an important letter which he had received, and which required an early answer. He therefore summoned Dick, and said, "Richard, do you remember the location of my house?" "Yes, sir," said Dick. "I find I have left an important letter at home. I have written a line to my wife, that she may know where to look for it. I want you to go up at once." "Very well, sir." Dick took the note, and, walking to Broadway, jumped on board an omnibus, and in a few minutes found himself opposite the Fifth Avenue Hotel. Here he alighted, and, crossing the Park, entered Madison Avenue, then as now lined with fine houses. Walking briskly up the avenue, he overtook a boy of about his own size, with a large bundle under his arm. Glancing at him as he passed, he recognized Roswell Crawford. "How are you, Crawford?" said Dick, in an offhand manner. Roswell looked at the speaker, whom he recognized. "I'm well," said he, in a stiff, ungracious manner. Ashamed of the large bundle he was carrying, he would rather have been seen by any boy than Dick, under present circumstances. He did not fail to notice Dick's neat dress, and the gold chain displayed on his vest. Indeed there was nothing in Dick's appearance which would have been inconsistent with the idea that he lived on the avenue, and was, what Roswell claimed to be, a gentleman's son. It seemed to Roswell that Dick was immensely presumptuous in swaggering up Madison Avenue in such a style, as he mentally called it, and he formed the benevolent design of "taking down his pride," and making him feel uncomfortable, if possible. "Have you lost your place?" he inquired. "No," said Dick, "not yet. It's very kind of you to inquire." "I suppose they pay you for walking the streets, then," he said, with a sneer. "Yes," said Dick, composedly; "that's one of the things they pay me for." "I suppose you like it better than blacking boots?" said Roswell, who, supposing that Dick was ashamed of his former occupation, felt a malicious pleasure in reminding him of it. "Yes," said Dick, "I like it better on the whole; but then there's some advantages about boot-blackin'." "Indeed!" said Roswell, superciliously. "As I was never in the business, I can't of course decide." "Then I was in business for myself, you see, and was my own master. Now I have to work for another man." "You don't seem to be working very hard now," said Roswell, enviously. "Not very," said Dick. "You must be tired carrying that heavy bundle. I'll carry it for you as far as I go." Roswell, who was not above accepting a favor from a boy he didn't like, willingly transferred it to our hero. "I carried it out just to oblige," he said, as if he were not in the daily habit of carrying such packages. "That's very kind of you," said Dick. Roswell did not know whether Dick spoke sarcastically or not, and therefore left the remark unnoticed. "I don't think I shall stay where I am very long," he said. "Don't you like?" asked Dick. "Not very well. I'm not obliged to work for a living," added Roswell, loftily, but not altogether truly. "I am," said Dick. "I've had to work for a living ever since I was six years old. I suppose you work because you like it." "I'm learning business. I'm going to be a merchant, as my father was." "I'll have to give up the bundle now," said Dick. "This is as far as I am going." Roswell took back his bundle, and Dick went up the steps of Mr. Rockwell's residence and rang the door-bell. <hr style="width: 65%;" /> <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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