Mrs. Harding looked wistfully at her son’s eager face. “My little son, do you want to help mother so much?” she asked tenderly. Her voice trembled a little.
“You know I do. Oh, Mother, may I try? Are you going to say ‘yes’ at last?” Harry sprang from his chair and going to his mother’s chair slipped his arm around her neck.
“Well,” began the little woman reluctantly, “if you are so set on working, I guess you might as well try it. But remember, Harry, if you don’t like it, you can go back to school. We’ll get along some way.”
“But I shall like it,” protested Harry. “I’ve always said I was going to be a business man when I grew up. If I start right now maybe I’ll be one in a few years.”
“But where are you going to look for work, child?” asked Mrs. Harding. Now that she had given her son the longed-for sanction to make his own way, she began to feel something of his boyish enthusiasm.
“I don’t know,” returned Harry thoughtfully. Then, seized with a sudden inspiration, “I guess I’ll look in the Journal. That always has a lot of advertisements.”
Picking up the evening paper, which lay on the center table, Harry turned its leaves to the column of “Male Help Wanted,” and scanned it earnestly. “Here’s one, Mother. ‘Boy wanted for errands, good chance for advancement. Opportunity to learn business. 894 Tyler.’ That sounds good.” Taking the stub of a lead pencil from his pocket, Harry carefully marked it. “Oh, here’s another. ‘Bright boy for office work. 1684 Cameron.’” This advertisement was duly checked. Harry went eagerly down the column until he had marked six advertisements. “There, that will do to start with. If I don’t get a position at any of those places I’ll try again when to-morrow’s paper comes out. But surely some of them will have a chance for me. It’s nine o’clock. I guess I’ll go to bed right now, so as to be up bright and early in the morning.”
Piling his books on one arm, Harry went over to his mother and kissed her good night. “You must keep thinking hard that I’m going to get one of those positions, Mother,” he said brightly. Then he went into the tiny room that was really half of his mother’s room, curtained off for his use. Harry was very proud of his little room. It was so small it held nothing but his cot bed, one chair, a small table and a bamboo book-case of two shelves, which he had bought in a second-hand store for a quarter. This held the few books he owned and was dear to his heart.
After he had undressed and lay down on his bed he found that he was too much excited over the prospect of his new venture to sleep. Already he could see himself in a beautiful office, with soft rugs on the floor and shining oak furniture. He could imagine himself saying, “Yes, sir,” and “no, sir,” to his employer, and listening with alert respectfulness to his orders. He would prove himself so willing to work and perform whatever he was given to do so faithfully that in time he would be promoted to something better. His favorite story-book hero, Dick Reynolds, had begun work as an office boy and had done wonderful things. Why couldn’t the same things happen again to him?