“Well, tell me about your position, Haze,” I began, in as sprightly tones as I could muster; for we had not heard any of the details yet.
“There’s nothing to tell,” answered Hazard, gruffly. “I’m to run errands, post letters, and that sort of thing, at three dollars a week.”
“Oh, Hazey!” I gasped, for it was a shock. Hazard is certainly clever, and we had always expected such different things for him.
“Yes,” says Haze, bitterly. “It’s Uncle George’s idea, and I suppose he knows what he is about. I gave him every opportunity, and put the matter to him squarely. There was no use in false modesty; so I told him, first thing, that I had had a year of Greek, and two years of Latin, and led my geometry class; but that we needed money at home, and so I had determined to sacrifice my future, and rent my brains at their highest market value.”
“Did you really say all that?” I asked.
“Yes, I did,” answered Hazard, a little defiantly. “Perhaps it was a mistake, but I wanted to make things plain. Uncle George didn’t answer just at first. He looked me up and down in that way he has, and then he said,—‘Young fellow, you’ve got a lot to learn yet. If any other cockerel came crowing to me in my office, I’d show him the door. Understand one thing. I haven’t any use for talent in my business’ (though I had been most particular, Elizabeth, to use the word brains). ‘Can you remember what’s told you? Can you sweep out a room, and not forget the corners? Can you jump when sent on errands? Then apply to Mr. Bridges in the outside office. I believe we’re losing a boy to-day. Perhaps you are bright enough to fill his place,—though you don’t look it.’
“Well, I applied, and got the position,” concluded Haze, “and that’s all there is to it.”
There did not seem much for me to say, since Haze was not in a mood to be grateful for platitudes. Uncle George was certainly severe, but maybe he meant it for a lesson; and from something that happened this afternoon I am tempted to think it was not entirely wasted.
We were all gathered in the workshop after dinner, Geoffrey, Ernie, and myself, wrapped in golf-cloaks and overcoats, disputing about our favourite apostles, when Haze, who had been rather subdued and “broodful” the greater part of the day, entered the room. He had a notebook under his arm.
“Going to study, Hazey?” I asked him, for he intends to keep up his Latin, and mother has promised to help.