He was still pondering this idea when, the day’s work over, he left the office and made his way toward the little house perched high on an embankment back of the yards, where he had lived ever since he had come to Wadsworth, a year before, in search of work. Big-hearted Jack Welsh had not only given him work, but had offered him a home—and a real home the boy found it. He had grown as dear to Mary Welsh’s heart as was her own little girl, Mamie, who had just attained the proud age of seven and was starting to school.
Allan found her now, waiting for him at the gate, and she escorted him proudly up the path and into the house.
“Well, an’ how d’ you like your new job?” Mary asked, as they sat down to supper.
“First rate,” Allan answered, and described in detail how he had spent the day.
Mary sniffed contemptuously when he had finished.
“I don’t call that sech a foine job,” she said. “Why, anybody could do that! A boy loike you deserves somethin’ better! An’ after what ye did fer th’ road, too!”
“But don’t you see,” Allan protested, “it isn’t so much the job itself, as the chance it gives me. I’m at the bottom of the ladder, it’s true, just as John Marney said; but there is a ladder, and a tall one, and if I stay at the bottom it’s my own fault.”
Jack nodded from across the table.
“Right you are,” he agreed. “And you’ll git ahead, never fear!”
“I’m going to try,” said Allan, and as soon as supper was over, he left the house and hastened uptown to the Public Library, where he asked for a book on telegraphy. He was just leaving the building with the coveted volume under his arm, when somebody clapped him on the shoulder, and he turned to find Jim Anderson at his side.