"That's the way I like to hear a lad talk," said the confectioner approvingly.
"Five dollars a week is certainly better than two," was Richard's mental comment, as he hurried along. "Perhaps the next place will offer something better still."
But the next place was already filled; and so were the three that followed.
The seventh was on Vesey Street, the neighborhood that supplies half the metropolis with tea and coffee. A boy was wanted to help fill orders and deliver—a man's work—though Richard did not know it.
"We'll pay you seven dollars," was the merchant's reply, after the boy had inquired after the place. "You will have to deliver principally, and collect, of course."
"And when can I go to work?" asked Richard, overjoyed at an opening that promised so well.
"Anytime. Right away if you like. But you'll have to furnish twenty-five dollars security." This news put a damper on the boy's hopes.
"Twenty-five dollars security?" he repeated.
"Yes. You'll have more than that to collect"—which was not true—"and of course you will be responsible, and must turn in the money for every order taken out."
"I'd be sure to do that, or else return the goods."