DARK DAYS.
It was now midwinter. The streets were filled with snow and ice, and the cold, frost-laden air was chilling alike to the body and spirits of one in the unfortunate position in which young Randolph suddenly found himself.
If one has never been out of a position in a great city at this season of the year, he can have but little conception of the almost utterly hopeless prospects before him. After the holiday trade is over, a vast number of clerks are discharged from our stores, and thousands in the manufacturing line are thrown out of employment. These are added to the very large number that at all seasons of the year are hunting for work. Thousands, too, from the country, thinking to escape the dreary frost-bound months of rural life, flock to the city and join the enormous army of the unemployed. All want work, and there is little or no work to be had. It is the season of the year when few changes are made by employers other than to dispense with the services of those not actually needed. To be sure, a few employees die, and leave vacancies to be filled. Others prove unfaithful, and are discharged. A new business, too, is started here and there, but all the available positions combined are as nothing when compared to the tremendous demand for them by the thousands of applicants.
When Herbert Randolph came to New York in the fall, he was fortunate in arriving at the time when employers usually carry a larger force of help than at any other season of the year. There was consequently less demand for positions, and a greater demand for help. Thus he had a possible chance of securing employment, and he happened to be fortunate enough to do so. I say he had a possible chance, for surely he had no more than that even at the most favorable season of the year. He was extremely fortunate, coming from the country as he did, to find employment at all.
In view of these facts it will not be surprising that young Randolph, brave boy as he was, looked upon the dreary prospect before him with a heavy heart.
Bob Hunter realized fully the gravity of his friend’s situation, and this is why he urged the money upon him, wishing to keep up his courage, and delicately refraining from touching upon the dark outlook ahead.
I wish I had the space to picture carefully all the rebuffs, the cold treatment, and the discouragement that met our young hero on his daily wanderings, seeking for some honest labor—anything that would furnish him with the means to buy bread. But as I should not feel justified in extending this story to such a length, I must content myself with a few glimpses that will show the heroic struggle he made to sustain himself during these dark, chilly, and cheerless days of winter.
“It’s pretty tough, ain’t it, Herbert?” said Bob, one night when they were alone together in their room. He sought to lift the burden from his friend’s mind by drawing him into conversation.
“Yes,” answered Herbert, mechanically.
This reply, so short, and given with so little expression, gave Bob a feeling of uneasiness.