“Then Harris drinks beer, does he? That’s all right. I am certain of success.”
“But you mustn’t put faith in that,” said Will. “He never takes too much.”
“No matter,” said the commercial traveler, “he takes a little, and when alcohol is in, wit is out, always. I will bet you a suit of new clothes that you are shipping clerk in less than a month—provided, of course, that you have been guarded in your own conduct, and given old Walker no reason to distrust you.”
At the very first opportunity the commercial traveler was introduced to Guy, and the latter was highly flattered to see that he had made a very favorable impression upon the gentlemanly Mr. Jones. He could not help seeing it, for Mr. Jones did not attempt to conceal his admiration for Guy. He accompanied him on his business tours about the city, dropped in to see him every night, and never appeared to be easy while he was away from him. And Guy was glad to be in his company. He was proud to be seen on the streets with such a well-dressed, elegant young fellow.
“Harris,” said Mr. Jones one day, “Mr. Walker tells me that he will not start me out again under two or three weeks, and I must have a home somewhere. If you and your worthy landlady have no objections, I should like to board and room with you. You are a fellow after my own heart, and I like your society.”
“I have no objections, certainly,” said Guy. “I should be delighted with the arrangement. Go home and take supper with me to-night, and I will propose it to Mrs. Willis.”
Of course Mr. Jones jumped at the invitation. He made a favorable impression upon the unsuspecting landlady, as Guy knew he would—he did not see how anybody could help liking Mr. Jones—and the consequence was that he paid a week’s board in advance, and was that same evening duly installed in Guy’s room.
The intimacy thus formed begun to result disastrously to Guy before two days had passed away. The shipping clerk in his simplicity imagined that his new friend looked up to him as a superior being, while the truth was that Mr. Jones, by skillful handling, was molding him to suit his own purposes. He led Guy into all sorts of extravagance. In the first place he made such a display of his abundant wardrobe that the plain, durable clothing with which the shipping clerk had provided himself, and which he believed to be quite good enough for any young man in his circumstances, begun to look, in the eyes of its owner, rather shabby when compared with the elegant broadcloth suits that Mr. Jones wore every day. He had not money sufficient to buy better, but Mr. Jones had both cheek and credit, and through him Guy was made acquainted with a fashionable tailor on Fourth Street, who, in three day’s time, furnished him with an outfit that made his eyes dance with delight, and charged the price of it against Guy on his books. Then, of course, other things had to be purchased to correspond with these new clothes, for coarse pegged boots, cotton gloves, and a felt hat would not look well with a suit of German broadcloth. Guy must have patent leathers, fine linen, a stove-pipe hat, and imported French kids, all of which were procured from merchants recommended by Mr. Jones, and each of whom expressed himself willing to wait, not only for the amount of that bill, but for any other that Guy might be pleased to run at his store.
In fine, the advent of Mr. Jones produced a wonderful change in Guy’s circumstances and feelings in two short weeks. The commercial traveler had a large circle of acquaintances in the city, and Guy was everywhere introduced as the son of the senior member of the well-known and wealthy firm of Harris & Walker, wholesale dry goods merchants, and from being an obscure clerk whom nobody noticed, found himself riding on a high wave of popularity. Elegant young gentlemen touched their hats to him in the streets, and now and then invited him to take a cigar or a glass of wine with them; perfumed and obsequious bar-tenders in gorgeous saloons leaned respectfully over the counter while he gave his orders, and executed them with alacrity; the clerks in a certain “billiard parlor” took particular pains to keep his private cue locked up so that nobody else could get at it, and to see that his favorite four-pocket table was unoccupied when he dropped in at six o’clock to play his regular game; and livery stable keepers trotted out their best stock, and furnished him with their finest carriages when he wished to go out riding of a Sunday afternoon.
For the first time in the whole course of his existence Guy was “seeing life,” and that, too, without a cent in his pocket. He was bewildered, intoxicated with pleasure, and there was but one thing to throw a cloud over his enjoyments. That was the way his landlady looked at him when he came down to breakfast in the morning with trembling hands, and red and swollen eyes, and declined to take anything more than a cup of coffee. On such occasions there was an expression on the good lady’s face that cut Guy to the heart, and somehow always led to the mortifying reflection that for the last six weeks he had not paid her a cent for his board. Then he would seem for the moment to come to his senses; but the observant Mr. Jones was always ready to step in and nip in the bud any resolutions of amendment he might make. As they walked toward the store he would draw a glowing contrast between Guy’s present circumstances and his former old-fogy manner of living, and wind up by humming over a verse of doggerel something like the following: