The store closed at eight o’clock, and the shutters were put up.
Now came the hardest trial for Victor.
He had always been accustomed to a luxurious, or at all events, cozy bedroom, even at school. Now he was to sleep in a dark store, for the gas was put out, except one small jet in the rear. His bed was a small, narrow one, only about eighteen inches wide, and close behind the dark counter.
“This is where you will sleep,” said Mrs. Ferguson. “The bed is small, but I guess you will find it wide enough.”
“I guess I can make it do,” answered Victor.
“You are to get up at seven o’clock and open the store. Then you will sweep the floor and dust the books. I shall come at eight, and will then let you off for half an hour for breakfast.”
“All right, ma’am.”
Mrs. Ferguson went out, and Victor, not feeling yet like sleep, sat down on the side of the bed and began to reflect.
Only a few weeks ago he had been a member of a classical school, recognized as the son of a rich man, and treated with the more consideration on that account. Now he was a friendless boy, obliged to earn a scanty living by his own labor. It might be considered quite a come-down, but, strange as it may seem, Victor was not altogether despondent. He inherited from his father a taste for business, and had already begun to take an interest in his duties. He would indeed have liked a larger income, for he was compelled to eat at cheap and poor restaurants, but at any rate he felt happier than he had done when traveling in Arthur Grigson’s company.