“Nearly seventeen.”
“I have never employed a drummer under twenty, but I am nevertheless inclined to give you a trial.”
“I will do my best for you and the house.”
“Then you will have a fair chance of succeeding. You may go and ask Mr. Hall for instructions—I have spoken with him on the subject—and I presume he will arrange to have you start on Monday next.”
Mr. Sandford bowed, and Gerald understood that the interview was ended.
Two weeks later Gerald found himself in Kansas City. He had had but a fortnight’s experience as a drummer, but he had met with success exceeding his anticipations. Though his youth was against him, and he often found it difficult to persuade dealers that he was really an authorized agent of a merchant so well known as Gilbert Sandford of St. Louis, five minutes’ conversation was generally sufficient to show that he thoroughly understood his business.
His stay in Kansas City was drawing to a close. He was a guest of the Coates House, one of the representative hotels of the West, when he had occasion to enter a periodical store near the hotel. It was the one already known to us as kept by Mrs. Ferguson.
Victor Wentworth stood behind the counter and waited upon Gerald. But he was no longer the bright and healthy boy of a few weeks back. He had contracted malaria, and his face was pallid. Gerald could not but notice the boy’s sick condition.
“You are not well,” he said.
“No,” answered Victor, shivering. “I don’t know what is the matter with me.”