"No. 47 West Fortieth Street," was the reply.
"Very well, it shall be sent up immediately. Here, Roswell."
Roswell Crawford came forward not very willingly. He had no great liking for the task which he saw would be required of him. Fortieth Street was at least a mile and a half distant, and he had already just returned from a walk in a different direction. Besides, the bundle was a large one, containing three dress patterns. He did not think it very suitable for a gentleman's son to be seen carrying such a large bundle through the streets.
"Why don't you send Edward?" he said, complainingly. "He doesn't do half as much as I."
"I shall send whom I please," said the clerk, sharply. "You wouldn't do anything if you could help it."
"I won't carry bundles much longer," said Roswell. "You put all the heaviest bundles off upon me."
Roswell's back being turned, he did not observe Mr. Turner, who had come up as he was speaking.
"What are you complaining about?" asked that gentleman.
Roswell turned, and colored a little when he saw his employer.
"What is the matter?" repeated Mr. Turner.