"Mr. Evans always gives me the largest bundles to carry," said Roswell.
"He is always complaining of having to carry bundles," said the clerk. "He says it isn't suitable work for a gentleman's son."
"I have noticed it," said Mr. Turner. "On the whole, I think, Mr. Crawford," he said, with mock deference, "I think you have mistaken your vocation in entering a dry-goods store. I advise you to seek some more gentlemanly employment. At the end of the week, you are at liberty to leave my employment for one better suited to you."
"I'm ready to go now," said Roswell, sulkily.
"Very well; if you desire it, I will not insist upon your remaining. If you will come up to the desk, you shall receive what is due you."
It was somewhat humiliating to Roswell to feel that his services were so readily dispensed with. Still he had never liked the place, and heartily disliked carrying bundles. By going at once, he would get rid of the large bundle to be carried to West Fortieth Street. Congratulating himself, therefore, on the whole, on escaping from what he regarded as a degrading servitude, he walked up to the desk in a dignified manner, and received the wages due him.
"I hope you will find some more congenial employment," said Mr. Turner, who paid him the amount of his wages.
"I have no doubt I shall," said Roswell, loftily. "My father was a gentleman, and our family has considerable influence."
"Well, I wish you success. Good-by."
"Good-by," said Roswell, and walked out of the shop with head erect.