"And upon four dollars a week?"
"Yes, sir. I suppose I may hope to have my wages increased some time?"
"When we find your services worth more, you shall receive more," said Mr. Turner. "That is fair,—isn't it?"
"Yes, sir."
"Then here is your money. I didn't mean to talk so long; but it's as well to come to an understanding."
Roswell left the store considerably crest-fallen. He found that, instead of regarding him worth an advance of wages, Mr. Turner had had it in his mind to discharge him; and that hurt his pride. It was certainly very singular that people shouldn't be more impressed with the fact that he was a gentleman's son. He could not have received less deference if he had been an ex-boot-black, like Dick himself. He certainly was no more contented than before, nor was his self-appreciation materially diminished. If the world did not recognize his claims, there was one comfort, his mother appreciated him, and he appreciated himself. As to his cousin, he did not feel quite so certain.
"Why are you so late, Roswell?" asked his mother, looking up from her work as he entered. "It seems to me they kept you later than usual at the store, even for Saturday evening."
"I'm sick of the store," said Roswell, impatiently.
"What's the matter?"
"I asked old Turner to-night if he wouldn't raise my wages," said Roswell.