"Well, what did he say?"
"He said he wouldn't do it."
"Did he give any reason?"
"He said I didn't earn any more. He's a stingy old hunks, any way, and I wish I was in another place."
"So do I; but it isn't so easy to get a new position. You had better stay in this till another offers."
"I hate carrying bundles through the streets. It isn't fit work for a gentleman's son."
"Ah, if your poor father had lived, things would have been very different with us all!" said Mrs. Crawford, with a sigh. She chose to forget that previous to his death her late husband's habits had been such that he contributed very little to the comfort or support of the family.
"I wouldn't care if I were a salesman," continued Roswell; "but I don't like being an errand boy. I'd just as lives go to the post-office for letters, or to the bank with money, but, as for carrying big bundles of calico under my arm, I don't like it. I was walking on Madison Avenue the other day with a ten-pound bundle, when the boot-black came up, dressed handsomely, with a gold watch and chain, and exulted over me for carrying such a big bundle."
There was a little exaggeration about this, for Dick was very far from exulting over Roswell, otherwise he certainly would not have volunteered to carry the bundle himself. But it often happens that older persons than Roswell are not above a little misrepresentation now and then.
"He's an impudent fellow, then!" said Mrs. Crawford, indignantly. "Then Mr. Hall won't raise your wages?"