“If you accept my proposal, I should like to see your son at my office some time Monday.”
Mrs. Raymond looked at Harry in perplexity, after finishing the letter.
“Lemuel Fairchild!” she repeated. “It is strange I never heard your father speak of him.”
“Perhaps he may have done so, and you do not recall the name.”
“It may be so,” said Mrs. Raymond, slowly, “but I do not think so.”
“At any rate,” said Harry, “it’s a splendid offer. Think of earning twelve dollars a week, to begin with, in New York!”
“Yes, it’s a good offer, but how can I spare you?” said his mother, sorrowfully. “It will be very lonely without you. Don’t you think you had better remain in Mr. Porter’s store?”
“That will only be for a few weeks, you know, mother. Alfred Harper will be getting well before long, and then I shall be out of a situation. I think we had better say yes.”
Harry’s ambition was fired by the prospect of a place in the city. Like many another country boy he had the most splendid visions of what city life was. By the side of a position in a city office his present situation looked mean and contemptible. Even had the pay been the same, he would have preferred New York to Vernon; but the fact that the salary offered in the city was just double was an additional inducement. Why, John Gaylord, Mr. Porter’s chief salesman, though already twenty-five years of age, and with several years’ experience as clerk, received just that, and no more. That Harry should be offered the same salary at fifteen was indeed a compliment.