“A friend of my father’s, a commission merchant in Nassau Street, wrote to my mother, yesterday, offering it to me.”
“What is his name? I may know him.”
“Lemuel Fairchild.”
“Lemuel Fairchild,” repeated the squire, slowly. “I don’t recognize the name. So you are going to accept it?”
“Yes, I am going up Monday morning. I am to have twelve dollars a week.”
“An excellent salary. Well, I am glad to hear you are so fortunate. When I go up to the city, I will call and see how you are getting along. What is the number?”
Harry gave the address, which the squire copied down in his pocket-book, and with a friendly salutation left the store. He had found out what he wanted to know, that the decoy letter had been received, and that the plan was likely to work well.
“He has swallowed the bait,” he said to himself, with satisfaction. “I hope the rest of the plan will work as well. I shall not dare to draw my insurance money till he is out of the way.”
The cordial manner of the squire impressed Harry rather favorably. In fact, he felt very much puzzled about him. It seemed hard to believe that he was meditating a fraud upon the insurance company. But, as might be expected, his own affairs occupied the greater portion of his thoughts, which was just what Squire Turner wished. The change in his mode of life was so great and so important that he could scarcely think of anything else. Besides, there were preparations to be made for his departure. He needed a new suit of clothes. It would be inconvenient to pay for them now, but the village tailor readily promised to give him a four weeks’ credit until he should be able to pay him out of his wages in his new place. This suit was to cost twenty dollars, and so good progress was made in getting it ready that Harry was able to wear it on Sunday to church, where he received the congratulations of his friends and school-mates.
As Harry had never been to New York, he was placed under the care of a gentleman who proposed going to the city on Monday.