CHAPTER XV.
HOW THEY DO BUSINESS IN THE CITY.
The room into which Harry entered was possibly twenty feet square, and had rather a desolate look. It was poorly lighted, having but one window, looking upon a court-yard. At one end was an elevated desk, with a large ledger lying upon it. There were two arm-chairs in the office, on one of which a man of forty-five sat smoking a cigar. He was rather a hard-featured man, with stiff, wiry, black hair, and rather a seedy look.
“Is Mr. Fairchild in?” asked our hero, dubiously.
“I am Mr. Fairchild,” was the unexpected reply. “Are you young Raymond?”
“Yes, sir,” replied Harry, feeling considerably disappointed with the appearance of his employer as well as the office in which he was to work.
“Is Mr. Fairchild in?”
The fact was, he had formed a very different idea of both from the present reality. He supposed Mr. Fairchild would be a portly man, handsomely dressed, and his place of business a large warehouse several times as large as Mr. Porter’s store, which he had just left. But here was a miserable little twenty-foot room, at which, he felt very confident, John Gaylord would turn up his nose. He fervently hoped that none of his country friends would come and see him. After all the glowing anticipations he had formed, this was certainly something of a come-down. Then, he was disappointed in Mr. Fairchild himself. He certainly did not look by any means like a prosperous city merchant, doing an extensive business.
“Have you just reached New York, Raymond?” asked the merchant, picking his teeth with the small blade of his pocket-knife.
“Yes, sir,” said Harry. “I came right here.”