To this Joshua listened with pleasure, for he looked forward to the time when he, too, should be finally settled in business like his friend, for whom he had a high respect, not being aware how insignificant his position was.
“How much salary do you get, Sam?” he inquired.
“A thousand a year,” answered Sam, with an air of consequence.
In reality he was receiving eight dollars a week; but he did not intend to be quite candid with Joshua, lest the truth should weaken his ascendancy over him. He judged shrewdly; for, to the unsophisticated boy from the country a thousand dollars a year seemed like a very large income, as, indeed, Sam himself would have considered it, if by good luck he had obtained it.
“Do you think I will ever get as much, Sam?” asked Joshua.
“Of course not for a long time,” said Sam. “You know you haven’t had experience like me. By the way, you needn’t mention how much I get. I don’t care about letting it be known. If the other clerks in the store knew it, they might be jealous.”
“All right; I won’t say anything about it if you don’t want me to.”
“Here’s the store,” said Sam, suddenly.
Joshua now saw that it was only a block below the point where he had entered Eighth avenue, and realized that he had had a long tramp for nothing.
It was not a very imposing establishment. The front was probably about twenty feet, the depth seventy, leaving the back part of the store rather dark and gloomy. A variety of cheap shoes, with the prices attached, were exposed in front of the store. They looked very common to a practiced eye; however, Joshua was not accustomed to seeing superior goods, as the people of Stapleton did not, in general, wear the best French kid.