"Your friend, who wrote the letter, will be rather disappointed, eh?" said young Porter, smiling.
"Yes," said Ben, who could smile now. "I should like to see him when he learns that his malicious letter has procured me a situation.
"What do we pay you Robinson?"
"Six dollars a week."
"Then Benjamin shall have the same. He has no knowledge of the business, to be sure——"
"I will have soon," said Ben confidently.
"That's right, my lad. Make yourself useful to us, and you won't have cause to regret it."
He was set to work dusting books, and young Porter went to his own desk; he was chief bookkeeper.
"When the store closes," he said, "come to me. I shall take you to my room to-night."
In the evening, at his friend's room, Ben wrote the following letter to his friend, James Watson: