THE FIRST STEP.

To do Roswell Crawford justice, the idea of taking money from his employer had never occurred to him until the day when it was suggested to him by Ralph Graham. The suggestion came to him at an unfortunate time. He had always felt with a sense of bitter injustice that his services were poorly compensated, and that his employer was making money out of him. Yet he knew very well that there was no chance of an advance. Besides, he really felt the need of more money to keep up appearances equal to Ralph Graham, and some other not very creditable acquaintances that he had managed to pick up. So Roswell allowed Ralph's suggestion to recur to his mind with dangerous frequency. He was getting familiar with what had at first startled and shocked him.

But it was not at once that he brought his mind to the point. He was not possessed of much courage, and could not help fearing that he would get himself into a scrape. It needed a little more urging on the part of Ralph.

"Well, Roswell," said Ralph, a few evenings after the conversation recorded in the last chapter, "when are you going to take me to the theatre?"

"I didn't know I was going to take you at all," said Roswell.

"Come, there's no use in crawling off that way. Didn't I take you to Niblo's last week?"

"Yes."

"And didn't you promise to take me some night in return?"

"I should like to do it well enough," said Roswell, "but I never have any money."

"You might have some if you chose."

"The way you mentioned?"

"Yes."

"I don't like to try it."

"Then you are foolish. It's what half the clerks do. They have to."

"Do you think many do it?" said Roswell, irresolutely.

"To be sure they do," said Ralph, confidently.

"But I am sure it would be found out."

"Not if you're careful."

"I shouldn't know how to go about it."

"Then I'll tell you. You're in the store alone some of the time, I suppose."

"Yes, when Mr. Baker and Mr. Jones are gone to dinner."

"Where is the money kept?"

"There are two drawers. The one that has the most money in it is kept locked, and Mr. Baker carries away the key with him. He leaves a few dollars in another drawer, but nothing could be taken from that drawer without being missed."

"Does he keep much money in the first drawer?"

"I expect so."

"Then," said Ralph, promptly, "you must manage to get into that."

"But how am I to do it?" asked Roswell. "Didn't I tell you that it was kept locked, and that Mr. Baker took the key?"

"I can't say you are very smart. Roswell," said Ralph, a little contemptuously.

"Tell me what you mean, then."

"What is easier than to get a key made that will fit the drawer? All you'll have to do is to take an impression of the lock with sealing-wax, and carry it to a locksmith. He'll make you a key for two shillings."

"I don't know," said Roswell, undecidedly. "I don't quite like to do it."

"Do just as you please," said Ralph; "only if I carry you to the theatre I expect you to return the compliment."

"Well, I'll think of it," said Roswell.

"There is another way you can do," suggested Ralph, who was full of evil suggestions, and was perhaps the most dangerous counsellor that Roswell could have had at this time.

"What is it?"

"If you make any sales while you are alone you might forget to put the money into the drawer."

"Yes, I might do that."

"And ten to one Baker would never suspect. Of course he doesn't know every book he has in his store or the exact amount of stationery he keeps on hand."

"No, I suppose not."

"You might begin that way. There couldn't be any danger of detection."

This suggestion struck Roswell more favorably than the first, as it seemed safer. Without giving any decided answer, he suffered the thought to sink into his mind, and occupy his thoughts.

The next day when about the middle of the day Roswell found himself alone, a customer came in and bought a package of envelopes, paying twenty-five cents.

With a half-guilty feeling Roswell put this sum into his pocket.

"Mr. Baker will never miss a package of envelopes," he thought.

He sold two or three other articles, but the money received for these he put into the drawer. He did not dare to take too much at first. Indeed, he took a little credit to himself, so strangely had his ideas of honesty got warped, for not taking more when he might have done so as well as not.

Mr. Baker returned, and nothing was said. As might have been expected, he did not miss the small sum which Roswell had appropriated.

That evening Roswell bought a couple of cigars with the money he had stolen (we might as well call things by their right names), and treated Ralph to one.

"There's a splendid play on at Wallack's," said he, suggestively.

"Perhaps we'll go to-morrow evening," said Roswell.

"That's the way to talk," said Ralph, looking keenly at Roswell. "Is there anything new with you?"

"Not particularly," said Roswell, coloring a little, for he did not care to own what he had done to his companion, though it was from him that he had received the advice.

The next day when Roswell was again alone, a lady entered the shop.

"Have you got La Fontaine's Fables in English?" she asked. "I have asked at half a dozen stores, but I can't find it. I am afraid it is out of print."

"Yes, I believe we have it," said Roswell.

He remembered one day when he was looking for a book he wanted to read, that he had come across a shop-worn copy of La Fontaine's Fables. It was on a back shelf, in an out of-the-way place. He looked for it, and found his memory had served him correctly.

"Here it is," he said, handing it down.

"I am very glad to get it," said the lady. "How much will it be?"

"The regular price is a dollar and a quarter, but as this is a little shop-worn you may have it for a dollar."

"Very well."

The lady drew out a dollar bill from her purse, and handed it to Roswell.

He held it in his hand till she was fairly out of the door. Then the thought came into his mind, "Why should I not keep this money? Mr. Baker would never know. Probably he has quite forgotten that such a book was in his stock."

Besides, as the price of a ticket to the family circle at Wallack's was only thirty cents, this sum would carry in him and his friend, and there would be enough left for an ice-cream after they had got through.

The temptation was too much for poor Roswell I call him poor, because I pity any boy who foolishly yields to such a temptation for the sake of a temporary gratification.

Roswell put the money into his vest-pocket, and shortly afterwards Mr. Baker returned to the store.

"Have you sold anything, Roswell?" he inquired, on entering.

"Yes, sir. I have sold a slate, a quire of notepaper, and one of Oliver Optic's books."

Roswell showed Mr. Baker the slate, on which, as required by his employer, he had kept a record of sales.

Mr. Baker made no remark, but appeared to think all was right.

So the afternoon passed away without any incident worthy of mention.

In the evening Roswell met Ralph Graham, as he had got into the habit of doing.

"Well, Roswell, I feel just like going to the theatre to-night," were his first words of salutation.

"Well, we'll go," said Roswell.

"Good! You've got money to buy the tickets, then?"

"Yes," said Roswell, with an air of importance. "What's the play?"

"It's a London play that's had a great run. Tom Hastings tells me it is splendid. You take me there to night, and I'll take you to the New York Circus some evening next week."

This arrangement was very satisfactory to Roswell, who had never visited the circus, and had a great desire to do so. At an early hour the boys went to the theatre, and succeeded in obtaining front seats in the family circle. Roswell managed to enjoy the play, although unpleasant thoughts of how the money was obtained by which the tickets were procured, would occasionally intrude upon him. But the fascination of the stage kept them from troubling him much.

When the performance was over, he suggested an ice-cream.

"With all my heart," said Ralph. "I feel warm and thirsty, and an ice-cream will cool my throat."

So they adjourned to a confectionery establishment nearly opposite, and Roswell, with an air of importance, called for the creams. They sat leisurely over them, and it was nearly half past eleven when Roswell got home.

"What keeps you out so late, Roswell?" asked his mother, anxiously, for she was still up.

"I was at the theatre," said Roswell.

"Where did you get the money?"

"It's only thirty cents to the family circle," said Roswell, carelessly. "I'm tired, and will go right up to bed."

So he closed the discussion, not caring to answer many inquiries as to his evening's amusement. His outlay for tickets and for the ice-cream afterwards had just used up the money he had stolen, and all that he had to compensate for the loss of his integrity was a headache, occasioned by late hours, and the warm and confined atmosphere at the theatre.