On going back to the store, Harry showed the senior salesman the letter his mother had received.

Now John Gaylord was in the main a good-natured young man, but he was not without the failings incident to humanity. It happened that he had himself been secretly desirous of going to the city, and obtaining some position which promised better than that of chief salesman in a country store. But he had no friends to help him in New York, and he was wise enough to feel that it would not be expedient to throw up a fair place in the country for the uncertain prospect of one in the city. But, for all that, he used to think oftentimes that his business abilities deserved something better than weighing out tea and sugar in small quantities for country customers. So when he learned that Harry Raymond, an inexperienced boy, had received an offer which he would gladly have accepted himself, he naturally felt a little envious, and provoked with Harry for his good fortune.

“What do you think of it, Mr. Gaylord?” asked Harry.

“I think you had better stay where you are,” was the unsatisfactory reply.

This was rather a damper to Harry, who had expected to be congratulated.

“Why?” he asked.

“Because you’re a mere boy, and can’t expect to earn twelve dollars a week.”

“No, I don’t suppose I shall at first; but then, you see, Mr. Fairchild was a friend of my father.”

“But, when he finds that you don’t earn your money, he’ll get dissatisfied with you, and send you home.”

“I don’t know about that,” said Harry, stoutly. “I mean to do my best.”

“You have no experience.”

“I shall get it.”

“Oh, well, suit yourself,” said the young man; “only if it turns out as I tell you, you mustn’t be surprised.”

Harry made no reply, being rather offended at the manner in which his communication had been received. He did not suspect that John Gaylord was secretly envying him all the while, and contrasting his own poor prospects very discontentedly with Harry’s. But he was not in the least discouraged. He had faith in himself, and felt sure that if he did his best, as he meant to, he should get on well enough. He gave Mr. Porter notice that he should leave him at the end of the week. The latter congratulated him on his good prospects, and expressed satisfaction with his services while in his employ.

The next day, as if by accident, Squire Turner entered the store, and, advancing to the counter behind which Harry was standing, said with unusual graciousness:—

“Well, my young friend, how are you getting on?”

“Very well, thank you, sir,” said Harry.

“I think Mr. Porter may find it for his interest to engage you permanently.”

“I have accepted another situation,” said our hero, with a little excusable importance.

“Indeed!” said the squire, in assumed surprise. “In Vernon?”

“No, sir, in New York.”

“I am surprised to hear it. It is not easy to obtain a situation in the city. How did you hear of it?”

“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.

He was up bright and early, having slept little, if the truth must be told, on account of the excitement which he felt. His mother was up, of course, also, and prepared a better breakfast than usual.

“I don’t know how I shall get along without you, Harry,” she said, despondently. “The house will be lonely.”

“Oh, I’ll come home soon to pass Sunday, mother,” said Harry. “Besides, you shall hear from me; I’ll write twice a week, regularly. Then you’ll know I’m doing well.”

“I’m afraid you’ll get run over in the streets; they are so crowded with wagons.”

Harry only laughed at this.

“Don’t fear,” he said. “I’m old enough to take care of myself. You forget how old I am, mother.”

“You’re only fifteen.”

“A boy of fifteen ought to be smart enough not to get run over. You see, mother, you’re a woman, and don’t know much about boys. I’ll do well enough, and you’ll feel better about my going away, soon.”

What Harry said was partly true. If the situation which he intended to fill had been a genuine one, his pluck and good principle would have been likely to insure his success. But he little knew what a plot had been formed against him, and what a series of adventures lay before him ere he would again see his mother and home. Could he have foreseen all this, brave as he was, he might well have quailed. But he supposed that all was fair and aboveboard, and that he would have nothing to encounter beyond the usual experiences of a boy in a city counting-room.

Time never waits for any one, and the hour of parting came. Harry hastily embraced his mother and little sister, and with a certain swelling of the heart which he could not quite repress, hurried out into the road to the carriage which was to convey him to the railroad station.

Mr. Falkland, his companion, was not a resident of Vernon, but had visited the place on business, and had readily undertaken to act as Harry’s guardian as far as the city. He spoke civilly to our hero, and asked him how he expected to like the city. But after getting into the cars, he took out a book and began to read. Harry took a seat behind, where he could look out of the window, and was sufficiently interested in watching the varied scenery through which he was whirled rapidly by the cars. His spirits began to rise once more, and bright dreams of the success he was going to achieve in the city swept across his mental vision. He was undecided whether, when he got rich, which he confidently hoped to be at twenty-five, he would install his mother in a nice house in the city, or build a house for her in Vernon, say as large as Squire Turner’s. However, as he wisely concluded, there was no immediate necessity for deciding about this. He might leave it subject to further reflection.

So the train whirled on at the rate of twenty-five miles an hour, and in about two hours he found the houses growing more and more numerous, until the cars came to a final pause in the New York depot.

Mr. Falkland put his book into his carpet-bag.

“You have never been in the city before, I think,” he said.

“No, sir.”

“Then, of course, you don’t know the way anywhere. I’ll go with you at once to Nassau Street (that’s the place, I believe), and then you’ll be all right.”

Harry was a little bewildered by the strangeness and novelty of the scenes to which he was introduced. So this was the great city of which he had heard so much. It was here that he was to work his way. Most boys would have felt a momentary depression and loss of confidence, but Harry had a good deal of faith and courage.

“Plenty of men succeed here,” he said to himself; “and I’m bound to succeed too.”

Just then his courage was reinforced by the thought of his motto, and he repeated to himself, “‘Sink or swim, live or die, survive or perish,’” closing the quotation in a manner suited to his circumstances and determination.

After a while they reached Nassau Street, and the number which was mentioned in the letter.

“What is Mr. Fairchild’s business?” inquired Mr. Falkland.

“He is a commission merchant.”

His companion looked rather surprised at this statement, as Nassau Street is scarcely the place where a commission merchant would be likely to establish himself. However, he did not feel called upon to express any opinion on the subject to Harry. It was, no doubt, all right, and he had business of his own to occupy his thoughts. As long as he conducted Harry safely to his destination, he would have done all that he had agreed to do.

They paused at the foot of the staircase, at the bottom of which, on either side, was a sort of directory of names occupying the apartments above. Opposite No. 7 was the name, Lemuel Fairchild.

Harry pointed it out to his companion.

“That is the right name, is it?” asked Mr. Falkland.

“Yes, sir.”

“Well, I suppose you won’t have any trouble in finding it. You don’t need me to go up with you, do you?”

“Oh, no, sir,” said our hero, promptly. “I’m all right now.”

“Good-by, then.”

“Good-by. I thank you for your care of me.”

Harry shook hands with Mr. Falkland, and ascended the stairs. The staircase was rather narrow, and not particularly clean. It did not look quite so magnificent as Harry had anticipated, whose ideas of places of business in the city were rather brighter than the reality. But, then, he reflected that people at any rate got rich in the city, and that was the main point.

When he arrived at the head of the stairs he saw four doors, the highest number, of course, going up to 4. It would be necessary to climb another flight. This he did, and found himself very soon standing before No. 7. He was not quite sure whether he ought to knock, or go directly in. On the whole, he thought it best to knock.

“Come in!” said a voice from within.

Harry opened the door, and found himself in the presence of his employer.