Probably the reader has noticed, with some surprise, that Mr. Fairchild addressed his sailor confederate as Captain Brandon, and may have thought the name wrongly applied. But by a lucky accident, as he termed it, he had been unexpectedly elevated to the chief command of the vessel on which he was about to sail. Captain Hatch, who had been expected to fill this place, was a good sailor, but addicted to intemperate habits. In a fit of intoxication only two days previous, he had got into a fracas, and been so severely injured that it was found necessary to send him to the hospital, where he was likely to be detained some time. Meantime the Sea Eagle was all ready to sail, and the owners, without knowing much of Hartley Brandon, who had been engaged as first mate, offered him the captain’s place, which it is needless to say he accepted with alacrity. It was a position which for years he had striven to obtain, but until now unsuccessfully. So far as seamanship was concerned, he was as well fitted for the place as many who had filled it for years; but he was reckless and unreliable, and disposed at times to be despotic, so that he had never been popular with the crews which he had commanded as officer. However, there was little to choose, and to this fact he was indebted for his present post.

Lemuel Fairchild was a seedy adventurer, whom he had engaged for a small consideration to play the part of a commission merchant, in order to draw Harry to the city, where there would be an opportunity to carry out his, or rather Squire Turner’s, intentions, with regard to him. Of course, all the large business transactions were bogus, the parties pretending to purchase cargoes being intimates of Fairchild. The office in Nassau Street had been hired for a week only, as that would be sufficient for Brandon’s purpose. The ledger, out of which our hero was employed to copy, had formerly belonged to a business house now bankrupt, and had been bought cheap of a paper firm in Ann Street, whither it had found its way among the waste which is diligently gathered by the squalid army of rag-pickers, that usually prowl about the streets, and explore the lanes and alleys of the great metropolis.

The reader is now in possession of all the net-work of deception by which Brandon’s ingenuity had contrived to dupe our young hero. It is no wonder that, smart as he was, he failed to discover this. Whatever seemed strange to him he naturally attributed to his want of knowledge of city ways.

When night came, and the office closed, Mr. Fairchild took Harry to Lovejoy’s once more to take supper.

“I must get a boarding-place for you to-morrow,” he said. “To-night, I will secure a room for you here.”

“Where do you live, Mr. Fairchild?” asked Harry, with natural curiosity.

“Why, the fact is, I am boarding at the hotel myself just at present. I have a fine house up town, but it is being painted and refurnished, and, until that is finished, I board at a hotel.”

“Are you married?” continued Harry, who was something of a Yankee, as he showed by his questions.

“My wife and children are travelling in Europe,” said Mr. Fairchild, telling, of course, an unblushing falsehood. “I would join them if I could get away from my business. I must wait till I have a partner to leave in charge.” And he looked at Harry in a significant way, which caused our young hero’s heart to beat with proud anticipations.

They made a very good supper, and then sat down for a while in the public room, Fairchild smoking a couple of cigars with evident enjoyment. He offered one to Harry, which the latter declined, having fortunately never acquired a habit that to boys, at least, can never be productive of good.

About eight o’clock Harry asked permission to go to bed. His long ride in the morning, with the new experiences of his first day in the city, had produced a feeling of fatigue.

“Oh, yes, you can go to bed if you like,” said Fairchild. “I’ll speak to the clerk to give us a room with two beds.”

“How early do you want me to get up in the morning, Mr. Fairchild?”

“How early do you get up in the country?”

“About half-past five.”

“We don’t rise so early in the city. We’ll breakfast at eight, and get to the office at nine. Any time before eight will do.”

Harry thought that nine was rather late to commence business; but this, as he supposed, was only another difference between the city and the country.

Harry soon fell asleep in spite of the rattling of wheels and the never-ceasing noise in the busy street beneath. He was too tired even to dream, but slept soundly until the next morning.

When he awoke it was broad daylight. He looked across the room, and saw Fairchild still sleeping. He jumped out of bed, and dressed hastily. Remembering that it was his first morning in the city, he was eager to go downstairs, and look about him.

Fairchild opened his eyes sleepily, as he completed dressing.

“Up already, Raymond?” he asked, in a drowsy tone.

“Yes, sir.”

“What time is it?”

“I just heard it strike seven.”

“Well, go down if you like. I will be down by eight o’clock.”

Harry availed himself of the permission, and descended four flights of stairs, for they were on the fifth story, to the office.

As he emerged into the street, a ragged urchin came up and accosted him with the familiar question, “Shine yer boots?”

“Go ahead,” said Harry, perceiving that his boots were stained with mud.

The task was performed in a creditable style, and our hero was called upon to disburse ten cents. He resolved, as soon as he got settled in a boarding-house, to buy a brush and some blacking for himself, feeling that he was not yet in circumstances to pay ten cents daily for having his boots blacked.

He stood at the door of the hotel, and watched the throng of wayfarers, which, commencing two hours before, would flow without interruption through the busy street until the small hours. It was to our hero, born and bred in the quiet country, an animated and interesting spectacle, and he felt glad, in spite of a certain feeling of loneliness, that he was employed in the city.

At eight o’clock his employer came down, and they went together into the saloon, where they took a substantial breakfast, the expense being defrayed by Captain Brandon, acting for Squire Turner.

Shortly afterwards they went round to the office in Nassau Street.

Lemuel Fairchild seated himself in his position of the day before, with his heels on the mantel-piece, and diligently perused the columns of the “New York Herald,” a copy of which he had bought in the street below.

“What shall I do, Mr. Fairchild?” asked Harry.

“Go on with your copying,” said Fairchild, not lifting his eyes from the paper.

So our hero opened the ledger, and went to work. His task was not a very interesting one. Still he was earning two dollars a day, and this money would enable him to provide for his mother; so he buckled to it in earnest, determined to show his employer that he was not afraid of work. He had commenced working for the partnership of which a prospect had been given him.

About ten o’clock the door opened, and Brandon entered.

“Good-morning, Captain Brandon,” said Fairchild, rising.

“Good-morning, Fairchild. Good-morning, my lad.”

“Good-morning, sir,” answered Harry.

“Well, my lad, are you ready to make a little visit to my ship?”

“Yes, sir, if Mr. Fairchild is willing.”

“Oh, he’ll be willing; I’ll guarantee that. Your writing can wait till another time. Eh, Fairchild?”

“Yes, he can go,” assented the merchant.

Harry picked up his hat, and accompanied Brandon to the street.

“It’s all right,” said Brandon, in a whisper, placing a small roll of bills in the hand of Fairchild. “It’ll be a long time before you set eyes on your office-boy again.”