Chapter XIII: The Two Clerks

IF Arthur's very dutiful conduct could have increased, it did so after his adoption. Mrs. Olmstead in her fondness would have had him give up the tasks which had formerly occupied his mornings, but Hepsah's good sense took alarm.

"Don't spoil the dear lamb," she urged. "The work he does, gives him strength, and he enjoys it. Let that go on as before, but you can take all the comfort out of his warm, affectionate heart that you please."

Mrs. Irvington's opinion strongly coincided with Hepsah's. "I consider it an important part of Willie's education," she said, "that he learn to work. It gives him muscle and vigor, and makes him far happier to be useful than if he spent all his leisure hours in play."

From the time of Mr. Olmstead's accident, he never ventured far from his own house: and gradually Arthur was able to relieve him of the necessity. After he learned to write, his was the task of making out the bills for rent, etc., and carrying them to the tenants. He also went to market, having taken pains to study with Hepsah the different and most desirable pieces of meat for roasts, stews, steaks, etc. He became quite expert in telling the difference between an old fowl and a young one by the flexibility of their legs. Of course, all this required time, care and pains, each of which Arthur was willing to bestow.

When he was fifteen years old, he left school and went to Mr. Irvington's wharf where he had been engaged as a clerk to assist in paying off the men and keeping the accounts. There was another clerk, older than he, a man who was trusted by his employers, but to whom Arthur from the first had taken a great dislike.

This place in the office had been reserved for Willie Irvington, but very suddenly Willie disappeared, and when questioned concerning him, his father gravely answered that he had left the city to attend school.

Mr. Munger, the elder clerk, was a jovial, joking sort of a man, who won many friends by his gaiety and apparent lightness of heart. He was exceedingly kind to Arthur from the first day he entered the office; and the boy could not explain, even to himself, the reason of his dislike. There was something indefinable about the man, which made his companion fear he was not true.

After being together a few weeks, Arthur often espied Mr. Munger's eyes fixed stealthily on his face. When the gaze was noticed, he withdrew it. To no one, not even to his confidential friend, Hepsah, did the boy mention his feelings, or suspicions.

One day, after two or three months, it happened that the two clerks were alone together in the office when Munger said suddenly,—

"This is dull work. The day is as hot as blazes; and I, for one, can't endure it a moment longer." He began to throw off his linen blouse, but changed his mind suddenly, and asked, "What do you say to a glass of soda water? I'll stand cost for two, if you'll come along."

"Agreed," answered Arthur, who was also suffering from the heat.

Putting the key of the office in his pocket, they adjourned to a neighboring saloon where Arthur's taste was consulted, and he chose raspberry as the flavor he liked best.

While he was drinking, he noticed that something stronger was poured out for his companion; and he then recollected having detected the smell of wine in Munger's breath.

On their return, Munger put his arm confidentially within Arthur's, and began in an insinuating tone to talk of the dullness of their life as clerks, declaring it a necessity of his being to have some amusement.

"Do you never go to the theatre?" at length he asked.

Arthur shook his head.

"Suppose you go with me to-night. There is a play advertised that I'm crazy to see."

"I'm sure my parents would not consent!"

"You can tell them, you are obliged to return to the office to help me settle up accounts," urged Munger with an unpleasant laugh. "They would believe such a likely excuse, hey?"

"They certainly would believe whatever I told them," answered Arthur in a serious tone, "because I have never deceived them in the least particular. Perhaps you do not know that I was a poor orphan about to starve, when Mrs. Irvington took compassion on me, and found me a place in my present home. Do you think I would return the kindness of my adopted parents by deceiving them, and going to places which they disapprove? You have quite mistaken my character if you have thought that."

"I'll bet on you any day," exclaimed Munger, bursting into a loud laugh, and slapping Arthur on the shoulder, though looking very red in the face. "I only proposed it to try you. If you'd consented, I should have enlightened you as to my real sentiments. I never go to such places."

A few nights later, as Arthur, accompanied by Hepsah, was returning from the evening service which they were in the habit of attending, they passed the theatre. The gay company were pouring out and coming down the steps. Among them Arthur distinctly recognized his fellow-clerk.

His surprise was so great, he could not help exclaiming,—

"Why there is Munger!"

On their way home, he confided to Hepsah what had occurred.

"Be careful of that man," was her indignant rejoinder. "Be careful; avoid him as you would a mad dog. Shall you tell Mr. Irvington?" she asked presently.

"Oh, no! I feel sure he does not approve of theatres or of drinking liquor of any kind; but he would say perhaps that he has no authority over his clerk out of office hours. I believe Munger is a good accountant, and he does his work very quickly."

Weeks passed on, without any event worthy of notice except that Arthur, after consultation with his parents, offered himself as a candidate for admission to the church. His pastor seemed satisfied that he knew by experience the joys of pardoned sin; and he was soon numbered with the people of God.

Mr. Olmstead's eyes were failing, and therefore every moment of Arthur's leisure was devoted to reading aloud the daily journals, so regularly left at the house. In the evening, he had for a year past given Ann a lesson in writing. She was now quite elated at the thought of being able to write a letter home, as she called her dear, swate Ireland.