Chester Rand Part 17

"You'd orter come back to work for me, Chester."

"But you have got a boy already."

"The Wood boy ain't worth shucks. He ain't got no push, and he's allus forgettin' his errands. If you'll come next Monday I'll pay you two dollars and a half a week. That's pooty good for these times."

"I'm sorry to disappoint you, Mr. Tripp, but I am going to work somewhere else."

"Where?" asked Silas, in great surprise.

"In New York," answered Chester, proudly.

"You don't say! How'd you get it?"

"Mr. Conrad, an artist, a friend of the minister, got it for me."

"Is your mother willin' to have you go?"

"She will miss me, but she thinks it will be for my advantage."

"How's she goin' to live? It will take all you can earn to pay your own way in a big city. In fact, I don't believe you can do it."

"I'll try, Mr. Tripp."

Chester did not care to mention the new boarder that was expected, as he thought it probable that Mr. Tripp, who always looked out for his own interests, would try to induce Miss Dolby to board with him. As Mr.

Tripp had the reputation of keeping a very poor table, he had never succeeded in retaining a boarder over four weeks.

Chester found that his clothing needed replenis.h.i.+ng, and ventured to spend five dollars for small articles, such as handkerchiefs, socks, etc. Sat.u.r.day morning he walked to the depot with a small gripsack in his hand and bought a ticket for New York.

CHAPTER X.

A RAILROAD ACQUAINTANCE.

The distance by rail from Wyncombe to New York is fifty miles. When about eight years of age Chester had made the journey, but not since then. Everything was new to him, and, of course, interesting. His attention was drawn from the scenery by the pa.s.sage of a train boy through the cars with a bundle of new magazines and papers.

"Here is all the magazines, _Puck_ and _Judge_."

"How much do you charge for _Puck_?" asked Chester, with interest, for it was _Puck_ that had accepted his first sketch.

"Ten cents."

"Give me one."

Chester took the paper and handed the train boy a dime.

Then he began to look over the pages. All at once he gave a start, his face flushed, his heart beat with excitement. There was his sketch looking much more attractive on the fair pages of the periodical than it had done in his pencil drawing. He kept looking at it. It seemed to have a fascination for him. It was his first appearance in a paper, and it was a proud moment for him.

"What are you looking at so intently, my son?" asked the gentleman who sat at his side. He was a man of perhaps middle age, and he wore spectacles, which gave him a literary aspect.

"I--I am looking at this sketch," answered Chester, in slight confusion.

"Let me see it."

Chester handed over the paper and regarded his seat mate with some anxiety. He wanted to see what impression this, his maiden effort, would have on a staid man of middle age.

"Ha! very good!" said his companion, "but I don't see anything very remarkable about it. Yet you were looking at it for as much as five minutes."

"Because it is mine," said Chester, half proudly, half in embarra.s.sment.

"Ah! that is different. Did you really design it?"

"Yes, sir."

"I suppose you got pay for it. I understand _Puck_ pays for everything it publishes."

"Yes, sir; I got ten dollars."

"Ten dollars!" repeated the gentleman, in surprise. "Really that is very handsome. Do you often produce such sketches?"

"I have just begun, sir. That is the first I have had published."

"You are beginning young. How old are you?"

"I am almost sixteen."

"That is young for an artist. Why, I am forty-five, and I haven't a particle of talent in that direction. My youngest son asked me the other day to draw a cow on the slate. I did as well as I could, and what do you think he said?"

"What did he say?" asked Chester, interested.

"He said, 'Papa, if it wasn't for the horns I should think it was a horse.'"

Chester laughed. It was a joke he could appreciate.

"I suppose all cannot draw," he said.

"It seems not. May I ask you if you live in New York--the city, I mean?"

"No, sir."

"But you are going there?"

"Yes, sir."

"To live?"

"I hope so. A friend has written advising me to come. He says I will be better placed to do art work, and dispose of my sketches."