“Abel is a smart boy,” said Mr. Newt.

Gabriel made no reply.

“Do you like Abel?”

Gabriel paused a moment; then said,

“No, Sir.”

The merchant looked at the boy for a few moments.

“Who did you like at school?”

“Oh, I liked Jim Greenidge and Little Malacca best,”, replied Gabriel, as if the whole world must be familiar with those names.

At the mention of the latter Lawrence Newt looked interested, and, after talking a little more, said,

“Gabriel, I take you into my office.”

He called Mr. Tray.

“Thomas Tray, this is the youngest clerk, Gabriel Bennet.  Gabriel, this is the head of the outer office, Mr. Thomas Tray.  Thomas, ask Venables to step this way.”

That young man appeared immediately.

“Mr. Venables, you are promoted.  You have seven hundred dollars a year, and are no longer youngest clerk.  Gabriel Bennet, this is Frank Venables.  Be friends.  Now go to work.”

There was a general bowing, and Thomas Tray and the two young men retired.

As they went out Mr. Newt opened a letter which had been brought in from the Post during the interview.

“DEAR SIR,—­I trust you will pardon this intrusion.  It is a long time since I have had the honor of writing to you; but I thought you would wish to know that Miss Wayne will be in New York, for the first time, within a day or two after you receive this letter.  She is with her aunt, Mrs. Dinks, who will stay at Bunker’s.

“Respectfully yours,

“JANE SIMCOE.”

Lawrence Newt’s head drooped as he sat.  Presently he arose and walked up and down the office.

Meanwhile Gabriel was installed.  That ceremony consisted of offering him a high stool with a leathern seat.  Mr. Tray remarked that he should have a drawer in the high desk, on both sides of which the clerks were seated.  The installation was completed by Mr. Tray’s formally introducing the new-comer to the older clerks.

The scratching began again.  Gabriel looked curiously upon the work in which he was now to share.  The young men had no words for him.  Mr. Newt was engaged within.  The boy had a vague feeling that he must shift for himself—­that every body was busy—­that play in this life had ended and work begun.  The thought tasted to him much more like smelts than cake.  And while he was wisely left by Thomas Tray to familiarize himself with the entire novelty of the situation his mind flashed back to Delafield with an aching longing, and the boy would willingly have put his face in his hands and wept.  But he sat quietly looking at his companions—­until Mr. Tray said,

“Gabriel, I want you to copy this invoice.”

And Gabriel was a school-boy no longer.

CHAPTER XVI.

PHILOSOPHY.

Abel Newt believed in his lucky star.  He had managed Uncle Savory—­couldn’t he manage the world?