“I suppose that means that you will be seventeen in eleven months and a half.”

“No, sir,” said Paul, “I shall be seventeen in three months.”

“All right.  Most boys call themselves a year older.  What’s your name?”

“Paul Prescott.”

“P.  P. Any relation to Fanny Fern?”

“No, sir,” said Paul, rather astonished.

“Didn’t know but you might be.  P. P. and F. F. Where do you live?”

Paul mentioned the street and number.

“That’s well, you are near by,” said Mr. Smith.  “Now, are you afraid of work?”

“No sir,” said Paul, smiling, “not much.”

“Well, that’s important; how much wages do you expect?”

“I suppose,” said Paul, hesitating, “I couldn’t expect very much at first.”

“Of course not; green, you know.  What do you say to a dollar a week?”

“A dollar a week!” exclaimed Paul, in dismay, “I hoped to get enough to pay for my board.”

“Nonsense.  There are plenty of boys glad enough to come for a dollar a week.  At first, you know.  But I’ll stretch a point with you, and offer you a dollar and a quarter.  What do you say?”

“How soon could I expect to have my wages advanced?” inquired our hero, with considerable anxiety.

“Well,” said Smith, “at the end of a month or two.”

“I’ll go home and speak to my uncle about it,” said Paul, feeling undecided.

“Can’t keep the place open for you.  Ah, there’s another boy at the door.”

“I’ll accept,” said Paul, jumping to a decision.  He had applied in so many different quarters without success, that he could not make up his mind to throw away this chance, poor as it seemed.

“When shall I come?”

“Come to-morrow.”

“At what time, sir?”

“At seven o’clock.”

This seemed rather early.  However, Paul was prepared to expect some discomforts, and signified that he would come.

As he turned to go away, another boy passed him, probably bent on the same errand with himself.

Paul hardly knew whether to feel glad or sorry.  He had expected at least three dollars a week, and the descent to a dollar and a quarter was rather disheartening.  Still, he was encouraged by the promise of a rise at the end of a month or two,—­so on the whole he went home cheerful.

“Well, Paul, what luck to-day?” asked Mr. Cameron, who had just got home as Paul entered.

“I’ve got a place, Uncle Hugh.”

“You have,—­where?”

“With Smith & Thompson, No.—­Broadway.”

“What sort of a store?  I don’t remember the name.”

“It is a retail dry-goods store.”

“Did you like the looks of your future employer?”

“I don’t know,” said Paul, hesitating, “He looked as if he might be a pretty sharp man in business, but I have seen others that I would rather work for.  However, beggars mustn’t be choosers.  But there was one thing I was disappointed about.”