“How do you know I will suit you any better than Tom?” asked Herbert, who did not think it necessary to thank Mr. Graham for the proffered engagement until he learned just what was expected of him, and what his pay was to be.

“You’re a different sort of a boy,” said Ebenezer, with an attempt at a pleasant smile.  “You’ve been brought up different.  I’ve heard you’re a smart, capable boy, that isn’t afraid of work.”

“No, sir, I am not, if I am fairly paid for my work.”

The new postmaster’s jaw fell, and he looked uneasy, for he always grudged the money he paid out, even the paltry dollar and a half which went to poor Tom.

“I always calkerlate to pay fair wages,” he said; “but I ain’t rich, and I can’t afford to fling away money.”

“How much do you pay Tom Tripp?” asked Herbert.

He knew, but he wanted to draw Mr. Graham out.

“I pay Thomas a dollar and fifty cents a week,” answered the storekeeper, in a tone which indicated that he regarded this, on the whole, as rather a munificent sum.

“And he works from seven in the morning till nine o’clock at night,” proceeded Herbert.

“Them are the hours,” said Ebenezer, who knew better how to make money than to speak grammatically.

“It makes a pretty long day,” observed Mrs. Carr.

“So it does, ma’am, but it’s no longer than I work myself.”

“You get paid rather better, I presume.”

“Of course, ma’am, as I am the proprietor.”

“I couldn’t think of working for any such sum,” said Herbert, decidedly.

Mr. Graham looked disturbed, for he had reasons for desiring to secure Herbert, who was familiar with the routine of post-office work.

“Well,” he said, “I might be able to offer you a leetle more, as you know how to tend the post office.  That’s worth somethin’!  I’ll give you—­lemme see—­twenty-five cents more; that is, a dollar and seventy-five cents a week.”

Herbert and his mother exchanged glances.  They hardly knew whether to feel more amused or disgusted at their visitor’s meanness.

“Mr. Graham,” said Herbert, “if you wish to secure my services, you will have to pay me three dollars a week.”

The storekeeper held up both hands in dismay.

“Three dollars a week for a boy!” he exclaimed.

“Yes, sir; I will come for a short time for that sum, till you get used to the management of the post office, but I shall feel justified in leaving you when I can do better.”

“You must think I am made of money,” said Ebenezer hastily.

“I think you can afford to pay me that salary.”

For twenty minutes the new postmaster tried to beat down his prospective clerk, but Herbert was obstinate, and Ebenezer rather ruefully promised to give him his price, chiefly because it was absolutely necessary that he should engage some one who was more familiar with the post-office work than he was.  Herbert agreed to go to work the next morning.