CHAPTER XXVII.
DARK DAYS.
It was now midwinter. The streets were filled with snow and ice, and thecold, frost-laden air was chilling alike to the body and spirits of onein the unfortunate position in which young Randolph suddenly foundhimself.
If one has never been out of a position in a great city at this seasonof the year, he can have but little conception of the almost utterlyhopeless prospects before him. After the holiday trade is over, a vastnumber of clerks are discharged from our stores, and thousands in themanufacturing line are thrown out of employment. These are added tothe very large number that at all seasons of the year are hunting forwork. Thousands, too, from the country, thinking to escape the drearyfrost-bound months of rural life, flock to the city and join theenormous army of the unemployed. All want work, and there is little orno work to be had. It is the season of the year when few changes aremade by employers other than to dispense with the services of those notactually needed. To be sure, a few employees die, and leave vacancies tobe filled. Others prove unfaithful, and are discharged. A new business,too, is started here and there, but all the available positions combinedare as nothing when compared to the tremendous demand for them by thethousands of applicants.
When Herbert Randolph came to New York in the fall, he was fortunate inarriving at the time when employers usually carry a larger force of helpthan at any other season of the year. There was consequently less demandfor positions, and a greater demand for help. Thus he had a possiblechance of securing employment, and he happened to be fortunate enough todo so. I say he had a _possible chance_, for surely he had no more thanthat even at the most favorable season of the year. He was extremelyfortunate, coming from the country as he did, to find employment at all.
In view of these facts it will not be surprising that young Randolph,brave boy as he was, looked upon the dreary prospect before him with aheavy heart.
Bob Hunter realized fully the gravity of his friend's situation, andthis is why he urged the money upon him, wishing to keep up his courage,and delicately refraining from touching upon the dark outlook ahead.
I wish I had the space to picture carefully all the rebuffs, the coldtreatment, and the discouragement that met our young hero on his dailywanderings, seeking for some honest labor--anything that would furnishhim with the means to buy bread. But as I should not feel justified inextending this story to such a length, I must content myself with a fewglimpses that will show the heroic struggle he made to sustain himselfduring these dark, chilly, and cheerless days of winter.
"It's pretty tough, ain't it, Herbert?" said Bob, one night when theywere alone together in their room. He sought to lift the burden from hisfriend's mind by drawing him into conversation.
"Yes," answered Herbert, mechanically.
This reply, so short, and given with so little expression, gave Bob afeeling of uneasiness.
"I hope you ain't getting discouraged," he ventured next.
"No, nothing will discourage me now," replied young Randolph doggedly.
"But you hain't got no encouragement yet?"
"No, none whatever," was the gloomy answer.
"And you've been trying for three weeks to strike something?"
"Yes; it's nearer four weeks, and my shoes are worn out with walking."
"But you know I have some money for you, and you better take it and buyyou a new pair."
HERBERT RANDOLPH SHOVELING SNOW.]
"No, Bob, I will never take that except as a last resort. While I havemy health I shall not allow myself to accept charity. I am not afraidto do any sort of work, and sooner or later I am confident that I shallfind employment. This morning I earned seventy five cents shoveling snowfrom the stoops of houses. This sort of employment, however, is veryuncertain, as so little snow falls here; but there are other odd jobs tobe done, and I shall try and get my share of them."
"I didn't know you was doing that kind of work, Herbert," said Bob, witha deep drawn sigh. "It ain't right for a boy with your learnin' to comedown to that."
"It's right for me to do anything temporarily to earn an honest penny.One who is above work cannot hope to succeed. I am here, and I am goingto stay, and the best I can do is to do always the best I can, and thebest I can do just at present is to be a porter, an errand boy, a boy ofall work--ready for anything, and willing to do anything, always keepingmy eyes open for a chance to go a step higher.
"The trouble with me now, Bob, is that I started in too elegantly atfirst. I commenced in a broker's office, when I should have started atthe bottom, in order to know anything about the first round of theladder. I'm at the bottom now, and it looks as if I would have to remainthere long enough to learn a good deal about that position."
"I'm glad you feel that way, Herbert, for I thought you was gettingdiscouraged," replied Bob, his face brightening up.
"I did feel utterly discouraged for the first two or three weeks;but you know, Bob, one can get used to anything, and I have becomesufficiently accustomed to this miserable kind of work, and to thebeggarly pennies I earn from time to time, so that it is less cutting tome than at first. I try to content myself with the belief that it willbe better by and by, though I get heartsick sometimes. It seems almostuseless to try farther for work in any well established business."
The foregoing will give a very slight idea of the struggle youngRandolph made to keep his head above water, and it presents a prettytrue picture of the difficulties a boy will ordinarily encounter inattempting to make his way unaided in a great city like New York. Ofcourse difficulties vary in character and severity; but it would notbe safe for the average boy to expect to find less than those thatsurrounded our hero. Some would be more fortunate, while others would beless favored. Herbert Randolph was especially fortunate in meeting BobHunter, whose friendship proved as true as steel. What would have becomeof him while in the hands of old Gunwagner, but for Bob's effort torescue him? And, again, how could he have fought away despondency duringhis enforced idleness had he lived by himself in a cold and cheerlessroom? Brave and manly as he was, he owed much to his warm heartedcompanion, whose presence and sympathy revived his drooping and almostcrushed spirits.
As the days passed by, Herbert Randolph turned his attention to themost practical purposes. He almost entirely gave up looking for a steadysituation, and devoted his time to doing whatever odd jobs he could hitupon that would bring him in a little money. Among the many kinds ofhumble employment to which he bent his energies was that of workingthe hoist. In New York the tall warehouses, those not supplied with anelevator, have a windlass at the top, to which is attached a heavy rope,that passes down through a wide opening to the ground floor. This rope,with a large iron hook at the end, is attached to heavy cases, orwhatever is to be taken to any of the upper lofts. Another rope, passingover a big wheel, when pulled turns the windlass. This winds the mainrope around it, and thus draws it up, taking with it its load, whateverthat may be. Perhaps no harder or less poetic work to an educated boycould be found than this; yet Herbert Randolph did not hesitate to throwoff his coat, and work with an aching back and smarting hands as fewporters would do.
He worked faithfully and honestly, with no hope of reward other than themoney he would earn by his labor. And yet this very employment--thishumble porter work--opened up to him an opportunity of which he hadnever dreamed--suggested to him an idea that he never before thought of.
It came about in this way. One day, after he had toiled for two hours orso on the hoist, and had finished his work, he went up to the cashier toget his money, as he had done many times before. A man with a satchelstrapped to his shoulder was just ahead of him.
"Good morning, Mr. Smith," said the man with the satchel, addressing thecashier.
HERBERT RANDOLPH WORKING ON THE HOIST.]
"Good morning," responded the latter. "I am glad you came today, Mr.Woodman, for we have an unusually large supply of stamps on hand."
"The market is very much overstocked at present," replied Woodman,
unslinging his satchel, and resting it on the desk. "I bought a thousanddollars' worth of stamps yesterday from one party at five per cent off."
"Five per cent," repeated the cashier, arching his eyebrows.
"Yes, five per cent."
"And you expect to buy from us at that rate?"
"I wish I could pay you more, but my money is all tied up now--themarket is glutted, fairly glutted."
"I should think it would be, when you buy them in thousand dollar lots."
"Well, that does seem like a large amount of stamps, but I know of onelot--a ten thousand dollar lot--that I could buy within an hour, if Ihad the money to put into them."
"You could never get rid of so many, Woodman," said the cashier,surprised at the broker's statement.
"Oh, yes, I could work them off sooner or later, and would get par formost of them too."
"How do you do it?"
"I put them up in small lots of fifty cents and a dollar, and upwards,and sell them to my customers. Of course, when I buy big lots I do alittle wholesaling, but I put away all I cannot sell at the time."
"They are sure to go sooner or later, I suppose," said the cashier.
"Oh, yes, sure to sell. During the summer months very few stamps comeinto the market."
"And this gives you an opportunity to work off your surplus stock?"
"Yes."
"I presume you sell as a rule to stores and business offices."
"Yes; I have a regular line of customers who buy all of their stamps offme--customers that I worked up myself."
"And they prefer buying of you to going to the post office for theirsupply?"
"Certainly; for I give them just as good stamps, and by buying of methey save themselves the trouble of going to the post office for them."
Herbert Randolph was waiting for his money, and overheard thisconversation between the cashier and the stamp broker. He made no effortto hear it, for it did not relate to him. They spoke so loud, however,that he caught every word distinctly, and before they had finishedtalking the idea flashed across his mind that he would try his handat that business. Mr. Woodman, as good fortune willed it for youngRandolph, could take only a portion of the stamps the cashier wished todispose of. When the broker had completed his purchase and gone, Herbertstepped up to the cashier for the money due him for working on thehoist. Mr. Smith handed it to him cheerfully, with a pleasant remark,which gave young Randolph an opportunity to talk with him about thestamp brokerage idea that had set his brain on fire.
"How much capital have you?" asked the cashier, with growing interest.
"With the money you just paid me I have three dollars and seventy fivecents," answered Herbert, his face coloring.
The cashier smiled.
"And you think you could become a broker on that capital?" said he, withmingled surprise and amusement.
"I think I could try it on that capital if you would sell me thestamps," replied Herbert, with such intelligent assurance that heinterested the cashier.
"You can certainly have the stamps," answered the latter, "and I willaid you in every way possible, but----" and there was an ominous pause,as if thinking how he could best discourage the boy from such anundertaking.
Herbert divined his thoughts, and said, "I know such an idea must seemfoolish to you, who handle so much money; but to me----"
"Yes, you may be right, young man," interrupted the cashier. "Youcertainly interest me. I like ambition and pluck, and you evidently haveboth. When would you like the stamps?"
"Thank you," said Herbert, in a tone that lent strength to his words."You may give them to me now, if you please--three dollars' worth. I mayneed the seventy five cents before I succeed in selling any stamps."
"It is a wise precaution to avoid tying up all your capital in onething," laughed the cashier, while counting out the stamps. "They willcost you two dollars and eighty five cents, at five per cent discount,the same as I gave Mr. Woodman."
When the transaction had been completed, young Randolph left the officehurriedly, anxious to learn what the possibilities of his newundertaking were.
Ten times during that first day did he return to Mr. Smith for stamps,and ten times was his supply exhausted by customers to whom he sold atpar--resulting in a profit of a dollar and fifty cents--an income thatto him was a small fortune.
That night Herbert Randolph joined Bob Hunter with brighter eyes andmore buoyant spirits than he had known since Mr. Goldwin's failure, nownearly three months ago.
Boy Broker; Or, Among the Kings of Wall Street Page 30
