not recognize his claims, there was one
comfort, his mother appreciated him, and he appreciated himself. As to
his cousin, he did not feel quite so certain.

"Why are you so late, Roswell?" asked his mother, looking up from her
work as he entered. "It seems to me they kept you later than usual at
the store, even for Saturday evening."

"I'm sick of the store," said Roswell, impatiently.

"What's the matter?"

"I asked old Turner to-night if he wouldn't raise my wages," said
Roswell.

"Well, what did he say?"

"He said he wouldn't do it."

"Did he give any reason?"

"He said I didn't earn any more. He's a stingy old hunks, any way, and I
wish I was in another place."

"So do I; but it isn't so easy to get a new position. You had better
stay in this till another offers."

"I hate carrying bundles through the streets. It isn't fit work for a
gentleman's son."

"Ah, if your poor father had lived, things would have been very
different with us all!" said Mrs. Crawford, with a sigh. She chose to
forget that previous to his death her late husband's habits had been
such that he contributed very little to the comfort or support of the
family.

"I wouldn't care if I were a salesman," continued Roswell; "but I don't
like being an errand boy. I'd just as lives go to the post-office for
letters, or to the bank with money, but, as for carrying big bundles of
calico under my arm, I don't like it. I was walking on Madison Avenue
the other day with a ten-pound bundle, when the boot-black came up,
dressed handsomely, with a gold watch and chain, and exulted over me for
carrying such a big bundle."

There was a little exaggeration about this, for Dick was very far from
exulting over Roswell, otherwise he certainly would not have volunteered
to carry the bundle himself. But it often happens that older persons
than Roswell are not above a little misrepresentation now and then.

"He's an impudent fellow, then!" said Mrs. Crawford, indignantly. "Then
Mr. Hall won't raise your wages?"

"It wasn't Mr. Hall I asked. It was Mr. Turner," said Roswell.

"Didn't he hold out any hopes of raising your wages hereafter?"

"He said he would raise them when I deserve it. He don't amount to much.
He's no gentleman," said Roswell, scornfully.

"Who's no gentleman?" inquired James Gilbert, who chanced just then to
enter the room.

"Mr. Turner."

"Who's Mr. Turner?"

"My employer,--Hall & Turner, you know."

"What's amiss with h