He'll
have to start at the very bottom--sweep the office, perhaps--I
did it myself once--and I'll give him--let me see--ten shillings
a week to begin with."
" 'To begin with,' " repeated Mrs. Boyd, gently but firmly; "but
he will soon be worth more. I am sure of that."
"Very well. When I see what stuff he is made of, he shall have a
rise. But I never do things at haphazard; and it's easier going
up than coming down. I'm not a benevolent man, Mrs. Boyd, and
you need not think it. But I've fought the world pretty hard
myself, and I like to help those that are fighting it. Good
evening. Isn't that your son coming round the corner? Well,
he's back exact to his time, at any rate. Tell him I hope he
will be as punctual on Monday morning. Good evening, ma'am."
Now, if this were an imaginary story, I might wind it up by a
delightful denoument of Mr. Bethune's turning out an old friend
of the family, or developing into a new one, and taking such a
fancy to Donald that he immediately gave him a clerkship with a
large salary, and the promise of a partnership on coming of age,
or this worthy gentleman should be an eccentric old bachelor who
immediately adopted that wonderful boy and befriended the whole
Boyd family.
But neither of these things, nor anything else remarkable,
happened in the real story, which, as it is literally true,
though told with certain necessary disguises, I prefer to keep to
as closely as I can. Such astonishing bits of "luck" do not
happen in real life, or happen so rarely that one inclines, at
least, to believe very little in either good or ill fortune, as a
matter of chance.
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