idea which seemed to promise well, and he was determined to keep
it to himself as long as possible. As soon as he was subjected
to
competition and
rivalry his gains would probably diminish.
CHAPTER II
PAUL AT HOME
Paul went up Centre street and turned into Pearl. Stopping
before a tenement-house, he entered, and, going up two flights of
stairs, opened a door and entered.
"You are home early, Paul," said a woman of middle age, looking
up at his entrance.
"Yes, mother; I've sold out."
"You've not sold out the whole fifty packages?" she asked, in
surprise.
"Yes, I have. I had capital luck."
"Why, you must have made as much as a dollar, and it's not twelve
yet."
"I've made more than that, mother. Just wait a minute, till I've
reckoned up a little. Where's Jimmy?"
"Miss Beckwith offered to take him out to walk with her, so I let
him go. He'll be back at twelve."
While Paul is making a
calculation, a few words of explanation
and
description may be given, so that the reader may understand
better how he is situated.
The rooms occupied by Paul and his mother were three in number.
The largest one was about fourteen feet square, and was lighted
by two windows. It was covered with a neat, though well-worn,
carpet; a few cane-bottomed chairs were ranged at the windows,
and on each side of the table. There was a French clock on the
mantel, a rocking chair for his mother, and a few inexpensive
engravings hung upon the walls. There was a
hanging bookcase
containing two
shelves, filled with books,
partly school books,
supplemented by a few
miscellaneous books, such as "Robinson
Crusoe," "Pilgrim's Progress," a
volume of "Poetical Selections,"
an odd
volume of Scott, and several others. Out of the main room
opened two narrow chambers, both together of about the same area
as the main room. One of these was occupied by Paul and Jimmy,
the other by his mother.
Those who are familiar with the
construction of a New York
tenement-house will
readily understand the appearance of the
rooms into which we have introduced them. It must, however, be
explained that few similar apartments are found so well
furnished. Carpets are not very common in tenement-houses, and
if there are any pictures, they are usually the cheapest prints.
Wooden chairs, and generally every object of the cheapest, are to
be met with in the dwellings of the New York poor. If we find
something better in the present
instance, it is not because Paul
and his mother are any better off than their neighbors. On the
contrary, there are few whose
income is so small. But they have
seen better days, and the furniture we see has been saved from
the time of their
comparativeprosperity.
As Paul is still at his
estimate, let us improve the opportunity
by giving a little of their early history.
Mr. Hoffman, the father of Paul, was born in Germany, but came to
New York when a boy of twelve, and there he grew up and married,
his wife being an American. He was a cabinetmaker, and, being a
skillful
workman, earned very good wages, so that he was able to
maintain his family in comfort. They occupied a neat little
cottage in Harlem, and lived very happily, for Mr. Hoffman was
temperate and kind, when an
unfortunate accident clouded their
happiness, and brought an end to their
prosperity. In crossing
Broadway at its most
crowded part, the husband and father was run
over by a loaded dray, and so
seriously injured that he lived but
a few hours. Then the
precarious nature of their
prosperity was
found out. Mr. Hoffman had not saved anything, having always
lived up to the
extent of his
income. It was
obviously
impossible for them to continue to live in their old home, paying
a rent of twenty dollars per month. Besides, Paul did not see
any good opportunity to earn his living in Harlem. So, at his
instigation, his mother moved
downtown, and took rooms in a
tenement-house in Pearl street, agreeing to pay six dollars a
month for apartments which would now command double the price.
They brought with them furniture enough to furnish the three
rooms, selling the rest for what it would bring, and thus
obtaining a small reserve fund, which by this time was nearly
exhausted.
Once fairly established in their new home, Paul went out into the
streets to earn his living. The two most
obvious, and, on the
whole, most
profitable trades, were blacking boots and selling
newspapers. To the first Paul, who was a neat boy, objected on
the score that it would keep his hands and clothing dirty, and,
street boy though he had become, he had a pride in his personal
appearance. To selling papers he had not the same
objection, but
he had a natural taste for trade, and this led him to join the
ranks of the street peddlers. He began with vending matches, but
found so much
competition in the business, and received so rough
a
receptionoftentimes from those who had
repeated calls from
others in the same business, that he gave it up, and tried
something else. But the same
competition which crowds the
professions and the higher employments followed by men, prevails
among the street trades which are pursued by boys. If Paul had
only had himself to support, he could have made a fair living at
match selling, or any other of the employments he took up; but
his mother could not earn much at making vests, and Jimmy was
lame, and could do nothing to fill the common purse, so that Paul
felt that his
earnings must be the main support of the family,
and naturally sought out what would bring him in most money.
At length he had hit upon selling prize packages, and his first
experience in that line are recorded in the
previous chapter.
Adding only that it was now a year since his father's death, we
resume our narrative.
"Do you want to know how much I've made, mother?" asked Paul,
looking up at length from his
calculation.
"Yes, Paul."
"A dollar and thirty cents."
"I did not think it would
amount to so much. The prizes came to
considerable, didn't they?"
"Listen, and I will tell you how I stand:
One pound of candy . . . . . . . . .20
Two packs of envelopes . . . . . . . .10
Prize. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .90
----
That makes . . . . . . . . . . . . $1.20
I sold the fifty packages at five cents each, and that brought me
in two dollars and a half. Taking out the expenses, it leaves me
a dollar and thirty cents. Isn't that doing well for one
morning's work?"
"It's excellent; but I thought your prizes
amounted to more than
ninety cents."
"So they did, but several persons who bought wouldn't take their
prizes, and that was so much gain."
"You have done very well, Paul. I wish you might earn as much
every day."
"I'm going to earn some more this afternoon. I bought a pound of
candy on the way home, and some cheap envelopes, and I'll be
making up a new stock while I am
waiting for dinner."
Paul took out his candy and envelopes, and set about making up
the packages.
"Did any
complain of the small
amount of candy you put in?"
"A few; but most bought for the sake of the prizes."
"Perhaps you had better be a little more
liberal with your candy,
and then there may not be so much
dissatisfaction where the prize
is only a penny."
"I don't know but your are right, mother. I believe I'll only
make thirty packages with this pound, instead of fifty.
Thirty'll be all I can sell this afternoon."
Just then the door opened, and Paul's brother entered.
Jimmy Hoffman, or lame Jimmy, as he was often called, was a
delicate-looking boy of ten, with a fair
complexion and sweet
face, but incurably lame, a
defect which, added to his delicate
constitution, was likely to
interfereseriously with his success
in life. But, as frequently happens, Jimmy was all the more
endeared to his mother and brother by his
misfortune and bodily
weakness, and if either were obliged to suffer from poverty,
Jimmy would be spared the suffering.
"Well, Jimmy, have you had a pleasant walk?" asked his mother.
"Yes, mother; I went down to Fulton Market. There's a good deal
to see there."
"A good deal more than in this dull room, Jimmy."
"It doesn't seem dull to me, mother, while you are here. How did
you make out selling your prize packages?"
"They are all sold, Jimmy, every one. I am making some more."
"Shan't I help you?"
"Yes, I would like to have you. Just take those envelopes, and
write prize packages on every one of them."
"All right, Paul," and Jimmy, glad to be of use, got the pen and
ink, and,
gathering up the envelopes, began to
inscribe them as
he had been instructed.
By the time the packages were made up, dinner was ready. It was
not a very
luxuriousrepast. There was a small piece of rump
steak--not more than three-quarters of a pound--a few potatoes, a
loaf of bread, and a small plate of butter. That was all; but
then the cloth that covered the table was neat and clean, and the
knives and forks were as bright as new, and what there was tasted
good.
"What have you been doing this morning, Jimmy?" asked Paul.
"I have been
drawing, Paul. Here's a picture of Friday. I
copied it from 'Robinson Crusoe.' "
He showed the picture, which was
wonderfully like that in the
book, for this--the gift of
drawing--was Jimmy's one
talent, and
he possessed it in no common degree.
"Excellent, Jimmy!" said Paul. "You're a real
genius. I
shouldn't be surprised if you'd make an artist some day."
"I wish I might," said Jimmy,
earnestly. "There's nothing I'd
like better."
"I'll tell you what, Jimmy. If I do well this afternoon, I'll
buy you a
drawing-book and some paper, to work on while mother
and I are busy."
"If you can afford it, Paul, I should like it so much. Some time
I might earn something that way."
"Of course you may," said Paul,
cheerfully. "I won't forget
you."
Dinner over, Paul went out to business, and was again successful,
getting rid of his thirty packages, and
clearing another dollar.
Half of this he invested in a
drawing- book, a pencil and some
drawing-paper for Jimmy. Even then he had left of his
earningsfor the day one dollar and eighty cents. But this success in the
new business had already excited envy and
competition, as he was
destined to find out on the morrow.
CHAPTER III
PAUL HAS COMPETITORS
The next morning Paul took his old place in front of the post
office. He set down his basket in front, and,
taking one of the
packages in his hand, called out in a
businesslike manner, as on
the day before, "Here's your prize packages! Only five cents!
Money prize in every package! Walk up, gentlemen, and try your
luck!"
He met with a fair degree of success at first, managing in the
course of an hour to sell ten packages. All the prizes drawn
were small, with the
exception of one ten-cent prize, which was
drawn by a little bootblack, who exclaimed:
"That's the way to do business, Johnny. If you've got any more