"Why, what could happen to me?" asked Andy, indignantly.
"You might get run over."
"I am not a little boy, Aunt Jane. I can take care of myself."
"You may meet with an accident for all your smartness."
"I think Andy is old enough to take care of himself," said his father, mildly.
"Oh, well! have it your own way. You can't say but I've warned you," and she sniffed severely.
"I wonder what makes Aunt Jane so disagreeable," thought Andy.
"Perhaps you'd like to go and take care of him," suggested Mr. Grant, with a smile. "You are old enough to take care of yourself."
"You needn't twit me with my age, Sterling," said Jane, with an injured sniff.
"I don't. Old age is honorable."
This made matters worse.
"You talk as if I was seventy-five. I don't consider myself an old person."
In spite of the melancholy presentiment of Aunt Jane, Andy set out for New York with Mr. Gale. An hour and a half brought them to the metropolis.
"I should like to show you something of the city, Andy," said his companion, "but I shall have to spend the time in shopping."
"I shall see something of the city if I go about with you."
"That is true."
At one o'clock they went to the Sinclair House, on Broadway, to dine.
They selected a table where there was but one other guest, who seemed known to Walter Gale.
"Good-morning, Mr. Flint," said the young man.
"Ah, it's you, Walter, is it?" returned the other, a stout man, whose hair was beginning to grow gray.
"Yes."
"I haven't seen you for a long time. Where have you been?"
"Rusticating in a Connecticut town."
"Is the young man with you a brother? But, no; I remember that you have no brother."
"He isn't related to me, but I think as much of him as if he were. His name is Andrew Grant."
"A good name. Is he attending school?"
"He has recently left school."
"If he were seeking a position I could find a place for him."
"In your own employ?"
"Yes. I have a boy, but I don't find him reliable or faithful. He will leave me on Saturday night."
"Andy," said his friend, "how would you like to enter Mr. Flint's employ?"
"Very much," answered Andy, eagerly.
At the same time he wondered what was the nature of Mr. Flint's business.
"Then after dinner we will walk together to Mr. Flint's store in Union Square."
"There is my card," said Mr. Flint.
Andy received it and read the name:
F. FLINT,
UNION SQUARE.
JEWELRY.
The two men conversed together, and when dinner was over they walked up Broadway to Fourteenth Street. Turning the left-hand corner, they soon reached a jewelry store of modest appearance, but evidently containing a valuable stock.
A youth with light-brown hair, who seemed to have been born tired, was leaning against the counter. This, doubtless, was the boy who was not satisfactory.
"John," said Mr. Flint, "have you carried the parcel to Forty-eighth Street?"
"No, sir," answered the boy.
"Why not?"
"I thought it would do just as well after lunch."
"There you are mistaken. Put on your hat at once and go," said his employer, sharply.
"You see," went on Mr. Flint, after the boy had started, "the trouble I have with John. He needs to be looked after continually."
"You won't have that trouble with Andy."
"No, I think not."
Walter Gale accompanied Mr. Flint to the back part of the store, where they held a conversation in a low tone. Presently Walter Gale came back, and signified to Andy that they must be going.
"Mr. Flint will expect you to present yourself for duty on Tuesday morning," he said. "You will reach the store at eight o'clock."