even been in a sail-boat. I
hoped Mr. Whippleton would take it into his head to invite me some time
to sail with him. I went to dinner with the image of the boat's sharp
bow and graceful lines lingering in my mind. The beef was no tougher at
noon than it was in the morning, and I think Mrs. Whippleton was
convinced that I was not a profitable boarder at four dollars a week.

But I do not intend to weary my reader by giving the monotonous details
of my daily experience at the desk. I discharged my duties faithfully,
and to the entire satisfaction of Mr. Whippleton. On the second day, I
saw Mr. Collingsby, senior. Like his dignified son, he took no notice
of me. Possibly he asked my name in the private office; but I never
knew whether it gave them any uneasiness or not, though I am very
confident neither of them suspected that I was the son of Louise
Collingsby. The name was not so uncommon as to indicate that I belonged
to the hated Farringfords of St. Louis.

Whatever may have been said in the private office, nothing came to me
from either of the men in whom I was so deeply interested; and it often
occurred to me, as the weeks passed by, that I was doing nothing to
accomplish my great mission in Chicago. My father answered my letter,
and advised me, if I had a good place, to keep it. I wrote to him every
week, and received a letter from him as often.

The eight weeks for which I had been engaged passed off, and I hinted
to the junior partner that my time was out.

"Very well; you can go on just as you have," said he.

"I don't care about going on any farther at six dollars a week," I
replied.

"What do you want?"

"Eight, sir."

"I will speak to Mr. Collingsby."

He did speak to him, and my salary was advanced to eight dollars a week
for a year. I was satisfied I was earning that amount, and Mr.
Whippleton intimated that he should require me to do more of the
general book-keeping.

CHAPTER VIII.

IN WHICH PHIL TAKES A SAIL ON THE LAKE WITH MR. WHIPPLETON.

"Phil, do you know anything about a boat?" asked Mr. Whippleton, one
Saturday afternoon, at the close of the month of May.

I was standing on the bank of the river, looking at his boat, which had
been thoroughly repaired, painted, and rigged, and lay off the
lumber-yard. She was a beautiful craft, and after we had shut up the
counting-room, I paused to look at her.

"I don't know anything about a sail-boat," I replied; "but I used to
handle