Chester Rand Part 44

"Where do you wish me to work?" asked Chester, after a pause.

"You can work at home, but you can call at the office every day to leave your work and receive instructions."

"All right, sir. When do you wish me to commence?"

"At once. Have you any work ready? I asked because we want to get out the first number as soon as possible."

"I have one sketch and have several ideas jotted down."

"Good! Deliver as much as possible to-morrow."

Chester returned home in a high state of exultation. He would be paid less for individual sketches, but, on the other hand, he would have a steady income and an a.s.sured market for all he might produce. It seemed a wonderful promotion from five dollars a week to twenty-five. To be sure, when in the real estate office he had picked up extra compensation for outside work, but this was precarious and could not be depended on. With twenty-five dollars a week he would feel rich. This set him to considering that he must have a better room if he was to do work at home. In the same house where he now occupied a hall bedroom was a large, square room well lighted with two windows, well furnished and having a good writing desk, left by some previous tenant in part payment of arrears of rent, which he could have for five dollars a week. He had often thought he would like to occupy it, and wished he might find an agreeable roommate who would share the expense with him.

Now he felt that he could bear the expense alone. He lost no time in securing it and moving his few belongings in.

Mrs. Crosby, his landlady, was rather surprised.

"You must be doing well," she said.

Chester smiled.

"I have been discharged from my position in the real estate office," he said.

"Then," said the landlady, in some dismay, "isn't it imprudent to take a more expensive room?"

"I have secured a much better place."

"Oh! that alters the case. Is it likely to be permanent?"

"If I lose it I will go back to my old room."

"I am sure I am glad to hear of your good luck, Mr. Rand. It is very seldom that a young man of your age----"

"Call me a boy. I am not a young man yet."

"You seem to be getting on as well as a young man. I think you are real smart."

"You mustn't flatter me, Mrs. Crosby. You will make me vain. I forgot to say that I shall be a considerable part of the time in my room. That is why I want a larger one."

"But when will you work?" asked the landlady, puzzled.

"I shall work in my room."

"But what work can you do there?"

"I am an artist; that is, I am to make drawings for a new magazine."

"You don't say so? Will that pay?"

"Very handsomely."

"I hope you will show me some of them. I never met an artist before."

"I am afraid I am not much of an artist. I can show you one of my pictures now."

Chester took from the table a number of _Puck_ and pointed out a sketch.

"That's pretty good," said the landlady. "You wouldn't get more than thirty-five cents for such a picture, would you?"

"I was paid five dollars for that."

"Do tell!" exclaimed Mrs. Crosby, who was brought up in a country town and still used some of the expressions which were familiar to her in early days. "I can't hardly believe it. It seems foolish to pay so much for such a little thing."

"I don't think it foolish, Mrs. Crosby. It must pay them, or they wouldn't keep on doing it."

Chester moved into his new room and enjoyed his ample accommodations very much. The next day he went to the office of _The Phoenix_ and carried in two sketches. They were fortunate enough to win the approval of the editor.

"I see you are practical and understand what we want, Mr. Rand," he said. Just behind Chester was a man of fifty, rather shabby and neglectful in his personal appearance. He might be described as an artist going to seed. Whatever talent he might have had originally had been dulled and obscured by chronic intemperance.

"Excuse me, sir," he said, deferentially, "but I would like to submit a couple of sketches. I am Guy Radcliff."

"Glad to see you, Mr. Radcliff. Let me examine them."

"I am afraid," said the editor, after a brief examination, "that these are not quite what we want."

"Is it possible?" exclaimed Mr. Radcliff, indignantly. "You scorn my work, yet accept the sketches of that boy!" pointing at Chester with withering contempt.

"Because he has given me what I want."

"I was a famous artist before he was born."

"Very likely, and had done good work. But this is not good work."

"Sir!"

"My dear sir, don't be offended. I don't care for the age of any of my contributors. I know something of your famous successes, and I hope next time to approve and buy what you bring me."

Mr. Radcliff seemed only half propitiated. He and Chester went out together.

"What is your name, boy?" asked the artist.

"Chester Rand."

"I never heard of you."

"I am only a beginner," said Chester, modestly.

"You seem to have got in with Fleming."