Saturday, as is usual in such establishments, was pay-day at the store of Phil's employers. The week's wages were put up in small envelopes and handed to the various clerks. When Phil went up to the cashier to get his money he put it quietly into his vest-pocket.
Daniel Dickson, the cashier, observing this, said:
“Brent, you had better open your envelope.”
Rather surprised, Phil nevertheless did as requested.
In the envelope, besides the five-dollar bill representing his week's salary, he found a small slip of paper, on which was written these ominous words:
“Your services will not be required after this week.” Appended to this notice was the name of the firm.
Phil turned pale, for to him, embarrassed as he was, the loss of his place was a very serious matter.
“What does this mean, Mr. Dickson?” he asked quickly.
“I can't inform you,” answered the cashier, smiling unpleasantly, for he was a selfish man who sympathized with no one, and cared for no one as long as he himself remained prosperous.
“Who handed you this paper?” asked Phil.
“The boss.”
“Mr. Pitkin?”
“Of course.”
Mr. Pitkin was still in his little office, and Phil made his way directly to him.
“May I speak to you, sir?” asked our hero.
“Be quick about it then, for I am in a hurry,” answered Pitkin, in a very forbidding tone.
“Why am I discharged, sir?”
“I can't go into details. We don't need you any longer.”
“Are you not satisfied with me?”
“No!” said Pitkin brusquely.
“In what respect have I failed to satisfy you, sir?”
“Don't put on any airs, boy!” returned Pitkin. “We don't want you, that's all.”
“You might have given me a little notice,” said Phil indignantly.
“We made no stipulation of that kind, I believe.”
“It would only be fair, sir.”
“No impertinence, young man! I won't stand it! I don't need any instructions as to the manner of conducting my business.”
Phil by this time perceived that his discharge was decided upon without any reference to the way in which he had performed his duties, and that any discussion or remonstrance would be unavailing.
“I see, sir, that you have no regard for justice, and will leave you,” he said.
“You'd better, and without delay!” said Pitkin irascibly.
Phil emerged upon the street with a sinking heart. His available funds consisted only of the money he had just received and seventy-five cents in change, and what he was to do he did not know. He walked home with slow steps, looking sad in spite of his usually hopeful temperament.
When he entered the house he met Mrs. Forbush in the hall. She at once noticed his gravity.
“Have you had any bad luck, Philip?” she asked.
“Yes,” answered Phil. “I have lost my situation.”
“Indeed!” returned the landlady, with quick sympathy. “Have you had any difficulty with your employer?”
“Not that I am aware of.”
“Did he assign any reason for your discharge?”
“No; I asked him for an explanation, but he merely said I was not wanted any longer.”
“Isn't there any chance of his taking you back?”
“I am sure there is not.”
“Don't be discouraged, Philip. A smart boy like you won't be long out of a place. Meanwhile you are welcome to stay here as long as I have a roof to cover me.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Forbush,” said Phil warmly, “you are a true friend. You are in trouble yourself, yet you stand by me!”
“I have had a stroke of good luck to-day,” said Mrs. Forbush cheerfully. “A former boarder, whom I allowed to remain here for five or six weeks when he was out of employment, has sent me thirty doll............