ROBERT’S PURCHASES
When Robert parted from Mr. Tudor he felt as if he had unexpectedly
fallen heir to a fortune. Two dollars is not a very large sum, but to
Robert, nurtured amid privation, it assumed large proportions.
He began at once to consider what he could do with it, and it is to his
credit that he thought rather of his aunt than himself.
He would buy a whole pound of tea, he decided, and a pound of sugar to
make it more palatable. This would last a considerable time and take
less than half his money. As to the disposal of the remainder, he would
consider how to expend that.
In a long, low building, with brooms, brushes and a variety of
nondescript articles displayed in the windows and outside, Abner Sands
kept the village store.
It was a dark, gloomy place, crowded with articles for family use. The
proprietor enjoyed a monopoly of the village trade, and, in spite of
occasional bad debts, did a snug business and was able every year to
make an addition to his store of savings in the county savings bank.
He was a cautious man, and, by being well acquainted with the
circumstances and habits of every man in the village, knew whom to trust
and to whom to refuse credit. John Trafton belonged to the latter
class.
Mr. Sands knew, as everybody else knew, that all his money was invested
in liquor and that the chance of paying a bill for articles needful for
the household was very small indeed.
When, therefore, Robert entered the store he took it for granted that he
meant to ask credit, and he was all ready for a refusal.
“What do you charge for your tea, Mr. Sands?” the boy asked.
“Different prices, according to quality,” answered the storekeeper, not
thinking it necessary to go into details.
“How much is the cheapest?”
“Fifty cents a pound.”
“Do you call it a pretty good article?” continued our hero.
“Very fair; I use it in my own family,” answered Abner, looking over his
spectacles at his young customer.
“I guess I’ll take a pound,” said Robert with the air of one who had
plenty of money.
“A pound?” ejaculated Abner Sands in surprise.
“Yes, sir.”
A pound of tea for one in John Trafton’s circumstances seemed to Mr.
Sands an extraordinary order. Considering that it was probably to be
charged, it seemed to the cautious trader an impudent attempt to impose
upon him, and he looked sternly at our young hero.
“We don’t trust,” he said coldly.
“I haven’t asked you to trust me, Mr. Sands,” said Robert
independently.
“You don’t mean to say you’re ready to pay for it cash down, do you?”
asked Abner, his countenance expressing amazement.
“Yes, I do.”
“Show me the money.”
“I’ll show you the money when I get my tea,” said Robert, provoked at
Mr. Sands’ resolute incredulity. “I’ve told you I will pay you before I
leave the store. If you don’t want to sell your goods, say so!”
“Come, come! there ain’t no use in gettin’ angry,” said the trader in a
conciliatory tone. “Your trade’s as good as anybody’s if you’ve got
money to pay for the goods.”
“I’ve already told you I have, Mr. Sands.”
“All right, Robert. You shall have the tea.”
He weighed out the tea and then asked:
“Is there anything more?”
“Yes, sir. How do you sell your sugar?”
“Brown sugar--eight cents.”
“I guess that will do. I will take a pound of brown sugar.”
“Your folks don’t generally buy sugar. I didn’t know you used it.”
“We are going to use a pound,” said Robert, who did not fancy the
trader’s interference.
“Well, I’d jest as soon sell you a pound as anybody as long as you’ve
got the money to pay for it.”
Robert said nothing, although this remark was made in an interrogative
tone, as if Mr. Sands still doubted whether our hero would be able to
pay for his purchases.
There was nothing to do, therefore, but to weigh out the sugar.
The two bundles lay on the counter, but Mr. Sands watched them as a cat
watches a mouse, with a vague apprehension that our hero might seize
them and carry them off without payment.
But Robert was better prepared than he supposed.
From his vest pocket he drew the two-dollar bill, and, passing it across
the counter, he said:
“You may take your pay out of this.”
Abner Sands took the bill and stared at it as if some mystery attached
to it. He scrutinized it carefully through his spectacles, as if there
was a possibility that it might be bad, but it had an unmistakably
genuine look.
“It seems to be good,” he remarked cautiously.
“Of course it’s good!” said Robert. “You don’t take me for a
counterfeiter, do you, Mr. Sands?”
“It’s a good deal of money for you to have, Robert. Where did you get
it?”
“Why do you ask that question?” asked our hero, provoked.
“I was a leetle surprised at your having so much money--that’s all. Did
your uncle give it to you?”
“I don’t see what that is to you, Mr. Sands. If you don’t want to sell
your tea and sugar, you can keep them.”
If there had been another grocery store in the village Robert would have
gone thither, but it has already been said that Abner Sands had the
monopoly of the village trade.
“You’re kind of touchy this evenin’, Robert,” said Abner placidly, for
he was so given to interesting himself in the affairs of his neighbors
that he did not realize that his curiosity was displayed in an
impertinent manner. “Of course I want to sell all I can. You’ve got
considerable money comin’ back to you. Don’t you want to buy something
else?”
“I guess not to-night.”
“As long as you’ve got the cash to pay, I’m perfectly ready to sell you
goods. Lemme see. Fifty-eight from two dollars leaves a dollar’n
thirty-two cents.”
“Forty-two,” corrected Robert.
“I declare, so it does! You are a good hand at subtraction.”
Robert felt that he could not truthfully return the compliment and
prudently remained silent.
“There is your money,” continued the trader, putting in Robert’s hand a
dollar bill and forty-two cents in change. “Your uncle must have been
quite lucky.”
He looked questioningly at our hero, but Robert did not choose to
gratify his curiosity.
“Is it so very lucky to make two dollars?” he asked, and with these
words he left the store.
“That’s a cur’us boy!” soliloquized Mr. Sands, looking after him. “I
can’t get nothin’ out of him. Looks as if John Trafton must have turned
over a new leaf to give him so much money to buy groceries. I hope he
has. It’s better that I should get his money than the tavern keeper.”
Mr. Sands did not have to wait long before his curiosity was partially
gratified, for the very man of whom he was thinking just then entered
the store.
“Has my nephew been here?” he inquired.
“Just went out.”
“I thought you might be willing to let him have what little he wanted on
credit. I’ll see that it’s paid for.”
“Why, he paid for the goods himself--fifty-eight cents.”
_“What!”_ exclaimed the fisherman, astonished.
“He bought a pound of tea, at fifty cents, and a pound of sugar, at
eight cents, and paid for ’em.”
“Where’d he get the money?” asked Trafton.
“I am sure I don’t know. I supposed you gave it to him. He’s got more
left. He paid for the articles with a two-dollar bill and he’s got a
dollar and forty-two cents left!”
“The young hypocrite!” ejaculated John Trafton indignantly. “All the
while he had this money he was worryin’ me for a quarter to buy some tea
and a loaf of bread.”
“Looks rather mysterious--doesn’t it?” said the grocer.
“Mr. Sands,” said the fisherman, “I’ve took care of that boy ever since
he was three year old, and that’s the way he treats me. He’s a young
viper!”
“Jes so!” said Mr. Sands, who was a politic man and seldom contradicted
his neighbors.
“The rest of that money belongs to me by rights,” continued the
fisherman, “and he’s got to give it to me. How much did you say it
was?”
“A dollar and forty-two cents, John; but, seems to me, you’d better let
him keep it to buy groceries with.”
“I must have the money!” muttered Trafton, not heeding this advice,
which was good, though selfish. “I guess I’ll go home and make the boy
give it to me!”
And he staggered out of the store, and, as well as he could, steered for
home.