“Very well done; button-holes strong and even, lining smooth;
stitching, like rows of seed pearl. This is no apprentice work,” said
Mr. John Pray, as he held Lucy’s vests up to the light for a more minute
inspection. “That’s a vest, now, as is a vest; won’t disgrace John
Pray’s shop; it would gladden even the eyes of my old boss, Jacob Ford;
and mighty particular he was, too, and mighty small wages the old man
paid, as I have occasion to know. Well, I made a vow then, and thank God
I have had grace to keep it, that if ever John Pray became a master
workman, he would do as he would be done by. So, I don’t ask what wages
other tailors give; that don’t matter to me. I don’t want to die with
any body’s groans in my ears. So, when a piece of work is finished and
handed in, I say, ‘Now, John Pray, what should _you_ think was a fair
price for _you_ to receive, if _you_ had done that ’ere job?’ That’s it;
no dodging behind that question. ’Specially when a man has been through
the opera_tive_ mill himself. So, there’s your pay, Zekiel, weighed out
in that ere pair of Bible scales; and you may tell the old lady, as you
call her, that if she had served a regular apprenticeship at the trade,
she couldn’t have done better. What did you say her name was? However,
that’s no consequence--as long as she does the work well. Here’s some
more vests for her.”
“Well, I really don’t know,” said Zekiel, “I never heern tell her
name. She’s a bran new neighbor, and as I was coming into town every day
with my cart, she axed me, civil like, if I’d bring these vests to you.
So, I brung ’em. I don’t mind doing a good turn for a fellow creetur,
now and then, specially when it ’taint no bother,” added Zekiel, with a
grin.
“What did you spoil it for by saying that?” said John Pray. “I was
just going to clap you on the back for a clever fellow.”
“You might go further, and clap a worse fellow on the back,” answered
Zekiel. “But I never boasts, I don’t. ’Tain’t no use. If the ministers
tell the truth, we’ve all got to be weighed in the big scales up above,
where there ain’t no false weights--bad deeds agin good deeds. Farmer
Reed, I’m thinking, will be astonished when the balance on his account
is struck. But, good day; my parsnips and cabbages ought to be in the
market, instead of wilting at your door--even though you city folks
don’t know the taste of a fresh vegetable. Good day.”