IN WHICH MR. TIMMINS IS ASTONISHED, AND BOBBY DINES IN CHESTNUT STREET.
It was Mr. Bayard. He had finished his business with the gentleman by
his side, and hearing the noise of the scuffle, had come to learn the
occasion of it.
"This impudent young puppy wouldn't let the books alone!" began Mr.
Timmins. "I threatened to turn him out if he didn't; and I meant to
make good my threat. I think he meant to steal something."
Bobby was astonished and shocked at this bold imputation; but he wished
to have his case judged on its own merits; so he turned his face away,
that Mr. Bayard might not recognize him.
"I wanted to buy one of these blank books," added Bobby, picking up the
one he had dropped on the floor in the struggle.
"All stuff!" ejaculated Timmins. "He is an impudent, obstinate puppy!
In my opinion he meant to steal that book."
"I asked him the price, and told him I wanted to buy it," added Bobby,
still averting his face.
"Well, I told him; and he said it was too high."
"He asked me twenty-five cents for it."
"Is this true, Timmins?" asked Mr. Bayard, sternly.
"No, sir, I told him fourpence," replied Timmins boldly.
"By gracious! What a whopper!" exclaimed Bobby, startled out of his
propriety by this monstrous lie. "He said twenty-five cents; and I
told him I could buy one up in Riverdale, where I came from, for six
cents. Can you deny that?"
"It's a lie!" protested Timmins.
"Riverdale," said Mr. Bayard. "Are you from Riverdale, boy?"
"Yes, sir, I am; and if you will look on your memorandum book you will
find my name there."
"Bless me! I am sure I have seen that face before," exclaimed Mr.
Bayard, as he grasped the hand of Bobby, much to the astonishment and
consternation of Mr. Timmins. You are--"
"Robert Bright, sir."
"My brave little fellow! I am heartily glad to see you;" and the
bookseller shook the hand he held with hearty good will. "I was
thinking of you only a little while ago."
"This fellow calls me a liar," said Bobby, pointing to the astonished
Mr. Timmins, who did not know what to make of the cordial reception
which "Country" was receiving from his employer.
"Well, Robert, we know that he is a liar; this is not the first time he
has, been caught in a lie. Timmins, your time is out."
The spruce clerk hung his head with shame and mortification.
"I hope, sir, you will--" he began, but pride or fear stopped him
short.
"Don't be hard with him, sir, if you please," said Bobby. "I suppose I
aggravated him."
Mr. Bayard looked at the gentleman who stood by his side, and a smile
of approbation lighted up his face.
"Generous as he is noble! Butler, this is the boy that saved Ellen."
"Indeed! He is a little giant!" replied Mr. Butler, grasping Bobby's
hand.
Even Timmins glanced with something like admiration in his looks at the
youth whom he had so lately despised. Perhaps, too, he thought of that
Scripture wisdom about entertaining angels unawares. He was very much
abashed, and nothing but his silly pride prevented him from
acknowledging his error, and begging Bobby's forgiveness.
"I can't have a liar about me," said Mr. Bayard.
"There may be some mistake," suggested Mr. Butler.
"I think not. Robert Bright couldn't lie. So brave and noble a boy is
incapable of a falsehood. Besides, I got a letter from my friend
Squire Lee by this morning's mail, in which he informed me of my young
friend's coming."
Mr. Bayard took from his pocket a bundle of letters, and selected the
squire's from among them. Opening it, he read a passage which had a
direct bearing upon the case before him.
"'I do not know what Bobby's faults are,'"--the letter said,--"'but
this I do know: that Bobby would rather be whipped than tell a lie. He
is noted through the place for his love of truth.'--That is pretty
strong testimony; and you see, Bobby,--that's what the squire calls
you,--your reputation has preceded you."
Bobby blushed, as he always did when he was praised, and Mr. Timmins
was more abashed than ever.
"Did you hear that, Timmins? Who is the liar now?" said Mr. Bayard,
turning to the culprit.
"Forgive me, sir, this time. If you turn me off now, I cannot get
another place, and my mother depends upon my wages."
"You ought to have thought of this before."
"He aggravated me, sir, so that I wanted to pay him off."
"As to that, he commenced upon me the moment I came into the store.
But don't turn him off, if you please, sir," said Bobby, who even now
wished no harm to his discomfited assailant. "He will do better
hereafter: won't you, Timmins?"
Thus appealed to, Timmins, though he did not relish so direct an
inquiry, and from such a source, was compelled to reply in the
affirmative; and Mr. Bayard graciously remitted the sentence he had
passed against the offending clerk.
"Now, Robert, you will come over to my house and dine with me. Ellen
will be delighted to see you."
"Thank you, sir," replied Bobby, bashfully, "I have been to
dinner",--referring to the luncheon he had eaten at Brighton.
"But you must go to the house with me."
"I should be very glad to do so, sir, but I came on business. I will
stay here with Mr. Timmins till you come back."
The truth is, he had heard something about the fine houses of the city,
and how stylish the people were, and he had some misgivings about
venturing into such a strange and untried scene as the parlor of a
Boston merchant.
"Indeed, you must come with me. Ellen would never forgive you or me,
if you do not come."
"I would rather rest here till you return," replied Bobby, still
willing to escape the fine house and the fine folks. "I walked from
Riverdale, sir, and I am rather tired."
"Walked!" exclaimed Mr. Bayard. "Had you no money?"
"Yes, sir, enough to pay my passage; but Dr. Franklin says that 'a
penny saved is a penny earned,' and I thought I would try it. I shall
get rested by the time you return."
"But you must go with me. Timmins, go and get a carriage."
Timmins obeyed, and before Mr. Bayard had finished asking Bobby how all
the people in Riverdale were, the carriage was at the door.
There was no backing out now, and our hero was obliged to get into the
vehicle, though it seemed altogether too fine for a poor boy like him.
Mr. Bayard and Mr. Butler (whom the former had invited to dine with
him) seated themselves beside him, and the driver was directed to set
them down at No. ---- Chestnut Street, where they soon arrived.
Though my readers would, no doubt, be very much amused to learn how
carefully Bobby trod the velvet carpets, how he stared with wonder at
the drapery curtains, at the tall mirrors, the elegant chandeliers, and
the fantastically shaped chairs and tables that adorned Mr. Bayard's
parlor, the length of our story does not permit us to pause over these
trivial matters.
When Ellen Bayard was informed that her little deliverer was in the
house, she rushed into the parlor like a hoiden school girl, grasped
both his hands, kissed both his rosy cheeks, and behaved just as though
she had never been to a boarding school in her life.
She had thought a great deal about Bobby since that eventful day, and
the more she thought of him, the more she liked him. Her admiration of
him was not of that silly, sentimental character which moon-struck
young ladies cherish towards those immaculate young men who have saved
them from drowning in a horse pond, pulled them back just as they were
tumbling over a precipice two thousand five hundred feet high, or
rescued them from a house seven stories high, bearing them down a
ladder seventy-five odd feet long. The fact was, Bobby was a boy of
thirteen and there was no chance for much sentiment; so the young
lady's regard was real, earnest, and lifelike.
Ellen said a great many very handsome things; but I am sure she never
thought of such a thing as that he would run away with her, in case her
papa was unneccessarily obstinate. She was very glad to see him, and I
have no doubt she wished Bobby might be her brother, it would be so
glorious to have such a noble little fellow always with her.
Bobby managed the dinner much better than he had anticipated; for Mr.
Bayard insisted that he should sit down with them, whether he ate any
thing or not. But the Rubicon passed, our hero found that he had a
pretty smart appetite, and did full justice to the viands set before
him. It is true the silver forks, the napkins, the finger bowls, and
other articles of luxury and show, to which he had been entirely
unaccustomed, bothered him not a little; but he kept perfectly cool,
and carefully observed how Mr. Butler, who sat next to him, handled the
"spoon fork," what he did with the napkin and the finger bowl, so that,
I will venture to say, not one in ten would have suspected he had not
spent his life in the parlor of a _millionnaire_.
Dinner over, the party returned to the parlor, where Bobby unfolded his
plan for the future. To make his story intelligible, he was obliged to
tell them all about Mr. Hardhand.
"The old wretch!" exclaimed Mr. Bayard. "But, Robert, you must let me
advance the sixty dollars, to pay Squire Lee."
"No, sir; you have done enough in that way. I have given my note for
the money."
"Whew;" said Mr. Butler.
"And I shall soon earn enough to pay it."
"No doubt of it. You are a lad of courage and energy, and you will
succeed in every thing you undertake."
"I shall want you to trust me for a stock of books on the strength of
old acquaintance," continued Bobby, who had now grown quite bold, and
felt as much at home in the midst of the costly furniture, as he did in
the "living room" of the old black house.
"You shall have all the books you want."
"I will pay for them as soon as I return. The truth is, Mr. Bayard, I
mean to be independent. I didn't want to take that thirty-five
dollars, though I don't know what Mr. Hardhand would have done to us,
if I hadn't."
"Ellen said I ought to have given you a hundred, and I think so myself."
"I am glad you didn't. Too much money makes us fat and lazy."
Mr. Bayard laughed at the easy self-possession of the lad--at his big
talk; though, big as it was, it meant something. When he proposed to
go to the store, he told Bobby he had better stay at the house and rest
himself.
"No, sir; I want to start out to-morrow, and I must get ready to-day."
"You had better put it off till the next day; you will feel more like
it then."
"Now or never," replied Bobby. "That is my motto, sir. If we have any
thing to do, now is always the best time to do it. Dr. Franklin says,
'Never put off till to-morrow what you can do to day.'"
"Right, Robert! you shall have your own way. I wish my clerks would
adopt some of Dr. Franklin's wise saws. I should be a great deal
better off in the course of a year if they would."