IN WHICH BOBBY ASTONISHES SUNDRY PERSONS AND PAYS PART OF HIS NOTE.
"Now tell me, Bobby, how you have made out," said Mrs. Bright, as the
little merchant seated himself at the supper table. "You cannot have
done much, for you have only been gone five days."
"I have done pretty well, mother," replied Bobby, mysteriously; "pretty
well, considering that I am only a boy."
"I didn't expect to see you till to-morrow night."
"I sold out, and had to come home."
"That may be, and still you may not have done much."
"I don't pretend that I have done much."
"How provoking you are! Why don't you tell me, Bobby, what you have
done?"
"Wait a minute, mother, till I have done my supper, and then I will
show you the footings in my ledger."
"Your ledger!"
"Yea, my ledger. I keep a ledger now."
"You are a great man, Mr. Robert Bright," laughed his mother. "I
suppose the people took their hats off when they saw you coming."
"Not exactly, mother."
"Perhaps the governor came out to meet you when he heard you was on the
road."
"Perhaps he did; I didn't see him, however. This apple pie tastes
natural, mother. It is a great luxury to get home after one has been
travelling."
"Very likely."
"No place like home, after all is done and said. Who was the fellow
that wrote that song, mother?"
"I forget; the paper said he spent a great many years in foreign parts.
My sake! Bobby; one would think by your talk that you had been away
from home for a year."
"It seems like a year," said he, as he transferred another quarter of
the famous apple pie to his plate. "I miss home very much. I don't
more than half like being among strangers so much."
"It is your own choice; no one wants you to go away from home."
"I must pay my debts, any how. Don't I owe Squire Lee sixty dollars?"
"But I can pay that."
"It is my affair, you see."
"If it is your affair, then I owe you sixty dollars."
"No, you don't; I calculate to pay my board now. I am old enough and
big enough to do something."
"You have done something ever since you was old enough to work."
"Not much; I don't wonder that miserable old hunker of a Hardhand
twitted me about it. By the way, have you heard any thing from him?"
"Not a thing."
"He has got enough of us, I reckon."
"You mustn't insult him, Bobby, if you happen to see him."
"Never fear me."
"You know the Bible says we must love our enemies, and pray for them
that despitefully use us and persecute us."
"I should pray that the Old Nick might get him."
"No, Bobby; I hope you haven't forgot all your Sunday school lessons."
"I was wrong, mother," replied Bobby, a little moved. "I did not mean
so. I shall try to think as well of him as I can; but I can't help
thinking, if all the world was like him, what a desperate hard time we
should have of it."
"We must thank the Lord that he has given us so many good and true men."
"Such as Squire Lee, for instance," added Bobby, as he rose from the
table and put his chair back against the wall. "The squire is fit to
be a king; and though I believe in the Constitution and the Declaration
of Independence, I wouldn't mind seeing a crown upon his head."
"He will receive his crown in due time," replied Mrs. Bright, piously.
"The squire?"
"The crown of rejoicing, I mean."
"Just so; the squire is a nice man; and I know another just like him."
"Who!"
"Mr. Bayard; they are as near alike as two peas."
"I am dying to know about your journey."
"Wait a minute, mother, till we clear away the supper things;" and
Bobby took hold, as he had been accustomed, to help remove and wash the
dishes.
"You needn't help now, Bobby."
"Yes, I will, mother."
Some how our hero's visit to the city did not seem to produce the usual
effect upon him; for a great many boys, after they had been abroad,
would have scorned to wash dishes and wipe them. A week in town has
made many a boy so smart that you couldn't touch him with a ten foot
pole. It starches them up so stiff that sometimes they don't know
their own mothers, and deem it a piece of condescension to speak a word
to the patriarch in a blue frock who had the honor of supporting them
in childhood.
Bobby was none of this sort. We lament that he had a habit of talking
big--that is, of talking about business affairs in a style a little
beyond his years. But he was modest to a fault, paradoxical as it may
seem. He was always blushing when any body spoke a pretty thing about
him. Probably the circumstances of his position elevated him above the
sphere of the mere boy; he had spent but little time in play, and his
attention had been directed at all times to the wants of his mother.
He had thought a great deal about business, especially since the visit
of the boy who sold books to the little black house.
Some boys are born merchants, and from their earliest youth have a
genius for trade. They think of little else. They "play shop" before
they wear jackets, and drive a barter trade in jackknives, whistles,
tops, and fishing lines long before they get into their teens. They
are shrewd even then, and obtain a taste for commerce before they are
old enough to know the meaning of the word.
We saw a boy in school, not long since, give the value of eighteen
cents for a little stunted quince--boys have a taste for raw quinces,
strange as it may seem. Undoubtedly he had no talent for trade, and
would make a very indifferent tin pedler. Our hero was shrewd. He
always got the best end of the bargain; though, I am happy to say, his
integrity was too unyielding to let him cheat his fellows.
We have made this digression so that my young readers may know why
Bobby was so much given to big talk. The desire to do something worthy
of a good son turned his attention to matters above his sphere; and
thinking of great things, he had come to talk great things. It was not
a bad fault, after all. Boys need not necessarily be frivolous. Play
is a good thing, an excellent thing, in its place, and is as much a
part of the boy's education as his grammar and arithmetic. It not only
develops his muscles, but enlarges his mental capacity; it not only
fills with excitement the idle hours of the long day, but it sharpens
the judgment, and helps to fit the boy for the active duties of life.
It need not be supposed, because Bobby had to turn his attention to
serious things, that he was not fond of fun; that he could not or did
not play. At a game of round ball, he was a lucky fellow who secured
him upon his side; for the same energy which made him a useful son
rendered him a desirable hand in a difficult game.
When the supper things were all removed, the dishes washed and put
away, Bobby drew out his pocket memorandum book. It was a beautiful
article, and Mrs. Bright was duly astonished at its gilded leaves and
the elegant workmanship. Very likely her first impulse was to reprove
her son for such a piece of reckless extravagance; but this matter was
set right by Bobby's informing her how it came into his possession.
"Here is my ledger, mother," he said, handing her the book.
Mrs. Bright put on her spectacles, and after bestowing a careful
scrutiny upon the memorandum book, turned to the accounts.
"Fifty books!" she exclaimed, as she read the first entry.
"Yes, mother; and I sold them all."
"Fifty dollars!"
"But I had to pay for the books out of that."
"To be sure you had; but I suppose you made as much as ten cents a
piece on them, and that would be--let me see; ten times fifty--"
"But I made more than that, I hope."
"How much?"
The proud young merchant referred her to the profit and loss account,
which exhibited a balance of fifteen dollars.
"Gracious! Three dollars a day!"
"Just so, mother. Now I will pay you the dollar I borrowed of you when
I went away."
"You didn't borrow it of me."
"But I shall pay it."
Mrs. Bright was astonished at this unexpected and gratifying result.
If she had discovered a gold mine in the cellar of the little black
house, it could not have afforded her so much satisfaction; for this
money was the reward of her son's talent and energy. Her own earnings
scarcely ever amounted to more than three or four dollars a week, and
Bobby, a boy of thirteen, had come home with fifteen for five days'
work. She could scarcely believe the evidence other own senses, and
she ceased to wonder that he talked big.
It was nearly ten o'clock when the widow and her son went to bed, so
deeply were they interested in discussing our hero's affairs. He had
intended to call upon Squire Lee that night, but the time passed away
so rapidly that he was obliged to defer it till the next day.
After breakfast the following morning, he hastened to pay the intended
visit. There was a tumult of strange emotions in his bosom as he
knocked at the squire's door. He was proud of the success he had
achieved, and even then his cheek burned under the anticipated
commendations which his generous friend would bestow upon him.
Besides, Annie would be glad to see him, for she had expressed such a
desire when they parted on the Monday preceding. I don't think that
Bobby cherished any silly ideas, but the sympathy of the little maiden
fell not coldly or unwelcomely upon his warm heart. In coming from the
house he had placed his copy of "The Wayfarer" under his arm, for Annie
was fond of reading; and on the way over, he had pictured to himself
the pleasure she would derive from reading his book.
Of course he received a warm welcome from the squire and his daughter.
Each of them had bestowed more than a thought upon the little wanderer
as he went from house to house, and more than once they had conversed
together about him.
"Well, Bobby, how is trade in the book line?" asked the squire, after
the young pilgrim had been cordially greeted.
"Pretty fair," replied Bobby, with as much indifference as he could
command, though it was hard even to seem indifferent then and there.
"Where have you been travelling?"
"In B----."
"Fine place. Books sell well there?"
"Very well; in fact, I sold out all my stock by noon yesterday."
"How many books did you carry?"
"Fifty."
"You did well."
"I should think you did!" added Annie, with an enthusiasm which quite
upset all Bobby's assumed indifference. "Fifty books!"
"Yes, Miss Annie; and I have brought you a copy of the book I have been
selling; I thought you would like to read it. It is a splendid work,
and will be _the_ book of the season."
"I shall be delighted to read it," replied Annie, taking the proffered
volume. "It looks real good," she continued, as she turned over the
leaves.
"It is first rate; I have read it through."
"It was very kind of you to think of me when you have so much business
on your mind," added she, with a roguish smile.
"I shall never have so much business on my mind that I cannot think of
my friends," replied Bobby, so gallantly and so smartly that it
astonished himself.
"I was just thinking what I should read next; I am so glad you have
come."
"Never mind her, Bobby; all she wanted was the book," interposed Squire
Lee, laughing.
"Now, pa!"
"Then I shall bring her one very often."
"You are too bad, pa," said Annie, who, like most young ladies just
entering their teens, resented any imputation upon the immaculateness
of human love, or human friendship.
"I have got a little money for you, Squire Lee," continued Bobby,
thinking it time the subject was changed.
He took out his gilded memorandum book, whose elegant appearance rather
startled the squire, and from its "treasury department" extracted the
little roll of bills, representing an aggregate of ten dollars which he
had carefully reserved for his creditor.
"Never mind that, Bobby," replied the squire. "You will want all your
capital to do business with."
"I must pay my debts before I think of any thing else."
"A very good plan, Bobby, but this is an exception to the general rule."
"No, sir, I think not. If you please, I insist upon paying you tea
dollars on my note."
"O, well, if you insist, I suppose I can't help myself."
"I would rather pay it, I shall feel so much better."
"You want to indorse it on the note, I suppose."
That was just what Bobby wanted. Indorsed on the note was the idea,
and our hero had often passed that expression through his mind. There
was something gratifying in the act to a man of business integrity like
himself; it was discharging a sacred obligation,--he had already come
to deem it a sacred duty to pay one's debts,--and as the squire wrote
the indorsement across the back of the note, he felt more like a hero
than ever before.
"'Pay as you go' is an excellent idea; John Randolph called it the
philosopher's stone," added Squire Lee, as he returned the note to his
pocket book.
"That is what I mean to do just as soon as I can."
"You will do, Bobby."
The young merchant spent nearly the whole forenoon at the squire's, and
declined an invitation to dinner only on the plea that his mother would
wait for him.