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 did 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 moonstruck
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 unnecessarily 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
anything 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 millionaire.
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 everything 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
anything 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."