THE BOY BOG.
In reply to the invitation, "Come in," a tall boy opened the door, and
started back on seeing a stranger.
"Do come in, Bog," said Mr. Minford. "I have good news to tell you. This
is a friend of ours, Mr. Wilkeson. What with his running of errands, and
doing little jobs for us, we really couldn't get along without him. Oh,
walk in, Bog; you're always welcome here."
"Now _do_ come in, Bog," added the little girl, in a winning tone,
rising from her stool, stepping to the door, and placing a hand on
his shoulder.
The new comer, after a few shuffles on the threshold, and an
unintelligible murmur of words, walked in with painful awkwardness, and
took a seat upon a corner of the chair which Pet offered him, as if the
whole chair were more of a favor than he could conscientiously accept;
He was a bony, strongly built stripling, with a record of anywhere from
seventeen to nineteen years written in his red, resolute, honest face.
He wore a coarse but neat suit of boy's clothes, one inch too small in
every dimension, a white turn-down collar, and a black neckerchief
fastidiously tied; and carried a slouched cloth cap in his hand, with
which he slapped his knees alternately, after he had taken a seat, and
continued to do so without cessation.
"Well, Bog," said Mr. Minford, kindly, but condescendingly, "you are
just in time to hear good news. This gentleman has taken a partnership
in my invention (Mr. Minford thought it best to state the case that
way), and, with his assistance, I shall be able to complete it and bring
it before the public immediately."
"Glad to hear it, sir," answered the boy Bog, blushing hard, lifting his
eyes from the floor long enough to glance at Mr. Minford and his
daughter, and all the while slapping his knees vigorously.
"He is in the bill-posting business," said Mr. Minford to Marcus. "You
may have seen him at the head of his company of walking advertisers.
Ha! ha!"
Marcus remembered having seen that honest face, that thick head of hair,
and that identical cap, sticking out of the top of a portable wooden
frame covered with placards, setting forth the virtues of quack
medicines, the excellencies of dry goods, or the unequalled attractions
of concert saloons. He also remembered that this wooden frame was much
taller than any of the long procession of frames which followed it, and
that, from a hole in the right side thereof, protruded a fist about the
size of the boy Bog's, clutching a broomstick, with which the inmate
kept a semblance of order among the wilful and eccentric occupants of
the frames behind him. "Oh, yes; I have seen you very often, Bog. How
do you like the business?" said Marcus, pleasantly.
"Very well, sir, thank you," replied Bog, with his eyes still on the
floor, "'cept when the boys poke fun at us; 'cos we can't run after 'em
in them boxes, and wollop 'em. 'S rather hard, that." Bog caught Miss
Minford's eye as he concluded these remarks, and blushed till he
perspired, to think that he should have dropped such a brutal
observation in presence of that young lady.
Mr. Minford noticed the confusion of his young friend, and
unintentionally added to it, by saying:
"Bog is a good boy. By his industry, he earns eight or ten dollars a
week, not only supporting himself, but his aunt."
"Not this week, nor last week neither, Mr. Minford," said Bog, mopping
the modest sweat from his brow with the sleeve of his coat. "The
adv'tisin' line a'n't as good as't used to be. I only got three jobs
with my company the last fortnight, and nary cent of pay from any of
'em. Of course, all my boys had to be paid just the same."
"And you paid them?" asked Marcus.
"Certainly," said Bog.
"Then be good enough to accept five dollars from me, as a reward for
your honesty," said Marcus, acting upon another of his impulses.
"No, thank you, sir. No, thank you," returned Bog, quickly, to prevent
Marcus from pulling the money out of his pocket. "I sha'n't take it,
sir; I won't have it anyway. I'm goin' into the reg'lar bill-postin'
business, as Jack Fink's assistant, to-morrow, and can earn all I want."
Bog blushed, but this time with honest pride, though he was flustered to
look up and see that Miss Minford nodded in approval of his
independent spirit.
Bog then slapped each knee about a dozen times with his cap, and
betrayed many symptoms of fever heat and great mental distress. After
which, he said that he had only called to see if he could do
anything for them.
"Now do you mean to tell us that it is not a regular New Year's call,"
said Mr. Minford, playfully, "and that you have not a dozen more
to make?"
Bog looked guilty of an enormous fraud, dropped his cap, in his
confusion, twice, murmured something inaudible, rose to his feet, and
backed out of the room, making one comprehensive bow to everybody, and
saying "Good-night" before it was two P.M.
As Bog shut the door, everybody laughed, but not so loud as to be heard
by the boy; and, under the cover of the general good humor, Marcus rose,
and said that he must go. He was afraid he had made his visit too long
for a first one. He would call again on the following day, if agreeable,
and complete the proposed arrangement. In conclusion, he placed his card
in Mr. Minford's hand, with the names of a few references pencilled on
the margin.
Mr. Minford was very sorry that their pleasant acquaintance should take
his leave so abruptly, and hoped that they would enjoy many visits from
him, not merely as a business partner (Mr. Minford laid emphasis on
this), but as a friend.
Pet repeated her father's regrets and hopes in the more impressive
language of her sweet eyes, and, for the twentieth time that day,
conjured up, in the memory of Marcus Wilkeson, a vague reminiscence of
the distant past.