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Floyd's Flowers; Or, Duty and Beauty for Colored Children / Being One Hundred Short Stories Gleaned from the Storehouse of Human Knowledge and Experience: Simple, Amusing, Elevating cover

Floyd's Flowers; Or, Duty and Beauty for Colored Children / Being One Hundred Short Stories Gleaned from the Storehouse of Human Knowledge and Experience: Simple, Amusing, Elevating

Chapter 71: LXVI. THE RIGHT WAY.
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About This Book

The collection gathers one hundred short, illustrated pieces aimed at young readers, particularly colored children, combining moral tales, practical advice, and brief biographical sketches. Stories and essays promote virtues such as honesty, industry, patience, self-help, and temperance while addressing common childhood behaviors and dilemmas. Interspersed are sketches of notable figures, humorous anecdotes, and guidance on reading, play, and conduct. Simple language and plentiful illustrations are intended to instruct and elevate while entertaining.

LXVI.
THE RIGHT WAY.

Henry Oliphant always considered himself lucky whenever he was able to get a ride on the street cars without paying for it, or get a glass of soda water or be admitted to some public place, where an admission fee was charged, without paying the price. He was bragging one day to some of his boy friends that he had not paid anything to witness the school exhibition the night before. Frank Sewall was brave enough to chide him for having done so. Frank was a plain-spoken boy, and Henry didn’t like what Frank had said. He thought what he had done was all right, while Frank had said that it was all wrong. Anyhow, Henry decided to get his father’s opinion on the matter.

“Father,” he said, when night had come, “I got in the hall last night for nothing.”

“How was that?”

“I just walked by the doorkeeper and he didn’t ask me for any money.”

“Did the doorkeeper see you?”

“Well, father, that was his business; he was put there for that purpose; he ought to have seen me.”

“But I asked you, Henry, whether the doorkeeper saw you. I want you to answer that question.”

“I don’t know, sir.”

“Do you think he saw you?”

“I don’t know, sir.”

“Well, Henry, if he had seen you, don’t you think he would have asked you for your money or a ticket?”

“Father,” He Said, When Night Had Come, “I Got in the Hall Last Night for Nothing.”

“I guess so, father; but he didn’t ask me for anything.”

“Well, now, Henry, you know that a charge of ten cents was made at the door, and that no one had a right to enter who had not paid the ten cents. You did go in without paying. Now, whether the doorkeeper saw you or not, do you think that that was quite honest on your part? Was that the right way for you to act?”

“Well, I would have paid him if he asked me. I wasn’t the doorkeeper.”

“I guess the man who stole our wood last week would have paid me if I had seen him and asked him; but we called that stealing.”

“But, father, I did not take anything from the doorkeeper.”

“Who gave you the money with which to pay your admission?”

“Mother.”

“Where is that money now?”

“I have it; but I didn’t take it from the doorkeeper.”

“But you kept it from him, Henry. It belongs to the doorkeeper. He gave you its value. My son, the right way is, whenever you buy anything, whether it be a ride or a glass of soda water or permission to see a concert, whenever you buy anything you ought to pay for it. If you don’t you are no better than a common robber. You must go to-day and give Mr. Hall that ten cents.”