"But I don't, Bobby. You want this money to go into business with—to buy your stock of books?"
"O, no, sir; I am going to apply to Mr. Bayard for that."
"Just so; Mr. Bayard is the gentleman whose daughter you saved?"
"Yes, sir. I want this money to pay off Mr. Hardhand. We owe him but sixty dollars now, and he has threatened to turn us out, if it is not paid by tomorrow noon."
"The old hunks!"
Bobby briefly related to the squire the events or the morning, much to the indignation and disgust of the honest, kind-hearted man. The courageous boy detailed more clearly his purpose, and doubted not he should be able to pay the loan in a few months.
"Very well, Bobby, here is the money;" and the squire took it from his wallet, and gave it to him.
"Thank you, sir. May Heaven bless you! I shall certainly pay you."
"Don't worry about it, Bobby. Pay it when you get ready."
"I will give you my note, and—"
The squire laughed heartily at this, and told him, that, as he was a minor, his note was not good for any thing.
"You shall see whether it is, or not," returned Bobby. "Let me give it to you, at least, so that we can tell how much I owe you from time to time."
"You shall have your own way."
Annie Lee, as much amused as her father at Bobby's big talk, got the writing materials, and the little merchant in embryo wrote and signed the note.
"Good, Bobby! Now promise that you will come and see me every time you come home, and tell me how you are getting along."
"I will, sir, with the greatest pleasure;" and with a light heart Bobby tripped away home.
CHAPTER VI.
IN WHICH BOBBY SETS OUT ON HIS TRAVELS.
Squire Lee, though only a plain farmer, was the richest man in Riverdale. He had taken a great fancy to Bobby, and often employed him to do errands, ride the horse to plough in the cornfields, and such chores about the place as a boy could do. He liked to talk with Bobby because there was a great deal of good sense in him, for one with a small head.
If there was any one thing upon which the squire particularly prided himself, it was his knowledge of human nature. He declared that he only wanted to look a man in the face to know what he was; and as for Bobby Bright, he had summered him and wintered him, and he was satisfied that he would make something in good time.
He was not much astonished when Bobby opened his ambitious scheme of going into business for himself. But he had full faith in his ability to work out a useful and profitable, if not a brilliant life. He often said that Bobby was worth his weight in gold, and that he would trust him with any thing he had. Perhaps he did not suspect that the time was at hand when he would be called upon to verify his words practically; for it was only that morning, when one of the neighbors told him about Bobby's stopping the horse, that he had repeated the expression for the twentieth time.
It was not an idle remark. Sixty dollars was hardly worth mentioning with a man of his wealth and liberal views, though so careful a man as he was would not have been likely to throw away that amount. But as a matter of investment,—Bobby had made the note read "with interest,"—he would as readily have let him have it, as the next richest man in the place, so much confidence had he in our hero's integrity, and so sure was he that he would soon have the means of paying him.
Bobby was overjoyed at the fortunate issue of his mission, and he walked into the room where his mother was closing shoes, with a dignity worthy a banker or a great merchant. Mrs. Bright was very sad. Perhaps she felt a little grieved that her son, whom she loved so much, had so thoughtlessly plunged her into a new difficulty.
"Come, cheer up, mother; it is all right," said Bobby in his usual elastic and gay tones; and at the same time he took the sixty dollars from his pocket and handed it to her. "There is the money, and you will be forever quit of Mr. Hardhand to-morrow."
"What, Bobby! Why, where did you get all this money?" asked Mrs.
Bright, utterly astonished.
In a few words the ambitious boy told his story, and then informed his mother that he was going to Boston the next Monday morning, to commence business for himself.
"Why, what can you do, Bobby?"
"Do? I can do a great many things;" and he unfolded his scheme of becoming a little book merchant.
"You are a courageous fellow! Who would have thought of such a thing?"
"I should, and did."
"But you are not old enough."
"O, yes, I am."
"You had better wait a while."
"Now or never, mother! You see I have given my note, and my paper will be dishonored, if I am not up and doing."
"Your paper!" said Mrs. Bright, with a smile.
"That is what Mr. Wing, the boot manufacturer, calls it."
"You needn't go away to earn this money; I can pay it myself."
"This note is my affair, and I mean to pay it myself with my own earnings. No objections, mother."
Like a sensible woman as she was, she did not make any objections. She was conscious of Bobby's talents; she knew that he had a strong mind of his own, and could take care of himself. It is true, she feared the influence of the great world, and especially of the great city, upon the tender mind of her son; but if he was never tempted, he would never be a conqueror over the foes that beset him.
She determined to do her whole duty towards him, and she carefully pointed out to him the sins and the moral danger to which he would be exposed, and warned him always to resist temptation. She counselled him to think of her when he felt like going astray.
Bobby declared that he would try to be a good boy. He did not speak contemptuously of the anticipated perils, as many boys would have done, because he knew that his mother would not make bugbears out of things which she knew had no real existence.
The next day, Mr. Hardhand came; and my young readers can judge how astonished and chagrined he was, when the widow Bright offered him the sixty dollars. The Lord was with the widow and the fatherless, and the wretch was cheated out of his revenge. The note was given up, and the mortgage cancelled.
Mr. Hardhand insisted that she should pay the interest on the sixty dollars for one day, as it was then the second day of July; but when Bobby reckoned it up, and found it was less than one cent, even the wretched miser seemed ashamed of himself, and changed the subject of conversation.
He did not dare to say any thing saucy to the widow this time. He had lost his power over her, and there stood Bobby, who had come to look just like a young lion to him, coward and knave as he was.
The business was all settled now, and Bobby spent the rest of the week in getting ready for his great enterprise. He visited all his friends, and went each day to talk with Squire Lee and Annie. The little maiden promised to buy a great many books of him, if he would bring his stock to Riverdale, for she was quite as much interested in him as her father was.
Monday morning came, and Bobby was out of bed with the first streak of dawn. The excitement of the great event which was about to happen had not permitted him to sleep for the two hours preceding; yet when he got up, he could not help feeling sad. He was going to leave the little black house, going to leave his mother, going to leave the children, to depart for the great city.
His mother was up before him. She was even more sad than he was, for she could see plainer than he the perils that environed him, and her maternal heart, in spite of the reasonable confidence she had in his integrity and good principles, trembled for his safety.
As he ate his breakfast, his mother repeated the warnings and the good lessons she had before imparted. She particularly cautioned him to keep out of bad company. If he found that his companions would lie and swear, he might depend upon it they would steal, and he had better forsake them at once. This was excellent advice, and Bobby had occasion at a later period to call it to his sorrowing heart.
"Here is three dollars, Bobby; it is all the money I have. Your fare to Boston will be one dollar, and you will have two left to pay the expenses of your first trip. It is all I have now," said Mrs. Bright.
"I will not take the whole of it. You will want it yourself. One dollar is enough. When I find Mr. Bayard, I shall do very well."
"Yes, Bobby, take the whole of it."
"I will take just one dollar, and no more," replied Bobby, resolutely, as he handed her the other two dollars.
"Do take it, Bobby."
"No, mother; it will only make me lazy and indifferent."
Taking a clean shirt, a pair of socks, and a handkerchief in his bundle, he was ready for a start.
"Good by, mother," said he, kissing her and taking her hand. "I shall try and come home on Saturday, so as to be with you on Sunday."
Then kissing the children, who had not yet got up, and to whom he had bidden adieu the night before, he left the house. He had seen the flood of tears that filled his mother's eyes, as he crossed the threshold; and he could not help crying a little himself. It is a sad thing to leave one's home, one's mother, especially, to go out into the great world; and we need not wonder that Bobby, who had hardly been out of Riverdale before, should weep. But he soon restrained the flowing tears.
"Now or never!" said he, and he put his best foot forward.
It was an epoch in his history, and though he was too young to realize the importance of the event, he seemed to feel that what he did now was to give character to his whole future life.
It was a bright and beautiful morning—somehow, it is always a bright and beautiful morning when boys leave their homes to commence the journey of life; it is typical of the season of youth and hope, and it is meet that the sky should be clear, and the sun shine brightly, when the little pilgrim sets out upon his tour. He will see clouds and storms before he has gone far—let him have a fair start.
He had to walk five miles to the nearest railroad station. His road lay by the house of his friend, Squire Lee; and as he was approaching it, he met Annie. She said she had come out to take her morning walk; but Bobby knew very well that she did not usually walk till an hour later; which, with the fact that she had asked him particularly, the day before, what time he was going, made Bobby believe that she had come out to say good by, and bid him God speed on his journey. At any rate, he was very glad to see her. He said a great many pretty things to her, and talked so big about what he was going to do, that the little maiden could hardly help laughing in his face.
Then at the house he shook hands with the squire and shook hands again with Annie, and resumed his journey. His heart felt lighter for having met them, or at least for having met one of them, if not both; for Annie's eyes were so full of sunshine that they seemed to gladden his heart, and make him feel truer and stronger.
After a pleasant walk, for he scarcely heeded the distance, so full was he of his big thoughts, he reached the railroad station. The cars had not yet arrived, and would not for half an hour.
"Why should I give them a dollar for carrying me to Boston, when I can just as well walk? If I get tired, I can sit down and rest me. If I save the dollar, I shall have to earn only fifty-nine more to pay my note. So here goes;" and he started down the track.
CHAPTER VII.
IN WHICH BOBBY STANDS UP FOR "CERTAIN INALIENABLE RIGHTS."
Whether it was wise policy, or "penny wise and pound foolish" policy for Bobby to undertake such a long walk, is certainly a debatable question; but as my young readers would probably object to an argument, we will follow him to the city, and let every one settle the point to suit himself.
His cheerful heart made the road smooth beneath his feet. He had always been accustomed to an active, busy life, and had probably often walked more than twenty miles in a day. About ten o'clock, though he did not feel much fatigued, he seated himself on a rock by a brook from which he had just taken a drink, to rest himself. He had walked slowly so as to husband his strength; and he felt confident that he should be able to accomplish the journey without injury to himself.
After resting for half an hour, he resumed his walk. At twelve o'clock he reached a point from which he obtained his first view of the city. His heart bounded at the sight, and his first impulse was to increase his speed so that he should the sooner gratify his curiosity; but a second thought reminded him that he had eaten nothing since breakfast; so, finding a shady tree by the road side, he seated himself on a stone to eat the luncheon which his considerate mother had placed in his bundle.
Thus refreshed, he felt like a new man, and continued his journey again till he was on the very outskirts of the city, where a sign, "No passing over this bridge," interrupted his farther progress. Unlike many others, Bobby took this sign literally, and did not venture to cross the bridge. Having some doubts as to the direct road to the city, he hailed a man in a butcher's cart, who not only pointed the way, but gave him an invitation to ride with him, which Bobby was glad to accept.
They crossed the Milldam, and the little pilgrim forgot the long walk he had taken—forgot Riverdale, his mother, Squire Lee, and Annie, for the time, in the absorbing interest of the exciting scene. The Common beat Riverdale Common all hollow; he had never seen any thing like it before. But when the wagon reached Washington Street, the measure of his surprise was filled up.
"My gracious! how thick the houses are!" exclaimed he, much to the amusement of the kind-hearted butcher.
"We have high fences here," he replied.
"Where are all these folks going to?"
"You will have to ask them, if you want to know."
But the wonder soon abated, and Bobby began to think of his great mission in the city. He got tired of gazing and wondering, and even began to smile with contempt at the silly fops as they sauntered along, and the gayly-dressed ladies, that flaunted like so many idle butterflies, on the sidewalk. It was an exciting scene; but it did not look real to him. It was more like Herr Grunderslung's exhibition of the magic lantern, than any thing substantial. The men and women were like so many puppets. They did not seem to be doing any thing, or to be walking for any purpose.
He got out of the butcher's cart at the Old South. His first impression, as he joined the busy throng, was, that he was one of the puppets. He did not seem to have any hold upon the scene, and for several minutes this sensation of vacancy chained him to the spot.
"All right!" exclaimed he to himself at last. "I am here. Now's my time to make a strike. Now or never."
He pulled Mr. Bayard's card from his pocket, and fixed the number of his store in his mind. Now, numbers were not a Riverdale institution, and Bobby was a little perplexed about finding the one indicated. A little study into the matter, however, set him right, and he soon had the satisfaction of seeing the bookseller's name over his store.
"F. Bayard," he read; "this is the place."
"Country!" shouted a little ragged boy, who dodged across the street at that moment.
"Just so, my beauty!" said Bobby, a little nettled at this imputation of verdancy.
"What a greeny!" shouted the little vagabond from the other side of the street.
"No matter, rag-tag! We'll settle that matter some other time."
But Bobby felt that there was something in his appearance which subjected him to the remarks of others, and as he entered the shop, he determined to correct it as soon as possible.
A spruce young gentleman was behind the counter, who cast a mischievous glance at him as he entered.
"Mr. Bayard keep here?" asked Bobby.
"Well, I reckon he does. How are all the folks up country?" replied the spruce clerk, with a rude grin.
"How are they?" repeated Bobby, the color flying to his cheek.
"Yes, ha-ow do they dew?"
"They behave themselves better than they do here."
"Eh, greeny?"
"Eh, sappy?" repeated Bobby, mimicking the soft, silky tones of the young city gentleman.
"What do you mean by sappy?" asked the clerk, indignantly.
"What do you mean by greeny?"
"I'll let you know what I mean!"
"When you do, I'll let you know what I mean by sappy."
"Good!" exclaimed one of the salesmen, who had heard part of this spirited conversation. "You will learn better by and by, Timmins, than to impose upon boys from out of town."
"You seem to be a gentleman, sir," said Bobby, approaching the salesman. "I wish to see Mr. Bayard."
"You can't see him!" growled Timmins.
"Can't I?"
"Not at this minute; he is engaged just now," added the salesman, who seemed to have a profound respect for Bobby's discrimination. "He will be at liberty in a few moments."
"I will wait, then," said Bobby, seating himself on a stool by the counter.
Pretty soon the civil gentleman left the store to go to dinner, and Timmins, a little timid about provoking the young lion, cast an occasional glance of hatred at him. He had evidently found that "Country" was an embryo American citizen, and that he was a firm believer in the self-evident truths of the Declaration of Independence.
Bobby bore no ill will towards the spruce clerk, ready as he had been to defend his "certain inalienable rights."
"You do a big business here," suggested Bobby, in a conciliatory tone, and with a smile on his face which ought to have convinced the uncourteous clerk that he meant well.
"Who told you so?" replied Timmins, gruffly.
"I merely judged from appearances. You have a big store, and an immense quantity of books."
"Appearances are deceitful," replied Timmins; and perhaps he had been impressed by the fact from his experience with the lad from the country.
"That is true," added Bobby, with a good-natured smile, which, when interpreted, might have meant, "I took you for a civil fellow, but I have been very much mistaken."
"You will find it out before you are many days older."
"The book business is good just now, isn't it?" continued Bobby, without clearly comprehending the meaning of the other's last remark.
"Humph! What's that to you?"
"O, I intend to go into it myself."
"Ha, ha, ha! Good! You do?"
"I do," replied Bobby, seemingly unconcerned at the taunts of the clerk.
"I suppose you want to get a place here," sneered Timmins, alarmed at the prospect. "But let me tell you, you can't do it. Bayard has all the help he wants; and if that is what you come for, you can move on as fast as you please."
"I guess I will see him," added Bobby quietly.
"No use."
"No harm in seeing him."
As he spoke he took up a book that lay on the counter, and began to turn over the leaves.
"Put that book down!" said the amiable Mr. Timmins.
"I won't hurt it," replied Bobby, who had just fixed his eye upon some very pretty engravings in the volume.
"Put it down!" repeated Mr. Timmins, in a loud, imperative tone.
"Certainly I will, if you say so," said Bobby, who, though not much intimidated by the harsh tones of the clerk, did not know the rules of the store, and deemed it prudent not to meddle.
"I do say so!" added Mr. Timmins, magnificently; "and what's more, you'd better mind me, too."
Bobby had minded, and probably the stately little clerk would not have been so bold if he had not. Some people like to threaten after the danger is over.
Then our visitor from the country espied some little blank books lying on the counter. He had already made up his mind to have one, in which to keep his accounts; and he thought, while he was waiting, that he would purchase one. He meant to do things methodically; so when he picked up one of the blank books, it was with the intention of buying it.
"Put that book down!" said Mr. Timmins, encouraged in his aggressive intentions by the previous docility of our hero.
"I want to buy one."
"No, you don't: put it down.".
"What is the price of these?" asked Bobby, resolutely.
"None of your business!"
CHAPTER VIII.
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."
CHAPTER IX.
IN WHICH BOBBY OPENS VARIOUS ACCOUNTS, AND WINS HIS FIRST VICTORY.
"Now, Bobby, I understand your plan," said Mr. Bayard, when they reached the store; "but the details must be settled. Where do you intend to go?"
"I hardly know, sir. I suppose I can sell books almost any where."
"Very true; but in some places much better than in others."
Mr. Bayard mentioned a large town about eighteen miles from the city, in which he thought a good trade might be carried on, and Bobby at once decided to adopt the suggestion.
"You can make this place your head quarters for the week; if books do not sell well right in the village, why, you can go out a little way, for the country in the vicinity is peopled by intelligent farmers, who are well off, and who can afford to buy books."
"I was thinking of that; but what shall I take with me, sir?"
"There is a new book just published, called 'The Wayfarer,' which is going to have a tremendous run. It has been advertised in advance all over the country, so that you will find a ready sale for it. You will get it there before any one else, and have the market all to yourself."
"The Wayfarer? I have heard of it myself."
"You shall take fifty copies with you, and if you find that you shall want more, write, and I will send them."
"But I cannot carry fifty copies."
"You must take the cars to B——, and have a trunk or box to carry your books in. I have a stout trunk down cellar which you shall have."
"I will pay for it, sir."
"Never mind that, Bobby; and you will want a small valise or carpet bag to carry your books from house to house. I will lend you one."
"You are very kind, sir; I did not mean to ask any favors of you except to trust me for the books until my return."
"All right, Bobby."
Mr. Bayard called the porter and ordered him to bring up the trunk, in which he directed Mr. Timmins to pack fifty "Wayfarers."
"Now, how much will these books cost me apiece?" asked Bobby.
"The retail price is one dollar; the wholesale price is one third off; and you shall have them at what they cost me."
"Sixty-seven cents," added Bobby. "That will give me a profit of thirty-three cents on each book."
"Just so."
"Perhaps Mr. Timmins will sell me one of those blank books now; for I like to have things down in black and white."
"I will furnish you with something much better than that;" and Mr.
Bayard left the counting room.
In a moment he returned with a handsome pocket memorandum book, which he presented to the little merchant.
"But I don't like to take it unless you will let me pay for it," said
Bobby, hesitating.
"Never mind it, my young friend. Now you can sit down at my desk and open your accounts. I like to see boys methodical, and there is nothing like keeping accounts to make one accurate. Keep your books posted up, and you will know where you are at any time."
"I intend to keep an account of all I spend and all I receive, if it is no more than a cent."
"Right, my little man. Have you ever studied book-keeping?"
"No, sir, I suppose I haven't; but there was a page of accounts in the back part of the arithmetic I studied, and I got a pretty good idea of the thing from that. All the money received goes on one side, and all the money paid out goes on the other."
"Exactly so; in this book you had better open a book account first. If you wish, I will show you how."
"Thank you, sir; I should be very glad to have you;" and Bobby opened the memorandum book, and seated himself at the desk.
"Write 'Book Account' at the top of the pages, one word on each. Very well. Now write 'To fifty copies of Wayfarer, at sixty-seven cents, $33.50,' on the left hand page, or debit side of the account."
"I am not much of a writer," said Bobby, apologetically.
"You will improve. Now, each day you will credit the amount of sales on the right hand page, or credit side of the account; so, when you have sold out, the balance due your debit side will be the profit on the lot. Do you understand it?"
Bobby thought a moment before he could see through it; but his brain was active, and he soon managed the idea.
"Now you want a personal account;" and Mr. Bayard explained to him how to make this out.
He then instructed him to enter on the debit-side all he spent for travel, board, freight, and other charges. The next was the "profit and loss" account, which was to show him the net profit of the business.
Our hero, who had a decided taste for accounts, was very much pleased with this employment; and when the accounts were all opened, he regarded them with a great deal of satisfaction. He longed to commence his operations, if it were only for the pleasure of making the entries in this book.
"One thing I forgot," said he, as he seized the pen, and under the cash account entered, "To Cash from mother, $1.00." "Now I am all right, I believe."
"I think you are. Now, the cars leave at seven in the morning. Can you be ready for a start as early as that?" asked Mr. Bayard.
"O, yes, sir, I hope so. I get up at half past four at home."
"Very well; my small valise is at the house; but I believe every thing else is ready. Now, I have some business to attend to; and if you will amuse yourself for an hour or two, we will go home then."
"I shall want a lodging-place when I am in the city; perhaps some of your folks can direct me to one where they won't charge too much."
"As to that, Bobby, you must go to my house whenever you are in the city."
"Law, sir! you live so grand, I couldn't think of going to your house. I am only a poor boy from the country, and I don't know how to behave myself among such nice folks."
"You will do very well, Bobby. Ellen would never forgive me if I let you go any where else. So that is settled; you will go to my house. Now, you may sit here, or walk out and see the sights."
"If you please, sir, if Mr. Timmins will let me look at some of the books, I shouldn't wish for any thing better. I should like to look at the Wayfarer, so that I shall know how to recommend it."
"Mr. Timmins will let you," replied Mr. Bayard, as he touched the spring of a bell on his desk.
The dapper clerk came running into the counting-room to attend the summons of his employer.
"Mr. Timmins," continued Mr. Bayard, with a mischievous smile, "bring
Mr. Bright a copy of 'The Wayfarer.'"
Mr. Timmins was astonished to hear "Country" called "Mister," astonished to hear his employer call him "Mister," and Bobby was astonished to hear himself called "Mister;" nevertheless, our hero enjoyed the joke.
The clerk brought the book; and Bobby proceeded to give it a thorough, critical examination. He read the preface, the table of contents, and several chapters of the work, before Mr. Bayard was ready to go home "How do you like it, Bobby?" asked the bookseller.
"First rate."
"You may take that copy in your hand; you will want to finish it."
"Thank you, sir; I will be careful of it."
"You may keep it. Let that be the beginning of your own private library."
His own private library! Bobby had not got far enough to dream of such a thing yet; but he thanked Mr. Bayard, and put the book under his arm.
After tea, Ellen proposed to her father that they should all go to the Museum. Mr. Bayard acceded, and our hero was duly amazed at the drolleries perpetrated there. He had a good time; but it was so late when he went to bed, that he was a little fearful lest he should oversleep himself in the morning.
He did not, however, and was down in the parlor before any of the rest of the family were stirring. An early breakfast was prepared for him, at which Mr. Bayard, who intended to see him off, joined him. Depositing his little bundle and the copy of "The Wayfarer" in the valise provided for him, they walked to the store. The porter wheeled the trunk down to the railroad station, though Bobby insisted upon doing it himself.
The bookseller saw him and his baggage safely aboard of the cars, gave him a ticket, and then bade him an affectionate adieu. In a little while Bobby was flying over the rail, and at about eight o'clock, reached B——.
The station master kindly permitted him to deposit his trunk in the baggage room, and to leave it there for the remainder of the week.
Taking a dozen of the books from the trunk, and placing them in his valise, he sallied out upon his mission. It must be confessed that his heart was filled with a tumult of emotions. The battle of life was before him. He was on the field, sword in hand, ready to plunge into the contest. It was victory or defeat.
"March on, brave youth! the field of strife
With peril fraught before thee lies;
March on! the battle plain of life
Shall yield thee yet a glorious prize."
It was of no use to shrink then, even if he had felt disposed to do so. He was prepared to be rebuffed, to be insulted, to be turned away from the doors at which he should seek admission; but he was determined to conquer.
He had reached a house at which he proposed to offer "The Wayfarer" for sale. His heart went pit pat, pit pat, and he paused before the door.
"Now or never!" exclaimed he, as he swung open the garden gate, and made his way up to the door.
He felt some misgivings. It was so new and strange to him that he could hardly muster sufficient resolution to proceed farther. But his irresolution was of only a moment's duration.
"Now or never!" and he gave a vigorous knock at the door.
It was opened by an elderly lady, whose physiognomy did not promise much.
"Good morning, ma'am. Can I sell you a copy of 'The Wayfarer' to-day? a new book, just published."
"No; I don't want none of your books. There's more pedlers round the country now than you could shake a stick at in a month," replied the old lady petulantly.
"It is a very interesting book, ma'am; has an excellent moral." Bobby had read the preface, as I before remarked. "It will suit you, ma'am; for you look just like a lady who wants to read something with a moral."
Bravo, Bobby! The lady concluded that her face had a moral expression, and she was pleased with the idea.
"Let me see it;" and she asked Bobby to walk in and be seated, while she went for her spectacles.
As she was looking over the book, our hero went into a more elaborate recommendation of its merits. He was sure it would interest the young and the old; it taught a good lesson; it had elegant engravings; the type was large, which would suit her eyes; it was well printed and bound; and finally, it was cheap at one dollar.
"I'll take it," said the old lady.
"Thank you, ma'am."
Bobby's first victory was achieved
"Have you got a dollar?" asked the lady, as she handed him a two dollar bill.
"Yes, ma'am;" and he gave her his only dollar, and put the two in its place, prouder than a king who has conquered an empire. "Thank you, ma'am."
Bidding the lady a polite good morning, he left the house, encouraged by his success to go forward in his mission with undiminished hope.
CHAPTER X.
IN WHICH BOBBY IS A LITTLE TOO SMART.
The clouds were rolled back, and Bobby no longer had a doubt as to the success of his undertaking. It requires but a little sunshine to gladden the heart, and the influence of his first success scattered all the misgivings he had cherished.
Two New England shillings is undoubtedly a very small sum of money; but Bobby had made two shillings, and he would not have considered himself more fortunate if some unknown relative had left him a fortune. It gave him confidence in his powers, and as he walked away from the house, he reviewed the circumstances of his first sale.
The old lady had told him at first she did not wish to buy a book, and, moreover, had spoken rather contemptuously of the craft to which he had now the honor to belong. He gave himself the credit of having conquered the old lady's prejudices. He had sold her a book in spite of her evident intention not to purchase. In short, he had, as we have before said, won a glorious victory, and he congratulated himself accordingly.
But it was of no use to waste time in useless self-glorification, and Bobby turned from the past to the future. There were forty-nine more books to be sold, so that the future was forty-nine-times as big as the past.
He saw a shoemaker's shop ahead of him; and he was debating with himself whether he should enter and offer his books for sale. It would do no harm, though he had but slight expectations of doing any thing.
There were three men at work in the shop—one of them a middle-aged man, the other two young men. They looked like persons of intelligence, and as soon as Bobby saw them his hopes grew stronger.
"Can I sell you any books to-day?" asked the little merchant, as he crossed the threshold.
"Well, I don't know; that depends upon how smart you are," replied the eldest of the men. "It takes a pretty smart fellow to sell any thing in this shop."
"Then I hope to sell each of you a book," added Bobby, laughing at the badinage of the shoemaker.
Opening his valise he took out three copies of his book, and politely handed one to each of the men.
"It isn't every book pedler that comes along who offers you such a work as that. 'The Wayfarer' is decidedly the book of the season."
"You don't say so!" said the oldest shoemaker, with a laugh. "Every pedler that comes along uses those words, precisely."
"Do they? They steal my thunder then."
"You are an old one."
"Only thirteen. I was born where they don't fasten the door with a boiled carrot."
"What do they fasten them with?"
"They don't fasten them at all."
"There are no book pedlers round there, then;" and all the shoemakers laughed heartily at this smart sally.
"No; they are all shoemakers in our town."
"You can take my hat, boy."
"You will want it to put your head in; but I will take one dollar for that book instead."
The man laughed, took out his wallet, and handed Bobby the dollar, probably quite as much because he had a high appreciation of his smartness, as from any desire to possess the book.
"Won't you take one?" asked Bobby, appealing to another of the men, who was apparently not more than twenty-four years of age.
"No; I can't read," replied he, roguishly.
"Let your wife read it to you then."
"My wife?"
"Certainly; she knows how to read, I will warrant."
"How do you know I have got a wife?"
"O, well, a fellow as good looking and good natured as you are could not have resisted till this time."
"Has you, Tom," added the oldest shoemaker.
"I cave in;" and he handed over the dollar, and laid the book upon his bench.
Bobby looked at the third man with some interest. He had said nothing, and scarcely heeded the fun which was passing between the little merchant and his companions. He was apparently absorbed in his examination of the book. He was a different kind of person from the others, and Bobby's instinctive knowledge of human nature assured him that he was not to be gained by flattery or by smart sayings; so he placed himself in front of him, and patiently waited in silence for him to complete his examination.
"You will find that he is a hard one," put in one of the others.
Bobby made no reply, and the two men who had bought books resumed their work. For five minutes our hero stood waiting for the man to finish his investigation into the merits of "The Wayfarer." Something told him not to say any thing to this person; and he had some doubts about his purchasing.
"I will take one," said the last shoemaker, as he handed Bobby the dollar.
"I am much obliged to you, gentlemen," said Bobby, as he closed his valise. "When I come this way again I shall certainly call."
"Do; you have done what no other pedler ever did in this shop."
"I shall take no credit to myself. The fact is, you are men of intelligence, and you want good books."
Bobby picked up his valise and left the shop, satisfied with those who occupied it, and satisfied with himself.
"Eight shillings!" exclaimed he, when he got into the road. "Pretty good hour's work, I should say."
Bobby trudged along till he came to a very large, elegant house, evidently dwelt in by one of the nabobs of B——. Inspired by past successes, he walked boldly up to the front door, and rang the bell.
"Is Mr. Whiting in?" asked Bobby, who had read the name on the door plate.
"Colonel Whiting is in," replied the servant, who had opened the door.
"I should like to see him for a moment, if he isn't busy."
"Walk in;" and for some reason or other the servant chuckled a great deal as she admitted him.
She conducted him to a large, elegantly furnished parlor, where Bobby proceeded to take out his books for the inspection of the nabob, whom the servant promised to send to the parlor.
In a moment Colonel Whiting entered. He was a large, fat man, about fifty years old. He looked at the little book merchant with a frown that would have annihilated a boy less spunky than our hero. Bobby was not a little inflated by the successes of the morning, and if Julius Caesar or Napoleon Bonaparte had stood before him then, he would not have flinched a hair—much less in the presence of no greater magnate than the nabob of B——.
"Good morning, Colonel Whiting. I hope you are well this beautiful morning," Bobby began.
I must confess I think this was a little too familiar for a boy of thirteen to a gentleman of fifty, whom he had never seen before in his life; but it must be remembered that Bobby had done a great deal the week before, that on the preceding night he had slept in Chestnut Street, and that he had just sold four copies of "The Wayfarer." He was inclined to be smart, and some folks hate smart boys.
The nabob frowned; his cheek reddened with anger; but he did not condescend to make any reply to the smart speech.
"I have taken the liberty to call upon you this morning, to see if you did not wish to purchase a copy of 'The Wayfarer'—a new book just issued from the press, which people say is to be the book of the season."
My young readers need not suppose this was an impromptu speech, for Bobby had studied upon it all the time he was coming from Boston in the cars. It would be quite natural for a boy who had enjoyed no greater educational advantages than our hero to consider how he should address people into whose presence his calling would bring him; and he had prepared several little addresses of this sort, for the several different kinds of people whom he expected to encounter. The one he had just "got off" was designed for the "upper crust."
When he had delivered the speech, he approached the indignant, frowning nabob, and with a low bow, offered him a copy of "The Wayfarer."
"Boy," said Colonel Whiting, raising his arm with majestic dignity, and pointing to the door,—"boy, do you see that door?"
Bobby looked at the door, and, somewhat astonished replied that he did see it, that it was a very handsome door, and he would inquire whether it was black walnut, or only painted in imitation thereof.
"Do you see that door?" thundered the nabob, swelling with rage at the cool impudence of the boy.
"Certainly I do, sir; my eyesight is excellent."
"Then use it!"
"Thank you, sir; I have no use for it. Probably it will be of more service to you than to me."
"Will you clear out, or shall I kick you out?" gasped the enraged magnate of B——.
"I will save you that trouble, sir; I will go, sir. I see we have both made a mistake."
"Mistake? What do you mean by that, you young puppy? You are a little impudent, thieving scoundrel!"
"That's your mistake, sir. I took you for a gentleman, sir; and that was my mistake."
"Ha, ha, ha!" laughed a sweet, musical voice, and at that moment a beautiful young lady rushed up to the angry colonel, and threw her arms around his neck.
"The jade!" muttered he.
"I have caught you in a passion again, uncle;" and the lady kissed the old gentleman's anger-reddened cheek, which seemed to restore him at once to himself.
"It was enough to make a minister swear," said he, in apology.
"No, it wasn't, uncle; the boy was a little pert, it is true; but you ought to have laughed at him, instead of getting angry. I heard the whole of it."
"Pert?" said Bobby to himself. "What the deuse does she mean by that?"
"Very well, you little minx; I will pay the penalty."
"Come here, Master Pert," said the lady to Bobby.
Bobby bowed, approached the lady, and began to feel very much embarrassed.
"My uncle,", she continued, "is one of the best hearted men in the world—ain't you, uncle?"
"Go on, you jade!"
"I love him, as I would my own father; but he will sometimes get into a passion. Now, you provoked him."
"Indeed, ma'am, I hadn't the least idea of saying any thing uncivil," pleaded Bobby. "I studied to be as polite as possible."
"I dare say. You were too important, too pompous, for a boy to an old gentleman like uncle, who is really one of the best men in the world. Now, if you hadn't studied to be polite, you would have done very well."
"Indeed, ma'am, I am a poor boy, trying to make a little money to help my mother. I am sure I meant no harm."
"I know you didn't. So you are selling books to help your mother?"
"Yes, ma'am."
She inquired still further into the little merchant's history, and seemed to be very much interested in him.
In a frolic, a few days before, Bobby learned from her, Colonel Whiting had agreed to pay any penalty she might name, the next time he got into a passion.
"Now, young man, what book have you to sell?" asked the lady.
"'The Wayfarer.'"
"How many have you in your valise?"
"Eight."
"Very well; now, uncle, I decree, as the penalty of your indiscretion, that you purchase the whole stock."
"I submit."
"'The Wayfarer' promises to be an excellent book: and I can name at least half a dozen persons who will thank you for a copy, uncle."
Colonel Whiting paid Bobby eight dollars, who left the contents of his valise on the centre table, and then departed, astounded at his good fortune, and fully resolved never to be too smart again.