Now or Never; Or, The Adventures of Bobby Bright: A Story for Young Folks by Optic (most popular ebook readers .TXT) 📖

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.

CHAPTER XI. IN WHICH BOBBY STRIKES A BALANCE, AND RETURNS TO RIVERDALE.

Our hero had learned a lesson which experience alone could teach him. The consciousness of that "something within him" inclined him to be a little too familiar with his elders; but then it gave him confidence in himself, and imparted courage to go forward in the accomplishment of his mission. His interview with Colonel Whiting and the gentle but plain rebuke of his niece had set him right, and he realized that, while he was doing a man's work, he was still a boy. He had now a clearer perception of what is due to the position and dignity of those upon whom fortune has smiled.

Bobby wanted to be a man, and it is not strange that he should sometimes fancy he was a man. He had an idea, too, that "all men are born free and equal;" and he could not exactly see why a nabob was entitled to any more respect and consideration than a poor man. It was a lesson he was compelled to learn, though some folks live out their lifetimes without ever finding out that.

"'Tis wealth, good sir, makes honorable men." Some people think a rich man is no better than a poor man, except so far as he behaves himself better. It is strange how stupid some people are!

Bobby had no notion of cringing to any man, and he felt as independent as the Declaration of Independence itself. But then the beautiful lady had told him that he was pert and forward; and when he thought it over, he was willing to believe she was right, Colonel Whiting was an old man, compared with himself; and he had some faith, at least in theory, in the Spartan virtue of respect for the aged. Probably the nabob of B—— would have objected to being treated with respect on account of his age; and Bobby would have been equally unwilling to acknowledge that he treated him with peculiar respect on account of his wealth or position.

Perhaps the little merchant had an instinctive perception of expediency—that he should sell more books by being less familiar: at any rate he determined never again to use the flowery speeches he had arranged for the upper crust.

He had sold a dozen books; and possibly this fact made him more willing to compromise the matter than he would otherwise have been. This was, after all, the great matter for congratulation, and with a light heart he hurried back to the railroad station to procure another supply.

We cannot follow him into every house where his calling led him. He was not always as fortunate as in the instances we have mentioned. Sometimes all his arguments were unavailing, and after he had spent half an hour of valuable time in setting forth the merits of "The Wayfarer," he was compelled to retire without having effected a sale. Sometimes, too, he was rudely repulsed; hard epithets were applied to him; old men and old women, worried out by the continued calls of pedlers, sneered at him, or shut the door in his face; but Bobby was not disheartened. He persevered, and did not allow these little trials to discompose or discourage him.

By one o'clock on the first day of his service he had sold eighteen books, which far exceeded even his most sanguine expectations. By this time he began to feel the want of his dinner; but there was no tavern or eating house at hand, and he could not think of leaving the harvest to return