Paul the Peddler; Or, The Fortunes of a Young Street Merchant by Jr. Horatio Alger (ebook reader for comics TXT) 📖

“Well, George, how's business?” asked Paul.

“Fair,” said Barry. “That isn't what's the matter.”

“What is it, then?”

“I'm sick. I ought not to be out here to-day.”

“What's the matter with you?”

“I've caught a bad cold, and feel hot and feverish. I ought to be at home and abed.”

“Why don't you go?”

“I can't leave my business.”

“It's better to do that than to get a bad sickness.”

“I suppose it is. I am afraid I am going to have a fever. One minute I'm hot, another I'm cold. But I can't afford to close up my business.”

“Why don't you get somebody to take your place?”

“I don't know anybody I could get that I could trust. They'd sell my goods, and make off with the money.”

“Can you trust me?” asked Paul, who saw a chance to benefit himself as well as his friend.

“Yes, Paul, I could trust you, but I'm afraid I couldn't pay you enough to make it worth while for you to stand here.”

“I haven't got anything to do just now,” said Paul. “I was in the prize-package business, but two fellows stole my stock in trade, and I'm not going into it again. It's about played out. I'm your man. Just make me an offer.”

“I should like to have you take my place for a day or two, for I know you wouldn't cheat me.”

“You may be sure of that.”

“I am sure. I know you are an honest boy, Paul. But I don't know what to offer you.”

“How many neckties do you sell a day?” asked Paul, in a businesslike tone.

“About a dozen on an average.”

“And how much profit do you make?”

“It's half profit.”

Paul made a short calculation. Twelve neckties at twenty-five cents each would bring three dollars. Half of this was a dollar and a half.

“I'll take your place for half profits,” he said.

“That's fair,” said George Barry. “I'll accept your offer. Can you begin now?”

“Yes.”

“Then I'll go home and go to bed. It's the best place for me.”

“You'd better. I'll come round after closing up, and hand over the money.”

“All right! You know where I live?”

“I'm not sure.”

“No. — Bleecker street.”

“I'll come up this evening.”

George Barry walked away, leaving Paul in charge of his business.

He did so with perfect confidence. Not every boy in Paul's circumstances can be trusted, but he felt sure that Paul would do the right thing by him.

I may as well say, in this connection, that George Barry had a mother living. They occupied two rooms in a lodging-house in Bleecker street, and lived very comfortably. Mrs. Barry had an allowance of two hundred dollars a year from a relation. This, with what she earned by sewing, and her son by his stand, supported them very comfortably, especially as they provided and cooked their own food, which was, of course, much cheaper than boarding. Still, the loss of the young man's earnings, even for a short time, would have been felt, though they had a reserve of a hundred dollars in a savings bank, from which they might draw if necessary. But George did not like to do this. The arrangement which he made with Paul was a satisfactory one, for with half his usual earnings they would still be able to keep out of debt, and not be compelled to draw upon the fund in the bank. Of course, something depended on Paul's success as a salesman, but he would not be likely to fall much below the average amount of sales. So, on the whole, George Barry went home considerably relieved in mind, though his head was throbbing, and he felt decidedly sick.

Arrived at home, his mother, who understood sickness, at once took measures to relieve him.

“Don't mind the loss of a few days, George,” she said, cheerfully; “we shall be able to get along very well.”

“It'll only be part loss, mother,” he said. “I've got Paul Hoffman to take my place for half the profits.”

“Paul Hoffman! Do I know him?”

“I don't think he has ever been here but I have known him for a year.”

“Can you trust him?”

“Yes, I'm not at all afraid. He is a smart boy, and as honest as he is smart. I think he will sell nearly as much as I would.”

“That is an excellent arrangement. You needn't feel uneasy, then.”

“No, the business will go on right.”

“I should like to see your salesman.”

“You'll see him to-night, mother. He's coming round this evening to let me know how he's got along, and hand over the money he's taken.”

“You'd better be quiet now, George, and go to sleep, if you can. I'll make you some warm tea. I think it'll do you good.”

Meanwhile Paul assumed charge of George Barry's business. He was sorry his friend was sick, but he congratulated himself on getting into business so soon.

“It's more respectable than selling prize packages,” thought Paul. “I wish I had a stand of my own.”

He was still a street merchant, but among street merchants there are grades as well as among merchants whose claim to higher respectability rests upon having rent to pay. Paul felt that it was almost like having a shop of his own. He had always looked up to George Barry as standing higher than himself in a business way, and he felt that even if his earnings should not be as great, that it was a step upward to have sole charge of his stand, if only for a day or two.

Paul's ambition was aroused. It was for his interest to make as large sales as possible. Besides, he thought he would like to prove to George Barry that he had made a good selection in appointing him his substitute.

Now, if the truth must be told, George Barry himself was not possessed of superior business ability. He was lacking in energy and push. He could sell neckties to those who asked for them, but had no particular talent for attracting trade. He would have been a fair clerk, but was