Now or Never; Or, The Adventures of Bobby Bright by Oliver Optic (classic literature list .TXT) 📖

CHAPTER XII IN WHICH BOBBY ASTONISHES SUNDRY PERSONS AND PAYS PART OF HIS NOTE

"Now tell me, Bobby, how you have made out," said Mrs. Bright, as the little merchant seated himself at the supper table. "You cannot have done much, for you have only been gone five days."

"I have done pretty well, mother," replied Bobby, mysteriously; "pretty well, considering that I am only a boy."

"I didn't expect to see you till to-morrow night."

"I sold out, and had to come home."

"That may be, and still you may not have done much."

"I don't pretend that I have done much."

"How provoking you are! Why don't you tell me, Bobby, what you have done?"

"Wait a minute, mother, till I have done my supper, and then I will show you the footings in my ledger."

"Your ledger!"

"Yes, my ledger. I keep a ledger now."

"You are a great man, Mr. Robert Bright," laughed his mother. "I suppose the people took their hats off when they saw you coming."

"Not exactly, mother."

"Perhaps the governor came out to meet you when he heard you were on the road."

"Perhaps he did; I didn't see him, however. This apple pie tastes natural, mother. It is a great luxury to get home after one has been travelling."

"Very likely."

"No place like home, after all is done and said. Who was the fellow that wrote that song, mother?"

"I forget; the paper said he spent a great many years in foreign parts. My sake! Bobby, one would think by your talk that you had been away from home for a year."

"It seems like a year," said he, as he transferred another quarter of the famous apple pie to his plate. "I miss home very much. I don't more than half like being among strangers so much."

"It is your own choice; no one wants you to go away from home."

"I must pay my debts, anyhow. Don't I owe Squire Lee sixty dollars?"

"But I can pay that."

"It is my affair, you see."

"If it is your affair, then I owe you sixty dollars."

"No, you don't; I calculate to pay my board now. I am old enough and big enough to do something."

"You have done something ever since you were old enough to work."

"Not much; I don't wonder that miserable old hunker of a Hardhand twitted me about it. By the way, have you heard anything from him?"

"Not a thing."

"He has got enough of us, I reckon."

"You mustn't insult him, Bobby, if you happen to see him."

"Never fear me."

"You know the Bible says we must love our enemies, and pray for them that despitefully use us and persecute us."

"I should pray that the Old Nick might get him."

"No, Bobby; I hope you haven't forgot all your Sunday school lessons."

"I was wrong, mother," replied Bobby, a little moved. "I did not mean so. I shall try to think as well of him as I can; but I can't help thinking, if all the world was like him, what a desperate hard time we should have of it."

"We must thank the Lord that he has given us so many good and true men."

"Such as Squire Lee, for instance," added Bobby, as he rose from the table and put his chair back against the wall. "The squire is fit to be a king; and though I believe in the Constitution and the Declaration of Independence, I wouldn't mind seeing a crown upon his head."

"He will receive his crown in due time," replied Mrs. Bright, piously.

"The squire?"

"The crown of rejoicing, I mean."

"Just so; the squire is a nice man; and I know another just like him."

"Who?"

"Mr. Bayard; they are as near alike as two peas."

"I am dying to know about your journey."

"Wait a minute, mother, till we clear away the supper things;" and Bobby took hold, as he had been accustomed, to help remove and wash the dishes.

"You needn't help now, Bobby."

"Yes, I will, mother."

Somehow our hero's visit to the city did not seem to produce the usual effect upon him; for a great many boys, after they had been abroad, would have scorned to wash dishes and wipe them. A week in town has made many a boy so smart that you couldn't touch him with a ten foot pole. It starches them up so stiff that sometimes they don't know their own mothers, and deem it a piece of condescension to speak a word to the patriarch in a blue frock who had the honor of supporting them in childhood.

Bobby was none of this sort. We lament that he had a habit of talking big, that is, of talking about business affairs in a style a little beyond his years. But he was modest to a fault, paradoxical as it may seem. He was always blushing when anybody spoke a pretty thing about him. Probably the circumstances of his position elevated him above the sphere of the mere boy; he had spent but little time in play, and his attention had been directed at all times to the wants of his mother. He had thought a great deal about business, especially since the visit of the boy who sold books to the little black house.

Some boys are born merchants, and from their earliest youth have a genius for trade. They think of little else. They "play shop" before they wear jackets, and drive a barter trade in jackknives, whistles, tops, and fishing lines long before they get into their teens. They are shrewd even then, and obtain a taste for commerce before they are old enough to know the meaning of the word.

We saw a boy in school, not long since, give the value of eighteen cents for a little stunted quince; boys have a taste for raw quinces, strange as it may seem. Undoubtedly he had no talent for trade, and would make a very indifferent tin pedler. Our hero was shrewd. He always got the best end of the bargain; though, I am happy to say, his integrity was too unyielding to let him cheat his fellows.

We have made this digression so that my young readers may know why Bobby was so much given to big talk. The desire to do something worthy of a good son turned his attention to matters above his sphere; and thinking of great things, he had come to talk great things. It was not a bad fault, after all. Boys need not necessarily be frivolous. Play is a good thing, an excellent thing, in its place, and is as much a part of the boy's education as his grammar and arithmetic. It not only develops his muscles, but enlarges his mental capacity; it not only fills with excitement the idle hours of the long day, but it sharpens the judgment, and helps to fit the boy for the active duties of life.

It need not be supposed, because Bobby had to turn his attention to serious things, that he was not fond of fun; that he could not or did not play. At a game of round ball, he was a lucky fellow who secured him upon his side; for the same energy which made him a useful son rendered him a desirable hand in a difficult game.

When the supper things were all removed, the dishes washed and put away, Bobby drew out his pocket memorandum book. It was a beautiful article, and Mrs. Bright was duly astonished at its gilded leaves and the elegant workmanship. Very likely her first impulse was to reprove her son for such a piece of reckless extravagance; but this matter was set right by Bobby's informing her how it came into his possession.

"Here is my ledger, mother," he said, handing her the book.

Mrs. Bright put on her spectacles, and after bestowing a careful scrutiny upon the memorandum book, turned to the accounts.

"Fifty books!" she exclaimed, as she read the first entry.

"Yes, mother; and I sold them all."

"Fifty dollars!"

"But I had to pay for the books out of that."

"To be sure you had; but I suppose you made as much as ten cents apiece on them, and that would be—let me see; ten times fifty——"

"But I made more than that, I hope."

"How much?"

The proud young merchant referred her to the profit and loss account, which exhibited a balance of fifteen dollars.

"Gracious! Three dollars a day!"

"Just so, mother. Now I will pay you the dollar I borrowed of you when I went away."

"You didn't borrow it of me."

"But I shall pay it."

Mrs. Bright was astonished at this unexpected and gratifying result. If she had discovered a gold mine in the cellar of the little black house, it could not have afforded her so much satisfaction; for this money was the reward of her son's talent and energy. Her own earnings scarcely ever amounted to more than three or four dollars a week, and Bobby, a boy of thirteen, had come home with fifteen for five days' work. She could scarcely believe the evidence of her own senses, and she ceased to wonder that he talked big.

It was nearly ten o'clock when the widow and her son went to bed, so deeply were they interested in discussing our hero's affairs. He had intended to call upon Squire Lee that night, but the time passed away so rapidly that he was obliged to defer it till the next day.

After breakfast the following morning, he hastened to pay the intended visit. There was a tumult of strange emotions in his bosom as he knocked at the squire's door. He was proud of the success he had achieved, and even then his cheek burned under the anticipated commendations which his generous friend would bestow upon him. Besides, Annie would be glad to see him, for she had expressed such a desire when they parted on the Monday preceding. I don't think that Bobby cherished any silly ideas, but the sympathy of the little maiden fell not coldly or unwelcomely upon his warm heart. In coming from the house he had placed his copy of "The Wayfarer" under his arm, for Annie was fond of reading; and on the way over, he had pictured to himself the pleasure she would derive from reading his book.

Of course he received a warm welcome from the squire and his daughter. Each of them had bestowed more than a thought upon the little wanderer as he went from house to house, and more than once they had conversed together about him.

"Well, Bobby, how is trade in the book line?" asked the squire, after the young pilgrim had