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

by Mr. Preston. He decided to walk one way, not wishing to incur the expenses of two railroad fares.

The distance was considerable, and it was nearly eight o'clock when he arrived at his destination.

Paul found himself standing before a handsome house of brown stone. He ascended the steps, and inquired, on the door being opened, if Mr. Preston was at home.

“I'll see,” said the servant.

She returned in a short time, and said: “He says you may come upstairs.”

Paul followed the servant, who pointed out a door at the head of the first staircase.

Paul knocked, and, hearing “Come in” from within, he opened the door and entered.

He found himself in a spacious chamber, handsomely furnished. Mr. Preston, in dressing-gown and slippers, sat before a cheerful, open fire.

“Come and sit down by the fire,” he said, sociably.

“Thank you, sir, I am warm with walking,” and Paul took a seat near the door.

“I am one of the cold kind,” said Mr. Preston, “and have a fire earlier than most people. You come about the shirts, I suppose?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Will your mother undertake them?”

“With pleasure, sir. She can no longer get work from the shop.”

“Business dull, I suppose?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Then I am glad I thought of giving her the commission. How's business with you to-day, eh?”

“Pretty good, sir.”

“How many neckties did you sell?”

“Nineteen, sir.”

“And how much do you get for that?”

“Nine shillings and a half—a dollar and eighteen cents.”

“That's pretty good for a boy like you. When I was of your age I was working on a farm for my board and clothes.”

“Were you, sir?” asked Paul, interested.

“Yes, I was bound out till I was twenty-one. At the end of that time I was to receive a hundred dollars and a freedom suit to begin the world with. That wasn't a very large capital, eh?”

“No, sir.”

“But the death of my employer put an end to my apprenticeship at the age of eighteen. I hadn't a penny of money and was thrown upon my own resources. However, I had a pair of good strong arms, and a good stock of courage. I knew considerable about farming, but I didn't like it. I thought I should like trade better. So I went to the village merchant, who kept a small dry-goods store, and arranged with him to supply me with a small stock of goods, which I undertook to sell on commission for him. His business was limited, and having confidence in my honesty, he was quite willing to intrust me with what I wanted. So I set out with my pack on my back and made a tour of the neighboring villages.”

Paul listened with eager interest. He had his own way to make, and it was very encouraging to find that Mr. Preston, who was evidently rich and prosperous, was no better off at eighteen than he was now.

“You will want to know how I succeeded. Well, at first only moderately; but I think I had some tact in adapting myself to the different classes of persons with whom I came in contact; at any rate, I was always polite, and that helped me. So my sales increased, and I did a good thing for my employer as well as myself. He would have been glad to employ me for a series of years, but I happened to meet a traveling salesman of a New York wholesale house, who offered to obtain me a position similar to his own. As this would give me a larger field and larger profits, I accepted gladly, and so changed the nature of my employment. I became very successful. My salary was raised from time to time, till it reached five thousand dollars. I lived frugally and saved money, and at length bought an interest in the house by which I had been so long employed. I am now senior partner, and, as you may suppose, very comfortably provided for.

“Do you know why I have told you this?” asked Mr. Preston, noticing the eagerness with which Paul had listened.

“I don't know, sir; but I have been very much interested.”

“It is because I like to give encouragement to boys and young men who are now situated as I used to be. I think you are a smart boy.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“And, though you are poor, you can lift yourself to prosperity, if you are willing to work hard enough and long enough.”

“I am not afraid of work,” said Paul, promptly.

“No, I do not believe you are. I can tell by a boy's face, and you have the appearance of one who is willing to work hard. How long have you been a street peddler?”

“About a year, sir. Before that time my father was living, and I was kept at school.”

“You will find the street a school, though of a different kind, in which you can learn valuable lessons. If you can get time in the evening, however, it will be best to keep up your school studies.”

“I am doing that now, sir.”

“That is well. And now, about the shirts. Did your mother say how long it would take her to make them?”

“About three weeks, I think, sir. Will that be soon enough?”

“That will do. Perhaps it will be well, however, to bring half the number whenever they are finished.”

“All right, sir.”

“I suppose your mother can cut them out if I send a shirt as a pattern?”

“Yes, sir.”

Mr. Preston rose, and, going to a bureau, took therefrom a shirt which he handed to Paul. He then wrote a few lines on a slip of paper, which he also handed our hero.

“That is an order on Barclay & Co.,” he explained, “for the requisite materials. If either you or your mother presents it, they will be given you.”

“Very good, sir,” said Paul.

He took his cap, and prepared to go.

“Good-evening, Mr. Preston,” he said.

“Good-evening. I shall expect you with the shirts when they are ready.”

Paul went downstairs and into the street, thinking that Mr. Preston was very sociable and agreeable. He had fancied that