Have you ever thought about what fiction is? Probably, such a question may seem surprising: and so everything is clear. Every person throughout his life has to repeatedly create the works he needs for specific purposes - statements, autobiographies, dictations - using not gypsum or clay, not musical notes, not paints, but just a word. At the same time, almost every person will be very surprised if he is told that he thereby created a work of fiction, which is very different from visual art, music and sculpture making. However, everyone understands that a student's essay or dictation is fundamentally different from novels, short stories, news that are created by professional writers. In the works of professionals there is the most important difference - excogitation. But, oddly enough, in a school literature course, you don’t realize the full power of fiction. So using our website in your free time discover fiction for yourself. Paul the Peddler; Or, The Fortunes of a Young Street Merchant by Jr. Horatio Alger (ebook reader for comics TXT) 📖
- Author: Jr. Horatio Alger
Book online «Paul the Peddler; Or, The Fortunes of a Young Street Merchant by Jr. Horatio Alger (ebook reader for comics TXT) 📖». Author Jr. Horatio Alger
He had intended to ride home, but his mind was so preoccupied that he forgot all about it, and had got some distance on his way before it occurred to him. Then, not feeling particularly tired, he concluded to keep on walking, as he had commenced.
“It will save me six cents,” he reflected, “and that is something. If I am ever going to be a prosperous merchant, I must begin to save now.”
So he kept on walking. Passing the Cooper Institute, he came into the Bowery, a broad and busy street, the humble neighbor of Broadway, to which it is nearly parallel.
He was still engaged in earnest thought, when he felt a rude slap on the back. Looking round, he met the malicious glance of Mike Donovan, who probably would not have ventured on such a liberty if he had not been accompanied by a boy a head taller than himself, and, to judge from appearances, of about the same character.
“What did you do that for, Mike?” demanded Paul.
“None of your business. I didn't hurt you, did I?” returned Mike, roughly.
“No, but I don't care to be hit that way by you.”
“So you're putting on airs, are you?”
“No, I don't do that,” returned Paul; “but I don't care about having anything to do with you.”
“That's because you've got a new shirt, is it?” sneered Mike.
“It isn't mine.”
“That's what I thought. Who did you steal it from?”
“Do you mean to insult me, Mike Donovan?” demanded Paul, angrily.
“Just as you like,” said Mike, independently.
“If you want to know why I don't want to have anything to do with you, I will tell you.”
“Tell ahead.”
“Because you're a thief.”
“If you say that again, I'll lick you,” said Mike, reddening with anger.
“It's true. You stole my basket of candy the other day, and that isn't the only time you've been caught stealing.”
“I'll give you the worst licking you ever had. Do you want to fight?” said Mike, flourishing his fist.
“No, I don't,” said Paul. “Some time when I haven't a bundle, I'll accommodate you.”
“You're a coward!” sneered Mike, gaining courage as he saw Paul was not disposed for an encounter.
“I don't think I am,” said Paul, coolly.
“I'll hold your shirt,” said Mike's companion, with a grin, “if you want to fight.”
Paul, however, did not care to intrust the shirt to a stranger of so unprepossessing an appearance.
He, therefore, attempted to pass on. But Mike, encouraged by his reluctance, stepped up and shook his fist within an inch of Paul's nose, calling him at the same time a coward. This was too much for Paul's self-restraint. He dropped the shirt and pitched into Mike in so scientific a manner that the latter was compelled to retreat, and finally to flee at the top of his speed, not without having first received several pretty hard blows.
“I don't think he will meddle with me again,” said Paul to himself, as he pulled down the sleeves of his jacket.
He walked back, and looked for the shirt which he had laid down before commencing the combat. But he looked in vain. Nothing was to be seen of the shirt or of Mike's companion. Probably both had disappeared together.
CHAPTER XI BARCLAY & CO.
The loss of the shirt was very vexatious. It was not so much the value of it that Paul cared for, although this was a consideration by no means to be despised by one in his circumstances; but it had been lent as a pattern, and without it his mother would be unable to make Mr. Preston's shirts. As to recovering it, he felt that there was little chance of this. Besides, it would involve delay, and his mother could not afford to remain idle. Paul felt decidedly uncomfortable. Again Mike Donovan had done him an injury, and this time of a more serious nature than before.
What should he do?
There seemed but one answer to this question. He must go back to Mr. Preston, explain the manner in which he had lost his shirt, and ask him for another, promising, of course, to supply the place of the one lost. He was not sure whether Mr. Preston would accept this explanation. He might think it was only an attempt to defraud him. But, at any rate, it seemed the only thing to do, and it must be done at once. He entered a passing car, for it was too late to walk.
“I wish I had taken the car down,” thought Paul. “Then I shouldn't have lost the shirt.”
But it was too late for regrets now. He must do the best that remained to him.
It was nearly ten o'clock when Paul once more stood before the door of Mr. Preston's boarding-place. He rang the bell and asked to see him.
“You have been here before this evening?” said the servant.
“Yes.”
“Then you know the room. You can walk right up.”
Paul went upstairs and knocked at Mr. Preston's room. He was bidden to come in, and did so.
Mr. Preston looked up with surprise.
“I suppose you are surprised to see me,” said Paul, rather awkwardly.
“Why, yes. I did not anticipate that pleasure quite so soon,” said Mr. Preston, smiling.
“I am afraid it won't be a pleasure, for I bring bad news.”
“Bad news?” repeated the gentleman, rather startled.
“Yes; I have lost the shirt you gave me.”
“Oh, is that all?” said Mr. Preston, looking relieved. “But how did you lose it?”
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