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
“I don't see that any explanation is necessary,” said the lady. “However, since you wish it, I will say that the ring was handed you by Mrs. Benton, a wealthy lady of your parish, with instructions to sell it, and devote the proceeds to charitable purposes.”
“Is that explanation satisfactory?” asked Mr. Montgomery.
“No, it is not,” said Paul, resolutely. “I don't believe one word of it. I recognize you in spite of your dress. You gave me chloroform this morning in a room in Lovejoy's Hotel, and when I was unconscious you made off with the ring which I expected to sell you. You had better return it, or I will call a policeman.”
“I am not the person you take me for,” said Felix Montgomery.
“You are the jeweler from Syracuse who swindled me out of my ring.”
“I never was a jeweler, and never lived in Syracuse,” said the adventurer, with entire truth.
“You may be right, but that is what you told me this morning.”
“I wish you would go away, and cease to annoy us,” said the lady, impatiently.
“I want my ring.”
“We have no ring of yours.”
“Show me the ring, and if it is not mine I will go away.”
“You are a very impudent fellow, upon my word,” said Mrs. Montgomery, sharply, “to accuse a gentleman like my husband of taking your ring. I don't believe you ever had one.”
“My dear,” interposed her husband, mildly, “I dare say my young friend here really thinks we have his ring. Of course it is a great mistake. Imagine what our friends in Hayfield Centre would think of such a charge! But you must remember that he is unacquainted with my standing in the community. In order to satisfy his mind, I am willing to let him see the ring.”
“To let him see the ring?” repeated the lady, in surprise.
“Yes. Here, my lad,” taking the ring from his pocket, “this is the ring. You will see at once that it is not yours.”
“I see that it is mine,” said Paul, taking the proffered ring, and preparing to go, astonished at his own good fortune in so easily recovering it.
“Not so fast!” exclaimed Mr. Montgomery, seizing him by the shoulder. “Help! Police!”
An officer had turned the corner just before, and it was this that had suggested the trap. He came up quickly, and, looking keenly from one to the other, inquired what was the matter.
“This boy has just purloined a ring from my wife,” said Mr. Montgomery. “Fortunately I caught him in the act.”
“Give up the ring, you young scoundrel!” said the officer, imposed upon by the clerical appearance of the adventurer.
“It is mine,” said Paul.
“None of your gammon! Give up the ring, and come with me.”
The ring was restored to Mr. Montgomery, who overwhelmed the officer with a profusion of thanks.
“It is not a diamond, only an imitation,” he said, “but my wife values it as the gift of a friend. Don't be too hard on the boy. He may not be so bad as he seems.”
“I'll attend to him,” said the policeman, emphatically. “I'll learn him to rob ladies of rings in the street. Come along, sir!”
Paul tried to explain matters, but no attention was paid to his protestations. To his anger and mortification he saw the swindler make off triumphantly with the ring, while he, the wronged owner, was arrested as a thief.
But at the station-house he had his revenge. He was able to prove to his captor that he had lodged information against Mr. Montgomery, and the policeman in turn was mortified to think how readily he had been imposed upon. Of course Paul was set free, but the officer's blundering interference seemed to render the recovery of the ring more doubtful than ever.
CHAPTER XXII A MAN OF RESOURCES
“Well, that was a narrow escape,” said Mr. Montgomery, with a sigh of relief. “I think I managed rather cleverly, eh?”
“I wanted to box the boys ears,” said Mrs. Montgomery, sharply.
“It wouldn't have been in character, my dear. Ha, ha!” he laughed, softly, “we imposed upon the officer neatly. Our young friend got rather the worst of it.”
“Why don't you call things by their right names? He isn't much of a friend.”
“Names are of no consequence, my dear.”
“Well, what are you going to do next?” asked the lady, abruptly.
“About the ring?”
“Of course.”
“I hardly know,” said Mr. Montgomery, reflectively. “If it were not for appearing too anxious, I would go back to Ball & Black's now that our young friend is otherwise engaged, and can't interrupt us.”
“Suppose we go?”
“Well, you see, it might be considered rather soon for you to recover from your fit. Besides, I don't know what stories this boy may have thought fit to tell about us.”
“He didn't have time to say anything.”
“Perhaps you are right.”
“We want to dispose of the ring as soon as possible, and leave the city.”
“That is true. Well, if you say so, we will go back.”
“It seems to me now is the best time. The boy will tell his story to the officer and we may be inquired for.”
“Then, my dear, I will follow your advice.”
Mr. and Mrs. Montgomery turned, and directed their steps again toward Broadway. The distance was short, and fifteen minutes had scarcely elapsed since they left the store before they again entered it. They made their way to the lower end of the store and accosted the same clerk with whom they had before spoken.
“Is your wife better?” he asked.
“Much better, thank you. A turn in the air always relieves her, and she is quite herself again. I have returned because it is necessary for me to leave the city by the evening train, and my time is, therefore, short. Will you be kind enough to show the ring to your employer, and ask him if he will purchase?”
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