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
“You have stolen a diamond ring.”
“Who says so?” demanded the adventurer, boldly. “It is true I brought one here to sell, but it has belonged to me for years.”
“You are mistaken, Mr. Montgomery,” said Paul, who had come up unperceived. “You stole that ring from me this morning, after dosing me with chloroform at Lovejoy's Hotel.”
“It is a lie,” said the adventurer, boldly. “That boy is my son. He is in league with his mother to rob me. She sent him here this morning unknown to me. Finding it out, I took the ring from him, and brought it here myself.”
Paul was certainly surprised at being claimed as a son by the man who had swindled him, and answered: “I never saw you before this morning. I have no father living.”
“I will guarantee this boy's truth and honesty,” said Mr. Preston, speaking for the first time. “I believe you know me, Mr. Tiffany.”
“I need no other assurance,” said the jeweler, bowing. “Officer, you may remove your prisoner.”
“The game is up,” said the adventurer, finding no further chance for deception. “I played for high stakes, and I have lost the game. I have one favor to ask. Will some one let my wife know where I am?”
“Give me her address,” said Paul, “and I will let her know.”
“No. —— Amity street. Ask her to come to the station-house to see me.”
“I will go at once.”
“Thank you,” said Mr. Montgomery; “as I am not to have the ring, I don't know that I am sorry it has fallen into your hands. One piece of advice I will venture to offer you, my lad,” he added, smiling. “Beware of any jewelers hailing from Syracuse. They will cheat you, if you give them a chance.”
“I will be on my guard,” said Paul. “Can I do anything more for you?”
“Nothing, thank you. I have a fast friend at my side, who will look after me.”
The officer smiled grimly at the jest, and the two left the store arm in arm.
“Do you still wish to sell this ring?” asked Mr. Tiffany, addressing Paul.
“Yes, sir.”
“I renew my offer of this morning. I will give you two hundred and fifty dollars.”
“I shall be glad to accept it.”
The sale was quickly effected, and Paul left the store with what seemed to him a fortune in his pocket.
“Be careful not to lose your money,” said Mr Preston.
“I should like to place a hundred and fifty dollars in your hands,” said Paul, turning to Mr. Preston.
“I will willingly take care of it for you, and allow you interest upon it.”
The transfer was made, and, carefully depositing the balance of the money in his pocketbook, our hero took leave of his friend and sought the house in Amity street.
CHAPTER XXV PAUL'S FINAL SUCCESS
Mrs. Montgomery impatiently awaited the return of her husband. Meanwhile she commenced packing the single trunk which answered both for her husband and herself. She was getting tired of New York, and anxious to leave for Philadelphia, being fearful lest certain little transactions in which she and her husband had taken part should become known to the police.
She had nearly completed her packing when Paul rang the doorbell.
The summons was answered by the landlady in person.
“Is Mrs. Montgomery at home?” asked Paul.
“No such lady lives here,” was the answer.
It occurred to Paul as very possible that Mr. Montgomery might pass under a variety of names. He accordingly said, “Perhaps I have got the name wrong. The lady I mean is tall. I come with a message from her husband, who is a stout man with black hair and whiskers. He gave me this number.”
“Perhaps you mean Mr. Grimsby. He and his wife live here.”
“Probably that is the name,” said Paul.
“I will give Mrs. Grimsby your message,” returned the landlady, whose curiosity was excited to learn something further about her boarders.
“Thank you,” said Paul; “but it is necessary for me to see the lady myself.”
“Well, you can follow me, then,” said the landlady, rather ungraciously.
She led the way upstairs, and knocked at the door of Mrs. Grimsby, or as we will still call her, Mrs. Montgomery, since that name is more familiar to the reader, and she was as much entitled to the one as the other.
Mrs. Montgomery opened the door, and regarded our hero suspiciously, for her mode of life had taught her suspicion of strangers.
“Here's a boy that wants to see you,” said the landlady.
“I come with a message from your husband,” said Paul.
Mrs. Montgomery remembered Paul as the boy who was the real owner of the diamond ring, and she eyed him with increased suspicion.
“Did my husband send you? When did you see him.”
“Just now, at Tiffany's,” answered Paul, significantly.
“What is his message?” asked Mrs. Montgomery, beginning to feel uneasy.
Paul glanced at the landlady, who, in the hope of gratifying her curiosity, maintained her stand by his side.
“The message is private,” he said.
“I suppose that means that I am in the way,” remarked the landlady, sharply. “I don't want to pry into anybody's secrets. Thank Heaven, I haven't got any secrets of my own.”
“Walk in, young man,” said Mrs. Montgomery.
Paul entered the room, and she closed the door behind him. Meanwhile the landlady, who had gone part way downstairs, retraced her steps, softly, and put her ear to the keyhole. Her curiosity, naturally strong, had been stimulated by Paul's intimation that there was a secret.
“Now,” said Mrs. Montgomery, impatiently, “out with it! Why does my husband send a message by you, instead of coming himself?”
“He can't come himself.”
“Why can't he?”
“I am sorry to say that I am the bearer of bad news,” said Paul, gravely.
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