Paul Prescott's Charge by Jr. Horatio Alger (best short novels of all time .txt) 📖

“'Eight and a half and sold,' said the man; 'shall I put it up for you?”

“'No, I thank you,' said I, 'I'll take it as it is.'

“'But I'll put it up in a nice box for you,' said he.

“I told him I didn't care for the box. He seemed very unwilling to let it go, but I took it out of his hand and he couldn't help himself. Well, when they made out the bill, what do you suppose they charged?”

“I don't know.”

“Why, eighteen and a half.”

“'Look here,' said I, 'I guess here's something of a mistake. You've got ten dollars too much.'

“'I think you must be mistaken,' said he, smiling a foxy smile.

“'You know I am not,' said I, rather cross.

“We can't let that watch go for any thing shorter,' said he, coolly.

“Just then a man that was present stepped up and said, 'the man is right; don't attempt to impose upon him.'

“With that he calmed right down. It seems it was a policeman who was sent to watch them, that spoke. So I paid the money, but as I went out I heard the auctioneer say that the sale was closed for the day. I afterwards learned that if I had allowed them to put the watch in a box, they would have exchanged it for another that was only plated.”

“Do you know anybody in the city?” asked Paul.

“I've got some relations, but I don't know where they live.”

“What is the name?” asked Paul, “we can look into the directory.”

“The name is Dawkins,” answered the pedler.

“Dawkins!” repeated Paul, in surprise.

“Yes, do you happen to know anybody of the name?”

“Yes, but I believe it is a rich family.”

“Well, so are my relations,” said Jehoshaphat. “You didn't think Jehoshaphat Stubbs had any rich relations, did you? These, as I've heard tell, hold their heads as high as anybody.”

“Perhaps I may be mistaken,” said Paul.

“What is the name—the Christian name, I mean—of your relation?”

“George.”

“It must be he, then. There is a boy of about my own age of that name. He works in the same office.”

“You don't say so! Well, that is curious, I declare. To think that I should have happened to hit upon you so by accident too.”

“How are you related to them?” inquired Paul.

“Why, you see, I'm own cousin to Mr. Dawkins. His father and my mother were brother and sister.”

“What was his father's business?” asked Paul.

“I don't know what his regular business was, but he was a sexton in some church.”

This tallied with the account Paul had received from Mr. Cameron, and he could no longer doubt that, strange as it seemed, the wealthy Mr. Dawkins was own cousin to the pedler.

“Didn't you say the boy was in the same office with you, Paul?”

“Yes.”

“Well, I've a great mind to go and see him, and find out where his father lives. Perhaps I may get an invite to his house.”

“How shocked Dawkins will be!” thought Paul, not, it must be confessed, without a feeling of amusement. He felt no compunction in being the instrument of mortifying the false pride of his fellow clerk, and he accordingly signified to Mr. Stubbs that he was on his way to the counting-room.

“Are you, though? Well, I guess I'll go along with you. Is it far off?”

“Only in the next street.”

The pedler, it must be acknowledged, had a thoroughly countrified appearance. He was a genuine specimen of the Yankee,—a long, gaunt figure, somewhat stooping, and with a long aquiline nose. His dress has already been described.

As Dawkins beheld him entering with Paul, he turned up his nose in disgust at what he considered Paul's friend.

What was his consternation when the visitor, approaching him with a benignant smile, extended his brown hand, and said, “How d'ye do, George? How are ye all to hum?”

Dawkins drew back haughtily.

“What do you mean?” he said, pale with passion.

“Mr. Dawkins,” said Paul, with suppressed merriment, “allow me to introduce your cousin, Mr. Stubbs.”

“Jehoshaphat Stubbs,” explained that individual. “Didn't your father never mention my name to you?”

“Sir,” said Dawkins, darting a furious glance at Paul, “you are entirely mistaken if you suppose that any relationship exists between me and that—person.”

“No, it's you that are mistaken,” said Mr. Stubbs, persevering, “My mother was Roxana Jane Dawkins. She was own sister to your grandfather. That makes me and your father cousins Don't you see?”

“I see that you are intending to insult me,” said Dawkins, the more furiously, because he began to fear there might be some truth in the man's claims. “Mr. Prescott, I leave you to entertain your company yourself.”

And he threw on his hat and dashed out of the counting-room.

“Well,” said the pedler, drawing a long breath, “that's cool,—denyin' his own flesh and blood. Rather stuck up, ain't he?”

“He is, somewhat,” said Paul; “if I were you, I shouldn't be disposed to own him as a relation.”

“Darned ef I will!” said Jehoshaphat sturdily; “I have some pride, ef I am a pedler. Guess I'm as good as he, any day.”