Now or Never Part 15

"They don't fasten them at all."

"There are no book pedlers round there, then;" and all the shoemakers laughed heartily at this smart sally.

"No; they are all shoemakers in our town."

"You can take my hat, boy."

"You will want it to put your head in; but I will take one dollar for that book instead."

The man laughed, took out his wallet, and handed Bobby the dollar, probably quite as much because he had a high appreciation of his smartness, as from any desire to possess the book.

"Won't you take one?" asked Bobby, appealing to another of the men, who was apparently not more than twenty-four years of age.

"No; I can't read," replied he roguishly.

"Let your wife read it to you, then."

"My wife?"

"Certainly; she knows how to read, I will warrant."

"How do you know I have got a wife?"

"O, well, a fellow as good looking and good natured as you are could not have resisted till this time."

"Has you, Tom," added the oldest shoemaker.

"I cave in;" and he handed over the dollar, and laid the book upon his bench.

Bobby looked at the third man with some interest. He had said nothing, and scarcely heeded the fun which was pa.s.sing between the little merchant and his companions. He was apparently absorbed in his examination of the book. He was a different kind of person from the others, and Bobby's instinctive knowledge of human nature a.s.sured him that he was not to be gained by flattery or by smart sayings; so he placed himself in front of him, and patiently waited in silence for him to complete his examination.

"You will find that he is a hard one," put in one of the others.

Bobby made no reply, and the two men who had bought books resumed their work. For five minutes our hero stood waiting for the man to finish his investigation into the merits of "The Wayfarer." Something told him not to say anything to this person; and he had some doubts about his purchasing.

"I will take one," said the last shoemaker, as he handed Bobby the dollar.

"I am much obliged to you, gentlemen," said Bobby, as he closed his valise. "When I come this way again I shall certainly call."

"Do; you have done what no other pedler ever did in this shop."

"I shall take no credit to myself. The fact is, you are men of intelligence, and you want good books."

Bobby picked up his valise and left the shop, satisfied with those who occupied it, and satisfied with himself.

"Eight s.h.i.+llings!" exclaimed he, when he got into the road. "Pretty good hour's work, I should say."

Bobby trudged along till he came to a very large, elegant house, evidently dwelt in by one of the nabobs of B----. Inspired by past successes, he walked boldly up to the front door, and rang the bell.

"Is Mr. Whiting in?" asked Bobby, who had read the name on the door plate.

"Colonel Whiting _is_ in," replied the servant, who had opened the door.

"I should like to see him for a moment, if he isn't busy."

"Walk in;" and for some reason or other the servant chuckled a great deal as she admitted him.

She conducted him to a large, elegantly furnished parlor, where Bobby proceeded to take out his books for the inspection of the nabob, whom the servant promised to send to the parlor.

In a moment Colonel Whiting entered. He was a large, fat man, about fifty years old. He looked at the little book merchant with a frown that would have annihilated a boy less s.p.u.n.ky than our hero. Bobby was not a little inflated by the successes of the morning, and if Julius Caesar or Napoleon Bonaparte had stood before him then, he would not have flinched a hair--much less in the presence of no greater magnate than the nabob of B----.

"Good morning, Colonel Whiting. I hope you are well this beautiful morning." Bobby began.

I must confess I think this was a little too familiar for a boy of thirteen to a gentleman of fifty, whom he had never seen before in his life; but it must be remembered that Bobby had done a great deal the week before, that on the preceding night he had slept in Chestnut Street, and that he had just sold four copies of "The Wayfarer." He was inclined to be smart, and some folks hate smart boys.

The nabob frowned; his cheek reddened with anger; but he did not condescend to make any reply to the smart speech.

"I have taken the liberty to call upon you this morning, to see if you did not wish to purchase a copy of 'The Wayfarer'--a new book just issued from the press, which people say is to be the book of the season."

My young readers need not suppose this was an impromptu speech, for Bobby had studied upon it all the time he was coming from Boston in the cars. It would be quite natural for a boy who had enjoyed no greater educational advantages than our hero to consider how he should address people into whose presence his calling would bring him; and he had prepared several little addresses of this sort, for the several different kinds of people whom he expected to encounter. The one he had just "got off" was designed for the "upper crust."

When he had delivered the speech, he approached the indignant, frowning nabob, and, with a low bow, offered him a copy of "The Wayfarer."

"Boy," said Colonel Whiting, raising his arm with majestic dignity, and pointing to the door,--"boy, do you see that door?"

Bobby looked at the door, and, somewhat astonished, replied that he did see it, that it was a very handsome door, and he would inquire whether it was black walnut, or only painted in imitation thereof.

"Do you see that door?" thundered the nabob, swelling with rage at the cool impudence of the boy.

"Certainly I do, sir; my eyesight is excellent."

"Then use it!"

"Thank you, sir; I have no use for it. Probably it will be of more service to you than to me."

"Will you clear out, or shall I kick you out?" gasped the enraged magnate of B----.

"I will save you that trouble, sir; I will go, sir. I see we have both made a mistake."

"Mistake? What do you mean by that, you young puppy? You are a little impudent, thieving scoundrel!"

"That is your mistake, sir. I took you for a gentleman, sir; and that was my mistake."

"Ha, ha, ha!" laughed a sweet, musical voice, and at that moment a beautiful young lady rushed up to the angry colonel, and threw her arms around his neck.

"The jade!" muttered he.

"I have caught you in a pa.s.sion again, uncle;" and the lady kissed the old gentleman's anger-reddened cheek, which seemed to restore him at once to himself.