Paul the Peddler Part 17

"There is no need of working so steadily, mother. You will be well paid, you know."

"That is true; and for that reason I shall work more cheerfully. I wish I could get paid as well for all my work."

"Perhaps Mr. Preston will recommend you to his friends, and you can get more work that way."

"I wish I could."

"I will mention it to him, when I carry back the last half dozen."

"Is he going to send the cloth?"

"I nearly forgot that, too. I have an order on Barclay & Co. for the necessary amount of cloth. I can go up there to-morrow morning and get it."

"That will take you from your work, Paul."

"Well, I can close up for a couple of hours."

"I don't think that will be necessary. I will go up myself and present the order, and get them to send it home for me."

"Will they do that?"

"It is their custom. Or, if the bundle isn't too large. I can bring it home myself in the car."

"That's all right, then. And now, mother, as it's past eleven o'clock, I think we may as well both go to bed."

The next day Paul went as usual to his business, and Mrs. Hoffman, after clearing away the breakfast, put on her bonnet and shawl, and prepared to go for the materials for the shirts.

The retail store of Barclay & Co. is of great size, and ranks among the most important in New York. It was not so well filled when Mrs. Hoffman entered as it would be later. She was directed to the proper counter, where she presented the order, signed by Mr. Preston. As he was a customer of long standing, there was no difficulty about filling the order. A bundle was made up, which, as it contained the materials for twelve shirts, necessarily was of considerable size.

"Here is your bundle, ma'am," said the clerk.

Mrs. Hoffman's strength was slender, and she did not feel able to carry the heavy bundle offered her. Even if she took the car, she would be obliged to carry it a portion of the way, and she felt that it would overtask her strength.

"Don't you send bundles?" she asked.

"Sometimes," said the clerk, looking superciliously at the modest attire of the poor widow, and mentally deciding that she was not ent.i.tled to much consideration. Had she been richly dressed, he would have been very obsequious, and insisted on sending home the smallest parcel. But there are many who have two rules of conduct, one for the rich, and quite a different one for the poor, and among these was the clerk who was attending upon Mrs. Hoffman.

"Then," said Mrs. Hoffman, "I should like to have you send this."

"It's a great deal of trouble to send everything," said the clerk, impertinently.

"This bundle is too heavy for me to carry," said the widow, deprecatingly.

"I suppose we can send it," said the clerk, ill-naturedly, "if you insist upon it."

Meanwhile, though he had not observed it, his employer had approached, and heard the last part of the colloquy. He was considered by some as a hard man, but there was one thing he always required of those in his employ; that was to treat all purchasers with uniform courtesy, whatever their circ.u.mstances.

"Are you objecting to sending this lady's bundle?" said Mr. Barclay, sternly.

The clerk looked up in confusion.

"I told her we would send it," he stammered.

"I have heard what pa.s.sed. You have been deficient in politeness. If this happens again, you leave my employ."

"I will take your address," said the clerk, in a subdued tone.

Mrs. Hoffman gave it, and left the store, thankful for the interference of the great merchant who had given his clerk a lesson which the latter, as he valued his situation, found it advisable to bear in mind.

CHAPTER XII

THE BARREL THIEF

While Mike Donovan was engaged in his contest with Paul, his companion had quietly walked off with the shirt. It mattered very little to him which party conquered, as long as he carried off the spoils. His conduct in the premises was quite as unsatisfactory to Mike as it was to Paul.

When Mike found himself in danger of being overpowered, he appealed to his companion for a.s.sistance, and was incensed to see him coolly disregarding the appeal, and selfishly appropriating the booty.

"The mane thafe!" he exclaimed after the fight was over, and he was compelled to retreat. "He let me be bate, and wouldn't lift his finger to help me. I'd like to put a head on him, I would."

Just at that moment Mike felt quite as angry with his friend, Jerry McGaverty, as with his late opponent.

"The shirt's mine, fair," he said to himself, "and I'll make Jerry give it to me."

But Jerry had disappeared, and Mike didn't know where to look for him.

In fact, he had entered a dark alleyway, and, taking the shirt from the paper in which it was wrapped, proceeded to examine his prize.

The unusual size struck him.

"By the powers," he muttered, "it's big enough for me great-grandfather and all his children. I wouldn't like to pay for the cloth it tuck to make it. But I'll wear it, anyway."

Jerry was not particular as to an exact fit. His nether garments were several sizes too large for him, and the shirt would complete his costume appropriately. He certainly did need a new shirt, for the one he had on was the only article of the kind he possessed, and was so far gone that its best days, if it ever had any, appeared to date back to a remote antiquity. It had been bought cheap in Baxter street, its previous history being unknown.

Jerry decided to make the change at once. The alley afforded a convenient place for making the transfer. He accordingly pulled off the ragged shirt he wore and put on the article he had purloined from Paul.

The sleeves were too long, but he turned up the cuffs, and the ample body he tucked inside his pants.

"It fits me too much," soliloquized Jerry, as he surveyed himself after the exchange. "I could let out the half of it, and have enough left for meself. Anyhow, it's clane, and it came chape enough."

He came out of the alley, leaving his old shirt behind him. Even if it had been worth carrying away, Jerry saw no use in possessing more than one shirt. It was his habit to wear one until it was ready to drop off from him, and then get another if he could. There is a practical convenience in this arrangement, though there are also objections which will readily occur to the reader.

On the whole, though the shirt fitted him too much, as he expressed it, he regarded himself complacently.

The superabundant material gave the impression of liberal expenditure and easy circ.u.mstances, since a large shirt naturally costs more than a small one. So Jerry, as he walked along the Bowery, a.s.sumed a jaunty air, precisely such as some of my readers may when they have a new suit to display. His new shirt was quite conspicuous, since he was enc.u.mbered neither with vest nor coat.

Mike, feeling sore over his defeat, met Jerry the next morning on Chatham street. His quick eye detected the improved state of his friend's apparel, and his indignation rose, as he reflected that Jerry had pocketed the profits while the hard knocks had been his.

"Jerry!" he called out.

Jerry did not see fit to heed the call. He was sensible that Mike had something to complain of, and he was in no hurry to meet his reproaches.