Читать книгу Robert Coverdale's Struggle; Or, on the Wave of Success - Jr. Horatio Alger - Страница 9

When Robert parted from Mr. Tudor he felt as if he had unexpectedly fallen heir to a fortune. Two dollars is not a very large sum, but to Robert, nurtured amid privation, it assumed large proportions.

He began at once to consider what he could do with it, and it is to his credit that he thought rather of his aunt than himself.

He would buy a whole pound of tea, he decided, and a pound of sugar to make it more palatable. This would last a considerable time and take less than half his money. As to the disposal of the remainder, he would consider how to expend that.

In a long, low building, with brooms, brushes and a variety of nondescript articles displayed in the windows and outside, Abner Sands kept the village store.

It was a dark, gloomy place, crowded with articles for family use. The proprietor enjoyed a monopoly of the village trade, and, in spite of occasional bad debts, did a snug business and was able every year to make an addition to his store of savings in the county savings bank.

He was a cautious man, and, by being well acquainted with the circumstances and habits of every man in the village, knew whom to trust and to whom to refuse credit. John Trafton belonged to the latter class.

Mr. Sands knew, as everybody else knew, that all his money was invested in liquor and that the chance of paying a bill for articles needful for the household was very small indeed.

When, therefore, Robert entered the store he took it for granted that he meant to ask credit, and he was all ready for a refusal.

"What do you charge for your tea, Mr. Sands?" the boy asked.

"Different prices, according to quality," answered the storekeeper, not thinking it necessary to go into details.

"How much is the cheapest?"

"Fifty cents a pound."

"Do you call it a pretty good article?" continued our hero.

"Very fair; I use it in my own family," answered Abner, looking over his spectacles at his young customer.

"I guess I'll take a pound," said Robert with the air of one who had plenty of money.

"A pound?" ejaculated Abner Sands in surprise.

"Yes, sir."

A pound of tea for one in John Trafton's circumstances seemed to Mr. Sands an extraordinary order. Considering that it was probably to be charged, it seemed to the cautious trader an impudent attempt to impose upon him, and he looked sternly at our young hero.

"We don't trust," he said coldly.

"I haven't asked you to trust me, Mr. Sands," said Robert independently.

"You don't mean to say you're ready to pay for it cash down, do you?" asked Abner, his countenance expressing amazement.

"Yes, I do."

"Show me the money."

"I'll show you the money when I get my tea," said Robert, provoked at Mr. Sands' resolute incredulity. "I've told you I will pay you before I leave the store. If you don't want to sell your goods, say so!"

"Come, come! there ain't no use in gettin' angry," said the trader in a conciliatory tone. "Your trade's as good as anybody's if you've got money to pay for the goods."

"I've already told you I have, Mr. Sands."

"All right, Robert. You shall have the tea."

He weighed out the tea and then asked:

"Is there anything more?"

"Yes, sir. How do you sell your sugar?"

"Brown sugar—eight cents."

"I guess that will do. I will take a pound of brown sugar."

"Your folks don't generally buy sugar. I didn't know you used it."

"We are going to use a pound," said Robert, who did not fancy the trader's interference.

"Well, I'd jest as soon sell you a pound as anybody as long as you've got the money to pay for it."

Robert said nothing, although this remark was made in an interrogative tone, as if Mr. Sands still doubted whether our hero would be able to pay for his purchases.

There was nothing to do, therefore, but to weigh out the sugar.

The two bundles lay on the counter, but Mr. Sands watched them as a cat watches a mouse, with a vague apprehension that our hero might seize them and carry them off without payment.

But Robert was better prepared than he supposed.

From his vest pocket he drew the two-dollar bill, and, passing it across the counter, he said:

"You may take your pay out of this."

Abner Sands took the bill and stared at it as if some mystery attached to it. He scrutinized it carefully through his spectacles, as if there was a possibility that it might be bad, but it had an unmistakably genuine look.

"It seems to be good," he remarked cautiously.

"Of course it's good!" said Robert. "You don't take me for a counterfeiter, do you, Mr. Sands?"

"It's a good deal of money for you to have, Robert. Where did you get it?"

"Why do you ask that question?" asked our hero, provoked.

"I was a leetle surprised at your having so much money—that's all. Did your uncle give it to you?"

"I don't see what that is to you, Mr. Sands. If you don't want to sell your tea and sugar, you can keep them."

If there had been another grocery store in the village Robert would have gone thither, but it has already been said that Abner Sands had the monopoly of the village trade.

"You're kind of touchy this evenin', Robert," said Abner placidly, for he was so given to interesting himself in the affairs of his neighbors that he did not realize that his curiosity was displayed in an impertinent manner. "Of course I want to sell all I can. You've got considerable money comin' back to you. Don't you want to buy something else?"

"I guess not to-night."

"As long as you've got the cash to pay, I'm perfectly ready to sell you goods. Lemme see. Fifty-eight from two dollars leaves a dollar'n thirty-two cents."

"Forty-two," corrected Robert.

"I declare, so it does! You are a good hand at subtraction."

Robert felt that he could not truthfully return the compliment and prudently remained silent.

"There is your money," continued the trader, putting in Robert's hand a dollar bill and forty-two cents in change. "Your uncle must have been quite lucky."

He looked questioningly at our hero, but Robert did not choose to gratify his curiosity.

"Is it so very lucky to make two dollars?" he asked, and with these words he left the store.

"That's a cur'us boy!" soliloquized Mr. Sands, looking after him. "I can't get nothin' out of him. Looks as if John Trafton must have turned over a new leaf to give him so much money to buy groceries. I hope he has. It's better that I should get his money than the tavern keeper."

Mr. Sands did not have to wait long before his curiosity was partially gratified, for the very man of whom he was thinking just then entered the store.

"Has my nephew been here?" he inquired.

"Just went out."

"I thought you might be willing to let him have what little he wanted on credit. I'll see that it's paid for."

"Why, he paid for the goods himself—fifty-eight cents."

"What!" exclaimed the fisherman, astonished.

"He bought a pound of tea, at fifty cents, and a pound of sugar, at eight cents, and paid for 'em."

"Where'd he get the money?" asked Trafton.

"I am sure I don't know. I supposed you gave it to him. He's got more left. He paid for the articles with a two-dollar bill and he's got a dollar and forty-two cents left!"

"The young hypocrite!" ejaculated John Trafton indignantly. "All the while he had this money he was worryin' me for a quarter to buy some tea and a loaf of bread."

"Looks rather mysterious—doesn't it?" said the grocer.

"Mr. Sands," said the fisherman, "I've took care of that boy ever since he was three year old, and that's the way he treats me. He's a young viper!"

"Jes so!" said Mr. Sands, who was a politic man and seldom contradicted his neighbors.

"The rest of that money belongs to me by rights," continued the fisherman, "and he's got to give it to me. How much did you say it was?"

"A dollar and forty-two cents, John; but, seems to me, you'd better let him keep it to buy groceries with."

"I must have the money!" muttered Trafton, not heeding this advice, which was good, though selfish. "I guess I'll go home and make the boy give it to me!"

And he staggered out of the store, and, as well as he could, steered for home.