Paul the Peddler; Or, The Fortunes of a Young Street Merchant by Jr. Horatio Alger (best finance books of all time TXT) 📕

“Have you sold all your packages, Paul?” asked Jimmy, as our hero entered the humble room, where the table was already spread with a simple dinner.

“No,” said Paul, “I only sold twenty. I begin to think that the prize-package business will soon be played out.”

“Why?”

“There's too many that'll go into it.”

Here Paul related his experience of the morning, explaining how it was that Teddy had managed to distance him in the competition.

“Can't you do the same, Paul?” asked Jimmy. “Mother's got a gold dollar she could lend you.”

“That might do,” said Paul; “but I don't know any boy I could trust to draw it except you, and some of them would know we were brothers.”

“I think, Paul, that would be dishonest,” said Mrs. Hoffman. “I would rather make less, if I were you, and do it honestly.”

“Maybe you're right, mother. I'll try it again this afternoon, keeping as far away from Teddy as I can. If I find I can't make it go, I'll try some other business.”

“Jimmy, have you shown Paul your drawing?” said his mother.

“Here it is, Paul,” said Jimmy, producing his drawing-book, from which he had copied a simple design of a rustic cottage.

“Why, that's capital, Jimmy,” said Paul, in real surprise. “I had no idea you would succeed so well.”

“Do you really think so, Paul?” asked the little boy, much pleased.

“I really do. How long did it take you?”

“Only a short time—not more than half an hour, I should think,” said Mrs. Hoffman. “I think Jimmy succeeded very well.”

“You'll make a great artist some time, Jimmy,” said Paul.

“I wish I could,” said the little boy. “I should like to earn some money, so that you and mother need not work so hard.”

“Hard work agrees with me. I'm tough,” said Paul. “But when we get to be men, Jimmy, we'll make so much money that mother needn't work at all. She shall sit in the parlor all day, dressed in silk, with nothing to do.”

“I don't think I would enjoy that,” said Mrs. Hoffman, smiling.

“Will you be in the candy business, then, Paul?” said Jimmy.

“No, Jimmy. It would never do for the brother of a great artist to be selling candy round the streets. I hope I shall have something better to do than that.”

“Sit down to dinner, Paul,” said his mother. “It's all ready.”

The dinner was not a luxurious one. There was a small plate of cold meat, some potatoes, and bread and butter; but Mrs. Hoffman felt glad to be able to provide even that, and Paul, who had the hearty appetite of a growing boy, did full justice to the fare. They had scarcely finished, when a knock was heard at the door. Paul, answering the summons, admitted a stout, pleasant-looking Irishwoman.

“The top of the mornin' to ye, Mrs. Donovan,” said Paul, bowing ceremoniously.

“Ah, ye'll be afther havin' your joke, Paul,” said Mrs. Donovan, good-naturedly. “And how is your health, mum, the day?”

“I am well, thank you, Mrs. Donovan,” said Mrs. Hoffman. “Sit down to the table, won't you? We're just through dinner, but there's something left.”

“Thank you, mum, I've jist taken dinner. I was goin' to wash this afternoon, and I thought maybe you'd have some little pieces I could wash jist as well as not.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Donovan, you are very kind; but you must have enough work of your own to do.”

“I'm stout and strong, mum, and hard work agrees with me; but you're a rale lady, and ain't used to it. It's only a thrifle, but if you want to pay me, you could do a bit of sewin' for me. I ain't very good with the needle. My fingers is too coarse, belike.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Donovan; on those terms I will agree to your kind offer. Washing is a little hard for me.”

Mrs. Hoffman collected a few pieces, and, wrapping them up in a handkerchief, handed them to her guest.