Now or Never; Or, The Adventures of Bobby Bright: A Story for Young Folks by Optic (bill gates books to read .TXT) 📕

all I receive, if it is no more than a cent."

"Right, my little man. Have you ever studied book-keeping?"

"No, sir, I suppose I haven't; but there was a page of accounts in the back part of the arithmetic I studied, and I got a pretty good idea of the thing from that. All the money received goes on one side, and all the money paid out goes on the other."

"Exactly so; in this book you had better open a book account first. If you wish, I will show you how."

"Thank you, sir; I should be very glad to have you;" and Bobby opened the memorandum book, and seated himself at the desk.

"Write 'Book Account' at the top of the pages, one word on each. Very well. Now write 'To fifty copies of Wayfarer, at sixty-seven cents, $33.50,' on the left hand page, or debit side of the account."

"I am not much of a writer," said Bobby, apologetically.

"You will improve. Now, each day you will credit the amount of sales on the right hand page, or credit side of the account; so, when you have sold out, the balance due your debit side will be the profit on the lot. Do you understand it?"

Bobby thought a moment before he could see through it; but his brain was active, and he soon managed the idea.

"Now you want a personal account;" and Mr. Bayard explained to him how to make this out.

He then instructed him to enter on the debit-side all he spent for travel, board, freight, and other charges. The next was the "profit and loss" account, which was to show him the net profit of the business.

Our hero, who had a decided taste for accounts, was very much pleased with this employment; and when the accounts were all opened, he regarded them with a great deal of satisfaction. He longed to commence his operations, if it were only for the pleasure of making the entries in this book.

"One thing I forgot," said he, as he seized the pen, and under the cash account entered, "To Cash from mother, $1.00." "Now I am all right, I believe."

"I think you are. Now, the cars leave at seven in the morning. Can you be ready for a start as early as that?" asked Mr. Bayard.

"O, yes, sir, I hope so. I get up at half past four at home."

"Very well; my small valise is at the house; but I believe every thing else is ready. Now, I have some business to attend to; and if you will amuse yourself for an hour or two, we will go home then."

"I shall want a lodging-place when I am in the city; perhaps some of your folks can direct me to one where they won't charge too much."

"As to that, Bobby, you must go to my house whenever you are in the city."

"Law, sir! you live so grand, I couldn't think of going to your house. I am only a poor boy from the country, and I don't know how to behave myself among such nice folks."

"You will do very well, Bobby. Ellen would never forgive me if I let you go any where else. So that is settled; you will go to my house. Now, you may sit here, or walk out and see the sights."

"If you please, sir, if Mr. Timmins will let me look at some of the books, I shouldn't wish for any thing better. I should like to look at the Wayfarer, so that I shall know how to recommend it."

"Mr. Timmins will let you," replied Mr. Bayard, as he touched the spring of a bell on his desk.

The dapper clerk came running into the counting-room to attend the summons of his employer.

"Mr. Timmins," continued Mr. Bayard, with a mischievous smile, "bring
Mr. Bright a copy of 'The Wayfarer.'"

Mr. Timmins was astonished to hear "Country" called "Mister," astonished to hear his employer call him "Mister," and Bobby was astonished to hear himself called "Mister;" nevertheless, our hero enjoyed the joke.

The clerk brought the book; and Bobby proceeded to give it a thorough, critical examination. He read the preface, the table of contents, and several chapters of the work, before Mr. Bayard was ready to go home "How do you like it, Bobby?" asked the bookseller.

"First rate."

"You may take that copy in your hand; you will want to finish it."

"Thank you, sir; I will be careful of it."

"You may keep it. Let that be the beginning of your own private library."

His own private library! Bobby had not got far enough to dream of such a thing yet; but he thanked Mr. Bayard, and put the book under his arm.

After tea, Ellen proposed to her father that they should all go to the Museum. Mr. Bayard acceded, and our hero was duly amazed at the drolleries perpetrated there. He had a good time; but it was so late when he went to bed, that he was a little fearful lest he should oversleep himself in the morning.

He did not, however, and was down in the parlor before any of the rest of the family were stirring. An early breakfast was prepared for him, at which Mr. Bayard, who intended to see him off, joined him. Depositing his little bundle and the copy of "The Wayfarer" in the valise provided for him, they walked to the store. The porter wheeled the trunk down to the railroad station, though Bobby insisted upon doing it himself.

The bookseller saw him and his baggage safely aboard of the cars, gave him a ticket, and then bade him an affectionate adieu. In a little while Bobby was flying over the rail, and at about eight o'clock, reached B——.

The station master kindly permitted him to deposit his trunk in the baggage room, and to leave it there for the remainder of the week.

Taking a dozen of the books from the trunk, and placing them in his valise, he sallied out upon his mission. It must be confessed that his heart was filled with a tumult of emotions. The battle of life was before him. He was on the field, sword in hand, ready to plunge into the contest. It was victory or defeat.

  "March on, brave youth! the field of strife
    With peril fraught before thee lies;
  March on! the battle plain of life
    Shall yield thee yet a glorious prize."

It was of no use to shrink then, even if he had felt disposed to do so. He was prepared to be rebuffed, to be insulted, to be turned away from the doors at which he should seek admission; but he was determined to conquer.

He had reached a house at which he proposed to offer "The Wayfarer" for sale. His heart went pit pat, pit pat, and he paused before the door.

"Now or never!" exclaimed he, as he swung open the garden gate, and made his way up to the door.

He felt some misgivings. It was so new and strange to him that he could hardly muster sufficient resolution to proceed farther. But his irresolution was of only a moment's duration.

"Now or never!" and he gave a vigorous knock at the door.

It was opened by an elderly lady, whose physiognomy did not promise much.

"Good morning, ma'am. Can I sell you a copy of 'The Wayfarer' to-day? a new book, just published."

"No; I don't want none of your books. There's more pedlers round the country now than you could shake a stick at in a month," replied the old lady petulantly.

"It is a very interesting book, ma'am; has an excellent moral." Bobby had read the preface, as I before remarked. "It will suit you, ma'am; for you look just like a lady who wants to read something with a moral."

Bravo, Bobby! The lady concluded that her face had a moral expression, and she was pleased with the idea.

"Let me see it;" and she asked Bobby to walk in and be seated, while she went for her spectacles.

As she was looking over the book, our hero went into a more elaborate recommendation of its merits. He was sure it would interest the young and the old; it taught a good lesson; it had elegant engravings; the type was large, which would suit her eyes; it was well printed and bound; and finally, it was cheap at one dollar.

"I'll take it," said the old lady.

"Thank you, ma'am."

Bobby's first victory was achieved

"Have you got a dollar?" asked the lady, as she handed him a two dollar bill.

"Yes, ma'am;" and he gave her his only dollar, and put the two in its place, prouder than a king who has conquered an empire. "Thank you, ma'am."

Bidding the lady a polite good morning, he left the house, encouraged by his success to go forward in his mission with undiminished hope.

CHAPTER X. IN WHICH BOBBY IS A LITTLE TOO SMART.

The clouds were rolled back, and Bobby no longer had a doubt as to the success of his undertaking. It requires but a little sunshine to gladden the heart, and the influence of his first success scattered all the misgivings he had cherished.

Two New England shillings is undoubtedly a very small sum of money; but Bobby had made two shillings, and he would not have considered himself more fortunate if some unknown relative had left him a fortune. It gave him confidence in his powers, and as he walked away from the house, he reviewed the circumstances of his first sale.

The old lady had told him at first she did not wish to buy a book, and, moreover, had spoken rather contemptuously of the craft to which he had now the honor to belong. He gave himself the credit of having conquered the old lady's prejudices. He had sold her a book in spite of her evident intention not to purchase. In short, he had, as we have before said, won a glorious victory, and he congratulated himself accordingly.

But it was of no use to waste time in useless self-glorification, and Bobby turned from the past to the future. There were forty-nine more books to be sold, so that the future was forty-nine-times as big as the past.

He saw a shoemaker's shop ahead of him; and he was debating with himself whether he should enter and offer his books for sale. It would do no harm, though he had but slight expectations of doing any thing.

There were three men at work in the shop—one of them a middle-aged man, the other two young men. They looked like persons of intelligence, and as soon as Bobby saw them his hopes grew stronger.

"Can I sell you any books to-day?" asked the little merchant, as he crossed the threshold.

"Well, I don't know; that depends upon how smart you are," replied the eldest of the men. "It takes a pretty smart fellow to sell any thing in this shop."

"Then I hope to sell each of you a book," added Bobby, laughing at the badinage of the shoemaker.

Opening his valise he took out three copies of his book, and politely handed one to each of the men.

"It isn't every book pedler that comes along who offers you such a work as that. 'The Wayfarer' is decidedly the book of the season."

"You don't say so!" said the oldest shoemaker, with a laugh. "Every pedler that comes along uses those words, precisely."

"Do they? They steal my thunder then."

"You are an old one."

"Only thirteen. I was born where they don't fasten the door with a boiled carrot."

"What do they fasten them with?"

"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