Baboo Jabberjee, B.A. by F. Anstey (read e book .txt) 📕

The next Sunday Mrs. Clifton and her daughter appeared at church, and Grant had the pleasure of greeting them. He was invited with his sister to take supper with them on the next Monday afternoon, and accepted the invitation. About sunset he met his new friends walking, with the addition of the husband and father, who, coming Saturday evening from New York, had felt too fatigued to attend church. Mr. Clifton, to whom he was introduced, was a portly man in middle life, who received Grant quite graciously, and made for himself acknowledgment of the service which our hero had rendered his daughter.

“If I ever have the opportunity of doing you a favor, Master Thornton, you may call upon me with confidence,” he said.

Grant thanked him, and was better pleased than if he had received an immediate gift.

Meanwhile Deacon Gridley kept his promise, and advanced the minister fifty dollars, deducting a month's interest. Even with this deduction Mrs. Thornton was very glad to obtain the money. Part of it was paid on account to Mr. Tudor, and silenced his importunities for a time. As to his own plans, there was nothing for Grant to do except to continue his studies, as he might enter college after all.

If any employment should offer of a remunerative character, he felt that it would be his duty to accept it, in spite of his uncle's objections; but such chances were not very likely to happen while he remained in the country, for obvious reasons.

Three weeks passed, and again not only Mr. Tudor, but another creditor, began to be troublesome.

“How soon is your father going to pay up his bill?” asked Tudor, when Grant called at the store for a gallon of molasses.

“Very soon, I hope,” faltered Grant.

“I hope so, too,” answered the grocer, grimly.

“Only three weeks ago I paid you thirty-three dollars,” said Grant.

“And you have been increasing the balance ever since,” said Tudor, frowning.

“If father could get his salary regularly—” commenced Grant.

“That's his affair, not mine,” rejoined the grocer. “I have to pay my bills regular, and I can't afford to wait months for my pay.”

Grant looked uncomfortable, but did not know what to say.

“The short and the long of it is, that after this week your father must either pay up his bill, or pay cash for what articles he gets hereafter.”

“Very well,” said Grant, coldly. He was too proud to remonstrate. Moreover, though he felt angry, he was constrained to admit that the grocer had some reason for his course.

“Something must be done,” he said to himself, but he was not wise enough to decide what that something should be.

Though he regretted to pain his mother, he felt obliged to report to her what the grocer had said.

“Don't be troubled, mother,” he said, as he noticed the shade of anxiety which came over her face. “Something will turn up.”

Mrs. Thornton shook her head.

“It isn't safe to trust to that, Grant,” she said; “we must help ourselves.”