Paul the Peddler; Or, The Fortunes of a Young Street Merchant, Jr. Horatio Alger [drm ebook reader TXT] 📗
- Author: Jr. Horatio Alger
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“Yes, my dear, home again. As the poet says, 'There is no place like home.'”
“I should hope there wasn't,” said Mrs. Montgomery, looking about her disdainfully. “A very delightful home it makes with such a charming prospect of the back yard. I've been moping here all day.”
“You've found something to console you, I see,” said her husband, glancing at the table, on which might be seen a bottle of brandy, half-emptied, and a glass.
“Yes,” said Mrs. Montgomery; “I felt so bad I had to send out for something. It took every cent I had. And, by the way, Mrs. Flagg sent in her bill, this morning, for the last two weeks' board; she said she must have it.”
“My dear,” said Mr. Montgomery, “she shall have it.”
“You don't mean to say you've got the money, Tony!” exclaimed his wife, in surprise.
“No, I haven't got the money; but I've got what's just as good.”
“What have you got?”
“What do you say to this?” and Mr. Montgomery drew from his pocket the diamond ring, whose loss was so deeply felt by our hero.
“Is that genuine?” asked the lady.
“It's the real thing.”
“What a beauty! Where did you get it?”
“It was kindly presented me by a young man of the tender age of fifteen or thereabouts, who had no further use for it.”
“You did him out of it, that is. Tell me how you did it.”
Mr. Montgomery told the story. His wife listened with interest and appreciation.
“That was a smart operation, Tony,” she said.
“I should say it was, Maria.”
“How much is the ring worth?”
“Two hundred and fifty dollars.”
“Can you get that for it?”
“I can get that for it.”
“Tony, you are a treasure.”
“Have you just found that out, my dear?”
CHAPTER XX THE THIEF IN DISGUISE
It will be inferred, from the preceding conversation, that Mrs. Montgomery was not likely to be shocked by the lack of honesty in her husband. Her conscience was as elastic as his; and she was perfectly willing to help him spend his unlawful gains.
“How soon are you going to sell the ring?” she asked.
“I should like to dispose of it at once, Maria.”
“You will need to. Mrs. Flagg wants her bill paid at once.”
“I quite understand the necessity of promptness, my dear. Only, you know, one has to be cautious about disposing of articles obtained in this way.”
“You say you left the boy locked up. It seems to me, you'd better sell the ring before he has a chance to get out and interfere.”
“I don't know but you're right, my dear. Well, we'll get ready.”
“Do you want me to go with you?”
“Yes; it will disarm suspicion if you are with me. I think I'll go as a country parson.”
“Country parsons are not apt to have diamond rings to dispose of.”
“Very true, my dear. The remark does credit to your good judgment and penetration. But I know how to get over that.”
“As how?”
“Be a little more particular about your speech, my dear. Remember, you are a minister's wife, and must use refined expressions. What is easier than to say that the ring was given me by a benevolent lady of my congregation, to dispose of for the benefit of the poor?”
“Well thought of, Tony. You've got a good head-piece.”
“You're right, my dear. I don't like to indulge in self-praise, but I believe I know a thing or two. And now for the masquerade. Where are the duds?”
“In the black trunk.”
“Then we'd better lose no time in putting them on.”
Without describing the process of transformation in detail, it will be sufficient to say that the next twenty minutes wrought a decided change in the appearance of Mr. and Mrs. Felix Montgomery. The former was arrayed in a suit of canonical black, not of the latest cut. A white neckcloth was substituted for the more gaudy article worn by the jeweler from Syracuse, and a pair of silver-bowed spectacles, composed of plain glass, lent a scholarly air to his face. His hair was combed behind his ears, and, so far as appearance went, he quite looked the character of a clergyman from the rural districts.
“How will I do, my dear?” he asked, complacently.
“Tiptop,” answered the lady. “How do I look?”
Mrs. Montgomery had put on a dress of sober tint, and scant circumference, contrasting in a marked manner with the mode then prevailing. A very plain collar encircled her neck. Her hands were incased in brown silk gloves, while her husband wore black kids. Her bonnet was exceedingly plain, and her whole costume was almost Quaker-like in its simplicity.
Her husband surveyed her with satisfaction.
“My dear,” he said, “you are a fitting helpmeet for the Rev. Mr. Barnes, of Hayfield Centre. By Jove, you do me credit!”
“'By Jove' is not a proper expression for a man of your profession, Mr. Barnes,” said the new minister's wife, with a smile.
“You are right, my dear. I must eschew profanity, and cultivate a decorous style of speech. Well, are we ready?”
“I am.”
“Then let us set forth on our pilgrimage. We will imagine, Mrs. Barnes, that we are about to make some pastoral calls.”
They emerged into the street. On the way downstairs they met Mrs. Flagg, the landlady, who bowed respectfully. She was somewhat puzzled, however, not knowing when they were let in.
“Good-morning, madam,” said Mr. Barnes. “Are you the landlady of this establishment?”
“Yes, sir.”
“I have been calling on one of your lodgers—Mr. Anthony Blodgett (this was the name by which Mr. Felix Montgomery was known in the house). He is
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