Paul Prescott’s Charge. Chapter 23, 24, 25, 26, 27
XXIII.
PAUL LOSES HIS SITUATION AND GAINS A FRIEND.
PAUL had a presentiment that he should not long remain in the employ of Smith & Thompson; it was not many weeks before this presentiment was verified.
After having received such instruction as was necessary, the calico department was left in Paul’s charge. One day a customer in turning over the patterns shown her took up a piece which Paul knew from complaints made by purchasers would not wash.
“This is pretty,” said she, “it is just what I have been looking for. You may cut me off twelve yards.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Wait a minute, though,” interposed the lady, “will it wash?”
“I don’t think it will,” said Paul, frankly, “there have been some complaints made about that.”
“Then I shall not want it. Let me see what else you have got.”
The customer finally departed, having found nothing to suit her.
No sooner had she left the store than Mr. Smith called Paul.
“Well, did you sell that lady anything?”
“No, sir.”
“And why not?” demanded Smith, harshly.
“Because she did not like any of the pieces.”
“Wouldn’t she have ordered a dress pattern if you had not told her the calico would not wash?”
“Yes, sir, I suppose so,” said Paul, preparing for a storm.
“Then why did you tell her?” demanded his employer, angrily.
“Because she asked me.”
“Couldn’t you have told her that it would wash?”
“That would not have been the truth,” said Paul, sturdily.
“You’re a mighty conscientious young man,” sneered Smith, “You’re altogether too pious to succeed in business. I discharge you from my employment.”
“Very well, sir,” said Paul, his heart sinking, but keeping up a brave exterior, “then I have only to bid you good-morning.”
“Good-morning, sir,” said his employer with mock deference, “I advise you to study for the ministry, and no longer waste your talents in selling calico.”
Paul made no reply, but putting on his cap walked out of the store. It was the middle of the week, and Mr. Smith was, of course, owing him a small sum for his services; but Paul was too proud to ask for his money, which that gentleman did not see fit to volunteer.
“I am sure I have done right,” thought Paul. “I had no right to misrepresent the goods to that lady. I wonder what Uncle Hugh will say.”
“You did perfectly right,” said the sexton, after Paul had related the circumstances of his dismissal. “I wouldn’t have had you act differently for twenty situations. I have no doubt you will get a better position elsewhere.”
“I hope so,” said Paul. “Now that I have lost the situation, Uncle Hugh, I don’t mind saying that I never liked it.”
Now commenced a search for another place. Day after day Paul went out, and day after day he returned with the same want of success.
“Never mind, Paul,” said the sexton encouragingly. “When you do succeed, perhaps you’ll get something worth waiting for.”
One morning Paul went out feeling that something was going to happen,–he didn’t exactly know what,–but he felt somehow that there was to be a change in his luck. He went out, therefore, with more hopefulness than usual; yet, when four o’clock came, and nothing had occurred except failure and disappointment, which unhappily were not at all out of the ordinary course, Paul began to think that he was very foolish to have expected anything.
He was walking listlessly along a narrow street, when, on a sudden, he heard an exclamation of terror, of which, on turning round, he easily discovered the cause.
Two spirited horses, attached to an elegant carriage, had been terrified in some way, and were now running at the top of their speed.
There was no coachman on the box; he had dismounted in order to ring at some door, when the horses started. He was now doing his best to overtake the horses, but in a race between man and horse, it is easy to predict which will have the advantage.
There seemed to be but one person in the carriage. It was a lady,–whose face, pale with terror, could be seen from the carriage window. Her loud cries of alarm no doubt terrified the horses still more, and, by accelerating their speed, tended to make matters worse.