Paul the Peddler; or the Fortunes of a Young Street Merchant. Chapter 23, 24, 25, 26
CHAPTER XXIII
A NEW EXPEDIENT
“I BELIEVE your name is Peck?” said Mr. Montgomery, hazarding a guess.
“No, it’s Young, Ephraim Young.”
“Of course it is. I remember now, but I am apt to forget names. You said your parents were quite well?”
“Yes, they’re pretty smart.”
“I am glad to hear it; I have the pleasantest recollections of your excellent father. Let me see, didn’t you call there with me once, Mrs. Barnes?”
“Not that I remember.”
“You must go with me the next time. I want you to know the parents of our young friend. They are excellent people. Do you go back this afternoon, Mr. Young?”
“Yes, I guess so. You don’t know of any sitooation I could get in a store round here, do you?”
“Not at present, but I have some influential friends to whom I will mention your name. Suppose, now, I could obtain a situation for you, how shall I direct the letter letting you know?”
“Just put on the letter `Ephraim Young.’ Everybody in Plainfield knows me.”
“So he lives in Plainfield,” said Mr. Montgomery to himself. “It’s as well to know that.” Then aloud: “I won’t forget, Mr. Young. What sort of business would you prefer?”
“Any kind that’ll pay,” said the gratified youth, firmly convinced of his companion’s ability to fulfill his promise. “I’ve got tired of stayin’ round home, and I’d like to try York a little while. Folks say it’s easy to make money here.”
“You are right. If I were a business man, I would come to New York at once. For a smart young man like you it offers a much better opening than a country village.”
“That’s what I’ve told dad often,” said the rustic, “but he’s afraid I wouldn’t get nothing to do and he says it’s dreadful expensive livin’ here.”
“So it is expensive, but then you will be better paid than in the country. However, here we are. You won’t forget what I told you?”
“No–I’ll remember,” said the young man.
The reappearance of Mr. Barnes and wife so soon excited some surprise in the store, for it had got around, as such things will, that he was an impostor, and it was supposed that he would not venture to show his face there again. The appearance of his rustic companion likewise attracted attention. Certainly, Mr. Montgomery (it makes little difference what we call him) did not exhibit the slightest appearance of apprehension, but his manner was quite cool and self-possessed. He made his way to that part of the counter attended by the clerk with whom he had before spoken. He observed with pleasure and relief that the man who had questioned his identity with any of the ministers of Hayfield Centre was no longer in the store. This would make the recovery of the ring considerably easier.
“Well, sir,” he said, addressing the clerk, “I suppose you did not expect to see me again so soon?”
“No, sir.”
“Nor did I expect to be able to return for the ring before to-morrow, not supposing that I could bring witnesses to prove that I was what I represented. But fortunately I met just now a young friend, who can testify to my identity, as he has heard me preach frequently in Plainfield, where he resides. Mr. Young, will you be kind enough to tell this gentleman who I am?”
“Parson Barnes, of Hayfield Centre,” said the youth, confidently.
“You have heard me preach, have you not, in Plainfield?”
“Yes,” said the young man, fully believing that he was telling the truth.
“And I have called on your parents?”
“Yes.”
“I think,” said the adventurer, “that will be sufficient to convince you that I am what I appear.”
It was hard to doubt, in the face of such evidence. Ephraim Young was so unmistakably from the rural districts that it would have been absurd to suspect him of being an artful city rogue. Besides, Mr. Barnes himself was got up so naturally that all the clerk’s doubts vanished at once. He concluded that the customer who had questioned his genuineness must be very much mistaken.