One fellow bought six neckties of
me this afternoon. I wish everybody would do that. Now, mother, I hope
supper is most ready, for selling neckties has made me hungry."
"Almost ready, Paul."
It was a humble meal, but a good one. There were fresh rolls and butter,
tea and some cold meat. That was all; but the cloth was clean, and
everything looked neat. All did justice to the plain meal, and never
thought of envying the thousands who, in their rich uptown mansions,
were sitting down at the same hour to elaborate dinners costing more
than their entire week's board.
"Are you going out, Paul?" asked Mrs. Hoffman, noticing that he took his
hat.
"Yes, I must go and see George Barry, and carry the money I have
received for sales."
"Where does he live?"
"In Bleecker street. I shan't be gone long."
Paul reached the number which had been given him. It was a large,
four-story house, with the appearance of a barracks.
"Mr. Barry," said the servant, in answer to his question--"he lives
upstairs on the fourth floor. Room on the right."
Paul plodded his way upstairs, and found the room without difficulty.
On knocking, the door was opened by Mrs. Barry, who looked at him
inquiringly.
"Does George Barry live here?" asked Paul.
"Yes. Are you the one he left in charge of his business?"
Paul answered in the affirmative, adding, "How is he?"
"He seems quite feverish.
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