Part 1 (2/2)

”I think he'll be rich some day, mother.”

”I hope he will, for I think he will make a good use of his money.”

While Mrs. Hoffman was speaking she had been setting the table for supper. The meal was not a luxurious one, but there was no lack of food. Beside rolls and b.u.t.ter, there was a plate of cold meat, an apple pie, and a pot of steaming hot tea. The cloth was scrupulously clean, and I am sure that though the room was an humble one not one of my readers need have felt a repugnance to sitting down at Mrs.

Hoffman's plain table.

For the benefit of such as may not have read ”Paul the Peddler,” I will explain briefly that Mrs. Hoffman, by the death of her husband two years previous, had been reduced to poverty, which compelled her to move into a tenement house and live as best she could on the earnings of her oldest son, Paul, supplemented by the pittance she obtained for sewing. Paul, a smart, enterprising boy, after trying most of the street occupations, had become a young street merchant. By a lucky chance he had obtained capital enough to buy out a necktie stand below the Astor House, where his tact and energy had enabled him to achieve a success, the details of which we will presently give.

Besides his own profits, he was able to employ his mother in making neckties at a compensation considerably greater than she could have obtained from the Broadway shops for which she had hitherto worked.

Scarcely was supper placed on the table when Paul entered. He was a stout, manly boy of fifteen, who would readily have been taken for a year or two older, with a frank, handsome face, and an air of confidence and self-reliance, which he had acquired through his independent efforts to gain a livelihood. He had been thrown upon his own resources at an age when most boys have everything done for them, and though this had been a disadvantage so far as his education was concerned, it had developed in him a confidence in himself and his own ability to cope with the world not usually found in boys of his age.

”Well, mother,” said he briskly, ”I am glad supper is ready, for I am as hungry as a wolf.”

”I think there will be enough for you,” said his mother, smiling. ”If not, we will send to the baker's for an extra supply.”

”Is a wolf hungry, Paul?” asked Jimmy, soberly accepting Paul's simile.

”I'll draw you one after supper, Jimmy, and you can judge,” answered Paul.

”Your animals all look like cows, Paul,” said his little brother.

”I see you are jealous of me,” said Paul, with much indignation, ”because I draw better than you.”

”After supper you can look at my last picture,” said Jimmy. ”It is copied from _Harper's Weekly.”_

”Pa.s.s it along now, Jimmy. I don't think it will spoil my appet.i.te.”

Jimmy handed it to his brother with a look of pardonable pride.

”Excellent, Jimmy. I couldn't do it better myself,” said Paul. ”You are a little genius.”

”I like drawing so much, Paul. I hope some time I can do something else besides copy.”

”No doubt you will. I am sure you will be a famous artist some day, and make no end of money by your pictures.”

”That's what I would like--to make money.”

”Fie, Jimmy! I had no idea you were so fond of money.”

”I would like to help mother just as you are doing, Paul. Do you think I will ever earn as much as you do?”

”A great deal more, I hope, Jimmy. Not but what I am doing well,”

added Paul in a tone of satisfaction. ”Did you know, mother, it is six months to-day since I bought out the necktie stand?”

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