Joel didn't care what he was called so long as he was really going to see
Jack Parish and carry him the wonderful invitation, and all the way down to
the little grocer's on Common Street he just bubbled over with happiness,
till everybody who passed the two felt a glow at the heart at the merry
comrades: and many were the backward glances cast at the old, white-haired
gentleman of stately mien, with a chubby-faced boy of the jolliest
appearance hanging to his hand.
"Well, well, well, and so here we are." Old Mr. King looked up curiously at
the little sign above the door--"Ichabod Parish, Grocer"--then down over
the shop windows overrunning with canned goods, and, to finish up, an
outside stall on which jostled and overcrowded each other every description
of vegetable in the market, from a cabbage down. A fat, red-faced man with
a big apron that had been white earlier in the day, came out of the shop
and stood by the stall.
"Anything in our line to-day, sir?" he said. He had a little pad of paper
in one hand and a pencil in the other.
"Well, yes," said old Mr. King, with a twinkle in his eye, for by this time
he perceived some lines along the fat cheeks that showed very plainly the
habit of smiles running up and down in them. "I've come for a boy, if you
please."
"A boy?" said the fat, red-faced man, laughing, till the round cheeks were
all wrinkled up.
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