It absolutely struck him speechless, and
there he stood in the middle of the little shop, lost to the fact that he
was a small grocer on an obscure street. He was the father of Jack,
hitherto obliged to go with boys of the neighborhood, not of specially nice
families, with manners and aims to match, now--oh, joy!--with a chance for
something better, that might reach to unknown heights. He might even become
an alderman! The little grocer's breast heaved with delight, but even in
that blissful moment, his first thought was of his wife.
"Won't your mother be proud, Jack!" he made out to utter.
"Your molasses is all runnin' out," proclaimed the small girl who was
waiting for the box of matches.
And Jack springing to help his father, who bounded to the molasses barrel,
old Mr. King and Joel took themselves off without any further embarrassment
to the little grocer, who surely never could in all this world express his
gratitude as he wanted to.
"Be at my house to-morrow afternoon, and we'll go over together," said
Joel, with longing glances at the center of bustle around the molasses
barrel.
"Oh, Grandpapa, how I do wish I could have staid and helped clean up!" Joel
burst out, as they left the shop.
"Oh, my goodness, Joel!" exclaimed old Mr. King; "such a messy job! How can
you!"
"It would have been such fun," mourned Joel, wishing he could have free
access to just such a small grocer's shop, and thinking that Jack was the
luckiest fellow alive.
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