"When I grow up, I'm going to have a shop like that," he declared, after
marching on in silence down the next block and surveying with favor all the
surroundings of the narrow street.
"I thought you were going to sell tin, like your Mr. Biggs, of Badgertown,"
said Mr. King mischievously.
Joel hung his head. "I was, but I think a shop would be nicer after all;
you can have everything in it, you know, Grandpapa."
"Even molasses," put in Mr. King. "Well, I wouldn't decide the matter just
now, Joel, my boy--which you will be when you are grown up. There's plenty
of time yet ahead of you."
Jack Parish, with his hair carefully oiled by his anxious mother, and his
very best clothes on, a circumstance calculated to invest him with dread
and rob him of every bit of comfort to begin with, presented himself at Mr.
King's mansion on the next afternoon. His countenance was long, and he
looked so worried that Joel, rushing out to meet him, involuntarily
ejaculated, "Oh, dear me!" in dismay.
After regarding each other uncomfortably for a minute, in which Jack began
to wish himself, a thousand times, back in the little shop, Joel burst out,
seizing his arm:
"Come up into my room--Dave's and mine," and over the stairs they went.
"Is this your room?" gasped Jack, forgetting his discomfort and staring all
about.
"Yes, it is," said Joel; "Dave's and mine.
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