“Good morning, Colonel Whiting.  I hope you are well this beautiful morning,” Bobby began.

I must confess I think this was a little too familiar for a boy of thirteen to a gentleman of fifty, whom he had never seen before in his life; but it must be remembered that Bobby had done a great deal the week before, that on the preceding night he had slept in Chestnut Street, and that he had just sold four copies of “The Wayfarer.”  He was inclined to be smart, and some folks hate smart boys.

The nabob frowned; his cheek reddened with anger; but he did not condescend to make any reply to the smart speech.

“I have taken the liberty to call upon you this morning, to see if you did not wish to purchase a copy of ’The Wayfarer’—­a new book just issued from the press, which people say is to be the book of the season.”

My young readers need not suppose this was an impromptu speech, for Bobby had studied upon it all the time he was coming from Boston in the cars.  It would be quite natural for a boy who had enjoyed no greater educational advantages than our hero to consider how he should address people into whose presence his calling would bring him; and he had prepared several little addresses of this sort, for the several different kinds of people whom he expected to encounter.  The one he had just “got off” was designed for the “upper crust.”

When he had delivered the speech, he approached the indignant, frowning nabob, and with a low bow, offered him a copy of “The Wayfarer.”

“Boy,” said Colonel Whiting, raising his arm with majestic dignity, and pointing to the door,—­“boy, do you see that door?”

Bobby looked at the door, and, somewhat astonished replied that he did see it, that it was a very handsome door, and he would inquire whether it was black walnut, or only painted in imitation thereof.

“Do you see that door?” thundered the nabob, swelling with rage at the cool impudence of the boy.

“Certainly I do, sir; my eyesight is excellent.”

“Then use it!”

“Thank you, sir; I have no use for it.  Probably it will be of more service to you than to me.”

“Will you clear out, or shall I kick you out?” gasped the enraged magnate of B——.

“I will save you that trouble, sir; I will go, sir.  I see we have both made a mistake.”

“Mistake?  What do you mean by that, you young puppy?  You are a little impudent, thieving scoundrel!”

“That’s your mistake, sir.  I took you for a gentleman, sir; and that was my mistake.”

“Ha, ha, ha!” laughed a sweet, musical voice, and at that moment a beautiful young lady rushed up to the angry colonel, and threw her arms around his neck.

“The jade!” muttered he.

“I have caught you in a passion again, uncle;” and the lady kissed the old gentleman’s anger-reddened cheek, which seemed to restore him at once to himself.