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It is enough to say that for the sum of seven hundred dollars Herr Schinkelwitz made over the business to Herr Tom, as he called him, and our hero found himself penniless, but the owner of a grocery. In half an hour it was all completed. "Now, Tom, you are my boss," said Miles. "Shall I put your name outside?" "No, John, put your own. I am only a silent partner, you know."
"Glad to see you, mine vriend," said the German, addressing Ferguson. "No, that is Mr. Ferguson," said Miles, smiling. "I should have introduced him first." "Wie gehts, Herr Ferguson?" said the grocer. "You have one strange name." "Your name seems strange to me," said the Scotchman. "Oh, no; Schinkelwitz is a very common name. Most peoples admire my name."
"We may be counting our chickens too soon. Perhaps your Dutch friend, whose name I can't pronounce, won't sell." "Here he is to speak for himself." A short German, with a ponderous frame, and a broad, good-humored face, here entered the grocery, panting with the exertion of walking, and looked inquiringly at Tom and the Scotchman. "Herr Schinkelwitz, this is my friend, Tom Nelson," said Miles.
Tom was considerably amused, but Herr Schinkelwitz did not observe the smile which he could not repress. "I have told my friends you would like to sell out the business," said Miles. "Oh, ja, it is a good business, but my health is not good. I think it will be much better at the mines. You will do well to buy it yourself." "I would if I had money enough."
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