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Updated: June 1, 2025
I should not recommend my young readers to imitate him in this respect. But it is my business to describe Dick just as he was, and I have already said that he was not a model boy. Still in most respects he tried to do what was right, and it must be admitted that the book-keeper's treatment of him was not likely to inspire much attachment or respect.
Other things being equal, a man who has had office experience makes the best man on the road. Very much of the trouble caused by the book-keeper's letters might be avoided if the traveling man knew enough, or had a little forethought. You say things to your customers ten times worse than the book-keeper ever writes, but a letter looks much more severe than the words you said sounded to the ear.
"Next Monday," replied Allbright, with confidence. "Where does he live?" asked the man. Then for the first time an expression of confusion came over the book-keeper's face, but Day arose to the occasion. "He lives in Orange," replied Day. "What street, and number?" "One hundred and sixty-three Water Street," replied Day. His eyes flashed.
The book-keeper's elder sister, who kept house for him, was fond of gazing at the cherry-tree, with its scanty spread of white blossoms, and dreaming of cherries. She was the fonder because she had almost no dreams left. It is rather sad that even dreams go, as well as actualities. However, the sister seemed not to mind so very much.
Bates took his accustomary position on the book-keeper's stool and spread his long hands out on his knees. "Well, the professor says," he went on, "that Skinner can prove that he didn't use the gun." "How can he prove it?" asked Graves sharply, "only by the oaths of men with no more veracity than he has. I wouldn't believe one of those squatters if he used the sacred oath twenty times over."
At the book-keeper's desk, the clerk must think of nothing but his work; he is chained to it as the galley-slave to his oar; the shoemaker may be poet or mystic, or both; the ploughman may turn a good furrow and a good verse together; Richard could at once use hands and thoughts.
I asked. "I know a half a hundred Parkers," he replied. "I may know Edith Parker, but I can't recall her." "This one is your book-keeper's daughter," I said with considerable heat. "Indeed," said he calmly. "Parker Parker I thought our book-keeper's name was Smyth. Yes I'm quite sure it's Smyth." "But Tim says it's Parker," said I. "Tim ought to know." "Tim should know," laughed Weston.
The uncle received the boy kindly, promised to take him into partnership as a physician, and sent him back by the same ship in order to obtain the necessary medical training at Aberdeen. He returned just in time. James had been thinking of volunteering under Washington, and had then accepted the offer of a 'book-keeper's' place in Jamaica.
"I guess he does know better than I. A minute ago I would have sworn it was Smyth; but to tell the truth, I never gave any attention to such details of business. Well, Edith is my book-keeper's daughter." "She lives in Brooklyn," said I, "and she is very beautiful. Every letter I get from Tim, the more beautiful she becomes, for in all my life I never heard of a fellow as frank as he is.
Dan found himself hoping this rather anxiously, as if from the instinctive need of his father's support with his mother and sisters. He stopped at the Works when he left the train, and found his father in his private office beyond the book-keeper's picket-fence, which he penetrated, with a nod to the accountant. "Hello, Dan!" said his father, looking up; and "Hello, father!" said Dan.
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