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Updated: May 13, 2025
A clockmaker has to have imagination, you see." "I never thought of that." "It is such puzzles as these that make my trade interesting," McPhearson observed. "If every clock that came to me was of precisely the same pattern as every other, the work I do would be monotonous enough. But it is because clocks are as different as people that they pique my curiosity.
By the time he and his father returned to the store, however, they were practically normal, and he ascended to the fourth floor to hunt up McPhearson, who amid the general excitement he had left somewhat abruptly. "Well, so you landed your light-fingered friend, did you, laddie?" remarked the Scotchman. "Mr. Corrigan did." "It was thanks to you, I guess." "Partly!" "Humph!
Perhaps this preference grew in a measure out of the fact that McPhearson appeared to like him and make more effort to entertain him than did the other clerks; perhaps also he had discovered that the clockmaker, when he did speak, was better worth listening to. Be that as it may, he sallied into the repair department very glad to be there again.
"I remember once when I was in the Maine woods with dad, we both got so confused we hadn't a notion what day it was." "Ah, then you have some understanding of the dilemma of your long-ago ancestors," smiled McPhearson, "and can comprehend why they were so thankful to have the cathedral clock set them right.
All the elation died in his face, and noticing this, McPhearson, who loitered in the meantime at the door of the telephone booth, remarked: "What's the trouble, son?" "If I was only sure it was Stuart." "That's what I was trying to tell you, laddie, when you ran pell-mell in here to call the police. You ought to have made sure before you gave the information."
"Yes, to set going a flourishing industry that not only provides bread and butter for hundreds of workmen but also furnishes the public with a well-made commodity that it needs is a great service to civilization," said McPhearson. "Edward Howard, as I told you, had a generous part in doing this, not only in the clock world but also in the realm of watches."
"Well, Christopher, what do you think of the jewelry business?" his father inquired one day after he had been for several months a regular visitor at the store. Christopher smiled. "I like parts of it very much," replied he. "The clocks and watches are all right. There's sense in those. I shouldn't mind a bit becoming a repairer if I could be as good a one as Mr. McPhearson.
I should have told them they could keep their money the old grannies!" jeered his listener wrathfully. "They had to be sure, you know." "But poor Harrison! What was he doing in the meantime?" "Growing to be a very old man, alas!" McPhearson answered in a saddened voice. "It was not until 1773 that the last of the £20,000 for which he had so valiantly struggled was given him."
McPhearson told me what a really good watch meant. Now I'd as soon starve a kitten as not take care of it." A clapping of hands greeted the assertion. "But you were wrong about one thing, Dad," the boy continued. "I am not going to thank the men through Mr. Rhinehart or anybody else. I am going round the store to thank every person myself." "Bravo, son!" replied Mr. Burton.
Otherwise I'd be fussing with it and letting commonplace things such as this go." McPhearson rose and shuffled away, only to return a few moments later carrying the bracket clock by its brass handle. "So you never saw an old fellow like this, eh?" inquired he with evident satisfaction. "No. I certainly never saw a clock with a brass handle on top to carry it by," confessed Christopher.
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