If Paul had been a
railroad corporation, he might have issued first mortgage bonds
at a high rate of interest, payable in gold, and negotiated them
through some leading banker. But he was not much versed in
financial schemes, and therefore was at a loss. The only wealthy
friend he had was Mr. Preston, and he did not like to apply to
him till he had exhausted other ways and means.
"What makes you so sober, Paul?" asked his mother, as he entered
the room. "You are home early."
"Yes, I sold all my papers, and thought I would take an early
dinner, so as to be on hand in time for the first afternoon
papers."
"Don't you feel well?"
"Tiptop; but I've had a good offer, and I'm thinking whether I
can accept it."
"What sort of an offer?"
"George Barry wants to sell out his stand."
"How much does he ask?"
"Thirty-five dollars."
"Is it worth that?"
"Yes, it's worth all that, and more, too. If I had it I could
make two dollars a day. But I haven't got thirty-five dollars."
"I can let you have nine, Paul. I had a little saved up, and I
haven't touched the money Mr. Preston paid me for the shirts."
"I've got five myself, but that will only make fourteen."
"Won't he wait for the rest?"
"No, he's going to Philadelphia early next week, and wants the
whole in cash.
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