CHAPTER XV.
“Very well done; button-holes strong and even, lining smooth; stitching, like rows of seed pearl. This is no apprentice work,” said Mr. John Pray, as he held Lucy’s vests up to the light for a more minute inspection. “That’s a vest, now, as is a vest; won’t disgrace John Pray’s shop; it would gladden even the eyes of my old boss, Jacob Ford; and mighty particular he was, too, and mighty small wages the old man paid, as I have occasion to know. Well, I made a vow then, and thank God I have had grace to keep it, that if ever John Pray became a master workman, he would do as he would be done by. So, I don’t ask what wages other tailors give; that don’t matter to me. I don’t want to die with any body’s groans in my ears. So, when a piece of work is finished and handed in, I say, ‘Now, John Pray, what should you think was a fair price for you to receive, if you had done that ’ere job?’ That’s it; no dodging behind that question. ’Specially when a man has been through the operative mill himself. So, there’s your pay, Zekiel, weighed out in that ere pair of Bible scales; and you may tell the old lady, as you call her, that if she had served a regular apprenticeship at the trade, she couldn’t have done better. What did you say her name was? However, that’s no consequence—as long as she does the work well. Here’s some more vests for her.”
“Well, I really don’t know,” said Zekiel, “I never heern tell her name. She’s a bran new neighbor, and as I was coming into town every day with my cart, she axed me, civil like, if I’d bring these vests to you. So, I brung ’em. I don’t mind doing a good turn for a fellow creetur, now and then, specially when it ’taint no bother,” added Zekiel, with a grin.
“What did you spoil it for by saying that?” said John Pray. “I was just going to clap you on the back for a clever fellow.”
“You might go further, and clap a worse fellow on the back,” answered Zekiel. “But I never boasts, I don’t. ’Tain’t no use. If the ministers tell the truth, we’ve all got to be weighed in the big scales up above, where there ain’t no false weights—bad deeds agin good deeds. Farmer Reed, I’m thinking, will be astonished when the balance on his account is struck. But, good day; my parsnips and cabbages ought to be in the market, instead of wilting at your door—even though you city folks don’t know the taste of a fresh vegetable. Good day.”