“Don’t let anything like this happen again,” said Mr. Leonard, after lecturing Will, severely. “Mr. Brown placed himself in the wrong or I would have to discharge you. Don’t misuse the confidence I have placed in you.”
“All right,” said Will, independently. “But the man that tries to wipe his feet on me is goin’ to touch ground with his nose, that’s all.”
This episode did not injure Will’s standing in the store, for Mr. Brown was not a general favorite.
His good-humor and willingness to work soon gained him friends, and faults were excused in him that would have proved fatal otherwise to his position.
He had a fine voice, and sung ditties with wonderful vim. He could dance like a negro minstrel, could tumble like an acrobat, and had more tricks than a circus clown.
Nothing pleased him better than to get on one of the upper floors, out of sight of customers, and treat the admiring clerks to a taste of his quality.
His chief trouble, in such cases, sprung from the new clothes in which Mr. Leonard had dressed him.
“It’s a gallus rig. I’ll give in,” he said, “but I ain’t been used to fancy fixin’s. There goes the coat, and here goes the vest, and up go the sleeves, and now I’m in trim for work. P’int out what you want done and I’m in.”
“Nothing just now, Will. Let us have that ole Virginny break-down.”
“Yes, I see myself waltzing round on my ear for you, and no pianner music, and not even a jews-harp. Don’t dance till I hear a tune. Whistle up, somebody, my boot-soles is itching.”