“I know, but I like to feel that I’m squared up with everyone. When I get, say, five hundred in the bank, if I ever do, I’d like to invest it in something, Mr. Strobe. Could I, do you suppose?”
“Certainly. An excellent idea, Joe. You might find a small mortgage through the bank, or you could buy a few shares of some safe stock that would pay from four and a half to five per cent. You’ll get only three and a half from the savings bank. When you get ready to invest you let me know and I’ll help you find something.”
One Saturday evening Joe boarded a train and went to Columbus to visit his mother, spending a very pleasant Sunday with her and returning to Amesville late that night.
If there was anyone even distantly connected with Joe’s business venture who did not thoroughly approve of it, it was Miss Sarah Teele. Aunt Sarah was doubtless pleased that Joe was earning money; she had a very healthy admiration for folks who could do that, and a correspondingly poor opinion of those who couldn’t; but the fly in Aunt Sarah’s ointment was the fact that her nephew’s prosperity was due to the sale of cigars and cigarettes and tobacco. That rather spoiled it all in her eyes, for she was a fervidly outspoken foe to tobacco in all forms, and considered the use of it closely akin to the use of intoxicating liquors. Aunt Sarah made one exception. A decoction of tobacco and water was an excellent preventive of bugs on her window plants! If she could have had her way she would have limited its use to that purpose. Consequently, from the first, she had viewed Joe’s venture askance, hinting darkly that money earned by catering to the vice of smoking was tainted money and would bring no benefit to its possessor. Joe argued with her politely, but was quite unable to shake her conviction. In the end they agreed to disagree, Aunt Sarah comforting herself with Joe’s solemn promise not to allow the association with what Aunt Sarah termed “the filthy weed” to undermine his morals to the extent of causing him to smoke. For some weeks Joe frequently found Aunt Sarah regarding him anxiously as though seeking for signs of moral degeneracy produced by traffic in the obnoxious article. Not discovering any, however, Aunt Sarah accepted the state of affairs with the best philosophy she could command, and, to Joe’s satisfaction, said no more about it. When he announced the result of that first month’s balance his aunt’s struggle between pleasure and disapproval was almost ludicrous.
CHAPTER XI
HANDSOME FRANK
The Saturday forenoon following their conversation regarding Frank Foley found Joe and his chum leaning against the counter in Cummings and Wright’s hardware store. Jack was purchasing a new sweater and Joe was assisting at the task. Joe would have liked just such a garment as Jack was choosing, himself, but the next division of profits was a long way off and until that occurred he was bound to be in straitened circumstances. Jack had virtually decided on a handsome brown sweater with a broad band of blue across the chest and Tom Pollock, who had momentarily absented himself to sell a “Junior League” ball to a grammar school youth, returned to inquire:
“This one, Jack?”
Jack nodded doubtfully. “I guess so, Tom. It’s sort of heavy for spring, but I suppose I’d better buy one that’ll be all right for next fall, too.”