Shortly after his return in the autumn Davy determined to take matters into his own hands. Accordingly, one day, standing before his looking-glass and raising his right hand, palm to the front, he solemnly swore to the oath, all by himself; then he pinned under his jacket, right over his heart, a secret badge of his own designing. There he had worn it ever since, and considered himself as honor-bound to the oath as any scout living.
Standing before his looking-glass, Davy swore to the oath, by himself
It was now two days before Christmas. There had been a snowstorm, clearing about noon. Davy had hailed it with whoops of delight. Now, by shoveling walks, he might earn money to get a Christmas present for Mother and Father, after all. It could not be the magnificent azalea and real leather pocketbook he had first dreamed of—that had been on the expectation of at least six snowstorms; but there was a gay little Jerusalem cherry tree for Mother, and for Dad a beauty of a tie, red and green changeable. Davy had selected them days ago—all he was waiting for was a job. What luck it should be Saturday and no school!
For one reason or another, nobody seemed to need Davy’s services
When the one o’clock whistle blew, Davy and his snow shovel were well on their way, bound for an attractive-looking corner house out on the avenue—corner houses were twice the job of ordinary places. Davy pressed the bell button confidently. A sour-looking maid opened the door an inch, snapped out “No,” and banged it to before Davy could get out a word. He stood staring at the door for a moment, his mouth still open, but a minute later he was striding across the street to the opposite corner, once more wearing his sturdy scout smile. There, however, they kept a hired man; next door, a big boy was already at work. For one reason or another, nobody seemed to need Davy’s services, and it began to look as if Daddy and Mother might not get their Christmas gifts at all; only, Davy was determined. At last a nice little lady twinkled “yes” over her spectacles. But Davy was only on his third contract, with a shortage of ten cents staring him in the face, when the town clock struck four.
“Well, I declare, you work as if you meant business!” A jolly old man paused at Davy’s elbow. “Come up to number seventy Lexington Avenue—electric light in front—and I’ll give you a job. My pay is thirty cents. If you aren’t there by a quarter of five, I’ll take it you’ve struck something nearer by and do it myself.”
“Oh, I’ll be there, all right. Thank you, sir!” Davy’s spirits rose to the crown of his cap. The necktie and cherry tree were in sight again—and a box of candy too.
