Bob Chester's Grit; Or, From Ranch to Riches

by Frank V. Webster

To Bob's surprise, as he entered the store, not a soul was visible, but at the sound of his footsteps on the hard floor his guardian suddenly appeared from his private office, his shrewd face suffused by the ingratiating smirk he always put on when going to meet a prospective customer. At the sight of his ward standing in the middle of the floor, however, he started, and then his face assumed a look of forbidding severity.

"What, you here!" the grocer exclaimed, as he regained control of himself. "I thought—that is, I was told—I mean, I heard that you had been arrested, and I didn't expect to see you again for some time; that is—I mean not here in the store. If you had been sent to prison I should, of course, have gone to see you."

Never before had Bob seen his guardian so ill at ease, and from his knowledge of the man, he decided that his entrance must have interrupted him when he was engaged at some unusual task. But how to meet the situation, Bob did not know, and he was vainly striving to think of the right thing to say when their relations were brought back to their normal plane by his guardian snarling:

"What did you do with my delivery basket? Did you leave it with the groceries, or didn't you even deliver them?"

The subtle cruelty of this remark stung Bob to the quick. It was the straw that broke his endurance of the long term of abuse and harsh words to which he had been subjected.

"No, I didn't deliver the groceries," he flashed back. "I had to leave the basket at the police station when they took me to court, and after the judge told me I could go, I didn't want to go back to the place for it."

"But there were three dollars worth of groceries in it," wailed his guardian, wringing his hands. "Here, just because you didn't mind what I told you about stopping to play on the way when you are delivering orders, you get arrested and leave me here alone for almost four hours, without any one to deliver goods, and my customers all complaining because they don't get their orders. And as though that weren't enough, you deliberately abandon three dollars' worth of groceries. But you'll pay for them, young man! You'll pay for them! Never fear. I shall take the two dollars you would have had coming to you to-night in part payment, and then one dollar from your wages next Saturday night."

For an instant, Bob was tempted to produce the five dollars the kindly magistrate had given him and pay for the groceries then and there. But there swept through his mind an idea fascinating in its boldness.

As he stood contemplating the thought which had occurred to him, his guardian snarled:

"Don't stand there like a gawk! You've delayed my deliveries long enough. Take those two baskets," and he pointed to two bulging packages resting on the counter, "and deliver them. On your way back, as you will pass the police station, you can stop in and get the basket you left. But I'll make you pay for the groceries just the same. It will be a good lesson for you."