It is past finding out—the things a boy will do when he is put to it.
“Oh, you did,” said the marble-cutter, “you little-souled, narrer, contracted cuss!”
His eyes seemed to be searching me for other qualities likely to serve his scorn. He added, with a look of sternness: “Boy, you've done a great injury to the cause of good music in Heartsdale!”
I wondered if music had suffered more than I, and, answered, timidly: “It was only meant for a joke.”
“Well, the joke is on you,” said Mr. Crocket, with a rude look at me. “You are both discharged.”
So my second trial in business came to its end, and people began to shake their heads and say that I was a wild boy and would come to no good.
I went to the shop of my old friends, “Pearl & Barker,” and told of my trouble. The Pearl had a thoughtful look on his face, and said nothing for a few moments.
“Confound that dog!” he exclaimed, presently, and began to call Mr. Barker. The dog stood up before him.
“You rascal!” the Pearl began, “you'll have to take another dose. I trust that you will soon be a dog, Mr. Barker, an' get over bein' a puppy. Not that I would have you too good—there are no angels in this world, Mr. Barker. But I am moved to suggest that you always show proper respect for age.”
Every word that he said to “Mr. Barker” sank into my soul, and made me see how foolish I had been.