"Oh, that's all right. Now, I'll go into the shop, and you may take my measure for a pair of shoes."
"This has been a lucky day for me," thought Job Stanton. "I've got ten dollars for writing my name, and it isn't often I earn as much as that in a week."
The trader seemed equally pleased, and the two parted in mutual good spirits.
The note was for three months, or ninety days, and Job Stanton thought no more about it. Why should he? Richmond had expressly told him that it was a mere form, and he supposed that this was the case. The ten dollars went to buy new dresses—not very expensive, of course—for his wife and Jennie, and that seemed to be the end of it.
But Job was destined to be undeceived, and that very rudely.
One day he was surprised by a call from his dignified fellow-townsman, Major Sturgis.
"Good-morning, Mr. Stanton," said the major, condescendingly.
"Good-morning, major. I hope your family are quite well."
"Quite well, I thank you."