“I suppose your mother can cut them out if I send a shirt as a pattern?”
“Yes, sir.”
Mr. Preston rose, and, going to a bureau, took therefrom a shirt which he handed to Paul. He then wrote a few lines on a slip of paper, which he also handed our hero.
“That is an order on Barclay & Co.,” he explained, “for the requisite materials. If either you or your mother presents it, they will be given you.”
“Very good, sir,” said Paul.
He took his cap, and prepared to go.
“Good-evening, Mr. Preston,” he said.
“Good-evening. I shall expect you with the shirts when they are ready.”
Paul went downstairs and into the street, thinking that Mr. Preston was very sociable and agreeable. He had fancied that rich men were generally “stuck up,” but about Mr. Preston there seemed an absence of all pretense. Paul's ambition was aroused when he thought of the story he had heard, and he wondered whether it would be possible for him to raise himself to wealth and live in as handsome a house as Mr. Preston. He thought what a satisfaction it would be if the time should ever come when he could free his mother from the necessity of work, and give little Jimmy a chance to develop his talent for drawing. However, such success must be a long way off, if it ever came.
He had intended to ride home, but his mind was so preoccupied that he forgot all about it, and had got some distance on his way before it occurred to him. Then, not feeling particularly tired, he concluded to keep on walking, as he had commenced.