Her pride compelled her to the course, notwithstanding the extra trouble she incurred, and this, also, she laid up against Harry. Her husband was opposed to any change, not being so spiteful as his wife, but allowed her to have her way.
Meanwhile Mr. Mead, though he regretted to lose a good customer, did not show any signs of financial weakness, and there seemed to be no prospect of his failing.
Had he done so Mrs. Ross would have been overjoyed, for she was very angry at all who upheld “that low Gilbert boy,” as she designated him.
It is said that all things come to him who waits, and circumstances were shaping themselves in a very gratifying way to Mrs. Ross and her schemes of revenge.
One day as Harry was driving the store wagon which bore the name of his employer he was hailed, about a mile from the store, by a boy about his own age, who carried in his hand a carpetbag, and appeared to be making a journey on foot.
“Hello!” said the traveler.
“Hello!” returned Harry.
“Are you working for my uncle?” asked the stranger.
“I can tell you better when I find out who your uncle is. If you are the nephew of General Grant, or the czar of Russia, I am not working for him.”
“I see you like to joke,” said the stranger. “My uncle is Mr. Mead, the storekeeper.”