It need not be supposed, because Bobby had to turn his attention to serious things, that he was not fond of fun; that he could not or did not play. At a game of round ball, he was a lucky fellow who secured him upon his side; for the same energy which made him a useful son rendered him a desirable hand in a difficult game.
When the supper things were all removed, the dishes washed and put away, Bobby drew out his pocket memorandum book. It was a beautiful article, and Mrs. Bright was duly astonished at its gilded leaves and the elegant workmanship. Very likely her first impulse was to reprove her son for such a piece of reckless extravagance; but this matter was set right by Bobby's informing her how it came into his possession.
"Here is my ledger, mother," he said, handing her the book.
Mrs. Bright put on her spectacles, and after bestowing a careful scrutiny upon the memorandum book, turned to the accounts.
"Fifty books!" she exclaimed, as she read the first entry.
"Yes, mother; and I sold them all."
"Fifty dollars!"
"But I had to pay for the books out of that."
"To be sure you had; but I suppose you made as much as ten cents a piece on them, and that would be—let me see; ten times fifty—"
"But I made more than that, I hope."