town?" "This morning only." "That isn't Rolan

isting his


d, is it?" "Oh, no; it is my step-son, Oliver Conrad. Oliver, this is my nephew, Ezekiel Bond

l. "All right, sir." John Meadows was a Bowery boy, and better adapted for the store he was in than for one in a more fashionable thoroughfare. "The boss wants me to entertain you," he rema

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rked, when they were alone. "How shall I do it?" "Don't trouble yourself," said Oliver, smiling. "I'd offer you a cigarette, only the boss don't allow smoking in the store." "I don't smoke," said Oliver. "You don't! Where was you brung up?" asked John. "In the coun

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try." "Oh, that accounts for it. Mean ter say you've never puffed a weed?" "I never have." "Then you don't know what 'tis to enjoy yourself. Who's that man you came in with?" "My step-father." "I've seen him here before. He's related to my boss. I don't think any m

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ore of him for that." "Why not?" asked Oliver, rather amused. "Don't you like Mr. Bond?" "Come here," said John. Oliver approached the counter, and leaning over, John whispered mysteriously: "He's a file!" "A what?" "A file, and an awful rasping one at that. He'

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s as mean as dirt." "I am sorry to hear that, for Mr. Kenyon wants me to begin business in this store." John whistled. "That's a go," he said. "Are you going to do it?" "I suppose I shall try it. If I don't like it I can give it up at any time." "Then I wish I was

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