"
"It is correct," said Bush.
"Ar' you satisfied?"
"Yes, sir."
"Then sign this receipt, and we're square."
The lad sat down at the desk and attached his name in a neat round hand
to the declaration that he had received payment in full for his
services from Mr. Zephaniah Ashton, up to the first of September of the
current year.
"This is all mine, Mr. Ashton?"
"Of course--what do you mean by axin' that?"
"Nothing; good-day."
"Good-day," grunted the miser, turning his back, as a hint for him to
leave--a hint which Bush did not need, for he was in a tumult of
excitement.
"That is the queerest thing that ever happened," he said to himself
when he reached the public highway, and began hurrying along the road
in the direction of Newark. "If he had paid me my full wages I would
have told him, but all these are mine, and I shall sell them; won't
Professor Hartranft be delighted, but not half as much as mother and I
will be."
That evening Mr. Ashton and his wife had just finished their supper
when Professor Hartranft, a pleasant, refined-looking gentleman,
knocked at their door.
"I wish to inquire," said he, after courteously saluting the couple,
"whether you have any old coins in the house."
"No," was the surly response of the farmer, "we don't keep 'em."
"But you _had_ quite a collection."
"I had 'leven dollars and seventy-five cents' worth, but I paid 'em out
this mornin'.
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