The Olneyville times. (Olneyville [Providence, R.I.]) 1887-1917, 1905-03-31

How Thomas Dexter Made His Money

ugly, pock- k-marked little glrI. lie was
general dealer; so was she.
His shop was situated in the heart Of
Glare Market, which some people with
fastidious notions call LlncOln's Inn
Fields.
The persons thus fastidiously in
clined and who thus, metaphorically,
turn up their noses at Clare Market,
are dwellers therein, and being gen
teelly inclined to wish to disguise the
iact, resembling in this respect other
persons higher in the social scale who
reside in Bayswater and call it Hyde
Park, to the confusion Of the simple
minded cabmen Of any such exist and
nnsuspicious friends from the country.
Thomas Dexter gave himself no such
airs. Glare Market was good enough
for him, and his ambition, in Tesiden-
Hal way, did not extend beyond It.
Thirty-three years had passed over
his head since, with his own hands, he
painted on his shop windows the
words, Dexter, General Dealer" there
not being room for Thomas"
Time and dust had eaten into this
sign and quite obliterated it, as in due
course they would eat into Thomas
Dexter and quite obliterate him.
when the painted letters Of the le
gend on his shop windows were fresh
and bright Thomas Dexter, also fresh
and bright, commenced business with
Exactly TIA in gold, which he found, on
The evening Of his fathers funeral, tied
hp in an old nightcap, in hard lump
elose to the tassel.
He had come home sad Of face and
Dt heart from the churchyard in which
his old friend and relative lay buried.
He was not given 10 sentiment, but
he and his father had been comrades
Tor many long year, and il was nat
ural that he should feel melancholy in
his loneliness.
There was another reason for sad
heartedness; he had spent his last shil-
ling on his fathers funeral.
''Tom," his father had said to him in
his dying moments, there's something
weighing on my mind"
"Out with it, father" said Thomas
Dexter, 'lf itll ease yer
81 was born in this here neighbor-
hood" continued the old man, "and so
was you, my boy. Lord, don't l re-
member the night you come into the
world! And now I'm a-gOing out Of it,
II was Saturday night, and was two
mile away with my barrer in Totten-
ham Court road, where / had pitch.
The old woman was with me, looking
Rrter the tin, and she sed TO me about
10 o'clock: Father sed she, i feel
bit queerlsh; think I'd best so home
'All right, old girl sed /, 'trot off; III
manage without YER Don't worry
about me- she sed, smiling at me as
she walked away; it's only n spasm.'
That was you, Tom-you was the
spasm. 1t was past u afore l got
home, and no sooner put my head in
mt the door than knew l was a father
In real earnest, for you salooted me
with squall which you kept up, on
and off, for a matter of three months,
j should say. You and the old woman
was laying on this very bed, in this
very room. It's rum TO think on, amt
il? il was sharp work, but your
mother was sharp at anythink she set
her mind on. She'd hardly time to
dhrow herself on the bed afore you
was born. The room was dark, too
almost as dark as it is now"
"Why, father" said Thomas Dexter,
''it's broad daylight and the suns
a-shining right into the winderw
you'll allow me TO know" mur-
INJURED the old man, with n fretful sigh.
81 can see when it's dark and when it's
light. j amt dead yet my boy. Tom,
I've sort of notion that I'm wander
ing. Where was |, my boyT
I'm this room, where mother was
confined"
"No-afore that! Where was / afore
i come home that nishtY"
''In Tottenham Court road, with the
barrer."
mo, no, no! Afore that, Give cove
leg up. What was l saying fust of
all?"
THAT you was born in this here
neighborhood."
That's it-that's what's weighing on
my mind! ] was born in Glare Mar
ket, and there amt q man, woman or
child hereabouts as don't know me, and
as won't know presently that I'm n
dead 'un. Tom, l shouldn't like to bc
taken out Of the workshop in shabby
sort Of way. Don't shove me under
the turf as IL / was a pauper. DO IL
in style, old pal, and bury me with
feathersr'
The thing was done. The old man
was buried with feathers, aud Thomas
Dexter experienced a solemn satisfac-
tion as he gazed at the sable plumes,
emblems OF triumphant woe, which
nodded at him in approval Of his duti-
ful regard TO his fathers last wish.
In the evening he looked over the old
mans clothes TO decide which TO keer
for personal wear and which to dis
pose OF for n new start I'm life. Under
the mattress was his fathers nightcap
which, as he moved the bed. fell W 9
thud upon the floor. Picking IL III
quickly and loosening the knot with hi
teeth, fourteen pieces of bright golt
came into view; also n paper, upor
which was written:
"For my boy, Tom. II he's buried
me with feathers, they'll bring hin
luck"
Deliriously delighted at the dlscov
cry Of the treasure, Thomas Dexte
clapped the old-fashioned nightcap OF
his head and danced about the room