Those
books and his love for them were a great safeguard to him, kept him away
from many a temptation to go astray; and yet it was hard work to
accomplish much in the little time he had, and with no helper. Sometimes
he sighed wearily, and felt as though the road was full of stones.
"I pity you, old fellow," one of the younger clerks said to him one
evening, as they were leaving the store.
"I don't know for what," was the good-natured answer.
"Why, Mr. Minturn's pink of a perfect and wonderful and altogether
amazing son Ray has just got home from the University; saw him pass the
store not an hour ago, leaning back in the carriage like a prince."
"What's he?" asked Edward.
"He's a prig; that's what he is."
"What's a prig?"
"Ho! you're a greeney, if you don't know what a prig is. Wait till he
snubs you and lords it over you awhile; then I guess you'll know. He'll
have a good chance, seeing you're right there at the house all the while.
I wouldn't be in your shoes for a penny."
Spite of its making him a great greeney, Edward did not know what a prig
was; but, judging from his companion's tone, he decided that it must be
something very disagreeable.
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