Short. 'T was upon such an evening, and at such a place, that
our story commences. Squire Smith, Ned Green, and a jovial sort of a
fellow by the name of Sandy, were seated around the red-hot
cylinder. Squire Smith was what some would term a "man of
consequence,"-at least, he thought so. Be it known that this squire
was by no means a daily visitor at the work-shop of our hero. He
came in occasionally, and endeavored to impress upon his mind that
which he had settled in his own, namely, that he, Robert Short,
might be a great man.
"I tell you what," said he, with an air of importance, "I tell you
what, it is against all reason, it is contrary to common sense and
everything else, that you remain any longer riveted down to this old
bench. It will be your ruin; 'pend upon it, it will be your ruin."
"How so?" eagerly inquired Mr. Short.
"Why," replied the squire, "it's no use for me to go into
particulars. But why do you not associate with more respectable and
fashionable company?"
"Is not the present company respectable?" resumed Mr. Short; "and as
for the fashion, I follow my own."
Squire Smith did not reply to this inquiry, but stood shaking his
head, and appeared at a loss for words with which to answer.
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