Grabguy, who afterwards became "His Worship the Mayor,"
was a wonderful disciplinarian, which very valuable traits of
character his son retains in all their purity. His acts deserve more
specific notice than we are at present able to give them, inasmuch
as by them the safety of a state is frequently endangered, as we
shall show in the climax.
Our present Mr. Grabguy is a small man, somewhat slender of person,
about five feet seven inches high, who usually dresses in the
habiliments of a working man, and is remarkable for his quickness.
His features are dark and undefinable, marked with that
thoughtfulness which applies only to the getting of wordly goods.
His face is narrow and careworn, with piercing brown eyes, high
cheek bones, projecting nose and chin, low forehead, and greyish
hair, which he parts in the centre. These form the strongest index
to his stubborn character; nevertheless he hopes, ere long, to reach
the same distinguished position held by his venerable father, who,
peace to his ashes! is dead.
"Now, good neighbour Graspum," says our Mr. Grabguy, as he stands in
Graspum's warehouse examining a few prime fellows, "I've got a small
amount to invest in stock, but I wants somethin' choice-say two or
three prime uns, handy at tools. I wants somethin' what 'll make
mechanics. Then I wants to buy," he continues, deliberately, "a few
smart young uns, what have heads with somethin' in 'um, that ye can
bring up to larn things. White mechanics, you see, are so
independent now-a-days, that you can't keep 'um under as you can
niggers.
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