Jessie

“Jessie’s a first-rate hand to drive a bargain—you ought to have heard her beat Mr. Simpson down, this afternoon,” said Oscar, at the tea-table, one evening.

“I didn’t beat him down, nor ask him to take one cent less—he put his price down of his own accord,” replied Jessie.

“Oh yes, that’s the beauty of it,” retorted Oscar. “She didn’t say hardly anything, but she acted it out completely, and she got the dress for her own price. I call that the perfection of beating down. I’m going to get you to make my purchases, hereafter, Jessie; for you know folks say I’m extravagant when I buy anything.”

“I think it would be a good plan for you to get somebody to do your trading,” replied Jessie. “You gave seventy-five cents for that flimsy cravat, last week, and I’ll engage to buy the silk and make a better one for one-half the money.”

“Oh well, don’t say another word about that,” replied Oscar, whose cravat speculation was not a very pleasant thing to dwell upon. “What can’t be cured must be endured. But I wont get shaved in that way again, for I’ve engaged you to do my shopping. And remember you must beat them down just as you would for yourself.”

“But I don’t make a practice of beating the shopkeepers down, for myself,” said Jessie. “If a man asks more for a thing than I can afford to give, I tell him so; and if he has a mind to offer it for less, very well, but if he doesn’t, I can’t trade.”

“Yes, you understand how to do it,” said Oscar, with a chuckle.

“Do you call that beating a man down, Mrs. Page?” inquired Jessie.

“No, I think that is fair enough,” replied Mrs. Page. “I don’t approve of beating a man down below a fair price, on the one hand, and I don’t approve of giving more for an article than it is worth, on the other. I try to act on these principles, when I am trading. If I can’t afford to pay a fair price for a thing, I conclude that I can’t afford to buy it.”

“That is just the way I feel,” added Jessie. “But to tell the truth, I was almost ashamed to take that dress pattern, although I don’t think I was to blame. It came to just nine shillings, and there was nothing else in the store cheaper, that suited me. But I could not afford to go over a dollar for a dress, and I told Mr. Simpson so. ‘Oh,’ he said, ‘it was no matter about the money now—I could pay any time when I had it.’ I told him I made it a rule never to run in debt for anything. Then he said I might have the dress for eight and three pence—”

“You mean a dollar and thirty-seven cents—we have no shillings and pence in our currency,” interrupted Marcus, who always set his face against this common but very un-American way of reckoning.

“Yes, a dollar and thirty-seven,” continued Jessie, “and then he said he’d take a dollar and a quarter, which was just what the goods cost him. But I told him I could not go over a dollar, and then he proposed to split the difference, and let me have it for a dollar and nine pence—I mean a dollar and twelve cents. But the trimmings would make the price count up so, that I concluded I couldn’t go one cent over a dollar, and I started off, and got as far as the door-steps, when he called me back, and told me I might have it for a dollar. I had no idea at first that he would let me have it at that price, and I didn’t ask him to take off a cent, nor think of beating him down; but I declare I felt really ashamed, when he called me back. If it cost him a dollar and a quarter, it seems mean for me to buy it for a dollar. What do you think of it, Mrs. Page—did I do wrong?”

“No, under the circumstances I can’t say that you did wrong,” replied Mrs. Page. “If you could not afford to give over a dollar, it was right for you to stop at that mark; and if Mr. Simpson fell of his own accord to that price, that was his own affair. If you had had plenty of money, or if you had coaxed him down to a dollar, the case would have been different.”

“Merchants sometimes find it for their advantage to sell an article for less than it costs, rather than not dispose of it,” observed Marcus. “That was probably the case with Mr. Simpson. Perhaps the dress pattern was the last of a lot.”

“No, it was from a new lot, just received,” replied Jessie.

“Then,” continued Marcus, “perhaps he thought you might go somewhere else and buy, and he should lose your trade; or perhaps he was a little short for money; or perhaps he knew you fancied the dress, and in the kindness of his heart he determined you should have it, at some price or other. He had a reason, no doubt, for doing as he did.”

“Well, I can’t bear to be thought mean,” continued Jessie; “but poor folks have to put up with many things they dislike, and that is one of them.”

“There was nothing mean in doing as you did,” said Miss Lee, “and I do not believe Mr. Simpson thought so. I don’t approve of driving a hard bargain, any more than I do of paying extravagant prices for things. There is a golden mean between the two, which honest people ought to seek after. I think you were wise in refusing to run in debt. Spending money before we get it is one great source of extravagance, and keeps many people poor all their lives.”

“Everybody ought to get out of debt just as quick as they can, hadn’t they?” inquired Ronald.

“Certainly,” said Miss Lee.

“Then, mother, I wish you would let me have fifty cents—I want to pay my debts,” continued Ronald.

“Your debts! Pray what do you owe?” inquired Mrs. Page.

“I owe a boy fifty cents, and he’s dunned me for it two or three times,” replied Ronald.

“Who is he, and how came you to owe him fifty cents?” inquired Mrs. Page.

“The fellow is Joe Baker,” replied Ronald. “I lost my Reader, about a month ago, and as he didn’t use his, he wanted to sell it to me, so I bought it.”

“How came you to lose your Reader?” inquired Marcus.

“I don’t know—I never could tell what became of it,” replied Ronald.

“Why didn’t you come to me or to Marcus, if you wanted a new one?” inquired Mrs. Page.

“I didn’t like to—I thought you would think I was careless, to lose my old one,” was the reply.

“And so you ran into debt, with nothing to pay, trusting I would foot the bill some time or other?” said Mrs. Page.

“I thought I could sell some maple sugar, and raise the money, but——” the family ate up nearly all the sugar, he intended to say, but did not.

“When did you agree to pay Baker?” inquired Marcus.

“Oh, he said I might pay him any time when I had the money,” replied Ronald.

“And he has already asked you for it two or three times?” inquired Marcus.

“Yes, sir, he duns me every time he sees me,” said Ronald.

“You are experiencing some of the pleasures of being in debt,” remarked Miss Lee.

“I hope it will be a good lesson to you,” said Mrs. Page.

“Will you let me have the fifty cents?” inquired Ronald.

“I will talk with you about that, some other time,” replied Mrs. Page, and the subject was dropped.

Mrs. Page and Marcus, after talking over Ronald’s financial embarrassment, concluded it would be better not to relieve him at once, but to let him bear the burden of his debt until he could earn the money to pay it up. They thought that by adopting this course the transaction would make a deeper impression on his mind, and perhaps serve as a useful lesson to him as long as he lived. Joseph Baker, who held the demand against Ronald, attended the academy, and Marcus, after consulting him, effected a settlement on the following terms: Ronald gave his promissory note to Joseph for the amount due, running three months from the date of the purchase; and Joseph, in return, gave a receipt in full for the demand. Ronald’s note ran as follows:

50 cents.

Three months after date, for value received, I promise to pay to Joseph Baker, or order, Fifty Cents, with interest.

As the note was dated back one month, Ronald had but two months in which to raise the money. He objected to putting the note on interest, the amount was so small; but Marcus told him this was the proper way to do, and added that possibly the note would not be paid when due, in which case the interest would be larger.

The receipt Ronald received was as follows:

Marcus told Joseph that if he should happen to want the money at any time before the note was due, to bring it to him, and he would “discount” it—that is, give him the money for the note; in which case Ronald would owe the debt to Marcus, instead of to Joseph. This transfer could be made, because the note was payable “to Joseph Baker, or order;” and all Joseph would have to do, to make it the property of another, would be, to write his name across the back of the note.

Jessie’s rule, never to buy anything she could not pay for at the time, is a wise one, for a person situated as she was. She had another excellent business habit, which all might imitate with profit. She kept a strict account of all her money transactions. Every cent she received or expended was noted down in a little book kept for the purpose. She thus cultivated habits of order and economy, had the satisfaction of knowing just where her money went, and could always tell what any particular article cost her, and how long it lasted, by turning to her book.

But Jessie’s account book was after all a small affair. The columns of dollars and cents, on both the Cr. and Dr. side, increased slowly; for the reason that dollars and cents were a very scarce article with her. The little pittance which her mother was able to spare her, was all the money that passed through her hands, and this, with strict economy and self-denial, was barely sufficient to clothe her decently. No one knew how sadly she was sometimes straitened for money, for she never complained of her many disappointments and deprivations.

But though Jessie did not complain, she often sighed in secret for the day when she should be free from dependence and poverty—when she should become a help, instead of being a burden, to her mother. A door of deliverance opened to her sooner than she anticipated. One day, on returning from school, she found her uncle Morrison at the house, waiting to see her. He lived about forty miles distant, and as he had but seldom visited Highburg, when Jessie’s parents were living there, his appearance was quite unexpected. He remained with the family over night, and in the evening explained to his niece the object of his visit. About six months previous to this time, he had buried his only child, a daughter. His wife had been very low-spirited ever since, and both of them deeply felt their loss. They now wished to adopt Jessie in place of the lost child, receiving her into their home as a daughter, and lavishing upon her the care and affection of parental hearts. They knew something of Jessie’s amiable disposition, varied accomplishments, and excellent character, and judged that she was not unworthy of the great favor they sought to confer upon her.

Jessie did not instantly accept the offer, with profuse thanks, as Mr. Morrison expected she would, but she promised to give her answer the next morning. It was no trifling struggle which she passed through that night, in coming to a decision on her uncle’s proposition. If she accepted it, she would at once be delivered from griping poverty, would cease to be an expense to her mother, and would enjoy the comforts and advantages of a permanent home. If this had been all, she might have easily decided the question. But there was something more to be taken into the account. Mr. Morrison, who was a large, jovial and good-hearted, though rather coarse and uncultivated man, kept the tavern in the village where he lived. Jessie had once visited him, and had a vivid recollection of his house, which was pervaded from top to bottom with a mingled flavor of alcohol and tobacco, and was the favorite resort, especially during the evening and the Sabbath, of a set of idle and not very prepossessing men, whose low and profane conversation sometimes penetrated beyond the piazza and the bar-room. Mr. Morrison, though apparently an honest, well-meaning man, seemed to have no religious principle. He was not a church-goer, but spent the Sabbath pretty much as he did other days. He relished the coarse jest, and the story spiced with vulgarity or profaneness, as much as did any of the idlers who frequented his house; and Jessie had a suspicion that he slyly relished his own liquors, too, but of this she was not positive.

Such was the man who proposed to become a father to Jessie. He was doubtless kindly disposed, had ample means, and would do all for her that he had promised. His wife was an excellent woman, with whom Jessie would have esteemed it a privilege to live. The temptation was strong, but the next morning Jessie was prepared to give a firm and decided answer to her uncle. She told him she thought she had better remain where she was—that she was with kind friends, and should soon be fitted to support herself by teaching. Mr. Morrison was surprised at her decision, and tried to reason her out of it, pointing out the advantages she would enjoy, if she went to live with him. Mistaking the ground of her refusal, he told her that if she did not wish to be dependent upon any one, he would give her a first-rate education, after which she might have the privilege of supporting herself by teaching, if she preferred. But his arguments and persuasions all failed, and he was obliged to go home without her. He was not without hope, however, that she would yet “come to her senses,” as he expressed it—for he evidently thought she was beside herself in rejecting such a fine offer; and he told her he would come for her at any time within a few weeks, if she would write. She did write, to thank her aunt for her kindness, and to express her regret that she felt compelled to decline the liberal offer, and that was the end of the matter. She preferred poverty and toil, in her present position, rather than money and ease, coupled with influences that might work disastrously upon her character and her happiness.