FOUR o’clock came at last, and Tom, having often heard his father say that punctuality was of the utmost importance in all business matters, bent his steps toward the fisher-boy’s home. He was obliged to wait there fully an hour and a half, for Bob, having met with better luck than usual, did not return until half-past five. When, at last, he came in sight, the young trader’s patience was well-nigh exhausted, and he even pondered upon the propriety of giving the fisher-boy some advice in regard to being more punctual in his business appointments. But, as Bob drew near, Tom saw that he had secured a fine load of fish, and, in the excitement of counting his prospective profits, the young trader forgot the lecture he had intended to administer.
After Bob had made his boat fast to the wharf, he went into the house after a pair of scales with which to weigh the fish, and, as he returned, he exclaimed:
“Now, Tom, there’s more than you can carry. I’ll lend you my wagon!”
As he spoke, he brought from behind the house the conveyance in question, which he had made himself; consequently, it was a rude-looking affair, with wooden wheels, that squeaked and grated at a terrible rate as the fisher-boy drew it toward the bank. Bob then sprang into his boat, and began to weigh out the fish, Tom standing by and looking on with his hands in his pockets. Once it occurred to him that a business man ought to examine the articles he purchased; so he raised one of the smallest fish in the tips of his fingers, looked at it a moment, and then finding that he was soiling his hand by the operation, he threw it into the wagon with the others. One thing that not a little surprised Tom, was the readiness with which Bob added up the weights of the different fish. Occasionally the latter would look up and ask, “Is that right?” and Tom would reply, “Yes, that’s correct!” but the truth was, Bob calculated so rapidly that the young trader could not keep pace with him. Once, when the fisher-boy called out, “Fourteen and five are nineteen,” Tom was on the point of counting his fingers to see if it was correct; but, on taking a second thought, he knew that would not look well in a business man, so he was compelled to rely entirely on Bob’s honesty.
“Now, then,” said the latter, when he had weighed all the fish, “there are just twenty-five pounds. Is that what you make it?”
“Yes,” answered Tom, promptly, “that’s right. Now, twenty-five pounds of fish, at three cents a pound, makes—makes—let me see!”
“Seventy-five cents,” replied Bob, readily.
“So it does!” exclaimed Tom; although, if the fisher-boy had told him that the amount was a dollar and a half, he would have been just as ready to believe it. Seventy-five cents was all the money he had left of the two dollars he had drawn that morning. This he counted out to Bob, who received it gladly, for it was a larger amount than he had ever before made in one day.
“If I have good luck, I’ll have as many more for you to-morrow,” said he, as he returned from the house, where he had been to give the money to his mother. “But what’s the matter? Don’t they suit you?”
This question was addressed to the young trader, who stood looking at his wagon-load of fish, with rather a doleful countenance. The question had occurred to him, how he was to get them up to the store? He knew that the wagon, when in motion, made a great noise with its wooden wheels, which would be certain to attract the attention of every one he met, and he did not think it would look well for a man of business to be seen walking through the streets drawing a wagon-load of fish after him. His pride was too great for that.
“Bob,” said he, at length, a bright idea striking him, “I’ll give you twenty-five cents if you will take those fish up to Mr. Henry’s store for me.”
The fisher-boy, who would gladly have undertaken the task for half that sum, not deeming any way of earning an honest penny a disgrace, at once took hold of the wagon-tongue and started off. Tom followed him for a short distance; but, as he had expected, the loud creaking of the wheels drew the attention of every person on the streets, who looked first at the fisher-boy and then at Tom, until the latter, unable to endure it longer, turned off and went around by the wharf, leaving Bob to himself. When he arrived at Mr. Henry’s store, he found the fisher-boy there, and the grocer had just finished weighing out his fish.
“Ah, here you are!” he exclaimed, as the young trader entered. “Please come with me, and I will settle with you.” And Tom was conducted to the office with as much ceremony as if he had just sold Mr. Henry a bill of goods to the amount of hundreds of dollars.
“Now then, Tom,” said the grocer, producing his pocket-book, “twenty-five pounds of fish, at five cents a pound, makes just a dollar, even change—eh, Tom?”
Bob Jennings would promptly have answered, “No, sir;” but Tom could not tell how much he ought to receive without stopping to count his fingers, and, of course, that would not look well in a man of business. So he replied:
“Yes, sir; that’s right. A dollar is all I want.”
During the conversation with Mr. Newcombe that morning, the grocer had learned exactly how matters stood in regard to Tom; and in withholding a quarter of a dollar that rightfully belonged to the young trader, he was but carrying out Mr. Newcombe’s suggestion. The latter wished Tom to learn, by experience, since he would not take advice, that he could not be too particular. Besides, Mr. Henry was losing money on all the fish he bought of Tom; for, while he paid him five cents a pound, he could sell them for only three. But this was another suggestion of Mr. Newcombe’s, who, of course, made good all his losses.
Although the merchant was considerably surprised at Tom’s answer, he counted out the money, and the young trader walked to the door and paid Bob his quarter of a dollar.
The fisher-boy, highly elated with his good fortune—for he had made just a dollar that day, besides what he had received for ferrying the workmen across the harbor—started homeward with a light heart, leaving his employer in deep thought. Tom appeared to be very much absorbed in his reflections, for he stood in the doorway several minutes, scarcely heeding the persons that jostled him as they passed in and out of the store. Presently he walked back toward the office, and, discovering a vacant space behind some barrels, where he would be unobserved, he seated himself on the floor, drew his money out of his pocket, and counted it.
He had just three-quarters of a dollar. He counted it over and over several times, in order to satisfy himself that he had made no mistake, and finally searched all his pockets in the hope of discovering more. But seventy-five cents was all he could find; and gradually the unwelcome conviction forced itself upon Tom’s mind that, in some utterly inexplicable manner, he had been a loser by the day’s operation. He had started out that morning with two dollars, and now, after his speculation had been accomplished, he had only three-quarters of a dollar remaining.
“Somebody has cheated me!” said Tom to himself, as he arose from his concealment and walked thoughtfully out of the store. “It’s Bob Jennings, that’s who it is; and the contract says there’s to be no swindling. O, I can’t be a trader. I knew I couldn’t before I commenced. This fish business doesn’t pay, anyhow. I thought I should make at least three or four dollars to-day.”
The young trader walked homeward with rather a crest-fallen air, and his acquaintances, who met him on the streets, and to whom he had that morning explained his scheme in such glowing language, had no difficulty in discovering that Tom’s first attempt at speculating had proved a failure. When he reached home and entered the room where his father sat reading his paper, the latter also saw, at a glance, that Tom had not been successful. We ought also to say that he knew exactly where his son had made his mistake. He had seen him spending his money foolishly in the morning; had met Bob Jennings as he was taking the fish to the store; and the grocer had also told him that he had withheld a quarter of a dollar of Tom’s money. He also knew that if the young trader had managed his business properly, he would have made just fifty cents by his day’s work. Thus, he was well acquainted with all the facts of the case; but he wished to hear Tom’s opinion of the matter. Appearing to take no notice of his son’s gloomy looks, he asked, in a cheerful voice:
“Well, how much have you made to-day?”
“O, I haven’t made a red cent,” drawled Tom. “I’ve lost money. I knew I couldn’t be a trader.”
“Perhaps somebody cheated you,” said Mr. Newcombe.
“O, I know they did,” replied Tom, in a gloomy voice. “There are a good many swindlers about, and I believe Bob Jennings is one of ’em.”
By adroit questioning—for Tom was so disgusted with the result of his first attempt at speculating, that he did not seem at all inclined to talk about it—Mr. Newcombe finally drew all the particulars from his son; and when the latter told how much he had received for his fish, the merchant exclaimed:
“There’s where you lost some of your money. You ought to have received more than that. Twenty-five pounds of fish, at five cents a pound, makes a dollar and twenty-five cents.”
“So it does!” said Tom, after thinking a moment; though the fact was, he did not know whether his father was right or wrong. “I’ll go right back to Mr. Henry and tell him that I want another quarter. Now, father, where’s my cap?”
“Never mind your cap now,” said the merchant. “It’s too late! The mistake ought to have been rectified before you left the store. But how does it come that you did not know how much was due you? Didn’t you make any calculations?”
“O, no, I didn’t,” drawled Tom. “I didn’t stop to make out any bill. I supposed I was dealing with an honest man! I didn’t think Mr. Henry would be mean enough to cheat me.”
“That’s no excuse. If every man in the world was perfectly honest, that would be no reason why business should be conducted in a careless manner. Hereafter, when you sell any thing, be sure and make out your bill beforehand, so that you will know just how much is coming to you. Now, sit down here.”
Tom obeyed, and Mr. Newcombe again commenced a lengthy lecture, containing advice which he hardly expected his son would follow. He endeavored to impress upon his mind the necessity of being very particular in all his business transactions, and showed him how impossible it was for him to succeed so long as he allowed his pride to stand in his way. Any honorable labor, he said, was no disgrace; an honest working man was always respected; and he that could work, and would not, ought to starve. He easily cleared Bob Jennings of the charge of swindling, and placed all the blame on Tom’s shoulders—right where it belonged. No suggestion or item of information that Mr. Newcombe thought would be of service to the young trader was omitted, and, for once, Tom was almost convinced that he, and he alone, was to blame for his failure. He brightened up when he found where he had made his mistake, and resolved that, in all his future operations, he would be careful to avoid the rock on which his day’s hopes had been wrecked. He would not spend any of his money foolishly, neither would he pay Bob Jennings another quarter of a dollar for pulling a wagon-load of fish through the streets; he would do it himself, no matter what his friends said about it.
But trading in fish he still thought would not pay. If he made only fifty cents a day, that would be but three dollars a week; and, at that rate, it would take him at least a year to save enough to buy a vessel like the trading sloop. Although he said nothing to his father on the subject, he resolved that the next day he would commence operations on a grander scale. So, on the following morning, as soon as he had eaten his breakfast, he started to pay a visit to Mr. Henry, the grocer.
“Ah, Tom!” exclaimed the latter, as the young trader entered. “Any more fish to-day?”
“No, sir!” was the reply. “I intend to take a short sail up the coast; so I thought I would stop and inquire if you want any eggs, butter, or chickens!”
“Yes, we want all we can get,” answered the grocer. “We pay the highest market prices.”
Tom, without thinking to inquire what the “highest market prices” for each particular article were, left the store, and in a few moments stood in the presence of his father, whom he asked for ten dollars, to enable him to carry out his new project. The money was duly paid, and the young trader, remembering his previous experience, carefully counted it twice before he gave a receipt, which was worded like the one he had given his father on a former occasion. Tom then set out for the home of the fisher-boy, and, as before, found him getting ready to begin his day’s work. He, however, at once abandoned the idea, when Tom offered to give him a dollar, if he would assist him in taking the Mystery on a short voyage up the bay.
“I’m not going to speculate in fish any more,” said he. “It doesn’t pay. I’m going to show you, now, how to make money.”
In half an hour the Mystery lay at the wharf in front of the mansion, with her sails hoisted, all ready for the start. In the forward part of the boat were several boxes, baskets, and pails, in which the young trader intended to bring home the articles he purchased; and Captain Newcombe, as he now called himself, stood on the wharf with his hands in his pockets, waiting for his first mate Bob, who had gone to the house after some provisions that were necessary for the trip. In a few moments the fisher-boy made his appearance, and when the provisions had been carefully stowed away, the painter was cast off, the captain took his stand in the stern-sheets, which he called his quarter-deck, Bob seated himself at the helm, and the Mystery began her first trading voyage.