A Scotch tradesman, who had amassed, as he believed, £4000, was
surprised at his old clerk’s showing by a balance-sheet his fortune
to be £6000. “It canna be--count again,” said the old man. The clerk
did count again, and again declared the balance to be £6000. Time
after time he cast up the columns--it was still a 6, and not a 4,
that rewarded his labours. So the old merchant, on the strength of
his good fortune, modernised his house, and put money in the purse
of the carpenter, the painter, and the upholsterer. Still, however,
he had a lurking doubt of the existence of the extra £2000; so one
winter’s night he sat down to give the columns “one count more.” At
the close of his task he jumped up as though he had been galvanised,
and rushed out in a shower of rain to the house of the clerk, who,
capped and drowsy, put out his head from an attic window at the sound
of the knocker, mumbling, “Who’s there, and what d’ye want?” “It’s
me, ye scoundrel!” exclaimed his employer. “Ye’ve added up the year
of our Lord amang the poons!”