AH me! Am I really a rich man, or am I not? That is the question. I
am sure I don't feel rich; and yet, here I am written down among the
“wealthy citizens” as being worth seventy thousand dollars! How the
estimate was made, or who furnished the data, is all a mystery to me. I
am sure I wasn't aware of the fact before. “Seventy thousand dollars!”
That sounds comfortable, doesn't it? Seventy thousand dollars!--But
where is it? Ah! There is the rub! How true it is that people always
know more about you than you do yourself.
Before this unfortunate book came out (“The Wealthy Citizens of
Philadelphia”), I was jogging on very quietly. Nobody seemed to be aware
of the fact that I was a rich man, and I had no suspicion of the thing
myself. But, strange to tell, I awoke one morning and found myself worth
seventy thousand dollars! I shall never forget that day. Men who had
passed me in the street with a quiet, familiar nod, now bowed with a low
salaam, or lifted their hats deferentially, as I encountered them on the
_pave_.
“What's the meaning of all this?” thought I. “I haven't stood up to
be shot at, nor sinned against innocence and virtue. I haven't been to
Paris. I don't wear moustaches. What has given me this importance?”
And, musing thus, I pursued my way in quest of money to help me out
with some pretty heavy payments. After succeeding, though with some
difficulty in obtaining what I wanted, I returned to my store about
twelve o'clock. I found a mercantile acquaintance awaiting me, who,
without many preliminaries, thus stated his business:
“I want,” said he, with great coolness, “to get a loan of six or seven
thousand dollars; and I don't know of any one to whom I can apply with
more freedom and hope of success than yourself. I think I can satisfy
you, fully, in regard to security.
“My dear sir,” replied I, “if you only wanted six or seven hundred
dollars, instead of six or seven thousand dollars, I could not
accommodate you. I have just come in from a borrowing expedition
myself.”
I was struck with the sudden change in the man's countenance. He was not
only disappointed, but offended. He did not believe my statement. In
his eyes, I had merely resorted to a subterfuge, or, rather, told a
lie, because I did not wish to let him have my money. Bowing with cold
formality, he turned away and left my place of business. His manner to
me has been reserved ever since.
On the afternoon of that day, I was sitting in the back part of my store
musing on some, matter of business, when I saw a couple of ladies enter.
They spoke to one of my clerks, and he directed them back to where I was
taking things comfortably in an old arm-chair.
“Mr. G----, I believe?” said the elder of the two ladies, with a bland
smile.
I had already arisen, and to this question, or rather affirmation, I
bowed assent.
“Mr. G----,” resumed the lady, producing a small book as she spoke, “we
are a committee, appointed to make collections in this district for
the purpose of setting up a fair in aid of the funds of the Esquimaux
Missionary Society. It is the design of the ladies who have taken this
matter in hand to have a very large collection of articles, as the funds
of the society are entirely exhausted. To the gentlemen of our district,
and especially to those who leave been liberally _blessed with this
world's goods_”--this was particularly emphasized--“we look for
important aid. Upon you, sir, we have called first, in order that you
may head the subscription, and thus set an example of liberality to
others.”
And the lady handed me the book in the most “of course” manner in the
world, and with the evident expectation that I would put down at least
fifty-dollars.
Of course I was cornered, and must do something, I tried to be bland
and polite; but am inclined to think that I failed in the effort. As for
fairs, I never did approve of them. But that was nothing. The enemy had
boarded me so suddenly and so completely, that nothing, was left for
me but to surrender at discretion, and I did so with as good grace as
possible. Opening my desk, I took out a five dollar bill and presented
it; to the elder of the two ladies, thinking that I was doing very well
indeed. She took the money, but was evidently disappointed; and did not
even ask me to head the list with my name.
“How money does harden the heart!” I overheard one of my fair
visiters say to the other, in a low voices but plainly intended for my
edification, as they walked off with their five dollar bill.
“Confound your impudence!” I said to myself, thus taking my revenge out
of them. “Do you think I've got nothing else to do with my money but
scatter it to the four winds?”
And I stuck my thumbs firmly in the armholes of my waistcoat, and took a
dozen turns up and down my store, in order to cool off.
“Confound your impudence!” I then repeated, and quietly sat down again
in the old arm-chair.
On the next day I had any number of calls from money-hunters. Business
men, who had never thought of asking me for loans, finding that I
was worth seventy thousand dollars, crowded in upon me for temporary
favours, and, when disappointed in their expectations, couldn't seem to
understand it. When I spoke of being “hard up” myself, they looked as if
they didn't clearly comprehend what I meant.
A few days after the story of my wealth had gone abroad, I was sitting,
one evening, with my family, when I was informed that a lady was in the
parlour, and wished to see me.
“A lady!” said I.
“Yes, sir,” replied the servant.
“Is she alone?”
“Yes, sir.”
“What does she want?”
“She did not say, sir.”
“Very well. Tell her I'll be down in a few moments.”
When I entered the parlour, I found a woman, dressed in mourning, with
her veil closely drawn.
“Mr. G----?” she said, in a low, sad voice.
I bowed, and took a place upon the sofa where she was sitting, and from
which she had not risen upon my entrance.
“Pardon the great liberty I have taken,” she began, after a pause of
embarrassment, and in an unsteady voice. “But, I believe I have not
mistaken your character for sympathy and benevolence, nor erred in
believing that your hand is ever ready to respond to the generous
impulses of our heart.”