ENDORSING A NOTE FOR A FRIEND
When I was a boy I had been great chums with a lad named Larry Friday.
Larry used to sleep at our house every other night, and I would sleep at
his house every other night. We certainly knew each other as well as two
boys could.
About six years before I bought this store, he had left town, when his
father had moved to Providence. His father had failed there, his mother
had died, and Larry, who had always had plenty of spending money, was
thrown on his own resources. I had lost track of him, so you can imagine
my surprise when he walked into the store one day.
We had a long chat over old times and I took him home for the night.
Then he told me that he had saved up a few hundred dollars, and wanted
to get another five hundred dollars, for a little while, to enable him
to buy a small stationery business in Providence. His father had been in
the paper business, and for that reason he naturally leaned toward that
line.
"That's too bad, old man," I remarked, when he told me that he was five
hundred dollars short. "If I had the money I'd be only too glad to lend
it to you," as, indeed, I would have been.
"That's what I came to see you about, partly," he replied, leaning over
and becoming very serious. "Now, the present owner of that store is
willing to take my note for two months for the five hundred dollars, if
I can--find some responsible endorser. Listen, old man,"--and he brought
out several sheets of paper all covered with figures. "Let me tell you
exactly the condition of the store."
The figures that he had seemed to show conclusively that in sixty days
at the most he would have sold enough goods to be able to pay the note.
"You see," said Larry, "I would have three hundred dollars in cash,
anyway, as a working capital, so, in a pinch, I would really only have
to find two hundred dollars to pay it. And if you would endorse it for
me--there's not the least risk in it, or else I wouldn't ask you--I am
willing to pay you interest on the money, if you wish, old man."
"Larry!" I exclaimed, quite disappointed that he should suggest such a
thing as interest. "Indeed I'll endorse the note for you, but don't you
talk of interest, for I'm only too happy to be able to help you a bit!"
Just as I had signed my name on the back of the note, Betty came in.
"What are you doing, Dawson?" she asked sharply.
"Just--" I looked at Larry to see whether he had any objection to my
telling Betty about it.
He said, with a little embarrassment: "It's just a little business
matter between Dawson and me."
"You know, old man," I said to Larry, "I talk all my business over with
Betty. Of course you won't mind my telling her about this, will you?"
"Why, no," he returned, as he picked up the note and put it in his
pocket.
When I told Betty what it was, to my astonishment she said:
"Well, Dawson, if you allow Mr. Friday to have your endorsement on a
note you are very foolish!"
"Betty!" I said, quite mortified to hear her speak so in front of my old
friend.
"And," she continued, looking Larry squarely in the face, "if Mr. Friday
allows his friend to endorse a note for him, I don't think he is much of
a friend."
"I am sorry your wife feels that way about it," said Larry. "I guess I'm
coming between you two, old man. Here's the note--you better take it
back, for I think too much of you to do anything that would affect your
happiness. . . . Although I must say that I think Mrs. Black is unjust
to you and me."
"You put that note right back in your pocket!" I commanded. "Betty," I
said sharply, "this is a matter which I can handle without any help.
Thank you!"
"Dawson," said Betty, holding out her hand to me, "I was vexed."
"Come, Larry, old man," I said, "I've known you too many years to allow
my judgment of you to be swayed."
Larry held out his hand to Betty, who, however, turned coldly away and
left the room.
"If you don't mind, old man," said Larry, "I'll not stay with you
to-night, and if you want that note back--" his hand went toward his
pocket.
"No! If the time comes that I can't trust you, I'll tell you so to your
face!"
"You're a real pal!" exclaimed Larry, with feeling eyes.
He packed his grip, and, with a hearty, silent handshake, he left the
house.
I had felt very much astonished and mortified that Betty should have
acted that way, and I went into the house to reason with her. To my
surprise, she was in her room and the door was locked.
"I want to come in," I said.
"Keep on wanting!" she replied, angrily.
"B-but--" the door was suddenly thrown open, and Betty stood there with
her eyes flashing.
"Don't 'but' me. You can hardly make both ends meet now, and your
business is only just making a bare existence,"--I looked
surprised--"yes, a bare existence; and here you jeopardize your future
by endorsing the note of a friend without knowing the first thing about
it! The thing I advise you to do is to begin to save up five hundred
dollars to pay that note."
I laughed.
"Dawson," she said, "there _are_ times when I don't know whether you're
a fool or not. This is one of the times I'm _sure_ you're one!" And,
with that, she slammed the door in my face, and left me aghast.
Betty was still sulky the next day. She could not get over my having
endorsed that note for Larry. I was disappointed in Betty. I didn't
think she would have me throw down a pal. Besides, it had not cost me
anything to endorse the note, when it was sure to be paid long before it
matured. While trying to get Betty to be reasonable, the telephone bell
rang and I said, "Go answer it, Betty."
"Better answer it yourself," she snapped, "perhaps it is some other
friend who wants you to give him some money."
I picked up the telephone and called, "Hello!"
"Hello, yourself, you old scallywag!" came back a voice which was
familiar, though for a minute I could not place it.
"Who is it?" I asked angrily.
"Who's been biting you?" came back the answer. "This is Fred Barlow, old
surly face. What's the matter, anyway? Had a row with the wife?"
Fred Barlow! Old Barlow's son! If ever there was an irrepressible young
man it was Fred Barlow.
"I'm coming right over to see you," he said, and click went the
receiver.
I went back in the room and growled at Betty: "Fred Barlow's coming over
here. Try to be civil to him."
Betty looked at me for a minute, then crossed the room, and put one arm
around my shoulder.
"Dawson, dear," she said, "you must not get vexed with me. You know,
dearest, I would do everything to make you happy. But you must also
know, dear, you have such a great big heart that you sometimes let it
run away with your head--now, don't you? But you must not get angry with
me. We cannot afford to get cross with each other--can we?"
"I--" but what then happened is nobody's business but ours. Suffice to
say that, when Fred Barlow did breeze into the house, Betty and I were
both smiling, and smiling from our hearts.
"Well, you old turtle doves," said Fred, "what's the price of dollar
razors to-day? I want to buy one so that I can razor rumpus."
"Dawson," said Betty severely, yet with a twinkle in her eye, "please
throw this person out of the house. A man who makes puns on Sunday is
breaking the Sabbath."
"Never mind the Sabbath," said Fred. "If you will ask me to break bread
with you I will stay. What's doing?"
"Well," I said, "I suppose we shall have to ask him, sha'n't we, Betty?"
Then we stopped fooling, and began to talk of general matters. I told
him about Larry Friday.
"Poor old Larry," said Fred.
"Why poor old Larry?" I asked, with a sinking feeling in my heart.
"Why the poor devil only got clear of the bankruptcy court three months
ago. You know he tried to run the Providence business after his father
died, but he made a bad mess of it. Still, I guess he's learned his
lesson."
I had a cold feeling around my heart, and I began to wish that I had
heeded Betty's advice. A five hundred dollar note is not much to
endorse, if a fellow's got the money; but--
"But can he?" I heard Betty ask.
"Of course he can!" said Fred.
"What's that?" I asked, coming out of my brown study.
"I suppose you know," Fred said, "that I am an agent for the Michigan
car, the best little four-cylinder on the market, twenty miles on a
gallon of gas, seats five people, rides like a feather bed, nine
hundred and fifty dollars."
"Hold on," I cried, "if you have come here to sell me a car, just beat
it while the beating is good."
"I have not," he said, "I have come to tell you that you and Charlie
Martin are going joy riding with me. I have to go to Hartford to attend
the conference of the eastern managers of the Michigan Car Company, and
I think the ride, and a day or so off, would do you and Charlie a world
of good."
"But we can't get away."
"Can't!" jeered Fred. "Hear the man, Betty," he said, turning to her.
"Here is a man in business who says 'can't.' Don't you know that failure
comes in 'can't's' and success comes in 'cans.' How many cans of it can
I sell you?"
"You're full of it to-day, aren't you?" I said.
"Bet you I am, had eggs for breakfast, and am full of yokes."
"But," I said, "Charlie and I can't get away together."
"I'll be around at the house at nine-thirty to-morrow morning, and I'll
pick Charlie up before I get here. We will stay at Hartford on Monday
night, and Tuesday I will leave you folks to enjoy yourselves for a
short time while I attend the conference."
"There isn't anything to do in Hartford," I said.
"Nothing to do! Say, Dawson, wake up! You--a retail merchant--saying
'nothing to do' when there's a bunch of good retail stores there, every
one of which should give you a number of good ideas. Don't you want to
see the Charter Oak? Why, there's a whole lot of interesting things in
Hartford, and it certainly would do you and Martin good to visit there
and get an assortment of good wrinkles. Besides, I want to tell you boys
something about automobiles."
"That's awfully good of you, Fred," I said, "but honest Injun, I'm not
interested in automobiles."
"Autos be blowed!" he said.
"Blown," corrected Betty, smiling.
"Have it your own way," said Fred. "Now," said he, turning to me, "you
and Charlie are coming with me to-morrow as my guests, and I'm going to
give you a real good time. I'll be through at the meeting at four or
five o'clock Tuesday night, and then we'll have a good dinner and a nice
midnight ride back home."
"I will go," I said.
"I knew you would," he replied, "and now, Betty, what about that
bread-breaking stunt you spoke of?"