_A Glimpse at the Commercial Education of the Future_.
Twelve o'Clock struck, and the Fourth Form at St. Dunstan's left its
class-room with a rush. The old hour of leaving off the morning's
studies was still preserved. Yet, in conformity with the spirit of the
times, the venerable foundation of St. Dunstan's had recently witnessed
great changes. The Governing Body had taken the matter in hand, and had
gone to work with a will. The teaching of Greek and Latin had been
entirely suppressed, polite literature eliminated, and the whole
curriculum of the school arranged solely to the provision of that
glaring want of the times, a sound commercial education. To effect this,
some radical changes had been necessary. The Rev. +Jabez Plumkin+, D.D.,
Oxford Prizeman, through whose unwearied exertions, for the past
five-and-twenty years, St. Dunstan's had been gradually acquiring an
increasing fame in the Class-lists of both Universities, had been
forcibly ejected from the Head-Mastership, and his place filled by a
leading member of a well-known firm of advertising stock-jobbers, and
the Assistant-Masters had all been selected on similar lines.
"Company-floating," was taught by a late Promoter, who had had much
experience in the creation of many bubble concerns, and "Rigging the
Market" was entrusted to a Professor who was known, in his capacity as
Accountant to a wholesale City Cheese Warehouse, to have contracted a
thorough familiarity with this important subject of the new commercial
education. Everything was done to foster a spirit of keen speculative
enterprise in the boys. The whole traditions of the school were changed.
The old idea of honour had died out. How to over-reach each other by
sharp practice was the one idea that animated every youthful breast from
the senior in the Sixth to the junior in the Under Third. The tape was
always working at the Principal's desk. The study-tables were covered
with Stock and Mining Journals. Even the playground was turned into a
Money Market. Cricket had been banished to make way for the more
exciting game of "Bulls and Bears," and the Principal passing through
occasionally, would sometimes stop and say, "That's right, my boys,
learn to do each other, and remember the motto of your School, 'Monies
maketh man.'" Posted up upon the gates, communicated by telegraph hourly
from the City, were every day to be found the latest prices. And it was
to get a first look at this that the Fourth Form had just left its
class-room with a rush.
A crowd of eager faces were anxiously scanning the latest quotations,
and notes were being taken in a score of pocket-books, whipped out for
the purpose. +Tom Brown & Co.+--he had earned this _sobriquet_ from his
companions for his shrewd business capacity--did not, however, join the
throng, but stood a little way off, looking on, and waiting for the
excitement to abate. Gradually it calmed down, and the boys broke up
into little knots and groups, discussing the state of the market. Then
he spoke:--
"Look here, you fellows," he said, "I've got a good thing on here, that,
I fancy, will be more worth your attention than even the latest prices."
He pulled a prospectus from his pocket. An interested crowd closed round
him at once. "It's 'Old Mother +Noggins+, Limited,'" he went on, reading
from the paper before him, "This Company has been started for the
purpose of acquiring at wholesale prices all the tarts, bull's-eyes,
apples, toffy, and ginger-beer, forming the present stock-in-trade of
Old Mother +Noggins's+ store, and for retailing the same at a figure,
that will, after paying the guaranteed interest on the fourpenny
debenture shares, admit of the declaration of a dividend of 14 per cent.
on the ordinary paid-up share capital of the Company.
A buzz of excited admiration went up from the throng. The Fourth Form at
St. Dunstan's had not for a long time had such a good thing put before
it.
"I know," continued +Tom+, producing a bundle of forms of application
from his pocket, "that you fellows, would like to hear of it. Who'll go
for it?"
There was a loud responsive shout of "I!" and a dozen hands were at once
stretched towards the speaker. Business commenced, and sixpences,
shillings, and half-crowns were pouring into +Tom's+ pockets faster than
he could cram them there. He was making a very good morning's work of
it. Presently, a dull, heavy-looking boy joined the group.
"Hullo, +Flopper+!" cried +Tom+, addressing this last arrival, "why
don't you put that ten bob your Uncle sent you into this thing? I'll be
bound he told you to turn it over. You won't get such a chance every
day."
"What is it?" asked +Flopper+.
A chorus of voices instantly joined in a brief explanation of the
advantages of investing in "Old Mother +Noggins'+ Limited."
"By Jove!" said +Flopper+, "I don't know that I won't."
"Not if I know it," cried an authoritative voice, breaking in upon the
scene. It was +Snagsby+, the "Sharper" who spoke. There was a general
look in his direction, and a disposition to make way for him as he
approached. He had been mixed up disadvantageously in a recent "corner"
in marbles, and had from time to time floated several concerns that had
never paid any dividends, and was generally regarded as a "queer"
customer in consequence. It was for this reason that he had been
nicknamed the "Sharper."
"And what do you want him to do with his money?" asked +Tom+, stepping
forward in a defiant attitude.
"He'll put every blessed halfpenny of it into my 'General Pen-knife
Supply,'" was the laconic reply. "He signed for the allotment last
night."
"But I've changed my mind," pleaded +Flopper+, helplessly, and he handed
the half-sovereign to +Tom+.
"You give that up!" cried the Sharper, menacingly.
"You try to take it!" replied +Tom+, grimly.
In another instant the Sharper had flown at +Tom+. There was a brief
struggle. +Tom+ hit out at him, and caught him in the face.
"Oh, that's your game, is it!" shouted the Sharper. "You'll fight me for
that."
"Fight you? When and where you like," replied +Tom+.
There was a general cheering and throwing up of hats.
"Hooray! There's going to be a fight between the Sharper and +Tom Brown
& Co.+," shouted the Fourth Form. They hadn't had such good news for a
long time.
* * * * *
The whole School was there, and the third round had been fought. Betting
had been fast and furious, and there had been several attempts made by
the supporters of both champions to break the ring and put an end to the
contest when the fortunes of the day seemed to be going against their
own special favourite. But now a curious thing happened. After a little
preliminary sparring in the fourth round, +Tom Brown & Co.+, suddenly
dropping on one knee, went to the ground.
In a few seconds the surprising news was known that he had given in. The
sponge was thrown up, and the Sharper declared the victor. +Tom+ was
quickly surrounded by his friends, and led off the field. +Flopper+ ran
up to him. "I'm so sorry, +Tom+," he said, "that you should have fought
in my quarrel, and have got licked."
There was a twinkle in +Tom's+ eye. "My dear fellow," he replied. "Don't
imagine I wouldn't have thrashed him; but business is business, and I
got a good price for not doing so. Didn't you twig that _I sold the
fight_?"
* * * * *
That night +Tom Brown & Co.+ wrote home an enthusiastic account of his
day's doings to his parents. The next morning, +Tom Brown+, Senior,
referring to the letter with a glow of pride on his commercial face,
remarked to his better-half that the boy's training seemed perfect, and
that he was destined to turn out remarkably well. "I can't tell you," he
added, "how I long to see that boy loose upon the Stock Exchange. He
will be a credit to the family."
* * * * *
A book has been recently published entitled _The Amateur's Guide to
Architecture_, by +Sophie Beale+. Sophie shows us how a house should be
Beale't. But just imagine an Amateur Architect!!
* * *
The complaint of the Charity Organisation Society, slightly varied from
+Shakspeare+, is that "The quality of Mercy is not _trained_."
* * * * *