TOM MAKES NEW BARGAINS.
The wind being favorable, the little vessel, with all her sails set,
glided rapidly away from the shore; and Bob, in obedience to the
order of his employer, shaped her course toward a point about five
miles distant, where Tom, in one of his sailing excursions, had seen
a thrifty farm-house, at which he hoped to be able to purchase his
cargo. Captain Newcombe remained standing on his quarter-deck, now
and then looking up at the sails, as he had seen the skipper of the
Savannah do, until the Mystery was fairly under way; then he seated
himself in the stern-sheets, and began to talk with Bob; giving
him some insight into his new plan of operations. From some cause
or another, he always felt well satisfied with himself whenever he
had any new project in view; and the present expedition seemed more
to his liking than any thing he had ever before undertaken. As was
invariably the case with him, he confidently expected unbounded
success to attend his efforts, and he determined that, from that day
forward, he would make regular trips up the bay. This resolution he
communicated to Bob, and also began to explain to him the manner in
which he intended to dispose of his profits.
“I shall make at least ten dollars to-day,” said he; “and, if I make
three trips each week, and clear ten dollars each trip, that will
be--that will be--let me see, how much?” (Tom never could calculate
his expenses or profits by the day; he always wanted to know how much
they would amount to in a week.)
“That would be thirty dollars a week,” said Bob, who was rather
surprised at the magnitude of the young trader’s imaginary profits.
“So it would! And that would amount to--to--how much a year? Five
hundred dollars, at least, wouldn’t it?”
“Yes,” answered the fisher-boy, who did not know how much it was best
to assist Tom in his calculations. “It would make more than that.”
“Well, now, the Swallow cost about a hundred and fifty dollars,” said
Captain Newcombe. “That’s lots of money; but if I made thirty dollars
a week, I could pay for her in--in--a few months, couldn’t I?”
“Yes,” answered Bob, again. “It wouldn’t take long to pay for her at
that rate.”
“Then,” said Tom, settling back on his elbow, “I have decided that
I shall follow trading for a business. It’s easy work, and I know
I shall be certain to succeed. Now, Bob,” and here he straightened
himself up again, “when we get into port, I want you to call me
captain. I am master of this vessel, you know; and if you intend
to be a sailor, you might as well learn one time as another how to
address your officers. I will call you Mr. Jennings, because you are
my first mate.”
Bob thought this rather a droll proposition; but, as he could not
well afford to offend his employer, who was paying him much more
money for a day’s work than he could have earned by fishing, he
promised obedience, and Captain Newcombe again returned to the
subject of his profits. The amounts, according to Bob’s reckoning,
greatly exceeded his expectations, and he did not wish to talk
about any thing else. Once, the fisher-boy, who thought the young
trader was placing his mark rather high--in fact, altogether _too_
high--ventured to remark that “perhaps he wouldn’t make quite thirty
dollars a week;” and Tom’s reply was:
“Mr. Jennings, I am the captain of this vessel, and if I don’t know
my own business, it is time I was discharged, and some better man put
in my place. Don’t you suppose I can calculate figures? If I make
three trips each week--and there is nothing to prevent it--and clear
ten dollars each trip--and there’s nothing in the world to prevent
that, either--won’t that amount to thirty dollars a week?” and thus
Bob was silenced.
Captain Newcombe thoroughly discussed the subject in all its
bearings, and he invariably arrived at the same conclusion--namely,
that in a few weeks, he would be the owner of the Swallow, or of a
sloop exactly like her. This made him more firm than ever in his
belief that he was right in his calculations; “for,” said he, “if I
was wrong, I wouldn’t get the same result every time, would I? Of
course I wouldn’t.”
“Now, then, Bob,” he continued, “it’s a settled thing that I am to be
a trader, and that I am to own a sloop exactly like the Swallow. I’ll
need a crew, then, won’t I? How much will you take to go as my first
mate? You and I can manage her.”
“Would I have regular work?” asked Bob.
“Yes; all you can do. When we are not off on a voyage, you’ll have
to watch the vessel, keep her in order, and see that the tides, or a
storm, don’t wash her ashore.”
“Well,” said the fisher-boy, after thinking a moment, “I’ll do it for
fifty cents a day.”
“Fifty cents a day!” repeated Captain Newcombe, slowly. “That would
be--let me see--how much a week?”
“Three dollars,” said Bob.
“That’s cheaper than I expected,” continued Tom. “That’s too cheap.
I’ll give you seventy-five cents a day. Is that enough?”
Bob was so amazed at this novel way of making a bargain that he did
not answer immediately; and the young trader, thinking that perhaps
he was not satisfied with his offer, exclaimed:
“Isn’t that enough? Well, then, I’ll give you a dollar a day. Does
that suit you?”
If Bob had still hesitated, Captain Newcombe might have made him an
offer of still higher wages, but he honestly replied:
“A dollar a day is a man’s pay, and that is more than I can earn. But
if you think you can afford to give it to me, I am willing to work
hard for it!”
“Of course I can give it to you,” said Tom. “We’ll put it down in
writing.”
So saying, he produced his memorandum-book, and settling himself into
a comfortable position, began to study up a contract.
The fisher-boy was not accustomed to this way of doing business,
neither was he at all pleased with it. He entertained very serious
misgivings as to Tom’s ability to carry out his grand ideas, and
he did not like to be promised such high wages unless he could
positively rely on receiving them. He did not wish to offend his
employer, but still he thought it prudent to suggest a delay in the
signing of the contract until they had made at least one trial of
Tom’s scheme. They would then be better able to judge whether or not
such an arrangement could be made. Captain Newcombe listened very
patiently, and, when Bob had ceased speaking, he straightened himself
up and answered:
“Mr. Jennings, what kind of a trader would I be if I couldn’t make
my own calculations? Why, I would be swindled out of the last cent I
had. (Tom hesitated a little as he said this, for he remembered his
experience of the previous day.) But if a man does his own figuring,
no one can cheat him. Now I am just as certain that I shall make ten
dollars to-day as I am that I am now sitting in this boat. So, you
see, I can afford to pay you good wages. A dollar a day! that would
be--let me think a moment--how much a week!”
“Six dollars,” said Bob.
“Well, is it a bargain?”
The fisher-boy, although far from being convinced, replied that
he would be more than satisfied with the wages offered, provided
the business could be carried on according to those calculations;
and Tom, thinking that he had made the matter perfectly clear to
Bob’s comprehension, again turned his attention to his contract
and shipping articles. The Mystery rocked considerably as she
glided over the little waves, and this had the effect of making
Tom’s writing look worse than ever. But he studied hard and worked
perseveringly to draw up the important document (and that was more
than he would have done had it been his arithmetic lesson), and
when it was finished he handed it to Bob, who, after a good deal of
trouble, made out the following:
CONTRAK AND SHIPING ARTIKLES--
be it known to All men that you and i bob jennings and thomas
newcombe do Hearby agree that when i shall make Money enough to by
the Swalow, That i will Give you six dolers a weak to be my crew
and first Mait, every day except sundys, and That i will treat you
kindly and allways pay You the money when it is dew, if you do
Your work up square and no fooling when i get the Boat, and both
of us shall try To make us happy and friendly. witness my Hand and
yours.--if i should happen to Slip up on getting The boat, then
this Contrak and shiping artikles is not of any use--and is not
Binding on said thomas newcombe and bob jennings.
“Now,” said Tom, when the fisher-boy had finished reading the
document, “that is plain enough, isn’t it? Well, then, let me sign it
first, because I am the captain, you know.”
After they had both affixed their signatures to the contract, Tom put
it carefully away in his pocket, and here the subject was dropped.
Even Captain Newcombe had grown weary of counting his imaginary
profits, and he began to wish they were at their journey’s end. As
usual with him, he became very uneasy. He grew tired of sitting
still, and first he wished that a sloop about the size of the Mystery
would come along, so that they could have a race. Then he wished
there was “some boy on board learning to be a sailor;” wouldn’t he
make him “sup sorrow with a big spoon,” in revenge for the manner in
which the second mate of the Savannah had treated him? Then he almost
wished that a storm would come up; and, turning to the fisher-boy, he
asked:
“Do you believe that if a fellow whistles while on board a vessel, it
will get up a hurricane?”
“Father used to say it would,” answered Bob. “But I never tried it,
and I don’t want to.”
“I wish I could start up a little more breeze. I wouldn’t want a hard
one, for the Mystery couldn’t weather it. But I’ll run the risk;”
and, as Captain Newcombe ceased speaking, he began to whistle, at the
same time casting his eyes rather suspiciously around the horizon,
to see if the storm was coming. But there was not a single cloud
to obscure the sun, which beat mercilessly down upon them; and Tom
finally gave up his attempt in disgust, and again stretched himself
out in the stern-sheets, under the shade of the mainsail.
Although the Mystery was making remarkably quick time, she did not
sail fast enough to suit her impatient captain, who, every few
minutes, raised himself on his elbow, and looked toward the point,
which still seemed as far off as when they left the wharf. But,
nevertheless, they were gradually drawing nearer to it, and, at the
end of an hour, Bob rounded-to and landed on the beach, a short
distance from the farm-house.
As soon as the fisher-boy had hauled down the sails, Tom sprang
ashore, drew his memorandum-book from his pocket, thrust his pencil
behind his ear, and walked toward the house. Presently a man appeared
at the door, and, as soon as Tom arrived within speaking distance, he
inquired:
“Have you any eggs, butter, or chickens to sell?”
“Wal, yes,” replied the farmer, slowly surveying the young trader
from head to foot. “We’ve got some. Be you a buyin’?”
“Yes,” answered Tom. “I am paying the highest market prices--the very
highest.”
“Wal, yes! But how much?” asked the man.
“That depends upon the quality of your goods,” replied Tom promptly,
assuming a very knowing look, as if he understood what he was talking
about. “Let me see what you have to sell, and then I’ll tell you what
I’ll give for it.”
“Wal, sartin; step this way.”
Captain Newcombe and his mate followed the farmer, who conducted
them around the building, and into a room, which he called the
“milk-house;” where he showed them a large basket of eggs, beside
which stood a tub that contained several rolls of fine fresh butter.
“How many dozen have you?” asked Tom, after he had held one of the
eggs toward the sun to see if it was fresh, though, the fact was, he
knew as much about the matter before he made his examination as he
did afterward.
“O, they are all right,” said the farmer. “If you can find a bad one
among ’em, I’ll give ’em all to you. Now, let me see how many there
are. There’s just twenty dozen an’ two over,” he continued, after he
had counted them--“call it even twenty dozen. Now, how much be you
payin’?”
“Well,” answered Tom slowly, as if he was thinking the matter over,
“eggs are high now, and I’ll give you twenty cents a dozen for them.”
“Twenty cents!” repeated the farmer, in surprise. “Wal, I should say
that eggs was high. Things must have riz up like mighty in Newport
lately. Mebbe I can find some more for you;” and going to the door of
the kitchen, he called out: “Betsy! Betsy! can’t you rake up a few
more eggs somewhere? There’s a chap out here payin’ a good price for
’em.”
“Tom--I mean captain,” whispered Bob, pulling the young trader by his
coat-sleeve, “you can’t afford to give so much for those eggs. You’ll
certainly--”
“Now, Mr. Jennings,” interrupted Tom, “you hold your tongue. I guess
I know what I am about.”
“But, captain,” persisted the fisher-boy, “you can’t make a cent on--”
“Now, look here,” said the young trader, angrily, “once for all,
will you keep still? What do you know about speculating? Those eggs
are worth as much to me as they are to him; and, if I had owned them
in the first place, I wouldn’t have sold them for less than twenty
cents. I don’t want to swindle the man. Now you go to the boat and
get some baskets and pails.”
Bob reluctantly started off to obey the order, and, just at that
moment, the farmer returned, rubbing his hands with delight when he
thought of the bargain he had made.
“Now, then,” said he, “the old woman says there’s ten pounds of
butter in that ar’ kag. What’s it wuth? You can see that it is fresh
an’ nice. Betsy always gets a higher price for her butter and eggs
than any one else in the country.”
“Does she?” inquired Tom. “Then I’ll give you twenty-two cents a
pound for it.”
“Wal, I declare to goodness!” ejaculated the farmer, “how things have
riz up! A feller can live easy when he can get such prices as them
for what he has to sell.”
As the man spoke, he took down a pair of scales from a nail over the
door, and, having carefully tied the butter in a cloth, he said, as
he held the scales up so that Tom could see the weight:
“A trifle over ten pounds; but we’ll call it even ten, ’cause the
cloth weighs something, you know.”
“That’s all right,” said Tom. “So far, so good. Now, have you any
chickens to sell?”
“Wal, no,” was the reply. “If eggs is worth that much, Betsy won’t
want to sell the chickens.”
At this moment, Tom happened to look out at the door, and discovered
three very fine fowls walking about the yard. They were as white as
snow, and considerably larger than any the young trader had ever seen
before; and, from their great size, he at once put them down as game
chickens. He once heard of a man who had made a fortune by dealing
in property of that kind, and here was an opportunity too good to be
lost. Pointing to the chickens, he asked:
“Can that rooster fight?”
“Wal, yes,” answered the farmer; “he’s like four-cent sugar--all
grit. He beats all the other chickens on the place like two hundred.”
“I thought so,” said Tom. “Do you want to sell him?”
“Wal, no; I don’t care about it.”
“I’ll give you three dollars for him and those two hens.”
“Wal, I declare to gracious!” said the farmer, “has chickens riz up,
too? I’ll take that for ’em; but you’ll have to help me drive ’em
into the barn afore we can ketch ’em.”
While this conversation was going on, Bob returned from the boat,
loaded with baskets and pails. The butter was first packed away in
one of the pails, and covered with a clean, white cloth, which the
farmer furnished them, and the fisher-boy then turned his attention
to the eggs.
“Captain,” said he, “we ought to pack them in something. We’ll be
certain to break more than half of them if we carry them loose in
these baskets.”
“Can’t you give us some oats or bran?” asked Tom, turning to the
farmer.
“Wal, no,” answered the man.
“Straw or hay would answer our purpose just as well,” said Bob; “and,
besides, it wouldn’t cost any thing.”
“O, no; I can’t have my eggs packed in straw or hay,” drawled Tom.
“It wouldn’t look well. Did you ever see eggs come into Newport
packed in any thing besides oats or bran? Haven’t you any oats?” he
asked, again turning to the farmer.
“Wal, yes; I’ve got some in the bundle. I’ll thrash out some for you
for half a dollar.”
“Go and do it, then,” said Tom.
As the man turned to leave the house, his wife entered, having
succeeded in finding another dozen of eggs. She also expressed her
astonishment that “things had riz up so fast;” to which Tom replied
that the articles were worth, to him, every cent he had paid for
them. The extra dozen were placed with the others; and then Tom,
seeing that the farmer was endeavoring to drive his game chickens
toward the barn, sent Bob out to assist him. The fowls were finally
secured, and, after the fisher-boy had taken them to the boat, he
returned to the place where he had left Tom, and showed him two or
three wounds on his hands, which he had received while capturing
the rooster. The young trader was delighted; and the thought then
occurred to him that he had done a very sensible thing when he bought
those chickens, for the rooster’s attack on Bob was conclusive
evidence that he was “grit to the backbone.”
“That farmer don’t know much about chickens,” said he to Bob, “or he
would not have sold that rooster for a dollar. I’ll get more than
that for him. I knew I would be certain to succeed this time. Now,”
he continued, as he again produced his memorandum book, “I’ve got
every thing I want except the oats. Sit down here.”
The fisher-boy seated himself beside his employer, who began to “make
out a bill” of the articles he had purchased. Tom did the writing and
Bob the calculating; and finally the book showed the following:
ACKOUNT OF EXPENSES.
21 duzen eggs At twenty cts. four dollers and 20
10 ponds butter At twenty 2 cts. too dollers and 20
Three first class game chickens At one Doller 3 dollers
Oats for packing Eggs a half doller
making nine Dollers and 90
“There,” said Tom, gazing admiringly at his work, “that’s the first
bill I ever made out. I’ll show it to father when I get home. Now
I’ll have left just--just--let me see--”
“Ten cents,” suggested Bob.
“So I will. I’ll get some apples with that.”
The fisher-boy thought that if the money had belonged to him, he
would have saved it; but he knew that it would do no good to offer
such advice to Tom; and, besides, his thoughts were turned into
another channel, by the arrival of the farmer with the oats. While
Bob busied himself in packing away the eggs, Tom went into the house
with the farmer, to settle his bill; and after this was done, the
man conducted him to the orchard, where he filled his pockets with
apples. He then walked about the yard with the farmer, until Bob had
carried all the articles he had purchased to the boat, when he took
his leave; and, promising to return in a day or two for another load,
he stepped on board the sloop, which filled away for home.