“That’s a smart little fellow of yours,” said a gentleman named Winslow
to a laboring man, who was called in, occasionally, to do work about his
store. “Does he go to school?”
“Not now, sir,” replied the poor man.
“Why not, Davis? He looks like a bright lad.”
“He’s got good parts, sir,” returned the father, “but—”
“But what?” asked the gentleman, seeing that the man hesitated.
“Times are rather hard now, sir, and I have a large family. It’s about
as much as I can do to keep hunger and cold away. Ned reads very well,
writes a tolerable fair hand, considering all things, and can figure a
little. And that’s about all I can do for him. The other children are
coming forward, and I reckon he will have to go to a trade middling
soon.”
“How old is Ned?” inquired Mr. Winslow.
“He’s turned of eleven.”
“You wont put him to a trade before he’s thirteen or fourteen?”
“Can’t keep him home idling about all that time, Mr. Winslow. It would
be his ruination. It’s young to go out from home, I know, to rough it
and tough it among strangers”—there was a slight unsteadiness in the
poor man’s voice—“but it’s better than doing nothing.”
“Ned ought to go to school a year or two longer, Davis,” said Mr.
Winslow, with some interest in his manner. “And as you are not able to
pay the quarter-bills, I guess I will have to do it. What say you? If I
pay for Ned’s schooling can you keep him at home some two or three years
longer?”
“I didn’t expect _that_ of you, Mr. Winslow,” said the poor man, and his
voice now trembled. He uncovered his head as he spoke, almost
reverently. “You aint bound to pay for schooling my boy. Ah, sir!”
“But you havn’t answered my question, Davis. What say you?”
“Oh, sir, if you are really in earnest?”
“I am in earnest. Ned ought to go to school. If you can keep him home a
few years longer I will pay for his education during the time. Ned”—Mr.
Winslow spoke to the boy—“what say you? Would you like to go to school
again?”
“Yes, indeed, sir,” quickly answered the boy, while his bright young
face was lit up with a gleam of intelligence.
“Then you shall go, my fine fellow. There’s the right kind of stuff in
you, or I’m mistaken. We’ll give you a trial at any rate.”
Mr. Winslow was as good as his word. Ned was immediately entered at an
excellent school. The boy, young as he was, appreciated the kind act of
his benefactor, and resolved to profit by it to the full extent.
“I made an investment of ten dollars to-day,” said Mr. Winslow,
jestingly to a mercantile friend, some three months after the occurrence
just related took place, “and here’s the certificate.”
He held up a small slip of paper as he spoke.
“Ten dollars! A large operation. In what fund?”
“A charity fund.”
“Oh!” And the friend shrugged his shoulders “Don’t do much in that way
myself. No great faith in the security. What dividend do you expect to
receive?”
“Don’t know. Rather think it will be large.”
“Better take some more of the stock if you think it so good. There is
plenty in market to be bought at less than par.”
Mr. Winslow smiled, and said that, in all probability he would invest a
few more small sums in the same way and see how it would turn out. The
little piece of paper which he called a certificate of stock, was the
first quarter-bill he had paid for Ned’s schooling. For four years these
bills were regularly paid, and then Ned, who had well improved the
opportunities so generously afforded him, was taken, on the
recommendation of Mr. Winslow, into a large importing house. He was at
the time in his sixteenth year. Before the lad could enter upon this
employment, however, Mr. Winslow had to make another investment in his
charity fund. Ned’s father was too poor to give him an outfit of
clothing such as was required in the new position to which he was to be
elevated; knowing this, the generous merchant came forward again and
furnished the needful supply.
As no wages were received by Ned for the first two years, Mr. Winslow
continued to buy his clothing, while his father still gave him his
board. On reaching the age of eighteen, Ned’s employers, who were much
pleased with his industry, intelligence, and attention to business, put
him on a salary of three hundred dollars. This made him at once
independent. He could pay his own boarding and find his own clothes, and
proud did he feel on the day when advanced to so desirable a position.
“How comes on your investment?” asked Mr. Winslow’s mercantile friend
about this time. He spoke jestingly.
“It promises very well,” was the smiling reply.
“It is rising in the market, then?”
“Yes.”
“Any dividends yet?”
“Oh, certainly. Large dividends.”
“Ah! You surprise me. What kind of dividends?”
“More than a hundred per cent.”
“Indeed! Not in money?”
“Oh no. But in something better than money. The satisfaction that flows
from an act of benevolence wisely done.”
“Oh, that’s all.” The friend spoke with ill-concealed contempt.
“Don’t you call that something?” asked Mr. Winslow.
“It’s entirely too unsubstantial for me,” replied the other. “I go in
for returns of a more tangible character. Those you speak of wont pay my
notes.”
Mr. Winslow smiled, and bade his friend good-morning.
“He knows nothing,” said he to himself, as he mused on the subject, “of
the pleasure of doing good; and the loss is all on his side. If we have
the ability to secure investments of this kind, they are among the best
we can make, and all are able to put at least some money in the fund of
good works, let it be ever so small an amount. Have I suffered the
abridgment of a single comfort by what I have done? No. Have I gained in
pleasant thoughts and feelings by the act? Largely. It has been a source
of perennial enjoyment. I would not have believed that, at so small a
cost I could have secured so much pleasure. And how great the good that
may flow from what I have done! Instead of a mere day-laborer, whose
work in the world goes not beyond the handling of boxes, bales and
barrels, or the manufacture of some article in common use, Edward Davis,
advanced by education, takes a position of more extended usefulness, and
by his higher ability and more intelligent action in society, will be
able, if he rightly use the power in his hands, to advance the world’s
onward movement in a most important degree.”
Thus thought Mr. Winslow and his heart grew warm within him. Time proved
that he had not erred in affording the lad an opportunity for obtaining
a good education. His quick mind acquired, in the position in which he
was placed, accurate ideas of business, and industry and force of
character made these ideas thoroughly practical. Every year his
employers advanced his salary, and, on attaining his majority, it was
further advanced to the sum of one thousand dollars per annum. With
every increase the young man had devoted a larger and larger proportion
of his income to improving the condition of his father’s family, and
when it was raised to the sum last mentioned, he took a neat,
comfortable new house, much larger than the family had before lived in,
and paid the whole rent himself. Moreover, through his acquaintance and
influence, he was able to get a place for his father at lighter
employment than he had heretofore been engaged in, and at a higher rate
of compensation.
“Any more dividends on your charity investment?” said Mr. Winslow’s
friend, about this time. He spoke with the old manner, and from the old
feelings.
“Yes. Got a dividend to-day. The largest yet received,” replied the
merchant, smiling.
“Did you? Hope it does you a great deal of good.”
“I realize your wish, my friend. It is doing me a great deal of good,”
returned Mr. Winslow.
“No cash, I presume?”
“Something far better. Let me explain.”
“Do so, if you please.”
“You know the particulars of this investment?” said Mr. Winslow.
His friend shook his head, and replied,
“No. The fact is, I never felt interest enough in the matter to inquire
particulars.”
“Oh, well. Then I must give you a little history.”
“You know old Davis, who has been working about our stores for the last
ten or fifteen years?”
“Yes.”
“My investment was in the education of his son.”
“Indeed!”
“His father took him from school when he was only eleven years old,
because he could not afford to send him any longer, and was about
putting the little fellow out to learn a trade. Something interested me
in the child, who was a bright lad, and acting from a good impulse that
came over me at the moment, I proposed to his father to send him to
school for three or four years, if he would board and clothe him during
the time. To this he readily agreed. So I paid for Ned’s schooling until
he was in his sixteenth year, and then got him into Webb & Waldron’s
store, where he has been ever since.”
“Webb & Waldron’s!” said the friend, evincing some surprise. “I know all
their clerks very well, for we do a great deal of business with them.
Which is the son of old Mr. Davis?”
“The one they call Edward.”
“Not that tall, fine-looking young man—their leading salesman?”
“The same.”
“Is it possible! Why he is worth any two clerks in the store.”
“I know he is.”
“For his age, there is not a better salesman in the city.”
“So I believe,” said Mr. Winslow, “nor,” he added, “a better man.”
“I know little of his personal character; but, unless his face deceives
me, it cannot but be good.”
“It is good. Let me say a word about him. The moment his salary
increased beyond what was absolutely required to pay his board and find
such clothing as his position made it necessary for him to wear, he
devoted the entire surplus to rendering his father’s family more
comfortable.”
“Highly praiseworthy,” said the friend.
“I had received, already, many dividends on my investment,” continued
Mr. Winslow; “but when that fact came to my knowledge, my dividend
exceeded all the other dividends put together.”
The mercantile friend was silent. If ever in his life he had envied the
reward of a good deed, it was at that moment.
“To-day,” went on Mr. Winslow, “I have received a still larger dividend.
I was passing along Buttonwood street, when I met old Mr. Davis coming
out of a house, the rent of which, from its appearance, was not less
than two hundred and twenty-five dollars. ‘You don’t live here, of
course,’ said I, for I knew the old man’s income to be small—not over
six or seven dollars a week. ‘O, yes I do,’ he made answer, with a
smile. I turned and looked at the house again. ‘How comes this?’ I
asked. ‘You must be getting better off in the world.’ ‘So I am,’ was his
reply. ‘Has anybody left you a little fortune?’ I inquired. ‘No, but you
have helped me to one,’ said he. ‘I don’t understand you, Mr. Davis,’ I
made answer. ‘Edward rents the house for us,’ said the old man. ‘Do you
understand now?’
“I understood him perfectly. It was then that I received the largest
dividend on my investment which has yet come into my hands. If they go
on increasing at this rate, I shall soon be rich.”
“Rather unsubstantial kind of riches,” was remarked by the friend.
“That which elevates and delights the mind can hardly be called
unsubstantial,” replied Mr. Winslow. “Gold will not always do this.”
The friend sighed involuntarily. The remarks of Mr. Winslow caused
thoughts to flit over his mind that were far from being agreeable.
A year or two more went by, and then an addition was made to the firm of
Webb & Waldron. Edward Davis received the offer of an interest in the
business, which he unhesitatingly accepted. From that day he was in the
road to fortune. Three years afterward one of the partners died, when
his interest was increased.
Twenty-five years from the time Mr. Winslow, acting from a benevolent
impulse, proposed to send young Davis to school, have passed.
One day, about this period, Mr. Winslow, who had met with a number of
reverses in business, was sitting in his counting-room, with a troubled
look on his face, when the mercantile friend before-mentioned came in.
His countenance was pale and disturbed.
“We are ruined! ruined!” said he, with much agitation.
Mr. Winslow started to his feet.
“Speak!” he exclaimed. “What new disaster is about to sweep over me?”
“The house of Toledo & Co., in Rio, has suspended.”
Mr. Winslow struck his hands together, and sunk down into the chair from
which he had arisen.
“Then it is all over,” he murmured. “All over!”
“It is all over with me,” said the other. “A longer struggle would be
fruitless. But for this I might have weathered the storm. Twenty
thousand dollars of drafts drawn against my last shipment are back
protested, and will be presented to-morrow. I cannot lift them. So ends
this matter. So closes a business life of nearly forty years, in
commercial dishonor and personal ruin!”
“Are you certain that they have failed?” asked Mr. Winslow, with
something like hope in his tone of voice.
“It is too true,” was answered. “The Celeste arrived this morning, and
her letter-bag was delivered at the post-office half an hour ago. Have
you received nothing by her?”
“I was not aware of her arrival. But I will send immediately for my
letters.”
Too true was the information communicated by the friend. The large
commission-house of Toledo & Co. had failed, and protested drafts had
been returned to a very heavy amount. Mr. Winslow was among the
sufferers, and to an extent that was equivalent to ruin; because it
threw back upon him the necessity of lifting over fifteen thousand
dollars of protested paper, when his line of payments was already fully
up to his utmost ability.
For nearly five years, every thing had seemed to go against Mr. Winslow.
At the beginning of that period, a son, whom he had set up in business,
failed, involving him in a heavy loss. Then, one disaster after another
followed, until he found himself in imminent danger of failure. From
this time he turned his mind to the consideration of his affairs with
more earnestness than ever, and made every transaction with a degree of
prudence and foresight that seemed to guarantee success in whatever he
attempted. A deficient supply of flour caused him to venture a large
shipment to Rio. The sale was at a handsomely remunerative profit, but
the failure of his consignees, before the payment of his drafts for the
proceeds, entirely prostrated him.
So hopeless did the merchant consider his case, that he did not even
make an effort to get temporary aid in his extremity.
When the friend of Mr. Winslow came with the information that the house
of Toledo & Co. had failed, the latter was searching about in his mind
for the means of lifting about five thousand dollars worth of paper,
which fell due on that day. He had two thousand dollars in bank; the
balance of the sum would have to be raised by borrowing. He had partly
fixed upon the resources from which this was to come, when the news of
his ill-fortune arrived.
Yes, it was ruin. Mr. Winslow saw that in a moment, and his hands fell
powerless by his side. He made no further effort to lift his notes, but,
after his mind had a little recovered from its first shock, he left his
store and retired to his home, to seek in its quiet the calmness and
fortitude, of which he stood so greatly in need. In this home were his
wife and two daughters, who all their lives had enjoyed the many
external comforts and elegancies that wealth can procure. The heart of
the father ached as his eyes rested upon his children, and he thought of
the sad reverses that awaited them.
On entering his dwelling, Mr. Winslow sought the partner of his life,
and communicated to her without reserve, the painful intelligence of his
approaching failure.
“Is it indeed so hopeless?” she asked, tears filling her eyes.
“I am utterly prostrate!” was the reply, in a voice that was full of
anguish. And in the bitterness of the moment, the unfortunate merchant
wrung his hands.
To Mrs. Winslow, the shock, so unexpected, was very severe; and it was
some time before her mind, after her husband’s announcement, acquired
any degree of calmness.
About half an hour after Mr. Winslow’s return home, and while both his
own heart and that of his wife were quivering with pain, a servant came
and said that a gentleman had called and wished to see him.
“Who is it?” asked the merchant.
“I did not understand his name,” replied the servant.
Mr. Winslow forced as much external composure as was possible, and then
descended to the parlor.
“Mr. Davis,” he said on entering.
“Mr. Winslow,” returned the visitor, taking the merchant’s hand and
grasping it warmly.