Off-Hand Sketches, a Little Dashed with Humor. Arthur Timothy Shay
I not inform you that such would be the case?" I replied, with assumed sternness of voice and manner. The boot was on the other leg, and I was not slow in recognising the fact.
"But what do you intend to do, Mr. Jones? What is the state of your affairs?"
"At the proper time, I will inform you," I answered, coldly. "You have driven me into a protest, and you must stand the consequences."
"Are your affairs desperate, Mr. Jones?" The creditor became almost imploring in his manner.
"They will probably become so now. Does a man's note lie over without his affairs becoming desperate?"
"Perhaps"—
There was a pause. I looked unflinchingly into the man's face.
"If we extend this note, and keep the matter quiet, what then?"
"It won't do," I returned. "More than that will be required to save me."
My creditor looked frightened, while I maintained an aspect of as much indifference and resolution as I could assume.
"What will save you?" he asked.
I was thinking as rapidly as I could, in order to be prepared for striking while the iron was hot, and that to good purpose.
"I'll tell you," I replied.
"Well, what is it?" He looked eager and anxious.
"My fault has been one into which your house led me, that of buying too freely," said I; "of using my credit injudiciously. The consequence is, that I am cramped severely, and am neglecting my legitimate business in order to run about after money. I owe your house more than half of the aggregate of my whole liabilities. Give me the time I ask, in order to recover myself and curtail my business, and I can go through."
"What time do you ask?"
"I owe you fifteen thousand dollars."
"So much?"
"Yes; and the whole of it falls due within seven months. What I propose is, to pay you five per cent. on the amount of my present indebtedness every thirty days from this time until the whole is liquidated; you to hand me a thousand dollars to-morrow morning, to enable me to get my note out of bank, in order to save my credit."
The gentleman looked blank at the boldness of my proposition.
"Is that the best you can do?" he asked.
"The very best. You have driven me into a protest, and now, the bitterness of that dreaded ordeal being past, I prefer making an assignment and having my affairs settled up, to going on in the old way. I will not continue in business, unless I can conduct it easily and safely. I am sick of being on the rack; I would rather grub for a living."
I was eloquent in my tone and manner, for I felt what I said.
"It shall be as you wish," said my creditor. "You should not, you must not, make an assignment; every interest will suffer in that event. We will send you a check for a thousand dollars early to-morrow morning, and, as to what has occurred, keep our own counsel."
I bowed, and he bowed. I was conscious of having risen in his estimation. Get such a man in your power, and his respect for you increases fourfold.
My sleep was sound that night, for I was satisfied that the thousand dollars would come. And they did come.
After that, I was as easy as an old shoe. I was soon off the borrowing list; my business I contracted into a narrower and safer sphere, and really made more profit than before.
I have never stood in fear of notaries or protests since. Why should I? To me the notary proved a lamb rather than a lion, and my credit, instead of being ruined, was saved by a protest.
RETRENCHMENT; OR, WHAT A MAN SAVED BY STOPPING HIS NEWSPAPER
NOT many years ago, a farmer who lived a hundred or two miles from the seaboard, became impressed with the idea that unless he adopted a close-cutting system of retrenchment, he would certainly go to the wall. Wheat, during the preceding season, had been at a high price; but, unluckily for him, he had only a small portion of his land in wheat. Of corn and potatoes he had raised more than the usual quantity; but the price of corn was down, and potatoes were low. This year he had sown double the wheat he had ever sown before, and, instead of raising a thousand bushels of potatoes, as he had generally done, only planted about an acre in that vegetable, the product of which was about one hundred and fifty bushels.
Unluckily for Mr. Ashburn, his calculations did not turn out well. After his wheat was harvested, and his potatoes nearly ready to dig, the price of the former fell to ninety cents per bushel, and the price of the latter rose to one dollar. Everywhere, the wheat crop had been abundant, and almost everywhere the potato crop promised to be light.
Mr. Ashburn was sadly disappointed at this result.
"I shall be ruined," he said at home, and carried a long face while abroad. When his wife and daughters asked for money with which to get their fall and winter clothing, he grumbled sadly, gave them half what they wanted, and said they must retrench. A day or two afterwards, the collector of the "Post" came along and presented his bill.
Ashburn paid it in a slow, reluctant manner, and then said—
"I wish you to have the paper stopped, Mr. Collector."
"Oh, no, don't say that, Mr. Ashburn. You are one of our old subscribers, and we can't think of parting with you."
"Sorry to give up the paper. But must do it," returned the farmer.
"Isn't it as good as ever? You used to say you'd rather give up a dinner a week than the 'Post.'"
"Oh, yes, it's as good as ever, and sometimes I think much better than it was. It's a great pleasure to read it. But I must retrench at every point, and then I don't see how I'm to get along. Wheat's down to ninety cents, and falling daily."
"But the paper is only two dollars a year, Mr. Ashburn."
"I know. But two dollars are two dollars. However, it's no use to talk, Mr. Collector; the 'Post' must be stopped. If I have better luck next year, I will subscribe for it again."
This left the collector nothing to urge, and he withdrew. In his next letter to the publishers, he ordered the paper to be discontinued, which was accordingly done.
Of this little act of retrenchment, Jane, Margaret, and Phoebe knew nothing at the time, and the farmer was rather loathe to tell them. When the fact did become known, as it must soon, he expected a buzzing in the hive, and the anticipation of this made him half repent of what he had done, and almost wish that the collector would forget to notify the office of his wish to have the paper stopped. But, the collector was a prompt man. On the second Saturday morning, Ashburn went to the post-office as usual. The postmaster handed him a letter, saying, as he did so—
"I can't find any paper for you, to-day. They have made a mistake in not mailing it this week."
"No," replied Ashburn. "I have stopped it."
"Indeed! The Post is an excellent paper. What other one do you intend to take?"
"I shall not take any newspaper this year," replied Ashburn.
"Not take a newspaper, Mr. Ashburn!" said the postmaster, with a look and in a tone of surprise.
"No. I must retrench. I must cut off all superfluous expenses. And I believe I can do without a newspaper as well as any thing else. It's a mere luxury; though a very pleasant one, I own, but still dispensable."
"Not a luxury, but a necessary, I say, and indispensable," returned the postmaster. "I don't know what I wouldn't rather do without than a newspaper. What in the world are Phoebe, and Jane, and Margaret going to do?"
"They will have to do without. There is no help for it."
"If they don't raise a storm about your ears that you will be glad to allay, even at the cost of half a dozen newspapers, I am mistaken," said the postmaster, laughing.
Ashburn replied, as he turned to walk away, that he thought he could face all storms of that kind without flinching.
"Give