Finger Posts on the Way of Life

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"I offered you forty-eight cents."

"And I asked you if that was the highest rate, didn't I?"

"I told you that I had bought fifty bushels at that price on
Saturday."

"Oh, ho! Now I comprehend you," said the man, with a sarcastic curl
of his lip. "I was recommended to you as a preacher, and one who
would deal fairly with me. I asked you a plain question, and you
purposely misled me in your answer, to the end that you might get my
corn at less than the market value. You have cheated me out of
nearly two dollars. Much good may it do you!"

And saying this, he turned on his heel and left the store. Mr. Adkin
was, of course, no little disturbed. The charge of dishonesty in
dealing at first aroused his indignation; but as he grew calmer and
thought over the affair, his conscience troubled him. As a Christian
man, and especially as a Christian minister, he could not reconcile
his dealing with strict gospel requirements. The more he reflected,
the more closely he brought his conduct to the standard of Christian
principles, the less was he satisfied with himself. The final result
was, a determination to go to the man on the next morning, and pay
him the balance due him on the market price of his corn. But, when
he sought for him, he was not to be found, having gone back to his
home, a few miles from the village.

On the next day he sent for a bill, which had been standing a good
while. His clerk brought back some impertinent and altogether
unsatisfactory answer.

"Did Mr. Giles say that?" he asked, his eyes flashing indignantly.

"His exact words," replied the clerk.

"Very well. I'll not send to him again," said Mr. Adkin. "He thinks,
because I am a preacher, that he can treat me as he pleases, but
I'll let him know that being a preacher doesn't make me any the less
a man, nor any the less inclined to protect myself."

So Mr. Giles was served with a summons, to answer for debt, before
the week was out.

On the day following, a certain lady, a member of the congregation
in Mayberry to which he preached, whenever, from sickness or other
causes, the regular minister was absent, came into Mr. Adkin's
store. Her manner was considerably excited.

"There's a mistake in your bill, Mr. Adkin," said she, in rather a
sharp tone of voice.

"If so, Mrs. Smith, the remedy is a very simple one," replied Mr.
Adkin. Her manner had disturbed him, yet he concealed the
disturbance under a forced suavity of manner. "Where does the
mistake lie?"

"Why, see here. You've got me charged with six yards of muslin and
five pounds of butter that I never got!"

"Are you certain of this, Mrs. Smith?"

"Certain! Be sure I'm certain! D'ye think I'd say I hadn't the
things, if I had them? I'm not quite so bad as that, Mr. Adkin!"

"Don't get excited about the matter, Mrs. Smith. We are all liable
to mistakes. There's an error here, either on your side or mine, if
it is my error, I will promptly correct it."

"Of course it's your error. I never had either the muslin or the
butter," said Mrs. Smith, positively.

Mr. Adkin turned to his ledger, where Mrs. Smith's account was
posted.

"The muslin is charged on the 10th of June."

Mrs. Smith looked at the bill and answered affirmatively.

"You bought a pound of yarn and a straw hat on the same day."

"Yes; I remember them. But I didn't get the muslin."

"Think again, Mrs. Smith. Don't you remember the beautiful piece of
Merrimac that I showed you, and how cheap you thought it?"

"I never had six yards of muslin, Mr. Adkin."

"But, Mrs. Smith, I have distinct recollection of measuring it off,
and the charge is here in my own handwriting."

"I never had it, Mr. Adkin!" said the lady much excited.

"You certainly had, Mrs. Smith."

"I'll never pay for it!"

"Don't say that, Mrs. Smith. You certainly wouldn't want my goods
without paying for them!"

"I never had the muslin, I tell you!"

Argument in the case Mr. Adkin found to be useless. The sale of the
five pounds of butter was as distinctly remembered by him; and as he
was not the man to yield a right when he had no doubt as to its
existence, he would not erase the articles from Mrs Smith bill,
which was paid under protest.

"It's the last cent you'll ever get of my money!" said Mrs. Smith,
as she handed over, the amount of the bill. "I never had those
articles; and I shall always say that I was wronged out of so much
money."

"I'm sure, madam, I don't want your custom, if I'm expected to let
you have my goods for nothing," retorted Mr. Adkin, the natural man
in him growing strong under an allegation that implied dishonesty.

So the two parted, neither feeling good-will toward the other, and
neither being in a very composed state of mind.

Each day in that week brought something to disturb the mind of Mr.
Adkin; and each day brought him into unpleasant business contact
with someone in the town of Mayberry. To avoid, these things was
almost impossible, particularly for a man of Mr. Adkin's
temperament.

Saturday night came, always a busy night for the storekeeper. It was
ten o'clock, and customers were still coming in, when a lad handed
Mr. Adkin a note, it was from the regularly stationed minister of
the church in Mayberry to which Mr. Adkin belonged. The note stated,
briefly, that the writer was so much indisposed, that he would not
be able to preach on the next day, and conveyed the request that
"Brother Adkin" would "fill the pulpit for him in the morning."

Brother Adkin almost groaned in spirit at this unwelcome and
not-to-be-denied invitation to perform ministerial duties on the
Sabbath. Of theological subjects, scarcely a thought had entered his
mind since Monday morning; and, certainly, the states through which
he had passed were little calculated to elevate his affections, or
make clear his spiritual intuitions.

It was twelve o'clock before Mr. Adkin was able to retire on that
night. As he rested his weary and now aching head on his pillow, he
endeavoured to turn his mind from worldly things, and fix it upon
things heavenly and eternal. But, the current of thought and
affection had too long been flowing in another channel. The very
effort to check its onward course, caused disturbance and obscurity.
There was a brief but fruitless struggle, when overtaxed nature
vindicated her claims, and as the lay preacher found relief from
perplexing thoughts and a troubled conscience, in refreshing
slumber.

In the half-dreaming, half-waking state that comes with the dawning
of day, Mr. Adkin's thoughts flowed on again in the old channel, and
when full consciousness came, he found himself busy with questions
of profit and loss. Self-accusation and humiliation followed. He
"wrote bitter things against himself," for this involuntary
desecration of the Sabbath.

Rising early, he took his Bible, and after turning over book after
book and scanning chapter after chapter, finally chose a verse as
the text from which he would preach. Hurriedly and imperfectly our
lay preacher conned his subject. Clearness of discrimination, grasp
of thought, orderly arrangement, were out of the question. That
would have been too much for a master mind, under similar
circumstances.

Eleven o'clock came around quickly, and painfully conscious of an
obscure and confused state of mind, Mr. Adkin entered the house of
God and ascended the pulpit. A little while he sat, endeavouring to
collect his thoughts; then he arose and commenced giving out a hymn.
Lifting his eyes from the book, as he finished reading the first
verse, he saw, directly in front of him, the man from whom he had
purchased the forty bushels of corn. He was looking at him fixedly,
and there was on his countenance an expression of surprise and
contempt, that, bringing back, as the man's presence did, a vivid
recollection of the events of Monday, almost deprived Mr. Adkin, for
a moment or two, of utterance. He faltered, caught his breath, and
went on again with the reading. On raising his eyes at the
conclusion of the second verse, Mr. Adkin saw his corn customer
slowly moving down the aisle toward the door of entrance. How keenly
he felt the rebuke! How sadly conscious was he of being out of place
in the pulpit!

After the singing of the hymn, the preacher made a prayer; but it
was cold and disjointed. He had no freedom of utterance. A chapter
was read, an anthem sung, and then Mr. Adkin arose in the pulpit,
took his text, and, ere giving utterance to the first words of his
discourse, let his eyes wander over the congregation. A little to
the right sat Mr. Giles, wearing a very sober aspect of countenance,
and looking at him with knit brows and compressed lips. The sight
caused the words "brother going to law with brother" to pass almost
electrically through his mind. As his glance rebounded from Mr.
Giles quickly, it next rested upon Mrs. Smith, who, with perked head
and a most malicious curling of the lip, said, as plain as manner
could say it--"You're a nice man for a preacher, a'n't you?"

How Mr. Adkin beat about the bushes and wrought in obscurity,
darkening counsel by words without knowledge, during the half hour
that followed the enunciation of his text, need not here be told.
None was more fully conscious than himself of his utter failure to
give spiritual instruction to the waiting congregation. The climax,
so far as he was concerned, was yet to come. As he descended the
pulpit stairs, at the close of the service, some one slipped a piece
of paper into his hand. Glancing at the pencilled writing thereon,
he read the rebuking words:

"The hungry sheep look up, and are not fed."

How could he feed them? Are holy and divine things of such easy
comprehension, that a man may devote the whole energies of his mind
to worldly business during six days, and then become a lucid
expounder of heavenly, mysteries on the Sabbath? The influx of
intelligence into the mind of a speaker, is in exact ratio with the
knowledge he has acquired. He may have, without this previous
preparation, "free utterance," as it is called; but this utterance
brings no rational convictions; it sways only by the power of
contagious enthusiasm. Moreover, as in the case of Mr. Adkin, every
lay preacher takes with him into the pulpit a taint from worldly and
business contact, and his presence there must turn the thoughts of
many hearers from his clerical to his personal character--from the
truth he enunciates, to his practical observance thereof in daily
life. He may be judged falsely; but the fact of his blending the two
separate characters of clergyman and layman, forms an occasion for
false judgment, and detracts from the usefulness of the sacred
office.

Whether Mr. Adkin "held forth" again, we cannot apprize the reader.
New light, and new perceptions of duty certainly came into his mind;
and we may hope that, as he was a well-meaning and conscientious
man, he was led to act wisely in the future.

Having given a true picture of a week in the life of the lay
preacher, our business with him is done. It is for those whom it may
concern to study the sketch, and see if it does not contain some
points worthy their especial consideration.

HOW TO DESTROY A GOOD BUSINESS.

CHAPTER I.

"WELL, Mr. Tompkins, what do you think about it? I wish you would
speak. I've been talking at you for full ten blessed minutes, and
you haven't as much as opened your lips in reply."

"About what?" asked Mr. Tompkins, looking up with an air of
surprise.

"About what, indeed!" rejoined the lady, in no very melodious tone.
"Why, about that house in Franklin Street, to be sure. What else did
you suppose it was?"

"Oh! ah! yes."

"Mr. Tompkins, why don't you answer me like a man? Oh! ah! yes! I
hate that."

"Humph!"

"Yes, and I hate that just as bad. But you needn't think to put me
off with a 'humph!' Have you made up your mind about buying that
house--say?"

"I've got to make up my mind about something else first."

"Indeed! And what is that, pray?"

"About where the money is to come from."

"Mr. Tompkins, I am out of all patience with you! Its precious
little that I ask for, dear knows! But even that little is never
granted."

"If you'll get me the money, Ellen, I'll buy the house with
pleasure," returned Mr. Tompkins, in a quiet voice.

"Me! I wonder where I'd get the money? It's an insult for you to
talk to me in this way, when you keep me as poor as a church mouse
all the time. Every dollar I get from you is like pulling a tooth."

"And causes me as much pain, sometimes."

"I won't put up with such treatment from you, Mr. Tompkins," said
the good lady, passionately, and walked from the room with a stately
step and an effort at dignity. The husband retreated precipitately,
and sought his place of business. He sighed as he took his seat upon
a counting-house stool at the desk, and commenced turning over the
pages of various large account-books. While thus engaged, a person
entered his store, and was shown back to that portion of it where he
had retired. Mr. Tompkins looked up on hearing his name pronounced,
and met the steady eye of one whose presence was not very agreeable
to him just at that time.

"Ah, Mr. Wolford! How are you to-day? I am glad to see you," he
said, with an effort to seem pleased and indifferent.

"Very well. How are you?" was the blunt response.

"Take a chair, Mr. Wolford."

The visitor sat down, with considerable emphasis in his manner,
threw one leg over the other, and leaned back in his chair. Tompkins
was nervous. His effort to seem at ease led him into overaction.

He smiled, or rather smirked--for a smile is always natural, never
forced--and introduced various topics of conversation, one after the
other, with the manner of a man whose thoughts were far away from
his words, and who yet wished to be very agreeable to a personage
from whom he wished a favour.

"What do you think of the news from Washington to-day, Mr. Wolford?
Strange doings there!"

"Rather."

"Our party were completely outgeneralled in that measure."

"Yes."

"Bad news from London."

"Yes, bad enough."

"It has played the mischief with stocks."

"Thank fortune, I don't deal in stocks."

And thus Tompkins run on, and Wolford replied cold and sententiously
for some ten minutes. Then there came a pause, and the two men
looked into each other's faces for a short time, without either of
them speaking.

"The year for which I loaned you ten thousand dollars expires next
week," said Wolford, in a quiet tone, breaking the silence.

"Does it?" returned Tompkins, affecting surprise. "I had no idea the
time was so near being up. Are you sure?"

"I never make mistakes in such matters, Mr. Tompkins, and can't
understand how other people can."

"Creditors are said to have better memories than debtors," replied
Tompkins, attempting something like pleasantry.

"Yes--I know. You will, of course, be prepared to take up the
mortgage upon your property?"

"I am afraid not, Mr. Wolford. Money is exceedingly tight. But as
your security is perfectly good, and you do not want the money, you
will let the matter remain as it is for a little while longer?"

"I loaned you the money for a year, did I not?"

"Yes."

"Very well. The year will be up in a week."

"I would like to borrow the same amount for another year."

"I have no objection to your doing so, if you can find any one who
will lend it."

"Will you not do so?"

"No. I have other use for my money."

"I will increase the interest, if that will be any inducement. Money
in a good business like mine can bear a heavy interest."

"I am not satisfied with the security. Property is falling in
value."

"Not satisfied!'" exclaimed Tompkins, in unfeigned surprise. "The
property is worth double the sum you have advanced for my use."

"I differ with you--and I am not alone in differing."

"Very well, Mr. Wolford," said Tompkins, in a changed tone, that
evinced roused and half-indignant feeling, "you shall be paid. I can
easily transfer the security to some other person, if I find it
necessary to do so, and raise the amount due you."

Wolford, phlegmatic as he was, seemed slightly moved by this
unexpected change in the manner and position of Tompkins. He
narrowly observed the expression of his face, but did not reply. He
was afraid to trust himself to speak, lest he should betray his real
thoughts.

"You will be prepared to pay me next week, then," he at length said,
rising.

"Yes, sir. You shall have the money," replied Tompkins.

"Good day." And Wolford retired; not altogether satisfied that he
had gained all he had hoped to gain by the visit.

"Ah me!" sighed Tompkins, turning to his desk as soon as this man
had departed. "Here comes more trouble. That miserly wretch has no
more use for his money than the man in the moon. It seems to give
him delight to make every one feel his power. It is for no other
reason than this, that I am now to be harassed half out of my life
in order to raise ten thousand dollars in a week, besides meeting my
other payments. I must try and get some one to take the mortgage he
is about releasing."

While thus musing, the individual who had just left him was walking
slowly down Market Street, with his eyes upon the pavement, in deep
thought. He was a short, stoutly built old man, dressed in a
well-worn suit of brown broadcloth. His hat was white, large in the
brim, low in the crown, and pulled down so heavily on the high
collar of his coat, that it turned up behind in a very decided way,
indicating the save-all propensities of its owner. His face was as
hard as iron: it was deeply seamed by years or the indulgence of the
baser cupidities of a perverted nature. His lower lip projected
slightly beyond the upper that was pressed closely upon it. His
small gray eyes were deeply sunk beneath a wrinkled forehead, and
twinkled like stars when any thing excited him; usually they were as
calm and passionless as any part of his face.

This man had never engaged, during his whole life, in any useful
branch of business. Money was the god he worshipped, and to gain
this, he was ready to make almost any sacrifice. He started in life
with five thousand dollars--a legacy from a distant relative. To
risk this sum, or any portion of it, in trade, would have been, in
his view, the most egregious folly. His first investment was in six
per cent. ground-rents, from which he received three hundred dollars
per annum. It cost him two hundred to live; he had, therefore, at
the end of the year, a surplus of one hundred dollars. He was
casting about in his mind what he should do with this in, order to
make it profitable, when a hard-pressed tradesman asked him for the
loan of a hundred dollars for a short time. The idea of loaning his
money, when first presented, almost made his hair stand on end. He
shook his head, and uttered a decided "No." It so happened that the
man was so much in need of money, that he became importunate.

"I know you have it, if you would only lend it, Wolford," said he.
"Let me have a hundred dollars for a month, and I will give you a
good interest for it, and security besides."

"What kind of security?" eagerly asked the miser, his face
brightening. The idea had struck him, as being a good one. The man
was a tailor.

"I will let you hold Mr. S----P----'s note, at six months, for one
hundred and fifty dollars, as security."

Wolford shook his head.

"He might die or break, and then where would be my hundred dollars?"

"I would pay it to you."

Wolford continued to shake his head.

"How would a piece of broadcloth answer your purpose?"

"What is it worth?"

"I have a piece of twenty yards, worth eight dollars a yard. It
would bring six and a half under the hammer. You can hold that, if
you please."

"How much interest will you pay?"

"I will give you two dollars for the use of one hundred for thirty
days."

"If you will say three, you may have it."

"Three per cent. a month!--thirty-six per cent. a year! Oh no! That
would ruin any man."

"I don't think the operation worth making for less than three
dollars."

"It is too much, Wolford. But I'll tell you what I'll do. Let it be
for sixty days, and make the interest five dollars."

"I to hold the cloth as security until it is paid?"

"Certainly."

"Very well. You shall have the money."

A note for one hundred and five dollars, at sixty days, was drawn
and handed to the young shaver, who paid down one hundred dollars,
and went off with his collateral under his arm.

This transaction opened a new world to Wolford's imagination. Two
and a half per cent. a month, and six per cent. per annum, could
hardly be compared together. He sat down and began to figure up the
result of the one operation in comparison with the other, and found
that while his investment in ground-rents yielded only three hundred
dollars a year, five thousand dollars, at two and a half per cent. a
month, the rate at which he had made the operation just referred to,
would yield fifteen hundred dollars per annum!

From that moment he became dissatisfied with ground-rents as an
investment. As quickly as it could be done, he sold, for one
thousand dollars, a piece of real estate, and, depositing the money
in bank, looked around him for good paper to shave. He did not have
to look very long. Borrowers quickly presented themselves, but no
one got money except on the most tangible kind of security, and at a
ruinous interest. Careful as he tried to be, Wolford was not always
successful in his operations. One or two failures on the part of his
borrowers, made him acquainted at a magistrate's office, where he
acquired another new idea upon which he improved.

"If you wish to invest money safely and profitably, I will put you
in the way of doing it," said a petty dispenser of justice to poor
debtors, rogues and vagabonds, aside to the miser one day, after he
had given judgment against a delinquent borrower.

"How?" eagerly asked Wolford.

"A great many cases of debt are decided by me every week, on amounts
varying from one to fifty dollars," replied the magistrate. "As soon
as a judgment is given, the debtor has to pay the money, find
security, or go to jail, In most cases, the matter is settled by
security for six months, when the debt, with costs and interest, has
to be paid."

"Legal interest?" asked Wolford.

"Certainly," replied the magistrate, with a smile. "It is a legal
matter, and only legal interest can be charged."

"Oh, of course! I didn't think of that."

"Very well: after a judgment is obtained, in five cases out of six
the prosecutor is sick, of the business, and perfectly willing to
sell out the judgment and have no more to do with it. The best
business in the world is to buy these judgments. You can make at
least forty per cent. per annum."

"What!"

"Forty per cent."

"Forty per cent!" and Wolford's eyes sparkled. "Are you sure?"

"Oh, yes. If I were allowed to buy them, as I am not, I would wish
no better business."

"You think it safe?"

"Nothing can be safer. If the judgment is not paid at the end of six
months, you can go to work immediately, with an execution, on the
property of the original debtor, or his security, as you may think
best, and at once obtain your money."

"Suppose neither of them have any property?"

"I take very good care not to accept bad security. Besides, you will
find but few persons out of whom fifty dollars, or less, may not be
obtained, under the pressure of an execution."

"I like the idea amazingly," said Wolford, thoughtfully. "Forty per
cent. per annum! Capital! I will buy judgments."

"I have two hundred dollars' worth in my desk now, which I have
directions to sell. Do you want them? They have six months to run.
Twenty per cent. off will be just forty dollars--here they are."

Wolford carefully examined the documents which the magistrate placed
in his hands, and, after considering the subject for some time, said
that he would buy them. His check for one hundred and sixty dollars
was received by the magistrate, and the judgments became his
property.

"It's even better than forty per cent. per annum," remarked the
magistrate, as he folded up the check be had received.

"How so?"

"You make over fifty-five per cent."

"Indeed!"

"Yes--look at it. You have just paid one hundred and sixty dollars
for what will yield you two hundred and six dollars in six
months,--for you must remember that you will get legal interest on
the claim you have bought. Now this is a fraction over fifty-five
per cent. per annum. What do you think of that for an investment?"

"Capital! But have you much of this kind of business?"

"Enough to, keep several thousand dollars constantly employed for
you."

"Good!"

With this brief ejaculation, that came from Wolford's heart, he
turned away and left the office.

On this operation, the magistrate made six per cent. The regular
selling price of judgments was twenty-five per cent., with a
commission of one per cent. for effecting the sale.

In a few months, Wolford had all his money invested in judgments.
This business he continued for several years, meeting with but few
losses. He could then write himself worth twenty-five thousand
dollars, and began to find it necessary to seek for some heavier
investments than buying judgments, even if they did not pay quite so
well.

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