 9 Much ado about nothing, or the reason why Mrs. Todd didn't speak to Mrs. Jones. Did you see that? said Mrs. Jones to her friend Mrs. Lyon, with whom she was walking. See what? Why, that Mrs. Todd didn't speak to me. No, I thought she spoke to you as well as to me. Indeed, then, and she didn't. Are you sure? Sure, can't I believe my own eyes? She nodded and spoke to you, but she didn't as much as look at me. What in the world can be the reason, Mrs. Jones? Dear knows. You certainly must be mistaken. Mrs. Todd would not refuse to speak to one of her old friends in the street. Humph. I don't know. She's rather queer sometimes. She's taken a myth at something, I suppose, and means to cut my acquaintance. But let her. I shall not distress myself about it. She isn't all the world. Have you done anything likely to offend her? asked Mrs. Lyon. Me, returned her companion. No, not that I am aware of, but certain people are always on the lookout for something or other wrong, and Mrs. Todd is just one of that kind. I never thought so, Mrs. Jones. She is, then. I know her very well. I'm sorry, said Mrs. Lyon, even seeing a good deal of concern. Hadn't you better go to her in a plain straightforward way, and ask the reason of her conduct? This would make all clear in a moment. Go to her, Mrs. Lyon, exclaimed Mrs. Jones, with ill-concealed indignation. No, indeed, that I will not. Do you think I would demean myself so much? I am not sure that by so doing you would demean yourself, as you say. There is clearly some mistake, and such a course would correct all false impressions. But it was only a suggestion thrown out for your consideration. Oh, no, Mrs. Lyon, replied Mrs. Jones with warmth. You never find me cringing to people, and begging to know why they are pleased to cut my acquaintance. I feel quite as good as anybody, and consider myself of just as much consequence as the proudest and best. Mrs. Todd needn't think I care for her acquaintance. I never valued it a pin. Notwithstanding Mrs. Jones' perfect indifference toward Mrs. Todd, she continued to talk about her, pretty much after this fashion, growing more excited all the while, during the next half-hour, at the close of which time the ladies parted company. When Mrs. Jones met her husband at the dinner table, she related what had happened during the morning. Mr. Jones was disposed to treat the matter lightly, but his wife soon satisfied him that the thing was no joke. What can be Mrs. Todd's reason for such conduct? He asked, with a serious air. I can't tell for my life. She must have heard some false report about you. It's as likely as not, but what can it be? Something serious to cause her to take so decided a stand as she seems to have done. Mr. Jones looked grave, and spoke in a grave tone of voice. This made matters worse. Mrs. Jones' first idea was that Mrs. Todd had heard something that she might have said about her, and that wounded pride had caused her to do as she had done, but her husband's remark suggested other thoughts. It was possible that reports were in circulation, calculated to injure her social standing, and that Mrs. Todd's conduct toward her was not the result of any private peek. It is certainly strange and unaccountable, she said, in reply to her husband's last remark, speaking in a thoughtful tone. Would it not be the fairest and best way for you to go and ask for an explanation? No, I can't do that, replied Mrs. Jones quickly. I am willing to bear undeserved contempt and unjust censure, but I will never humble myself to anyone. For the rest of the day Mrs. Jones' thoughts all flowed in one channel. A hundred reasons for Mrs. Todd's strange conduct were imagined, but none seemed long satisfactory. At last she remembered having spoken pretty freely about the lady to a certain individual who was not remarkable for his discretion. That's it, she said, rising from her chair, and walking nervously across the floor of her chamber backward and forward for two or three times while a burning glow suffused her cheek. Isn't it too bad that words spoken in confidence should have been repeated? I don't wonder she is offended. This idea was retained for a time, and then abandoned for some other that seemed more plausible. For the next two weeks Mrs. Jones was very unhappy. She did not meet Mrs. Todd during that period, but she saw a number of her friends to whom either she or Mrs. Lyon had communicated the fact already stated. All declared the conduct of Mrs. Todd to be unaccountable, but several, among themselves, had shrewd suspicions of the real cause. Conversations on the subject, like the following, were held. I can tell you what I think about it, Mrs. S. You know, Mrs. Jones is pretty free with her tongue. Yes? You've heard her talk about Mrs. Todd? I don't remember now. I have often. She doesn't spare her sometimes. You know yourself that Mrs. Todd has queer ways of her own. She is not perfect, certainly. Not by a great deal, and Mrs. Jones has not hesitated to say so. There is not the least doubt in my mind that Mrs. Todd has heard something. Perhaps so, but she is very foolish to take any notice of it. So I think, but you know she is touchy. In some instances the conversation assumed a grave form. Do you know what has struck me in this matter of Mrs. Jones and Mrs. Todd, says one scandal-loving personage to another, whose taste run parallel with her own? No, what is it? eagerly asks the auditor. I will tell you, but you mustn't speak of it for your life. Never fear me. The communication was made in a deep whisper. Bless me, exclaims the recipient of the secret. It surely cannot be so. There is not the least doubt of it. I had it from a source that cannot be doubted. How in the world did you hear it? In a way not dreamed of by Mrs. Jones. No doubt, Mrs. Todd has heard the same. Not the least in the world, but don't you think her to blame in refusing to keep Mrs. Jones's company, or even to speak to her? Certainly I do. It happened a long time ago, and no doubt poor Mrs. Jones has suffered enough on account of it. Indeed, I don't think she ought to be blamed in the matter at all. It was her misfortune, not her fault. So I think, in fact, I believe she is just as worthy of respect and kindness as Mrs. Todd. No doubt of it in the world, and for me she shall always receive it. And for me also. In this way the circle spread so that before two weeks had elapsed there were no less than twenty different notions held about Mrs. Todd's behaviour to Mrs. Jones. Some talked very seriously about cutting the acquaintance of Mrs. Jones also, while others took her side and threatened to give up the acquaintance of Mrs. Todd. Thus matters stood when a mutual friend, who wished to do honour to some visitors from a neighbouring city, sent out invitations for a party. Before these invitations were dispatched, it was seriously debated whether it would do to invite both Mrs. Jones and Mrs. Todd, considering how matters stood between them. The decision was in favour of letting them take care of their own difficulties. If I thought Mrs. Todd would be there, I am sure I wouldn't go, said Mrs. Jones, on receiving her card of invitation. I hardly think that would be acting wisely, replied her husband. You are not conscious of having wronged Mrs. Todd, why then should you shun her? But it is so unpleasant to meet a person with whom you have been long intimate, who refuses to speak to you. No doubt it is. Still we ought not to go out of our way to shun that person. Let us, while we do not attempt to interfere with the liberties of others, be free ourselves. Were I in your place, I would not move an inch to keep out of her way. I have not your firmness. I wish I had. It was only yesterday that I crossed the street to keep from meeting her face to face. You were wrong. I can't help it. It is my weakness. Three times already I have put myself about to avoid her, and if I could frame any good excuse for staying away from this party, I certainly should do so. I would give anything for a good sick headache on Tuesday next. I really am ashamed of you, Ellen. I thought you more of a woman, said Mr. Jones. The night of the party at length came round. During the whole day preceding it, Mrs. Jones could think of nothing but the unpleasant feelings she would have upon meeting with Mrs. Todd, and her heart was in her mouth all the time. She wished a dozen times that it would rain. But her wish has availed nothing. Not a cloud was to be seen in the clear blue firmament from morning until evening. Oh, if only I had some good excuse for staying at home, she said over and over again, but no good excuse offered. Mr. Jones saw that his wife was in a very unhappy state of mind, and tried his best to cheer her, but with little good effect. It is no use to talk to me. I can't help it. She replied to his remonstrance in a husky voice, I am neither a stock nor a stone. There's Mrs. Jones, said one friend to another, on seeing the lady they named enter Mrs. Blank's well-filled parlours. Where is Mrs. Todd? asked the lady addressed. Sure enough, where is she? replied the other. Oh, there she is in the other room. I wonder why it is that she does not speak to Mrs. Jones. No one knows. It's very strange. I'll tell you what I've heard. What? That she's jealous of Mrs. Jones. Ridiculous. Isn't it? I don't believe a word of it. Nor I. I only told you what I had heard. There must be some other reason. And doubtless is. Meantime Mrs. Jones found a seat in a corner where she ensconced herself with the determination of keeping her place during the evening that she might avoid the unpleasantness of coming in contact with Mrs. Todd. All this was, of course, very weak in Mrs. Jones, but she had no independent strength of character. It must be owned. Poor Mrs. Jones. How cut down she looks, remarked a lady who knew all about the trouble that existed. I really feel sorry for her. She takes it a great deal too much to heart, was the reply. Mrs. Todd might refuse to speak to me a dozen times if she liked. It wouldn't break my heart. But where is she? In the other room, as gay and lively as ever I saw her. See, there she is. Yes, I see her. Hark! You can hear her laugh to hear. I must confess I don't like it. I don't believe she has any heart. She must know that Mrs. Jones is hurt at what she has done. Of course she does, and her manner is meant to insult her. Seeing the disturbed and depressed state of Mrs. Jones's mind, two or three of her friends held a consultation on the subject and finally agreed that they would ask Mrs. Todd, who seemed purposely to avoid Mrs. Jones, why she acted towards her as she did. But before they could find an opportunity of so doing, a messenger came to say that one of Mrs. Todd's children had been taken suddenly ill. The lady withdrew immediately. Mrs. Jones breathed more freely on learning that Mrs. Todd had gone home. Soon after, she emerged from her place in the corner and mingled with the company during the rest of the evening. Mrs. Todd, on arriving at home, found one of her children quite sick, but had proved to be nothing serious. On the following morning the little fellow was quite well again. On that same morning three ladies, personal friends of Mrs. Todd, met by appointment and entered into grave consultation. They had undertaken to find out the cause of offence that had occurred of so serious a character as to lead Mrs. Todd to adopt so rigid a course towards Mrs. Jones, and, if possible, to reconcile matters. The sickness of her child will be a good excuse for us to call upon her, said one, if he is better we can introduce the matter judiciously. I wonder how she will take it, suggested another. Kindly, I hope, remarks the third. Suppose she does not. We have done our duty. True, and that consciousness ought to be enough for us. She is a very proud woman, and my fear is that, having taken an open and decided stand, will yield to neither argument nor persuasion. Last night she overacted her part. While she carefully avoided coming in contact with Mrs. Jones, she was often very near her, and on such occasions talked and laughed louder than at any other time. I thought, once or twice, that there was something of malice exhibited in her condom. To this one of the three assented, but the other thought differently. After some further discussion, and an ineffectual attempt to decide which of them should open the matter to Mrs. Todd, the ladies sallied forth on their errand of peace. They found Mrs. Todd at home, who received them in her usual, agreeable manner. How is your little boy? was the first question, after the first salutations were over. Much better than he was last night, I thank you. Indeed, he is quite as well as usual. What was the matter with him, Mrs. Todd? It is hard to tell. I found him with a high fever when I got home, but it subsided in the course of an hour. Children often have such attacks, they will be quite sick one hour, and apparently well the next. I am very glad to hear that it is nothing serious, said one of the ladies. I was afraid it might have been croop or something as bad. There was a pause. It seemed a little unfortunate, remarked one of the visitors, for it deprived you of an evening's enjoyment. Yes, it does appear so, but no doubt it is all right. I suppose you had a very pleasant time? Oh, yes, delightful. I hadn't seen half my friends when I was summoned away. Was Mrs. Williams there? Oh, yes. And Mrs. Gray? Yes. And Mrs. Elder? Yes. I didn't see either of them. Not a word about Mrs. Jones, thought the ladies. A light-running conversation, something after this style, was kept up with occasional pauses for half an hour, when one of the visitors determined to come to the point. Mrs. Todd, ahem, she said, in one of the pauses that always take place in uninteresting conversation. The lady's tone of voice had so changed from what it was a few moments before, that Mrs. Todd looked up at her with surprise. No less changed was the lady's countenance. Mrs. Todd was mystified, but she was not long in doubt. Ahem. Mrs. Todd, we have come to, as friends, mutual friends, to ask you, the lady's voice broke down, but two or three ahems partially restored it, and she went on, to ask why you refuse to speak to Mrs. Jones. Why I refuse to speak to Mrs. Jones, said Mrs. Todd, her cheek flushing. Yes, Mrs. Jones has very much heard about it, and says she cannot imagine the reason. It has made her very unhappy. As mutual friends, we have thought at our duty to try and reconcile matters. It is on this errand that we have called this morning. Mrs. Jones says she met you for the last time about two weeks ago, and that you refuse to speak to her. May we ask the reason? You may, certainly, was calmly replied. Expectation was now on tiptoe. What, then, was the reason? I did not see her. What? Didn't you refuse to speak to her? Never in my life. I esteem Mrs. Jones too highly. If I passed her, as you say, without speaking, it was because I did not see her. In less than half an hour Mrs. Todd was at the house of Mrs. Jones. What passed between the ladies need not be told. End of Section 9, Much Ado About Nothing, or The Reason Why Mrs. Todd Didn't Speak to Mrs. Jones, Recording by Rosie. This is Section 10 of Off-Hand Sketches, A Little Dashed with Humor, by T. S. Arthur. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information, or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. This section is recorded by Robert Parker, of Story City, Iowa. Off-Hand Sketches, by T. S. Arthur. Section 10, titled Almost A Tragedy, A Reminiscence of Mr. John Jones. It is now about five years since I met with a little adventure in the West, which may be worth relating. It caused me a good deal of excitement at first, and regrets afterward for the temporary pain I inflicted, and many a hearty laugh since. New things come up so rapidly that it is almost impossible to keep the run of them, and it is not at all surprising that those who are content to go along in the good old way should now and then be caught napping. I owned that I was, completely. Business took me out West in the spring of 18, and kept me in Ohio for the entire summer of that year. After a hard days ride, in the month of August, I entered, just before nightfall, a certain town lying on the National Road, where I expected to remain for a week. After taking possession of my room at the hotel, and shaving, and washing, and improving my appearance and other respects, I came down and took a seat in the porch that ran along the front of the house. I had not been here very long before the stage from the East drove up, and the passengers who were to take supper, as this was the stage house, alighted. Among them I noticed a woman with a pale, emaciated, and, I would have said, dying child in her arms. Her face was anxious and haggard in its expression. She was accompanied by a man whom I rightly supposed to be her husband. He immediately went to the bar and engaged a room, saying that his child was too sick to permit them to continue their journey. Do you wish a doctor? Asked the landlord. No, replied the man. We have medicine prescribed by our own physician before we left home. If that does no good, we have little confidence in other remedies. No more was set. The man was shown to his room, and whether he retired with his wife and sick child. The room that so happened was next to mine, and the two rooms communicated by a door, which was, of course, closed and fastened. The emaciated child, an anxious mother, presented a sight that fixed itself upon my mind, and excited my liveliest sympathies. I could not get them from my thoughts. About ten o'clock that night, I took a candle and went to my room, before undressing myself. I sat down at a table to make some entries of collections and expenses, and to think over and arrange my business for the next day. All was still, except now and then a slight movement in the next chamber where the parents were sitting up with their sick child. What did you give him last? I heard the father say in a low but distinct tone. Aconite was as distinctly replied. Well, this I knew to be a deadly poisoned. I listened, you may be sure, with more earnest attention. How many grains was next asked? Two, replied the mother. Two grains of aconite. My hair began to rise. I think we better increase the dose to five grains, he said. Horrible. It's been an hour since he took the last, and I see no change, said the mother, and perhaps we had better try the arsenic. Well, my blood ran cold at this murderous proposition. I felt like starting up and bursting open the door and confronting them in their dreadful work. But as if spellbound, I remained where I was. To the last proposition, the man replied, I would rather see the aconite tried in a larger dose. If, in half an hour, there is no visible effect from it, then we will resort to the arsenic. If you think it best, said the mother, in a low, sad voice. Well, she might be sad over such awful work. Let us try the aconite again, but in a larger dose. You will find it on the mantelpiece. I heard the deliberate tread of the man as he crossed the room for a larger dose of the poison, while I hurriedly deliberated the question of what I should do. Before I could make up my mind to act, I heard his returning step, and a few moments of awful stillness succeeded. I felt as if I was in the center of a sphere, with the gravitating forces from every point of the circumference upon me. I don't think I could have moved a limb to save my life. There, let us see what they will do, came distinctly on my ear. Gracious heaven, the deed was done. Five grains of aconite, given to the tender child, already on the verge of death. The cold sweat came out over my whole body, and stood in clammy drops upon my forehead. All was still. Death was doing his awful work in silence. I sat motionless, under the influence of a strange irresolution or imbecility of mind, unable to determine what steps to take in a matter where all now seems as plain to me as day's light. I do not know what came over me. The fact only shows how, when placed in certain positions, we become paralyzed and unable to act even with common decision. I remember saying to myself, as a justification for not interfering at this stage of the proceedings, it's too late now. Five and three are eight. Eight grains of aconite. There is no longer a vestige of hope for the child. Death is as certain as if a bullet were fired through the sufferer's head. I did not stir from where I sat, but tried to hush my deep breathing and quiet the loud pulsations of my heart, lest even they should be heard and betray my proximity to the wretches. Half an hour passed. There was a movement in the murmuring sound of voices, but though I listened eagerly, I was not able to make out what was said. I heard the tread of a man across the floor, and I also heard his return. I thought of the arsenic and said to myself at the same time, they will not need that. The woman was speaking. I listened. Was that the arsenic? Yes. How many grains did you give him? I meant to give him three, but in mistake gave him six or seven. It was too late now for any interference, but I was determined that the wretches should not escape. I was an ear witness to their murderous act, and I resolved to bring them to the light. While I thus mused and resolved, I was thrilled by a long, tremulous cry from the dying child. All was again as still as death, save an occasional deep sob that seemed bursting up from the remnant of stifled nature in the mother's bosom. Again that cry arose suddenly on the air, but feebler and shorter. The mother's sob now became a moan and soon changed to a low, wailing cry. Her child was dead. The fatal drugs had too surely done their murderous work. But why should she weep over the precious babe her own hand had destroyed? And why came there now and then from that chamber of death a deep sighing moan, struggling up in all efforts to repress it from the breath of the miserable father? Strange enigma! I could not read satisfactorily to myself the difficult solution. I still remained quiet where I was. In a little while I heard the father go out and listen to his footsteps until they became lost in silence. Soon the hasty tread of several feet were heard, and two or three females entered the room. Their presence caused the woman to cry bitterly. False hearted cruel wretch! I could not help muttering to myself. Hippocritical cries and crocodile tears will not hide your sin. An ear of which you dreamed not has heard your hellish plots and been witnessed to your hellish deeds upon the body of your poor babe. You cannot escape. The voice of blood cries from the very ground. The hope of the murderer is vain. He cannot hide himself from the pursuer. For half the night I lay awake, thinking of what had occurred and settling in my mind the course of proceeding to adopt in the morning. I was up long before sunrise. In fact, long before anybody else was stirring, awaiting the appearance of the landlord, to whom it was my intention to give information of the dreadful deed that had been committed. Full an hour elapsed before he made his appearance, I immediately drew him a sign. There's been a death in the house, said I. Yes, he replied. The poor sick child that was brought here by the eastern stage last evening died in the night. I did not suppose it would live till morning. To me, it seemed in a dying state when its parents arrived. There's been foul play, said I, with emphasis. That child has not died a natural death. How so? What do you mean? asked the landlord with a look of surprise. I mean what I say, was my reply. As sure as I'm a living man, that child has been murdered. I then related all I had heard to the horror and astonishment of the landlord. A deed like this must not go unpurnished, he said sternly and angrily. It is horrible to think of it. After talking over the matter for some time, it was determined to call a council of a half a dozen of the regular boarders in the house, as soon as breakfast was over, and decide upon the steps best to be taken. Accordingly, after breakfast, a few of us assembled in a private parlor, and I again related with my newtness all that I had heard. After sundry expressions of horror and indignation, a gentleman said to me, are you sure it was grains or granules of aconite and arsenic that were given to the child? Grains, sir, I replied promptly. This is a serious matter, he added, and if there should be any mistake it would be sad indeed to harrow the feelings of those bereaved parents by so dreadful a charge as that of the murder of their own offspring. My own impression is that our friend here is under a mistake. Can't I believe my own ears, sir? Said I, a little indignantly. Don't misunderstand me, return the gentleman politely. I don't doubt you have heard all you say, and it may even be to the word grains, but I am under the impression that the arsenic and aconite given were in the homeopathic preparations and therefore no longer poisonous. There was a long pause after this was said. Everyone present seemed to breathe more freely. I had heard of homeopathy and something about infinitesimal doses, but had never seen the medicine used. Neither did I know anything about the mode in which it was sometimes practiced. Suppose we send for the man, suggested the landlord, and question him, but in a way not to have wound him if he be innocent. This, after some debate, was agreed upon and a servant was sent to his room with a request that he would come to the parlor. He obeyed the summons instantly, but looked a good deal surprised when he saw a grave assembly of six or seven persons. The gentleman who had expressed his doubt in the man's favor said to him, as soon as he'd taken his seat, We have learned, sir, with sincere regret that you were so unfortunate as to lose your child last night. A severe affliction. Those strangers, we deeply sympathize with you. The man expressed his thanks in a few words for the kind feelings manifested and said that as it was their only child, they felt the affliction more severely, but were still willing to submit to the laws as a divine dispensation grievous to be born yet intended for good. You did not call in a physician, said the individual who had at first addressed him. No, replied the man. Before starting for Cincinnati yesterday morning, we learned that no matter how ill our child might become, we could not get the advice of a homeopathic physician until we reached home, and we were not willing to trust our child in the hands of any other. We, therefore, before commencing our journey, obtained medicine and advice how to administer it should alarming symptoms occur. Homeopathic medicines? Yes, sir. In powders, I suppose? No, sir. In little grains or pellets like these. And he drew from his pocket a diminutive vial, the smallest I had ever seen, in which were a number of little white granules about the size of the head of a pin. A printed label was wound around the vial, and it bore the word Arcinicum. It passed from hand to hand and all read it. You gave this, said the volunteer spokesman. Yes, sir. That and aconite. How much is a dose? From one to five or six grains. Or granules? Yes. The little bottle was returned to the man who placed it in his pocket. A pause ensued. The truth was plain enough to us all. The individual whose sagacity or better information about what was going on in the world had saved the most painful denouement to this affair, said to the man, in a way as little as possible calculated to wound his feelings. You are, of course, surprised at this proceeding. This seemingly wanton intrusion upon your grief. But you will understand it when I tell you that a lodger in a room adjoining yours, who knew nothing of homeopathy, heard you speak of giving your child several grains of aconite and Arcinic. You can easily infer the impression upon his mind. This morning he related what he had heard when an individual here present who suspected the truth suggested that you be sent for and asked the questions which you have so satisfactorily answered. Do not, let me beg of you, feel hurt. What we have done was but an act of justice to yourself. The man smiled sadly and, thanking us with eyes fast filling with tears, rose up quickly to conceal his emotion and retired from the room. Landlord, I said an hour afterwards, I want my valise taken out of number ten and put into some other room. Why so? Isn't the room a pleasant one? Oh yes, but I'd like a change. Very well. We'll put you in room sixty. I was the lodger in the room adjoining and didn't, therefore, wish to appear on the premise and be known to the man as the getter-up of a suspicion about him. I did not come home to dinner and kept out of the way until after dark. When I returned to the hotel, I was relieved to find that the bereaved persons, the parents, had departed with the dead body of their child. But the whole company was now at liberty to laugh at what had occurred to their heart's content and to laugh at me in particular. I stood it that evening as well as I could, but finding on the next day that it was renewed with as keen a zest as ever concluded to close up my business on the spot and leave the place, which I did. That is the end of Chapter Ten, recorded by Robert Parker of Story City, Iowa, in the book Offhand Sketches by T. S. Arthur. Section Number Eleven of Offhand Sketches This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Sandra Estenson Offhand Sketches by T. S. Arthur Section Eleven That John Mason What kind of people have you here? I asked of one of my first acquaintances after becoming a denizen of the pleasant little village of Moorfield. Very clever people, with one or two exceptions, he replied, I am sure you will like us very well. Poor the exceptions, I asked, for I wish to keep all such exceptions at a distance. Being a stranger, I will wisely take a hint in time. It's an easy matter to shun an acquaintanceship, but by no means so easy to break it off after it's once formed. Very truly said Mr. Jones, and I will warn you in time, of one man in particular. His name is John Mason. Keep clear of him, if you wish to keep out of trouble. He's as smooth and oily as a wet stone. And, like a wet stone, abreeds everything he touches. He's a bad man, that John Mason. Who, or what is he? I asked. He's a lawyer, and one of the principal holders of property in the township. But money can't guild him over. He's a bad man, that John Mason. And my advice to you, and to everyone, is to keep clear of him. I know him like a book. I'm very much obliged to you, I said, and for your timely caution, I will take care to profit by it. My next acquaintance bore pretty much the same testimony, and so did the next. It was plain that John Mason was not the right kind of a man, and rather a blemish upon the village of Moorfield. Notwithstanding, he was one of the principal property holders in the township. If it wasn't for that John Mason, I heard on this hand, and if it wasn't for that John Mason, I heard on the other, as my acquaintance ship among the people extended, particularly bitter against him, was the first individual who had whispered in my ear a friendly caution, and I hardly ever met with him that he hadn't something to say about that John Mason. About six months after my arrival in Moorfield, I attended a public meeting at which the leading men of the township were present. Most of them were strangers to me. At this meeting, I fell in company with a very pleasant man who had several times addressed those present, and always in such a clear, forcible, and common sense way as to carry conviction to all but a few, who carped and quibbled at everything he said, in a very churlish manner. Several of those quibblers I happened to know. He represented one set of views, and they another. His had regard for the public good. Theirs looked, it was plain, to sectional and private interests. How do you like our little town, Mr. Jones? said this individual to me, after the meeting had adjourned, and little knots of individuals were formed here and there for conversation. Very well, I replied. And the people, he added. The people, I answered, appear to be about a fair sample of what are to be found everywhere, good and bad mixed up together. Yes, that, I suppose, is a fair general estimate. Of course, I added, we find in all communities, certain individuals, who stand out more prominent than the rest, distinguished for good or evil. This appears to be the case here, as well as elsewhere. You have already discovered then, that even in Moorfield there are some bad men? Oh yes, there's that John Mason, for instance. The man looked a little surprised, but remarked, without any change of tone. So you've heard of him, have you? Oh yes. As a very bad man? Yes, very well. Have you ever met him? No, and never wished to. You've seen him, I presume? Never, is he here? The man glanced around the room and then replied, I don't see him. He was here, I suppose? Oh yes, and addressed the meeting several times. In one of those sneering, ill-tempered answers to your remarks, no doubt, the man slightly inclined his head as if acknowledging a compliment. It's a pity, I said, that such men as this John Mason often have wealth and some shrewdness of mind to give them power in the community. Perhaps, said my auditor, your prejudices against this man are too strong. He's not perfect, I know, but even the devil is often painted blacker than he is. If you knew him, I'd rather think you would estimate him a little differently. I don't wish to know him. Opportunities have offered, but I have always avoided an introduction. Who first gave you the character of this man? Asked the individual with whom I was conversing. Mr. Laxton, I replied, do you know him? Oh yes, very well. He speaks hard of Mason, does he? He has cause, I believe. Did he ever explain to you what it was? Not very fully, but he gives him a general bad character and says he has done more to injure the best interests of the village than any ten of its worst enemies that exist. Indeed, that is a sweeping declaration, but I will frankly own that I cannot judge in so broad a condemnation of the man, although he has his faults, and no one knows them I think better than I do. This made no impression on me. The name of John Mason was associated, in my mind, with everything that was bad, and I replied by saying that I was very well satisfied in regard to his character and didn't mean to have anything to do with him while I lived in Moorfield. Someone interrupted our conversation at this point, and I was separated from my very agreeable companion. I met him frequently afterwards, and he was always particularly polite to me, and once or twice asked me if I had fallen in with that John Mason yet, to which I always replied in the negative and expressed myself as ever in regard to the personage mentioned. Careful as we may be to keep out of trouble, we are not always successful in our efforts. When I moved to Moorfield, I supposed my affairs to be in a very good way, but things proved to be otherwise. I was disappointed, not only in the amount I expected to receive from the business I followed in the village, but disappointed in the receipt of money I felt sure of getting by a certain time. When I first came to Moorfield, I bought a piece of property from Laxton. This business transaction made us acquainted, and paid cash down one-third of the purchase money, the property remaining as security for the two-thirds, which I was under contract to settle at a certain time. My first payment was $2,000. Unfortunately, when the final payment became due, I was not in funds, and the prospect of receiving money within five or six months was anything but good. In this dilemma, I waited upon Laxton and informed him of my disappointment. His face became grave. I hope it will not put you in any serious inconvenience. What, he asked? My failure to meet this payment on the property. You are fully secured, and within six months I will be able to do what I had hoped to do at this time. I am sorry, Mr. Jones, he returned, but I have made all my calculations to receive the sum due at this time and cannot do without it. But I haven't the money, Mr. Laxton, and I have fully explained to you the reason why. That is your affair, not mine, Mr. Jones. If you have been disappointed at one point, it is your business to look to another. A contract is a contract. Will you not extend the time of payment, said I? No, sir, I cannot. What will you do? Do you ask a strange question? Well, what will you do? Why raise the money on the property? How will you do that? Sell it, of course. I asked no further questions, but left him and went away. Before reaching home, to which place I was retiring in order to think over the position in which I was placed, and determine what steps to take if any were left to me, I met the pleasant acquaintance I had made at the town meeting. You look grave, Mr. Jones, said he as we paused, facing each other. What's the matter? I frankly told him my difficulty. So, Laxton has got you in his clutches, has he? Was the simple yet I perceived meaning reply that he made? I am in his clutches, certainly, said I, and will not get out of them very easily, I apprehend. What will he do? He will sell the property at auction. It won't bring his claim under the hammer. No, I suppose not, for that is really more than the property is worth. Do you think so? Certainly I do. I know the value of every lot of ground in the township, and know that you have been taken in your purchase. What do you suppose it will bring at a forced sale? Few men will bid over $2,500. You cannot be serious. I assure you I am. He, however, will overbid all, up to $4,000. He will probably have it knocked down to him at $3,000, and thus come into the unencumbered possession of a piece of property upon which he has received $2,000. But $3,000 will not satisfy his claim against me. No, but you will still owe him $1,000. Will he prosecute his claim? He? Yes, to the last extremity, if there be hope of getting anything. Then I am certainly in a bad way. I am afraid you are, unless you can find someone here who will befriend you in the matter. There is no one here who will lend me $4,000 upon that piece of property, said I. I don't know, but one man who is likely to do it, was answered. Who's that, I asked eagerly. John Mason. John Mason? I'll never go to him. Why not? I might as well remain here where I am as get into his hands, a sharper and a lawyer to boot. No, no, better to bear the evils that we have than to fly to others that we know not of. You may get assistance elsewhere, but I'm doubtful, said the man, and, bowing politely, passed on and left me to my own unpleasant reflections. Laxton made as quick work of the business as the nature of the case would admit, and in a very short time the property was advertised at public sale. As the time for the sale approached, the great desire to prevent the sacrifice that I was too well assured would take place suggested the darnier resort of ailing upon Mason. But my prejudice against the man was so strong I could not get my own consent to do so. On the day before the sale, I met the individual before alluded to. Have you been to see Mason? he asked. I shook my head. Then you have made up your mind to let that scoundrel Laxton fleece you out of your property? I see no way of preventing it. Why don't you try, Mason? I don't believe it would do any good. I think differently. If he did help me out of this difficulty, I replied, it would only be to get me into more narrow corner. You don't know any such thing, said the man, a different tone from any in which he had taken when Mason was the subject of our remarks. Think for a moment, upon the basis of your prejudice. It lies mainly upon the assertion of Laxton. From your own experience has proved to be a scoundrel. The fact is, your estimate of Mason's character is entirely erroneous. Laxton hates him because he has circumvented him more than a dozen times in his schemes of inequity and will circumvent him again if I do not greatly err, provided you give him the opportunity of doing so. There was force in the view, true enough, what confidence was there to be placed in Laxton's words, and if Mason had circumvented him, as was alleged, of course there was a very good reason for detraction. At what hour do you think I can see him? said I. I believe he's usually in about twelve o'clock. I will see him, said I, with emphasis. Do so, returned the man, and may your interview be as satisfactory as you can desire. At twelve, precisely, I called upon Mason, not without many misgivings I must own. I found my prejudices still strong, and as to the good result, I could not help feeling serious doubts. On entering his office, I found no one present but the individual under whose advice I had called. Mr. Mason is not in, I said, feeling a little disappointed. Oh yes, he is in, was replied. I looked around, and then turned my eyes upon the man's face. I did not exactly comprehend its expression. My name is John Mason, said he, bowing politely. So be seated, and let us talk over the business upon which you have called on me. I needed no invitation to sit down, for I could not have kept my feet if I had tried, so suddenly and completely did his words astonish and confound me. I will not repeat the confused, blundering apologies I attempted to make, nor give his gentlemanly replies, enough that an hour before the time at which the sale was advertised to take place on the next day, I waited upon Laxton. Be kind enough, said I, to let me have that obligation upon which your present, stringent measures are founded. I wish to take it up. The man looked perfectly blank. Mr. John Mason, said I, has generously furnished me with the funds necessary to save my property from sacrifice, and will take the securities you hold. Blast that, John Mason, ejaculated Laxton with excessive bitterness, turning away and leaving where I stood. I waited for ten minutes, but he did not come back. A suspicion that he meant to let the sale go on, if possible, crossed my mind, and I returned to Mason, who saw the sheriff and the whole matter arranged. Laxton has never spoken to me since, as for that John Mason, I have proved him to be fast friend and a man of strict honor in everything, so much for slander. End of Chapter 11, That John Mason The book is Offhand Sketches by T. S. Arthur. This is Section 12, titled, A New Way to Collect an Old Dead. Early in life, Mr. Jenkins had been what is called unfortunate in business. Either from the want of right management, or from causes that he could not well control, he became involved and was broken all to pieces. It was not enough that he gave up every dollar he possessed in the world. In the hope that friends would interfere to prevent his being sent to jail, some of his creditors pressed eagerly for the balance of their claims. And the unhappy debtor had no alternative but to avail himself of the statute made and provided for the benefit of individuals in his extremity. It was a sore trial for him, but anything rather than to be thrown into prison. After this tempest of trouble and excitement, there fell upon the spirits of Mr. Jenkins a great calm. He withdrew himself from public observation for a time, but his active mind would not let him remain long in obscurity. In a few months he was again in business, though in a small way. His efforts were more cautiously directed than before and proved successful. He made something above his expenses during the first year, and after that accumulated money rapidly. In five or six years Mr. Jenkins was worth some nine or ten thousand dollars. But with this prosperity came no disposition on the part of Mr. Jenkins to pay off his old obligations. They used the law against me, he would say, when the subject pressed itself upon his mind, as it would sometimes do. And now let them get what the law will give them. There was a curious provision in the law by which Jenkins had been freed from all the claims of his creditors against him, and this provision is usually incorporated in all similar laws, though for what reason it's hard to tell. It is only necessary to promise to pay a claim, thus annulled, to bring it in full force against the debtor. If a man owes another a thousand dollars, and by economy and self-denial succeeds in saving twenty dollars and paying them to him, he becomes at once liable for the remaining eighty dollars, unless the manner of doing it be very guarded, and is in danger of a prosecution, although unable to pay another cent. A prudent man, who has once been forced into the unhappy alternative of taking the benefit of the insolvent law, is always careful, lest, in an unguardened moment, he acknowledges his liability to some old creditor before he is fully able to meet it. Anxious as he is to assure this one and that one of his desire and intention to pay them, if ever in his power, and to say to them that is struggling early and late for their sakes as well as his own, his lips must remain sealed. A word of his intentions and all his fond hopes of getting fairly on his feet again are in danger of shipwreck. Understanding the binding force of a promise of this kind made in writing or in the presence of witnesses, certain of the more selfish or less manly and honorable class of creditors, are ever seeking to extort by fair or foul means from an unfortunate debtor who has honestly given up everything and acknowledgement of his indebtedness to them in order that they may reap the benefit of his first efforts to get upon his feet again. Many and many an honest but indiscreet debtor has been thrown upon his back once more from this cause and all his hopes in life blasted forever. The means of approach to a debtor in this situation are many and various. Do you think he will ever be able to do anything on that old account, blandly asked in the presence of a third party, is answered by, I hope so, but at present it takes every dollar I can earn for the support of my family. This is sufficient. The whole claim is in full force. In the course of a month or two, perhaps in a less period, a sheriff's writ is served and the poor fellow's furniture or small stock and trade is seized and he broken all up again. To have replied, you have no claim against me, to the insidious question, seemed in the mind of the poor but honest man so much like a public confession that he was a rogue, that he couldn't do it. And yet this was his only right course and he should have taken it firmly. Letters are often written, calling attention to the old matter, in which are well-timed allusions to the debtor's known integrity of character and willingness to pay every dollar he owes in the world if ever able. Such letters should never be answered, for the answer will be almost sure to contain something that, in a court of justice, will be construed into an acknowledgement of the entire claim. In paying off all the accounts that the law has cancelled, which we think every man should do if in his power, the acknowledgement of indebtedness never need go further than the amount paid at any time. Beyond this no creditor who does not wish to oppress will ask a man to go. If any seek a further revival of the old claim, let the debtor be aware of them and also let him be on his guard against him whom in any way alludes, either in writing or personally, to the previous indebtedness. But we have digressed far enough. Mr. Jenkins, we are sorry to say, was not of that class of debtors who never consider an obligation morally cancelled. The law, once on his side, he fully made up his mind to keep it forever between him and all former transactions. Sundry were the attempts made to get old claims against him revived after it was clearly understood that he was getting to be worth money. But Jenkins was a rogue at heart, and rogues are always more wary than honest men. Among the creditors of Jenkins was a man named Gooding, who had loaned him five hundred dollars and lost three hundred of it. Gooding pitied sincerely the misfortunes of Jenkins, and pocketed his loss without saying a hard word or laying the weight of a finger upon his already two heavily burdened shoulders. But it so happened that as Jenkins commenced going up in the world, Gooding began to go down. At the time when the former was clearly worth ten thousand dollars, he was hardly able to get money enough to pay his quarterly rent bills. Several times he thought of calling the attention of his old debtor to the balance still against him, which, as it was for borrowed money, ought certainly to be paid. But it was an unpleasant thing to remind a friend of an old obligation in Gooding, for a time, chose to bear his troubles as the least disagreeable of the two alternatives. At last, however, difficulties pressed so hard upon him that he forced himself to the task. Both he and Jenkins lived about three-quarters of a mile distance from their places of business, in a little village beyond the suburbs of the city. Gooding was lame and used to ride to and from his store in a small wagon, which was used for sending home goods during the day. Jenkins usually walked into town in the morning and home in the evening. It not unfrequently happened that Gooding overtook the latter, while riding home after business hours, when he always invited him to take a seat by his side, which invitation was never declined. They were riding home in this way one evening when Gooding, after clearing his throat, two or three times said, with a slight faltering in his voice, I am sorry, neighbor Jenkins, to make any allusion to old matters, but as you are getting along very comfortably and I am rather hard-pressed, don't you think you could do something for me on account of the three hundred dollars due for borrowed money? If it had been a regular business debt, I would never have said a word about it, but neighbor Gooding said Jenkins, interrupting him, don't give yourself a moment's uneasiness about that matter. It shall be paid, every dollar of it, but I am not able just yet to make it up for you, but you shall have it. This was said in the blandest way imaginable, yet in a tone of earnestness. How soon do you think you can do something for me? asked Gooding. I don't know if I am not disappointed, however. I think I can spare you a little in a couple of months. My rent is due on the first of October. If you can let me have, say, fifty dollars, then it will be a great accommodation. I will see. If in my power you shall certainly have at least that amount. The two months rolled around and Gooding's quarter-day came. Nothing more had been said by Jenkins on the subject of the fifty dollars, and Gooding felt very reluctant about reminding him of his promise. But he was short in making up his rent, just the promised sum. He waited until late in the day, but Jenkins neither sent nor called. As the matter was pressing, he determined to drop in upon his neighbor, and remind him of what he had said. He accordingly went round to the store of Jenkins, and found him alone with his clerk. How are you today? said Jenkins, smiling. Very well, how are you? So-so. The men came a pause. Business rather dull, remarked Jenkins. Very, replied Gooding, with a serious face and a more serious tone of voice. Nothing at all doing. I never saw a business so flat in my life. Flat enough. Another pause. Mr. Jenkins began Gooding after a few moments. Do you think you can do anything for me today? If there is anything I can do for you, it shall be done with pleasure, said Jenkins in a cheerful way. In what can I oblige you? You remember you said that in all probability you would be able to spare me as much as fifty dollars today? I said so. Jenkins asked this question with an appearance of real surprise. Yes, don't you remember when we were riding home one evening about two months ago, I called your attention to the old account standing between us, and you promised to pay it soon. And said you thought you could spare me fifty dollars about the time my quarters rent became due. Upon my word, friend Gooding, I have no recollection of the circumstance, whatever. Replied Jenkins with a smile. It must have been someone else with whom you were riding. I never said I owed you anything, or promised to pay you fifty dollars about this time. Oh yes, oh yes, but I'm sure you did. And I'm just as sure that I did not, returned Jenkins, still perfectly undisturbed. While Gooding, as might be supposed, felt his indignation just ready to boil over. But the latter controlled himself as best he could, and as soon as he could get away from the store of Jenkins, without doing so in a manner that would tend to close all intercourse between them, he left and returned to his own place of business. Shegrind and angry. On the same evening, as Gooding was riding home, he saw Jenkins ahead of him on the road. He soon overtook him. Jenkins turned his usual smiling face upon his old creditor, and said, Good evening, in his usually friendly way. The invitation to get up and ride, that was always given unlike occasions, was extended again. And in a few moments the two men were riding along side by side, as friendly to all appearance, as if nothing had happened. Jenkins, how could you serve me such a scaly trick as you did? Gooding said, soon after his neighbor had taken a seat by his side. You know, very well that you promised to pay my claim, and also promised to give me $50 of it today, if possible. I know I did, but it was out of my power to let you have anything today, replied Jenkins. But what was the use of your denying it, and making me out a liar or a fool in the presence of your clerk? Well, I had a very good reason for doing so. My clerk would have been a witness to my acknowledgment of your whole claim against me, and thus make me liable before I was ready to pay it. As my head is fairly clear of the halter, you cannot blame me for wishing to keep it so. A burnt child, you know, dreads the fire. But you know me well enough to know that I would never have pressed the claim against you. Friend Gooding, I have seen enough of the world to satisfy me that we don't know anyone. I am very ready to say to you that your claim shall be satisfied to the full extent, whenever it is in my power to do so. But a legal acknowledgment of the claim I am not willing to make. You mustn't think hard of me for what I did today. I could not, injustice to myself, have done anything else. Gooding professed to be fully satisfied with this explanation, although he was not. He was very well assured that Jenkins was perfectly able to pay him the $300 if he chose to do so, and that his refusal to let him have the $50 conditionally promised was a dishonest act. More than a year passed, during which time Gooding made many fruitless attempts to get something out of Jenkins, who was always on the best terms with him, but put him off with fair promises that were never kept. These promises were never made in the presence of a third person, and might therefore have just as well been made to the wind. So far as their binding force was concerned, things grew worse and worse with Gooding, and he became poorer every day, while the condition of Jenkins as steadily improved. One rainy afternoon, Gooding drove up to the store of his old friend, about half an hour earlier than he usually left for home, and Jenkins was standing in the door. As it is raining, I thought I would call round for you, he said, as he drew up his horse. Very much obliged to you indeed, returned Jenkins, quite well pleased. Stop a moment until I lock up my desk, and then I will be with you. In a minute or two, Jenkins came out and stepped lightly into the wagon. It is kind in you, really, to call for me, as the wagon moved briskly away. I was just thinking that I should have to get a carriage. Oh, it's no trouble to me at all, returned Gooding, and if it were, the pleasure of doing a friend a kindness would fully repay it. You smell strong of whiskey here, said Jenkins, after they had ridden a little way, turning his eyes toward the back part of the wagon as he spoke. What have you here? It's an empty whiskey hog's head. This rain put me in mind of doing what my wife has been teasing me to do for the last six months. Get her a rain barrel. I tried to get an old oil cask, but couldn't find one. They make the best rain barrels. Just burn them out with a flash of good, dry shavings, and they are clear from all oily impurities, and as tight as a drum. Indeed, I never thought of that. I must look out for one, for our old rain hog, said, is about tumbling two pieces. From rain barrels, the conversation turned upon business, and at length, Gooding brought up the old story, and urged the settlement of his claim as a matter of charity. You don't know how much I need it, he said. Necessity alone compels me to press the claim upon your attention. It is hard, I know, and I'm very sorry for you, Jenkins replied. Next week, I will certainly pay you fifty dollars. I shall be very thankful. How soon after that do you think you will be able to let me have the balance of the three hundred do me? Say, as early as possible. Within three months, at least, I hope, replied Jenkins. Harry, do you hear that? said Gooding, turning his head toward the back part of the wagon, and speaking in a quick elated manner. Oh, hi! came ringing from the bung-hole of the whiskey hog's head. Who the Dickens is that? exclaimed Jenkins, turning quickly round. No one, replied Gooding, with a quiet smile. But my clerk, Harry Williams, where? Here, replied the individual named, pushing himself up through the loose head of the upright hog's head, and looking into the face of the discomfited Jenkins, with a broad smile of satisfaction upon his always humorous fizz. Oh, Charlie, said Gooding, at this minute, raining up his horse before the house of Jenkins. The latter stepped out with his eyes upon the ground, and stood with his hand upon the wagon in thought for some moments. And then, looking up, he said, while the humor of the whole thing pressed itself so full upon him that he couldn't help smiling. See here, Gooding, if both you and Harry will promise me never to say a word about this confounded trick, I will give you a check for $300 on the spot. No, I must have $426. The principal and interest, nothing less, returned Gooding firmly. You have acknowledged the debt in the presence of Mr. Williams, and if it is not paid by tomorrow 12 o'clock, I shall commence suit against you. If I receive the money before that time, we will keep this little matter quiet. If suit is brought, all will come out on the trial. As you please, said Jenkins angrily, turning away and entering his house. Before 12 o'clock on the next day, however, Jenkins' clerk called in at the store of Gooding, and paid him $426, for which he took his receipt in full for all demands to date. The two men were never afterward on terms of sufficient intimacy to ride in the same wagon together. Whether Gooding and his clerk kept the matter a secret, as they promised, we don't know. It is very certain that it was known all over town in less than a week, and soon after was told in the newspapers as a most capital joke. This is the end of Section 12, recorded by Robert Parker of Story City, Iowa. The book is Off-Hand Sketches, A Little-Dashed with Humor by T. S. Arthur. Section 13 of Off-Hand Sketches. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Deborah Lynn. Off-Hand Sketches by T. S. Arthur. Section 13. A Shocking Bad Memory. Must I give up everything? asked Mr. Hardy of his lawyer, with whom he was holding a consultation as to the mode and manner of getting clear of certain responsibilities in the shape of debt. Yes, everything or commit perjury. The oath you have taken is very comprehensive. If you keep back as much as ten dollars you will swear falsely. Bad, bad! I have about seven thousand dollars and I owe twenty thousand. To divide this among my creditors gives them but a small sum of peace while it strips me of everything. Is there no way, Mr. Docket, by which I can retain this money and yet not take a false oath? You gentlemen of the bar can usually find some loophole in the law out of which to help your clients. I know of several who have gone through the debtor's mill and yet not come forth penniless, and some of them I know would not be guilty of false swearing. Oh, yes, the thing is done every day. Ah, well, how is it done? The process is very simple. Take your seven thousand dollars and make it a present to some friend in whom you can confide. Then you will be worth nothing, and go before the insolvent commissioners and swear until you are black and blue without perjuring yourself. Huh, is that the way it is done, said Mr. Hardy? The very way. But suppose the friend should decline handing it back. The lawyer shrugged his shoulders as he replied, you must take care of whom you trust in an affair of this kind. At worst, however, you would be just as well off assuming that your friend should hold on to what you gave him as you would be if you abandoned all to your creditors. True, if I abandoned all, there is no hope of even getting back a dollar. It is the same as if I had thrown everything into the sea. Precisely. While in adopting the plan you proposed, the chances for getting back my own again are eight to ten in my favor. Or you might almost say ten to ten. No friend into whose hands you confided the little remnant of your property would be so baseless to withhold it from you. I will do it, said Mr. Hardy, as he parted with the lawyer. One day a few weeks after this interview took place, the client of Mr. Docket came hurriedly into his office, and drawing him aside said as he slipped a small package into his hand, here is something for you. You remember our conversation a short time ago? Oh, very well. You understand me, Mr. Docket? Oh, perfectly. All right. When do you go before the commissioners? Tomorrow. Ah, yes. Good morning. I will see you again as soon as all is over. Very well. Good morning. On the next day Mr. Hardy met before the commissioners and took a solemn oath that he had truly and honestly given up into the hands of his assignee every dollar of his property for the benefit of his creditors, and that he did not now possess anything beyond what the law permitted him to retain. Upon this the insolvent commissioners gave him a full release from the claims that were held against him, and Mr. Hardy was able to say, as far as the law was concerned, I owe no man anything. Mr. Docket, the lawyer, was sitting in his office on the day after his client had shuffled off his coil of debt, his mind intent upon some legal mystery, when the latter individual came in with a light step and cheerful air. Good morning, Mr. Hardy, said the lawyer, smiling gladly. Good morning, returned the client. How are things progressing? inquired the lawyer. All right, returned Hardy, rubbing his hands. I am at last a free man. The cursed manacle of debt has been stricken off. I feel like a new being. For which I most sincerely congratulate you, returned the lawyer. For your kindness and so materially aiding me in the matter, said Mr. Hardy, after a pause, I am most truly grateful. You have been my friend as well as my legal advisor. I have only done by you as I would have done by any other man, replied the lawyer. You came to me for legal advice and I gave it freely. Still, beyond that, you have acted as my disinterested friend, said Mr. Hardy, and I cannot express my gratitude in terms sufficiently strong. The lawyer bowed low and looked just a little mystified. A slight degree of uneasiness was felt by the client. A pause now ensued. Mr. Hardy felt something like embarrassment. For some time he talked around the subject uppermost in his mind, but the lawyer did not appear to see the drift of his remarks. At last he said, Now that I have everything arranged, I will take the little package I yesterday handed you. There was a slight expression of surprise on the countenance of Mr. Docket, as he looked inquiringly into the face of his client. Handed to me, he said, in a tone the most innocent imaginable. Yes, returned Hardy with much earnestness. Don't you recollect the package containing seven thousand dollars that I placed in your hands to keep for me yesterday while I went before the commissioners? The lawyer looked thoughtful, but shook his head. Oh, but Mr. Docket, said Hardy, now becoming excited. You must remember it. Don't you recollect that I came in here yesterday while you were engaged with a couple of gentlemen and took you aside for a moment? It was then that I gave you the money. Mr. Docket raised his eyes to the ceiling and mused for some time, as if trying to recall the circumstance to which illusion was made. He then shook his head very deliberately two or three times, remarking as he did so, You are evidently laboring under a serious mistake, Mr. Hardy. I have not the most remote recollection of the incident to which you refer. So far from having received the sum of money you mentioned, I do not remember having seen you for at least a week before today. I am very certain you have not been in my office within that time, unless it were when I was away. Your memory is doubtless at fault. You must have handed the money to someone else, and in the excitement of the occasion confounded me with that individual. Were I not charitable enough to suppose this, I should be deeply offended by what you now say. Mr. Docket returned the client, contracting his brow heavily. Do you take me for a simpleton? Pray do not get excited, Mr. Hardy, replied the lawyer, with the utmost coolness. Excitement never does any good. Better collect your thoughts and try and remember into whose hands you really did place your money. That I have not a dollar belonging to you I can positively affirm. Perhaps you call my seven thousand dollars your own now. I gave you the sum according to your own advice, but it was an understood matter that you were to hand the money back as soon as I had appeared before the commissioners. Mr. Hardy, and the lawyer began to look angry. Mr. Hardy, I will permit neither you nor any other man to face me with such an insinuation. Do you take me for a common swindler? You came and asked if there was not some mode by which you could cheat your creditors out of six or seven thousand dollars, and I, as in duty-bound professionally, told you how the law might be evaded. And now you affirm that I joined you as a party in this nefarious transaction. This is going a little too far. Amazement kept the duped client dumb for some moments. When he would have spoken, his indignation was so great that he was afraid to trust himself to utter what was in his mind. Feeling that too much was at stake to enter into any angry contest with the man who had him so completely in his power, Mr. Hardy tore himself away by a desperate effort. In order that, alone, he might be able to think more calmly and devise, if possible, the means whereby the defective memory of the lawyer might be quickened. On the next day he went again to the office of his legal advisor, and was received very kindly by that individual. I am sure, Mr. Docket, he said, after he was seated, speaking in a soft, insinuating tone of voice, that you can now remember the little fact of which I spoke yesterday. But Mr. Docket shook his head and answered, You have made some mistake, Mr. Hardy. No such sum of money was ever entrusted to me. Perhaps, said Hardy, after thinking for a few minutes, I may have been an error in regard to the amount of money contained in the package. Can't you remember having received $5,000 for me? Think now. The lawyer thought for a little while and then shook his head. No, I have not the slightest recollection of having received such a sum of money from you. The package may only have contained $4,000, said Mr. Hardy, driven to this desperate expedient in the hope of inducing the lawyer to share the plunder of the creditors. But Mr. Docket again shook his head. Say then I gave you but $3,000. No, was the emphatic answer. But I am sure you will remember having received $2,000 from my hand. No, nor $1,000 nor $100, replied the lawyer positively. Mr. Docket, you are a naïve, exclaimed the client, springing to his feet and shaking his clenched fists at the lawyer. You are both a naïve and a fool, sneeringly replied Mr. Docket. Hardy, maddened to desperation, uttered a threat of personal violence and advanced upon the lawyer. But the latter was prepared for him. And before the excited client had approached three paces, there was heard a sharp click, and at the same moment the six dark barrels of a revolver became visible. While Mr. Docket thus coolly held his assailant at bay, he addressed him in this wise. Mr. Hardy, from what you have just said, it is clear that you have been playing a swindling game with your creditors and stained your soul with perjury into the bargain. Now, if you do not leave my office instantly, I will put your case in the hands of the grand jury at present in session, and let you take your chance for the State Prison on the charge of false swearing. Mr. Hardy became instantly as quiet as a lamb. For a few moments he looked at the lawyer in bewildered astonishment, and then, turning away, left his office in a state of mind more easily imagined than described. Subsequently he tried, at various times and on various occasions, to refresh the memory of Mr. Docket on the subject of the seven thousand dollars. But the lawyer remained entirely oblivious, and to this day has not been able to recall a single incident attending the alleged transfer. Mr. Docket has, without doubt, a shocking bad memory. End of section 13, A Shocking Bad Memory. Driving a Hard Bargain. We know a great many businessmen, famous for driving hard bargains, who would consider an insinuation that they were not influenced by honest principles in their dealings, a gross outrage. And yet, such an insinuation would involve only the truth. Hard bargains, by which others are made to suffer in order that we may gain, are not honest transactions, and calling them so don't in the least alter their quality. We have our doubts whether men who overreach others in this way are really gainers in the end. They get to be known and are dealt with by the wary as sharpers. A certain manufacturer, we will not say of what place, for our story being substantially true, to particularize in this respect, would be almost like pointing out the party's concern, was obliged to use the kind of goods imported only by two or three houses. The article was indispensable in his business, and his use of it was extensive. This man, whom we will call Elden, belonged to the class of bargain makers. It was a matter of principle with him never to close a transaction without, if possible, getting an advantage. The ordinary prophets of trade did not satisfy him. He wanted to go a little deeper. The consequence was that almost everyone was on the lookout for him. And, it not unfrequently happened, that he paid more for an article which he imagined he was getting in consequence of some maneuver at less than cost than his next door neighbor, who dealt fairly and above board. One day a Mr. Ladd, an importer, called upon him and said, I'd like to close out that entire lot of goods, Elden. I wish you'd take them. How many pieces have you left? Enquired Elden, with assumed indifference, it occurred to him, on the instant that the merchant was a little pressed, and that, in consequence, he might drive a sharp bargain with him. Two hundred. Elden shook his head. What's the matter? asked Ladd. The lot is too heavy. You'll work up every piece before six months. No, indeed. Not in twelve months. Oh, yes, you will. I looked over your account yesterday, and find that you have had a hundred and fifty pieces from me alone, and in six months. You must be an error. No, it is just as I say. Well, what terms do you offer? If you will take the entire lot, you may have them for ten and quarter. Three months. Elden thought for a few moments and then shook his head. You must say better than that. What better can you ask? You've been buying a dozen pieces at a time for ten and a half cash, and now I offer you the lot at ten and a quarter. Three months. Not inducement enough. If you will say ten at six months, perhaps I will close with you. No, I have named the lowest price and best terms. If you like, take the goods, well and good. If not, why, you can go on and pay ten and a half cash as before. I'll give you what I said. Oh, no, Mr. Elden. Not a cent less will bring them. Very well, then, we can't trade, said the manufacturer, as you like, replied the merchant, and the two men parted. Now, Elden thought the offer of lad, a very fair one, and meant to accept of it, if he could make no better terms. But seeing that the merchant had taken the pains to come and offer him the goods, he suspected that he was in want of money and would take less than he asked in order to get his note and pass it through the bank. But he erred in this. Elden fully expected to see Mr. Lad before three days went by. But two weeks elapsed. And, as there had been no visit from the dealer, the manufacturer found it necessary to go to him in order to get a fresh supply of goods, so he went to see him. I must have a dozen pieces of those goods today, said he, as he met Mr. Lad. Very well, they are at your service. You'll sell them at ten and a quarter, I suppose. Mr. Lad shook his head. But you offered them at that, you know. I offered the whole lot at that price, and the offer is still open, though I am in no way particular about selling. Since ten dollars and a quarter apiece had been mentioned, the idea of paying more had become entirely obliterated from the mind of Elden. But if you can sell for ten and a quarter, three months, you can sell the same for cash, so I can, but I don't mean to. The merchant felt a little fretted. Elden was disappointed, he stood shaffering for some time longer, but finding it impossible to bring Lad over to his terms, he finally agreed to take the two hundred pieces at ten and a quarter on his note at three months. Still, he was far from being a good man. Still, he was far from being satisfied. He had fully believed that the merchant was pressed for money and that he would in consequence be able to drive a hard bargain with him. Notwithstanding, he had been compelled to go to Lad and accept his terms. He yet believed that money was an object to him, and that, rather than not have the sale confirmed, he would let it be closed at ten dollars apiece on a note at six months. So firmly was he impressed with this idea, that he finally concluded to assume boldly that ten dollars was the price agreed upon and to effect surprise that the bill expressed another rate. In due time, the goods were delivered and the bill sent in. Immediately upon this being done, Elden called upon the merchant and said, in a confident manner, as he laid the bill he had received upon his desk. You've made a mistake, haven't you? How? In charging these goods? No, I told you the price would be ten and a quarter, didn't I? I believe not. I understood the terms to be ten dollars at six months. You offered that, but I positively refused it. I am sure I understood you as accepting my offer and ordered the goods to be sent home under that impression. If so, you aired, coolly replied Lad. I can't take them at the price called for in this bill, said Elden, assuming a positive air, and thinking by doing so, Lad would deem it his better policy to let the goods go at ten dollars. Then you can send them home, replied the merchant in a manner that offended Elden. Very well, I will do so, and you may keep your goods, he retorted, betraying as he spoke a good deal of warmth. And the goods were sent back, both parties feeling offended. Lad, at the glaring attempt made to overreach him, and Elden, because the other would not submit to being overreached, on the following day Elden started out in search of another lot of the goods he wanted, and thought himself fortunate in meeting with some in the hands of a dealer named Miller, but deemured when twelve dollars and a half a piece were asked for them. I can't take less, was the reply. But, said Elden, Lad has the same article for ten and a half. You don't pretend to put his goods alongside of mine, returned Miller. Elden examined them more closely. They are better, it is true, but the difference is not so great as the price. Look again, another close examination was made. They are finer and thicker, certainly, but you ask too much for them. It's my lowest price, they will bring it in the market, which is now bare. Won't you let me have a dozen pieces at twelve dollars? asked Elden. Can't sell a piece for less than what I said. Elden hung on for some time, but finally ordered a dozen pieces to be sent home and paid the bill, though with a bad grace. Still, he was so angry with Lad because he had shown a proper resentment at the effort made to overreach him that he determined to buy no more of his goods if he could supply himself at a higher price. Thus matters went on for five or six months, Elden supplying himself at the store of Miller and reconciling himself to the serious advance in price, with the reflection that Lad's goods were remaining dead on his hands. At last, Miller's supply was exhausted. Elden called one day and ordered a dozen pieces and received for answer. Not a piece in the store. What? All gone? said Elden. Yes, you got the last some days ago. I'm sorry for that. Lad has a good stock on hand, but I don't care about dealing with him if I can help it. He's a crusty sort of a fellow. Has no other house a supply? Not to my knowledge. There's only a limited demand for the article, you know, and but few importers care about ordering it for the reason that it goes off slowly. Elden tried several places, but couldn't find a yard. By the next day his workers would be idle. And so he had no alternative but to call upon Lad. The merchant received him pleasantly, and they chatted for a while on matters and things in general. At last Elden, though one against the grain, said, I want you to send me twenty pieces of those goods around with the bill. The merchant smiled landly and replied, Sorry I can't accommodate you, but I haven't a yard in the store. What? Lad looked blank. No, I've sold off the entire lot and concluded not to import any more of that class of goods. Ah, I supposed they were still on hand. No, I placed them in the hands of Miller, and he has worked them all off for me at a considerable advance on former prices. He notified me a week ago that the lot was closed out and rendered account sales at twelve and a half per piece. Lad said all this seemingly unconscious that every word he was uttering fell like a blow upon his old customer. But he understood it all very well, and had caught the hard bargain maker in a trap he little dreamed had been laid for his feet. Elden stammered out some half-coherent responses and took his departure with more evidence of his discomforture in his face and manner than he wished to appear. He had, in fact, been paying twelve dollars and a half for the very goods he had sent back because he couldn't get them for ten dollars at six months' credit. Elden did not understand how completely he had overreached himself until a part of his establishment had been idle for days, and he had been compelled to go to New York and purchase some fifty pieces of the goods he wanted for cash at twelve dollars per piece, a price that he is still compelled to pay, as neither Lad nor any other importing house in the city has since ordered a case from abroad. So much for driving a hard bargain. End of Chapter 14, Driving a Hard Bargain