Off-Hand Sketches, a Little Dashed with Humor

As I left the store, I felt as if I had been guilty of some crime; I was ashamed to look even the clerks in the face. A feeble resolution to make an effort to save myself from the disgrace and disaster of a protest stirred in my mind; but it died away, and I returned to my store to await the dread result that must follow this failure to take up my paper. I looked at the slow-moving hand on the clock, and saw minute after minute go by with a stoicism that surprised even myself. At last the stroke of the hammer fell; the die was cast. I would be protested, that greatest of all evils dreaded by a man of business. As to going home to dinner, that was out of the question; I could not have eaten a mouthful to save me. All I had now to do was to wait for the visit of the notary, from which I shrank with a nervous dread. Everybody in the street would know him, I thought, and everybody would see him enter my store and comprehend his business.

Half-past three arrived, and yet I had not been bearded by the dread monster, at whose very name thousands have trembled and do still tremble. I sat awaiting him in stern silence. Four o'clock, and yet he had not come. Perhaps, it was suggested to me, the holders of the note had withdrawn it at the last moment. Cheering thought!

Just then I saw a lad enter the store and speak to one of the clerks, who pointed back to where I sat. The boy was not over fourteen, and had, I noticed as he approached, a modest, rather shrinking look.

"Mr. Jones?" he said, when he had come near to me.

"Yes," I replied, indifferently, scarcely wondering what he wanted.

"Will you pay this note?" he said, opening a piece of paper that I had not observed in his hand, and presenting it to me.

My head was in a whirl for an instant, but was as quickly clear again.

"No, my lad," I replied, in a composed voice, "I shall not pay it."

"You will not pay it?" he repeated, as if he had not heard me distinctly.

"No," said I.

The lad bowed politely, slipped the dishonoured note into his pocket, and retired.

I drew a long breath, leaned back in my chair with a sense of relief, and murmured—"Not such a dreadful affair, after all. So, I am protested! The operation is over, and I hardly felt the pain. And now what next?"

As I said this, the man whose Siberian face had almost congealed me entered my store, and came hurriedly back to where I still remained sitting. His face was far less wintry. The fact was, I owed the firm fifteen thousand dollars, which was no joke; and they were nearly as much alarmed, when they found that my note was actually under protest, as I was before the fact.

"Is it possible, Mr. Jones," he said, his voice as husky and tremulous as mine was when I called upon him an hour or two before, "that you have suffered your note to lie over!"

"Did I not inform you that such would be the case?" I replied, with assumed sternness of voice and manner. The boot was on the other leg, and I was not slow in recognising the fact.

"But what do you intend to do, Mr. Jones? What is the state of your affairs?"

"At the proper time, I will inform you," I answered, coldly. "You have driven me into a protest, and you must stand the consequences."

"Are your affairs desperate, Mr. Jones?" The creditor became almost imploring in his manner.

"They will probably become so now. Does a man's note lie over without his affairs becoming desperate?"

"Perhaps"—

There was a pause. I looked unflinchingly into the man's face.

"If we extend this note, and keep the matter quiet, what then?"

"It won't do," I returned. "More than that will be required to save me."

My creditor looked frightened, while I maintained an aspect of as much indifference and resolution as I could assume.

"What will save you?" he asked.

I was thinking as rapidly as I could, in order to be prepared for striking while the iron was hot, and that to good purpose.

"I'll tell you," I replied.

"Well, what is it?" He looked eager and anxious.

"My fault has been one into which your house led me, that of buying too freely," said I; "of using my credit injudiciously. The consequence is, that I am cramped severely, and am neglecting my legitimate business in order to run about after money. I owe your house more than half of the aggregate of my whole liabilities. Give me the time I ask, in order to recover myself and curtail my business, and I can go through."

"What time do you ask?"

"I owe you fifteen thousand dollars."

"So much?"

"Yes; and the whole of it falls due within seven months. What I propose is, to pay you five per cent. on the amount of my present indebtedness every thirty days from this time until the whole is liquidated; you to hand me a thousand dollars to-morrow morning, to enable me to get my note out of bank, in order to save my credit."

The gentleman looked blank at the boldness of my proposition.

"Is that the best you can do?" he asked.

"The very best. You have driven me into a protest, and now, the bitterness of that dreaded ordeal being past, I prefer making an assignment and having my affairs settled up, to going on in the old way. I will not continue in business, unless I can conduct it easily and safely. I am sick of being on the rack; I would rather grub for a living."

I was eloquent in my tone and manner, for I felt what I said.

"It shall be as you wish," said my creditor. "You should not, you must not, make an assignment; every interest will suffer in that event. We will send you a check for a thousand dollars early to-morrow morning, and, as to what has occurred, keep our own counsel."

I bowed, and he bowed. I was conscious of having risen in his estimation. Get such a man in your power, and his respect for you increases fourfold.

My sleep was sound that night, for I was satisfied that the thousand dollars would come. And they did come.

After that, I was as easy as an old shoe. I was soon off the borrowing list; my business I contracted into a narrower and safer sphere, and really made more profit than before.

I have never stood in fear of notaries or protests since. Why should I? To me the notary proved a lamb rather than a lion, and my credit, instead of being ruined, was saved by a protest.

RETRENCHMENT; OR, WHAT A MAN SAVED BY STOPPING HIS NEWSPAPER

NOT many years ago, a farmer who lived a hundred or two miles from the seaboard, became impressed with the idea that unless he adopted a close-cutting system of retrenchment, he would certainly go to the wall. Wheat, during the preceding season, had been at a high price; but, unluckily for him, he had only a small portion of his land in wheat. Of corn and potatoes he had raised more than the usual quantity; but the price of corn was down, and potatoes were low. This year he had sown double the wheat he had ever sown before, and, instead of raising a thousand bushels of potatoes, as he had generally done, only planted about an acre in that vegetable, the product of which was about one hundred and fifty bushels.

Unluckily for Mr. Ashburn, his calculations did not turn out well. After his wheat was harvested, and his potatoes nearly ready to dig, the price of the former fell to ninety cents per bushel, and the price of the latter rose to one dollar. Everywhere, the wheat crop had been abundant, and almost everywhere the potato crop promised to be light.

Mr. Ashburn was sadly disappointed at this result.

"I shall be ruined," he said at home, and carried a long face while abroad. When his wife and daughters asked for money with which to get their fall and winter clothing, he grumbled sadly, gave them half what they wanted, and said they must retrench. A day or two afterwards, the collector of the "Post" came along and presented his bill.

Ashburn paid it in a slow, reluctant manner, and then said—

"I wish you to have the paper stopped, Mr. Collector."

"Oh, no, don't say that, Mr. Ashburn. You are one of our old subscribers, and we can't think of parting with you."