In anxious expectation he waited week after week, until every day seemed to him prolonged to double its number of hours. At last a letter came from his consignee. He almost trembled as he broke the seal.
"Your flour has arrived at the very best time," it commenced. For a few moments he could read no further. He was compelled to pause, lest the emotion he felt should be betrayed to those around him. Then he read the whole letter calmly through. It stated that the supply of flour was nearly exhausted when his cargo arrived, which had been promptly sold at fourteen shillings a barrel above the last quotations.
"I shall clear nearly five hundred pounds by my last shipment," he said to his father, who entered the counting-room at the moment.
"Indeed! well I am very glad to hear you say so, George. I hope, after this, you will be more successful."
"I hope that I shall: but I had nearly given up in despair," the son remarked.
"But you thought you would try again!" observed the old gentleman, smiling.
"Exactly so, father."
"That was right, George. Never despair. Let 'Try again' be your motto at all times, and success will in the end attend your efforts."
His father was right. George Prentice is now a wealthy merchant. He is somewhat advanced in years, and is accounted by some a little eccentric. One evidence of this eccentricity is the fact, that over the range of desks in his counting-room is painted, in large letters, the words,—"Try Again."
PERSEVERE.