Bob Jennings would promptly have answered, “No, sir;” but Tom could not tell how much he ought to receive without stopping to count his fingers, and, of course, that would not look well in a man of business. So he replied:
“Yes, sir; that’s right. A dollar is all I want.”
During the conversation with Mr. Newcombe that morning, the grocer had learned exactly how matters stood in regard to Tom; and in withholding a quarter of a dollar that rightfully belonged to the young trader, he was but carrying out Mr. Newcombe’s suggestion. The latter wished Tom to learn, by experience, since he would not take advice, that he could not be too particular. Besides, Mr. Henry was losing money on all the fish he bought of Tom; for, while he paid him five cents a pound, he could sell them for only three. But this was another suggestion of Mr. Newcombe’s, who, of course, made good all his losses.
Although the merchant was considerably surprised at Tom’s answer, he counted out the money, and the young trader walked to the door and paid Bob his quarter of a dollar.
The fisher-boy, highly elated with his good fortune—for he had made just a dollar that day, besides what he had received for ferrying the workmen across the harbor—started homeward with a light heart, leaving his employer in deep thought. Tom appeared to be very much absorbed in his reflections, for he stood in the doorway several minutes, scarcely heeding the persons that jostled him as they passed in and out of the store. Presently he walked back toward the office, and, discovering a vacant space behind some barrels, where he would be unobserved, he seated himself on the floor, drew his money out of his pocket, and counted it.
He had just three-quarters of a dollar. He counted it over and over several times, in order to satisfy himself that he had made no mistake, and finally searched all his pockets in the hope of discovering more. But seventy-five cents was all he could find; and gradually the unwelcome conviction forced itself upon Tom’s mind that, in some utterly inexplicable manner, he had been a loser by the day’s operation. He had started out that morning with two dollars, and now, after his speculation had been accomplished, he had only three-quarters of a dollar remaining.
“Somebody has cheated me!” said Tom to himself, as he arose from his concealment and walked thoughtfully out of the store. “It’s Bob Jennings, that’s who it is; and the contract says there’s to be no swindling. O, I can’t be a trader. I knew I couldn’t before I commenced. This fish business doesn’t pay, anyhow. I thought I should make at least three or four dollars to-day.”
The young trader walked homeward with rather a crest-fallen air, and his acquaintances, who met him on the streets, and to whom he had that morning explained his scheme in such glowing language, had no difficulty in discovering that Tom’s first attempt at speculating had proved a failure. When he reached home and entered the room where his father sat reading his paper, the latter also saw, at a glance, that Tom had not been successful. We ought also to say that he knew exactly where his son had made his mistake. He had seen him spending his money foolishly in the morning; had met Bob Jennings as he was taking the fish to the store; and the grocer had also told him that he had withheld a quarter of a dollar of Tom’s money. He also knew that if the young trader had managed his business properly, he would have made just fifty cents by his day’s work. Thus, he was well acquainted with all the facts of the case; but he wished to hear Tom’s opinion of the matter. Appearing to take no notice of his son’s gloomy looks, he asked, in a cheerful voice:
“Well, how much have you made to-day?”
“O, I haven’t made a red cent,” drawled Tom. “I’ve lost money. I knew I couldn’t be a trader.”