“Perhaps somebody cheated you,” said Mr. Newcombe.
“O, I know they did,” replied Tom, in a gloomy voice. “There are a good many swindlers about, and I believe Bob Jennings is one of ’em.”
By adroit questioning—for Tom was so disgusted with the result of his first attempt at speculating, that he did not seem at all inclined to talk about it—Mr. Newcombe finally drew all the particulars from his son; and when the latter told how much he had received for his fish, the merchant exclaimed:
“There’s where you lost some of your money. You ought to have received more than that. Twenty-five pounds of fish, at five cents a pound, makes a dollar and twenty-five cents.”
“So it does!” said Tom, after thinking a moment; though the fact was, he did not know whether his father was right or wrong. “I’ll go right back to Mr. Henry and tell him that I want another quarter. Now, father, where’s my cap?”
“Never mind your cap now,” said the merchant. “It’s too late! The mistake ought to have been rectified before you left the store. But how does it come that you did not know how much was due you? Didn’t you make any calculations?”
“O, no, I didn’t,” drawled Tom. “I didn’t stop to make out any bill. I supposed I was dealing with an honest man! I didn’t think Mr. Henry would be mean enough to cheat me.”
“That’s no excuse. If every man in the world was perfectly honest, that would be no reason why business should be conducted in a careless manner. Hereafter, when you sell any thing, be sure and make out your bill beforehand, so that you will know just how much is coming to you. Now, sit down here.”
Tom obeyed, and Mr. Newcombe again commenced a lengthy lecture, containing advice which he hardly expected his son would follow. He endeavored to impress upon his mind the necessity of being very particular in all his business transactions, and showed him how impossible it was for him to succeed so long as he allowed his pride to stand in his way. Any honorable labor, he said, was no disgrace; an honest working man was always respected; and he that could work, and would not, ought to starve. He easily cleared Bob Jennings of the charge of swindling, and placed all the blame on Tom’s shoulders—right where it belonged. No suggestion or item of information that Mr. Newcombe thought would be of service to the young trader was omitted, and, for once, Tom was almost convinced that he, and he alone, was to blame for his failure. He brightened up when he found where he had made his mistake, and resolved that, in all his future operations, he would be careful to avoid the rock on which his day’s hopes had been wrecked. He would not spend any of his money foolishly, neither would he pay Bob Jennings another quarter of a dollar for pulling a wagon-load of fish through the streets; he would do it himself, no matter what his friends said about it.
But trading in fish he still thought would not pay. If he made only fifty cents a day, that would be but three dollars a week; and, at that rate, it would take him at least a year to save enough to buy a vessel like the trading sloop. Although he said nothing to his father on the subject, he resolved that the next day he would commence operations on a grander scale. So, on the following morning, as soon as he had eaten his breakfast, he started to pay a visit to Mr. Henry, the grocer.