“Do you call that a large sale?” said the merchant, indifferently.
“I should think it was, sir.”
“Ah, yes, your being from the country explains that. I sell large quantities of merchandise on commission. I never take any consignment worth less than a thousand dollars. It wouldn’t pay.”
“Indeed!” said our hero, becoming more cheerful. The office was small and dull. Still the amount of business done there redeemed its significance.
“Day before yesterday I sold a cargo of cotton, amounting to—let me see—”
Mr. Fairchild went to the desk, and, opening it, took out a small blank book.
“Twenty-seven thousand five hundred and thirty three dollars, and seventy-five cents,” he read, from the book. “What would my commission on this sale be, at two per cent.? I want to see whether you are quick and correct at figures.”
“About five hundred and fifty dollars,” answered our hero, making a rapid calculation in his head. “If I had a pencil and some paper, I would give you the exact figures.”
“Quite right. I see you understand the principle. That’s doing very fairly for one day, isn’t it?”