Chapter III

Another year had passed away in the business experience of the young merchants. The books had been balanced, and the results stood in black and white before them.

Ben had followed up his system of advertising through the year. He had expended large sums, but had made the outlay with judgment and discretion.

The result exceeded his most sanguine expectations. His store was crowded with customers; with genuine, bona fide customers, and with but a small proportion of gadders and fancy shoppers. The newspapers had borne to the best families in the city and country full descriptions of his stock. His name was as familiar as “household words” in the dwellings of the rich and poor, of the farmer, the mechanic, and the laborer.

Truly, the harvest was abundant, and Ben rubbed his hands with delight as he cast his eyes over the figures which conveyed to him the pleasing results of his year’s operations. He had the means, not only of clearing himself of debt, but also of gratifying his wife by giving her all the new furniture she required, besides a handsome surplus with which to increase his business.

The new furniture was bought and set up; every debt was discharged, and the importers and jobbers were eager to give him unlimited credit.

One day, while he was ruminating upon this pleasant state of things, Joe Weston entered the store. For some months past, the intercourse between the young merchants had not been as cordial as formerly. Joe’s nice things had rather “set him up;” some of the upper ten had condescended to visit him; and he had attended the “Almack” parties with his wife.

He was getting ahead fast in his own estimation, and cherished a supreme contempt for the slow motion of his friend. But when, in the middle of the year, he found himself running down hill, and discovered that Ben’s store was crowded with shoppers, while his own was empty, a feeling of envy took possession of him. Ben must be underselling, he concluded, and sooner or latter the consequences would appear.

The prosperous merchant could not but notice the sad and dejected mien of his friend, as he entered the store.

“How are you, Joe? You are almost a stranger, lately. Where do you keep yourself?” said Ben.

“Business, Ben; business!” replied Joe, demurely.

“Good! Business before pleasure.”

“Any thing over to-day?” asked Joe; but the query was not put in that buoyant, elastic tone, which had distinguished him in former times.

“A trifle; how much do you want?” returned Ben, promptly.

“To tell the truth, I am ‘bang up.’ I have got a note of four hundred to pay, and I have not yet raised the first dollar towards it.”

“You are late; it is half past one now,” replied Ben, consulting his watch.

“Ben, I am in a tight place,” said Joe, in a low, solemn tone.

“Indeed! I am sorry to hear it,” and Ben’s face wore an expression of sincere sympathy. “Nothing serious, I hope?”

“I am afraid so.”

“What can I do for you?” and the young merchant took down his check book, and examined the state of his bank account.

“I can give you a check for three hundred, if that will do you any good,” continued he, taking up the pen to fill out the blank.

“Thank you, Ben; you are very kind; but I don’t know as I ought to take it.”

“Not take it! Why not?”

“If I should pay this note, there is hardly a possibility that I could get through the month.”

“So bad as that? ’Pon my soul, I am sorry to hear it.”

“Smith and Jones advise me to make an assignment.”

“How does it happen? I thought you were doing well?”

“Business has been very dull for the last six months. Haven’t you found it so?”

“Well, no; it has been driving with me.”

Joe knew it had; indeed, his present visit was not to borrow money, but to prepare his friend for the “smash,” which was now unavoidable.

“My sales have been light,” continued he; “I can’t account for it.”

“I can; look here, Joe.”

Ben took down his ledger, and pointed to the account “Charges,” where the sums paid for advertising had been entered. On a slip of paper he had footed them up.

“Five hundred and sixty-five dollars for advertising, Joe! That’s what did the business.”

Joe was astonished. It was quite as much as he had paid for fine things for his house, and for parties, and the opera; but the investment had been vastly more profitable, inasmuch as, taken in connection with his careful management of his business and his economical manner of living it had laid the foundation of his future fortune. It had given him a good start in business, and a good beginning is half the battle.

Joe Weston failed, and paid only twenty cents on a dollar. His fine furniture was all sold, and he was obliged to board out. But in his extremity Ben was his true friend. He received him into his house, and when his business was settled up, took him into partnership.

The firm is now one of the most respectable and prosperous in the city. Joe, ever since he was “bang up,” believes in advertising, and any one who opens the Journal, or, indeed, any of the daily papers, cannot fail to notice the conspicuous advertisement of “Weston & Co.”