Paul the Peddler: The Fortunes of a Young Street Merchant

THE DIAMOND RING

Paul was up betimes the next morning.  He had made up his mind for a few days, at least, to sell newspapers, and it was necessary in this business to begin the day early.  He tool a dollar with him and invested a part of it in a stock of dailies.  He posted himself in Printing House square, and began to look out for customers.  Being an enterprising boy, he was sure to meet with fair success in any business which he undertook.  So it happened that at ten o’clock he had sold out his stock of papers, and realized a profit of fifty cents.

It was getting late for morning papers, and there was nothing left to do till the issue of the first edition of the afternoon papers.

“I’ll go down and see how George Barry is getting along,” thought Paul.

He crossed Broadway and soon reached the familiar stand.

“How’s business, George?” he inquired.

“Fair,” said Barry.  “I’ve sold four ties.”

“How do you feel?”

“I’m not so strong as I was, yet.  I get tired more easily.  I don’t think I shall stay in this business long.”

“You don’t?  What will you do then?”

“I’ve got a chance in Philadelphia, or I shall have by the first of the month.”

“What sort of a chance?”

“Mother got a letter yesterday from a cousin of hers who has a store on Chestnut street.  He offers to take me as a clerk, and give me ten dollars a week at first, and more after a while.”

“That’s a good offer.  I should like to get one like it.”

“I’ll tell you what, Paul, you’d better buy out my stand.  You know how to sell ties, and can make money.”

“There’s only one objection, George.”

“What’s that?”

“I haven’t got any capital.”

“It don’t need much.”

“How much?”

“I’ll sell out all my stock at cost price.”

“How much do you think there is?”

“About twenty-five dollars’ worth.  Then there is the frame, which is worth, say ten dollars, making thirty-five in all.  That isn’t much.”

“It’s more than I’ve got.  I’ll tell you what I’ll do.  I’ll take it, and pay you five dollars down and the rest in one month.”

“I would take your offer, Paul, but I need all the money how.  It will be expensive moving to Philadelphia and I shall want all I can get.”

“I wish I could buy you out,” said Paul, thoughtfully.

“Can’t you borrow the money?”

“How soon do you want to give up?”

“It’s the seventeenth now.  I should like to get rid of it by the twenty-second.”

“I’ll see what I can do.  Just keep it for me till to-morrow.”

“All right.”

Paul walked home revolving in his mind this unexpected opportunity.  He had made, as George Barry’s agent, a dollar a day, though he received only half the profits.  If he were himself the proprietor, and did equally well, he could make twelve dollars a week.  The calculation almost took away his breath.  Twelve dollars a week would make about fifty dollars a month.  It would enable him to contribute more to the support of the family, and save up money besides.  But the great problem was, how to raise the necessary money.  If Paul had been a railroad corporation, he might have issued first mortgage bonds at a high rate of interest, payable in gold, and negotiated them through some leading banker.  But he was not much versed in financial schemes, and therefore was at a loss.  The only wealthy friend he had was Mr. Preston, and he did not like to apply to him till he had exhausted other ways and means.

“What makes you so sober, Paul?” asked his mother, as he entered the room.  “You are home early.”

“Yes, I sold all my papers, and thought I would take an early dinner, so as to be on hand in time for the first afternoon papers.”

“Don’t you feel well?”

“Tiptop; but I’ve had a good offer, and I’m thinking whether I can accept it.”

“What sort of an offer?”

“George Barry wants to sell out his stand.”

“How much does he ask?”

“Thirty-five dollars.”

“Is it worth that?”

“Yes, it’s worth all that, and more, too.  If I had it I could make two dollars a day.  But I haven’t got thirty-five dollars.”

“I can let you have nine, Paul.  I had a little saved up, and I haven’t touched the money Mr. Preston paid me for the shirts.”

“I’ve got five myself, but that will only make fourteen.”

“Won’t he wait for the rest?”

“No, he’s going to Philadelphia early next week, and wants the whole in cash.”

“It would be a pity to lose such a good chance,” said Mrs. Hoffman.

“That’s what I think.”

“You could soon save up the money on two dollars a day.”

“I could pay for it in a month—­I mean, all above the fourteen dollars we have.”

“In a day or two I shall have finished the second half-dozen shirts, and then I suppose Mr. Preston will pay me nine dollars more.  I could let you have six dollars of that.”

“That would make twenty.  Perhaps George Barry will take that.  If he won’t I don’t know but I will venture to apply to Mr. Preston.”

“He seems to take an interest in you.  Perhaps he would trust you with the money.”

“I could offer him a mortgage on the stock,” said Paul.

“If he has occasion to foreclose, he will be well provided with neckties,” said Mrs. Hoffman, smiling.

“None of which he could wear.  I’ll tell you what, mother, I should like to pick up a pocketbook in the street, containing, say, twenty or twenty-five dollars.”

“That would be very convenient,” said his mother; “but I think it will hardly do to depend on such good luck happening to you.  By the way,” she said, suddenly, “perhaps I can help you, after all.  Don’t you remember that gold ring I picked up in Central Park two years ago?”

“The one you advertised?”

“Yes.  I advertised, or, rather, your father did; but we never found an owner for it.”

“I remember it now, mother.  Have you got the ring still?”

“I will get it.”

Mrs. Hoffman went to her trunk, and, opening it, produced the ring referred to.  It was a gold ring with a single stone of considerable size.

“I don’t know how much it is worth,” said Mrs. Hoffman; “but if the ring is a diamond, as I think it is, it must be worth as much as twenty dollars.”

“Did you ever price it?”

“No, Paul; I have kept it, thinking that it would be something to fall back upon if we should ever be hard pressed.  As long as we were able to get along without suffering, I thought I would keep it.  Besides, I had another feeling.  It might belong to some person who prized it very much, and the time might come when we could find the owner.  However, that is not likely after so long a time.  So, if you cannot raise the money in any other way, you may sell the ring.”

“I might pawn it for thirty days, mother.  By that time I should be able to redeem it with the profits of my business.”

“I don’t think you could get enough from a pawn-broker.”

“I can try, at any rate; but first I will see George Barry, and find out whether he will take twenty dollars down, and the rest at the end of a month.”

Paul wrapped up the ring in a piece of paper, and deposited it in his vest pocket.  He waited till after dinner, and then went at once to the necktie stand, where he made the proposal to George Barry.

The young man shook his head.

“I’d like to oblige you, Paul,” he said, “but I must have the money.  I have an offer of thirty-two dollars, cash, from another party, and I must take up with it if I can’t do any better.  I’d rather sell out to you, but you know I have to consult my own interest.”

“Of course, George, I can’t complain of that.”

“I think you will be able to borrow the money somewhere.”

“Most of my friends are as poor as myself,” said Paul.  “Still, I think I shall be able to raise the money.  Only wait for me two days.”

“Yes, Paul, I’ll wait that long.  I’d like to sell out to you, if only because you have helped me when I was sick.  But for you all that would have been lost time.”

“Where there’s a will there’s a way, George,” said Paul.  “I’m bound to buy your stand and I will raise the money somehow.”

Paul bought a few papers, for he did not like to lose the afternoon trade, and in an hour had sold them all off, realizing a profit of twenty cents.  This made his profits for the day seventy cents.

“That isn’t as well as I used to do,” said Paul to himself, “but perhaps I can make something more by and by.  I will go now and see what I can get for the ring.”

As he had determined, he proceeded to a pawnbroker’s shop which he had often passed.  It was on Chatham street, and was kept by an old man, an Englishman by birth, who, though he lived meanly in a room behind his shop, was popularly supposed to have accumulated a considerable fortune.