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“Is he an industrious and prudent young man?” inquired Mr. Edgar, caution and cupidity at once excited.

“He is.”

“What’s his name?”

“Blakewell.”

“Oh, I know him. Very well; send him along, and if his paper is good, I’ll discount it.”

“You’ll find it first-rate,” said the gentleman.

“How much shall I charge him?” This was Mr. Edgar’s first thought, so soon as he was alone. Even as he asked himself the question, the young mechanic entered.

“You take good paper, sometimes?” said the latter, in a hesitating manner.

The countenance of Mr. Edgar became, instantly, very grave.

“Sometimes I do,” he answered, with assumed indifference.

“I have a note of Leyden & Co.’s that I wish discounted,” said Blakewell.

“For how much?”

“Three hundred dollars–six months;” and he handed Mr. Edgar the note.

“I don’t like over four months’ notes,” remarked the money-lender, coldly. Then he asked, “What rate of interest do you expect to pay?”

“Whatever is usual. Of course, I wish to get it done as low as possible. My profits are not large, and every dollar I pay in discounts is so much taken from the growth of my business and the comfort of my family.”

“You have a family?”

“Yes, sir. A wife and four children.”

Mr. Edgar mused for a moment or two. An unselfish thought was struggling to get into his mind.

“What have you usually paid on this paper?” he asked.

“The last I had discounted cost me one and a half per cent. a month.”

“Notes of this kind are rarely marketable below that rate,” said Mr. Edgar. He had thought of exacting two per cent. “If you will leave the note, and call round in half an hour, I will see what can be done.”

“Very well,” returned the mechanic. “Be as moderate with me as you can.”

For the half hour that went by during the young man’s absence, Mr. Edgar walked the floor of his counting-room, trying to come to some decision in regard to the note. Love of gain demanded two per cent. a month, while a feeble voice, scarcely heard so far away did it seem, pleaded for a generous regard to the young man’s necessities. The conflict taking place in his mind was a new one for the money-lender. In no instance before had he experienced any hesitation on the score of a large discount. Love of gain continued clamorous for two per cent. on the note; yet, ever and anon, the low voice stole, in pleading accents, to his ears.

“I’ll do it for one and a half,” said Mr. Edgar, yielding slightly to the claim of humanity, urged by the voice, that seemed to be coming nearer.

Love of gain, after slight opposition, was satisfied.

But the low, penetrating voice asked for something better still.

“Weakness! Folly!” exclaimed Mr. Edgar. “I’d better make him a present of the money at once.”

It availed nothing. The voice could not be hushed.

“One per cent! He couldn’t get it done as low as that in the city.”

“He is a poor young man, and has a wife and four little children,” said the voice. “Even the abstraction of legal interest from his hard earnings is defect enough; to lose twice that sum, will make a heavy draught on his profits, which, under the present competition in trade, are not large. He is honest and industrious, and by his useful labour is aiding the social well-being. Is it right for you to get his reward?–to take his profits, and add them to your already rich accumulations?”

Mr. Edgar did not like these home questions, and tried to stop his ears, so that the voice could not find an entrance. But he tried in vain.

“Bank rates on this note,” continued the inward voice, “would not much exceed nine dollars. Even this is a large sum for a poor man to lose. Double the rate of interest, and the loss becomes an injury to his business, or the cause of seriously abridging his home comforts. And how much will nine dollars contribute to your happiness? Not so much as a jot or a tittle. You are unable, now, to spend your income.”