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“I hardly think that paid,” was the remark of Mr. Jones, on meeting Mr. Smith some hours afterward.

“What?” asked the latter.

“Your visit to Lloyd’s widow.”

“Why do you say so?”

“You lost a bargain which came into my hands, and on which I could get an advance of a hundred dollars to-morrow.”

“Ah, what was it?”

“Perkins had fifty shares of Riverland stock, which he was authorized to sell at eighty-two. He called on you first; but instead of being on hand, in business hours, you were off on a charity expedition. So the ripe cherry dropped into my open mouth. I told you it wouldn’t pay, neighbour Smith.”

“And yet it has paid, notwithstanding your prophecy,” said Smith.

“It has!”

“Yes.”

“In what way?”

But Mr. Smith was not disposed to cast his pearls before swine, and so evaded the direct question. He knew that his mercenary neighbour would trample under foot, with sneering contempt, any expression of the pure satisfaction he derived from what he had done–would breathe upon and obscure the picture of a grateful mother and her daughter, if he attempted to elevate it before his eyes. It had paid, but beyond this he did not seek to enlighten his fellow-merchant.

Three days later, Mr. Jones is at his desk, buried in calculations of profit and loss, and so much absorbed is he, that he has not noticed the entrance of Perkins the broker, through whom he obtained the stock from Mrs. Lloyd.

“How much of the Riverland Railroad stock have you?” inquired the broker, and in a voice that sent a sudden fear to the heart of the merchant.

“A hundred shares. Why do you ask?” was the quick response.

“I’m sorry for you, then. The interest due this day is not forthcoming.”

“What!” Mr. Jones starts from his desk, his lips pale and quivering.

“There’s something wrong in the affairs of the company, it is whispered. At any rate, the interest won’t be paid, and the stock has tumbled down to thirty-five dollars. If you’ll take my advice you’ll sell. The first loss is usually the best in these cases–that is my experience.”

It is very plain that one operation hasn’t paid, for all its golden promise–an operation that would hardly have been effected by Mr. Jones, had he accompanied Mr. Smith on the proposed visit to Mrs. Lloyd. The fifty shares of stock, which came, as he thought, so luckily into his hand, would, in all probability, have become the property of another.

And not a week glided by ere Mr. Jones became aware of the fact that another operation had failed to pay. A cargo of coffee and sugar arrived one morning; the vessel containing it had been looked for daily, and Mr. Jones fully expected to receive the consignment; he was not aware of the arrival until he met the captain in the street.

“Captain Jackson! How are you? This is really an unexpected pleasure!” exclaimed the merchant, as he grasped the hand of the individual he addressed, and shook it warmly.

Captain Jackson did not seem equally gratified at meeting the merchant. He took his hand coldly, and scarcely smiled in return.

“When did you arrive?” asked Mr. Jones.

“This morning.”

“Indeed! I was not aware of it. For over a week I have been expecting you.”

The captain merely bowed.

“Will you be around to my store this afternoon?” asked Mr. Jones.

“I presume not.”

There was now, on the part of Mr. Jones, an embarrassed pause. Then he said–

“Shall I have the sale of your cargo?”

“No, sir,” was promptly and firmly answered.

“I have made the consignment to Armor.”

“To Armor!” exclaimed Mr. Jones, in ill-concealed surprise.

“He’s a perfectly fair man, is he not?” said the captain.

“Oh yes. Perfectly fair. He’ll do you justice, without doubt. Still I must own to being a little disappointed, you were satisfied with the way your business was done last time.”

“Not altogether, Mr. Jones,” said Captain Jackson. “You were a little too sharp for, me–rather too eager, in securing your own advantage, to look narrowly enough to mine. Such was my impression, and it has, been confirmed since my arrival this morning.”