The little house was crammed to overflowing. But the fear of the old
regime was heavy on the meeting. The traders occupied the whole time
for speaking. Only one old fisherman spoke at all. He had been an
overseas sailor in his early days, and he surprised himself by turning
orator. His effort elicited great applause. "Doctor--I means Mr.
Chairman--if this here copper store buys a bar'l of flour in St.
John's for five dollars, be it going to sell it to we fer ten? That's
what us wants to know."
Outside, after the meeting, Babel was let loose. The general opinion
was that there must be something to it or the traders would not have
so much to say against the project. The upshot of the matter was that
for a long time no one could be found who would take the managership;
but at length the best-beloved fisherman on the shore stepped into the
breach. He was not a scholar--in fact could scarcely read, write, and
figure--but his pluck, optimism, and unselfishness carried him
through.
That little store has been preaching its vital truths ever since. It is
a still small text, but it has had vast influences for good. There has
proved to be one difficulty. It is the custom on the coast to give all
meals to travellers free, both men and dogs, and lodging to boot.
Customers came from so far away that they had to stay overnight at
least, and of course it was always Harry's house to which they went. The
profit on a twenty-five cent purchase was slender under these
circumstances, and as cash was scarce in those days, a twenty-five-cent
purchase was not so rare as might be supposed. We therefore printed,
mounted, framed, and sent to our friend the legend, "No more free meals.
Each meal will cost ten cents." Later we received a most grateful reply
from him in his merry way, saying that he had hung up the card in his
parlour, but begging us not to defer visits if we had not the requisite
amount, as he was permitted to give credit to that extent. But when next
we suddenly "blew in" to Harry's house, the legend was hanging with its
face to the wall.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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