Desk and Debit; or, The Catastrophes of a ClerkOptic, Oliver
General
Desk and Debit; or, The Catastrophes of a Clerk
Optic, Oliver
Christian life -- Juvenile fiction; Conduct of life -- Juvenile fiction; Fraud -- Juvenile fiction; Sailing -- Juvenile fiction
I did not like the old lady's philosophy, though I have since learned
that there are a great many people in the world who think it is no sin
to cheat a railroad corporation out of a few dollars, more or less. I
once heard a man, who pretended to be a gentleman, boasting that he
evaded paying his fare in the train because the conductor did not call
for it. I hold him to be a swindler, just as much as though he had been
called upon for his ticket. When he got into the car, he virtually
bargained with the railroad company to convey him a certain distance
for a certain price. No matter if the conductor did not formally demand
payment; it was his duty to pay, and he was just as much a swindler and
a thief, as though he had stolen or cheated some individual out of the
money.
I feel better now, after venting my righteous indignation on this
subject. I have a good deal more respect for the thief who steals your
money, or the gentlemanly swindler who plunders you of it by the polite
tricks of his art, than for these pretentious knaves who lie without
uttering a word, and steal without lifting a finger.
Mrs. Whippleton continued, for an hour, to assure me that I was
extraordinarily green, imparting a lesson on worldly wisdom, which, I
am happy to say, at the age of twenty-eight, has been utterly wasted
upon me.
"You haven't seen much of the world, and you don't know what's what
yet; but I like you, young man. You have behaved very well to a lone
woman, and you shan't lose nothing by it," she continued.
"I am entirely satisfied," I replied.
"I didn't mean you should lose anything by me. I might have cheated you
out of twelve dollars just as easy as nothing."
I was certainly very much obliged to her for her kind consideration in
this respect; and I was forced to acknowledge the truth of her
proposition. Though I despised her, I could not help seeing that she
had been just towards me.
"I am very much obliged to you for not doing it," I replied.
"No; I never cheat nobody; and I hate mean folks. It would have been
mean in me to let you lose twelve dollars after what you did for me. If
it hadn't been for you I should have been put out of the car."
"But you had money to pay your fare."
"I wouldn't pay that nasty conductor after I had told him I had no
money. One has to be persistent."
"I think you have been consistent all the way through."
"Thank'ee. After what you did, and the tea you fetched, I felt an
interest in you; and it ain't many folks I do feel an interest in."
Of course not! Not many people would have done anything for her to
induce her to feel an interest in them.
"I reckon you don't belong in Chicago," she continued.
"I do not. I never was there."
"Well, it's a wicked place."
Any place must be wicked from her stand-point.
"I suppose it is no worse than any city of its size."
"I don't know's it is. I suppose you have friends there."
"No."
"Well, where you goin' to stop, then?"
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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