Timothy Arthur - Finger Posts on the Way of Life

Monday morning had come round again. He had preached twice on the Sabbath—once to a strange congregation, and with apparent good effect, and once to a congregation in Mayberry. In the latter case, he was favoured with little freedom of utterance. The beginning of the secular week brought back to the mind of Mr. Adkin the old current of thought, and the old earnest desire to get gain in business. On the Sabbath he had taught the people that love was the fulfilment of the law,—now, he had regard only to his own interests; and, although he did not adopt the broad, unscrupulous maxim, that all is fair in trade, yet, in every act of buying and selling, the thought uppermost in his mind was, the amount of gain to be received in the transaction.

"What are you paying for corn to-day?" asked a man, a stranger to Mr. Adkin.

"Forty-eight cents," was answered.

"Is this the highest market rate?" said the man.

"I bought fifty bushels at that price on Saturday," replied Mr. Adkin.

Now, since Saturday, the price of corn had advanced four cents, and Mr. Adkin knew it. But he thought he would just try his new customer with the old price, and if he chose to sell at that, why there would be so much gained.

"I have forty bushels," said the man.

"Very well, I'll take it at forty-eight cents. Where is it?"

"My wagon is at the tavern."

"You may bring it over at once. My man is now at leisure to attend to the delivery."

The corn was delivered and paid for, and both parties, for the time being, were well satisfied with the transaction.

The day had nearly run to a close, and Mr. Adkin was in the act of estimating his gains, when the man from whom he had purchased the corn entered his store.

"Look here, my friend," said the latter speaking rather sharply, "you paid me too little for that corn."

"How so?" returned Mr. Adkin, in well-affected surprise.

"You was to pay the highest market price," said the man.

"I offered you forty-eight cents."

"And I asked you if that was the highest rate, didn't I?"

"I told you that I had bought fifty bushels at that price on Saturday."

"Oh, ho! Now I comprehend you," said the man, with a sarcastic curl of his lip. "I was recommended to you as a preacher, and one who would deal fairly with me. I asked you a plain question, and you purposely misled me in your answer, to the end that you might get my corn at less than the market value. You have cheated me out of nearly two dollars. Much good may it do you!"

And saying this, he turned on his heel and left the store. Mr. Adkin was, of course, no little disturbed. The charge of dishonesty in dealing at first aroused his indignation; but as he grew calmer and thought over the affair, his conscience troubled him. As a Christian man, and especially as a Christian minister, he could not reconcile his dealing with strict gospel requirements. The more he reflected, the more closely he brought his conduct to the standard of Christian principles, the less was he satisfied with himself. The final result was, a determination to go to the man on the next morning, and pay him the balance due him on the market price of his corn. But, when he sought for him, he was not to be found, having gone back to his home, a few miles from the village.

On the next day he sent for a bill, which had been standing a good while. His clerk brought back some impertinent and altogether unsatisfactory answer.

"Did Mr. Giles say that?" he asked, his eyes flashing indignantly.

"His exact words," replied the clerk.

"Very well. I'll not send to him again," said Mr. Adkin. "He thinks, because I am a preacher, that he can treat me as he pleases, but I'll let him know that being a preacher doesn't make me any the less a man, nor any the less inclined to protect myself."

So Mr. Giles was served with a summons, to answer for debt, before the week was out.

On the day following, a certain lady, a member of the congregation in Mayberry to which he preached, whenever, from sickness or other causes, the regular minister was absent, came into Mr. Adkin's store. Her manner was considerably excited.

"There's a mistake in your bill, Mr. Adkin," said she, in rather a sharp tone of voice.

"If so, Mrs. Smith, the remedy is a very simple one," replied Mr. Adkin. Her manner had disturbed him, yet he concealed the disturbance under a forced suavity of manner. "Where does the mistake lie?"

"Why, see here. You've got me charged with six yards of muslin and five pounds of butter that I never got!"

"Are you certain of this, Mrs. Smith?"

"Certain! Be sure I'm certain! D'ye think I'd say I hadn't the things, if I had them? I'm not quite so bad as that, Mr. Adkin!"

"Don't get excited about the matter, Mrs. Smith. We are all liable to mistakes. There's an error here, either on your side or mine, if it is my error, I will promptly correct it."

"Of course it's your error. I never had either the muslin or the butter," said Mrs. Smith, positively.

Mr. Adkin turned to his ledger, where Mrs. Smith's account was posted.

"The muslin is charged on the 10th of June."

Mrs. Smith looked at the bill and answered affirmatively.

"You bought a pound of yarn and a straw hat on the same day."

"Yes; I remember them. But I didn't get the muslin."

"Think again, Mrs. Smith. Don't you remember the beautiful piece of Merrimac that I showed you, and how cheap you thought it?"

"I never had six yards of muslin, Mr. Adkin."

"But, Mrs. Smith, I have distinct recollection of measuring it off, and the charge is here in my own handwriting."

"I never had it, Mr. Adkin!" said the lady much excited.

"You certainly had, Mrs. Smith."

"I'll never pay for it!"

"Don't say that, Mrs. Smith. You certainly wouldn't want my goods without paying for them!"

"I never had the muslin, I tell you!"

Argument in the case Mr. Adkin found to be useless. The sale of the five pounds of butter was as distinctly remembered by him; and as he was not the man to yield a right when he had no doubt as to its existence, he would not erase the articles from Mrs Smith bill, which was paid under protest.

"It's the last cent you'll ever get of my money!" said Mrs. Smith, as she handed over, the amount of the bill. "I never had those articles; and I shall always say that I was wronged out of so much money."

"I'm sure, madam, I don't want your custom, if I'm expected to let you have my goods for nothing," retorted Mr. Adkin, the natural man in him growing strong under an allegation that implied dishonesty.

So the two parted, neither feeling good-will toward the other, and neither being in a very composed state of mind.

Each day in that week brought something to disturb the mind of Mr. Adkin; and each day brought him into unpleasant business contact with someone in the town of Mayberry. To avoid, these things was almost impossible, particularly for a man of Mr. Adkin's temperament.

Saturday night came, always a busy night for the storekeeper. It was ten o'clock, and customers were still coming in, when a lad handed Mr. Adkin a note, it was from the regularly stationed minister of the church in Mayberry to which Mr. Adkin belonged. The note stated, briefly, that the writer was so much indisposed, that he would not be able to preach on the next day, and conveyed the request that "Brother Adkin" would "fill the pulpit for him in the morning."

Brother Adkin almost groaned in spirit at this unwelcome and not-to-be-denied invitation to perform ministerial duties on the Sabbath. Of theological subjects, scarcely a thought had entered his mind since Monday morning; and, certainly, the states through which he had passed were little calculated to elevate his affections, or make clear his spiritual intuitions.

It was twelve o'clock before Mr. Adkin was able to retire on that night. As he rested his weary and now aching head on his pillow, he endeavoured to turn his mind from worldly things, and fix it upon things heavenly and eternal. But, the current of thought and affection had too long been flowing in another channel. The very effort to check its onward course, caused disturbance and obscurity. There was a brief but fruitless struggle, when overtaxed nature vindicated her claims, and as the lay preacher found relief from perplexing thoughts and a troubled conscience, in refreshing slumber.