Willie had a savings bank;
'Twas made of painted tin.
He passed it 'round among the boys,
Who put their pennies in.
Then Willie wrecked that bank and bought
Sweetmeats and chewing gum.
And to the other envious lads
He never offered some.
"What will we do?" his mother said:
"It is a sad mischance."
His father said: "We'll cultivate
His gift for high finance."—Washington Star.
HICKS—"I've got to borrow $200 somewhere."
WICKS—"Take my advice and borrow $300 while you are about it."
"But I only need $200."
"That doesn't make any difference. Borrow $300 and pay back $100 of it in two installments at intervals of a month or so. Then the man that you borrow from will think he is going to get the rest of it."
It is said J. P. Morgan could raise $10,000,000 on his check any minute; but the man who is raising a large family on $9 a week is a greater financier than Morgan.
To modernize an old prophecy, "out of the mouths of babes shall come much worldly wisdom." Mr. K. has two boys whom he dearly loves. One day he gave each a dollar to spend. After much bargaining, they brought home a wonderful four-wheeled steamboat and a beautiful train of cars. For awhile the transportation business flourished, and all was well, but one day Craig explained to his father that while business had been good, he could do much better if he only had the capital to buy a train of cars like Joe's. His arguments must have been good, for the money was forthcoming. Soon after, little Toe, with probably less logic but more loving, became possessed of a dollar to buy a steamboat like Craig's. But Mr. K., who had furnished the additional capital, looked in vain for the improved service. The new rolling stock was not in evidence, and explanations were vague and unsatisfactory, as is often the case in the railroad game at which men play. It took a stern court of inquiry to develop the fact that the railroad and steamship had simply changed hands—and at a mutual profit of one hundred per cent. And Mr. K., as he told his neighbor, said it was worth that much to know that his boys would not need much of a legacy from him.—P.A. Kershaw.
An old artisan who prided himself on his ability to drive a close bargain contracted to paint a huge barn in the neighborhood for the small sum of twelve dollars.
"Why on earth did you agree to do it for so little?" his brother inquired.
"Well," said the old painter, "you see, the owner is a mighty onreliable man. If I'd said I'd charge him twenty-five dollars, likely he'd have only paid me nineteen. And if I charge him twelve dollars, he may not pay me but nine. So I thought it over, and decided to paint it for twelve dollars, so I wouldn't lose so much."