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THAT JOHN MASON

"WHAT kind of people have you here?" I asked of one of my first acquaintances, after becoming a denizen of the pleasant little village of Moorfield.

"Very clever people, with one or two exceptions," he replied. "I am sure you will like us very well."

"Who are the exceptions?" I asked. "For I wish to keep all such exceptions at a distance. Being a stranger, I will, wisely, take a hint in time. It's an easy matter to shun an acquaintanceship; but by no means so easy to break it off, after it is once formed."

"Very truly said, Mr. Jones. And I will warn you, in time, of one man in particular. His name is John Mason. Keep clear of him, if you wish to keep out of trouble. He's as smooth and oily as a whetstone; and, like a whetstone, abrades every thing he touches. He's a bad man, that John Mason."

"Who, or what is he?" I asked.

"He's a lawyer, and one of the principal holders of property in the township. But money can't gild him over. He's a bad man, that John Mason, and my advice to you and to every one, is to keep clear of him. I know him like a book."

"I'm very much obliged to you," said I, "for your timely caution: I will take care to profit by it."

My next acquaintance bore pretty much the same testimony, and so did the next. It was plain that John Mason was not the right kind of a man, and rather a blemish upon the village of Moorfield, notwithstanding he was one of the principal property-holders in the township.

"If it wasn't for that John Mason," I heard on this hand, and, "If it wasn't for that John Mason!" I heard on the other hand, as my acquaintanceship among the people extended. Particularly bitter against him was the first individual who had whispered in my ear a friendly caution; and I hardly ever met with him, that he hadn't something to say about that John Mason.

About six months after my arrival in Moorfield, I attended a public meeting, at which the leading men of the township were present. Most of them were strangers to me. At this meeting, I fell in company with a very pleasant man, who had several times addressed those present, and always in such a clear, forcible, and common-sense way, as to carry conviction to all but a few, who carped and quibbled at every thing he said, and in a very churlish manner. Several of those quibblers I happened to know. He represented one set of views, and they another. His had regard for the public good; theirs looked, it was plain, to sectional and private interests.

"How do you like our little town, Mr. Jones?" said this individual to me, after the meeting had adjourned, and little knots of individuals were formed here and there for conversation.

"Very well," I replied.

"And the people?" he added.

"The people," I answered, "appear to be about a fair sample of what are to be found everywhere. Good and bad mixed up together."

"Yes. That, I suppose, is a fair general estimate."

"Of course," I added, "we find, in all communities, certain individuals, who stand out more prominent than the rest—distinguished for good or evil. This appears to be the case here, as well as elsewhere."

"You have already discovered, then, that, even in Moorfield, there are some bad men."

"Oh, yes. There's that John Mason, for instance."

The man looked a little surprised, but remarked, without any change of tone—"So, you have heard of him, have you?"

"Oh, yes."

"As a very bad man?"

"Yes, very well. Have you ever met him?"

"No, and never wish to."

"You've seen him, I presume?"

"Never. Is he here?"

The man glanced round the room, and then replied—"I don't see him."

"He was here, I suppose?"

"Oh, yes, and addressed the meeting several times."

"In one of those sneering, ill-tempered answers to your remarks, no doubt."

The man slightly inclined his head, as if acknowledging a compliment.

"It's a pity," said I, "that such men as this John Mason often have wealth and some shrewdness of mind to give them power in the community."

"Perhaps," said my auditor, "your prejudices against this man are too strong. He's not perfect, I know; but even the devil is often painted blacker than he is. If you knew him, I rather think you would estimate him a little differently."

"I don't wish to know him. Opportunities have offered, but I have always avoided an introduction."

"Who first gave you the character of this man?" asked the individual with whom I was conversing.

"Mr. Laxton," I replied. "Do you know him?"

"Oh, yes, very well. He speaks hard of Mason, does he?"

"He has cause, I believe."

"Did he ever explain to you what it was?"

"Not very fully; but he gives him a general bad character, and says he has done more to injure the best interests of the village than any ten of its worst enemies that exist."

"Indeed! That is a sweeping declaration. But I will frankly own that I cannot join in so broad a condemnation of the man, although he has his faults, and no one knows them, I think, better than I do."

This made no impression upon me. The name of John Mason was associated in my mind with every thing that was bad, and I replied by saying that I was very well satisfied in regard to his character, and didn't mean to have any thing to do with him while I lived in Moorfield.

Some one interrupted our conversation at this point, and I was separated from my very agreeable companion. I met him frequently afterwards, and he was always particularly polite to me, and once or twice asked me if I had fallen in with that John Mason yet; to which I always replied in the negative, and expressed myself as ever in regard to the personage mentioned.

Careful as we may be to keep out of trouble, we are not always successful in our efforts. When I removed to Moorfield, I supposed my affairs to be in a very good way; but things proved to be otherwise. I was disappointed, not only in the amount I expected to receive from the business I followed in the village, but disappointed in the receipt of money I felt sure of getting by a certain time.

When I first came to Moorfield, I bought a piece of property from Laxton—this business transaction made us acquainted—and paid, cash down, one-third of the purchase-money, the property remaining as security for the two-thirds, which I was under contract to settle at a certain time. My first payment was two thousand dollars. Unfortunately, when the final payment became due, I was not in funds, and the prospect of receiving money within five or six months was any thing but good. In this dilemma, I waited upon Laxton, and informed him of my disappointment. His face became grave.

"I hope it will not put you to any serious inconvenience."

"What?" he asked.

"My failure to meet this payment on the property. You are fully secured, and within six months I will be able to do what I had hoped to do at this time."

"I am sorry, Mr. Jones," he returned, "but I have made all my calculations to receive the sum due at this time, and cannot do without it."

"But I haven't the money, Mr. Laxton, and have fully explained to you the reason why."

"That is your affair, not mine, Mr. Jones. If you have been disappointed at one point, it is your business to look to another. A contract is a contract."

"Will you not extend the time of payment?" said I.

"No, sir, I cannot."

"What will you do?"

"Do? You ask a strange question."

"Well, what will you do?"

"Why, raise the money on the property."

"How will you do that?"

"Sell it, of course."

I asked no further questions, but left him and went away. Before reaching home, to which place I was retiring in order to think over the position in which I was placed, and determine what steps to take, if any were left to me, I met the pleasant acquaintance I had made at the town-meeting.

"You look grave, Mr. Jones," said he, as we paused, facing each other. "What's the matter?"

I frankly told him my difficulty.

"So Laxton has got you in his clutches, has he?" was the simple, yet, I perceived, meaning reply that he made.

"I am in his clutches, certainly," said I. "And will not get out of them very easily, I apprehend."

"What will he do?"

"He will sell the property at auction."

"It won't bring his claim under the hammer."

"No, I suppose not, for that is really more than the property is worth."

"Do you think so?"

"Certainly I do. I know the value of every lot of ground in the township, and know that you have been taken in in your purchase."

"What do you suppose it will bring at a forced sale?"

"Few men will bid over twenty-five hundred dollars."

"You cannot be serious?"

"I assure you I am. He, however, will overbid all, up to four thousand. He will, probably, have it knocked down to him at three thousand, and thus come into the unencumbered possession of a piece of property upon which he has received two thousand dollars."

"But three thousand dollars will not satisfy his claim against me."

"No. You will still owe him a thousand dollars."

"Will he prosecute his claim?"

"He?" And the man smiled. "Yes, to the last extremity, if there be hope of getting any thing."

"Then I am certainly in a bad way."

"I'm afraid you are, unless you can find some one here who will befriend you in the matter."

"There is no one here who will lend me four thousand dollars upon that piece of property," said I.

"I don't know but one man who is likely to do it," was answered.

"Who is that?" I asked, eagerly.

"John Mason."

"John Mason! I'll never go to him."

"Why not?"

"I might as well remain where I am as get into his hands—a sharper and a lawyer to boot. No, no. Better to bear the evils that we have, than fly to others that we know not of."

"You may get assistance somewhere else, but I am doubtful," said the man; and, bowing politely, passed on, and left me to my own unpleasant reflections.

Laxton made as quick work of the business as the nature of the case would admit, and in a very short time the property was advertised at public sale. As the time for the sale approached, the great desire to prevent the sacrifice that I was too well assured would take place, suggested the dernier resort of ailing upon Mason; but my prejudice against the man was so strong, that I could not get my own consent to do so.

On the day before the sale, I met the individual before alluded to.

"Have you been to see Mason?" he asked.

I shook my head.

"Then you have made up your mind to let that scoundrel, Laxton, fleece you out of your property?"

"I see no way of preventing it."

"Why don't you try Mason?"

"I don't believe it would do any good."

"I think differently."

"If he did help me out of this difficulty," I replied, "it would only be to get me into a more narrow corner."

"You don't know any such thing," said the man, a different tone from any in which he had yet taken when Mason was the subject of our remarks.

"Think, for a moment, upon the basis of your prejudice; it lies mainly upon the assertion of Laxton, from your own experience has proved to be a scoundrel. The fact is, your estimate of Mason's character is entirely erroneous. Laxton hates him, because he has circumvented him more than a dozen times in his schemes of iniquity, and will circumvent him again, if I do not greatly err, provided you give him the opportunity of doing so."

There was force in the view. True enough; what confidence was there to be placed in Laxton's words? And if Mason had circumvented him; as was alleged, of course there was a very good reason for detraction.

"At what hour do you think I can see him?" said I.

"I believe he is usually in about twelve o'clock."

"I will see him," said I, with emphasis.

"Do so," returned the man; "and may your interview be as satisfactory as you can desire."

At twelve, precisely, I called upon Mason, not without many misgivings, I must own. I found my prejudices still strong; and as to the good result, I could not help feeling serious doubts. On entering his office, I found no one present but the individual under whose advice I had called.

"Mr. Mason is not in," said I, feeling a little disappointed.

"Oh, yes, he is in," was replied. I looked around, and then turned my eyes upon the man's face. I did not exactly comprehend its expression.

"My name is John Mason," said he, bowing politely; "so be seated, and let us talk over the business upon which you have called on me."

I needed no invitation to sit down, for I could not have kept my feet if I had tried, so suddenly and completely did his words astonish and confound me.

I will not repeat the confused, blundering apologies I attempted to make, nor give his gentlemanly replies. Enough, that an hour before the time at which the sale was advertised to take place on the next day, I waited upon Laxton.

"Be kind enough," said I, "to let me have that obligation upon which your present stringent measures are founded. I wish to take it up."

The man looked perfectly blank.

"Mr. John Mason," said I, "has generously furnished me with the funds necessary to save my property from sacrifice, and will take the securities you hold."

"Blast that John Mason!" ejaculated Laxton, with excessive bitterness, turning away and leaving where I stood. I waited for ten minutes, but did not come back. A suspicion that he meant let the sale go on, if possible, crossed my mind, and I returned to Mason, who saw the sheriff and the whole matter arranged.

Laxton has never spoken to me since. As for "That John Mason," I have proved him to be fast friend, and a man of strict honour in every thing. So much for slander.

A NEW WAY TO COLLECT AN OLD DEBT

EARLY in life, Mr. Jenkins had been what is called unfortunate in business. Either from the want of right management, or from causes that he could not well control, he became involved, and was broken all to pieces. It was not enough that he gave up every dollar he possessed in the world. In the hope that friends would interfere to prevent his being sent to jail, some of his creditors pressed eagerly for the balance of their claims, and the unhappy debtor had no alternative but to avail himself of the statute made and provided for the benefit of individuals in his extremity. It was a sore trial for him; but any thing rather than to be thrown into prison.

After this tempest of trouble and excitement, there fell upon the spirits of Mr. Jenkins a great calm. He withdrew himself from public observation for a time, but his active mind would not let him remain long in obscurity. In a few months, he was again in business, though in a small way. His efforts were more cautiously directed than before, and proved successful. He made something above his expenses during the first year, and after that accumulated money rapidly. In five or six years, Mr. Jenkins was worth some nine or ten thousand dollars.

But with this prosperity came no disposition on the part of Mr. Jenkins to pay off his old obligations. "They used the law against me," he would say, when the subject pressed itself upon his mind, as it would sometimes do, "and now let them get what the law will give them."

There was a curious provision in the law by which Jenkins had been freed from all the claims of his creditors against him; and this provision is usually incorporated in all similar laws, though for what reason it is hard to tell. It is only necessary to promise to pay a claim thus annulled, to bring it in full force against the debtor. If a man owes another a hundred dollars, and, by economy and self-denial, succeeds in saving twenty dollars and paying them to him, he becomes at once liable for the remaining eighty dollars, unless the manner of doing it be very guarded, and is in danger of a prosecution, although unable to pay another cent. A prudent man, who has once been forced into the unhappy alternative of taking the benefit of the insolvent law, is always careful, lest, in an unguarded moment, he acknowledge his liability to some old creditor, before he is fully able to meet it. Anxious as he is to assure this one and that one of his desire and intention to pay them, if ever in his power, and to say to them that he is struggling early and late for their sakes as well as his own, his lips must remain sealed. A word of his intentions, and all his fond hopes of getting fairly on his feet again are in danger of shipwreck.

Understanding the binding force of a promise of this kind, made in writing or in the presence of witnesses, certain of the more selfish or less manly and honorable class of creditors are ever seeking to extort by fair or foul means, from an unfortunate debtor, who has honestly given up every thing, an acknowledgment of his indebtedness to them, in order that they may reap the benefit of his first efforts to get upon his feet again. Many and many an honest but indiscreet debtor has been thrown upon his back once more from this cause, and all his hopes in life blasted for ever. The means of approach to a debtor, in this situation, are many and various. "Do you think you will ever be able to do any thing on that old account?" blandly asked, in the presence of a third party, is answered by, "I hope so. But, at present, it takes every dollar I can earn for the support of my family." This is sufficient—the whole claim is in full force. In the course of a month or two, perhaps in a less period, a sheriff's writ is served, and the poor fellow's furniture, or small stock in trade, is seized, and he broken all up again. To have replied—"You have no claim against me," to the insidious question, seemed in the mind of the poor, but honest man, so much like a public confession that he was a rogue, that he could not do it. And yet this was his only right course, and he should have taken it firmly. Letters are often written, calling attention to the old matter, in which are well-timed allusions to the debtor's known integrity of character, and willingness to pay every dollar he owes in the world, if ever able. Such letters should never be answered, for the answer will be almost sure to contain something that, in a court of justice, will be construed into an acknowledgment of the entire claim. In paying off old accounts that the law has cancelled, which we think every man should do, if in his power, the acknowledgment of indebtedness never need go further than the amount paid at any time. Beyond this, no creditor, who does not wish to oppress, will ask a man to go. If any seek a further revival of the old claim, let the debtor be aware of them; and also, let him be on his guard against him who in any way alludes, either in writing or personally, to the previous indebtedness.

But we have digressed far enough. Mr. Jenkins, we are sorry to say, was not of that class of debtors who never consider an obligation morally cancelled. The law once on his side, he fully made up his mind to keep it for ever between him and all former transactions. Sundry were the attempts made to get old claims against him revived, after it was clearly understood that he was getting to be worth money; but Jenkins was a rogue at heart, and rogues are always more wary than honest men.

Among the creditors of Jenkins, was a man named Gooding, who had loaned him five hundred dollars, and lost three hundred of it—two-fifths being all that was realized from the debtor's effects. Gooding pitied sincerely the misfortunes of Jenkins, and pocketed his loss without saying a hard word, or laying the weight of a finger upon his already too heavily burdened shoulders. But it so happened, that as Jenkins commenced going up in the world, Gooding began to go down. At the time when the former was clearly worth ten thousand dollars, he was hardly able to get money enough to pay his quarterly rent-bills. Several times he thought of calling the attention of his old debtor to the balance still against him, which, as it was for borrowed money, ought certainly to be paid. But it was an unpleasant thing to remind a friend of an old obligation, and Gooding, for a time, chose to bear his troubles, as the least disagreeable of the two alternatives. At last, however, difficulties pressed so hard upon him, that he forced himself to the task.

Both he and Jenkins lived about three-quarters of a mile distant from their places of business, in a little village beyond the suburbs of the city. Gooding was lame, and used to ride to and from his store in a small wagon, which was used for sending home goods during the day. Jenkins usually walked into town in the morning, and home in the evening. It not unfrequently happened that Gooding overtook the latter, while riding home after business hours, when he always invited him to take a seat by his side, which invitation was never declined. They were, riding home in this way, one evening, when Gooding, after clearing his throat two or three times, said, with a slight faltering in his voice—"I am sorry, neighbour Jenkins, to make any allusion to old matters, but as you are getting along very comfortably, and I am rather hard pressed, don't you think you could do something for me on account of the three hundred dollars due for borrowed money. If it had been a regular business debt, I would never have said a word about it, but"—

"Neighbour Gooding," said Jenkins, interrupting him, "don't give yourself a moment's uneasiness about that matter. It shall be paid, every dollar of it; but I am not able, just yet, to make it up for you. But you shall have it."

This was said in the blandest way imaginable, yet in a tone of earnestness.

"How soon do you think you can do something for me?" asked Gooding.

"I don't know. If not disappointed, however, I think I can spare you a little in a couple of months."

"My rent is due on the first of October. If you can let me have, say fifty dollars, then, it will be a great accommodation."

"I will see. If in my power, you shall certainly have at least that amount."

Two months rolled round, and Gooding's quarter-day came. Nothing more had been said by Jenkins on the subject of the fifty dollars, and Gooding felt very reluctant about reminding him of his promise; but he was short in making up his rent, just the promised sum. He waited until late in the day, but Jenkins neither sent nor called. As the matter was pressing, he determined to drop in upon his neighbour, and remind him of what he had said. He accordingly went round to the store of Jenkins, and found him alone with his clerk.

"How are you to-day?" said Jenkins, smiling.

"Very well. How are you?"

"So, so."

Then came a pause.

"Business rather dull," remarked Jenkins.

"Very," replied Gooding, with a serious face, and more serious tone of voice. "Nothing at all doing. I never saw business so flat in my life."

"Flat enough."

Another pause.

"Ahem! Mr. Jenkins," began Gooding, after a few moments, "do you think you can do any thing for me to-day?"

"If there is any thing I can do for you, it shall be done with pleasure," said Jenkins, in a cheerful way. "In what can I oblige you?"

"You remember, you said that in all probability you would be able to spare me as much as fifty dollars to-day?"

"I said so?" Jenkins asked this question with an appearance of real surprise.

"Yes. Don't you remember that we were riding home one evening, about two months ago, and I called your attention to the old account standing between us, and you promised to pay it soon, and said you thought you could spare me fifty dollars about the time my quarter's rent became due?"

"Upon my word, friend Gooding, I have no recollection of the circumstance whatever," replied Jenkins with a smile. "It must have been some one else with whom you were riding. I never said I owed you any thing, or promised to pay you fifty dollars about this time."

"Oh, yes! but I am sure you did."

"And I am just as sure that I did not," returned Jenkins, still perfectly undisturbed, while Gooding, as might be supposed, felt his indignation just ready to boil over. But the latter controlled himself as best he could; and as soon as he could get away from the store of Jenkins, without doing so in a manner that would tend to close all intercourse between them, he left and returned to his own place of business, chagrined and angry.

On the same evening, as Gooding was riding home, he saw Jenkins ahead of him on the road. He soon overtook him. Jenkins turned his usual smiling face upon his old creditor, and said, "Good evening," in his usual friendly way. The invitation to get up and ride, that was always given on like occasions, was extended again, and in a few moments the two men were riding along, side by side, as friendly, to all appearance, as if nothing had happened.

"Jenkins, how could you serve me such a scaly trick as you did?" Gooding said, soon after his neighbour had taken a seat by his side. "You know very well that you promised to pay my claim; and also promised to give me fifty dollars of it to-day, if possible."

"I know I did. But it was out of my power to let you have any thing to-day," replied Jenkins.

"But what was the use of your denying it, and making me out a liar or a fool, in the presence of your clerk?"

"I had a very good reason for doing so. My clerk would have been a witness to my acknowledgment of your whole claim against me, and thus make me liable before I was ready to pay it. As my head is fairly clear of the halter, you cannot blame me for wishing to keep it so. A burnt child, you know, dreads the fire."

"But you know me well enough to know that I never would have pressed the claim against you."

"Friend Gooding, I have seen enough of the world to satisfy me that we don't know any one. I am very ready to say to you, that your claim shall be satisfied to the full extent, whenever it is in my power to do so; but a legal acknowledgment of the claim I am not willing to make. You mustn't think hard of me for what I did to-day. I could not, in justice to myself, have done any thing else."

Gooding professed to be fully satisfied with this explanation, although he was not. He was very well assured that Jenkins was perfectly able to pay him the three hundred dollars, if he chose to do so, and that his refusal to let him have the fifty dollars, conditionally promised, was a dishonest act.

More than a year passed, during which time Gooding made many fruitless attempts to get something out of Jenkins, who was always on the best terms with him, but put him off with fair promises, that were never kept. These promises were never made in the presence of a third person, and might, therefore, have just as well been made to the wind, so far as their binding force was concerned. Things grew worse and worse with Gooding, and he became poorer every day, while the condition of Jenkins as steadily improved.

One rainy afternoon, Gooding drove up to the store of his old friend, about half an hour earlier than he usually left for home. Jenkins was standing in the door.

"As it is raining, I thought I would call round for you," he said, as he drew up his horse.

"Very much obliged to you, indeed," returned Jenkins, quite well pleased. "Stop a moment, until I lock up my desk, and then I will be with you."

In a minute or two Jenkins came out, and stepped lightly into the wagon.

"It is kind in you, really, to call for me," he said, as the wagon moved briskly away. "I was just thinking that I should have to get a carriage."

"It is no trouble to me at all," returned Gooding, "and if it were, the pleasure of doing a friend a kindness would fully repay it."

"You smell strong of whisky here," said Jenkins, after they had ridden a little way, turning his eyes toward the back part of the wagon as he spoke. "What have you here?"

"An empty whisky-hogshead. This rain put me in mind of doing what my wife has been teasing me to do for the last six months—get her a rain-barrel. I tried to get an old oil-cask, but couldn't find one. They make the best rain-barrels. Just burn them out with a flash of good dry shavings, and they are clear from all oily impurities, and tight as a drum."

"Indeed! I never thought of that. I must look out for one, for our old rain-hogshead is about tumbling to pieces."

From rain-barrels the conversation turned upon business, and at length Gooding brought up the old story, and urged the settlement of his claim as a matter of charity.

"You don't know how much I need it," he said. "Necessity alone compels me to press the claim upon your attention."

"It is hard, I know, and I am very sorry for you," Jenkins replied. "Next week, I will certainly pay you fifty dollars."

"I shall be very thankful. How soon after do you think you will be able to let me have the balance of the three hundred due me. Say as early as possible."

"Within three months, at least, I hope," replied Jenkins.

"Harry! Do you hear that?" said Gooding, turning his head toward the back part of the wagon, and speaking in a quick, elated manner.

"Oh, ay!" came ringing from the bunghole of the whisky-hogshead.

"Who the dickens is that?" exclaimed Jenkins, turning quickly round.

"No one," replied Gooding, with a quiet smile, "but my clerk, Harry Williams."

"Where?"

"Here," replied the individual named, pushing himself up through the loose head of the upright hogshead, and looking into the face of the discomfited Jenkins, with a broad smile of satisfaction upon his always humorous phiz.

"Whoa, Charley," said Gooding, at this moment reining up his horse before the house of Jenkins.

The latter stepped out, with his eyes upon the ground, and stood with his hand upon the wagon, in thought, for some moments; then looking up, he said, while the humour of the whole thing pressed itself so full upon him, that he could not help smiling,

"See here, Gooding, if both you and Harry will promise me never to say a word about this confounded trick, I will give you a check for three hundred dollars on the spot."

"No, I must have four hundred and twenty-six dollars, the principal and interest. Nothing less," returned Gooding firmly. "You have acknowledged the debt in the presence of Mr. Williams, and if it is not paid by to-morrow twelve o'clock, I shall commence suit against you. If I receive the money before that time, we will keep this little matter quiet; if suit is brought, all will come out on the trial."