Part 2 (1/2)

He put it thus: ”Let me, not knowing the meaning of a 'talent,' put it at 100 pounds. Now, if the good and faithful servant adventured five talents, or 500 pounds, at ten per cent, he made 50 pounds a year.

But if the servant with one talent can borrow four others, he has the same capital of 500 pounds. Suppose him to borrow at five per cent. and make ten like the other, he pays 20 pounds profit in interest, and has thirty per cent, left on the talent he started with.”

”Father,” said the boy that night at supper, ”what ought the wicked servant to have done with his talent?”

”Parson told you that plain enough, if you'd a-been listening.”

”But what do _you_ think?”

”I don't need to think when the Bible tells me. 'Thou wicked and slothful servant,' it says, 'thou oughtest to have put my money to the exchangers, and then I should have received mine own with usury.'”

”That means he ought to have lent it?”

”Yes, sure.”

”Well, now,” said the boy, nodding, ”_I_ think he ought to have borrowed.”

Nicholas stared at his son gloomily. ”Setting yourself up agen' the Scriptures, hey? It's time you were a-bed.”

”But, father.”--

The ex-soldier seldom gave way to pa.s.sion, but now he banged his fist down on the table. ”Go to bed!” he shouted. ”Talk to _me_ of borrowing!

Don't my shoulders ache wi' the curse of it?”

Martin took his discovery off and nursed it. By and by another grew out of it: If the wicked servant be making thirty per cent, against the other's ten, he can afford for a time to abate some of his profit, lower his prices, and, by underselling, drive the other out of the market.

He grew up a tall and taciturn lad, pondering his thoughts while he dug and planted with his father in the kitchen-gardens. For this from the age of eighteen he received a small wage, which he carefully put aside.

Then in 1800 his uncle Michael died, and left him a legacy of 50 pounds.

He invested it in the privateering trade, in which the harbour did a brisk business just then. Three years later his father suffered a stroke of paralysis--a slight one, but it confined him to his room for some weeks.

Meanwhile, Martin took charge.

”I've been looking into your accounts,” he announced one day, as soon as his father could bear talking to.

”Then you've been taking an infernal liberty.”

”I see you've cleared off two of the mortgages--on the home estate here and the Nanscawne property. You're making, one way and another, close on 500 pounds a year, half of which goes to paying up interest and reducing the princ.i.p.al by degrees.”

”That's about it.”

”And to my knowledge three of your tenants are making from 200 to 400 pounds by growing corn, which you might grow yourself. Was ever such folly? Look at the price corn is making.”

”Look at the labour. How can I afford it?”

”By borrowing again on the unc.u.mbered property.”

”Your old lidden again? I take my oath I'll never raise a penny on Hall so long as I live! With blood and sweat I've paid off that mortgage, and I'll set my curse on you if you renew it when I'm gone.”

”We'll try the other, then. Your father raised 1500 pounds on the Nanscawne lands, and spent it on cards and ropery. We'll raise the same money, and double it in three years. If we don't--well, I've made 500 pounds of my own, and I'll engage to hand you over every farthing of it.”

”Well,” his father gave in, ”gain or loss, it will fall on you, and pretty soon. I wasn't built for a long span; my father's sins have made life bitter to me, and I thank G.o.d the end's near. But if you have 500 pounds to spare, I can't see why you drive me afield to borrow.”

”To teach you a lesson, perhaps. As soon as you're fit for it, we'll drive over to Damelioc, and have a try with the new owner. He'll jump at us. The two properties went together once, and when he hears our tale, he'll say to himself, 'Oho! here's a chance to get 'em together again.'

He'll think, of course, that you are in difficulties. But mind you stand out, and don't you pay more than five per cent.”