African Camp Fires | Page 3

hands, and was running my eyes up and
down the columns, not reading, but, in a half-absent way, trying to find
something of sufficient interest to claim attention, when, among the
money and business items, I came upon a paragraph that sent the
declining thermometer of my feelings away down towards the chill of
zero. It touched, in the most vital part, my scheme of gain; and the
shrinking bubble burst.
"Have the goods sold to that new customer from Alton been
delivered?" I asked, as the real interest of my wasted day loomed up
into sudden importance.
"Yes, sir," was answered by one of my clerks; "they were sent to Kline
& Co.'s immediately. Mr. B----said they were packing up his goods,
which were to be shipped to-day."
"He's a safe man, I should think. Kline & Co. sell him." My voice
betrayed the doubt that came stealing over me like a chilly air.
"They sell him only for cash," said my clerk. "I saw one of their young
men this afternoon, and asked after Mr. B----'s standing. He didn't
know anything about him; said B----was a new man, who bought a
moderate cash bill, but was sending in large quantities of goods to be
packed--five or six times beyond the amount of his purchases with
them."
"Is that so!" I exclaimed, rising to my feet, all awake now to the real
things which I had permitted a shadow to obscure.
"Just what he told me," answered my clerk.
"It has a bad look," said I. "How large a bill did he make with us?"
The sales book was referred to. "Seventeen hundred dollars," replied

the clerk.
"What! I thought he was to buy only to the amount of a thousand
dollars?" I returned, in surprise and dismay.
"You seemed so easy about him, sir," replied the clerk, "that I
encouraged him to buy; and the bill ran up more heavily than I was
aware until the footing gave exact figures."
I drew out my watch. It was close on to half past six.
"I think, Edward," said I, "that you'd better step round to Kline & Co.'s,
and ask if they've shipped B----'s goods yet. If not, we'll request them to
delay long enough in the morning to give us time to sift the matter. If
B----'s after a swindling game, we'll take a short course, and save our
goods."
"It's too late," answered my clerk. "B----called a little after one o'clock,
and gave notes for the amount of his bill. He was to leave in the five
o'clock line for Boston."
I turned my face a little aside, so that Edward might not see all the
anxiety that was pictured there.
"You look very sober, Mr. Mayflower," said my good wife, gazing at
me with eyes a little shaded by concern, as I sat with Arty's head
leaning against my bosom that evening; "as sober as baby looked this
morning, after his fruitless shadow chase."
"And for the same reason," said I, endeavoring to speak calmly and
firmly.
"Why, Mr. Mayflower!" Her face betrayed a rising anxiety. My
assumed calmness and firmness did not wholly disguise the troubled
feelings that lay, oppressively, about my heart.
"For the same reason," I repeated, steadying my voice, and trying to
speak bravely. "I have been chasing a shadow all day; a mere phantom
scheme of profit; and at night-fall I not only lose my shadow, but find
my feet far off from the right path, and bemired. I called Arty a foolish
child this morning. I laughed at his mistake. But, instead of accepting
the lesson it should have conveyed, I went forth and wearied myself
with shadow-hunting all day."
Mrs. Mayflower sighed gently. Her soft eyes drooped away from my
face, and rested for some moments on the floor.
"I am afraid we are all, more or less, in pursuit of shadows," she
said,--"of the unreal things, projected by thought on the canvas of a too

creative imagination. It is so with me; and I sigh, daily, over some
disappointment. Alas! if this were all. Too often both the shadow-good
and the real-good of to-day are lost. When night falls our phantom
good is dispersed, and we sigh for the real good we might have
enjoyed."
"Shall we never grow wiser?" I asked.
"We shall never grow happier unless we do," answered Mrs.
Mayflower.
"Happiness!" I returned, as thought began to rise into clearer perception;
"is it not the shadow after which we are all chasing, with such a blind
and headlong speed?"
"Happiness is no shadow. It is a real thing," said Mrs. Mayflower. "It
does not project itself in advance of us; but exists in the actual and the
now, if it exists at all. We cannot catch it