In the fourteenth year of his life, Frank Cowperwood first embarked on a commercial adventure. One day, walking down front street, street of importing and wholesale companies, he noticed an auction flag above the door of a wholesale grocery store; the voice of the auctioneer was heard from within:
– What will I be offered for a batch of excellent Javanese coffee? Wholesale market price today seven dollars thirty-two cents per bag. How much do you give? The party only goes in its entirety. How much do you give?
– Eighteen dollars, – shouted the shopkeeper at the door, actually just for that, to start bidding. Frank stopped.
– Twenty two, – said another voice.
– Thirty, – a third was heard. – Thirty five! – exclaimed the fourth.
The price went up to seventy-five dollars, which was less than half of the real cost of coffee.
– Seventy five dollars. Seventy five, – shouted the auctioneer. – Who is bigger? Seventy five dollars – once. Who will give eighty? Seventy five dollars – two… – He paused and raised his hand in a dramatic gesture.. Then abruptly lowered her. – Sold to Mr. Silas Gregory for seventy-five dollars. Write down, Jerry, – he turned to his redhead, to the freckled assistant and immediately moved on to selling another batch of groceries: eleven kegs of starch.
Young Cowperwood thought quickly. Market price of coffee, according to the auctioneer, seven dollars thirty-two cents a bag; means, shopkeeper, who bought it for seventy-five dollars, can earn eighty-six dollars four cents on the spot, and selling it at retail, – и того больше.
As far as he can remember, mother pays twenty eight cents a pound. With the textbooks under his arm, Frank squeezed closer and began to closely follow the bidding procedure.. Keg of starch, as he soon heard, costs ten dollars, and here it was sold for six. Several barrels of vinegar went under the hammer for a third of their value. Frank really wanted to take part in the auction, but he only had a small change in his pocket. The auctioneer noticed the boy, standing right in front of him, and was amazed at the seriousness and tenacity, written on his face.
– I offer a batch of fine Castilian soap – seven boxes, no more and no less. That, you need to know, if you know anything about soap at all, a bar is now worth fourteen cents. And for the box you will be charged no less than eleven dollars and seventy-five cents.. How much do you give? How much do you give? How much do you give?
He spoke fast, with the usual intonations of the auctioneer and excessive pathos, but it didn't work for young Cowperwood. He calculated vividly in his mind. Seven boxes of eleven seventy-five – only eighty two dollars twenty five cents. And if this batch goes for half price… if she goes for half price…
– Twelve dollars! – someone suggested.
– Fifteen! – increased the price of another.
– Twenty! – shouted the third.
– Twenty five! – added the fourth. Then there were markups of one dollar, since Castilian soap was not in great demand.
– Twenty six!
– Twenty seven!
– Twenty eight!
– Twenty nine! Everyone was silent.
– Thirty! – said young Cowperwood decisively.
Аукционист, small, a thin man with a gaunt face and tousled hair, curiously and somewhat incredulously looked sideways at Frank, not for a moment, however, without stopping. The boy's tense look inevitably caught his attention., and he somehow immediately, without knowing why, filled with confidence and decided: he has money. Maybe, he is the son of some grocer.
– Thirty dollars! Thirty dollars! Thirty dollars for a batch of excellent Castilian soap! Excellent soap! It retails for fourteen cents a piece. Who will give thirty one dollar? Who will give thirty one? Who will give thirty one?
– Thirty one! – a voice rang out.
– Thirty two! – said Cowperwood. Bargaining resumed.
– Thirty two dollars! Thirty two dollars! Thirty two dollars! Who will give thirty-three for this wonderful soap? Seven boxes of fine Castilian soap. Who will give thirty three?
Young Cowperwood's brain was working hard. He had no money with him, but his father served as an assistant cashier at the Third National Bank, and Frank could refer to him. All this soap, without a doubt, could be sold to the grocer next door, and if not to him, then to some other shopkeeper. There were also others, who wanted to buy it at such a price. So why not buy some soap for Frank?
The auctioneer paused.
– Thirty two dollars – once! Who will give thirty three?
– Thirty two dollars – two! Someone will give thirty-three? Thirty two dollars . three! Seven Crates of Superior Soap! Who will give more? Раз, two, three! Who is bigger? – His hand rose again into the air. – Sold to mister…
He leaned slightly over the counter, looking curiously into the face of a young buyer.
– Frank Cowperwood, the son of the assistant cashier of the Third National Bank, – the boy spoke in a firm voice.
– Goes! – said the auctioneer, convinced by his confident look.
– Will you wait, while I run to the bank for money?
– Good! But not to long: if you don't come back in an hour, I will put it on sale again.
Frank didn’t answer anymore. He ran out the door and, first of all, rushed to the grocer he knew., whose shop was one block from the Cowperwood house.
The last thirty steps he walked slowly, then he made a careless face and, entering the shop, I began to look for Castilian soap with my eyes. Here it is, in the usual place, of the same grade, in the same box, like his soap.
– How much do you have a bar of such soap, Mr Dalrymple? – Frank inquired.
– Sixteen cents, – the shopkeeper answered with dignity.
– If I offer you seven boxes of exactly the same item for sixty-two dollars, will you take?
– Exactly like that?
– Yes, Sir.
Mr Dalrymple mentally made the count.
– Yes, perhaps, – he answered carefully.
– And you could pay me today?
– I would give a bill. Where is the product?
Mr Dalrymple was somewhat taken aback by this unexpected proposal from his neighbor's son.. He knew Mr Cowperwood well, and Frank too.
– So will you take the soap, if i deliver it to you today?
– I'll take, – the shopkeeper answered. – Вы что же, got busy with soap?
– Not, но я знаю, where you can buy it cheap.
Frank hurried out and ran to his father. Bank operations have already ceased, but the boy knew all the moves and exits there and he also knew, that Mr Cowperwood will be pleased, if the son earns thirty dollars. He only needed to borrow money for one day.
– What's up Frank? – looking up from the desk, asked Mr Cowperwood, seeing his flushed and out of breath son.
– I want to borrow thirty-two dollars from you, dad.
– Good. And what did you need them for?
– I'm going to buy soap: seven boxes of castile soap. I know, where to get it, and I already have a buyer for it. Mr Dalrymple takes the whole lot. He offered me sixty-two dollars. And I buy for thirty-two. If you give me money, I'll fly off in no time and pay the auctioneer.
Mr Cowperwood smiled. Never before has his son been so businesslike.. For a boy of thirteen, he was extremely quick-witted and resourceful..
– so, Фрэнк, – he said, heading for the box, which contained several banknotes,. you, it is seen, already becoming a financier. А ты уверен, that you will not suffer a loss? You are aware of your idea?
– Give me money, dad, – Frank spoke with a pleading voice. – I'll prove it to you, what am I capable of. Just give me money. Can you trust me.
He looked like a young hunting dog, smelling game. Father could not resist his insistence.
– Of course, Фрэнк, I believe you, he said, counting out six five-dollar bills of his own Third National Bank and two dollar bills. – Получай! . Mumbled thanks, Frank jumped out and rushed to the auction with all his might. At the time of his arrival, sugar was sold from the auction. Frank squeezed against the table, behind which the clerk sat.
– I want to pay for the soap, – he said.
– Now?
– Yes. Will you write me a receipt?
– Can!
– The goods will be delivered to your home?
– Not, we have no delivery. You must pick it up within 24 hours.
Frank was not embarrassed by the unexpected difficulty..
– Good, – he said, hiding the receipt in my pocket.
The auctioneer unwittingly followed him with his eyes. Half an hour later, Frank returned, accompanied by a crowbar., hanging around with his cart in the port and ready to earn extra money with anything.
For sixty cents, he contracted to deliver the soap to the destination. Half an hour later, they were already standing in front of the shop of the amazed Mr.Dalrymple, which Frank, before unloading soap from the cart, made me go outside and look at the boxes. When, if the deal does not take place, Frank decided to take the soap home. Despite, that this was his first speculation, he kept a complete presence of mind all the time.
– N-yes, – said Mr Dalrymple, scratching his gray head thoughtfully, – n-da, soap is the same. I take it. I must keep my word. Where did you get it, Фрэнк?
– On sale at Bixom, not far from here, – young Cowperwood answered frankly and courteously.
Mr Dalrymple ordered the soap to be taken to the shop, and after some formalities, complicated topics, that the seller was underage, issued a promissory note for a month.
Frank thanked him and hid the bill in his pocket. He decided to go to his father once more and take the promissory note, as others did before his eyes, to repay the debt and get your profit in cash. Usually, these operations are not performed after the closure of the bank, but the father will make an exception for him.
Whistling, he hit the road; father smiled again, seeing him.
– Well how, Фрэнк, burned out your case? – inquired Mr. Cowperwood.
– Here is a bill for a month, – said the boy, placing the commitment received from Dalrymple on the table. You are welcome, take it into account with the deduction of your thirty-two dollars.
Father carefully examined the bill.
– Sixty two dollars, – he read. – Mr. Dale rimple. Everything is correct. Yes, I will take it into account. It will cost you ten percent, – he joked. – But why don't you keep the bill with you? I can wait, and will not claim my thirty-two dollars until the end of the month.
– Not, no need, objected Frank, you better take it into account and take your money. I may need mine. The businesslike look of his son amused Mr. Cowperwood.
– well, Okay, – he said. – Everything will be arranged tomorrow, now tell me, how did you manage that?
And the son told him. At seven o'clock in the evening, Mrs. Cowperwood learned the story., and a little later, uncle Seneca.
– well, what did i tell you, Cowperwood? – uncle exclaimed.
– This boy is promising. You will not see it yet!
