Or--

"Ah! how are you, Jones? Can't we sell you a bill, to-day?"

They were for ever importuning me to buy, and often tempted me to
make purchases of goods that I really did not want. I was young and
green then, and did not know any thing about shelves full of odds
and ends, and piece upon piece of unsaleable goods, all of which had
to be paid for.

For two or three years, I managed to keep along, though not so
pleasantly as if I had used my credit with less freedom. By that
time, however, the wheels of my business machinery were sadly
clogged. From a salesman behind my counter, I became a "financier."
(!)

During the best hours of the day, and when I was most wanted in the
store, I was on the street, hunting for money. It was borrow,
borrow, borrow, and pay, pay, pay. My thoughts were not directed
toward the best means of making my business profitable, but were
upon the ways and means of paying my notes, that were falling due
with alarming rapidity. I was nearly all the time in the delectable
state of mind of the individual who, on running against a sailor,
was threatened with being knocked "into the middle of next week."
"Do it, for heaven's sake!" he replied--"I would give the world to
be there."

On Monday morning, I could see my way through the week no clearer
than this note-haunted sufferer. In fact, I lived a day at a time.
On the first of each month, when I looked over my bill-book, and