from him, inclosed a statement of account with a 'please remit' at the
bottom. No bull ever flew at a red rag quicker than he flew at that
statement, and he wrote a saucy letter, saying he had paid me, and he
didn't like being dunned for a paid bill, etc., etc. You all know just
how a small man will act under those conditions. They forwarded his
letter to me and I acknowledged my carelessness; I wrote him taking
all the blame on my shoulders, and explaining how the mistake
happened. But his Irish was up, and in a few weeks he went into the
store, still talking 'bigitty,' proposing to settle up and quit. The
book-keeper took his money, handing him back his change and a receipt.
He counted the change and pushed it back, saying, 'That ain't right.'
The boss stood near, taking all the tongue-lashing, but feeling as if
his cup would run over if the book-keeper had now been guilty of
making a mistake. He took the change, ran it over hastily, and saw
that it was correct. This was nuts. 'It seems,' said he, 'you
occasionally make mistakes, Mr. B., so you ought to make allowance for
others. It is a devilish smart man who never makes a mistake, and a
devilish mean one who will not make allowances for the mistakes made
by another.' 'Oh, I'm mean, am I,' said B.; 'well, I pay my bills.'
'So do other people; you're not the only man who pays.' But B. went
off on his high horse. The next time I went there I could'nt touch him
with a ten-foot pole, but the trip after he came around all right."

"I wish I had no collecting to do," said a man near me; "I can sell
goods, but collecting is the deuce-and-all. I envy the New Yorkers who
don't have any collecting to do. Their business is to sell, and the
house collects."

"But when we do have to look after an account." said a man whom I had
set down as a New Yorker from the first, "it is always a tough one.