A Dollar on the Conscience

by T.S. Arthur

"Fifty-five cents a yard, I believe you said?" The customer wasopening her purse.Now fifty cents a yard was the price of the goods, and so Mr.Levering had informed the lady. She misunderstood him, however.In the community, Mr. Levering had the reputation of being aconscientious, high-minded man. He knew that he was thus estimated,and self-complacently appropriated the good opinion as clearly hisdue.It came instantly to the lip of Mr. Levering to say, "Yes,fifty-five." The love of gain was strong in his mind, and ever readyto accede to new plans for adding dollar to dollar. But, ere thewords were uttered, a disturbing perception of something wrongrestrained him."I wish twenty yards," said the customer taking it for granted thatfifty-five cents was the price of the goods.Mr. Levering was still silent; though he commenced promptly tomeasure off the goods."Not dear at that price," remarked the lady."I think not," said the storekeeper. "I bought the case of goodsfrom which this piece was taken very low.""Twenty yards at fifty-five cents! Just eleven dollars." Thecustomer opened her purse as she thus spoke, and counted out the sumin glittering gold dollars. "That is right, I believe," and shepushed the money towards Mr. Levering, who, with a kind of automaticmovement of his hand, drew forward the coin and swept it into histill."Send the bundle to No. 300 Argyle Street," said the lady, with abland smile, as she turned from the counter, and the half-bewilderedstore-keeper."Stay, madam! there is a slight mistake!" The words were in Mr.Levering's thoughts, and on the point of gaining utterance, but hehad not the courage to speak. He had gained a dollar in thetransaction beyond his due, and already it was lying heavily on hisconscience. Willingly would he have thrown it off; but when about todo so, the quick suggestion came, that, in acknowledging to the ladythe fact of her having paid five cents a yard too much, he mightfalter in his explanation, and thus betray his attempt to do herwrong. And so he kept silence, and let her depart beyond recall.Any thing gained at the price of virtuous self-respect is acquiredat too large a cost. A single dollar on the conscience may press soheavily as to bear down a man's spirits, and rob him of all thedelights of life. It was so in the present case. Vain was it thatMr. Levering sought self-justification. Argue the matter as hewould, he found it impossible to escape the smarting conviction thathe had unjustly exacted a dollar from one of his customers. Manytimes through the day he found himself in a musing, abstractedstate, and on rousing himself therefrom, became conscious, in hisexternal thought, that it was the dollar by which he was troubled."I'm very foolish," said he, mentally, as he walked homeward, afterclosing his store for the evening. "Very foolish to worry myselfabout a trifle like this. The goods were cheap enough at fifty-five,and she is quite as well contented with her bargain as if she hadpaid only fifty."But it would not do. The dollar was on his conscience, and he soughtin vain to remove it by efforts of this kind.Mr. Levering had a wife and three pleasant children. They were thesunlight of his home. When the business of the day was over, heusually returned to his own fireside with buoyant feeling. It wasnot so on this occasion. There was a pressure on his bosom--a senseof discomfort--a want of self-satisfaction. The kiss of his wife,and the clinging arms of his children, as they were twined aroundhis neck, did not bring the old delight."What is the matter with you this evening, dear? Are you not well?"inquired Mrs. Levering, breaking in upon the thoughtful mood of herhusband, as he sat in unwonted silence.I'm perfectly well," he replied, rousing himself, and forcing asmile."You look sober.""Do I?" Another forced smile."Something troubles you, I'm afraid.""O no; it's all in your imagination.""Are you sick, papa?" now asks a bright little fellow, clamberingupon his knee."Why no, love, I'm not sick. Why do you think so?""Because you don't play horses with me.""Oh dear! Is that the ground of your suspicion?" replied the father,laughing. "Come! we'll soon scatter them to the winds."And Mr. Levering commenced a game of romps with the children. But hetired long before they grew weary, nor did he, from the beginning,enter into this sport with his usual zest."Does your head ache, pa?" inquired the child who had previouslysuggested sickness, as he saw his father leave the floor, and seathimself, with some gravity of manner, on a chair."Not this evening, dear," answered Mr. Levering."Why don't you play longer, then?""Oh pa!" exclaimed another child, speaking from a sudden thought,"you don't know what a time we had at school to-day.""Ah! what was the cause?""Oh! you'll hardly believe it. But Eddy Jones stole a dollar fromMaggy Enfield!""Stole a dollar!" ejaculated Mr. Levering. His voice was husky, andhe felt a cold thrill passing along every nerve."Yes, pa! he stole a dollar! Oh, wasn't it dreadful?""Perhaps he was wrongly accused," suggested Mrs. Levering."Emma Wilson saw him do it, and they found the dollar in his pocket.Oh! he looked so pale, and it made me almost sick to hear him cry asif his heart would break.""What did they do with him?" asked Mrs. Levering."They sent for his mother, and she took him home. Wasn't itdreadful?""It must have been dreadful for his poor mother," Mr. Leveringventured to remark."But more dreadful for him," said Mrs. Levering. "Will he everforget his crime and disgrace? Will the pressure of that dollar onhis conscience ever be removed? He may never do so wicked an actagain; but the memory of this wrong deed cannot be wholly effacedfrom his mind."How rebukingly fell all these words on the ears of Mr. Levering. Ah!what would he not then have given to have the weight of that dollarremoved? Its pressure was so great as almost to suffocate him. Itwas all in vain that he tried to be cheerful, or to take an interestin what was passing immediately around him. The innocent prattle ofhis children had lost its wonted charm, and there seemed an accusingexpression in the eye of his wife, as, in the concern his changedaspect had occasioned, she looked soberly upon him. Unable to bearall this, Mr. Levering went out, something unusual for him, andwalked the streets for an hour. On his return, the children were inbed, and he had regained sufficient self-control to meet his wifewith a less disturbed appearance.On the next morning, Mr. Levering felt something better. Sleep hadleft his mind more tranquil. Still there was a pressure on hisfeelings, which thought could trace to that unlucky dollar. About anhour after going to his store, Mr. Levering saw his customer of theday previous enter, and move along towards the place where he stoodbehind his counter. His heart gave a sudden bound, and the colorrose to his face. An accusing conscience was quick to conclude as tothe object of her visit. But he soon saw that no suspicion of wrongdealing was in the lady's mind. With a pleasant half recognition,she asked to look at certain articles, from which she madepurchases, and in paying for them, placed a ten dollar bill in thehand of the storekeeper."That weight shall be off my conscience," said Mr. Levering tohimself, as he began counting out the change due his customer; and,purposely, he gave her one dollar more than was justly hers in thattransaction. The lady glanced her eyes over the money, and seemedslightly bewildered. Then, much to the storekeeper's relief, openedher purse and dropped it therein."All right again!" was the mental ejaculation of Mr. Levering, as hesaw the purse disappear in the lady's pocket, while his breastexpanded with a sense of relief.The customer turned from the counter, and had nearly gained thedoor, when she paused, drew out her purse, and emptying the contentsof one end into her hand, carefully noted the amount. Then walkingback, she said, with a thoughtful air--"I think you 've made a mistake in the change, Mr. Levering.""I presume not, ma'am. I gave you four and thirty-five," was thequick reply."Four, thirty-five," said the lady, musingly."Yes, here is just four, thirty-five.""That's right; yes, that's right," Mr. Levering spoke, somewhatnervously."The article came to six dollars and sixty-five cents, I believe?""Yes, yes; that was it!""Then three dollars and thirty-five cents will be my right change,"said the lady, placing a small gold coin on the counter. "You gaveme too much."The customer turned away and retired from the store, leaving thatdollar still on the conscience of Mr. Levering."I'll throw it into the street," said he to himself, impatiently."Or give it to the first beggar that comes along."But conscience whispered that the dollar wasn't his, either to giveaway or to throw away. Such prodigality, or impulsive benevolence,would be at the expense of another, and this could not mend thematter."This is all squeamishness," said Mr. Levering trying to argueagainst his convictions. But it was of no avail. His convictionsremained as clear and rebuking as ever.The next day was the Sabbath, and Mr. Levering went to church, asusual, with his family. Scarcely had he taken a seat in his pew,when, on raising his eyes, they rested on the countenance of thelady from whom he had abstracted the dollar. How quickly his cheekflushed! How troubled became, instantly, the beatings of his heart!Unhappy Mr. Levering! He could not make the usual responses thatday, in the services; and when the congregation joined in theswelling hymn of praise, his voice was heard not in the generalthanksgiving. Scarcely a word of the eloquent sermon reached hisears, except something about "dishonest dealing;" he was too deeplyengaged in discussing the question, whether or no he should get ridof the troublesome dollar by dropping it into the contribution box,at the close of the morning service, to listen to the words of thepreacher. This question was not settled when the box came round,but, as a kind of desperate alternative, he cast the money into thetreasury.For a short time, Mr. Levering felt considerable relief of mind. Butthis disposition of the money proved only a temporary palliative.There was a pressure on his feelings; still a weight on hisconscience that gradually became heavier. Poor man! What was he todo? How was he to get this dollar removed from his conscience? Hecould not send it back to the lady and tell her the whole truth.Such an exposure of himself would not only be humiliating, buthurtful to his character. It would be seeking to do right, in theinfliction of a wrong to himself.At last, Mr. Levering, who had ascertained the lady's name andresidence, inclosed her a dollar, anonymously, stating that it washer due; that the writer had obtained it from her, unjustly, in atransaction which he did not care to name, and could not rest untilhe had made restitution.Ah! the humiliation of spirit suffered by Mr. Levering in thusseeking to get ease for his conscience! It was one of his bitterestlife experiences. The longer the dollar remained in his possession,the heavier became its pressure, until he could endure it no longer.He felt not only disgraced in his own eyes, but humbled in thepresence of his wife and children. Not for worlds would he havesuffered them to look into his heart.If a simple act of restitution could have covered all the past,happy would it have been for Mr. Levering. But this was notpossible. The deed was entered in the book of his life, and nothingcould efface the record. Though obscured by the accumulating dust oftime, now and then a hand sweeps unexpectedly over the page, and thewriting is revealed. Though that dollar has been removed from hisconscience, and he is now guiltless of wrong, yet there are timeswhen the old pressure is felt with painful distinctness.Earnest seeker after this world's goods, take warning by Mr.Levering, and beware how, in a moment of weak yielding, you get adollar on your conscience. One of two evils must follow. It willgive you pain and trouble, or make callous the spot where it rests.And the latter of these evils is that which is most to be deplored.

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