2017년 10월 29일 일요일

[발췌: Dreiser's Financier] 13세 소년 프랭크 카우퍼우드의 첫 차익거래


출처: Theodore Dreiser. The Financier: The Critical Edition. University of Illinois Press, 2010.
자료: 구글도서


※ 발췌 (excerpt):

( ... ... ) He leaned over and looked curiously into the face of his young bidder.

  "Framk Cowperwood, son of the teller of the Third National Bank," replied the boy, decisively.

  " Oh yes, " said the man, fixed by his glance.

  " Will you wai while I run up to the bank and get the money?"

  "Yes. Dob't be gone long. If you're not here in an hour I'll sell it again."

  Young Cowperwood made no reply. He hurried out and ran fast; first, not to his father, but to his grocer, which was within a block of his home.

  Thirty feet from the door he slower up, put on a nonchalant air, and, strolling in, loked about for Catile soap. There it was, the same kind, displayed in a box and looking just at his soap looked.

  "How much is this a bar, Mr. Dalrymple?" he inquired.

  "Sixteen cents," replied that worthy.

  "If I could sell you seven boxes for sixty-two dollars just like this would you take them?"

  "The same soap?"

  "Yes, sir."

  Mr. Dalrymple calculated a moment.

  "Yes, I think I would," he replied, cautiously.

  "Would you pay me to-day?"

  "I'd give you my note for it. Where is the soap?"

  He was perplexed and somewhat astonished by this unexpected proposition on the part of his neighbor's son. He knew Mr. Cowperwood wellㅡand Frank also.

  "Will you take it if I bring it to you to-day?"

  "Yes, I will," he replied. "Are you going into the soap business?"

  "No, But I know where I can get some of that soap cheap."

  He hurried out again and ran to his father's bank. It was after banking hours; but he knew how to get in, and he knew that his father would be glad to see him make thirty dollars. He only wanted to borrow the money for a day.

  "What's the trouble, Frank?" asked his father, looking up from his desk when he appeared, breathless and red-faced.

  "I want you to loan me thirty-two dollars! Will you?"

  "Why, yes, I might. What do you want to do with it?"

  "I want to buy some soapㅡseven boxes of Castile soap. I know where I can get it and sell it. Mr. Dalrymple will take it. He's already offered me sixty-two for it. I can get it for thirty-two. Will you let me have the money? I've got to run back and pay the auctioneer."

  His father smiled. This was the most business-like attitude he had, as yet, seen his son manifest. He was so keen, so alert for a boy of thirteen.

  "Why, Frank," he said, going over to a drawer where some bills were, "are you going to become a financier already? You're sure you're not ging to lose on it? You know what you're doing, do you?"

  "You let me have the money, father, will you?" he pleaded. "I'll show you in a litte bit. Just let me have it."

  He was like a young hound on the scent of game. His father could not resist his appeal, it was so fascinating.

  "Why, certainly, Frank," he replied. "I'll trust you." And he counted out six five-dollar certificates of the Third National's own issue and tw ones.

  "There you are."

  "Frank ran out of the building with a briefly spoken thanks. He returned to the auction-room as fast as his legs would carry him. When he came in, sugar was being auctione, but he paid no attention to that. He made his way to auctioneer's clerk.

  "I want to pay for that soap," he suggested.

  "Now?" asked the clerk.

  "Yes. Will you give me a receipt?"

  "Yep."

  "Do you deliver this?"

  "No. No delivery. You have to take it away in twenty-four hours."

  That difficulty did not trouble him. He had some change.

  The auctioneer watched him as he went out. In half an hour he was back with a draymaㅡan idle levee-wharf hanger-on who was waiting for a job.

  Frank had bargained with him to deliver the soap for sixty cents.

  ( ... ... ) he made out his note at thirty days and gave it to him.

  Frank thanked him and pocketed the note. He decided to go back to his father's bank and discount it, as he ad seen others doing, thereby paying his father back and getting his own profit in ready money. It couln't be done ordinarily on any day after business hours; but his father would make an exception in his case. Most note-brokers kept open until nine o'clock at night in Third Street.

  He hurried back, whistling; and his father glanced up smiling when he came in.

  "Well, Frank, how'd you make out?" he asked.

  "Here's a note at thirty days," he said, producing the paper Dalrymple had given him. "Do you want to discount that for me? You can take your thirty-two out of that."

  ( ... ... )

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