CHAPTER NINTH. BONUS COURT. A LEAF FROM ITS HISTORY.
Bonus Court?
Let me give you a leaf from the History of
Bonus Court. It is written in the Chronicles
of conveyancing; you may find it beside the
record of the last Mortgage; it is inscribed
perchance, in the same page that bears the
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epitaph of a broken heart. This, then, is the page
from the history of Bonus Court.
Last summer there was a respectable gentleman,
who went about town with fair top-boots
and a broad-rimmed hat, and a large stick with
an enormous head of some white bone or other.
He was a Conveyancer, or rather a man of
Property, for there was nothing that he would
not make an honest penny by, from shaving a
note at twenty-five per cent. up to selling the
bed from under a dying man, and tossing his
wife and children into the streets.
This gentleman — whose person we may
behold after a while — owned a piece of ground
just large enough for the erection of a comfortable
two-storied dwelling.
But did he build a two-storied house on his
lot of ground, and rent it to some quiet family
for the paltry sum of one hundred and twenty
dollars? Not he. He knew a trick worth
two of that. For he was an exceedingly
shrewd man; there was wisdom in every
wrinkle of his fair top-boots, and a world of
money-making in his bone-headed cane, or in
the way that he carried it, when passing along
Third street in full sail, his nostrils expanding
as he scented a Mortgage in the wind.
So, locking himself up in his office, this
grave gentleman sat for an hour with his fingers
on his double chin — as you see in the portraits
of Franklin — and concluded his meditation
by the single word, Bonus! pronounced
with all the emphasis of his wholesome lungs.
He had resolved to build ten houses, where
there was only room for one. Instead of a
paltry hundred and twenty dollars in the way
of rent, he would receive at least ten times
sixty dollars, making a total of six hundred
dollars.
But how should he build these ten houses,
without drawing upon his bank account?
“Bonus” was the magic word that solved this
problem. Taking up his broad-rimmed hat,
and brandishing his cane, the grave gentleman
sallied forth, and soon his fair top-boots terminated
their journey at a carpenter shop,
where a hardy young man was industriously
working.
“Buy this lot of ground of me, and I will
advance thee six hundred dollars to aid thee in
building ten houses for theeself.”
But the young carpenter had no money —
no wealth but the strength of his arms, the
blessing of God, and the smiles of a young
wife and a little child.
“Never thee mind. I'll let thee have the
ground on credit — a twelve months' credit if
thee pleases — and thee can give me a mortgage
on the lot until it is paid.”
He was a very seducing gentleman; there
was persuasion in his double chin; witchcraft
in every toss of his cane.
The young carpenter consented. With the
six hundred dollars he began to build the ten
houses. The cellars were dug, bricks, stone
and lumber brought — for the credit of the
mechanic was very good — and after working
for the days and nights of three months, the
carpenter saw his Court rise into palpable
shape; yes, the brick walls were almost ready
to receive their roof. True, he was behind
hand a little; he owed this man for lumber,
that for bricks, another for mason work, a
fourth for shingles. “but,” said he to his young
wife, “the houses will soon be done, and we
will live very comfortably in one of them.
while we receive five hundred and forty dollars
rent for the others.”
'Twas a glorious prospect. The carpenter
kissed his wife and did not forget the baby,
and next day went to work with a lighter
heart, paying his “hands” out of the last remnant
of the six hundred dollars.
Soon, however, his labours were brought to
a close, by a singular circumstance. The
lumber-man presented his bill. So did the
brickmaker, and the shingle-man, and the
hardware-man. Everybody seemed to be infected
by the same mania, for everybody
brought in their bill.
And worst of all, Saturday night came, and
no money to pay the hands. Masons, carpenters
and hod-carriers, all went home without
a penny, after their week's work.
Our young carpenter, standing towards dusk,
in the centre of the unfinished “Court,” with a
saw in one hand, and a bundle of bills in the
other, looked very black and desolate. Another
week — two weeks at the farthest — and he
might finish the houses, and rent or sell them,
and pay all claims, from “Bonus” and his
mortgage, up to the hod-carrier.
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In this extremity he applied to the grave
Conveyancer who had loaned him the money,
and asked for a further loan — or, at least —
for the services of the good gentleman, in securing
two weeks' delay from the claims of all
the carpenter's creditors.
“Thee is foolish to think it,” was the answer.
“Thee has began with thee eyes open.
Thee must finish.”
And the young Carpenter did “finish,” or
rather the Sheriff finished for him, for next
week there was a tempting display of handbills
all over the unfinished houses, and the
week after they were sold under the hammer.
To whom, and for whose benefit? They sold
for sixteen hundred dollars. The claim of the
mortgage, of course, took precedence of all
other claims, and the grave old gentleman killed
two fine birds with one stone. He bought the
houses by paying six hundred dollars, and at
the same time, obtained for the delight of his
own pocket, the six hundred dollars which he
had loaned. What the lumber-man, the brickmaker
and the hod-carrier received, is not recorded,
but certain it is that the grave gentleman
finished the houses for a very moderate
sum, exclaiming oftentimes:
“Never was a row of houses so cheaply
built. Out of nothing I have honestly made a
very pretty Property, which is worth the interest
of ten thousand dollars. Bonus is a
good thing.”
What became of the young carpenter?
Bankrupt and disgraced, his self-respect gone,
and his home made a hell, by the thoughts of
his days and nights of worse than useless labor,
the young carpenter resorted to the Bottle, and
drank deeper every day, while the grave gentleman
was finishing the ten houses of Bonus
Court.
This Court, which looks so gloomy now,
while the moon is shining yonder on the public
street, is tenanted by at least twenty families,
who live in one room on a floor — rooms with
chimneys that do nothing but smoke, and ceilings
that are good for nothing but to leak and
crack — rooms, in short, that are good to rent,
but good for very little else.
In yonder house the Millerite dwells; there,
a little farther on, where a dim light glimmers,
a man is starving to death, and right above us,
on the third story, the mother of Ralph is
dying.
An interesting place is Bonus Court, and a
good gentleman is the owner thereof. Let us
at once ascend into the third story and look
upon the scene which awaits us there.
Lippard, George, 1822-1854 [1849], Memoirs of a preacher: a revelation of the church and the home ["second edition" on front cover] (Jos. Severns and Company, Philadelphia) [word count] [eaf254].
