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CHAPTER VIII.
BEEF for the Paupers. "He that considereth the poor, lendeth to the Lord." The immense deposits of virtuous credits laid up by a great many stock-towns in New England, of and for their regard for the Poor, it will take a good while in the next world to estimate.

"I WILL go over and pay Captain Bunce a visit," said, or thought, Mr. Savage, as he counted over, for the twentieth time, a stock of salt provisions in his cellar, consisting of sundry portions of beef A, I; beef A, II; beef A, III, C. B.; salt beef, long since packed, and waiting a favorable turn in the market for a cash transaction. "A, I," represented lot of first packed beef -- a lot of provisions bought on speculation, selected a long time back from the butcher's slaughterings, and made up of neck pieces, shanks, and their side bits, rather dark, bloody, and tough, this was "A, number one." "A, number two," represented a more recent purchase of similar provisions, longer packed. It was beef "A." In this respect it resembled "number one." But the honest severity of the speculator led him to designate it as "number two, A," which carried the appearance of prime "A" beef as to time, inferior only in the reasonable item of quality. As for "A, III, C. B.," the brand itself represented good beef, of third choice as to the cuts, inspected beef of good number three brand. But "A, III, C. B.," was really the owner's private mark on the barrel, by means of it he read as follows: "A barrel of three qualities of meat, one part being poor enough, another part poorer, and third part the poorest salt meat in market." "C. B." What do these letters represent, branded boldly on the head of the barrel? C. B.! They may stand for the name of the owner by whom the beeves were fatted and driven to market for slaughter, a good and honorable mode of pledging the article now under salt and brine. "C. B!" Yes, truly; they may simply convey the idea of Corned Beef, a good and delicious article for a stout and hungry man to dine on; or they may be the initials of Cash Beef, bought for cash, worth the cash, to be sold for cash; or they may contain an idle boast, Can't be Beat beef, that you know about as soon as you see it! But in Mr. Savage's nomenclature they simply denoted CAST BEEF, i.e., beef that came to salt in consequence of an unfortunate termination of life, by a sort of suicide on the part of the animal himself, rolling down into a position that he might have known would kill him before help could arrive in the morning. Criminal Beef, therefore. Cursed Beef -- but who cares what it is, or what it is not? It has a fair brand, "A, III, C. B.," call it beef, worked off -- for -- cas -- h, which is smoother than cas -- t. "I will go over and see Bunce," said, or soliloquized the owner. "He can use this stuff; it is doubtful about selling to Wallace, the merchant, at any price. His customer's won't buy it, and it won't bear a very tall recommendation any where. That's so. But the folks at Bunce's, what do they care? They'll like it, I reckon. It was good once, bad as it is now, and if Bunce buys it, why of course they'll eat it, and for aught I know, will be confoundedly thankful for it. People musn't starve in this free and fertile country. No, no. Let them live and be merry, say I. Yes, I'll go over and bargain off this lot -- let us see. Lot A, I, two barrels. Lot A, II, three barrels. Lot A, III, C. B., i.e., can't bless it, ha! ha! ha! Nice lot, that -- two barrels. In all, seven barrels -- I'll go right off, for the beef has evidently seen its best days, and won't improve by storage."

"Where now, Mr. Savage?" inquired his wife, "don't you see the dinner is just ready; are you going away before dinner, eh?"

"Yes, hang the dinner, wife. I have been ruminating over that villainous meat down stairs, till the very idea of corned beef is sickening. I am bent on getting it off my hands. Don't you think Bunce will like it for the poor folks, eh?"

"Well, why not, now? That's what I have thought on a dozen times. Yes, they'll do well with it."

"What's it worth, wife?"

"All you can get, I'll venture."

"Seven dollars?"

"Seven dollars!"

"Yes."

"No, Mr. Savage, it is not worth seven dollars. You can buy the best for nine and ten, you know."

"I guess it'll bring six, won't it?"

"No, if you sell it for five dollars, Mr. Savage, you'll be a lucky man, my word for it."

"Well, I shall sell it for what I can get. As for storing it longer in my cellar I won't. I'll work it off on Bunce or somebody, if I get but three dollars a hundred for it. Why, it has got awfully bad the last month."

"Sell it, sell it, Mr. Savage -- or give it away."

"Give it away!"

"Yes, if you can't sell it."

"Oh, nobody will want it as a gift, must sell it if I get rid of it. I'll work it off at some price -- and the higher we put it the more we'll get. So good-bye."

Captain Bunce was thinking what he should do next with his stock of poor folks to supply them with provisions not too substantial and costly, when he was surprised and delighted by a call from Mr. Savage, one of the overseers, between whom and himself there was a complete understanding as to expenses for the paupers. Now Savage had no thought of doing anything for the poor on the town, except what might be deemed absolutely necessary to preserve their lives; as for comfort, cleanliness, improvement, and the like, these never entered into his calculations. "Pinch them all you can, and then pinch them a little more," was his motto. Capt. Bunce was glad, I say, to see him, because sure that he would be able to help him in his dilemma, and endorse his plans.