“Roberjot, make out Captain Galigar’s account immediately.”

When this order was obeyed and the account settled, he coolly said to the faithful officer: 

“You are discharged, sir.  I do not make the voyage for my captains, but for myself.”

There was no appeal to be made from this unjust, arbitrary decision, and the man who had served him faithfully seventeen years left his counting-room to seek another employer.

Discourtesy was also a characteristic of this unlovely and unloving man.  He never considered men’s feelings, nor sought to give pleasure to others by means of the small courtesies of life.  He had a farm in the suburbs of the city, and a garden at the back of his town residence.  In both he cultivated beautiful flowers and rare fruits; but never, either to visitors or neighbors, did he offer gifts of either.  Rich though he was, he sent the surplus to market.  He once told a visitor he might glean strawberries from a bed which had been pretty thoroughly picked over.  Returning from the lower part of the garden, he found the gentleman picking berries from a full bed.  With a look of astonishment, and a voice of half-suppressed anger, he pointed to the exhausted, bed and said: 

“I gave you permission only to eat from that bed.”

Singular meanness!  Yet, notwithstanding this narrow disposition, which ran like veins abnormally distended over nearly all his habits of life, he could, and did at times, do liberal things.  But even in such things he was capricious and eccentric; as when a highly esteemed Quaker, named Coates, asked him one day to make a donation to the Pennsylvania Hospital.  He replied: 

“Call on me to-morrow morning, Mr. Coates, and if you find me on a right footing, I will do something.”

Mr. Coates called as requested, and found Girard at breakfast.

“Draw up and eat,” said Girard.

Coates did so quite readily.  The repast ended, he said, “Now we will proceed to business, Stephen.”

“Well, what have you come for, Samuel?”

“Any thing thee pleases, Stephen,” rejoined the Quaker.

Girard filled out and signed a check for two hundred dollars.  Coates took it, and, without noting how much was the amount, put it in his pocket-book.

“What, you no look at the check I gave you!” exclaimed the merchant.

“No, beggars must not be choosers.”

“Hand me back the check I gave you,” demanded Girard.

“No, no, Stephen; a bird in the hand is worth two in the bush,” responded Coates.

“By George,” exclaimed Girard, “you have caught me on the right footing.”

He then drew a check for five hundred dollars, which he laid before the Quaker, saying:  “Will you now look at it, Samuel!”

“Well, to please thee, Stephen, I will.”

He did so, and then, at Girard’s request, returned the first and went away triumphantly with the second check.