Father’s death threw upon me the management of affairs to a greater extent than ever.  Mother kept on the binding of shoes; Tom went steadily to the public school; and I continued with Mr. Scott in the service of the railroad company.  Just at this time Fortunatus knocked at our door.  Mr. Scott asked me if I had five hundred dollars.  If so, he said he wished to make an investment for me.  Five hundred cents was much nearer my capital.  I certainly had not fifty dollars saved for investment, but I was not going to miss the chance of becoming financially connected with my leader and great man.  So I said boldly I thought I could manage that sum.  He then told me that there were ten shares of Adams Express stock that he could buy, which had belonged to a station agent, Mr. Reynolds, of Wilkinsburg.  Of course this was reported to the head of the family that evening, and she was not long in suggesting what might be done.  When did she ever fail?  We had then paid five hundred dollars upon the house, and in some way she thought this might be pledged as security for a loan.

My mother took the steamer the next morning for East Liverpool, arriving at night, and through her brother there the money was secured.  He was a justice of the peace, a well-known resident of that then small town, and had numerous sums in hand from farmers for investment.  Our house was mortgaged and mother brought back the five hundred dollars which I handed over to Mr. Scott, who soon obtained for me the coveted ten shares in return.  There was, unexpectedly, an additional hundred dollars to pay as a premium, but Mr. Scott kindly said I could pay that when convenient, and this of course was an easy matter to do.

This was my first investment.  In those good old days monthly dividends were more plentiful than now and Adams Express paid a monthly dividend.  One morning a white envelope was lying upon my desk, addressed in a big John Hancock hand, to “Andrew Carnegie, Esquire.”  “Esquire” tickled the boys and me inordinately.  At one corner was seen the round stamp of Adams Express Company.  I opened the envelope.  All it contained was a check for ten dollars upon the Gold Exchange Bank of New York.  I shall remember that check as long as I live, and that John Hancock signature of “J.C.  Babcock, Cashier.”  It gave me the first penny of revenue from capital—­something that I had not worked for with the sweat of my brow.  “Eureka!” I cried.  “Here’s the goose that lays the golden eggs.”

It was the custom of our party to spend Sunday afternoons in the woods.  I kept the first check and showed it as we sat under the trees in a favorite grove we had found near Wood’s Run.  The effect produced upon my companions was overwhelming.  None of them had imagined such an investment possible.  We resolved to save and to watch for the next opportunity for investment in which all of us should share, and for years afterward we divided our trifling investments and worked together almost as partners.