Free The Autobiography of Benjamin Franklin by Benjamin Franklin Page B

to
cohabit with him or bear his name, it being now said that he bad
another wife. He was a worthless fellow, tho' an excellent workman,
which was the temptation to her friends. He got into debt,
ran away in 1727 or 1728, went to the West Indies, and died there.
Keimer had got a better house, a shop well supply'd with stationery,
plenty of new types, a number of hands, tho' none good, and seem'd
to have a great deal of business.
    Mr. Denham took a store in Water-street, where we open'd our goods;
I attended the business diligently, studied accounts, and grew,
in a little time, expert at selling. We lodg'd and, boarded together;
he counsell'd me as a father, having a sincere regard for me.
I respected and lov'd him, and we might have gone on together
very happy; but, in the beginning of February, 1726-7, when I
had just pass'd my twenty-first year, we both were taken ill.
My distemper was a pleurisy, which very nearly carried me off.
I suffered a good deal, gave up the point in my own mind, and was
rather disappointed when I found myself recovering, regretting,
in some degree, that I must now, some time or other, have all that
disagreeable work to do over again. I forget what his distemper was;
it held him a long time, and at length carried him off. He left me
a small legacy in a nuncupative will, as a token of his kindness
for me, and he left me once more to the wide world; for the store
was taken into the care of his executors, and my employment under
him ended.
    My brother-in-law, Holmes, being now at Philadelphia, advised my return
to my business; and Keimer tempted me, with an offer of large wages
by the year, to come and take the management of his printing-house,
that he might better attend his stationer's shop. I had heard a bad
character of him in London from his wife and her friends, and was
not fond of having any more to do with him. I tri'd for farther
employment as a merchant's clerk; but, not readily meeting with any,
I clos'd again with Keimer. I found in his house these hands:
Hugh Meredith, a Welsh Pensilvanian, thirty years of age, bred to
country work; honest, sensible, had a great deal of solid observation,
was something of a reader, but given to drink. Stephen Potts, a young
countryman of full age, bred to the same, of uncommon natural parts,
and great wit and humor, but a little idle. These he had agreed
with at extream low wages per week, to be rais'd a shilling every
three months, as they would deserve by improving in their business;
and the expectation of these high wages, to come on hereafter,
was what he had drawn them in with. Meredith was to work at press,
Potts at book-binding, which he, by agreement, was to teach them,
though he knew neither one nor t'other. John —-, a wild Irishman,
brought up to no business, whose service, for four years, Keimer had
purchased from the captain of a ship; he, too, was to be made
a pressman. George Webb, an Oxford scholar, whose time for four
years he had likewise bought, intending him for a compositor,
of whom more presently; and David Harry, a country boy, whom he had
taken apprentice.
    I soon perceiv'd that the intention of engaging me at wages so much
higher than he had been us'd to give, was, to have these raw,
cheap hands form'd thro' me; and, as soon as I had instructed them,
then they being all articled to him, he should be able to do without me.
I went on, however, very cheerfully, put his printing-house in order,
which had been in great confusion, and brought his hands by degrees
to mind their business and to do it better.
    It was an odd thing to find an Oxford scholar in the situation
of a bought servant. He was not more than eighteen years of age,
and gave me this account of himself; that he was born in Gloucester,
educated at a grammar-school there, had been distinguish'd among
the scholars for some apparent superiority in performing his part,
when they exhibited plays; belong'd to the Witty Club there,
and had written some pieces in prose and verse,