Kids being “entrepreneurial”

Jane Eyre ,Chapter 4, page 3

It was the fifteenth of January, about nine o’clock in the morning: Bessie was gone down to breakfast; my cousins had not yet been summoned to their mama; Eliza was putting on her bonnet and warm garden-coat to go and feed her poultry, an occupation of which she was fond: and not less so of selling the eggs to the housekeeper and hoarding up the money she thus obtained. She had a turn for traffic, and a marked propensity for saving; shown not only in the vending of eggs and chickens, but also in driving hard bargains with the gardener about flower-roots, seeds, and slips of plants; that functionary having orders from Mrs. Reed to buy of his young lady all the products of her parterre she wished to sell: and Eliza would have sold the hair off her head if she could have made a handsome profit thereby. As to her money, she first secreted it in odd corners, wrapped in a rag or an old curl-paper; but some of these hoards having been discovered by the housemaid, Eliza, fearful of one day losing her valued treasure, consented to intrust it to her mother, at a usurious rate of interest–fifty or sixty per cent.; which interest she exacted every quarter, keeping her accounts in a little book with anxious accuracy.

The Trump Card

The only trouble with this arrangement was our location–not a typical Trump problem. We were at the end of a cul-de-sac in an affluent community of spacious homes on sprawling properties. In every other respect, this was a prime spot, but it was a dead zone for aspiring lemonade magnates. We could see only one other house, which basically meant there was no traffic. No cars. No pedestrians. No stray dogs, even. We were doomed, until our wily charms and persuasive marketing skills somehow managed to save the day–at least enough to cover our expenses. As good fortune would have it, we had a bodyguard that summer, and it feel to him to watch us in an unobtrusive way whenever we left our front yard. That cast him as our target market, and by the end of the afternoon we got this poor guy to drink so much lemonade it’s a wonder his bladder didn’t burst. Just to keep us in business. I think we also sold a fair amount to my parent’ driver, as he came and went, and to some of the household staff, who took pity onus and dug deep for their spare change.