by Paul Henke
‘Mr Grundy, I’m sure my associate here Un . . . eh . . . Mr Price, has told you more or less what I want. I’ve examined your price list and I feel there is room for negotiation.’
Grundy frowned. ‘Negotiation? I don’t think so, Mr Griffiths. That’s my price, take it or leave it.’ He spread his hands in a magnanimous gesture.
‘Maybe so, but I want to buy three thousand dollars’ worth of different food stuffs. Cash. Surely for so much money you can take something off the price?’
He laughed. ‘Mr Griffiths, I deal in sums as large if not larger every other hour, and so does every other importer and exporter in New York. By all means shop around if you like and compare my prices, but I don’t think you’ll find many offering my quality that are cheaper.’
‘I already have and I know there’s room for a little improvement.’ Evan leant forward and spoke earnestly; I was mesmerised by his tongue. After forty minutes of bargaining, Evan had got three percent off the price and also free delivery to anywhere in the city.
The day passed in a blur of similar offices and similar meetings. Even the men looked familiar to me, in their shabby suits and sitting behind shabby desks. Each time it was the same. Evan never once paid their asking price though he never managed to get more than three or four percent off. Each time, though, he got free delivery.
When we finally returned to the hotel I was exhausted, but after a hot bath I found the energy to go back to the Italian restaurant where we were greeted like long lost relatives and treated to a glass of wine. For the remainder of our stay in New York we ate dinner there.
Over an early breakfast a few days later Evan handed me lists of goods, split up into their warehouses with the prices alongside.
‘When did you do these?’ I asked incredulously.
‘Last night,’ he replied. ‘Read through them and tell me what you think. We reckon we can buy about forty thousand dollars worth of goods. We’ll know how much it will cost to get them to St. Louis later today, look you, and if there’s any money left we can buy some more.’
The railway manager’s office was the opposite of the importers and exporters. It was big, carpeted, well furnished and the walls lined with wood panelling. The man behind the desk looked almost funny enough to laugh at. Almost.
He had a large head and piercing yellow brown eyes that I found most disconcerting. He leaned across his desk to shake hands.
‘Mr Griffiths, what can I do for you?’ his voice was deep and hoarse.
‘Mr Stevanti, it’s good of you to see us at such short notice. I did tell your secretary what I wanted to see you about. I assume she passed the message on to you?’ Evan paused and waited for an answer.
After a pause Stevanti cleared his throat. ‘Eh, yes. She said something about you wanting to hire a train, though she gave no details.’
I had the impression that by making Stevanti speak first Evan had won some sort of silent contest.
‘That’s because I didn’t give her any, though I did tell her I wanted it to go to St Louis. First of all can we establish whether or not I can take a train from here straight through or will I have to change trains?’
‘I see no problem. It’ll take at least a week to arrange, fitting the train in with all the other schedules that are in operation. Now, what sort of train did you have in mind? By that I mean whether it’s for use by passengers or for goods?’
‘Goods, with one carriage for us.’
‘I see. How many trucks do you think you’ll need?’
Evan shrugged. ‘If you tell me the maximum weight one of your trains can pull and also give me details of the size of the trucks I should be able to let you know in about a week. Before we go any further how do you make up the costs?’
‘Ah, that’s simple. You pay for the use of the track over the distance involved, the hire of the engine and of each truck you require. The personnel, relief along the way and so on are part of the engine costs.’
‘Excellent. Now, if we can talk price – in general, anyway . . . Oh yes, paid cash in advance of course. I just want to get some idea of the cost.’
‘May I ask what you’re shipping to St Louis, Mr Griffiths?’
‘General goods for a new warehouse. If we can come to a satisfactory arrangement, Mr Stevanti, then I can see the possibility of a long term contract, provided the price is right.’
‘Of course,’ Stevanti’s grin was like that of a shark, toothy wide and just as false. Evan’s grin wasn’t exactly friendly either.
The meeting went on for over two hours. When we finally left the first thing Evan said was, ‘Jeez, I need a drink, Uncle James.’
We stopped in the first hotel we came to. Evan ordered a whisky and a beer chaser.
‘I hadn’t expected such a good deal,’ he said softly and suddenly grinned. ‘If we pack it right and use every bit of space, it’s going to cost us under eight thousand dollars. That’s two thousand less than I’d expected.’ He paused. ‘I thought I would never get Stevanti down that last percentage point. You know something? If I do sign a long term contract with them, I’m going to get another five percent off. Just you wait and see.’
I nodded. I was sure he’d get what he wanted.
During the next two days we saw more shipping agents and importers. We promised orders would be in by the following Tuesday and wanted confirmation they could be filled and delivered within six days. We would start loading on the following Monday and leave, hopefully, on the Wednesday, provided all went well.
We sent a telegram to Meg with our expected arrival date. By now she should have taken out a year’s lease on the warehouse, with an option to purchase after twelve months, and with luck would be well started on repainting the place.
We worked all weekend on our orders, checking weights, quantities and prices. We worked late into the night and when I left to return to my room Evan would still be hard at it.
One afternoon we took a break and hired a cab to ride around the city and its suburbs. What was immediately apparent was the incredible wealth of some and the appalling poverty of others.
‘Perhaps this country isn’t such a land of opportunity after all,’ Evan commented dryly.
‘Only for those who have the guts to take it,’ I said, looking at him. I could see the anger beneath the surface when we went through the tenement areas of brown stone buildings, crumbling and depressing. Often he gave a few cents to some of the children playing in the streets who would come clustering after us, begging.
We bought forty one thousand, six hundred and thirty four dollars worth of goods give or take a dollar or two. The railway allocated us a siding with a large, partly used shed into which we could move the merchandise, provided we moved it out again within two days. On Monday morning we were there at eight o’clock and during the next half hour twenty men arrived to help with the loading of the goods. As they arrived I directed them to a corner where we had a stove with a large tea pot, mugs, sugar and milk waiting. When all were there, Evan got their attention. ‘My name is Griffiths. The goods we’re waiting for should be arriving pretty soon. We’ll bring the buckboards in here and get the goods as close to that door there as we can,’ he nodded to his left, ‘before we take the stuff off. It’s important that each truck is filled to capacity with no empty space, before being sealed. He broke off as we heard the sound of a horse. ‘That sounds like the first buckboard now.’
We loaded dried meats into one truck and carpets into another. Into yet another we put furniture. There were twenty trucks and our coach, which was next to the engine. It had three bedrooms, a lounge area and a separate place for heating water and cooking food. It was the sort of railway coach I never knew existed.
The wagons came non-stop. At twelve we paused for sandwiches and cold chicken, delivered by the Italian restaurant we frequented. The men couldn’t believe it, being unused to generous behaviour by other employers. When we restarted half an hour later they worked with a greater will, if that was possibl
e. At eight o’clock we paid them, gave them a bonus, and told them to keep what was left of the food.
‘I’m worn out,’ said Evan, stretching and yawning. ‘It went better than I’d hoped, look you.’
I nodded. ‘With the money we were paying and the added food and tea it wasn’t surprising it went well,’ I rubbed my eyes wearily.
‘The food didn’t cost much and I was sure they’d appreciate it. I know I would have, back in the mines. It’s the sort of thing that makes hard working men loyal. If we ever make it big, Uncle James, don’t let me forget what it was like in the mines. That way I shan’t forget how to treat the men properly.’ He never did need reminding as far as I know, not ever. ‘Why don’t you take a cab back to the hotel, Uncle James and I’ll wait for the watchmen to arrive.’
‘No, I’ll wait with you, bach.’ I paused. ‘Do you realise how fast we’ve been moving since we arrived here in America? It’s not been two months and look at us.’
‘I know, Uncle James, but we had to move fast.’ He grinned. ‘If I had stopped to think about what I was doing I would have frightened myself so much I couldn’t have gone on with it. I get frightened now. We still have a long way to go. If we can’t sell this stuff then I could end up in jail, especially if Fforest looks into my references too closely.’
I reassured him. ‘He won’t, as long as we can pay him back in time and I’ve got faith bach, I’ve got faith.’
On Wednesday we were at the train by seven o’clock, ready for our departure at eight. The previous day we had sent another telegram to Meg confirming our time of arrival and hoping she would be ready for us.
Our carriage was no longer as comfortable as it had first appeared. It was filled with sacks of coffee grains. The only space left was a narrow passage from one end to the other, the two beds and a small area near the store where we also had two armchairs. The rest of the carriage was packed high. Neither of us objected to the smell, in fact I liked it.
There was no fanfare, no hooting whistles, no loud goodbyes when we left. We just slipped out of the siding and headed west. It seemed an anticlimax after our efforts of the previous week.
The journey back was as long as ever. Evan had bought a pile of books to read which, though I tried I could not have understood if it had meant my life. They were all about finance, economics, monopolies and trusts. One book was about company law which even after Evan explained some of what it meant was still double Dutch to me. I did read some of the local newspapers and a magazine or two I had bought but most of the time I played solitaire or watched the scenery unfold. I remember that, though the journey seemed to take forever, it was one of the most tranquil periods of my life. I enjoyed just sitting and watching.
I did the cooking and made the coffee or tea but Evan never seemed to notice what was put in front of him he was so immersed in his reading. I sat often and looked at him as he concentrated on his books – he had two going at once most of the time – and I knew I loved him more than I did my own son, who was and, I feared always would be, a waster.
Our arrival a week later was a lot less quiet than our departure from New York. True, there was no bands or cheering crowds, but there were Meg and the boys and about fifteen wagons and a few buckboards with their drivers.
I stood to one side as Meg dashed into Evan’s arms, hugging and kissing him as though he had been away for a year. I contented myself with a hug from the boys, though I couldn’t help wishing I too had a good woman to meet me. The boys were jumping up and down with excitement, hugging me, their father and then their mother in turn.
Though perhaps I did have a good woman as Meg turned her attention to me and gave me a hug and a kiss on the cheek. She introduced us to Sonny McCabe, whom she had hired. He had arranged the wagons, hired the help to do the warehouse and had generally proved indispensable. He was a likeable young man in his early twenties, short, stocky, with a friendly smile and, I soon learned, was a willing and hard worker. Meg’s judgement, as usual, was sound.
We began unloading within minutes of our arrival. When we realised that Sonny was more than capable of supervising the work, Meg led Evan and I to the warehouse. It was well placed, midway between the railway and the river wharves. It was two stories high and had a long frontage. The main entrance was a double door through which a wagon could drive easily. Inside, the floor was concrete and there were racks upon racks of shelves. At the far end, up a narrow set of steps, were three offices.
‘What do you think, Uncle James?’ Meg asked, waving her free hand at the warehouse below, the other tucked under my arm.
‘I can’t believe you managed to do so much in such a short tine,’ I replied.
‘Oh, most of the shelving was already here. It belonged to a sugar and tobacco distributor, of all things. It’s been empty for months. All I did was . . . at least, all Sonny did was get the place whitewashed and some rotten shelving replaced. We had ten men working in here at one stage. I was really lucky to find Sonny, otherwise I’d never have managed.’
Evan said, ‘Did you move away from the boarding house?’
‘Yes, into the Lucky River as soon as I started advertising. I let it be known I was available to answer questions from any of the traders.’ She smiled suddenly. ‘You should have seen their faces when they found they were dealing with a woman. I could see some of them didn’t like it.’ She smiled then added, ‘Here’s the first wagon.’
By evening we had more than half the trucks unloaded. The warehouse had been fitted with electric light a year earlier and therefore we could work late into the night. So far only the major cities of America had electric power, each run as a separate enterprise but it was spreading rapidly throughout the country.
After the boys were sent to bed the three of us sat in the hotel’s dining room.
‘I think it’ll take us about a week to get everything on the shelves and to get properly organised,’ said Meg during dinner.
Evan disagreed. ‘What I propose is that we get as much done as we can by Monday. Then ready or not we open.’
‘Five days,’ said Meg musingly. ‘I suppose we can be almost ready, though it won’t be quite as I’d like it.’
I half choked on a piece of meat and hastily drank some water.
‘Something wrong, Uncle James?’ Meg asked sweetly.
I shook my head. I think it was Meg’s way of telling Evan that she was as much a decision maker as he was, and though ultimately he may be the boss, it was after all a partnership.
A man approached our table, his cap in his hands. ‘Excuse me. Are you Mr Griffiths? The man who came in with the train load today?’
Evan nodded. ‘I am.’ He tried not to show it but I could see he was displeased at the interruption.
‘I am sorry to trouble you over dinner. My name is Reisenbach, Hans Reisenbach. I represent a number of the farmers in the area. Do you mind if I sit down? I have a business proposition you may be interested in.’
Evan’s attitude changed immediately. He got to his feet. ‘My dear fellow, please do. Here let me pull this chair over. Waiter . . . another glass please and another bottle of that . . . what is it, Meg?’
‘Burgundy.’
‘Aye, another bottle.’
21
‘What exactly is this proposition, Mr Reisenbach?’ Meg asked, surprising him. He was obviously not expecting a woman to say anything during a business meeting or even to be present. A lot of people during those years were going to be similarly surprised.
‘There should have been a train through tomorrow from Kansas. A goods train. There would have been enough room on there for us to send our crops to Pittsburgh. It isn’t coming. These blasted railroads . . . Ach, they do as they please,’ Reisenbach’s voice was guttural and harsh. ‘Ve vondered if ve could hire your train to send our crops . . . if that is you are not sending anything to Pittsburgh.’ He paused to drink some wine, half a glass disappearing in one swallow.
Evan looked across at us and shrugged.
‘How much goods, I mean crops do you intend sending,
Mr Reisenbach?’ Meg asked.
‘I vould say ve could fill about half of your trucks. It is mostly early vegetables. Peas for the canning factories, sprouts and svedes that have been stored from the vinter in our barns. Ve have also early lettuces, spring onions . . .’
He shrugged. ‘There is quite a lot and the market in Pittsburgh is ripe for it now. That is vhy ve vant to send the produce.’
Again, much to my amusement, it was Meg who spoke.
‘We shall finish unloading by tomorrow late afternoon. How quickly can you be ready to begin loading?’
Reisenbach frowned and spoke directly to Evan. ‘I am not used to dealing mit frauen,’ in his agitation not only did his accent worsen but he lapsed into German. ‘Wer ist die Boss hier? You or your vife?’
I was unsure whether Evan would get angry or not at the man’s bad manners. Luckily he laughed it off. ‘My wife is also my partner. She has as much say . . .almost as much say, as I do. If she asks you a question it’s because we require the answer. If you would be so kind as to tell her what she wants to know then perhaps you’ll be good enough to answer a few questions from me.’
His voice was honey reasonableness and immediately the German was contrite.
‘Please excuse me,’ he turned to Meg. He had drained his glass. Evan refilled it and Reisenbach absent mindedly drank it again in a few mouthfuls. ‘Ve can be ready vhen you are. It vill take us at most a day to bring the crops from our farms. I can spread the vord in hours and they vill load up during the night and be on their vay before dawn.’
‘Thank you,’ said Meg, picking up her own glass and sipping the red wine.
‘Mr Reisenbach, what do you normally pay the railroads for transporting your produce?’