“Then you’d better put ‘em away under the counter, where they won’t be seen,” he suggested in a kindly tone.
That idea pleased Meg. She went to the window and took out the Noah’s ark and the elephant with the nodding head and carefully stored them under the counter. The biggest and finest wax doll--the one that opened and closed its eyes--she put away, too, and then she began to select other toys. All this she did with a quick and nervous manner, as if fearing more customers would arrive and rob her of her treasures.
A boy came in to buy a pop-gun. Meg sold it for five cents, to the boy’s intense delight. He knew Mr. Wegg charged a quarter for these guns, but Meg did not share this knowledge and was quite willing to let the toy go.
“Isn’t anything marked with the price?” asked the man-fairy, a bit uneasily.
“No,” answered Meg.
“Ah, I suppose Mr. Wegg knew what everything was worth and so had no need to mark his stock. Never mind.
This is a fairy shop. It isn’t real.”
Saying this, the little man turned over his paper and began reading again.
The window-ledge looked bare to Meg, now that the biggest toys had been taken away. She brought some smaller articles from the shelves and filled in the spaces. That left parts of the shelves bare, for Mr. Wegg had spread everything out to make as big a showing as possible.
“One way to keep a toy shop,” remarked Meg’s friend, stealthily watching her, “is to sell the things and then buy more with the money they bring.”
“But why do that?” asked the child, as if surprised.
“So that you will always have something to sell,” he replied, with an amused laugh. “Let us suppose, my dear, you manage to sell all the toys that are here. It won’t take long to do that, I imagine, and then what will become of your shop?”
Meg reflected. “Why, why then--it won’t be a shop!” she exclaimed.
“No; it will be an empty store,” said he, looking at her curiously.
“Well, when that happens, I’ll go home and play with my toys,” she said, with ready philosophy.
The man-fairy made no objection to this plan. The ultimate fate of the toy shop seemed to interest him as little as it did Meg. She began to feel more at home among the toys, and selected several others to add to the reserve stock under the counter.
Presently several boys, accompanied by the one who had purchased the pop-gun, rushed into the shop in a noisy group. Each held a nickel tightly clasped in his hand, and the row of pop-guns on Meg’s shelves melted away under the demands of these eager customers. They bought some other toys, too, at equally low prices, for Meg’s idea of five cents was both fanciful and reverent. The little man laughed as merrily as did the boys.
Meg seemed a little puzzled. “Am I selling things too cheap?” she asked.
“No, indeed!” her friend said, adding, “If those guns had been twenty-five cents, not one of those boys could have bought them. So your prices are just the right sort to make children happy, my dear. Such bargains might not be possible in a regular toy shop; but this is a fairy toy shop, isn’t it?”
“Of course,” said Meg. After a little thought she enquired, “Are--you--are you a real fairy?”
“Why, I’ve tried to be fair all my life,” he said soberly; “and if that isn’t being a fairy, I don’t know what is.”
“I don’t see any wings.”
“No; I’m a land fairy. I’m not supposed to fly. If I’d been whisking through the air I never would have found you looking into this window, you see.”
“Why, of course,” agreed Meg.
Then he took out his watch. “It’s noon,” said he. “Let’s have some lunch.”
“I can buy a quart of milk and a loaf of two-day bread for eight cents,” cried Meg with pleasure. “Will that be spending too much?”
He considered a moment, and then said “Lock the door and come with me.”
Meg obediently put on her shawl and came from behind the counter. Her man-fairy put a fresh supply of coal in the stove and when they passed out of the shop locked the door and put the key in his pocket.
“Won’t customers come?” asked Meg.
“Maybe. But they can’t buy anything until you return. Hungry?”
“Hungry as anything!” said Meg.
He walked her two or three blocks down the street until they came to an imposing-looking restaurant. Then he led his poorly-clad companion into a big room set with snowy tables, placed her in a soft leather-seated chair, and ordered what seemed a wonderful fairy meal. Meg forgot even her toy shop.
When they returned to the little store they found a throng of children clustered around the door, for the news had spread that rare bargains in toys could be had here, and many a savings bank had been broken into that afternoon to get pennies with which to purchase the cheap and dearly-desired articles. Not all who came had money, but these less fortunate ones were interested in seeing the others buy, and when the man-fairy found a child who longed for something, yet had no pennies, he made the purchase himself, gravely handing Meg the money.
Business began to be brisk now, for no sooner had one group melted away with loads of toys than another appeared, clamoring for some of the “bargains.” Meg was kept busy doing up parcels and she became bewildered with all this run of customers. So her friend offered to help her, and himself wrapped and tied up the purchases while she sold.
When at last a lull came, and they were again alone in the shop, Meg looked around her disconsolately. Great gaps were in the shelves that so recently had been filled with bright-colored toys and all the best and most desirable things had been carried away by the eager procession of customers. But the man-fairy rubbed his hands together and chuckled with glee.
“Great business, Meg!” he exclaimed. “There’ll be many a happy youngster to night who owes his pleasure to you and to your toy shop.”
“And to the man-fairy,” said Meg, soberly. “All the same, it was lucky I put those things under the counter.”
She peered at her treasures lovingly, and added two more dolls to the lot; for dolls were selling very fast, and might soon be gone altogether.
“Here they come again!” cried the little man, with enthusiasm; and indeed they did come! It was not a wealthy neighborhood; far from it. But the poorer classes are those who understand bargains best, and know how to take advantage of them; so some of the mothers came to select toys for their little ones.
The man-fairy paid especial attention to the children, and saw that everyone carried away some toy. Especially he favored the little girls, and seemed sorry when the dolls and dishes and games were all gone.
The afternoon passed swiftly indeed, and long before twilight fell the stock of toys had been reduced to a few broken or unimportant articles. These Meg and her friend gave away freely to all who would take them, and then they turned out the remnants of the crowd and locked the door.
“My! What a change,” exclaimed the girl, eyeing the bare shelves. “Have I done right, sir, do you think?”
“Quite right, my dear,” he answered cheerfully. Then he drew the shades and lighted the lamp. “Now, Meg, we’ll try to wrap up your own things,” he added.
It was no slight task getting all the things the child had put aside into neat packages. But both worked hard and at last the treasures were ready to carry away.
“But I never can lug them in my arms!” cried Meg, aghast.
“I’ll help you,” said he.
“And what shall we do with the money?” she asked.
He took his big handkerchief, emptied the money into it and tied the corners firmly together. “Take this home and use it carefully,” he cautioned her. “Make it go as far as you can, dear, for man-fairies are scarce in this world.”
Someone tried to get in, so he unlocked the door and found it was Mr. Wegg, who looked at the bare shop in astonishment.
“You’re just in time, sir,” said the little gentleman. “We are ready to
quit business, so we’ll turn over the shop to you again.”
Then Meg and her man-fairy loaded their arms full of the bundles, and, giving Mr. Wegg a cheery “good evening,” marched away up the street.
I suppose there was no happier child in town than little Meg as she deposited her wealth of treasure on the little bed in the dingy room at 29 Bobbins Row, third floor back. Her mother had not yet returned from her work.
The little man’s face was radiant with pleasure as he watched her.
“I must be going now. Good-bye, Meg,” he said, taking her hand.
“I--I want to thank you--oh, so much!” faltered the child, her eyes filling with tears, but a sweet, alluring smile flooding her face like sunshine breaking through a summer shower. “I--I’m afraid, Fairy-Man, this has cost you a lot of money!”
“I never made a better investment, my dear,” he answered gently, as he stooped to kiss her. “I was a sad and lonely man when I met you this morning, Meg, and you’ve given me the happiest day of my life.”
The Suicide of Kiaros
The White Elephant, September 1897.
I.
MR. FELIX MARSTON, cashier for the great mercantile firm of Van Alsteyne & Traynor, sat in his little private office with a balance- sheet before him and a frown upon his handsome face. At times he nervously ran his slim fingers through the mass of dark hair that clustered over his forehead, and the growing expression of annoyance upon his features fully revealed his disquietude.
The world knew and admired Mr. Marston, and a casual onlooker would certainly have decided that something had gone wrong with the firm’s financial transactions; but Mr. Marston knew himself better than the world did, and grimly realized that although something had gone very wrong indeed, it affected himself in an unpleasantly personal way.
The world’s knowledge of the popular young cashier included the following items: He had entered the firm’s employ years before in an inferior position, and by energy, intelligence and business ability, had worked his way up until he reached the post he now occupied, and became his employers’ most trusted servant. His manner was grave, earnest and dignified; his judgment, in business matters, clear and discerning. He had no intimate friends, but was courteous and affable to all he met, and his private life, so far as it was known, was beyond all reproach.
Mr. Van Alsteyne, the head of the firm, conceived a warm liking for Mr. Marston, and finally invited him to dine at his house. It was there the young man first met Gertrude Van Alsteyne, his employer’s only child, a beautiful girl and an acknowledged leader in society. Attracted by the man’s handsome face and gentlemanly bearing, the heiress encouraged him to repeat his visit, and Marston followed up his advantage so skillfully that within a year she had consented to become his wife. Mr. Van Alsteyne did not object to the match. His admiration for the young man deepened, and he vowed that upon the wedding day he would transfer one-half his interest in the firm to his son-in- law.
Therefore the world, knowing all this, looked upon Mr. Marston as one of fortune’s favorites, and predicted a great future for him. But Mr. Marston, as I said, knew himself more intimately than did the world, and now, as he sat looking upon that fatal trial balance, he muttered in an undertone:
“Oh, you fool--you fool!”
Clear-headed, intelligent man of the world though he was, one vice had mastered him. A few of the most secret, but most dangerous gambling dens knew his face well. His ambition was unbounded, and before he had even dreamed of being able to win Miss Van Alsteyne as his bride, he had figured out several ingenious methods of winning a fortune at the green table. Two years ago he had found it necessary to “borrow” a sum of money from the firm to enable him to carry out these clever methods. Having, through some unforeseen calamity, lost the money, another sum had to be abstracted to allow him to win back enough to even the accounts. Other men have attempted this before; their experiences are usually the same. By a neat juggling of figures, the books of the firm had so far been made to conceal his thefts, but now it seemed as if fortune, in pushing him forward, was about to hurl him down a precipice.
His marriage to Gertrude Van Alsteyne was to take place in two weeks, and as Mr. Van Alsteyne insisted upon keeping his promise to give Marston an interest in the business, the change in the firm would necessitate a thorough overhauling of the accounts, which meant discovery and ruin to the man who was about to grasp a fortune and a high social position--all that his highest ambition had ever dreamed of attaining.
It is no wonder that Mr. Marston, brought face to face with his critical position, denounced himself for his past folly, and realized his helplessness to avoid the catastrophe that was about to crush him.
A voice outside interrupted his musings and arrested his attention.
“It is Mr. Marston I wish to see.”
The cashier thrust the sheet of figures within a drawer of the desk, hastily composed his features and opened the glass door beside him.
Show Mr. Kiaros this way,” he called, after a glance at his visitor. He had frequently met the person who now entered his office, but he could not resist a curious glance as the man sat down upon a chair and spread his hands over his knees. He was short and thick-set in form, and both oddly and carelessly dressed, but his head and face were most venerable in appearance. Flowing locks of pure white graced a forehead whose height and symmetry denoted unusual intelligence, and a full beard of the same purity reached full to his waist. The eyes were full and dark, but not piercing in character, rather conveying in their frank glance kindness and benevolence. A round cap of some dark material was worn upon his head, and this he deferentially removed as he seated himself, and said:
“For me a package of value was consigned to you, I believe?” Marston nodded gravely.
“Mr. Williamson left it with me,” he replied.
“I will take it,” announced the Greek, calmly; “twelve thousand dollars it contains.”
Marston started.
“I knew it was money,” he said, “but was not aware of the amount. This is it, I think.” He took from the huge safe a packet, corded and sealed, and handed it to his visitor. Kiaros took a pen-knife from his pocket, cut the cords and removed the wrapper, after which he proceeded to count the contents.
Marston listlessly watched him. Twelve thousand dollars. That would be more than enough to save him from ruin, if only it belonged to him instead of this Greek money-lender.
“The amount, it is right,” declared the old man, re-wrapping the parcel of notes; “you have my thanks, sir. Good- afternoon,” and he rose to go.
Pardon me, sir,” said Marston, with a sudden thought, “it is after banking hours. Will it be safe to carry this money with you until morning?”
“Perfectly,” replied Kiaros; “I am never molested, for I am old, and few know my business. My safe at home large sums often contains. The money I like to have near me, to accommodate my clients.”
He buttoned his coat tightly over the packet, and then in turn paused to look at the cashier.
“Lately you have not come to me for favors,” he said.
“No,” answered Marston, arousing from a slight reverie; “I have not needed to. Still, I may be obliged to visit you again soon.”
“Your servant I am pleased to be,” said Kiaros, with a smile, and turning abruptly he left the office.
Marston glanced at his watch. He was engaged to dine with his betrothed that evening, and it was nearly time to return to his lodgings to dress. He attended to one or two matters in his usual methodical way, and then left the office for the night, relinquishing any further duties to his assistant. As he passed through the various business offices on his way out, he was greeted respectfully by his fellow-employees, who already regarded him a member of the firm.
II.
ALMOST for the first time during their courtship, Miss Van Alsteyne was tender and demonstrative that evening, and seemed loath to allow him to leave the house when he pleaded a business engagemen
t and arose to go. She was a stately beauty, and little given to emotional ways, therefore her new mood affected him greatly, and as he walked away he realized, with a sigh, how much it would cost him to lose so dainty and charming a bride.
At the first corner he paused and examined his watch by the light of the street lamp. It was nine o’clock. Hailing the first passing cab, he directed the man to drive him to the lower end of the city, and leaning back upon the cushions, he became occupied in earnest thought.
The jolting of the cab over a rough pavement finally aroused him, and looking out he signaled the driver to stop.
“Shall I wait, sir?” asked the man, as Marston alighted and paid his fare.
“No.”
The cab rattled away, and the cashier retraced his way a few blocks and then walked down a side street that seemed nearly deserted, so far as he could see in the dim light. Keeping track of the house numbers, which were infrequent and often nearly obliterated, he finally paused before a tall, brick building, the lower floors of which seemed occupied as a warehouse.
“Two eighty-six,” he murmured; “this must be the place. If I remember right there should be a stairway at the left-- ah, here it is.”
There was no light at the entrance, but having visited the place before, under similar circumstances, Marston did not hesitate, but began mounting the stairs, guiding himself in the darkness by keeping one hand upon the narrow rail. One flight--two--three--four!
“His room should be straight before me,” he thought, pausing to regain his breath; “yes, I think there is a light shining under the door.”
He advanced softly, knocked, and then listened. There was a faint sound from within, and then a slide in the upper panel of the door was pushed aside, permitting a strong ray of lamp-light to strike Marston full in the face.
“Oho!” said a calm voice, “Mr. Marston has honored me. To enter I entreat you.”
The door was thrown open and Kiaros stood before him, with a smile upon his face, gracefully motioning him to advance. Marston returned the old man’s courteous bow, and entering the room, took a seat near the table, at the same time glancing at his surroundings.
Complete Works of L. Frank Baum Page 857