Mark Tidd in Business
Page 12
CHAPTER XII
By Saturday our beauty contest was getting pretty warm. Folks hadtalked about it and argued about it till they really got to believethere was some importance to the thing. There were quarrels overhusbands, and Chet Weevil and Chancy Miller had to be separated everytime they met. Those two young men took it pretty serious. Chet said ifChancy was to win he'd pick up and leave Wicksville for ever, andChancy said if Chet was to win he'd go off and live in a cabin in thewoods where he never would see another human being, he'd be thatashamed.
Mrs. Peterson and Mrs. Bloom didn't speak to each other any more, butput in all their spare time fussing around town trying to scrape upvotes for their husbands. There were a lot of others just as bad.
But when Wicksville heard how Old Mose Miller had a thousand votes anddidn't know who he was going to cast them for, there was excitement.You can bet there was. Early Saturday morning Chancy came sneaking intothe store to find out about it.
"Mark," says he, "is it a fact that Old Mose has got a thousand votes?"
"Yes," says Mark. "He's got 'em, all r-right."
"Sort of an uncle of mine--Old Mose is," says Chancy, and he grinnedsatisfied-like. "Blood's thicker 'n water. Guess I'll go out to seehim."
"I would," says Mark. "If I was you I wouldn't l-lose any time."
Chancy was no sooner gone than Chet came in with the same question.
"Huh!" says he when Mark told him the rumor was so. "Thousand votes.That'll about win this contest, won't it?"
"Come p-pretty close," says Mark.
"Then," says Chet, "I got to have 'em. _Got_ to! I'm goin' out to seethe old skeezicks. I'm goin' this minnit."
"Good idee," says Mark. "But Old Mose is Chancy's uncle. Know th-that?Blood's thicker 'n water."
"No sich thing," says Chet. "There hain't no sich hate as that betweenrelatives. Chancy's father and Old Mose had a row over their father'swill. Been hatin' each other twenty-odd years. Chancy 'll never countthem votes, you listen to me."
Well, sir, I looked toward the door, and who should be coming in butOld Mose himself. Right behind him was Chancy. Chet he took one lookand made for the old fellow and grabbed him by the arm.
"Why, Mr. Miller," says he, grabbing for the old man's hand to shakeit, "I dun'no' when I've been so tickled to see anybody. How be you,anyhow? Hope you're feelin' spry as a two-year-old."
Old Mose scowled at him.
"Do, eh? Do you, now? Huh! Who be _you_, anyhow? What call you got tobe mixin' up with my health? Glad to see me, be you? Well, youngfeller, 'tain't mutual. Not none. Leggo that hand. Leggo."
"But, Mr. Miller, I am glad to see you. You and my father is oldfriends. He often speaks of you. Honest he does. You hain't forgotHenry Weevil, have you?"
"No, nor I hain't likely to, the shiftless old coot! Henry Weevil'sson, be you? Reckon you take after him, too. Necktie looks like it.Henry had about gumption enough to spend his last quarter for a red ragto tie around his neck."
Just then Chancy came springing forward and made a grab at Chet.
"You quit pesterin' and disturbin' this old gentleman," says he. "He'smy uncle, he is, and I hain't goin' to stand by to see no town loafermolestin' him. You git."
Old Mose took one look at Chancy--and it was considerable of a look,too.
"Uncle!" he snorted. "Uncle, is it? Don't let it git out. I hain'tproud of it. Don't go claimin' no relationship with me, you youngflapdoodle. I'd rather be catched stealin' sheep than to have folksremember I was your uncle. Git out. Git away from me 'fore I up andbust the toe of my boot on you."
Well, Chancy drew back a little, quite a little. He got clear out ofrange. Chet grinned at him provoking. But Chancy was a persistent sortof fellow; he tried Old Mose again.
"I don't see what for you hold anythin' agin me, uncle, I never done athing to you."
"Don't you dast call me uncle," says Old Mose, and he takes a stepforward, belligerent-like.
Chet put in his oar. "That's right, Mr. Miller. I'd hate to own he wasa relative of mine--him and his curly hair."
Old Mose turned his head slow so he could look at Chet, and says:
"One more peep out of you and I'll take you acrost my knee and fix youlike your ma ought to fix you often. I calc'late you figger you'regrowed up past spankin's. Huh! You yaller-haired slinkum!"
Things looked pretty discouraging for Chet and Chancy when in came Mrs.Bloom, all out of breath. Right at her heels was Mrs. Peterson, pantinglike all-git-out. Up they rushed to Old Mose.
"Why, Mr. Miller," says Mrs. Bloom, almost putting her arm around him,"I just heard you was in town. My! I'm that glad to see you! You'rea-goin' to come and take dinner with us, hain't you?"
Old Mose blinked. He didn't know what to make of it, and before hedecided what was going on Mrs. Peterson wedged herself in and got himby the other arm.
"Mr. Miller's comin' to _our_ house to dinner," says she. "We'rea-goin' to have chicken and biscuits in gravy and punkin-pie. You'rea-comin' to our house, hain't you?"
Old Mose waggled his head and scowled, and waggled his head some more,and opened his mouth to say something, and shut it again. He had to trythree times before he could get out a word.
"Hey!" he yelled, "you lemme be. You git away from me. What's thematter with these here wimmin? Say! Dinner! Naw, I hain't goin' todinner with nobody. Me set and listen to female gabble! Whoo! You leggomy arms. Hear me? Has this whole consarned town up and went crazy? Eh?Or what?"
Well, right on top of all that three young women came pushing in andrushing up to Old Mose. I knew what they were after--it was votes forSchool-Principal Pilkins.
"Why, Mr. Miller," they says all at once, "as soon as we heard you wasin town we come right down to see you. How be you? My! it seems nice tosee you again!"
"Come right down to see me, did you?" Old Mose was about as mad as hecould get by this time. "Well, now you've saw me. Here I be from bootsto bald spot. I'm well. But I'm gettin' worse. I'm gettin' worse quick.In a minnit I'm goin' to git vi'lent." He backed off and got around theend of the counter where nobody could reach him. "Keep off'n me, thewhole dod-gasted passel of you. I hain't no idee of the cause of thesegoin's-on, and I hain't no hankerin' to find out. But I hereby issues awarnin' to all and sundry--keep off'n me! I'm a-goin' to git into mybuggy and make for home. I'm a-goin' to git out of this townful oflunatics. When I come ag'in I'm a-goin' to fetch my dawg. He's themeanest dawg in the county. And I'm a-goin' to sic him on to the firstman, woman, or child that comes gabblin' and flitterin' around me. Takewarnin'. Now git out of my way, for I'm a-comin'."
At that he began waving his arms and started pell-mell for the door.The folks opened up a way for him and he scooted through like the waywas greased. Just a second he stopped in the door to shake his fist.Then he made a jump into his buggy, whipped up his horse, and wenttearing for home.
Mark Tidd had stood watching the whole thing as solemn as anundertaker's sign. Not even a little twinkle in his eye! When Mose wasgone he says:
"Don't seem like Old Mose was in g-good humor to-day."
"He's a rip-roarin', cross-grained, pig-headed, rat-minded old coot,"says Mrs. Peterson, "but I'm a-goin' to git them votes of his'n yet."
"Think you be, do you?" snapped Mrs. Bloom. "Well, Mis' Peterson,you'll have to git up earlier in the mornin' than you do on wash-daysif you beat _me_. So there."
"P-prob'bly," says Mark, "it would be b-better to see Old Mose out athis house of an evenin'. Maybe he'd be more reasonable."
"We'll see him of an evenin', all right, and we'll see him of amornin'," says one of the young women that were after votes forPilkins. "And we hain't after his votes for ourselves, neither," shesays with a sarcastic look at Chet and Chancy.
"Ladies," says Mark, breaking right in on them, "have you seen the newp-patent hooks and eyes we just got in from New York? Finest thing ofthe kind ever was in Wicksville. Lemme sh-show you how they work."
He set in and described those
hooks and eyes and told what they woulddo, and showed how they did it. "And," says he, "we give votes withth-these just like with anythin' else. How many cards, Mis' Peterson?"
"Gimme a quarter's worth," says she. "Sich things always come in handy."
Mrs. Bloom, she bought a quarter's worth, and each of those young womenbought a card for a dime. That was eighty cents sold that wouldn't havebeen sold but for Mark taking advantage of things. But he was the sortthat took advantage. Maybe there wouldn't be much in it every time, butadd up a dozen or so times and it was quite a bit. He was business fromfront to back.
"Mark," says I, when the folks were all gone, "I'm beginnin' to b'lievemaybe we'll pull through and pay off Skip's mortgage."
"Hum!" says Mark. "You be, eh? Remember we got to raise five hundredd-dollars and pay expenses and keep sendin' money to your f-folks.'Tain't so easy as it looks. Comes perty clost to bein' impossible,_I'd_ say."
"Not gittin' discouraged?" I says, frightened-like.
"No," says he, "but I h-hain't gittin' over-confident, neither. Maybewe'll pull through if somethin' don't hit us an extra wallop. But we'llkeep a-tryin'."
"You bet," says I. "How do we stand now?"
"There's ninety-six d-dollars in the bank," says he, "that we canfigger on for the mortgage."
"Fine," says I; "'most a fifth of it."
"But we've had l-luck. There was sellin' that phonograph. Twentydollars clear. Don't happen every day."
"But our daily sales are keeping up pretty well."
"If we d-depend on our daily sales to pull us through," says he,"Jehoshaphat P. Skip 'll be foreclosin' his mortgage. We g-got to keepa-thinkin' up schemes. We got to crowd the business and keep crowdin'it. Then, if somethin' we d-don't foresee now don't happen, we got achance. But if somethin' does happen--" He stopped and shrugged his fatshoulders as much as to say that would be the end of the Bazar.
But I was feeling pretty good. Ninety-six dollars in the bank! Thatseemed like a lot; and we had put it there ourselves. It seemed to mewe were coming along fine.
That night I got a telegram from mother. It says:
Father must have operation. Cost hundred dollars. Can you send money?
I just sat down limp in a chair with all the stiffening gone out of mybackbone. There was the extra wallop Mark Tidd was afraid of. I ranright over to his house and showed him the telegram.
"Hum!" says he. "L-lucky we got that money in the bank. Send itto-morrow."
"Course," says I. "But it licks us."
He stuck out his jaw and his eyes got sort of hard and sparkly.
"D-does, eh?" says he. "Well, Mr. Plunk, we hain't licked yet. I feltin my bones bad luck was comin'--and here it is. But we're a-goin' tostick to it, you can bet. Skip hasn't put us out of b-business yet."
There you were. That very day he'd said something like this would dumpour apple-cart for us--and now that it had happened he was as much forkeeping on as ever. Looked like he didn't know when he was licked. Butthat was Mark Tidd all over. He wouldn't let on he had the worst of ittill the sheriff had come and closed up the Bazar. And then, maybe,there'd be something else he'd think up to try as a last resort.
Next morning we sent mother the ninety-six dollars in the bank withfour dollars besides. It left us with only enough money in the till tomake change with.
Mark looked at it and scowled.
"Got to m-make it grow," says he, "and grow quick."
"All right," says I; "but how?"
"I'm goin' b-back to whittle," says he. "In an hour we'll startsomethin' goin'."