Mark Tidd in Business Read online

  CHAPTER VI

  My father always went to Lawyer Sturgis when he needed any law, so wefigured he'd be likely to know about that chattel mortgage. Mark wentover to see him and found out that every word Jehoshaphat P. had saidwas true. Father had needed money and borrowed five hundred dollarsfrom Hamilcar Wilkins, who didn't do anything but lend money. SomehowSkip had found out about it and had bought the note. So there we were.

  "Well," says Mark when he got back, "th-that's settled. Now all we gotto do is dig up that five hundred."

  "Yes," says I, sarcastic-like, "that's all."

  "We'll do it," says he. "I've noticed," says he, "that if you've got todo a thing or b-b-bust you usually do it--or bust." He grinned all overhis fat face. "Now let's forget about the mortgage and start to makin'money."

  "Suits me," says I.

  By this time we had our stock pretty well arranged. You wouldn't haveknown the old store. Everything was in order and arranged so it couldbe found. The most expensive things were at the front, thefive-and-ten-cent things were at the back. That was Mark's idea.

  "Folks is after bargains," says he, "and they'll walk to get 'em. Whenthey come in they'll be after somethin' cheap. But we'll m-make 'emwalk past the other things. They can't h-help lookin' at 'em, andchances are they'll see somethin' they need."

  It was so, too. I can name three or four folks who came in to buysomething for a dime, but did buy something for a half a dollar or adollar just because they saw them on the way back. Things we calculatedfolks would want we had set up conspicuous, with the price marked onthem plain--and it was generally a price that ended in odd cents. Marksays folks are used to paying even money, and if you make itninety-eight cents or sixty-three cents, why, right off they think it'sa bargain.

  But don't get to thinking business was good. It wasn't. It wasn't anybetter Friday, though quite a few folks came in to ask what we were upto next. This tickled Mark because he said it meant folks were watchingus and thinking about us and wondering what sort of scheme we weregoing to work off on them. That, says he, is good advertising.

  Wicksville is full of folks with curiosity. I'll bet I was askedquestions about our signs a dozen times, but wouldn't tell. Mark saidto keep them guessing till we were ready, which was Saturday about teno'clock. Then Mark put up in the window a big sign explaining about thebeauty contest. Lots of folks stopped to look at it, and grinned andlaughed, just like I thought they would. Once there was quite a littlecrowd looking in. Along came Chet Weevil. Uncle Ike Bond was there, andas soon as he saw Chet he commenced to yell at him.

  "Ho, Chet!" says he, "here's somethin' 'll int'rest you. Han'somest-mancontest! You and them neckties of yourn 'll be enterin', eh? Got tosettle whether you or Chancy Miller is the beautifulest. Seems like Ican't sleep till I git the judgment of folks on that."

  Chet was all primped up with a checked suit and yellow shoes and anecktie that looked like it would burn your finger if you touched it.He didn't grin--not Chet. He sort of drew himself up and looked at hisreflection in the window and felt of his tie to see if it was onstraight.

  "Hum!" says he. "I don't lay no claim to beauty." Then he sort of puthis head on one side and looked at himself again.

  "Course not," says Uncle Ike. "You're one of the modestest fellers intown, but, Chet--it's a secret and don't whisper it to a soul--folkshave said to me as how they ree-garded you as a feller of strikin'appearance. Honest, Chet."

  "Hum!" says Chet again. "I aim to keep myself lookin' as good as I kin.It's a feller's duty."

  "To be sure. That's the way Chancy looks at it. I heard him sayin' nolater than yestiddy that he took consid'able pains with himself. Hesays you was perty good-lookin', too. Yes, sir. Says he, if it wasn'tfor him, you'd be about the best-lookin' feller in the county."

  "Did, eh?" says Chet, mad-like. "Did, eh? Mind, I hain't claimin' to behandsomer 'n anybody else, but this I do say, and this I'll stand by:if I wasn't better-lookin' than Chancy Miller I'd buy me a mask orraise whiskers, that's what I'd do. Why," says he, "Chancy's pants bagsat the knee."

  "So they do," says Uncle Ike. "But Chancy alluded to your hair. Saysyour hair was all right as _hair_, but, says he, as a ornament it wouldbe better if Chet was bald-headed."

  "Hair!" says Chet. "Does that there gangle-legged, pig-eyed,strawberry-topped imitation of a punkin' lantern go around makin'personal remarks about me? Maybe my hair hain't curly, but, b' jing, itlooks like hair, and not like no throwed-away bed-springs."

  Well, just then who should come in sight but Chancy Miller, his hat onthe back of his head so his frizzes would show, and a posy in hisbuttonhole. Uncle Ike spied him.

  "Just alludin' to you, Chancy," he says. "We was discussin' themringlets of yourn. Chet here declares as how they favor worn-outbed-springs consid'able."

  Chancy scowled at Chet and took off his hat like he thought it was hot.That was a way of his. He was always looking for excuses to put hishair on exhibition.

  "Chet hadn't better do no talkin' about hair," says he. "If he was toget his shaved off and then tie a handkerchief over his head so whatwas left wouldn't show, he'd look a sight more like a human bein'."

  "Well," says Uncle Ike, "I see there's a sight of rivalry amongst youtwo on this here beauty question. But it's goin' to be decided, Chancy;it's goin' to be decided. Read this sign, Chancy, and be happy."

  Chancy he read the sign and then took off his hat again and smoothedback his hair. He looked at Chet sort of speculating and Chet looked athim. Then both of them stuck up their noses simultaneous.

  "Who's been spoke of so far?" Chancy asked.

  "Nobody but you and Chet," says Uncle Ike.

  "I thought," says Chancy, "it was goin' to be a _contest_. Not," sayshe, "that I got any idee I'm what you'd call handsome"--he stopped totake a squint at himself in the window--"but--but compared to Chet,"says he, "I'm one of these here Greek statues alongside of apackin'-box."

  "You be, eh?" yelled Chet. "You think you be? Well, Chancy Miller, allI got to say is this: if my mother'd 'a' had any idee I was goin' tolook like you she wouldn't of tried to raise me. She'd drownded me whenI was a day old. Why," says Chet, getting madder and madder, "the onlyresemblance between you and a good-lookin' feller is that you got twoarms and legs. It 'u'd take six college professors with microscopes ayear to pick out a point to you that don't class as homely. Handsome!Oh, my!"

  At that Chancy started to move toward Chet and Chet started to movetoward Chancy, but they didn't go far. They weren't the sort of fellowsto get themselves mussed up in a fight. Nobody offered to stop them, sothey stopped themselves, about six feet apart, and took it out inscowling.

  "We'll let the votes of the people decide," says Chet, as grand as anemperor.

  "Huh!" says Chancy. "You'll have to git a stiddy job now and spend yourwages in the Bazar, or you won't git a vote."

  Just then along came Mrs. Bloom and Mrs. Peterson, and they stopped tosee what was going on. First they read the sign and then they listened.

  Uncle Ike grinned to himself and says:

  "We men has figgered the contest is narrowed down to Chet and Chancy.'Tain't likely anybody will enter agin 'em, is it, Mis' Bloom?"

  Mrs. Bloom sniffed. "I thought this was goin' to be a contest for thehandsomest _man_," says she. "If 'tis, neither of them whipper-snappersis eligible. Let 'em wait till they git their growth. For a handsomeman gimme somebody that's old enough to wash his own face without hismother's helpin' him. The best-lookin' time in a man's life is whenhe's about forty-three."

  "Forty-seven, to be exact," says Mrs. Peterson, her eyes snapping.

  "Forty-three," says Mrs. Bloom. "Forty-three is Peter Bloom's age, andI ought to know. When I was young I could 'a' had the pick of the youngfellers in this town, but I took Peter, and hain't never regretted it.I guess you folks hain't seen Peter in his new Sunday suit, or youwouldn't be talkin' about these--these gangleshanks."

  Mrs. Peterson blinked and swallowed hard
and opened her mouth a coupleof times before she could speak.

  "If you was to stand Peter Bloom alongside of Jason Peterson," saysshe, in a voice that sounded like somebody tearing a piece of tin, "Iguess you'd change your mind. Maybe Peter was fair-lookin' once," saysshe, "but Jason's been eatin' _good_ cookin' for twenty-two year--andthat tells."

  Uncle Ike winked to himself and says, sober-like, "It looks, fellers,as if Chet and Chancy wasn't goin' to have the field to themselves."

  "No, they hain't," says Mrs. Bloom, "and I'm goin' right in now tospend a dollar--a dollar--and vote ten votes for Peter. There." Shejerked her head and turned on her heel and marched into the store.

  "Gimme that pair of scissors I was lookin' at the other day," says she,"and a paper of pins, and six spools of forty white thread, and if thatdon't make up a dollar just say so."

  "It c-c-comes to a dollar and six cents," says Mark.

  "Then gimme somethin' for four cents to make up the other ten," saysshe. "And gimme them votes so's I can cast 'em for Peter Bloom."

  Mrs. Peterson came in right after, and _she_ spent a dollar and thirtycents, casting _her_ votes for Jason Peterson.

  Mark looked at me and his eyes twinkled.

  "What d'you think of the s-s-scheme now?" he asked in a whisper.

  "It begins to look," says I, "like there might be somethin' to it."

  It began to look like it still more as the day went on. Chet Weevil metme as I was coming back from dinner.

  "Plunk," says he, "kin you keep a secret?"

  "Like throwin' it down a well," says I.

  "What d'you think of Chancy's chances?" says he.

  "Well," says I, hardly able to keep my face straight, "I hain't much ofa judge, but that curly hair of his--"

  "Huh!" he growled. "Hair hain't goin' to count. Got any bang-upneckties? The kind folks can't help seein'?"

  "We got some," says I, "that you could flag a train with on a darknight."

  "How much?" says he.

  "Forty-nine cents apiece."

  He reached down into his pocket and pulled out two dollar bills. "Thishere," says he, "is secret between you and me. I want four of themties--and you needn't mind the change. Vote them twenty votes for melike somebody else did it--and if Chancy goes votin' for himself, justyou lemme know, and I'll beat him or--or bust a gallus."

  From that on I was more cheerful. Things began getting exciting and,somehow, I almost forgot about Jehoshaphat P. Skip and his chattelmortgage.