Mark Tidd in Business

  CHAPTER XVI

  On my way home from Mark Tidd's house--where I left Mark and ZadokBiggs eating away at a big dishpanful of popcorn and about a peck ofapples--I walked down-town and past the store just to see thateverything was all right. It was, so I passed on by and crossed over totake a look at the Five-and-Ten-Cent Store. Just as I got to the doorout came that clerk of Jehoshaphat P. Skip's. You should have seen him!Dressed up? Well, I should say he was! And there was _perfumery_ onhim. Now, honest, what do you think of a full-grown man that'll dousehimself with smelly stuff? He looked like he'd just stepped out of apicture in a magazine advertising some sort of a collar or patentnecktie or something.

  "How'dy do?" says he. "How's the contest comin' along?"

  "Good," says I. "It's anybody's race yet."

  "D'you figger I got any chance?"

  "Well," says I, looking him over careful, "if everybody in Wicksvillewas to get a look at you now I don't see how anybody else would have achance."

  "'Most everybody's seen me," says he, smirking like a sick puppy. "Iwent to the Methodist church this mornin', and to the young folks'meetin' at the Congregational church this afternoon, and I'm goin' tothe Baptis' church right now. I calc'lated I'd stir around consid'ableso folks'd have a chance to judge me, so to speak."

  "They'll see you, all right," says I, "unless they've all got cataractsin their eyes. The way you look right now, mister, it 'u'd be prettyhard to miss you."

  "Think so?" says he, grinning again as pleased as could be.

  "How's Jehoshaphat?" says I.

  "Kind of crusty," says he. "He's always a-pickin' at me. I'm alwaysglad when he goes off somewheres for a day. Then I git a minnit or soto myself. He's a-goin' off to-morrow," says he.

  "Where?" says I, not out of curiosity, but just to say something.

  "Sunfield," says he. "It's a leetle town nigh to twenty-five milesover."

  "What ever's he goin' to Sunfield for?" says I, beginning to getinterested.

  "I don't really know exact, but from things he's said I guess he'scalc'latin' on startin' up another five-and-ten-cent store there.There's a feller that wants to sell out, as near as I kin git thefacts, and Mr. Skip is hankerin' to buy."

  Well, sir, what do you think of that? It looked like we were bound torun up against this Skip man wherever we went and whatever we did. Nowhe was trying to buy the same stock of goods Mark Tidd had his heartset on buying.

  I couldn't see what Mark wanted of that stock, for we had all we couldlook after, and, anyhow, we didn't have any thousand dollars to spendfor it. It looked like a crazy notion to me, but just the minute Iheard Skip was after it I felt different about it. I wanted to getthere first. I was going to help Mark Tidd all I could. It didn'tmatter what we did with that store when we got it, I was for getting itso Skip couldn't. Maybe that was a mean way to feel--but Skip was thekind of man that makes you feel mean.

  I got rid of Mr. Perfume-smelling Clerk as soon as I could and hurriedup to Mark Tidd's. He and Zadok were still at the popcorn. I calculatethat between them they'd eaten more of it than any two folks ever atebefore in one afternoon. I didn't wait to knock, but went busting rightin.

  "Skip's after it," says I.

  "After what?" says Mark.

  "The Sunfield five-and-ten-cent store," says I.

  "Oh!" says Mark, and he grinned at Zadok. "D-don't get excited, Plunk."

  "Excited," says I. "We got to beat him, hain't we?"

  "Yes," says Zadok, "you must beat him. You must arrive first on thescene."

  "You act like you knew Skip was goin'," says I. I felt a little sorebecause they didn't seem to think my news was important.

  "We didn't know," says Mark, "b-but we hoped."

  "Hoped?" says I.

  "Yes," says Mark. "We was hankerin' to have J-jehoshaphat start forSunfield."

  "But how come he to hear of it?"

  Zadok stuck out his chest and looked important. "Zadok Biggs," says he."It was Zadok Biggs that did it. Zadok Biggs told the man Skip aboutit."

  You could have knocked me over with a feather. What in the world hadZadok told Skip for? I could see it was some sort of scheme Mark Tiddand he had cooked up, but it looked funny to me. They didn't offer toexplain, though, so I says:

  "Do we git an early start?"

  "Yes," says Mark. "Five o'clock."

  "But we weren't going to start till six."

  "Didn't know for sure Jehoshaphat was goin' then," says he.

  "Then my finding it out did amount to somethin'?" says I.

  "You bet it did, Plunk," says he, and he got up and banged me on theback. "You can just b-b-bet it did."

  Well, I felt some better after that, and went off, leaving Mark andZadok to talk about their old plan that they were so close-mouthedabout. I shouldn't have been put out, though, for I found out afterwardthat Mark hadn't told me because it would be such a big disappointmentto me if it didn't come out right. I might have known there was a goodreason. Mark Tidd was the sort of fellow who always thinks about otherfolks' feelings.

  There wasn't any train that would take us from Wicksville to Sunfield,so there was nothing to do but drive. Mark brought along his father'shorse and buggy. Since Mr. Tidd got rich he kept a horse. He could haveafforded half a dozen automobiles if he'd wanted to, but he didn't havethem. It wasn't because he was stingy, for he didn't care anything inparticular about money. It was just because he was such asimple-minded, dreamy sort of man. And Mrs. Tidd was that sensiblethere wasn't anybody like her. They lived in the same house and livedin the same way they had lived when they were poor. It seemed like alltheir money hadn't made a cent's worth of difference in them.

  Well, Mark drove up to my house just before five o'clock, and westarted out. Binney and Tallow were around to see us off, and Mark toldthem to keep watch and telephone to the hotel in Wilkinstown as soon asSkip started and leave a message for us. Wilkinstown was nine milesover toward Sunfield. Then we started off.

  You'd never believe it, but just as we were getting into Wilkinstownthe horse went lame. We got out and looked him over, but we didn't knowenough about horses to tell what the matter was, so we drove on slowand cautious to the livery barn.

  The man there took a look at the horse and mentioned some kind of athing that gets the matter with a horse's foot and said the horsemustn't be driven again for at least a week. Not for a week! That was apretty kettle of fish.

  "H'm!" says I to Mark. "Looks like we walk back."

  "Back!" says Mark. "If we do any walkin' it'll be ahead."

  "Sixteen miles to Sunfield," says I.

  Mark turned around to the liveryman. "Got a good horse to rent us?"

  "Nary horse," says the man. "Every rig I got's engaged. Travelin' menrented 'em last night."

  "Anybody else r-rent horses here?"

  "Nobody," says the man.

  "We g-got to git to Sunfield," says Mark. "How'll we manage it?"

  "Walk," says the man.

  "Hain't there an automobile?" says I.

  "Nary a soul in this burg owns one of them things," says he.

  "Nine miles to Wicksville--sixteen miles to Sunfield," says I to myself.

  "Come on up to the hotel," says Mark. "Let's see if the f-fellers havetelephoned."

  They had telephoned. The hotel man gave us the message.

  "Skip left at seven-thirty in an auto," it says.

  There you are! Skip had left in a machine--that could get to Sunfieldthree times as fast as a horse. We were in Wilkinstown without even ahorse.

  "I calc'late," says I, "that here's where Jehoshaphat gits to buy afive-and-ten-cent store."

  Mark's little eyes were sparkling and his lips were pressed tight andhis jaw was set.

  "We're a-goin' to git to Sunfield," says he, "and we're a-goin' to gitthere f-f-first." My, how he stuttered it!

  "Sure," says I. "I forgot all about my new airoplane. You kin just aswell use it as not."

  He didn't say anything
back, but in a minute he asked me, "Knowanything about automobiles, Plunk?"

  "They're contraptions," says I, "with four wheels--one at eachcorner--and they've got an engine in 'em, and a thing to steer 'em by.Sure I know about 'em."

  He started talkin' to himself.

  "It's fair," says he. "It's fair to d-do it. He's done things tous--and we _got_ to win out. It won't do any d-damage. It won't h-hurtanybody.... It's f-fair, and I'm goin' to do it."

  I could see he was arguing out something or other. Some scheme he hadwas a little doubtful to him. Now there's one thing about Mark Tidd, nomatter how much he wants to win, or what it would mean for him to lose,he plays fair. He wouldn't use a scheme that wasn't honest andaboveboard, no matter how certain it was to win. That's the kind of afellow he was.

  "Plunk," says he, "we've got to stop that auto."

  "All right," says I, "let's tie a rope across the road."

  He knew I was joking and grinned a little.

  "No," says he, "we got to stop it so Jehoshaphat won't know he's beenstopped on purpose."

  But before we had a chance to do anything we heard an auto coming upthe road. I got up and looked. It was Skip and a fellow I didn't knowin a little runabout.

  "It's him," says I to Mark.

  Mark didn't say anything, but his little eyes were sending off sparksand his face looked sort of set. It looked as though we'd never get achance at the Sunfield store.

  In another minute she went whizzing by. I looked at Mark and he lookedat me. Somehow it didn't seem possible he'd gone right by and left usthere. But then came a surprise. The car went right along to the hotel,and then it stopped. Skip went inside for something, and Mark and Isneaked down and hid behind a shed. We heard Skip telephoning inside.

  He came out in about five minutes. Just as he was getting into the carhe looked down and scowled and said something under his breath.

  "You've got a flat tire, Clancy," says he, and then he up and expressedhis opinion of flat tires in words and syllables and sentences. Igathered he didn't think much of them.

  Clancy got out and looked.

  "Flat tire," says he. "Three flat tires, mister. It's a regularepidemic," says he.

  "Well," says Skip, "you might as well git at fixin' 'em. We can't spendall day on the road."

  At that he turned around and went into the hotel again, and didn't comeout till Clancy had the tires all fixed up and ready to go. But Clancydidn't hurry any. First he took off his coat and then he wiped hisface, for the dust had been flying, and then he lifted the hood of thecar and peeked inside. There wasn't any reason for it in particular, Iguess, but automobile men seem to like to look at their engineswhenever they get a chance.

  "I wonder," says he to himself, "if I can git some oil in thismetropolis."

  He started out to find if he could, and left the car standing.

  "There's your chance," stuttered Mark.

  "Good-by," says I, waving my hand. "Tell the folks I went agin theenemy as brave as a lion."

  Then I went for the car. It was no trick at all to reach inside for awire that would put the ignition out of business. I unscrewed it atboth ends. Unscrewing one end would have stopped the machine, but therewould have been a wire dangling, and any idiot would know that was whatthe matter was. But I took the wire clean out. It would take a prettygood repair-man to trace the trouble, especially when there wasn't anyway for a wire to get out of the car, and when the car had been runningalong as nicely as possible.

  I stuck the wire in my pocket and slid back where Mark was.

  "I guess," says I, "that Mr. Skip'll stay put for a while, anyhow."

  "C-come on, then," says he. "We'll light out for Sunfield."

  "Sixteen miles," says I.

  "We'll git to ride part of it, anyhow," says he.

  "But," says I, "I want to stay and watch Jehoshaphat when that carwon't start. I want to see that man Clancy crank. It'll be a reg'larthree-ring circus with a menagerie tent and a side-show."

  He sort of hesitated a minute, for Mark enjoyed a joke as well asanybody else, but he shook his head and says:

  "Nope, Plunk, we got to hoof it for Sunfield. We've g-got to git therefirst. We've _got_ to, Plunk."

  "All right," says I. "I don't see any sense in it, but here we go."

  We started off through the fields, keeping out of the road so nobodywould see us. There wasn't much to the village but the general storeand the hotel and a couple of houses, so we were in the country againin a couple of minutes. We crossed a stubbled field and then started tocut through an orchard to the road. My! but that was a fine orchard!The trees were trimmed and the ground was not all grown up to grass theway most orchards are, but it was plowed and cultivated the way thegovernment expert who lectured in Wicksville said it ought to be. Andapples! You never saw such Spies as loaded half of the trees!

  "Um-m-m!" says I.

  "Leave 'em be," says Mark. "Most farmers d-don't mind if you take anapple to eat, but a lot of 'em are crusty as anything."

  So I took it out in looking, and looking at a big red apple doesn'thelp the appetite much.

  We were about half-way across the orchard when I felt as if a house hadfallen on my shoulder. Something dropped and jerked me back off myfeet. I just caught a glimpse of Mark out of the corner of my eye--andhe was getting considerable of a jerk, too. Then a great big boomingvoice says:

  "I got ye, consarn ye! Come a-sneakin' through a man's orchard, willye? I'll show ye. Stealin' a man's apples, eh? Oh, he! Maybe yes andmaybe no. Didn't calc'late Hamilcar Janes was a-layin' for you behind atree, eh? Oh, he!" He didn't sound mad exactly, just sort of tickledwith himself for being smart enough to catch us.

  "Boys have been a-stealin' and a-stealin' my apples. Thought I wasn'tgoin' to do nothin', too. Didn't think Hamilcar Janes hadgit-up-and-git enough to catch 'em. Hasn't, eh? Oh, he! Just look atwhat Hamilcar Janes has up and done. He's catched two--a fat one and alean one--and into the smoke-house they go. Oh, he!" He might have madea song of it if he'd been of a mind to.

  We tried to talk to him, but he wouldn't listen to a word. He justgrinned and bragged about how he'd caught us, and marched us along bythe collars. I tried to squirm loose, but I might as well have tried tojump over the moon like the old cow in the poem. That Hamilcar Janescame close to being the biggest man I ever saw. And his hands! Thosehands of his were as big as blankets.

  "Into the smoke-house you go," says he. "I'll show ye. Won't I show ye?Well, I should guess!"

  And he did that very thing. He dragged us along and kicked open thedoor to his smoke-house and pushed us in. Then he shut the door and wecould hear him barring it.

  "There," says he. "Try that a spell. Apples, eh? Oh, he!" Then we heardhim walking off.

  I didn't feel much like talking, and neither did Mark, but I couldn'thelp saying:

  "Jehoshaphat'll have to be delayed consid'able if he don't git toSunfield ahead of us."

  Mark nodded doleful-like. "Seems like luck was d-dead against us," sayshe. "But," he says, "Skip hain't got there yet--and it's early in themornin'."