Mark Tidd in Business

  CHAPTER V

  For the next three days things were pretty slack with us. What businessthere was seemed to be going to Jehoshaphat P. Skip, though of coursethere was just a little trickle of folks into our store. Mark Tidddidn't pay much attention--just sat around and squinted and pinched hisfat cheeks and _thought_. We couldn't get anything out of him and therewasn't any use trying. When he had a scheme all cooked up he'd come andtell us--and we had to be satisfied with that.

  Once he looked up when I went past and says, half to me and half tohimself, "What I want is somethin' that'll shoot two barrels at once.H-hit Jehoshaphat P. with one and fetch down the Wicksville f-f-folkswith the other."

  "Sure," says I, "but any old kind of a scheme that will do any oldthing to bring a little business is what we need. We haven't soldenough stuff in three days to pay wages to an invalid cat."

  "Huh!" says he; "I can bring business in. Anybody could. But so l-longas Skip stays here it'll mean one scheme after another--and that's hardwork."

  "I'd rather go huntin'," says I, "and shoot the first rabbit I see--and_git_ it--than to sit around waiting for two to stand in a row so's Icould shoot 'em both to once. 'Cause they might never git in a row."

  "All right," says Mark, with a sigh, "if you're so all-fired impatient.We'll s-start somethin' to-morrow." He stopped and wagged his head."Nope, not to-morrow. 'S Friday. 'Tain't s-safe to start things Friday."

  "Saturday's a better day, anyhow. Farmers'll be comin' in."

  "Saturday it is," says Mark. "We'll b-begin gittin' ready."

  "For what?" says I.

  "For the votin' contest," says Mark. "Plunk, we're a-goin' to do a lotof good in Wicksville." His little eyes were twinkling and glowing, buthis face was as solemn as a ball of putty. "We're a-goin'," says he,"to settle a question that's been b-b-botherin' some folks I could namefor years."

  "Well," says I, "what is it?"

  "Who is the h-h-h-han'somest man in Wicksville?" says he.

  "What?" says I, and I could feel my nose wrinkle, I was that disgusted.

  "Votin' contest," says Mark. "But this one'll be different. Folks havevoted for the most popular girl, and the m-most beautiful girl, andsich like. But nobody, so far's I ever heard, has t-t-tried to pick thehan'somest man."

  "Why should they?" I wanted to know. "Besides," says I, "there wouldn'tbe no votes cast in a election to pick Wicksville's handsomest man.There hain't no sich thing." It made me mad to have Mark fooling withme like that when things was so serious. "Jest look at the men thatlive here," says I. "There hain't enough handsomeness in Wicksville tokeep a self-respectin' scarecrow from dyin' of disgust."

  "It hain't the han'someness that _is_," says Mark, "it's thehan'someness that homely folks thinks there is."

  "Huh!" says I.

  "Plunk," says Mark, patient-like, "have I got to draw a picture of thisthing?"

  "I guess you have," says I.

  "Well," says he, "there's half a dozen old coots here that setconsid'able store by their looks. There's Chet Weevil, eh? How abouthim?"

  "Runs to yaller neckties," says I.

  "Always s-s-stoppin' to look in the glass, hain't he?"

  I was beginning to get a glimmer of light, so I just nodded and didn'tsay anything.

  "And there's Chancy Miller--always w-w-wearin' a flower in hisbuttonhole, hain't he?"

  "Yes," says I.

  "And you was here yestiddy when Mis' Bloom was bragging to Mis'Peterson about what a upstandin', fine-lookin' feller her husband was.Eh?"

  "Yes," says I.

  "Well," says he, again, "wimmin kin s-s-see beauty in a feller that ahoss would shy at. There's this, too: even if a woman d-d-don't thinkher husband's han'some, she hain't g-goin' to let on, is she? Not much,she hain't. Thing to do, Plunk, is to git the wimmin mad about it. Gitthem wimmin mad and the m-m-men jealous of one another, and there'll bevotin', Plunk."

  "There'll be fist-fights," says I.

  "Hope so," says Mark; "it'll advertise."

  "How we goin' to work it?"

  "One v-v-vote with every ten-cent purchase," says he. "Any voter canenter a candidate. We'll paste a l-list of candidates in the window andevery afternoon at two o'clock we'll put up the vote.... The p-p-prizeto the han'somest m-man," says he, with the first grin he'd let loose,"will be that mirror back there with an imitation silver Cupid on topof it."

  "Some folks'll make a joke of it."

  "Sure," says Mark. "Some smart Alecs 'll be votin' for ol' Stan Brazer,like's not. That'll only make them that takes it serious madder 'ngit-out. Every v-v-vote's a dime sale, Plunk."

  "All right," says I, "go ahead. But this'll stand Wicksville on itshead."

  Mark only grinned and wagged his head. Then he went back and printed abig sign:

  WATCH THIS WINDOW FOR OUR ANNOUNCEMENT SATURDAY

  Every Man, Woman, and Child in Wicksville Vitally Interested

  A Question That Has Been Argued For Years Will Be Settled

  When that was done Mark stood tugging at his cheek for a minute."B-better send Tallow and Binney out with the wagon again," says he.

  So he went to work making more signs for the wagon. One of them says:

  WICKSVILLE'S BURNING QUESTION SMALLEY'S BAZAR WILL SETTLE IT

  Particulars Saturday

  The other says:

  MISTER, IS YOUR WIFE PROUD OF YOU? YOU WILL SOON BE ABLE TO TELL SMALLEY'S BAZAR--SATURDAY

  We called in Tallow and Binney and explained things to them. They weremore tickled with the scheme than I was, though that last sign ofMark's did make it look more likely. By printing that thing and sendingit around town he'd practically fixed it so every woman would _have_ todo some voting for her husband or let him think she didn't set muchstore by him. It beat all how Mark seemed to understand folks. He couldsit and figure and come pretty close to guessing what anybody would doif this thing or that thing should happen. Sometimes it seemed almostlike mind-reading.

  "Now," says he, "we'll get tickets printed for votin'."

  "How many?" I says. "A hundred?"

  "Hundred," he snorted; "we'll start with f-five thousand." He was alittle mad I could see--he always stuttered worse when he was mad.

  I thought he was crazy, but there wasn't any use arguing. When onceMark Tidd gets his head set you can't move it with a crowbar. So I saidall right, and he went over to the printing-office and gave his order.

  Just before noon who should we see coming into the store butJehoshaphat P. Skip. It made me mad to see him and I'd have gone rightup and told him to use the door for going out and never to use it forcoming in again, but Mark saw what I was up to, I guess, and grabbed meby the arm.

  "B-better let me talk to Jehoshaphat," says he, and off he went beforeI could say a word.

  "G-good mornin', Mr. Skip," says he, as sweet as molasses. "How'sbusiness with you?"

  "Huh!" grunted Jehoshaphat P., and he set to twisting the little bulbon the side of his long nose.

  "Hope things are openin' up w-well for you," says Mark.

  "You do, eh? You do, do you?" snapped Mr. Skip, and you could see thered start 'way down by his Adam's apple and begin to crawl up his neck.It took quite a while to get to his face. Somehow he made you think ofa giraffe that was provoked. "I hain't come here for no talk," says he."I've come for business. Once and for all, will you stop sellin'five-and-ten-cent goods?"

  "Once and f-f-for all," says Mark, "we won't."

  Then Mr. Skip he grinned sort of mean.

  "Ever hear of a chattel mortgage?" he says.

  "Seems like I'd heard 'em mentioned," says Mark.

  "Know how they work?"

  "Can't say I d-do."

  "They're sim'lar to a mortgage on land," says Skip, "only they hain'ton land, but on chattels--which is things sich as furnitur
e andanimals--and bazars."

  "Oh," says Mark, "bazars, eh?"

  "Yes," says Skip. "You give a chattel mortgage when you got to havemoney, and you put up your furniture or your animals--or your bazar--tosecure the loan. That means if the loan hain't paid the man with thechattel mortgage can take your furniture or your animals oryour--bazar--instead of his money."

  "Um," says Mark; "looks like a d-d-dangerous kind of a deal, don't it?"

  "I'm a-goin' to show you how dangerous it is," says Skip, squinting atMark out of his mean, narrow little eyes. "I've got one of them on thisBazar."

  I almost flopped over on the floor, but Mark didn't turn a hair. He wasas startled as I was, _I'll_ bet, but he didn't let on but what he wasmore pleased about it than anything else.

  "Oh," says he, "you got one of 'em, eh? How'd you come to git it?"

  "Bought it," says Skip. "Did you know this Bazar was pretty nearbusted?"

  "We calc'lated she'd hang together a s-s-spell longer," says Mark.

  "It's been runnin' down for years," says Skip. "It would of bustedmore'n four months ago if this here Mr. Smalley that owns it hadn't ofborrowed money to pay his debts. He up and borrowed five hundreddollars and give his note and a chattel mortgage on this Bazar. That'swhat he done. And I was lookin' around yestiddy and found out about it.That's me, Jehoshaphat P. Skip. I look around--and I find out. Folksdon't want to git me down on 'em or they're sorry for it."

  "To be sure," says Mark.

  "This here mortgage and note is due six weeks from to-day," says Skip.

  "Six weeks," says Mark, slow-like. "Guess there won't be any troubleabout that, mister." Jehoshaphat P. choked and gurgled and blinked hiseyes.

  "There won't, eh? Think you can pay off five hundred dollars in sixweeks, do you?" He grinned again as mean as a cornered alley cat."Don't matter what you _think_," says he, "it can't be done. Six weeksfrom to-day _I'm_ goin' to be the owner of this Bazar."

  "If I was you," says Mark, "I w-wouldn't go spendin' any m-m-moneyyou're goin' to make runnin' this store--yet. Mister," says he,"there's fair business and there's rotten business. There's things it'sright to do to a competitor, and things a skunk would b-be ashamed of.Mister, a skunk that was well brought up, and had a f-f-family to thinkabout, wouldn't stay in the same town with _you_." He stopped forbreath and to give his jaw a rest, for the way he'd been stuttering wasenough to knock chips off his teeth. "That's what we th-th-think of_you_, mister. Now about that chattel mortgage--it'll be paid, on them-m-minute. We've got six weeks. When the six weeks are up you've gotsomething to say--but if you come into this place again before thatnote's due--if you even stick your long nose inside the door--we'llthrow you out and r-r-roll you in the mud for the whole town to see....Now, mister, git."

  I'd seen Mark pretty worked up before, but I don't recollect everwatching him when his lips got white the way they were then. His lipswere white and his cheeks were gray, and his little eyes sort of glowedlike there was a slow fire in them that was apt to break into a blaze.

  Jehoshaphat P. Skip looked at Mark and sort of caught his breath andbegan to look uneasy.

  "Git!" says Mark, again, before Skip could open his mouth.

  Jehoshaphat didn't offer to say another word--he just turned aroundquick and slunk out of the store.

  Mark stood right in his tracks for more than a minute, looking afterSkip. Then he sighed 'way down deep and blinked and turned around to me.

  "Fellers like that," says he, "ought to be shut up in the pen with thep-p-pigs. They hain't got any right minglin' with human beings."

  I was about ready to cry. There was my father in the hospital, and mymother with him. Every single thing in the world they had to supportthem was this Bazar. If it went I couldn't see what would happen--andit looked to me like it was gone. Mark saw how I felt, I guess, for hecame over and put his big hand on my shoulder, gentle-like. Youwouldn't believe how gentle and sort of comforting it was!

  "Plunk," says he, "it's a hard b-b-bump, all right. But don't getdownhearted. We'll pay that note, Plunk, and that hain't all. Beforewe're through with Jehoshaphat P. we'll tie him into a d-doublebow-knot with a pin in the middle of it.... Keep your b-backbone stiff,Plunk. We'll pull her through."

  "Mark," says I, and I wasn't much used to saying things like that,"you're--you're all _right_." And deep down inside I felt he _was_ allright--and maybe he was a bigger sort of fellow than even we three boyshad thought he was. My worry wasn't all gone, but I did feel better anda little hopeful. But five hundred dollars--and in six weeks! For thelife of me I couldn't see where it was to come from--and father'sexpenses and mother's living, too!