Alger Horatio Jr.
Strong and Steady
CHAPTER XXV.
A HARD CUSTOMER
Walter stopped long enough at Buffalo to visit Niagara Falls, as he had intended. Though he enjoyed the visit, and found the famous cataract fully up to his expectations, no incident occurred during the visit which deserves to be chronicled here. He resumed his journey, and arrived in due time at Cleveland.
He had no difficulty in finding the office of Mr. Greene, the agent of Messrs. Flint & Pusher. He found that this gentleman, besides his agency, had a book and stationery business of his own.
"I don't go out myself," he said to Walter; "but I keep a supply of Flint's books on hand, and forward them to his agents as called for. Have you done much in the business?"
"No, sir, I am only a beginner. I have done nothing yet."
"I thought not. You look too young."
"Mr. Pusher told me I had better be guided by your advice."
"I'll advise you as well as I can. First, I suppose you want to know where to go."
"Yes, sir."
"You had better go fifty miles off at least. The immediate neighborhood has been pretty well canvassed. There's C– now, a flourishing and wealthy town. Suppose you go there first."
"Very well, sir."
"It's on the line of railway. Two hours will carry you there."
"I'll go, this afternoon."
"You are prompt."
"I want to get to work as soon as possible."
"I commend your resolution. It speaks well for your success."
Walter arrived in C– in time for supper. He went to a small public house, where he found that he could board for a dollar and a half a day, or seven dollars by the week. He engaged a week's board, reflecting that he could probably work to advantage a week in so large a place, or, if not, that five days at the daily rate would amount to more than the weekly terms.
He did not at first propose to do anything that evening until it occurred to him that he might perhaps dispose of a copy of his book to the landlord in part payment for his board. He went into the public room after supper.
"Are you travelling alone?" asked the landlord, who had his share of curiosity.
"Yes," said Walter.
"Not on business?"
"Yes, on business."
"What might it be now? You are rather young to be in business."
"I am a book-agent."
"Meeting with pretty good success?"
"I'm just beginning," said Walter, smiling. "If you'll be my first customer, I'll stop with you a week."
"What kind of a book have you got?"
Walter showed it. It was got up in the usual style of subscription books, with abundance of illustrations.
"It's one of the best books we ever sent out," said Walter, in a professional way. "Just look at the number of pictures. If you've got any children, they'll like it; and, if you haven't, it will be just the book for your centre-table."
"I see you know how to talk," said the landlord, smiling. "What is the price?"
"Three dollars and a half."
"That's considerable."
"But you know I'm going to take it out in board."
"Well, that's a consideration, to be sure. A man doesn't feel it so much as if he took the money out of his pocket and paid cash down. What do you say, Mrs. Burton?" addressing his wife, who just then entered the room. "This young man wants to stay here a week, and pay partly in a book he is agent for. Shall I agree?"
"Let me see the book," said Mrs. Burton, who was a comely, pleasant-looking woman of middle age. "What's the name of it?"
"'Scenes in Bible Lands,'" said Walter.
He opened it, taking care to display and point out the pictures.
"I declare it is a nice book," said Mrs. Burton. "Is there a picture of Jerusalem?"
"Here it is," said Walter, who happened to know just where to find it. "Isn't it a good picture? And there are plenty more as good. It's a book that ought to be in every family."
"Really, Mr. Burton, I don't know but we might as well take it," said the landlady. "He takes it out in board, you know."
"Just as you say," said the landlord. "I am willing."
"Then I'll take the book. Emma will like to look at it."
So Walter made the first sale, on which he realized a profit of one dollar and a quarter.
"It's a pretty easy way to earn money," he reflected with satisfaction, "if I can only sell copies enough. One copy sold will pay for a day's board."
He went to bed early, and enjoyed a sound and refreshing sleep. He was cheered with hopes of success on the morrow. If he could sell four copies a day, that would give him a profit of five dollars, and five dollars would leave him a handsome profit after paying expenses.
The next morning after breakfast he started out, carrying with him three books. Knowing nothing of the residents of the village, he could only judge by the outward appearance of their houses. Seeing a large and handsome house standing back from the street, he decided to call.
"The people living here must be rich," he thought. "They won't mind paying three dollars and a half for a nice book."
Accordingly he walked up the gravelled path and rang the front-door bell. The door was opened by a housemaid.
"Is the lady of the house at home?" asked Walter.
"Do you want to see her?"
"Yes."
"Then wait here, and I'll tell her."
A tall woman, with a thin face and a pinched expression, presented herself after five minutes.
"Well, young man," she asked, after a sharp glance, "what is your business?"
Her expression was not very encouraging, but Walter was bound not to lose an opportunity.
"I should like to show you a new book, madam," he commenced, "a book of great value, beautifully illustrated, which is selling like wildfire."
"How many copies have you sold?" inquired the lady, sharply.
"One," answered Walter, rather confused.
"Do you call that selling like wildfire?" she demanded with sarcasm.
"I only commenced last evening," said Walter, "I referred to the sales of other agents."
"What's the name of the book?"
"'Scenes in Bible Lands.'"
"Let me see it."
Walter displayed the book.
"Look at the beautiful pictures," he said.
"I don't see anything remarkable about them. The binding isn't very strong. Shouldn't wonder if the book would go to pieces in a week."
"I don't think there'll be any trouble that way," said Walter.
"If it does, you'll be gone, so it won't trouble you."
"With ordinary care it will hold long enough."
"Oh, yes, of course you'd say so. I expected it. How much do you charge for the book?"
"Three dollars and a half."
"Three dollars and a half!" repeated the woman. "You seem to think people are made of money."
"I don't fix the price, madam," said Walter, rather provoked. "The publishers do that."
"I warrant they make two-thirds profit. Don't they now?"
"I don't know," said Walter. "I don't know anything about the cost of publishing books; but this is a large one, and there are a great many pictures in it. They must have cost considerable."
"Seems to me it's ridiculous to ask such a price for a book. Why, it's enough to buy a nice dress pattern!"
"The book will last longer than the dress," said Walter.
"But it is not so necessary. I'll tell you what I'll do. I'd like the book well enough to put on my parlor-table. I'll give you two dollars for it."
"Two dollars!" ejaculated Walter, scarcely crediting the testimony of his ears.
"Yes, two dollars; and I warrant you'll make money enough then."
"I should lose money," said Walter. "I couldn't think of accepting such an offer."
"In my opinion there isn't any book worth even two dollars."
"I see we can't trade," said Walter, disgusted at such meanness in a lady who occupied so large a house, and might be supposed to have plenty of money.
He began to replace the book in its brown-paper covering.
"I don't know but I might give you twenty-five cents more. Come now, I'll give you two dollars and a quarter."
"I can't take it," said Walter, shortly. "Three dollars and a half is the price, and I will not take a cent less."
"You won't get it out of me then," retorted the lady, slamming the door in displeasure.
Walter had already made up his mind to this effect, and had started on his way to the gate.
"I wonder if I shall meet many people like her," he thought, and his courage was rather damped.
CHAPTER XXVI.
BUSINESS EXPERIENCES
Walter began to think that selling books would prove a harder and more disagreeable business than he anticipated. He had been brought face to face with meanness and selfishness, and they inspired him with disgust and indignation. Not that he expected everybody to buy his books, even if they could afford it. Still it was not necessary to insult him by offering half price.
He walked slowly up the street, wondering if he should meet any more such customers. On the opposite side of the street he noticed a small shoemaker's shop.
"I suppose it is of no use to go in there," thought Walter. "If they won't buy at a big house, there isn't much chance here."
Still he thought he would go in. He had plenty of time on his hands, and might as well let slip no chance, however small.
He pushed open the door, and found himself in a shop about twenty-five feet square, littered up with leather shavings and finished and unfinished shoes. A boy of fourteen was pegging, and his father, a man of middle age, was finishing a shoe.
"Good-morning," said Walter.
"Good-morning," said the shoemaker, turning round. "Do you want a pair of shoes this morning?"
"No," said Walter, "I didn't come to buy, but to sell."
"Well, what have you got to sell?"
"A subscription book, finely illustrated."
"What's the name of it?"
"'Scenes in Bible Lands.'"
"Let me look at it."
He wiped his hands on his apron, and, taking the book, began to turn over the leaves.
"It seems like a good book," he said. "Does it sell well?"
"Yes, it sells largely. I have only just commenced, but other agents are doing well on it."
"You are rather young for an agent."
"Yes, but I'm old enough to work, and I'm going to give this a fair trial."
"That's the way to talk. How much do you expect to get for this book?"
"The price is three dollars and a half."
"It's rather high."
"But there are a good many pictures. Those are what cost money."
"Yes, I suppose they do. Well, I've a great mind to take one."
"I don't think you'll regret it. A good book will give you pleasure for a long time."
"That's so. Well, here's the money;" and the shoemaker drew out five dollars from a leather pocket-book. "Can you give me the change?"
"With pleasure."
Walter was all the more pleased at effecting this sale because it was unexpected. He had expected to sell a book at the great house he had just called at, but thought that the price of the book might deter the shoemaker, whose income probably was not large. He thought he would like to know the name of the lady with whom he had such an unpleasant experience.
"Can you tell me," he inquired, "who lives in that large house a little way up the street?"
"You didn't sell a book there, did you?" asked the shoemaker, laughing.
"No, but I got an offer of two dollars for one."
"That's just like Mrs. Belknap," returned the other. "She has the name of being the meanest woman for miles around."
"It can't be for want of money. She lives in a nice house."
"Oh, she's rich enough,—the richest woman in town. When her husband was alive—old Squire Belknap—she wasn't quite so scrimping, for he was free-handed and liberal himself; but now she's a widow, she shows out her meanness. So she offered you two dollars?"
"Yes, but she afterwards offered twenty-five cents more."
"Then she must have wanted the book. She makes it her boast that no peddler ever took her in, and I guess she's about right."
"I hope there are not many such people in town. If there are, I shall get discouraged."
"We've got our share of mean people, I expect, but she's the worst."
"Well, I suppose I must be going. Thank you for your purchase."
"That's all right. If I like the book as well as I expect, I'll thank you."
Walter left the shoemaker's shop with considerably higher spirits than he entered. His confidence in human nature, which had been rudely shaken by Mrs. Belknap, was in a degree restored, and his prospects looked brighter than a few minutes before.
"I wonder who'll make the next purchase?" he thought.
He stopped at a plain two-story house a little further up the road. The door was opened by an old lady.
"What do you want?" she asked.
"I am agent for an excellent book," commenced Walter.
"Oh, you're a peddler," broke in the old lady, without waiting to hear him through.
"I suppose I may be called so."
"Are you the man that was round last spring selling jewelry?"
"No, I have never been here before."
"I don't know whether to believe you or not," said the old lady. "Your voice sounds like his. I can't see very well, for I've mislaid my specs. If you're the same man, I'll have you took up for selling bogus jewelry."
"But I'm not the same one."
"I don't know. The man I spoke of sold my darter a gold ring for a dollar, that turned out to be nothing but brass washed over. 'Twa'n't worth five cents."
"I'm sorry you got cheated, but it isn't my fault."
"Wait a minute, I'll call my darter."
In reply to her mother's call a tall maiden lady of forty advanced to the door, with some straw in her hand, for she was braiding straw.
"What's wanted, mother?" she asked.
"Isn't this the same man that sold you that ring?"
"La, no, mother. He was a man of forty-five, and this is only a boy."
"I s'pose you must be right, but I can't see without my specs. Well, I'm sorry you're not the one, for I'd have had you took up onless you'd give back the dollar."
Under the circumstances Walter himself was not sorry that there was no chance of identifying him with his knavish predecessor.
"What have you got to sell?" asked the younger woman.
"A book beautifully illustrated, called 'Scenes in Bible Lands.' Will you allow me to show it to you?"
"He seems quite polite," said the old lady, now disposed to regard Walter more favorably. "Won't you come in?"
Walter entered, and was shown into a small sitting-room, quite plainly furnished. The book was taken from him, and examined for a considerable length of time by the daughter, who, however, announced at the end that though she should like it very much, she couldn't afford to pay the price. As the appearance of the house bore out her assertion, Walter did not press the purchase, but was about to replace the book under his arm, when she said suddenly, "Wait a minute. There's Mrs. Thurman just coming in. Perhaps she'll buy one of your books."
Walter was of course perfectly willing to wait on the chance of a sale.
Mrs. Thurman was the wife of a trader in good circumstances, and disposed to spend liberally, according to her means. Walter was not obliged to recommend his book, for this was done by the spinster, who was disinterestedly bent on making a sale. So he sat quiet, a passive but interested auditor, while Miss Nancy Sprague extolled the book for him.
"It does seem like an excellent book," said Mrs. Thurman, looking at the pictures.
"Just the thing for your Delia," suggested Miss Nancy; "I am sure she would like it."
"That reminds me to-morrow is Delia's birthday."
"Then give her the book for a birthday present."
"I had intended to buy her something else. Still I am not sure but this would suit her quite as well."
"I am sure it would," responded Miss Nancy.
"Then I will take it. Young man, how much do you ask for your book?"
"Three dollars and a half."
Mrs. Thurman paid the money, and received the book.
"I am much obliged to you," said Walter, addressing Miss Nancy, "for recommending my book."
"You're quite welcome," said Miss Nancy, who felt some satisfaction at gaining her point, though it would not benefit her any. "I'm sure you are quite polite for a peddler, and I hope you'll excuse mother for making such a mistake about you."
"That is of no consequence," said Walter, smiling. "I think if your mother had had her glasses on she would not have made such a mistake."
He left the house still farther encouraged. But during the next hour he failed to sell another copy. At length he managed to sell a third. As these were all he had brought out, and he was feeling rather tired, he went back to the tavern, and did not come out again till after dinner. He had sold three copies and cleared three dollars and seventy-five cents, which he was right in regarding as very fair success.
CHAPTER XXVII.
A CABIN IN THE WOODS
Walter found a good dinner ready for him at twelve o'clock, which he enjoyed the more because he felt that he had earned it in advance. He waited till about two o'clock, and again set out, this time in a different direction. As it takes all sorts of people to make a world, so the reception he met with at different places differed. In some he was received politely; in others he was treated as a humbug. But Walter was by this time getting accustomed to his position, and found that he must meet disagreeable people with as good humor as he could command. One farmer was willing to take the book if he would accept pay in apples, of which he offered him two barrels; but this offer he did not for a moment entertain, judging that he would find it difficult to carry about the apples, and probably difficult to dispose of them. However, he managed to sell two copies, though he had to call at twenty places to do it. Nevertheless, he felt well repaid by the degree of success he met with.
"Five books sold to-day!" thought Walter, complacently, as he started on his walk home. "That gives me six dollars and a quarter profit. I wish I could keep that up."
But our young merchant found that he was not likely to keep up such sales. The next day he sold but two copies, and the day succeeding three. Still for three days and a half the aggregate sale was eleven copies, making a clear profit of thirteen dollars and seventy-five cents. At the end of the week he had sold twenty copies; but to make up this number he had been obliged to visit one or two neighboring villages.
He now prepared to move on. The next place at which he proposed to stop for a few days we will call Bolton. He had already written to Cleveland for a fresh supply of books to be forwarded to him there. He had but two books left, and his baggage being contained in a small valise, he decided to walk this distance, partly out of economy, but principally because it would enable him to see the country at his leisure. During the first five miles he succeeded in selling both books, which relieved him of the burden of carrying them, leaving him only his valise.
Walter was strong and stout, and enjoyed his walk. There was a freshness and novelty about his present mode of life, which he liked. He did not imagine he should like to be a book-agent all his life, but for a time he found it quite agreeable.
He stopped under the shade of a large elm and ate the lunch which he had brought with him from the inn. The sandwiches and apples were good, and, with the addition of some water from a stream near by, made a very acceptable lunch. When he resumed his walk after resting a couple of hours, the weather had changed. In the morning it was bright sunshine. Now the clouds had gathered, and a storm seemed imminent. To make matters worse, Walter had managed to stray from the road. He found himself walking in a narrow lane, lined on either side by thick woods. Soon the rain come pattering down, at first in small drops, but quickly poured down in a drenching shower. Walter took refuge in the woods, congratulating himself that he had sold the books, which otherwise would have run the risk of being spoiled.
"I wish there were some house near by in which I could rest," thought Walter. The prospect of being benighted in the woods in such weather was far from pleasant.
Looking around anxiously, he espied a small foot-path, which he followed, hoping, but hardly expecting, that it might lead to some place of refuge. To his agreeable surprise he emerged after a few minutes into a small clearing, perhaps half an acre in extent, in the middle of which was a rough cabin. It was a strange place for a house, but, rude as it was, Walter hailed its appearance with joy. At all events it promised protection from the weather, and the people who occupied it would doubtless be willing to give him, for pay of course, supper and lodging. Probably the accommodations would not be first class, but our hero was prepared to take what he could get, and be thankful for it. Accordingly he advanced fearlessly and pounded on the door with his fist, as there was neither bell nor knocker.
The door not being opened immediately, he pounded again. This time a not particularly musical voice was heard from within:—
"Is that you, Jack?"
"No," answered Walter, "it isn't Jack."
His voice was probably recognized as that of a boy, and any apprehension that might have been felt by the person within was dissipated. Walter heard a bolt withdrawn, and the door opening revealed a tall, gaunt, bony woman, who eyed him in a manner which could not be considered very friendly or cordial.
"Who are you?" she demanded abruptly, keeping the door partly closed.
"I am a book-agent," said Walter.
"Do you expect to sell any books here?" asked the woman, with grim humor.
"No," said Walter, "but I have been caught in the storm, and lost my way. Can I stop here over night if the storm should hold on?"
"This isn't a tavern," said the woman, ungraciously.
"No, I suppose not," said Walter; "but it will be a favor to me if you will take me in, and I will pay you whatever you think right. I suppose there is no tavern near by."
He half hoped there might be, for he had already made up his mind that this would not be a very agreeable place to stop at.
"There's one five miles off," said the woman.
"That's too far to go in such weather. If you'll let me stay here, I will pay you whatever you ask in advance."
"Humph!" said the woman, doubtfully, "I don't know how Jack will like it."
As Walter could know nothing of the sentiments of the Jack referred to, he remained silent, and waited for the woman to make up her mind, believing that she would decide in his favor.
He proved to be right.
"Well," she said, half unwillingly, "I don't know but I'll take you in, though it isn't my custom to accommodate travellers."
"I will try not to give you much trouble," said Walter, relieved to find that he was sure of food and shelter.
"Humph!" responded the woman.
She led the way into the building, which appeared to contain two rooms on the first floor, and probably the same number of chambers above. There was no entry, but the door opened at once into the kitchen.
"Come up to the fire if you're wet," said the woman.
The invitation was hospitable, but the manner was not. However, Walter was glad to accept the invitation, without thinking too much of the manner in which it was expressed, for his clothes were pretty well saturated by the rain. There was no stove, but an old brick fireplace, on which two stout logs were burning. There was one convenience at least about living in the woods. Fuel was abundant, and required nothing but the labor of cutting it.
"I think I'll take off my shoes," said Walter.
"You can if you want to," said his grim hostess.
He extended his wet feet towards the fire, and felt a sense of comfort stealing over him. He could hear the rain falling fiercely against the sides of the cabin, and felt glad that he was not compelled to stand the brunt of the storm.
He looked around him guardedly, not wishing to let his hostess see that he was doing so, for she looked like one who might easily be offended. The room seemed remarkably bare of furniture. There was an unpainted table, and there were also three chairs, one of which had lost its back. These were plain wooden chairs, and though they appeared once to have been painted, few vestiges of the original paint now remained. On a shelf were a few articles of tin, but no articles of crockery were visible, except two cracked cups. Walter had before this visited the dwellings of the poor, but he had never seen a home so poorly provided with what are generally regarded as the necessaries of life.
"I wonder what Lem would say if he should see me now," thought Walter, his thoughts going back to the Essex Classical Institute, and the friend whose studies he shared. They seemed far away, those days of careless happiness, when as yet the burdens of life were unfelt and scarcely even dreamed of. Did Walter sigh for their return? I think not, except on one account. His father was then alive, and he would have given years of his own life to recall that loved parent from the grave. But I do not think he would have cared, for the present at least, to give up his business career, humble though it was, and go back to his studies. He enjoyed the novelty of his position. He enjoyed even his present adventure, in spite of the discomforts that attended it, and there was something exciting in looking about him, and realizing that he was a guest in a rough cabin in the midst of the woods, a thousand miles away from home.
Guarded as he had been in looking around him, it did not escape without observation.
"Well, young man, this is a poor place, isn't it?" asked the woman, suddenly.
"I don't know," said Walter, wishing to be polite.
"That's what you're thinkin', I'll warrant," said the woman. "Well, you're not obliged to stay, if you don't want to."
"But I do want to, and I am very much obliged to you for consenting to take me," said Walter, hastily.
"You said you would pay in advance," said the woman.
"So I will," said Walter, taking out his pocket-book, "if you will tell me how much I am to pay."
"You may give me a dollar," said the woman.
Walter drew out a roll of bills, and, finding a one-dollar note, handed it to the woman.
She took it, glancing covetously at the remaining money which he replaced in his pocket-book. Walter noticed the glance, and, though he was not inclined to be suspicious, it gave him a vague feeling of anxiety.
