"Chet" (Yates)/Chapter 10
THE next piece of news was when Dad told me that he had hired Uncle Rob to clerk in the store for the Winter. I was mighty pleased, but I knew that Uncle Rob had never clerked before, and that he was up against something which was going to give him some experience that would make his hair curl, and so I felt a little bit sorry for him. You see, our store was the kind that you always find in a town of about ten or twelve thousand people, and carried about everything outside of dry-goods and groceries and hardware. It was a big three-story brick building, and there were pianos, and organs, and silverware, and plush goods, and books, and stationery, and pictures, and a picture-framing department upstairs, and toys, and holiday stuff,—and five million other things. It takes some time to learn a stock like that. I knew it pretty well, because I'd been browsing around the place ever since I was big enough to walk, and so Dad said I'd better go down with Uncle Rob the first day, which was Saturday, so as to show him the ropes. I didn't mind at all for there were a lot of new goods just in, and I wanted to see what sort of stuff Dad had been getting.
Well, that morning we got down at eight o'clock sharp, and I took him behind the counter right off and began opening drawers and boxes to show him where things were. Dad was back in the office, and the cashier, Miss Weed, was at her desk. The first person to come in was a school-teacher. She walked up to the counter in front of Uncle Rob. "Reward cards," she said.
"Yes, madam," said Uncle Rob, and led the way down the store as if he had been at that sort of thing all his life. He remembered the shelf that I had showed him, and he took down the stack of big sheets that had the sample cards pasted onto them, and laid it on the show-case before her. They were pieces of white pasteboard about ten by fifteen inches, all the same size, and each had four or five cards pasted on, showing one of each design in the set; and at the top, printed in big letters, was the price and the number of cards in the package.
The woman turned the sheets over for a moment. "I don't want such big ones," she said.
"Here are some that are not so large," said Uncle Rob, drawing out a sample of smaller ones.
The woman looked at them. "Those are too big," she said.
Uncle Rob turned over the pile and brought out some about two inches square.
The woman scowled. "They're too big, I say," she said.
Uncle Rob looked at her and then at me. "Have you any smaller ones?" he asked me. I shook my head. I wanted to suggest that she get the kids postage stamps; but I didn't dare.
"We have no smaller ones," said Uncle Rob.
The woman scowled again. "What's in those boxes?" she said, pointing to the stock, up in the shelves.
"Those are the same cards which you have here," said Uncle Rob, laying his hand on the pile of samples.
The woman looked at the samples and then back at the boxes, and her eyes got narrow. She held up one of the sheets. "Do you mean to tell me," she said, "that these cards are in those boxes up there?"
"Yes, madam," said Uncle Rob, looking bewildered.
The woman began to get excited. She held up the sheet in both hands and fairly shoved it into Uncle Rob's face. "You tell me that a card the size of that, is in one of those little boxes—"
"Yes, madam,—" and then suddenly Uncle Rob saw the point. "Oh, I beg your pardon!" he said, "You have there just the sample sheet, you know. This is the size of the card," and he drew his pencil around the outline of one of the cards on the sheet.
"It is? Well, why didn't you say so?"
Uncle Rob didn't reply, but spread out the sheets on the show-case.
"How much are these?" asked the woman.
"Fifteen cents a package," said Uncle Rob. "The price is right here at the top of all of them," and he put his pencil on the figures.
"How many in a package?"
"Ten," and his pencil followed to the figures.
The woman pushed the sheet aside and picked up another. "How much are these?"
"Twenty-five cents a package," and his pencil pointed to the printed price again.
"How many in a package?"
"Ten."
"Are there ten in all the packages?"
"I believe so."
"How much are these?"
"Fifteen cents."
"How many in a package?"
"Ten," said Uncle Rob.
"And these?" She was holding it with her thumb over the price.
"I—I can't see," said Uncle Rob, reaching out his hand for the sheet.
"Don't you know the price of your goods?"
Uncle Rob bit his lip, then he smiled. "Not always, without looking at the mark," he said.
The woman sniffed, then she shifted her thumb.
"Ten cents," said Uncle Rob.
"How many in a package?"
Her thumb was over the other figures by this time, and so Uncle Rob made a guess. "Ten," he said.
"Well, I'll take a package of those." She laid down the sheet, and there, where her thumb had been was the figure "8." I snickered.
Uncle Rob pressed his lips together for a moment, then: "I beg your pardon, madam," he said, "there are only eight in this package."
"You said ten." The woman looked at him as if she had caught him trying to cheat her.
"I was mistaken," said Uncle Rob, quietly.
She threw the sheet aside and looked some more. By and by she picked up another, "Let me see some of these," she said.
Uncle Rob hesitated. "How many packages do you wish?" he asked pleasantly.
"I said I wanted to see them," said the woman.
"There is a sample of each card, on the sheet," said Uncle Rob. You see, I had told him not to get out the cards themselves, except to sell them, because that was the rule.
The woman glared at him. "I say I want to see them," she said.
Uncle Rob glanced at me helplessly, and then turned to the shelves and found the box and laid one of the packages before her. She took it, broke the paper band, and spread the cards out among the samples, then she shoved them aside and picked up another sample sheet. "Let me see these," she said.
"They are all there on the sheet, madam," said Uncle Rob; "See, here is one card like each one in the package."
The woman set her lips. "I say I want to see the package."
Uncle Rob looked at me again, and then turned and found the box and handed her a package. She scattered that, like the other, and then said, "Let me see some of these."
Uncle Rob didn't say a word; he just meekly turned around and took down the box. She took out one package and scattered the cards, and then another, and then asked to see some more.
Uncle Rob had got beyond saying a thing;—he just looked sort of dazed, and for half an hour he stood there and handed her out packages of reward cards; and then she picked up her purse and shopping bag. "I may be in again this afternoon," she said; "I want to see what they've got at Wagner's and at Martin's," and she walked off down the store.
Uncle Rob watched her out of the door, and then looked down at the stack of cards and sample sheets on the counter; then he looked at me and wabbled back against the shelving. "Chet," he said, putting up his hands as if to ward off something, "Chet, she says she's coming back! Is there a place under any of these counters where I can duck in a hurry?" Then he pointed at the counter;—"Is that why you said not to get out the packages?"
"Yep," I said.
He nodded his head. "Chester," he said, "it is a very wise rule; but the lady had a very compelling way with her, did you happen to notice that? It would almost seem as if she got the better of me, wouldn't it?"
"It pretty near would," I said.
"I want to tell you, though, Chester, that I am very happy;—I don't know when I have been happier,—I was happy all the time she was here."
"You managed to hide it fairly well," I said.
"Deceitful appearances, my dear Chester. My joy and self-gratulation in that I don't have to go to school to her, nearly overwhelmed me."
"You looked overwhelmed all right enough," I said.
"Yes," he said, "I should dislike to go to school to a woman like that,—I should have such a hard time reforming her."
Uncle Rob was sorting out the cards and putting new bands on the packages, and matching them with the samples so as to get them into the right boxes, when Dad came along. He stopped and looked at the pile. "Chester," he said, "you ought to have told Robert that it wasn't necessary to get out the cards; because they are all on the sample sheets. See, Robert, there is one card of each pattern, on a sheet, and the price, and number in a package, is printed right there at the top."
"Yes, sir," said Uncle Rob, meekly, and Dad passed on.
Just then an old farmer came in and walked up to the counter. "I want a horse book," he said.
"Yes, sir," said Uncle Rob, and started down the store. As he passed me he whispered; "What the dickens is a horse book?"
"A book about raising horses," I answered. "They're back there with the dialogue books and short cuts to arithmetic."
He got it all right, and sold it without any trouble, and left the cash-desk just as a man came up and asked for a mortgage. He'd left a farm wagon at the curb.
Uncle Rob looked doubtful. "A—a mortgage on what?"
"Why, just a mortgage," said the man.
"He-wants-a-blank-form," said the cashier,—she always talks very fast and runs her words together,—"In-the-upper-drawer-there-with-the-legal-blanks."
Uncle Rob pulled open the drawer and began laying out the packages of forms. By and by he came to the package marked "Mortgages," and was just taking one out, when the cashier craned her neck to look at the label and then said to the man; "Did—you-want-it-with-or-without-dower?"
The man stared at her. "Well—I—" he began.
"Give-it-to-him-with-and-then-if-he-doesn't-want-it-he-can-scratch-it-out."
"Well—I—" began the man again; but the cashier pointed to one of the packages.
"That's-it."
Uncle Rob took out the blank and rolled it in paper, and the man paid for it hesitatingly, and went away.
Five minutes after, while Uncle Rob was helping one of the high-school girls to choose a novel, in came the man again, out of breath and his face red. "This ain't right," he said, holding out the roll.
Uncle Rob saw that it hadn't been undone; for he recognized his style of wrapping. "What's the matter with it?" he asked.
"'T ain't right," said the man. "The lady over there," and he pointed the roll at the cashier, "said something about a widder without dower, and there ain't no widder in the deal."
The cashier's jaw dropped. "I—I—" she began; but I was at her elbow.
"'With-or-without-dower,'—'widder without dower,'" I mimicked. Down went her head onto the desk, and I stuffed my handkerchief into my mouth.
Uncle Rob saw the point right off, and I never in my life saw any one make such a heroic effort not to laugh. I thought fora moment that it would come out in spite of all he could do; but I hoped it wouldn't; for the man was so uncomfortable already. Uncle Rob closed his eyes for just a second,—it wasn't more than a mere blink, and then he held out his hand for the package and smiled just as naturally as could be. "I'm sorry I made a mistake," he said, "I'll fix it," and he went back to the drawer and got out another form just like the one in the roll, and wrapped it up and handed it to him. "You'll find that one is all right," he said, "I'm sorry you had to come back."
The flushed look went out of the man's face and he began to breathe easier. "Oh, that's all right," he said; "I didn't mind coming back; but of course I didn't want the wrong thing."
"Of course not," said Uncle Rob, and the man went out of the door, satisfied.
After the high-school girl was gone, a lot of college students came in, and Uncle Rob got their books for them without any trouble, except when one of them asked for a call-book, and he handed out a book on etiquette instead of on quadrille figures;—but the other fellow got laughed at wotse than Uncle Rob did;—and then Mr. Wright came in.
Mr. Wright is an old man who has a little store on the other side of the river, and he comes in every Saturday, with a basket on his arm, to stock up, and he always has to have Dad wait on him. As soon as I saw him coming, I skipped back to the office for Dad, and found him talking violins with Judge Shelby. Dad doesn't know anything about violins, and Judge Shelby does, and so they certainly do have great arguments. Dad hasn't any sense of humor, anyway.
Well, that day, when I saw Judge Shelby there, I knew it was going to be a long pull and a strong pull to get Dad out to look after Mr. Wright. I told him who was there, though, and he said, "Yes, in a minute," and I went back.
In ten minutes Mr. Wright began to get nervous, and I went again and said:—"Dad, Mr. Wright is in a hurry."
"Yes, in a minute," said Dad,—and was deep in the argument again.
I went out, and Uncle Rob and I tried to interest the old gentleman for another ten minutes,—then I went to the office again.
"Yes, in a minute," said Dad, not changing his voice from the level of his argument with Judge Shelby.
I went and asked Mr. Wright if I couldn't show him some of the things he wanted, because Dad was "busy." He didn't like it much; but said he wanted to see some pop-guns.
I took him back to the toy section and got out some long, striped wooden ones with a cork in one end and a sort of a piston in the other. He said those would do all right; but of course I didn't know the trade-price on them, and so I went to the office with one.
Dad was deeper than ever in the argument. I held up the pop-gun and said:—"How much, to Mr. Wright?"
Dad didn't stop talking to Judge Shelby; but he reached out and took the gun, and pulled the cork out and looked into the hole, and then put it back, shoved the stick up and down a few times, and then handed it back and went on talking to Judge Shelby.
I stood and waited for a while, and then I heard Mr. Wright shuffling outside of the door, and I held it out again:—"Mr. Wright wants to know how much for a dozen."
Dad took it again, stopped talking, and turned it over and over in his hand and tried the stick again. "Yes," he said, "a violin may have a good tone, Judge Shelby, even if the neck isn't—"
"Dad," I said, "Mr. Wright wants to know how much those pop-guns are."
Dad stopped and looked at me and at the pop-gun, and then he began to get to his feet. Mr. Wright and Uncle Rob had gradually worked over to the office and were standing just outside of the door. "Yes," went on Dad, "a neck like that doesn't hinder the tone; but it won't hold,—the strings will always be running down." He was get ting toward the door, with the pop-gun in his hand, and his voice grew bigger and more emphatic as he came to the wind-up; "I tell you, Judge Shelby, a thing like that will never, never be a success!" He reached the door and finished his opinion at the same moment; and then he sort of waked up, and almost ran over Mr. Wright; and then his business smile suddenly came into his face, and he held out his hand.
"Good-morning, Mr. Pop-gun," he said.
And then Uncle Rob and I disgraced ourselves. I dived into the office, and Uncle Rob followed, and Dad looked after us with surprise and disapproval, and then turned to the old gentleman:—"I beg your pardon, I should have said Mr. Wright,"—and neither he nor Mr. Wright nor Judge Shelby, so much as cracked a smile. And afterwards, when he was calling me down for laughing, and I kept on giggling every time I thought of it," he said; "Well, I don't see anything funny about that, I merely misspoke, that was all." I told you he had no sense of humor.
By and by Dad went to dinner, and Uncle Rob and I waited for him to come back before going toours. The cashier got back first, and just behind her, came an old lady. The old lady went up to Uncle Rob, and he said, "Yes, madam," and turned around and went to looking in one of the shelves of books. He looked and looked, and by and by I said to the cashier, "What do you suppose he's looking for among those dialogue books and things?"
"I-d'know," she said.
Uncle Rob kept on looking, and then after a while he seemed to get discouraged, and he came over to where we were. "Where do you keep the hen books?" he asked.
"The wh-what?" I asked.
"The hen books," he said, confidently.
"Well, what's a hen book?" said I.
"Why, I suppose it's a book about raising hens. You said a horse book was one about raising horses."
"We haven't got any," I said.
The cashier got down from her stool and walked over behind the show-case where the old lady was standing, and Uncle Rob and I sidled over near them. The cashier is awfully little, not so tall as Bess, and her shoulders were hardly on a level with the top of the show-case; but she smiled up at the old lady. "What-was-it-you-wanted?" she asked.
"A hemn book,—Gospel Hemns and Sacred Songs."
Uncle Rob and I ducked into the office again. "A hen book!" I gasped, holding my sides and rocking in the desk-chair.
Uncle Rob clasped his hands and rolled his eyes. "Ye gods! Suppose I'd handed her a book on chicken farming!"
The cashier wrapped up the book and when the—old lady had gone out, she went back to put away the stock that was left out; and just then a young man came in. We could see him through the glass partition of the office; but we didn't dare to go out just then, because we hadn't got through laughing. The man wore eye-glasses and looked like a drummer, and he walked up to the show-case where Miss Weed was gathering up the books, and smiled down at her, in such a pleased way.
"Is your papa in, dear?" he asked.
Miss Weed sort of gasped and looked up at him, and then a funny little shine came into her eyes. "No, sir," she said, kind of shyly.
"And are you waiting on customers all by yourself?" he asked in over-affected astonishment.
"Yes, sir," said Miss Weed.
"My, my!—and how old are you?"
"Twenty-seven, sir," said Miss Weed, in her natural voice.
The man's mouth positively fell open. "I—I beg your pardon, Miss,—I certainly do—I had no idea—" and just then Dad hove in sight, and we grabbed our hats and made for the open air.
After dinner things went along quite smoothly; only they did get one joke on me. Dad was upstairs taking an order for some picture frames, when a tall German came in and asked for him. I said that he would be down in a few minutes, and so the man decided to wait, and began strolling about the store and looking at things. He'd been in before, and knew who I was, and in a little while he came over to where I was standing, by the cashier's desk, and asked, in a business-like tone:—"Haf you any brooders?"
"Any what?" I said.
"Brooders,—haf you any brooders?"
I was quite sure that I wasn't understanding him, and so I turned to Miss Weed. "Have we?" I asked.
"What is it?" asked Miss Weed.
I didn't want to try to say it, and so I turned to the man, for him to say it again.
He looked surprised. "I ask the young man if he haf any brooders," he said, "und he ask you!"
Miss Weed thought for a minute, and then she shook her head. "I don't know," she said; "but I don't think so."
I didn't want to miss a sale by not knowing the stock, and so I looked pleasant and said, "I'll ask Dad when he comes down;—he'll be here in just a minute."
"Mine Gott in Himmel!" said the man, pounding on the counter and talking to the atmosphere, "I ask the young man if he haf any brooders—any brooders or sisters—und he say he not know!—und he ask the lady, und she say she not know!—und den he say he vill ask his fader, ven he come! Mine Gott! Mine Gott!"
Dad explained things when he came down, though. He said that probably I had not understood what Mr. Burger said.
Uncle Rob got on finely all the afternoon, only he kept on having experiences. Once an old woman came in and asked to see some birthday cards. He led the way to the case and spread them out before her. She looked for a long time, and by and by she said.
"You see, my granddaughter got one here last week, to take to a birthday party, and she lost it. It cost fifteen cents,—which are your fifteen-cent ones?"
Uncle Rob sorted some out, and she kept on talking while she looked them over:—"Yes, and I told her I'd come in and get her another one. The party ain't till Monday night. Don't you think this is a right pretty one?"
"Yes," said Uncle Rob, "I think that is especially nice."
"I guess that 'I'll do, then. Will you give me an envelope for it? She said the other one had an envelope."
He put it in an envelope and then wrapped some paper around it and held it out to her. She took it and said "Thank you," and started for the door.
"Well—h-m—you—" began Uncle Rob.
"What say?" said the old lady, turning around.
Uncle Rob smiled cheerfully. "You forgot to pay me for it," he said.
"Pay you for it!" said the old lady, looking astonished; "Why, I told you my granddaughter lost the one she got."
"But did she lose it here in the store?"
"No, she said it was in her basket when she got into the buck-board; but the cover blowed off on the way home, and the card must of blowed out."
Uncle Rob looked at her.
"I told her I was sure you'd make it all right," said the old lady.
Uncle Rob opened his mouth—and then he shut it again. "Yes 'm," he said, at last, "that is all right; we're glad of the opportunity to make it up to you."
"I thought you would be," and the old lady trotted out of the store.
Uncle Rob reached into his pocket and fished out a nickel and a dime and laid them on the cash-desk. "It's worth it," he said; "I wouldn't disturb her confidence for twice that; and besides, I could never have made her understand in a thousand years. Is every day like this, Chet?"
"No," I said; "but Saturday always brings a lot of this sort of thing, and we've got a little more than usual to-day, that's all."
About four o'clock a young woman came in. Uncle Rob had been having good luck for about an hour, and had begun to think that he was the real thing in clerks; and so when she asked for note paper, he gave a glance at me, as much as to say: "Watch me," and began taking down boxes. "Now here's some in octavo size, seashell tint," he said.
"It isn't large enough," said the young woman.
"Well, here's the same thing in commercial size. This has the long envelope, you see."
"No, I want it white," said the young woman.
Out came a box of white.
"No," she shook her head and frowned, "that isn't the kind. I want it striped."
"Oh!" said Uncle Rob, and brought out some ruled paper.
"No," she said, "that isn't the kind either,—it's larger than that."
"Here's letter size," said Uncle Rob; "but you said note paper."
"Well, that's what I want," said the young woman; "haven't you got any note paper?"
Uncle Rob looked at the clutter of boxes and loose sheets, and than at her. "Don't any of these suit you, madam?" he asked.
"No, they aren't what I want at all,—I want it bigger."
Uncle Rob didn't say a word; but went to a drawer and brought out a sheet of foolscap.
"No," she said, "I told you I wanted it striped."
Uncle Rob pointed to the ruling.
"No, not that kind of stripes."
"Oh!" suddenly a light broke over Uncle Rob's face and he went back to the drawer and brought out, with an air of triumph, a sheet of legal-cap with a red line down the left-hand margin.
But the woman shook her head. "No," she said, "that isn't it, at all."
"What did you intend to use it for?" asked Uncle Rob, patiently.
"Why, to write notes on, of course. I said note paper, didn't I?—just ordinary note paper!"
Uncle Rob stood and looked at her helplessly, and just then Dad came along and she saw him. "Oh!" she exclaimed, "here's Mr. Williams! Mr. Williams, I'm having such a time! I came in to get some note paper,—I'm copying some music, you know,—and your clerk doesn't seem to know anything about it."
Dad looked at Uncle Rob and at the scattered paper and boxes. "The music paper is in that drawer right behind you, Robert," he said; "Couldn't you find it? Chester, why didn't you tell him where it was?"
I started to speak; but Uncle Rob gave me a little glance, and I shut up; and he got out the paper and wrapped it, and handed it to her as pleasantly as could be.
Dad walked to the door with her; and we heard her say:—"Thank you so much, Mr. Williams. It must be an awful bother, breaking in new help."
Dad was still at the door talking to her, when Dan Burns drove up to the curb and called something to Dad, and Dad turned and called down the store:—"Robert, get Mr. Burns—there—those right in front of you, in that case,—hurry, his horses won't stand,—why, right there in that case, can't you see?—Why, it's right under your eyes—hurry—"
"But what—?" Uncle Rob had the case open and was groping wildly among fifty different things from fish-hooks to ink erasers; and Dad kept on calling, and never let up for a second:—
"Hurry, Robert, those horses won't stand, I told you! Why, what's the matter, it's right under your hands!" and Dad came down the store, talking all the way. "Can't you find it when it's right square in front of you? Number sixteen! Oh, never mind, I'll get it myself," and he came 'round behind the counter and grabbed a box of rubber bands and rushed out of the store with it.
Uncle Rob stood and looked after him. "He got it, didn't he?" he asked, weakly, and just then Dad came back to the door where the young woman was still standing; and she said something about "stupid," and Dad shook his head in a discouraged way.
"Right before his eyes, too!" he said.
Uncle Rob put his hand to his head. "I guess that's going some! Do you suppose he thought he'd told me what he wanted?"
"He didn't think at all," I said. "He knew what Burns wanted, wasn't that enough? Why didn't you get it for him?"
Uncle Rob shook his head. "This is strenuous!" he said; "I was a fairly tall man when I came down this morning; but the next person who comes in will have to stand on tiptoe and look over the counter, and say:—'Is your papa here, sonny?"
Miss Weed giggled; and Dad stopped on his way back to the office. "You boys had better straighten things up a little before closing time," he said; so we went to work. Presently Dad came back to check up some business with the cashier, and just then a man went past the door, with a gait like an express train, then he glanced in at the window, wheeled, and came into the store on a dog-trot. He came up to the counter and slammed down a big bottle.
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"I want some Parker's floor-polish and a pint of linseed—"
Uncle Rob interrupted him. "We don't keep floor-polish," he said; "This is a book store."
The man glanced around. "Oh, I thought it was the drug store," he said, and grabbed up his bottle and made for the door.
"There," I said, "he's turned the wrong way!" The drug store is a block below here; but the front is just like ours;—that's how he made the mistake. Oh, now he's on the right track," for he came by again, going two steps at a jump, and the old bottle swinging ahead of him; then suddenly he caught a glimpse of the window, stopped, whirled and rushed in and up to Uncle Rob and slammed the bottle down on the counter.
"I want some Parker's floor-polish and a pint—"
"We don't keep floor-polish. This is a book store," said Uncle Rob, in exactly the same tone that he had used before.
The man started, and looked at him, and then grabbed the bottle and dashed out of the store.
"Guess he thinks the drug store closes at six," said Uncle Rob; and we went to the other side of the store to take care of some more stuff, and Uncle Rob was holding up a cut glass carafe, when some one darted into the store and rushed up to us, holding out a bottle; then suddenly he noticed Uncle Rob's face, gave one look around and said,
"Well, I'll—!" and dashed out again.
"What does that man want?" called Dad.
"Parker's floor-polish and a pint of linseed oil," said Uncle Rob, cheerfully.
"Why don't you tell him we don't keep floor-polish?'"
"I did," said Uncle Rob; and just then the man loomed up in the door-way again, halted, gave one look around; and then suddenly the air got blue, and he dashed off down the street.
Dad went to the door and looked after him. "I presume he thought this was a drug store," he said.