In spite of all we could do, business fell off. It was just as I had
argued from the very beginning--there wasn't enough trade in Wicksville
for two stores like ours and Jehoshaphat P. Skip's. Even if we got half
or more than half, it wouldn't keep us running. Of course I know as
well as anybody else that Mark Tidd's schemes had made folks buy more
than they usually did, and for a couple of weeks we sold more than my
father generally sold in that much time, but pretty soon everybody was
stocked up with the sort of stuff we had and things were about as bad
as ever.
The week after the rumpus at Old Mose Miller's things started out
pretty fair, but along about Wednesday it got dull, and from then on
there weren't enough customers to pay to keep the doors open. It seemed
like we just couldn't draw them in, and I expect it was as bad at
Skip's. In fact, I _know_ it was, for we kept watch on him pretty
close. If things kept on like they were going, neither one of the
stores could last. Skip would put us out of business, but he would put
himself out of business doing it. I said so to Mark and he told me to
keep thinking about it if I got any particular satisfaction out of it,
which I didn't.
Saturday came along, and though we advertised and trimmed our windows
and fixed up special-bargain-tables, it didn't do a bit of good. And
right there, that very morning, along comes Jehoshaphat P. with an
announcement that with every dollar's purchase he would give a ticket
to the moving-picture show that had started up in the opera-house.
Mark Tidd was so mad at himself he could have taken a bite out of his
own ear if he could have got hold of it.
"Sh-should have thought of that myself," he says, and went sulking to
the back of the store and wouldn't have anything to do with anybody for
a couple of hours. There he sat, scowling and whittling--and we kept
away from him as far as we could. I know just how bad he felt.
For once he didn't have a scheme. Yes, sir. Right there he seemed to go
dry. We expected him to come up with a new idea that would stand Skip
and his moving-picture show on their heads, but he didn't. He never
said a word. I guess he'd been thinking up so many plans that he was
about run dry. And I don't blame him. I'd have run dry long before.
But just the same it was the most discouraging thing that had happened
to us yet. So long as Mark Tidd kept going there was hope, but if he
began to slip we might just as well close the doors and give the Bazar
to Jehoshaphat.
That day we did a little business, and for the next week we sold enough
so there was something to send mother at the end of the week, but we
didn't lay a cent aside. We paid expenses and a little over. If there
had been clerks to pay we would have come out behind. Most of the time
Mark sat back on a packing-box and whittled. We left him alone. He was
as worried as we were, and we knew he was trying, trying every minute.
I guess the only thing that kept our heads above water was that beauty
contest. Folks kept right on being interested in that and watched for
results every time we put up names. Principal Pilkins, with a lot of
young ladies working for him, was climbing up pretty fast. Mr. Peterson
was coming strong, too. His wife stirred up a lot of votes for him, and
so did Mrs. Bloom for her husband. One week one of them would be ahead,
and the next week the other would shoot into the lead. Then there were
Chet and Chancy! I guess those two gave up everything else to run down
votes. They begged them and borrowed them and worked for them and
traded for them. Yes, that is a fact. Votes got to be a sort of money
among the boys. You were always sure you could swap them for something.
Most of the time there was a boy or so hanging around the front of the
Bazar to ask everybody that came out for the votes they'd got. Some
people weren't interested a bit, and would toss them over. So the boys
managed to get a stock. Those five were in the lead a little. You never
could tell which one would come out ahead until there was a count. But
at least a dozen more men were up where they had a chance. So everybody
was interested, and almost everybody was mad at somebody else. That's
all that kept us going.
The next week Mark managed to think up a couple of things to interest
folks. One was a guessing-contest. He filled a big bottle with beans
and put it in the window. Everybody who bought a nickel's worth could
have a guess at how many beans there were, and the one who came nearest
was to get a prize. If it was a lady she got a pair of gloves, and if
it was a man he got a patent safety razor that looked like a cross
between the cow-catcher on an engine and a hoe.
Wicksville was quite a place to guess, so we got in a little trade with
that. That week we did better than the week before. But after we had
sent mother what she needed we only put by five dollars in the bank. We
were still nearly three hundred dollars away from having enough to pay
Jehoshaphat P. Skip his five hundred dollars and get free from the
chattel mortgage.
"Mark," says I, that Saturday night as we were closing up, "how about
it? Of course we've got to hang on as long as we can for the folks'
sake, but we're beat, hain't we? Jehoshaphat has sunk our ship."
Mark was mad in a minute. "S-sunk nothin'!" says he. "We got a couple
of weeks more, and who knows what'll turn up? I'm a-goin' to think of
somethin'. I know I am. It'll come. So don't you go gittin' any more
downhearted than you can help. Jehoshaphat P. Skip isn't goin' to
b-b-bust this business while I got a leg to stand on."
"All right," says I, "but your leg's gettin' sawed off fast."
He didn't say anything to that. I guess there wasn't anything to say.
After a while he says:
"There's ways of makin' m-m-money--of makin' a lot of it at once.
That's what I've been figgerin' on. If we could just pay off Skip I
believe this business will go along. I don't b-believe two businesses
like his and ours can make a living in Wicksville. But I do b-believe
we'll be the one that's left. He can't afford to keep on, and we can't
afford to quit. And there you are."
"Then," I says, sarcastic-like, "all we got to do is raise three
hundred dollars in six or eight days."
He squinted at me, but didn't say anything.
"We've been tryin' to raise that money for five weeks," I says. "Five
weeks! And what have we got to show for it? Two hundred dollars! That's
how much. Just git out your pencil and figger it up: if it takes four
boys five weeks to raise two hundred dollars, what chance have they got
to raise three hundred in one week?"
Then we went home.
Sunday, just before dinner--I was invited over to Mark's for dinner
that day--Zadok Biggs came driving his peddler's wagon into the yard.
We could hear him coming for a block, his tin dishes rattling and his
whistle going. "Marching Through Georgia" was what he whistled, and you
should hear the way he can rip it out. There are trills and runs and
wiggles and bird-calls and all sorts of things. I expect he's the best
whistler in Michigan.
He sat on the seat looking down as important as a brand-new poll-parrot
and didn't say a word for a minute. Then he put his hand on his hip and
stuck out his chest and says:
"Opportunity. Have you heard Zadok Biggs mention that word before? Eh?
I believe I have mentioned it. I am sure I have pronounced it in your
hearing. Have I not?"
"You have," says I.
"Zadok Biggs has been thinking of you--of all four of you boys engaged
in the mercantile enterprise--business is the more usual expression--of
running Smalley's Bazar. I have thought of you often. I have asked
myself if I could be of assistance to you. I have looked about me to
discover an opportunity to offer you." He drew himself up again and
cocked his head as if he'd done something to be mighty proud of. "It
was not in vain, says I. I looked--and I saw. I come to-day bringing
you an opportunity. What have you to say to that? An opportunity. I
bring it to-day."
"I say," says Mark Tidd, "that it comes at a l-l-lucky time."
"Get down and come in," says Mrs. Tidd. "Dinner's all ready and there's
chicken and biscuits in gravy and pumpkin-pie and--"
Zadok didn't let her finish.
"Don't repeat the bill of fare, ma'am. It is not necessary. What there
will be I do not care. That I am to dine with the parents of Marcus
Aurelius Fortunatus Tidd is enough. Any food prepared by the hand of
Mrs. Tidd is better than a banquet. I will come down. I am coming down.
See--I am down."
It was a fact. He was down, and went trotting ahead of us into the
house.
"The opportunity--" he started in; but Mrs. Tidd cut him off.
"You can fuss around with your opportunity after dinner," she says. "I
don't want these vittles to get cold. Set right down and 'tend to
eatin'."
So we sat down, and you can bet we did 'tend to eating. I expect Mrs.
Tidd is one of the reasons why Mark is so fat. Anybody would be that
ate the kind of things she cooks every day. Why, Mrs. Tidd can take a
cold potato and the hoop off a barrel and a handful of marbles and make
a meal out of them that beats anything you can get even at a city hotel!
After dinner we went into the parlor and Mr. Tidd got down his _Decline
and Fall of the Roman Empire_ and started to read to us, but Mrs. Tidd
stopped _him_. Mrs. Tidd was boss around there. "Now, pa," says she,
"you put that book right up. Mr. Biggs has something he wants to tell
the boys."
"Um!" says Mr. Tidd, "that's so. I was clean forgetting all about it. I
guess the _Decline and Fall_ will wait a spell. But I would like to
read 'em jest this leetle piece here--" He started to open up the book
again, but Mrs. Tidd took it right out of his hand and put it on the
table.
"Go on, Mr. Biggs," says she. "I'll see you don't get interrupted."
"Thank you, ma'am. Thank you a thousand times. A wonderful woman, boys.
A remarkable woman. Also a remarkable man. Did he not invent a turbine
that has made him rich? Eh? He did. Zadok Biggs knows well that he did.
Did he not name his son Marcus Aurelius Fortunatus? Eh? He did. That
was an achievement, boys. Where is another name like that? Where--"
"You're interruptin' yourself," says Mrs. Tidd.
"Um," says Zadok, making a little face. "Well, ma'am, I'm on the right
track now.... I have an opportunity--an opportunity for anybody in the
bazar business. Especially anybody who has to compete with a
five-and-ten-cent store. The opportunity is in Sunfield. Where, you may
ask, is Sunfield? It is a village not thirty miles from here." We knew
that as well as he did. "It is a little village, a pretty village. It
is a village you will always think of kindly when I tell you of the
opportunity that is to be found there."
"Well, then," says Mrs. Tidd, "why don't you tell about it?"
Zadok swallowed hard, but he grinned and went on.
"There's a man in Sunfield who started up a five-and-ten-cent store.
Pretty store. Good stock. Nice man. Then what did he do? Why, friends,
he got sick. His doctor says he must go West. He is going West. What,
then, becomes of the store? It is to be sold. The owner is even now
looking for a purchaser--for somebody to buy it is the more common
phrase." He stopped and beamed around at us. "There," says he, "is the
opportunity."
Right along I'd been hoping. I thought maybe Zadok had hit on
something that would help us out, but when I heard what it was my
heart plopped right down into my boots. What good was the stock of a
five-and-ten-cent store to us? We couldn't buy a postage-stamp to send
a letter to Sunfield, let alone a stock of goods. I looked at Mark. He
didn't look like he was disappointed. He didn't look happy, either,
but he did look thoughtful. Right off I saw he thought he could see
something in it.
"How m-much does he want for it?" Mark says.
"It can be purchased cheaply. The owner must have cash. He will
sacrifice. That stock must be worth close to a couple of thousand
dollars. I believe, and my belief is not without foundation, that you
can buy it for half of that."
"Hum!" says Mark. "Hum!... Complete stock?"
"As fine a stock as you'd wish to see."
"We'll go over to s-see it to-morrow, Plunk," says Mark.
I shrugged my shoulders. "What's the use?" says I. "We can't buy it,
and if we could, what would we do with it?"
"I dun'no'," says he. "Maybe we could figger on s-some way of buyin'
it. I've seen sicker horses 'n that g-git well."
"But not on the kind of medicine we got to give 'em," says I.
"Anyhow," says Mark, "we'll go over t-to-morrow. You don't need to,
though, Plunk, if you don't think it's worth while. But I'm goin'. I'm
goin' to see that stock. I'm goin' to have a look at Zadok Biggs's
opportunity."
"I knew it," said Zadok. "I knew Marcus Aurelius would not disappoint
me. I knew he would see the possibilities of this opportunity. I do not
blame you, Plunk Smalley, for failing to see them. It was not to be
expected. There is only one Marcus Tidd. Only one."
"Yes," says I, "and that one has bit off a leetle more'n he can chaw
comfortable this time."
Mark didn't even look at me. He was pinching his cheek and squinting up
his eyes like he does when his mind is about as busy as it can be.
Pretty soon he looked up at Zadok.
"Say," says he, "can you tell me, Zadok, what an option is, and how it
works?"
Well, sir, Zadok jumped right up and danced. "I knew it," says he. "I
knew Marcus Tidd would see the opportunity. I knew he would never miss
it. What is an option? That's what he asks. You heard him. Now listen
and Zadok Biggs will explain. He will make an option so clear to you
that--that even Plunk Smalley will be able to make one with his eyes
shut."
"Well," says Mrs. Tidd, "what _is_ an option?"
"The man who wrote the dictionary," Zadok explained, "says an option is
a right to make a deal or not to make it before a certain time. Not
very clear, is it? I will enlighten you--make it plain to you is the
customary way of saying it. Suppose I want to buy a cow from Mr. Tidd.
I want that cow, and I don't want anybody else to get it before I do.
But, alas! I haven't enough money to pay what Mr. Tidd asks. What do I
do? I take an option. I go to Mr. Tidd and say, 'Mr. Tidd, I will give
you a dollar if you will agree not to sell that cow to anybody else
before next Tuesday, and if you will agree to sell it to me any time
before Tuesday for forty-one dollars.'"
"That's too much for a cow," says Mrs. Tidd.
"This is an imaginary cow," says Zadok. Then he grinned all over. "That
kind is more expensive, ma'am, because they don't eat up any fodder....
Well, that's an option. It's where somebody else agrees to sell you
something on or before a certain day, and not to sell it to anybody
else in the mean time. Understand?" He said that to me, because, _I_
expect, he thought if I understood it it must be clear to everybody
else.
"But," says I, "suppose you pay a dollar for the right to buy Mr.
Tidd's cow on Tuesday, and then when Tuesday comes you haven't any
money?"
"Why, then, Plunk, Mr. Tidd can sell his cow to anybody else he wants
to."
"But don't it cost me anything?"
"Nothing but the dollar you paid him to wait till Tuesday for you."
"Huh," says I, "I understand options, all right, but for the life of me
I can't see what good they're going to do us."
I looked over at Mark Tidd, expecting him to explain, but I guess he
was a little provoked at me because I didn't think much of the whole
scheme, whatever it was, and so he shut his mouth tight like the lid of
a trunk and wouldn't say a word.
"We'd better get an early start," says he, "and t-take no chances."
"Yes, indeed," says Zadok.
"Are you going to c-come, Plunk?" Mark asked.
"Sure," says I, "if I can be of any help."
"Well," says he, grinning a more cheerful grin than I'd seen on his
face for weeks, "you can't do any harm, anyhow."