THE SPECIAL SALE
They had worked like slaves, according to Nancy, while Ted insisted he
was too tired even to eat.
"But it's going to be a grand success," promised Ruth. "I can hardly
wait until morning for the doors to open."
"Sale now going on!" chanted Isabel, a friend of Ruth's, who had come in
to help. "Ladies and gentlemen! Step this way for your fish lines!" she
called out, testing the possibilities of the next day's special sale.
"Here's where you get your fish-hooks that never slip, and your tackle
that always tacks, and as for sinkers--"
"You'll sink, first shot," Ruth interrupted, from her perch on the
stepladder, where she was waving a Japanese lantern as if that flimsy
article had anything to do with fishing tackle.
"Oh say! Look here! Who took my best reel?" cried Ted. "I want that for
myself. It was in a dollar box--"
"Then it's got to be sold," called back Nancy. She was sitting on the
counter counting fish lines, a dozen to each box.
"Sold nothing!" retorted Ted. "I'd like to know why I can't have the
best--"
"You can, Teddy dear," Ruth told him. "You have been a perfect lamb to
help us all afternoon, and I never did see two legs do more trotting
than yours have done since Nancy locked the front doors and put us all
to work like prisoners. You may certainly have the reel, and there's a
wonderful pole back of the empty cigar boxes--there on that first shelf.
See it? It's in a gray case--"
"Ruth Ashley! Whose store is this?" Nancy pretended to be very severe
but her jolly little laugh filtered through the words in giggles and
titters. "If you are going to give things away, why not start in with
the perishables? There's a basket of apples, Ted himself bought out of
the general fund, and unless they can be sold as bait, I don't see what
we're going to do with them." She had counted out all the fish lines and
was resting against the old-time candy glass case, now neatly filled
with post cards and stationery supplies.
They had had a merry time getting the Whatnot Shop ready for the first
special sale, and girl-like, had expended a lot of energy upon pretty
effects in the arrangements of articles. Mrs. Brandon "chipped in" as
Ted expressed it, and Nancy was able to supplement her stock
considerably. She had also made a very attractive poster for the big
front window, in fact, it was so attractive that Ruth put another sign
right alongside of it which stated:
This poster, handmade, for sale
Price $2.00
"We always sell our charity posters," she insisted, "and they are never
as pretty as this. Just look at that fish. What is he, Nancy? A cat-fish
or a pickerel?"
"I'm totally ignorant of the varieties," replied Nancy grandly. "But I
like the flecks on his back so I made him up flecked."
"The fellows will be here awfully early," Ted warned the girls, "so you
better be ready to sell, quick as the door's opened."
"We'll be here," sang out Ruth. "And Ted, be sure to tell them this is a
strictly cash sale. No charging and no refunds. If you buy a fish pole
and find it's a curtain rod you've got to go fishing with the curtain
rod. Nancy, here's those fancy little colored bags to fool the poor fish
with. Where do you want them put? Some place very safe, for they're
easily broken, you know," Ruth cautioned.
"Right here in the show case," Nancy directed. "They're too cute to be
stuck away on a shelf. Ted, you better run off and have some fun. I
don't want mother to think we've been stunting your growth. You know how
particular she is about exercise."
"Exercise!" repeated Isabel. "As if the poor child hasn't been
stretching every muscle to its utmost all afternoon. Take my advice,
Ted, and lie down. I'll make an ice bag out of an old bathing cap--"
But Ted was not waiting to hear Isabel's kind, if foolish, offer. His
merry shout as he rounded the corner, however, spoke decidedly against
ice bags as well as couches.
"Let's quit," suggested Nancy. "Honestly girls, I thought housework was
tedious, but I can't see much difference. I believe I'll be winding fish
lines all night, I've got them tangled in my brain."
"Then you're the one for the ice bags," pronounced Isabel. "I love to
make them and I love to put them on pretty heads. Here Ruth, let's put
her on the couch. I think she looks a bit feverish."
Kicking and protesting Nancy was forced to get down from "her perch,"
and stretch out on the little leather couch in a favorite corner of the
sun porch. Then, while Ruth literally held her there, Isabel cracked
ice, put it in a green rubber bathing cap, that leaked like a sieve,
tied it up most imperfectly, and presently clapped it on Nancy's head.
"Oh, please! It's leaking! I'm all wet. Isabel, you're freezing my--my
thinker!" yelled Nancy, as she struggled to free herself from her
playful companions.
"That's the idea," replied Isabel. "We've got to freeze your thinker to
make you forget your fish lines. Here now, dearie," she mocked "lie
perfectly still--"
"You're spoiling my pretty new gown," yelled Nancy, referring to the
oldest and most faded gown she could find that morning, in preparation
for the extra work.
But Isabel held the bag in the general direction of Nancy's forehead,
while little icy cold streams tinkled down her neck and into her ears.
Ruth served as body guard, and almost kept Nancy on the couch, her feet,
arms, and other "loose ends" hanging over untidily.
The store bell was jerked suddenly and violently.
"Oh me, oh my!" groaned Nancy, jumping up so as to smash the ice bag to
the floor, cut its string loose and send the remaining chunks of ice
flying. "I can't go. Ruth, will you--"
"Love to," chanted Ruth, starting off promptly.
"Look at the puddle," bewailed Isabel, but Nancy interrupted her.
"No one, simply no one can come in to-day. Do run out, Belle and
restrain Ruth. Just listen to her sweetest tones--"
Isabel went. She liked to "'tend store" and each possible customer
represented to her, as well as to Ruth, a possible adventure.
"No, I'm not the proprietor," Nancy heard Ruth saying.
"No, she really can't see you," was Isabel's contribution.
A man's voice, full, rich, persuasive, was speaking in so low a tone
that his words did not convey meaning to the listening Nancy.
She listened! She crept nearer, and finally realizing that both Ruth and
Isabel were not being able to dismiss the stranger, she attempted to
right her rumpled self, to pat the unruly hair into place, and not
knowing that her forehead looked like a beefsteak from the ice freeze,
she sauntered out into the store.
"This is Miss Brandon," announced Ruth as she entered. "She is the
proprietor."
Nancy found herself in the presence of a very important looking young
man. His Panama hat was on the counter, his suitcase was on the floor,
and he stood in the most attentive, courteous attitude, bowing as if she
were meeting him in a reception room.
"I've heard of your store, Miss Brandon," he said. "In fact, its fame
has travelled far and wide, and I'm here representing a Boston firm of
sporting goods. I would like you to see--"
"Really," faltered Nancy, "this is only sort of a play store. We are
doing it for a vacation experience."
"Exactly the thing," insisted the young man, who was not polite to the
point of affectation but simply polite as a gentleman. "I know this
territory pretty well, and you will possibly be surprised at the class
of customers who will, doubtless, seek you out. The motor people come
along here from Gretna Lake. There's good fishing on that lake, and
fishing supplies have a way of giving out suddenly when the
inexperienced handle them. If you will let me--" he was tackling the
suitcase.
"But you see," protested Nancy, much embarrassed, "I really have no
authority to--buy. Mother is not here--"
"You assume no obligation," insisted the man. "As this is your store we
are glad, in fact anxious, to leave you a sample line. If you sell them
you make a very fair commission, if you do not I pick them up and try
something else on my next trip."
He opened the case, and presently was displaying a bewildering line of
such fishing tackle and general sport supplies as Nancy had never
dreamed of. Ruth and Isabel were fascinated. They suggested, in spite of
their better judgment, that Nancy stock up with the pretty little trout
flies, the feathery kind tied to fish hooks. Then Ruth thought they
ought to have at least one box of the dry flies, the sort that floats
without the hook, and before they knew it the salesman had deposited
upon the counter, goods worth so much money, that Nancy could only gasp
at the transaction.
"But I haven't any place--"
"This little case, if I may suggest," said the salesman, "is admirably
suited. You could move your cards to the far end, couldn't you?"
"Oh, yes," chimed in Ruth, "and Nancy, just see the lovely window card!"
She was holding up a big folder that had been neatly packed in, folded
in sections, within the suitcase. "Why, it will be wonderful to have
such goods, and I'm sure the summer folks from Breakneck Hill will just
buy us out as soon as they hear we have such splendid stuff."
"I think you are right," replied the salesman. "But as you seem
doubtful, Miss Brandon, I'll return later and talk with your mother, if
you wish."
Nancy considered quickly. Her mother should not be annoyed with such
details; also, the special sale was to be a matter left entirely with
the girls and Ted. He was claiming and entitled to a share in certain
articles. So she answered:
"I don't think that will be necessary. Mother won't object, I guess, if
I don't have to sign anything--"
"Nothing whatever," she was assured.
"But how did you find out about us?" asked Isabel. "This is such a tiny
store and it is on the back road, really."
"The tiny store on the back road with the quaint name Whatnot Shop is
more attractive than a big public place," replied the salesman. He had
handed Nancy his card and she saw that his name was W. S. Webster. "As a
matter of fact, one of our firm was passing here in his car, and he left
me the memorandum. But I've heard of the special sale of fishing tackle
out on the Long Leigh road from perhaps a half dozen persons."
The girls gasped, simultaneously. They were overwhelmed. If their fame
had thus travelled afar, what would the day of the sale bring them?
"Very well," stammered Nancy, trying once again to keep her wet dress
out from her neck while she worried over the effect of that besprinkled
garment. "I'll be glad to do what I can with the goods, but really, I
had no idea of going in for such, such important articles."
"If you will let me say so," remarked Mr. Webster in a gentlemanly way,
"I think you girls have the right idea. So many putter around with art
stuff these days, that they don't realize the big chances they are
missing in business. Some of America's brainiest women are heads of our
wholesale firms, and they make more money than movie queens," he
finished pleasantly.
When he was finally gone and the door well bolted this time, the three
girls joined hands and danced around like a kindergarten class.
"Me for the movie queen!" sang out Isabel. "You, Nance and Ruthie, can
sell fish hooks. Just watch this pose and see if I couldn't pass in a
beauty contest--"
There was a racket, a very noisy one, at the side door.
"It's Ted!" exclaimed Nancy, apprehensively.
"And he's got a crowd with him."
"They can't come in," Nancy declared. "We are not going to show goods or
take any advance orders."
"Oh me, oh my!" cried Ruth. "No wonder the fine looking drummer said
that the brainiest girls in America were in business."
"He didn't," contradicted Nancy. "He said women."
"Very well, Nancy. Just you wait. Go sit down on a big stump in the
woods and wait. By and by you'll be a woman."
Then, in spite of all their eloquence, in marched Ted heading a parade
of the "fellers." And what could Nancy do but show them the
arrangements.