Mark and I scooted along, keeping mostly to back streets until we were
where nobody was likely to see us; then we turned toward the river and
went down to Mr. Barnes’s house. His place sat on top of a bluff, but
down on the river level he owned quite a strip of flat ground that he
used for a garden when the flood didn’t come and clean it out. We sort
of nosed around, and pretty soon we run across Wiggamore and Jason
Barnes sitting on a bench out on the edge of the bluff. There was a
clump of lilac-bushes just back of them, and we got back of the clump.
We could hear good.
“The dam,” says Wiggamore, “will go across right there,” and he pointed
down at _our_ dam. “Our engineers figure to make it about eighty feet
high. The water won’t come over the top, but will be released as we want
it through a tunnel under the dam. So, from here back will be a lake.
Fine thing for the town.”
“Fine,” says Jason. “I dunno’s I got any especial use for a lake, but I
kin see how folks _might_. Have boats on it, and sich. As for me, I
wouldn’t git in no boat. Not any kind of a boat. I’m one of these
dry-land fellers, I am. As long, I says to myself, as you stay on dry
land and it don’t rain too hard, you hain’t ever goin’ to git drownded.”
“You’re right,” said Mr. Wiggamore. “But what I wanted to see you about
was this: We want to buy that dam site down there. It belongs to a man
named Bugg.”
“Silas Doolittle Bugg,” says Jason.
“But he doesn’t seem to have much to do with it. As nearly as I can make
out, he has turned it over to a boy by the name of Tidd.”
“Marcus Aurelius Fortunatus Tidd,” says Jason.
“A fat boy,” says Wiggamore, “and an impertinent one. I talked with him
a few minutes, and it was all I could do to keep my hands off him.”
“Better let him alone. Better let him alone,” says Jason. “Folks mostly
don’t interfere with him.”
“He said he wouldn’t sell the dam for less than fifteen thousand
dollars—and that included the mill.”
“If he says so,” Jason let on, “why, I guess that’s what he means. You
want to inquire around some about that boy. He’s smarter ’n greased
lightnin’.”
“I’ll smart him,” says Wiggamore. “I want your help.”
“Um!... I’ve lived a peaceful life, Mr. Wiggamore, and I hain’t
hankerin’ to mix in with Mark Tidd.”
“I’m talking business. You can understand that I’ve got to have that
dam. It is the only place where we can build a dam for this reservoir,
but I’m not going to pay him any ridiculous price for it. We might go a
thousand or so, but that’s all. I’ve looked up this man Bugg, and he’s
pretty close to bankrupt.”
“So folks says. It’s my nature to mind my own business and not mix into
other folks’s affairs.”
“Unless there’s money in it,” says Wiggamore.
“That,” says Jason, “might put another light onto it.”
“I’m willing to pay you for your services. Now what I want you to do is
to nose around and see if you can find where Bugg owes any money. Then
buy up the debts as cheaply as you can. I’ll furnish the money.”
“What do you want of sich debts? Silas hain’t much on payin’ debts.
’Tain’t as though he made a habit of payin’ up. Mostly he forgits ’em.”
“I’ll see that he remembers. As soon as we own those debts, we’ll throw
him into bankruptcy and bid in the property for a trifle.”
“Um!... Like I says a minute back, I hain’t for proddin’ in other
folks’s business.”
“When I pay you it becomes your business, doesn’t it?”
“To be sure. To be sure. Makes all the difference in the world. I was
just sayin’ the other day that money always makes a difference. Yes,
sir. If you got money you’re different than what you be if you hain’t.
If you want money you’re different than what you be if you don’t want
it. On the other hand, if there wasn’t no money not much of anythin’
would make any difference, eh? I’m a sensible man, Mr. Wiggamore, and I
calc’late not to let no day end without I’ve added some to what I got in
the savin’s-bank. My view of money is this: It’s somethin’ to git all of
that you kin, and to let go of as little of as you got to. If you got a
dollar, why, you got a dollar; if you up and spend it, what you got
then? Nothin’ but vain regrets, says I.”
“Right,” says Mr. Wiggamore. “I see you are a wise man, and I like to do
business with wise men. I’m sure I shall find much work for you, for I
need men who think the way you do.”
“Much obleeged,” says Jason, purring like a tabby-cat laying in a
sunbeam. You could ’most see him hump up his back to be scratched. “The
only thing I don’t take to about this here is that Mark Tidd is in it.
But I calc’late you and me is equal to one fat boy. Now maybe I got some
suggestions like. You kin bet that there Tidd boy will make money out of
that mill if he’s let be. He’s got the knack of it. If he’s let be, mark
you! Was you willin’ to see him let be, or would it be worth a man’s
while to sort of kind of mix in once in a while?”
“For instance?”
“Things happens in mills,” says Jason, confidential-like. “Somethin’
might get wedged into the water-wheel. There’s ways of messin’ up
machinery so’s it won’t run.”
“I see you’re going to be a valuable man for me.”
“Um!... Wa-al, suppose we was to bind the bargain, then.”
“Eh? Bind the bargain?”
“I was wonderin’ how I was goin’ to be able to put any money in that
savin’s-account of mine to-morrer.”
“Oh! And how much will bind the bargain?”
“Suppose we was to say five dollars.”
Wiggamore grunted and handed over a bill. I felt Mark pinch me, and he
whispered:
“Workin’ cheap, hain’t he? I hain’t much afraid of a f-f-feller that’ll
sell his d-decency for f-five dollars. Now if he’d ’a’ stuck Wiggamore
for a hunderd I’d been some worried. About all Jason’s goin’ to be is a
nuisance—that and _sorry_.”
“I’d admire to make him sorry,” says I.
“Jest be p-patient. Jason’s goin’ to wisht he never see or heard of
Wiggamore and his f-f-five-dollar bills. I’m goin’ to do some hard
thinkin’ about Jason.” Then he says: “Come on. I calc’late we’ve heard
about all there is to hear.”
“Wonder if Silas Doolittle really owes anybody money?”
“Most likely. _He_ wouldn’t know, though. We got to go diggin’ into him
for d-d-debts like you dig in a mine. Maybe we’ll scoop some up, and
maybe we’ll just have to wait till they t-turn up.” He stopped and
banged his leg. “No, we won’t have to w-wait. We’ll sort of nip Mr.
Wiggamore’s scheme in the bud.”
“How?” says I.
“Advertise,” says he.
“I dunno’s I understand.”
“L-let’s git under a light where I kin see,” says he, “and I’ll git up
somethin’ to p-put in the paper.”
So we sneaked off like a couple of Injuns and sat down under a street
light, and Mark got out some paper and a pencil and went to writing.
This is what he wrote:
WARNING.—Wicksville folks is warned to look out for a slick
scrouger that is going to go around trying to buy debts.
He’s going to try to buy them cheap, but the folks that sell
will be sorry. Especially folks that are owed by Silas
Doolittle Bugg. If anybody comes to pay you less for a debt
than is owed you, don’t take the money. Fetch your bill
right to Silas Doolittle Bugg’s mill and give it to Mark
Tidd. Silas is getting in shape to pay every honest debt. If
Silas owes you money, see Mark Tidd about it right off. But
be ready to prove that he owes you. Take warning and don’t
sell your debts. There’s a mighty mean trick being done.
“There,” says he, when he got the writing finished. “I guess that will
set ’em to t-t-thinkin’. I don’t b’lieve anybody will sell Jason a debt
till he sees me first. What you think?”
“If I know Wicksville,” says I, “there’ll be consid’able talk goin’
around when that advertisement comes out in the _Trumpet_.”
“You bet,” says Mark.
“Let’s git home to bed,” says I. “Between one thing and another to-night
I’m ’most done out.”
“Mrs. Coots’ll be layin’ for you with a plaster to p-p-put on your
stummick,” says he.
“Before you kin put a plaster on a stummick,” says I, “you got to catch
your stummick. Mine’s goin’ to be movin’ around rapid.”
We mogged along home. When we got to the corner where I turn off we
stopped a minute, and I says to Mark:
“If anybody sends in debts against Silas Doolittle, what you goin’ to do
about it?”
“Do?” says he, surprised-like. “Why, pay ’em, of course!”
“What with?” says I.
“Money,” says he.
“Money,” says I, “is like stummicks—you got to catch both of ’em before
you kin use ’em.”
“When you got to have a thing,” says he, “you m-mostly git it.”
That was Mark Tidd all over. If a thing had to be done, or if there was
something that he had to have, why, there was an end of it. He didn’t
waste time fussing about how hard it was to do, or thinking maybe he
couldn’t get it. No, sirree. He just went ahead and tried to get it, and
while he was trying he kept right on believing he was going to come out
right. He was the kind of a fellow that digs in. I guess maybe that’s
one of the main reasons why he manages to do things other folks don’t
do. It hain’t always that he’s smarter, though, goodness knows, he _is_
smarter. But he won’t let on that he’s beat till he _is_ beat, and then
he won’t let on. It’s hard work and being determined that gets things
for him. He’s that stubborn you wouldn’t believe. “I got to do it,” says
he, and then he does it. Somebody else would say: “I ought to do it, but
I dunno how in tunket I’m going to manage it. Looks like it was
impossible.” Well, while that other fellow was worrying and feeling
sorry for himself, Mark would have the thing half done.
“How’s your cost system gittin’ on?” says I.
“Fine,” says he. “About Monday we kin b-begin to hustle for b-business.
I kin come p-perty clost to tellin’ what it costs to make everythin’ on
our list.”
“Was Silas’s prices too low?”
“Low!” says he. “He lost more money on every article he sold than what
he was p-paid for it. If he sold a thing for a dollar, like as not he
l-lost a dollar and ten cents. I’ve been gettin’ what information I
could f-from other mills about their prices. Why, Silas has been
undersellin’ everybody scandalous. This hain’t a very big mill, but I’ll
say right out in m-meetin’ that if Silas had sold all he made this
l-last year at the p-prices I’m goin’ to ask, he could ’a’ paid himself
a salary of maybe a hunderd dollars a m-month, and showed a profit
besides of two and m-maybe three thousand d-dollars.”
“But he didn’t,” says I.
“He come clost to losin’ that m-much.”
“It’ll take a year to pay his debts—what he owes your father and the
rest.”
“We don’t have to worry about F-father. He’ll wait. I’m goin’ to have
that d-d-dowel-machinery set up next week, and I calc’late we kin git
orders for a l-lot. The way I f-figger, that machinery alone ought to
make a profit of eight-ten dollars a day.”
“Mark,” says I, “I been kind of thinkin’ about this Power Company and
their dam. It’ll be a good thing for the town and the state.”
“To be sure,” says Mark.
“Somehow it don’t seem just right for a dinky little mill like this to
be preventin’ a big public improvement like that, that’s goin’ to cost
’most a million dollars.”
“’Tain’t right,” says Mark, “but it hain’t the m-mill’s fault. It’s
Wiggamore’s fault. Is it f-fair for Silas to lose all he’s got to
benefit the p-public?”
“Don’t seem so,” says I.
“If there’s g-goin’ to be sich a heap of benefit from takin’ our dam,
them thet gits the b-benefit ought to be willin’ to p-pay for it. That’s
fair, hain’t it?”
“Yes,” says I.
“Because a thing’s _big_,” says he, “is no sign it’s got a right to
gouge somethin’ else because it’s l-l-little.”
“No.”
“Well, I won’t be f-found standin’ in the way of their Power Company the
minute it wants to be fair and d-d-decent. But so long as it tries to
smouge Silas I’ll fight. Yes, sir, I’ll _fight_.”
“Guess you’re right,” says I.
“And,” says he, “one piece of f-f-fightin’ I’m goin’ to do concerns
Jason Barnes. He’s a sneakin’ old foozle, and he’s goin’ to wish he
never heard of Wiggamore or a dam or Silas before he’s more ’n twenty
year older ’n what he is.”
“What do you want for the mill, anyhow? How much you figger Wiggamore
ought to pay?”
“What it’s worth,” says he, “and not a cent m-more or a cent l-less.”
“That sounds fair, anyhow,” says I.
“It’s what we’ll git,” says he.
“I’ve heard tell these big companies was hard to beat.”
“Then,” says he, “that jest m-means that m-much more hard work.
Because,” says he, “we’re a-goin’ to b-beat ’em.”
“Good night,” says I.