PHILIP engaged a plumber from the nearest city and had one of his
upper chambers transformed into a bath-room, and Caleb, by special
permission, studied every detail of the work and went into so brown a
study of the general subject that Philip informed Grace that either the
malarial soaking, mentioned in Uncle Jethro's letter, had reached the
point of saturation, or that the Confederate bullet had found a new
byway in its meanderings.
But Caleb was not conscious of anything out of the usual--except the
bath-room. By dint of curiosity and indirect questioning he learned
that in New York Philip and his wife had bathed daily. Afterward he
talked bathing with the occasional commercial travellers who reached
Claybanks--men who seemed "well set up," despite some distinct signs of
bad habits, and learned that men of affairs in the great city thought
bathing quite as necessary as eating. He talked to Doctor Taggess on
the subject, and was told in reply that, in the Doctor's opinion,
cleanliness was not only next to godliness, but frequently an absolute
prerequisite to cleanly longings and a clean life.
So one day, after a fortnight of self-abstraction, he announced to
Philip that a bath-room ought to be regarded as a means of grace.
"Quite so," assented Philip, "but I wish it weren't so expensive at the
start. Do you know what that bath-room, with its tank, pump, drain,
etc., has cost? The bill amounts to about a hundred and fifty dollars,
and it can't be charged to my account for six months, like most of our
purchases for the store."
"That so?" drawled Caleb, carelessly, though in his heart he was
delighted; for Philip had also engaged from the city a paper-hanger,
and he had employed a local painter to do a lot of work; and Caleb, who
knew the business ways of country stores, had trembled for the bills,
yet doubted his right to speak of them. "Well, have you got the money
to pay for it?"
"Yes, but not much more; and in the two weeks I've been here the store
has taken in about forty dollars in cash."
"That's about it, I b'lieve. Well, realizin'-time is comin'; it's
right at hand, in fact, an' I've wanted a chance to have a good long
talk with you 'bout it. When I was a boy I used to lie on my back in
the woods for hours at a time, catchin' backaches an' rheumatiz for
the sake of watchin' the birds makin' their nests an' startin' their
house-keepin'. Watchin' you an' your wife gettin' to rights has made
me feel just like I did in them days--except for the backaches and
rheumatiz. I wouldn't have pestered the birds for a hull farm, an' I
hain't wanted to pester you, but the quicker you can give more 'tention
to the business, the better 'twill be for your pocket."
"Why, Mr. Wright--"
"Call me Caleb, won't you? Ev'rybody else does, 'xcept you an' your
wife, an' I can talk straighter when I ain't 'mistered.'"
"Thank you, good friend, for the permission. I'll take it, if you'll
call me Philip."
"That's a bargain," said Caleb, with visible signs of relief. "Well,
as I was sayin', the more time you can give the business, the better
'twill be for your pocket. Your uncle kept first place in this town
an' county, an' you need to do the same, if you want to keep your mind
easy about other things. I've said all sorts of good things about you
to the customers, though I haven't stretched the truth an inch. They
all think you bright, but you need to show 'em that you're sharp too,
else they'll do their best to dull you. Business is business, you know;
likewise, human nature's human nature."
"Correct! Go on."
"Well, I'm doin' my best to keep an eye on ev'rythin' an' ev'rybody,
but I'm not boss. Besides, it took two of us to do it all when your
uncle was alive, though he was about as smart as they make 'em. There's
one thing you won't have no trouble about, an' that's beatin' down.
This is the only strictly one-price store in the county, an' it saves
lots o' time by keepin' away the slowest, naggiest traders. It might
ha' kept away some good customers, too, if your uncle hadn't been a
master hand at gettin' up new throw-ins."
"Throw-ins? What are they?"
"What? You brought up in the country, an' not know what a 'throw-in'
is? Why, when a man buys somethin', he gen'rally says, 'What ye goin'
to throw in?' That means, 'What are you goin' to give me for comin'
here instead of buyin' somewhere else?' When it's stuff for clothes,
there's no trouble, for any merchant throws in thread and buttons to
make it up if it's men's goods, or thread an' hooks an' eyes if it's
women's. Up at Bustpodder's store they throw in a drink o' whiskey
whenever a man buys anythin' that costs a quarter or more, an' it draws
lots o' trade; but your uncle never worked for drinkin' men's trade,
unless for cash, so we've never kept liquor, but that made him all the
keener to get other throw-ins. One year 'twas wooden pipes for men, an'
little balls of gum-camphor for women. Then 'twas hair-ile for young
men an' young women. Whatever 'twas, 'twas sure to be somethin' kind o'
new, an' go-to-the-spotty. Shouldn't wonder if your wife, havin' been
in a big store, might think of a lot o' new throw-ins for women-folks.
But that's only a beginnin'."
"H'm! Now tell me everything I ought to do that I haven't been doing."
"Well, in the first place, when you meet a customer, you want to get
a tight grip on him, somehow, 'fore he leaves. Then you want to get
into your mind how much each one owes you, an' ask when he's goin' to
begin to bring in his produce. None of the men on our books mean to be
dishonest; but if you don't keep 'em in mind of their accounts at this
time o' year, some of 'em may sell their stuff to somebody else for
cash, an' country folks with cash in their pockets is likely to think
more of what they'd like to buy than what they owe. I reckon, from some
things I've heerd, that some city folks are that way too."
"Quite likely. Well?"
"Well, if say a dozen of your biggest country customers sell for cash
an' don't bring you the money, you'll find yourself in a hole about
your own bills, for some of your customers are on the books for three
or four hundred apiece. Your uncle sold 'em all he could, for he knew
their ways an' that he could bring 'em to time."
"H'm! Suppose they fail to pay after having been trusted a full year,
isn't the law good for anything?"
"Oh, yes; but sue a customer an' you lose a customer, an' there ain't
any too many in this county, at best. Now, your uncle made sure,
before he died, about all of 'm whose principal crop was wheat; but
the wheat's then brought in an' sold, an' most of the money for it,
after his own bills were paid, was in the check the lawyers sent you.
The rest of the customers raised mostly corn an' pork,--most gen'rally
both, for the easiest way to get corn to market is to put it into pork;
twenty bushels o' corn, weighin' over a thousan' poun's, makes two
hundred pound o' pork, an' five times less haulin'; besides, pork's
always good for cash, but sometimes you can't hardly give corn away.
Queer about corn; lot's o' folks that's middlin' sensible about a good
many things seems to think that corn's only fit to feed to hogs an'
niggers. Why, some o' 'em's made me so touchy about it that I've took
travellin' business men up into my room, over the store, an' give 'em a
meal o' nothin' but corn an' pork, worked up in half a dozen ways, an'
it seemed as if they couldn't eat enough, but I couldn't see that the
price o' corn went up afterwards. I'd like to try a meal o' that kind
on you an' your wife some day. If the world took as easy to corn when
it's ground into meal as when it's turned into whiskey, this section o'
country would get rich."
"I shouldn't wonder if it would. But what else?"
"Well, you must get a square up-an'-down promise from each o' your
customers that their pork's to come to you, you promisin' to pay cash,
at full market price, for all above the amount that's owed you. You
must have the cash ready, too."
"But where am I to get it?"
"Why, out of the first pork you can get in an' ship East or South. You
must be smart enough to coax some of 'em to do their killin' the first
week the roads freeze hard enough to haul a full load. They'll all put
it off, hopin' to put a few more pounds o' weight on each hog, an' that
mebbe the price'll go up a little."
"But how am I to coax them?"
"Well, there's about as many ways as customers. I'll put you up to the
nature of the men, as well as I can, an' help you other ways all I
can, but you must do the rest; for, as I said before, you're boss, an'
they're all takin' your measure, agin next year an' afterwards. As to
ways o' coaxin',--well, the best is them that don't show on their face
what they be. Your uncle held one slippery customer tight by pertendin'
to be mighty fond o' the man's only son, who was the old fellow's idol.
Your uncle got the boy a book once in a while, an' spent lots o' spare
moments answerin' the youngster's questions, for your uncle knew a lot
about a good many things. There was another customer that thought all
money spent on women's clothes was money throwed away--p'raps 'twas
'cause his wife was more'n ordinary good-lookin', an' liked to show
off. One year, in one of our goods boxes from the East, was a piece
of silk dress-goods that would have put your eyes out. Black silk
was the only kind that ever came here before, and it had always been
satisfyin'. Next to plenty o' religion and gum-camphor, a black silk
dress is what ev'ry self-respectin' woman in the county hankers for
most. Well, your uncle never showed that blue an' white an' yaller an'
purple an' red silk to nobody till about this time o' year; he told
me not to, too, but one day, when the feller's wife was in town, an'
warmin' her feet at the backroom stove, your uncle took that silk in
there an' showed it, an' he see her eyes was a-devourin' it in less
than a minute.
"'There's only enough of it for one dress,' said he, 'an' I ain't sure
I could get any more like it. You're the style o' woman that would set
it off, so you'd better take it before somebody else snaps it up.'
"'Take it?' said she, lookin' all ways to once; 'why, if I was to have
that charged, my husband would go plum crazy, or else he'd send me to
an asylum.'
"'Not a bit of it!' said your uncle. 'Tell you what I'll do; I'll lay
that silk away, an' not show it to anybody till your husban' brings me
in his pork an' we have our settlement. You come with him, an' I'll
wrap up the silk for you, an' if he objects to payin' for it--oh, I
know his ways, but I tell you right here, that if he objects to payin'
for it, I'll make you a present of it, an' you can lay all the blame on
me, sayin' I pestered you so hard that you had to take it.' Well, your
uncle got the pork; the wife gave the man no peace till he promised to
fetch it here, an' she got the dress, an' her husband--Hawk Howlaway,
his name was,--was so tickled that he told all the county how he got
the best of old Jethro."
"Pretty good--for one year, if the dress didn't cost too much."
"It only cost seventy cents a yard, an' there was fifteen yards of it.
The pork netted more'n four hundred dollars. But that wa'n't the end of
it. The woman hadn't wore the dress to church but one Sunday when her
husband came into the store one day an' hung 'round a spell, lookin'
'bout as uneasy as a sinner under conviction, an' at last he winked
your uncle into the back room, an' says Howlaway, says he:--
"'Jethro, you've got me in a heap o' trouble, 'cause of that silk dress
you loaded on to my wife. She looks an' acts as if my Sunday clothes
wasn't good enough to show alongside of it, an' other folks looks an'
acts so too. So, Jethro, you've got to help me out. I've got to have
some new clothes, an' they've got to be just so, or they won't do.'
Your uncle said, 'All right,' an' got off a line from an advertisement
in a city paper, about 'No fit, no pay.' Then he wrote to a city
clothin' store for some samples of goods, an' for directions how to
measure a man for a suit of clothes. Oh, he was a case, your uncle was;
why, I do believe he'd ha' took an order from an angel for a new set of
wing-feathers an' counted on gettin' the goods some way. I don't say he
made light of it, though. I never see him so close-minded as he was for
the next two weeks. One day I chaffed him a little about wastin' a lot
o' time on a handsome hardware-goods drummer that hadn't much go, an'
whose prices was too high anyway; but your uncle said:--
"'He's just about the height and build of Hawk Howlaway, an' he knows
how to wear his clothes.' Then I knowed what was up. Well, to make a
long story short, the clothes come, in the course o' time, and on an
app'inted day Howlaway come too, lookin' about as wish-I-could-hide as
a gal goin' to be married. Your uncle stuck up four lookin'-glasses on
the back room wall, one over another, an' then he turned Howlaway loose
in the room, with the clothes, an' a white shirt with cuffs an' collar
on it, an' told him to lock himself in an' go to work, an' to pound
on the door if he got into trouble. In about ten minutes he pounded,
an' your uncle went in, an' Hawk was lookin' powerful cocky, though he
said:--
"'There's somethin' that ain't quite right, though I don't know what
'tis.'
"'It's your hair--an' your beard,' said your uncle. 'Now, Hawk,
you slip out o' them clothes, an' go down to Black Sam, that does
barberin', an' tell him you want an all-round job: 't'll only cost a
quarter. But wait a minute,' an' with that your uncle hurried into the
store, took out of the cash-drawer a picture that he'd cut out of a
paper that he'd been studyin' pretty hard for a week, took it back, an'
said, 'Take this along, an' tell the barber it's about the style you
want.'
"Well, when Hawk saw his own face in the glass after that reapin',
he hardly knowed himself, an' he sneaked into the store by climbin'
the fence an' knockin' at the back door, for fear of havin' to be
interdooced to any neighbors that might be hangin' 'round the counters.
Then he made another try at the clothes, an' called your uncle in
again, and said:--
"'They looked all right until I put my hat on, an' then somethin' went
wrong again.'
"'Shouldn't wonder if 'twas your hat,' said your uncle, comin' back for
a special hat an' a pair of Sunday shoes, all Howlaway's size, that
he'd ordered with the clothes. He took 'em in an' said:--
"'When you start to dress like a gentleman, to stand 'longside of a
lady, you want to go the whole hog or none.'
"Well,--I didn't know this story was so long when I begun to tell
it,--Hawk sneaked the clothes home, an' it come out in the course o'
time that when on Sunday mornin' he dressed up an' showed off to his
wife, she kissed him for the first time in three year, which sot him
up so that he had the courage to go to church without first loadin' up
with whiskey, as he'd expected to, to nerve him up to be looked at in
his new things, an' when hog-killin' an' settlement time came round
again, Hawk brought his pork to us, an' when he found his wife's silk
dress hadn't been charged to him, he said in a high an' mighty way
that he reckoned that until he was dead or divorced he could afford to
pay for his own wife's duds, hearin' which, your uncle, who'd already
socked the price of the dress onto the price of Hawk's own clothes,
smiled out o' both sides of his mouth, an' all the way round to the
back of his neck. An' since then, Hawk's always brought his pork to
us, an' got a new silk dress ev'ry winter for his wife, an' new Sunday
clothes for himself, an' nobody would he buy of but your uncle. Let's
see; what was we talkin' 'bout when I turned off onto this story?"
"We were talking of ways of cajoling customers into paying their year's
bills," said Philip. "Apparently I ought, just as a starter, to know
how to coddle customer's boys, and supply hair-cutting and shaving
plans to the village barber, and to play wife against husband, and
learn to measure a man for clothes, like a--"
"That's so," said Caleb, "an' you can't be too quick about that,
either, for Hawk'll want a new suit pretty soon."
"Anything else? By the way: what you said about the need of ready money
reminds me of some questions I've been intending to ask, but forgotten.
There are some mortgages in the safe on which interest will be due on
the first of the year,--only a fortnight off. 'Twill aggregate nearly a
thousand dollars."
"Yes,--when you get it, but interest's the slowest pay of all, in
these parts, unless you work an' contrive for it. They know you won't
foreclose on 'em; for while the security's good enough if you let it
alone, there ain't an estate in the county that would fetch the face of
its mortgage under the hammer. Besides, a merchant gen'rally dassent
foreclose a mortgage, unless it's agin some worthless shack of a man.
Folks remember it agin him, an' he loses some trade."
"Then those mortgages are practically worthless?"
"Oh, no. The money's in 'em, principal an' int'rest in full,--but the
holder's got to know how to git it out. That's the difference between
successful merchants and failures."
"H'm--I see. Apparently country merchants should be, like the
disciples, as wise as serpents and as harmless as doves."
"That's it in a nutshell. I reckon any fool could make money in the
store business if there was nothin' to do but weigh an' measure out
goods an' take in ready cash for 'em. But there ain't no ready money
in this county, 'xcept what the merchants get in for the produce
they send out. There ain't no banks, so the store-keepers have to be
money-lenders, an' have money in hand to lend; for while there's some
borrowers that can be turned off, there's some it would never do to say
'No' to, if you wanted further dealin's with 'em, for they'd feel as if
they'd lost their main dependence, an' been insulted besides. Why, some
of our customers come in here Saturdays an' get a few five an' ten cent
pieces, on credit like any other goods, so's their families can have
somethin' to put in the plate in church on Sunday."
"But there are rentals due from several farms, and from houses in
town. Are they as hard to collect as interest on mortgages?"
"Well, no--oh, no. The rent of most of the farms is payable in produce;
there's ironclad written agreements, recorded in the county clerk's
office, that the renters shan't sell any of their main crops anywhere
else until the year's rent is satisfied. One of 'em pays by clearin'
five acre of woodland ev'ry winter, an' gettin' it under cultivation in
the spring, and another has to do a certain amount of ditchin' to drain
swampy places. You'll have to watch them two fellers close, or they'll
skimp their work, for there's nothin' farmers hate like clearin' an'
ditchin'. I don't blame 'em, either."
"And the houses in town?"
"Oh, they're all right. The man in one of 'em, at two dollars a month,
cuts all the firewood for the store an' house; that about balances his
bill. Another house, at three thirty-three a month, has a cooper in
it; he pays the rent, an' all of the stuff he buys at the store, in
barrels for us in the pork-packin' season. The three an' a-half a month
house man works out his rent in the pork-house durin' the winter, an'
the four dollar house has your insurance agent in it; there's always a
little balance in his favor ev'ry year. The--"
"Caleb!" exclaimed Philip, "wait a minute; do you mean to tell me that
houses in Claybanks rent as low as four dollars, three and a half,
three and a third, and even as low as two dollars a month?"
"That's what I said. Why, the highest rent ever paid in this town was
six dollars a month. The owner tried to stick out for seventy-five
a year, but the renter wouldn't stand the extra twenty-five cents a
month."