DIVIDENDS FOR TWO
The meeting was held after supper in the little office at Mr. Morris’
cabinet shop. When Tom arrived Willard had his book and papers spread
out on the desk and was all ready for business.
“I thought,” said Willard, “we’d better come around here where we
wouldn’t be interrupted. You can’t do anything like this at home
because Grace is always butting in. Do you want to go over this
yourself or shall I do it?”
“You do it,” answered Tom, pushing his hat back from his forehead and
perching himself on the sill of the open window. It was a hot, still
night, with a wonderful big round moon throwing black tree shadows
across the quiet street. From somewhere around a corner came the tinkle
of a piano and, further up the street, Mr. Canton’s setter puppy was
barking ferociously at the moon. But for these sounds, each of which
seemed a part of the summer night, all was silence, the silence of a
stifling August evening when not a leaf stirs and even the moonlight
seems hot. Willard ran a finger around inside the low collar he wore
and assumed the rôle of treasurer.
“I tell you right now, Tom,” he began, “you’re going to be surprised,
awfully surprised.”
“I am, eh?” asked Tom uneasily. “All right. I can stand it. Go ahead.”
Willard cleared his throat. “The books show,” he began in an important
tone, “that we have taken in during the period from July twelfth to
August eleventh inclusive, the space of one month, thirty-one days――――”
“Oh, cut the speeches, Willard,” begged Tom. “It’s too hot.”
“That we have taken in,” continued Willard, unruffled, “from――er――all
sources the sum of $187.75.”
“What! How much? Say it again!”
“One hundred and eighty-seven dollars and seventy-five cents,” repeated
Willard in triumph.
“Gee!” gasped Tom. “How’d we do it?”
“It’s all here, day by day. Let’s see. On station trips we made
exactly a hundred and twelve dollars. We took in sixty-five dollars on
evening――er――rentals and ten dollars and seventy-five cents the day of
the picnic. Total, one hundred, eighty-seven, seventy-five!”
“Great Scott! Why, that’s――that’s over two thousand dollars a year!
Are you sure you’ve got it right, Will?”
“Look for yourself,” said Willard offendedly. Tom dropped from the
windowsill and followed Willard’s finger as it passed down the pages,
pausing at totals and pointing out “Forwards.”
“Seems all right,” murmured Tom. “Say, we’ve been doing some business
lately, haven’t we?”
“You bet. Look at this day, August eighth; nine dollars and twenty-five
cents from station work and six dollars from an evening party; total,
fifteen dollars and twenty-five cents! That’s the best day of all,
although the picnic day came pretty close; thirteen-fifty. We didn’t do
much station work that day.”
Tom whistled softly and sank into a chair. “A hundred and eighty-seven!”
he muttered. Then, his voice dropping: “I suppose, though, we’ve had to
spend a lot of that,” he said questioningly.
“Ye-es, a good deal. Gasoline costs such a lot, Tom. Wish we could get
along without it! Here’s what we’ve disbursed.”
“Dis――what?” asked Tom.
“Spent, you idiot! Gasoline, seventeen dollars and thirty cents――――”
“That isn’t so much!”
“Repairs and supplies other than fuel, eight dollars and sixty cents;
printing, including sign-painting, three dollars and eighty-five cents;
one tire and one tube, twenty-two dollars and fifty cents――――”
“I’d forgotten that,” murmured Tom sadly.
“Expense of trip to Providence, two dollars and twelve cents;
incidental expenses, one dollar and sixty-five cents. That’s all.”
“And――and how much does it leave us?” asked Tom anxiously.
“We’ve expended fifty-six dollars and two cents. Take that from one
hundred, eighty-seven, seventy-five and it leaves one hundred and
thirty-one dollars and seventy-three cents.”
“Do you mean to say we’ve got all that left?” demanded Tom.
“No, because we paid Saunders twenty dollars, you see.”
“That’s right.”
“So we’ve got on hand one hundred and eleven dollars and seventy-three
cents. Or, anyway, that’s what we ought to have.”
“Haven’t we?” asked Tom anxiously.
Willard shook his head. “We’ve only got a hundred and ten, ninety-eight.
We’re seventy-five cents shy, Tom. I’m sorry. I’ve put away every cent
and kept strict account, but――――”
“Shucks, what does seventy-five cents matter when we’ve got all that
money? And――and maybe you made a mistake in your figuring.”
“Maybe I didn’t!” exclaimed Willard indignantly. “More likely you
forgot to hand some money over some time, Tom.”
“I might have,” mused the other. Then, triumphantly: “I’ll tell you
where your seventy-five is!” he cried. “Remember the chap who went away
without paying Mr. Duff for his two sample-cases and bag?”
“Of course! I forgot that. I suppose that ought to go down to profit
and loss.”
“Loss, I’d say. Although we’ll get it out of him the next time he comes
to town. I remember him, all right. He had red hair and freckles and
wore a pink shirt. Looked like――like a sunset, he did.”
“Hope he doesn’t change his shirt,” laughed Willard, as he corrected
his account. “We might not recognize him.”
“I’d know him as long as he didn’t dye his hair! Well, what are we
going to do with all that money, Will? I suppose we’d better pay back
some of what we borrowed, hadn’t we?”
“I should think so. Suppose we pay your father his fifty and I’ll take
twenty-five.”
“But you put in a hundred and twenty-five and dad only put in fifty,”
Tom demurred. “You take fifty and we’ll pay dad twenty-five. That’s
fairer.” And after some discussion it was settled that way. “Then,”
said Tom, “we have about thirty-five left, haven’t we? What’ll we do
with that?”
“We’ll let twenty-five of it remain in the treasury,” replied Willard,
“and declare a dividend of five dollars apiece. How’s that?”
“All right,” said Tom. “How do you do it?”
“Do what?”
“Why, declare a dividend.”
“You――you just do it,” laughed Willard. “We’ve declared it. To-morrow
we’ll each take five dollars out.”
“What’ll we do with it?” asked Tom.
“Anything you like. Spend it; save it; anything.”
“Oh, I see. It’ll be our own, you mean?”
“Of course!”
“Think of that!” murmured Tom. “Say, that’s fine, isn’t it? Why, I
didn’t suppose I’d get anything out of it for a long time! I wonder――――”
“What?” asked Willard as the other paused.
“I wonder what I’ll do with it. I guess I’ll start an account at the
bank, a savings account. Did you know that they pay you three per cent.
interest, Will? What’s three per cent. on five dollars?”
“A cent and a half,” answered Willard, smiling.
“Is that all?” Tom’s face fell. “I’ve a good mind to spend it, Will!”
“There’s one thing we’ve forgotten,” observed Willard later, “and that
is that I haven’t any license to run that car, Tom. I guess I’d better
have one, eh?”
“I should say so! Gee, they might have nabbed you that day you were out
alone! I didn’t think about it. Anyway, it’s only two dollars.”
“I know, and I’ll pay it myself――out of my dividend.”
“Indeed you won’t! The――the firm will pay it.”
“Pshaw, it isn’t worth while! What’s two dollars?”
“Well, it’s almost as much as we started business with,” replied Tom
dryly. “The firm paid for my license and it ought to pay for yours.
To-morrow we’ll get an application and fill it out. Now let’s get out
somewhere where it’s cool. That gas makes it hotter than the dickens in
here.”
They locked up and, together, Willard carrying his books and papers,
sauntered down the street and crossed to Logan Court, pausing at the
corner a moment to further infuriate the setter puppy. From the blind
end of the court it was possible to sneak through the Widow Thomas’
side yard, scale a fence, and drop into the Willard premises. Mrs.
Thomas, however, objected to such proceedings, and so it was incumbent
on them to proceed cautiously, a fact which lent the thing quite a
glamour of adventure. To add to their difficulties, the widow was
entertaining friends on the front porch and they had to duck behind
the lilac hedge as they passed and then slip quietly through the side
gate. All went well until Tom, confused by the black shadows on the
ground, walked into a hose-reel. His cry of surprise was loud enough
to be heard on the porch and they had just time to dodge into the dark
shrubbery along the fence before the sound of scraping chairs told them
that the widow and her friends were investigating. Behind the shrubbery
they waited, doubled up with laughter. Finally, quite distinctly across
the yard, came the widow’s voice: “I guess it’s that Morris boy,” she
said resignedly. “He seems to think my place is a public highway. I’m
going to speak to his father about him the first thing in the morning.”
“You’ll get it,” whispered Tom, laughingly.
“She always says that,” Willard replied, “and never does it. Come on;
they’ve gone back.”
They emerged from the shadows and went further along, until they were
opposite the Morris’ back-yard. Then a hard scramble over a high board
fence and they were safe. Unfortunately, though, Willard dropped his
book and it took them several minutes to rescue the papers from among
the currant bushes. In celebration of the fine showing of the company,
Grace Morris was called on to prepare lemonade, and the three sat on
the porch in the moonlight and sipped the cooling beverage and nibbled
cookies until long after their proper bedtime.