"A responsible business firm wants a young man (Dt. Ref.) of good
family. He must be moral, well-behaved and not under fifteen years
old. Prospect of salary if diligent and reliable. Good treatment
guaranteed. Address written applications in own handwriting to
'Business,' care E. Maaskamp's book and art store, Nieuwendyk,
Amsterdam."
The writer cannot recall what sort of art publications E. Maaskamp was
dealing in just at that time, and will not make any guesses, for fear
of getting the reader into chronological difficulties. If it should
become necessary in writing Walter's history, the writer would have
no compunctions of conscience in putting the republic after Louis,
or William I. before the republic.
And as for that "Dt. Ref."--Dutch Reform--in the advertisement--that
gives the writer no trouble. He knows very well that "Dt. Ref." as a
necessary qualification for servants, apprentices, etc., was introduced
after E. Maaskamp's pictures had been forgotten. Nevertheless, it
must be insisted upon that the aforesaid abbreviation was in the
advertisement which was now occupying the undivided attention of
the Pieterses.
"There couldn't be anything more fortunate," said the mother. "What
do you think, Stoffel?"
"Yes, mother, it couldn't be better."
"What pleases me especially is the 'well-behaved.'"
"Moral and well-behaved, mother."
"Yes, moral and well-behaved--do you hear, Walter? Just as I have
always said. And 'prospect of salary.' What do you think of that,
Stoffel?"
"Yes, mother; but--he must be 'diligent and reliable.'"
"Yes, Walter, you must be diligent and reliable. Haven't I always told
you that? And they require 'Dt. Ref.'; but you are that, thank God."
"Yes, mother, he's that all right."
"Stoffel, don't you think you'd better write the letter?"
"But it says 'in own handwriting.'"
"That's so! But if you write the letter in your own handwriting--that
will be better than for such a child to write it."
Stoffel had some difficulty in making it plain to his mother that
"own handwriting" meant Walter's own handwriting; but she finally
saw the point, and Walter was given a seat at the table.
"Well? What must I write at the top?"
"Now, have you forgotten that again? Such a simple thing? Have you
got down the date? Then write 'Gentlemen,' in business style. It says,
'responsible business firm.'"
"Yes," said the mother, "and add that your father had a business,
too. We sold shoes from Paris. Otherwise they will think we're only
shoemakers."
"And write that you are the first in school."
"And that you belong to the Dutch Reform Church."
"And that you are moral and well-behaved."
"And that you are diligent and reliable. Don't you see, you may get
a salary then right away."
At last the letter was ready. It only remained to stamp it and post
it. But why couldn't the young applicant deliver the letter in person
and save the postage? Stoffel thought there would be no impropriety
in such a course. Even a responsible business firm ought to overlook
such a detail.
With a heavy heart Walter started out on his important errand. He was
entering the real world, and was about to become a worshiper of the
great god of "business." He was depressed by his lack of confidence,
and felt that it was unbecoming in himself to make application to a
"responsible business firm."
If he met a man that looked well-to-do, he would ask himself if
the gentleman was a "business man," and belonged to a "responsible
business firm." This last high-sounding expression embodied mysteries
which he did not attempt to understand. He would learn it all later.
Walter stammered an excuse to the young fellow in the shop for not
having sent his letter by post. The fellow didn't understand him, but
threw the letter carelessly into a box containing a few dozen others
that were awaiting the favorable consideration of Messrs. Motto,
Business & Co.
The fellow was busy with some Turkish battles in glaring colors,
and declined to enter into any conversation with our hero. Walter's
mouth watered for a bright picture of Grecian chivalry. But what good
did it do? He had no money; and, besides, he was out for business,
not for heroic deeds.
"Later!" he thought.
Arrived at home he received the usual scolding. His mother maintained
that he had certainly not entered the shop in a "respectable" manner;
otherwise the young gentleman would have given him a friendlier
reception. She was afraid that those excellent gentlemen, Motto,
Business & Co., would take this into consideration to his detriment.
"And you say there were already a whole lot of letters there? You
see, Stoffel--if he only isn't too late! That's the way--those people
would break their necks or be first. And who knows but what some of
them are Roman Catholics? I wonder if they all think they're moral
and well-behaved. You can just see what kind of people there are in
the world!"
Walter had to go back to Maaskamp's and get the address of the firm
in question. The idea was for him to call on the firm in person and
thus get ahead of everybody else. Juffrouw Pieterse wanted to bet her
ears that not a one of the other applicants could boast of a father
who had sold Parisian shoes.
"Tell them that! Your father never took a stitch in his life. He
didn't even know how to. It's only to prove that we had a business,
too. He never had an awl in his hand--isn't it so, Stoffel?"
Those eminently respectable gentlemen, Motto, Business & Co., lived--I
don't know where they lived; but they had founded on the Zeedyk a
cigar store and a circulating library. It was probably not far from
the place where six or eight centuries earlier a few fishermen had
founded the greatest commercial city of Europe.
Walter found one of those worthy gentlemen behind the counter. He was
in his shirt-sleeves, and was engaged in weighing out some snuff for
an old woman. "Business" was evidently being carried on.
As Walter had formed no conception of "responsible business firm,"
he was far from thinking that the gentlemen had claimed too much for
themselves. With his peculiar timidity he even reproached himself
for not having understood the conception "business" before.
Now he understood it. Business meant to stand behind a counter,
in shirt-sleeves, and weigh snuff. And, too, on the Zeedyk.
The cigar store occupied only half the width of the house, and was
connected with the circulating library by a side door. Motto, Business
& Co. were simultaneously cultivating two industries: those who didn't
care for snuff or tobacco could get something to read, and vice versa.
Over the shelves, on the tobacco side, were posted signs bearing the
assurance that something was "manufactured" here. Differing entirely
from the Pieterses, these gentlemen seemed to think that to make
a thing meant more than merely to sell it. We leave the question
undecided.
Was it true that this business firm manufactured anything? The only
thing they manufactured was the paper bags that were to be pasted
together by the moral, well-behaved, diligent and reliable young man
who was a member of the Dutch Reform Church.
The amount of business done was small, the profits barely paying the
rent. The wicked world on the Zeedyk even said that the two blue
porcelain vases bearing in old-fashioned letters the inscriptions
"Rappee" and "Zinking," had been borrowed from a second-hand dealer
in the neighborhood, and that the good man came by every day to look
after his property.
The shop was small, and was closed off in the rear by a green curtain,
which was calculated to make customers think there was something more
beyond. To be exact, there was something beyond that curtain. There
hung a dilapidated mirror, consoling with a lonely chair, which was
now ornamented by the coat of the worthy senior partner; and leaning
against the wall was a half-round table, on which a pomatum-pot
was making fun of a comb because for years it had been expecting
to grow new teeth. Business was not so exacting but that Mr. Motto
could devote a little spare time to the improvement of his personal
beauty. He had succeeded in developing two beautiful bunches of hair
on the sides of his face. They cost him much pains and grease; but
they were the delight of all the ladies who entered the shop.
"And so you want to go into business, do you?" asked Mr. Motto,
after he had given the old woman a "pinch" from the jar. "What all
have you studied? Reading, writing, arithmetic, French? Eh? And what
are your parents."
"They dealt in shoes--from Paris, M'neer. But I don't know
French. Arithmetic--yes. Went through Strabbe."
"And you know arithmetic, do you? How much then is a Pietje and
a half?"
Walter stammered that he didn't know. Does the reader know?
"But you must know that if you expect to calculate. And you don't know
what a Pietje is? Do you know the difference between a sesthalf and
a shilling? And between a dollar and a twenty-eight piece? Look----"
Mr. Motto pulled out the cash-drawer and seemed to be hunting for a
dollar; but for some reason or other he decided to make out with a
sesthalf. This he laid on the counter and asked Walter to imagine a
shilling lying beside it. He then proceeded to test Walter's knowledge
of business by asking him to point out the differences between the
two coins. Mr. Motto claimed that in business one must know these
details thoroughly.
And Mr. Motto was right about it. At that time there were more
different kinds of money in the Netherlands than there are in Germany
now. To be able to distinguish the various coins readily and make
change accurately a regular course of study was necessary. Just
as a law was about to be passed to confer the title, "Doctor of
Numismatics," on examination, the secretary of the treasury discovered
that all this trouble could be spared by simplifying the money. He
became very unpopular after this.
In Walter's time, though, such a reform had not been thought of. The
florin had twenty stivers; the regular Holland dollar had fifty
stivers, the Zeeland dollar had forty-two. The dollar was worth a
florin and a half, and the gold florin was called a "twenty-eight,"
because it contained twenty-eight stivers. The coins were well-worn and
seldom exhibited any traces of inscriptions, milling, etc. Matters were
further complicated by three-florin pieces and ducats of sixty-three
stivers, not to mention any other coins.
For Walter the money question was a serious one.
"And you don't know French, either?" in a tone that was scarcely
encouraging.
"No----" mournfully.
"And would your parents put up cash security for you?"
Walter didn't understand the question.
"Caution. Don't you understand? Security! There's lots of money
handled, and I must know who I'm turning the shop over to. And--do
you know Danish?"
Mr. Motto did not always speak grammatically.
"No--M'neer."
"What! Nor Danish, either? But Danish sailors come in here to buy
tobacco, and then you need to speak Danish. In a business like this
here you must know all languages. That's the main thing--otherwise
your cake's dough! I've even had Greeks to come in here."
Walter's heart gave a jump. What heroic deeds might they not do on
such occasions!
"Yes, Greeks; but they were drunk and wanted a smoke for nothing. We
don't do it that way. The main thing is to look out for the
little things. Otherwise your cake's dough, you understand. Yes,
in business you must know all languages, otherwise you can't talk
to the customers. That's the main thing. But that will be all right
if your parents can deposit a caution. Sometimes there are at least
ten florins in the cash-drawer, you know; and in business a man must
have security. That's the main thing. Otherwise your cake's dough;
you can see that for yourself."
"My father is dead," said Walter, as if that fact rendered the cash
security unnecessary. He didn't know anything else to say.
"That so? Dead! Yes, it often happens. Dead? All right! But haven't
you a mother who can pay for you?"
"I--will--ask--her," Walter stammered.
"Certainly. Ask her right away; for you know in business things
are done in a hurry. Said, done! That's the main thing. Otherwise
your cake's dough. Here is another shop, and you will have work to
do in there, too--if your mother can put up the money. That's the
main thing."
Mr. Motto conducted Walter into the circulating library. On three sides
of the room were bookcases reaching to the rather low ceiling. For the
rest, the place was provided with a ladder to be used in gathering
such fruits of literature as hung out of reach. And then there was
a big, thick book, in which the diligent and reliable young man of
Protestant faith was to enroll the names of the people who paid a
dubbeltje a week for a book. It's cheaper now.
"You see," said Mr. Motto, "that is the book, so to say the great
book. You understand bookkeeping, don't you?"
Unfortunately Walter had to admit that he had not yet studied that
branch.
"Nor bookkeeping, either? Boy! that's the main thing in business. If
a man can't do that his cake's dough. It's very simple. You write down
who takes out a book, with the day and date and street and number. And
when they bring the book back you drawn a line through it; and you've
got a pretty kettle of fish if you don't do it. When you don't know
the people you must----"
"Ask for a deposit!" cried Walter quickly, rejoiced that he knew
something. It's doubtful if he knew what he was to draw the line
through.
"Yes, a deposit. A florin a week for a volume. Then, you understand,
when a volume's gone, the cake's dough with that volume. Later I will
explain to you everything about the cigars and tobacco; but first
I must know whether your mother--ask her right away! And now I've
explained everything to you at least half a dozen times. For there's
no lack of boys that want to go into business; but when it comes to
Moses and the Prophets--then they set the bow-sails. And that's the
main thing. Otherwise you look a little delicate, but I must know
first if your mother can deposit a caution. Adieu!"
Walter went home in a peculiar frame of mind. At first the family
did not think favorably of that "cash security." Stoffel, however,
had often heard of such things, and negotiations were opened with
the said firm. It was finally agreed that a deposit of one hundred
florins should be made, for which the firm agreed to pay 3 1/2%
interest. Juffrouw Pieterse was not quite satisfied with this, as
she was accustomed to getting 4%; but "one must do something for
one's children."
Stoffel, who represented the Pieterses in these negotiations, was
surprised that he never got to see more than the first half of
the firm--or, better, the first third. He even took the liberty
of remarking on the peculiar circumstance, when he learned that
the "Co." was merely ornamental, while "Business" existed only in
Mr. Motto's imagination. In fact that handsome and worthy gentleman
alone constituted the "responsible business firm," and like an Atlas
carried on his broad shoulders all the responsibilities incident to
such a complicated and extensive undertaking. It was quite natural
that he should desire to put a part of the burden on the back of some
diligent, reliable Protestant boy, who could furnish cash security. For
that was "the main thing."
On the library side Walter developed a diligence against which only
one thing could be urged: it was prejudicial to the tobacco industry
adjoining. If he had smoked as much as he read, he would have made
himself sick; and even his reading wasn't the best thing in the world
for his health.
He devoured everything indiscriminately--whether ripe or green. Most
of that literary fruit was green. In a short time he was able to
foretell the fate of the hero with a certainty that would have piqued
the author. The cleverest literary craftsman couldn't let the poor
orphan boy be as poor as a church mouse for ten pages, but that
Walter would see the flashing of the stars and knightly crucifixes
with which he was to be decked out on the last page. One might think
this would cause him to lose interest in the book; but, no! He was
constant to the end--to the official triumph. For him it would have
been a sin to call to the Saxons and Normans a second too soon:
"See if Ivanhoe isn't going to smash that big-mouthed Sir Brian de
Bois-Guilbert!" And all the time he felt as if he were--Ivanhoe? No,
as if he were the deity, who must give the hero strength to overcome
that infamous scoundrel, Brian de Bois-Guilbert.
Then all at once the door-bell would ring, and the magnanimous Walter
would have to occupy himself with things less chivalrous.
The only thing he could do in such moments was to weigh accurately,
and not give anybody a cigar from the "tens" instead of from
the "eights." Such conscienciousness, however, was futile, for
in the cigar-boxes were cigars that ought to have been called
"twenties." Mr. Motto said that the customers were usually drunk,
and that it was all right to give them cabbage leaves to smoke. "You
must size up your customer. That's the main thing."
This was something Walter never could learn. With him, ten was ten,
eight eight--no matter who the customer was. To take an unfair
advantage, or tell a lie never occurred to him. From fear or
embarrassment he might possibly tell an untruth; but if he had been
asked a second time----
As strange as it may seem, this aversion to lying and deception
was nourished by the books he read. The brave knight fought till he
was victorious, or dead. Only the fatally wounded surrendered. All
this had Walter's hearty endorsement: He would not have acted
differently. The beautiful heroine was loved by everybody; and the
rejected suitors died of despair, or joined some desperate band. All
quite proper. The good remained steadfast, in spite of the Devil and
all his machinations--yes, in spite of tedium. Once selected by the
author to be a high-toned, moral hero--then spotless garments! Walter
wondered if such a one could have a pain in the stomach, or suffer
other inconvenience. Certainly not in books!
He did not know that such perfection was humbug. He was satisfied
when the characters in such novels did what was required of them by
the author. The villains were always betraying somebody; the heroes
killed everything that got in their way; and the beautiful virgins
charmed everybody. Even God, the God of romance, did his duty much
better than--but that's another detail.
Yesterday on the Zeedyk a big boy had beaten a little fellow. That
ought to happen in a book. How all the knights would have come
running! Walter, too, was going to--but how could he help it if his
employer called him back? "What in the devil have you got to do with
that? Your work is here in the store. You attend to your own business
now, and don't mix yourself in other people's brawls. That's the
main thing!"
As a rule of conduct, this was not just what Walter was used to in
his novels.
Despite such interruptions he continued his reading. He was almost
ready to begin on the last section of books, when he came to the
store one morning and found everything locked up and under seal.
The worthy Mr. Motto, it seems, had gone to America, as a sailor;
and doubtless that was the "main thing." The unfortunate owner of the
two snuff-vases had a big law suit over them. The point was whether
they were a part of the assets, or not.
On the Zeedyk at Amsterdam such processes must be tried according
to Roman law; but as the Romans did not use snuff there is nothing
said about "Rappee" in the Roman laws. The writer doesn't know how
the matter finally turned out. It is to be hoped that everybody got
what was coming to him.
Juffrouw Pieterse, however, did not recover her hundred florins; and,
as usual, she groaned: "There's always trouble with this boy."
Walter couldn't help her. He had his own troubles: he had been cruelly
interrupted in his reading. Of course the mysterious parentage of
the young robber was perfectly clear to him; but still one likes to
see whether one has guessed correctly, or not.