VEE GOES OVER THE TOP
"But listen, Vee," says I. "If Hoover can't pull it off, with all the
backin' he's got, what's the use of a few of you women mixin' in?"
"At least we can try," says Vee. "The prices this Belcher person is
charging are something outrageous. Eggs ninety cents!"
"We should worry," says I. "Ain't we got nearly a hundred hens on the
job?"
"But others haven't," says Vee. "Those people in that row of little
cottages down by the station. The Walters, for instance. He can't get
more than twenty-five or thirty dollars a week, can he?"
"There's so many cases you can't figure out," says I. "Maybe he scrubs
along on small steaks or fried chicken."
"It's no joking matter," protests Vee. "Of course there are plenty of
people worse off then the Walters. That Mrs. Burke, whose two boys are
in the Sixty-ninth. She must do her marketing at Belcher's, too. Think
of her having to pay those awful prices!"
"I would," says I, "if workin'up a case of glooms was any use; but I
can't see----"
"We can see enough," breaks in Vee. "The new Belcher limousine, the
additions to their hideous big house. All made, too, out of food
profiteering right here. It's got to stop, that's all."
Which is where I should have shouted "Kamerad" and come runnin' out with
my hands up, but I tried to show her that Belcher was only playin' the
game like everyone else was playin' it.
"He ain't springin' anything new," says I. "He's just followin' the mob.
They're all doin' it, from the Steel Trust down to the push-cart men.
And when you come to interferin' with business--well, that's serious."
"Humph!" says Vee. "When it comes to taking advantage of poor people and
depriving them of enough to eat, I call it plain piracy. And you ought
to be ashamed of yourself, Torchy, standing up for such things."
So you see I was about as convincin' as a jazz band tryin' to imitate
the Metropolitan orchestra doin' the overture to "Lucia." If I hadn't
finally had sense enough to switch the subject a little, there might
have been a poutin' scene and maybe a double case of sulks. But when I
got to askin' where she'd collected all this grouch against our local
meat and provision octopus, she cheers up again.
Seems she'd been to a Red Cross meetin' that afternoon, where a lot of
the ladies was swappin' tales of woe about their kitchen expense
accounts. Some of 'em had been keepin' track of prices in the city
markets and was able to shoot the deadly parallel at Belcher. Anyway,
they ditched the sweater-knittin' and bandage-rollin' for the time
bein', and proceeded to organize the Woman's Economic League on the
spot.
"Sounds impressive," says I. "And what then? Did you try Belcher for
treason, find him guilty, and sentence him to be shot at sunrise?"
Vee proves that she's good-natured again by runnin' her tongue out at
me.
"We did not, Smarty," says she. "But we passed a resolution condemning
such extortion severely."
"How rough of you!" says I. "Anything else?"
"Yes," says Vee. "We appointed a committee to tell him he'd better
stop."
"Fine!" says I. "I expect he'll have everything marked down about forty
per cent. by to-morrow night."
Somehow, it didn't work out just that way. Next report I got from Vee
was that the committee had interviewed Belcher, but there was nothing
doin'. He'd been awfully nice to 'em, even if he had talked through his
cigar part of the time.
Belcher says he feels just as bad as they about havin' to soak on such
stiff prices. But how can he help it? The cold-storage people are
boostin' their schedules every day. They ain't to blame, either. They're
bein' held up by the farmers out West who are havin' their hair cut too
often. Besides, all the hens in the country have quit layin' and joined
the I. W. W., and every kind of meat is scarce on account of Pershing's
men developin' such big appetites. He's sorry, but he's doin' his best,
considerin' the war and everything. If people would only get the habit
of usin' corn meal for their pie crusts, everything would be lovely once
more.
"An alibi on every count," says I. "I expect the committee apologized."
"Very nearly that," says Vee. "The sillies! I just wish I'd been there.
I don't believe half of what he said is true."
"That's one thing," says I, "but provin' it on him would be another. And
there's where Belcher's got you."
Course, I like to watch Vee in action, for she sure is a humdinger when
she gets started. As a rule, too, I don't believe in tryin' to block her
off in any of her little enterprises.
But here was once where it seemed to me she was up against a hopeless
proposition. So I goes on to point out, sort of gentle and soothin', how
war prices couldn't be helped, any more'n you could stop the tide from
comin' in.
Oh, I'm some smooth suggester, I am, when you get into fireside
diplomacy. Anyway, the price of eggs wasn't mentioned again that
evenin'. As a matter of fact, Vee ain't troubled much with marketin'
details, for Madame Battou, wife of the little old Frenchman who does
the cheffing for us so artistic, attends to layin' in the supplies. And,
believe me, when she sails forth with her market basket you can be sure
she's goin' to get sixteen ounces to the pound and the rock bottom price
on everything. No 'phone orders for her. I don't believe Vee knew what
the inside of Belcher's store looks like. I'm sure I didn't.
So I thought the big drive on the roast beef and canned goods sector had
been called off. About that time, too, I got another inspection detail
handed me,--and I didn't see my happy home until another week-end.
I lands back on Broadway at 9 A.M. Havin' reported at the Corrugated
general offices and found Old Hickory out of town, I declares a special
holiday and beats it out to the part of Long Island I'm beginnin' to
know best. Struck me Professor Battou held his face kind of funny when
he saw me blow in; and as I asks for Vee, him and the madam swaps
glances. He say she's out.
"Oh," says I. "Mornin' call up at the Ellinses', eh? I'll stroll up that
way, myself, then."
Leon hesitates a minute, like he was chokin' over something, and then
remarks: "But no, M'sieur. Madame, I think, is in the village."
"Why," says I, "I just came from the station. I didn't see the car
around. How long has she been gone?"
Another exchange of looks, and then Battou answers:
"She goes at seven."
"Whaddye mean goes?" says I. "It ain't a habit of hers, is it?"
Leon nods.
"All this week," says he. "She goes to the meat and grocery
establishment, I understand."
"Belcher's?" says I. "But what--what's the idea?"
"I think it would be best if M'sieur asked Madame," says he.
"That's right, too," says I.
You can guess I was some puzzled. Was Vee doin' the spy act on Belcher,
watchin' him open the store and spendin' the forenoon concealed in a
crockery crate or something? No, that didn't sound reasonable. But what
the---- Meanwhile I was leggin' it down towards the village.
It's a busy place, Belcher's, specially on Saturday forenoon. Out front
three or four delivery trucks was bein' loaded up, and inside a lot of
clerks was jumpin' round. Among the customers was two Jap butlers, three
or four Swedish maids, and some of the women from the village. But no
Vee anywhere in sight.
Loomin' prominent in the midst of all this active tradin' is Belcher
himself, a thick-necked, ruddy-cheeked party, with bristly black hair
cut shoe-brush style and growing down to a point in front. His big,
bulgy eyes are cold and fishy, but they seem to take in everything
that's goin' on. I hadn't been standin' around more'n half a minute
before he snaps his finger, and a clerk comes hustlin' over to ask what
I'll have.
"Box of ginger-snaps," says I offhand; and a minute later I'm bein'
shunted towards a wire-cage with a cash slip in my hand.
I'd dug up a quarter, and was waitin' for the change to be passed out
through the little window, when I hears a familiar snicker. Then I
glances in to see who's presidin' at the cash register. And say, of all
the sudden jolts I ever got! It's Vee.
"Well, for the love of soup!" I gasps.
"Twelve out--thirteen. That's right, isn't it? Thank you so much, sir,"
says she, her gray eyes twinklin'.
"Quit the kiddin'," says I, "and sketch out the plot of the piece."
"Can't now," says Vee. "So run along. Please!"
"But how long does this act of yours last?" I insists.
"Until about noon, I think," says she. "It's such fun. You can't
imagine."
"What's it for, though?" says I. "Are you pullin' a sleuth stunt on----"
"S-s-s-sh!" warns Vee. "He's coming. Pretend to be getting a bill
changed or something."
It's while I'm fishin' out a ten that this little dialogue at the meat
counter begins to get conspicuous: A thin, stoop-shouldered female with
gray streaks in her hair is puttin' up a howl at the price of corned
beef. She'd asked for the cheapest piece they had, and it had been
weighed for her, but still she wasn't satisfied.
"It wasn't as high last Saturday," she objects.
"No, ma'am," says the clerk. "It's gone up since."
"Worse luck," says she, pokin' the piece with her finger. "And this is
nearly all bone and fat. Now couldn't you----"
"I'll ask the boss, ma'am," says the clerk. "Here he is."
Belcher has come over and is listenin', glarin' hostile at the woman.
"It's Mrs. Burke, the one whose sons are in the army," whispers Vee.
"Well?" demands Belcher.
"It's so much to pay for meat like that," says Mrs. Burke. "If you
could----"
"Take it or leave it," snaps Belcher.
"Sure now," says she, "you know I can't afford to give----"
"Then get out!" orders Belcher.
At which Vee swings open the door of the cage, brushes past me, and
faces him with her eyes snappin'.
"Pig!" says she explosive.
"Wha-a-a-at!" gasps Belcher, gawpin' at her.
"I--I beg pardon," says Vee. "I shouldn't have said that, even if it was
so."
"You--you're discharged, you!" roars Belcher.
"Isn't that nice?" says Vee, reachin' for her hat and coat. "Then I can
go home with my husband, I suppose. And if I have earned any of that
princely salary--five dollars a week, it was to be, wasn't it?--well,
you may credit it to my account: Mrs. Richard Tabor Ballard, you know.
Come, Torchy."
Say, I always did suspect there was mighty few things Vee was afraid of,
but I never thought she had so much clear grit stowed away in her
system. For to sail past Belcher the way he looked then took a heap of
nerve, believe me. But before he can get that thick tongue of his
limbered up we're outside, with Vee snuggled up mufflin' the giggles
against my coat sleeve.
"Oh, it's been such a lark, Torchy!" says she. "I've passed as Miss
Hemmingway for six days, and I don't believe more than three or four
persons have suspected. Thank goodness, Belcher wasn't one of them. For
I've learned--oh, such a lot!"
"Let's start at the beginning," says I. "Why did you do it at all?"
"Because the committee was so ready to believe the whoppers he told,"
says Vee. "And they wanted to disband the League, especially that Mrs.
Norton Plummer, whose husband is a lawyer. She was almost disagreeable
about it. Truly. 'But, my dear,' she said to me, 'one can't act merely
on rumor and prejudice. If we had a few facts or figures it might be
different.' And you know that sour smile of hers. Well! That's why I did
it. I asked them to give me ten days. And now----"
Vee finishes by squeezin' my arm.
"But how'd you come to break in so prompt?" I asks. "Did you mesmerize
Belcher?"
"I bought up his cashier--paid her to report that she was ill," says
Vee. "Then I smoothed back my hair, put on this old black dress, and
went begging for the job. That's when I began to know Mr. Belcher. He's
quite a different person when he is hiring a cashier from the one you
see talking to customers. Really, I've never been looked at that way
before--as if I were some sort of insect. But when he found I would work
cheap, and could get Mrs. Robert Ellins to go on my bond if I should
turn out a thief, he took me on.
"Getting up so early was a bit hard, and eating a cold luncheon harder
still; but worst of all was having to hear him growl and snap at the
clerks. Oh, he's perfectly horrid. I don't see how they stand it. Of
course, I had my share. 'Miss Blockhead' was his pet name for me."
"Huh!" says I, grittin' my teeth.
"Meaning that you'd like to tell Belcher a few things yourself?" asks
Vee. "Well, you needn't. I'd no right to be there, for one thing. And,
for another, this is my own particular affair. I know what I am going to
do to Mr. Belcher; at least, what I'm going to try to do. Anyway, I
shall have some figures to put before our committee Monday. Then we
shall see."
Yep, she had the goods on him. I helped her straighten out the evidence:
copies of commission-house bills showin' what he had paid for stuff, and
duplicates of sales-slips givin' the retail prices he got. And say, all
he was stickin' on was from thirty to sixty per cent. profit.
He didn't always wait for the wholesaler to start the boostin', either.
Vee points out where he has jacked up the price three times on the same
shipment--just as the spell took him. He'd be readin' away in his
_Morgen Blatherskite_, and all of a sudden he'd jump out of his chair.
I'm no expert on provision prices, but some of them items had me
bug-eyed.
"Why," says I, "it looks like this Belcher party meant to discourage
eatin' altogether. Couldn't do better if he was runnin' a dinin'-car."
"It's robbery, that's what it is," says Vee. "And when you think that
his chief victims are such helpless people as the Burkes and the
Walters--well, it's little less than criminal."
"It's a rough deal," I admits, "but one that's bein' pulled in the best
circles. War profits are what everybody seems to be out after these
days, and I don't see how you're going to stop it."
"I mean to try to stop Belcher, anyway," says Vee, tossin' her chin up.
"You ain't got much show," says I; "but go to it."
Just how much fight there was in Vee, though, I didn't have any idea of
until I saw her Monday evenin' after another meetin' of the League. It
seems she'd met this Mrs. Norton Plummer on her own ground and had
smeared her all over the map.
"What do you suppose she wanted to do?" demands Vee. "Pass more
resolutions! Well, I told her just what I thought of that. As well pin a
'Please-keep-out' notice on your door to scare away burglars as to send
resolutions to Belcher. And when I showed her what profits he was
making, item by item, she hadn't another word to say. Then I proposed my
plan."
"Eh?" says I. "What's it like?"
"We are going to start a store of our own," says Vee--just like that,
offhand and casual.
"You are!" says I. "But--but who's goin' to run it?"
"They made me chairman of the sub-committee," says Vee. "And then I made
them subscribe to a campaign fund. Five thousand. We raised it in as
many minutes. And now--well, I suppose I'm in for it."
"Listens that way to me," says I.
"Then I may as well begin," says she.
And say, there's nothin' draggy about Vee when she really goes over the
top. While I'm dressin' for dinner she calls up a real estate dealer and
leases a vacant store in the other end of the block from Belcher's.
Between the roast and salad she uses the 'phone some more and drafts
half a dozen young ladies from the Country Club set to act as relay
clerks. Later on in the evenin' she rounds up Major Percy Thomson, who's
been invalided home from the Quartermaster's Department on account of a
game knee, and gets him to serve as buyin' agent for a week or so. Her
next move is to charter a couple of three-ton motor-trucks to haul
supplies out from town; and when I went to sleep she was still jottin'
things down on a pad to be attended to in the mornin'.
For two or three days nothin' much seemed to happen. The windows of that
vacant store was whitened mysterious, carpenters were hammerin' away
inside, and now and then a truck backed up and was unloaded. But no
word was given out as to what was goin' to be sprung. Not until Friday
mornin'. Then the commuters on the 8.03 was hit bang in the eye by a
whalin' big red, white, and blue sign announcin' that the W. E. L.
Supply Company was open for business.
Course, it was kind of crude compared to Belcher's. No fancy counters or
showcases or window displays of cracker-boxes. And the stock was limited
to staples that could be handled easy. But the price bulletins posted up
outside was what made some of them gents who'd been doin' the fam'ly
marketin' stop and stare. A few of 'em turned halfway to the station and
dashed back to leave their orders. Goin' into town they spread the news
through the train. The story of that latest bag of U-boats, which the
mornin' papers all carried screamers about, was almost thrown into the
discard. If I hadn't been due for a ten o'clock committee meetin' at the
Corrugated, I'd have stayed out and watched the openin'. Havin' told Old
Hickory about it, though, I was on hand next mornin' with a whole day's
furlough.
"It ought to be our big day," says Vee.
It was. For one thing, everybody was stockin' up for over Sunday, and
with the backin' of the League the Supply Company could count on about
fifty good customers as a starter. Most of the ladies came themselves,
rollin' up in limousines or tourin' cars and cartin' home their own
stuff. Also the cottage people, who'd got wind of the big mark-down
bargains, begun to come in bunches, every woman with a basket.
But they didn't swamp Vee. She'd already added to her force of young
lady clerks a squad of hand-picked Boy Scouts, and it was my job to
manage the youngsters.
I'd worked out the system the night before. Each one had typed price
lists in his pocket, and besides that I'd put 'em through an hour's
drill on weights and measures before the show started.
I don't know when it was Belcher begun to get wise and start his
counter-attack; but the first time I had a chance to slip out and take a
squint his way, I saw this whackin' big sign in front of his place:
"Potatoes, 40 cents per peck." Which I promptly reports to Vee.
"Very well," says she; "we'll make ours thirty-five."
Inside of ten minutes we had a bulletin out twice as big as his.
"Now I guess he'll be good," says I.
But he had a scrap or two left in him, it seems. Pretty soon he cuts the
price to thirty.
"We'll make it twenty-five," says Vee.
And by eleven o'clock Belcher has countered with potatoes at twenty
cents.
"Why," gasps Vee, "that's far less than they cost at wholesale. But we
can't let him beat us. Make ours twenty, too."
"Excuse me, ma'am," puts in one of the Scouts, salutin', "but we've run
out of potatoes."
"Oh, boy!" says I. "Where do we go from here!"
Vee hesitates only long enough to draw a deep breath.
"Torchy," says she, "I have it. Form your boys into a basket brigade,
and buy out Belcher below the market."
Talk about your frenzied finance! Wasn't that puttin' it over on him!
For two hours, there, we went long on Belcher's potatoes at twenty,
until his supply ran out too. Then he switched to sugar and butter.
Quotations went off as fast as when the bottom drops out of a bull
market. All we had to do to hammer down the prices of anything in the
food line, whether we had it or not, was to stick out a cut-rate
sign--Belcher was sure to go it one better; and when Vee got it far
enough below cost, she started her buyin' corps, workin' in customers,
clerks, and anybody that was handy. And by night if every fam'ly within
five miles hadn't stocked up on bargain provisions it was their own
fault; for if they didn't have cash of their own Vee was right there
with the long-distance credit.
[Illustration: "Belcher has come over and is listenin', glarin' hostile
at the woman. 'It's Mrs. Burke, the one whose sons are in the army,'
whispers Vee."]
"I'll bet you've got old Belcher frothin' through his ears," says I.
"I hope so," says Vee.
The followin' Monday, though, he comes back at her with his big push. He
had the whole front of his store plastered with below-cost bulletins.
"Pooh!" says Vee. "I can have signs like that painted, too."
And she did. It didn't bother her a bit if her stock ran out. She kept
up on the cut-rate game, and when people asked for things she didn't
have she just sent 'em to Belcher's.
Maybe you saw what some of the papers printed. Course, they joshed the
ladies more or less, but also they played up a peppery interview with
Belcher which got him in bad with everybody. Vee wasn't so pleased at
the publicity stuff, but she didn't squeal.
What was worryin' me some was how soon the grand smash was comin'. I
knew that the campaign fund had been whittled into considerable, and now
that prices had been slashed there was no chance for profits.
It was botherin' Vee some, too, for she'd promised not to assess the
League members again unless she could show 'em where they were comin'
out. By the middle of the week things looked squally. Belcher had given
out word that he meant to bust up this fool woman's opposition, if it
took his last cent.
Then, here the other night, I comes home to find Vee wearin' a satisfied
grin. As I comes in she jumps up from her desk and waves a check at me.
"Look!" says she. "Five thousand! I've got it back, Torchy, every
dollar."
"Eh?" says I. "You ain't sold out to Belcher?"
"I should say not," says she. "To the Noonan chain. Mr. Noonan came
himself. He'd read about our fight in the newspapers, and said he'd be
glad to take it off our hands. He's been wanting to establish a branch
in this district. Five thousand for stock and good will. What do you
think of that?"
"I ain't thinkin'," says I. "I'm just gaspin' for breath. Noonan, eh?
Then I see where Belcher gets off. And if you don't mind my whisperin'
in your ear, Vee, you're some whizz."