WHAT HAPPENED AT THE STORE.
IN THE hall Mr. Jones met his landlady. The sight of her seemed to
recall something to his mind, for he quickly thrust his hand into his
pocket, and said as he approached:
“I am ashamed of myself, Mrs. Willis, but I never thought of it before,
I assure you.”
“Why, what do you mean, Mr. Jones?” asked the lady in surprise.
“I mean that, contrary to my usual custom, I have neglected to pay my
week’s board.”
“Pray don’t mention it,” said Mrs. Willis, accepting the bill her lodger
tendered her. “If I had needed the money I should not have hesitated to
ask for it. But, Mr. Jones, I am really afraid that I shall have to
speak to your friend, Guy.”
The commercial traveler spread out his feet, placed his hands behind his
back, and gazed fixedly at the oil-cloth on the floor, but had nothing
to say.
“It isn’t the money I care for,” said the landlady, “but I can see very
plainly that Guy is getting into bad habits. He is going to ruin as fast
as he can, and I think it is your duty to advise him to do better.”
“I do, Mrs. Willis; indeed I do, very frequently,” replied Jones, in a
sorrowful voice; “but I find that it is of no use. I have no more
influence with him than I have with the wind. I am surprised to hear
that he owes you,” he added, with some indignation in his tones, “but I
know the reason for it. It isn’t because Guy isn’t able, or doesn’t want
to pay, but simply because he is so careless. If you will take my advice
you can get your money to-morrow.”
“What must I do?”
“Do as the rest of his creditors do—call upon him at the store. Suppose
you come about six o’clock in the evening? You will be sure to find him
in then.”
“Oh, I can’t do that,” said Mrs. Willis quickly. “I don’t want to dun
Mr. Harris.”
“Of course not; you merely wish to remind him that he is in your debt,
that’s all.”
“Why couldn’t I speak to him here and now?”
“You could, certainly, but it would do no good. He would promise
faithfully to pay up at once, and never think of the matter again. He is
just so forgetful. I really wish you could make it convenient to call on
him to-morrow evening at six o’clock,” added Mr. Jones, “for by so doing
you will benefit Guy as well as yourself. He will draw his quarter’s
salary then, and if you can get your money out of him it will keep him
from spending it for beer and billiards—a practice to which he has of
late, I am sorry to say, become very much addicted.”
The argument was a clincher, and put all the good lady’s scruples to
rout. She did not need the money, and neither did she want to dun Guy;
but if by that means she could keep him from spending his hard earnings
foolishly, it was her duty to do it. So she promised to follow Mr.
Jones’ advice, and the latter, after begging her not to say a word to
Guy concerning what had just passed between them, leisurely pulled on
his gloves and left the house.
“There’s one hound I have put on your track, Mr. Harris,” muttered the
commercial traveler when he had gained the street. “If I could only
raise a suspicion in her mind that her money is in danger, wouldn’t she
make things lively though? For good, fine, ornamental dunning, commend
me to a mad landlady, who can do more of it in five minutes than any ten
men can do in half an hour. I know, for I have had experience with
them.”
With this reflection Mr. Jones pulled his coat collar up around his
ears, for the evening air was chilly, and hurrying down Fourth Street
turned into the door of a fashionable tailoring establishment. Meeting
the proprietor as he entered he exclaimed:
“Now, Mr. Warren, I am quite sure that you were on the point of starting
for my boarding-house to dun me for that bill I owe you. I am really
ashamed of myself—but here’s the——”
“Halloo! what’s the matter with you, Jones?” interrupted the tailor.
“Your bill is a mere trifle, not more than ten or fifteen dollars, and
if I had wanted the money I should not have failed to let you know it.
But, Jones, I intend to make you a present of that and more, too. You
have recommended our house extensively during your travels, and in that
way have helped us many a dollar. If you will step into the back part of
the store we’ll take your measure and put you up a fine business suit.”
“You are very kind,” said Mr. Jones gratefully. “I accept your offer
with thanks. I should like a new business suit, one something like that
you made for Harris a few weeks ago. By the way, if it is a fair
question, what did he pay you for it?”
“Not one dime,” said the merchant with a laugh.
“How? I don’t understand you.”
“I mean that we have never seen a cent of his money since he began
trading with us.”
“Is it possible?” exclaimed Mr. Jones. “I declare I never saw that
fellow’s equal for putting off things. Send your bill down to the store
to-morrow evening at six o’clock, and give him a first-class
overhauling.”
“Oh, I guess I won’t do that. He may be a little short just at present,
and if he is I don’t want to press him. We are not in need of money.”
“But Guy isn’t short; he’s got plenty of funds.”
“Then perhaps I should make him angry, and that wouldn’t pay, for he’s a
good customer.”
“No, you’ll not make him mad,” said Mr. Jones, “for he has got so in the
habit of being dunned that he expects it, and never thinks of paying a
bill without it. You’ll have to talk right up to him, for he is as full
of excuses as an egg is of meat. He’s perfectly honest, but so peculiar.
You needn’t tell him that I suggested this plan of operations to you.”
“Of course not,” said Mr. Warren.
The conversation ran on in this channel while the tailor was taking Mr.
Jones’ measure, and the result was that the merchant announced his
determination to send his bill to his debtor at the store on the
following evening at six o’clock.
When Mr. Jones went out he bent his steps toward a livery stable, where
a conversation of a like character with the above took place between him
and the proprietor, and with the same result. Then he called at a
billiard saloon, dropped into Dutch Jake’s for a moment, and wound up
his walk by visiting a hat store and one or two furnishing
establishments. Having then called upon all of Guy’s creditors, he
lighted a cigar and strolled slowly homeward, well satisfied with his
evening’s work. Guy’s debts amounted to two hundred and seventy-five
dollars.
“He’ll never be able to pay them out of the salary he draws now,”
thought Mr. Jones. “There are only two courses of action open to him,
and no matter which one he chooses, he is doomed as surely as his name
is Guy Harris. I ought to manage some way to bring this business to old
Walker’s ears,” added Mr. Jones, stopping suddenly and looking down at
the sidewalk in a brown study. “I have it. Hyslom is just the man. He is
mean enough for anything.”
Mr. Jones turned, and hastily retracing his steps to a billiard saloon
he had visited a few minutes before, beckoned to a seedy-looking man he
found there, who followed him to the farthest corner of the room. A
whispered conversation was carried on between them for a few moments,
and was brought to a close by Mr. Jones, who slipped a five-dollar bill
into the hand of his seedy companion and went out.
His plans against Guy were now all perfected, and making his way
homeward with a light heart, he tumbled into bed and slept soundly
beside his victim, who all the night long tossed uneasily about, never
once closing his eyes in slumber.
Mr. Jones and the shipping clerk ate breakfast together the next morning
as usual, and set out in company for the store. Neither of them referred
to the matters that had been discussed the night before. They were so
disagreeable that Guy did not want to talk about them if he could help
it, and Mr. Jones was much too cunning to speak of them himself. He knew
that the leaven was working, and he wanted to give it plenty of time.
When they reached the block in which the store was located, Mr. Jones
begun casting anxious glances about, as if he were looking for some one.
Presently he discovered a man, dressed in a shabby genteel suit of
black, standing in a door-way on the opposite side of the street. This
individual, seeing that Mr. Jones’ eyes were fastened upon him, nodded
his head, slapped the breast-pocket of his coat, and made other signs
which must have been perfectly intelligible to Mr. Jones, for he replied
to them by various gestures of approval and delight.
Guy remained at the store but a few minutes—just long enough to receive
some instructions from Mr. Walker—and then went out and hurried toward
the levee.
As soon as he had disappeared, Mr. Jones walked to the door and
flourished his handkerchief once or twice in the air; whereupon the
shabby individual in the opposite door-way hurried down the sidewalk to
the nearest crossing, came over to Mr. Jones’ side of the street, and
with an air of bustle and business entered the store and inquired for
Mr. Walker.
On being shown into the private office he placed his hat on the floor,
and pulling out a memorandum-book, which was filled with papers, folded
and endorsed like bills, said:
“You may have heard of me, Mr. Walker. My name is Hyslom, and my
business is collecting bad debts. I am a professional dun, at your
service. If it will not conflict with the rules of your establishment, I
should like a few minutes’ interview with Mr. Harris.”
At this the merchant begun to prick up his ears.
“The shipping clerk is absent just now,” said he. “May I be allowed to
inquire into the nature of your business with him?”
“Certainly, sir,” replied the pretended collector. “It is no more than
right that you should be made acquainted with the habits of your
employees. Mr. Harris, it seems, has been rather fast during the last
few months, spending money with a lavish hand, and running in debt to
livery stables, billiard saloons, tailoring establishments and beer
gardens. I have bills against him to the amount of two hundred dollars
and over. I am well aware of the fact that he is perfectly good, for as
he is a very wealthy young man and a nephew of yours, I really——”
“Sir,” said the merchant, “Mr. Harris is no relation to me.”
“Indeed!” exclaimed the collector, starting up in his chair. “Then he is
sailing under false colors. He says you are his uncle, and has
repeatedly told his creditors to send their bills to you, and they would
be settled.”
“I know nothing about his debts,” said Mr. Walker, greatly astonished.
“You must see Mr. Harris himself. Good-day, sir.”
The bogus collector returned his memorandum-book to his pocket, picked
up his hat, and bowing himself out of the private office, hurried
through the store, and down the street, like a man driven to death with
business.
Mr. Walker watched him as long as he was in sight, and then arose slowly
to his feet.
“I expected better things of Guy than this,” said he to himself. “If I
have been deceived in him I shall be tempted to distrust everybody.
Where did he get the money he has been spending so foolishly? He must
have used some belonging to the firm.”
So saying, Mr. Walker left his private office to begin a thorough
investigation of Guy’s accounts.
Business went on as smoothly as usual in the store that day with
everybody except Guy. He was kept so busy, both in doors and out, that
he had but little time to devote to his troubles; but his work dragged
heavily, and every thing he undertook seemed to go wrong end foremost.
Six o’clock came at last, and while Guy, wearied in body and mind, was
standing at the book-keeper’s desk, rendering an account of his day’s
work, a clerk hurried up with the information that a lady had called to
see him on private business.
“A lady—on private business?” repeated Guy. “I am not acquainted with
any ladies in St. Louis.”
There was one lady, however, with whom he was pretty well acquainted,
and that was Mrs. Willis; and she it was who had called to see him.
“Mr. Harris,” said she, as if she hardly knew how to make known her
errand, “I have come to ask you if you could make it convenient to
settle your board bill this evening?”
“No, ma’am, I cannot,” said Guy, reddening. “I have no money.”
“But you draw your quarter’s salary to-day, do you not?”
“No, ma’am. I haven’t a cent due me from the firm. I know this ought to
have been paid long ago, Mrs. Willis, and I am sorry indeed that I have
kept you waiting. I will hand you the very first dollar I get.”
It was plain that the landlady’s heart was not in the business. She had
undertaken it merely from a sense of duty, and having, as she believed,
fulfilled that duty, she was ready to drop the board bill and talk about
something else.
After a few commonplace remarks about the weather, and the lively
appearance of the streets, she bowed pleasantly to Guy and went out.
The clerk, feeling like a criminal, walked slowly back to the
book-keeper’s desk, but scarcely had he reached it when he was informed
that there was another visitor waiting to see him in the front part of
the store.
This time it proved to be a gentleman—one of the clerks in the employ of
the tailor he patronized so extensively. He shook Guy cordially by the
hand, asked him how business was prospering, and produced a bill from
his pocket-book.
“That’s the way you stand on our books,” said he, “and I thought I would
drop in and see how you were fixed,” a slang expression for “see if you
had any money.”
The clerk beat a tattoo with his fingers on the counter, whistled
“Dixie,” and run his eyes about the store as if he were taking a mental
inventory of the stock. He had been told by his employer that he might
find it necessary to give Guy a good talking to, and he was screwing up
his courage.
“Eighty-seven dollars!” exclaimed Guy, as he run his eye over the bill.
“Impossible! The last time I spoke to Mr. Warren about my account he
told me it was only fifty dollars.”
“But that suit of clothes you have on your back now came from our house
since then,” said the clerk.
“That’s so,” returned Guy. “I forgot that. But it beats me how these
bills do run up.”
“Yes; one can’t get dry goods for nothing in these times. Are you going
to ante?”
“Not now. I can’t.”
“Oh, that’s played out. Come down!” said the clerk, extending his hand
toward Guy and rapping his knuckles on the counter. “Short settlements
make long friends. Pay me now.”
“But I tell you I can’t. I haven’t a cent of money.”
“Now, Harris,” said the clerk, raising his voice, “permit me to say that
this thing is getting monotonous. If you don’t pay, and that too in
short order, we’ll snatch you bald-headed.”
“Don’t talk so loud,” whispered Guy, in great excitement. “I’ll pay you
as soon as I can. Tell Mr. Warren that I’ll call and see him about this
bill.”
“All right. If you know which side of your bread is buttered you won’t
waste time in doing it. The old man talks of sending your bill to Mr.
Walker.”
The clerk departed, and his place was almost immediately filled by Dutch
Jake, who entered with an air which said very plainly that he wasn’t
going to stand any nonsense. Guy’s heart sunk within him.
------------------------------------------------------------------------