THE TIN-PEDLER.
Those of my readers who live in large cities are probably not
familiar with the travelling tin-pedler, who makes his appearance at
frequent intervals in the country towns and villages of New England.
His stock of tinware embraces a large variety of articles for
culinary purposes, ranging from milk-pans to nutmeg-graters. These
are contained in a wagon of large capacity, in shape like a box, on
which he sits enthroned a merchant prince. Unlike most traders, he
receives little money, most of his transactions being in the form of
a barter, whereby be exchanges his merchandise for rags, white and
colored, which have accumulated in the household, and are gladly
traded off for bright tinware. Behind the cart usually depend two
immense bags, one for white, the other for colored rags, which, in
time, are sold to paper manufacturers. It may be that the very paper
on which this description is printed, was manufactured from rags so
collected.
Abner Bickford was the proprietor of such an establishment as I have
described. No one, at first sight, would have hesitated to class him
as a Yankee. He was long in the limbs, and long in the face, with a
shrewd twinkle in the eye, a long nose, and the expression of a man
who respected himself and feared nobody. He was unpolished, in his
manners, and knew little of books, but he belonged to the same
resolute and hardy type of men who in years past sprang to arms, and
fought bravely for an idea. He was strong in his manhood, and would
have stood unabashed before a king. Such was the man who was to
mortify the pride of Fitzgerald Fletcher.
Tom Carver watched for his arrival in Centreville, and walking up to
his cart, accosted him.
"Good-morning, Mr. Bickford."
"Good-mornin', young man. You've got the advantage of me. I never
saw you before as I know of."
"I am Tom Carver, at your service."
"Glad to know you. Where do you live? Maybe your wife would like
some tinware this mornin'?" said Abner, relaxing his gaunt features
into a smile.
"She didn't say anything about it when I came out," said Tom,
entering into the joke.
"Maybe you'd like a tin-dipper for your youngest boy?"
"Maybe I would, if you've got any to give away."
"I see you've cut your eye-teeth. Is there anything else I can do
for you? I'm in for a trade."
"I don't know, unless I sell myself for rags."
"Anything for a trade. I'll give you two cents a pound."
"That's too cheap. I came to ask your help in a trick we boys want
to play on one of our number."
"Sho! you don't say so. That aint exactly in my line."
"I'll tell you all about it. There's a chap at our school--the
Academy, you know--who's awfully stuck up. He's all the time
bragging about belonging to a first family in Boston, and turning up
his nose at poorer boys. We want to mortify him."
"Just so!" said Abner, nodding. "Drive ahead!"
"Well, we thought if you'd call at the school and ask after him, and
pretend he was a cousin of yours, and all that, it would make him
mad."
"Oh, I see," said Abner, nodding, "he wouldn't like to own a
tin-pedler for his cousin."
"No," said Tom; "he wants us to think all his relations are rich. I
wouldn't mind at all myself," he added, it suddenly occurring to him
that Abner's feelings might be hurt.
"Good!" said Abner, "I see you aint one of the stuck-up kind. I've
got some relations in Boston myself, that are rich and stuck up. I
never go near 'em. What's the name of this chap you're talkin'
about?"
"Fletcher--Fitzgerald Fletcher."
"Fletcher!" repeated Abner. "Whew! well, that's a joke!"
"What's a joke?" asked Tom, rather surprised.
"Why, he _is_ my relation--a sort of second cousin. Why, my mother
and his father are own cousins. So, don't you see we're second
cousins?"
"That's splendid!" exclaimed Tom. "I can hardly believe it."
"It's so. My mother's name was Fletcher--Roxanna Fletcher--afore she
married. Jim Fletcher--this boy's father--used to work in my
grandfather's store, up to Hampton, but he got kinder discontented,
and went off to Boston, where he's been lucky, and they do say he's
mighty rich now. I never go nigh him, 'cause I know he looks down on
his country cousins, and I don't believe in pokin' my nose in where I
aint wanted."
"Then you are really and truly Fitz's cousin?"
"If that's the boy's name. Seems to me it's a kinder queer one. I
s'pose it's a fust-claas name. Sounds rather stuck up."
"Won't the boys roar when they hear about it! Are you willing to
enter into our plan?"
"Well," said Abner, "I'll do it. I can't abide folks that's stuck
up. I'd rather own a cousin like you."
"Thank you, Mr. Bickford."
"When do you want me to come round?"
"How long do you stay in town?"
"Well, I expect to stop overnight at the tavern; I can't get through
in one day."
"Then come round to the Academy to-morrow morning, about half-past
eight. School don't begin till nine, but the boys will be playing
ball alongside. Then we'll give you an introduction to your cousin."
"That'll suit me well enough. I'll come."
Tom Carver returned in triumph, and communicated to the other boys
the arrangement be had made with Mr. Bickford, and his unexpected
discovery of the genuine relationship that existed between Fitz and
the tin-pedler. His communication was listened to with great
delight, and no little hilarity, and the boys discussed the probable
effect of the projected meeting.
"Fitz will be perfectly raving," said Henry Fairbanks. "There's
nothing that will take down his pride so much."
"He'll deny the relationship, probably," said Oscar.
"How can he?"
"He'll do it. See if he don't. It would be death to all his
aristocratic claims to admit it."
"Suppose it were yourself, Oscar?"
"I'd say, 'How are you, cousin? How's the the business?'" answered
Oscar, promptly.
"I believe you would, Oscar. There's nothing of the snob about you."
"I hope not."
"Yet your family stands as high as Fletcher's."
"That's a point I leave to others to discuss," said Oscar. "My
father is universally respected, I am sure, but he rose from the
ranks. He was once a printer's devil, like my friend Harry Walton.
Wouldn't it be ridiculous in me to turn up my nose at Walton, just
because be stands now where my father did thirty years ago? It would
be the same thing as sneering at father."
"Give us your hand, Oscar," said Henry Fairbanks. "You've got no
nonsense about you--I like you."
"I'm not sure whether your compliment is deserved, Henry," said
Oscar, "but if I have any nonsense it isn't of that kind."
"Do you believe Fitz has any suspicion that he has a cousin in the
tin business?"
"No; I don't believe he has. He must know he has poor relations,
living in the country, but he probably thinks as little as possible
about them. As long as they don't intrude themselves upon his
greatness, I suppose he is satisfied."
"And as long as no one suspects that he has any connection with such
plebeians."
"Of course."
"What sort of a man is this tin-pedler, Tom?" asked Oscar.
"He's a pretty sharp fellow--not educated, or polished, you know, but
he seems to have some sensible ideas. He said he had never seen the
Fletchers; because he didn't want to poke his nose in where he wasn't
wanted. He showed his good sense also by saying that he had rather
have me for a cousin than Fitz."
"That isn't a very high compliment--I'd say the same myself."
"Thank you, Oscar. Your compliment exalts me. You won't mind my
strutting a little."
And Tom humorously threw back his head, and strutted about with mock
pride.
"To be sure," said Oscar, "you don't belong to one of the first
families of Boston, like our friend, Fitz."
"No, I belong to one of the second families. You can't blame me, for
I can't help it."
"No, I won't blame you, but of course I consider you low."
"I am afraid, Tom, I haven't got any cousins in the tin trade, like
Fitz."
"Poor Fitz! he little dreams of his impending trial. If he did, I am
afraid he wouldn't sleep a wink to-night."
"I wish I thought as much of myself as Fitz does," said Henry
Fairbanks. "You can see by his dignified pace, and the way he tosses
his head, how well satisfied he is with being Fitzgerald Fletcher,
Esq."
"I'll bet five cents he won't strut round so much to-morrow
afternoon," said Tom, "after his interview with his new cousin. But
hush, boys! Not a word more of this. There's Fitz coming up the
hill. I wouldn't have him suspect what's going on, or he might
defeat our plans by staying away."