GETTING EVEN WITH THE GOBBLER
The few days that were left of the old year proved to be particularly
busy ones for Harry Harding. The holiday rush for books had left
the department in wholesale disorder. The head salesperson of each
particular stock of books clamored for the services of a stock boy to
help bring order out of confusion, and Harry was hurried here and there
at the command of many masters. Far from trying to dodge hard work,
however, he plunged into it with an enthusiasm born of his love of
books and his earnest desire to further Mr. Rexford’s cause in every
possible way.
In the matter of sales it had been a banner Christmas for Mr. Rexford’s
department. The almost emptied stock-room testified to that fact, so
did the many blank spaces on the tables, when once the jumbled stock
of many-colored volumes had been put in place. All this, however,
was not accomplished in a day. It meant hard and constant labor for
the salespeople, and the New Year was at least a week old before
Department 85 settled into something resembling its usual placidity.
During these busy days of putting things to rights in the book
department, Harry and Teddy Burke seldom met in the lunch room,
although they never failed to walk home together at night. School was
not scheduled to begin again until the last Monday in January, after
the annual stock-taking in the store was over. Released for the time
being from study, both boys centered their interest on learning all
they could about their respective departments.
Harry longed to know more about books, because of his predilection for
them, while Teddy burned to be a business man like Mr. Everett, whom he
secretly worshipped.
It was Teddy’s first case of hero worship, and he kept it strictly to
himself. He managed, however, when not busy, to keep within call of the
buyer, or to flit about after him as he made his round of Department
40, looking for all the world like a mischievous sprite as he suddenly
bobbed up from behind a table or appeared like magic from around a
corner. Mr. Everett had grown to depend on his services to such an
extent that to see him suddenly stop in the middle of the department
and cast searching eyes over the rows of household utensils usually
indicated that he was looking for Teddy. Already a curious sense of
camaraderie had sprung up between the boy and man that later was to
develop into an exceptional friendship. To the little, red-haired boy
the once despised realm of kettles and pans seemed like a second home.
There was but one drawback to the satisfaction he derived from his
work in the house furnishings, and that drawback was--the Gobbler.
She, alone, of all the salespersons in Department 40, disliked Teddy.
Over and over again she had railed loudly against him, even going so
far as to complain of him to Mr. Everett, and to ask that another boy
be given his place in the department. In this instance she had gone a
step too far, however. Wearied of her constant and prejudiced harping
upon the subject of Teddy’s shortcomings, Mr. Everett had turned on
her with a sudden burst of anger that left her gasping, and thereafter
she had modified her spleen against Teddy to muttered grumbling, with
an occasional loud-toned reprimand, whenever the object of her dislike
gave her the slightest opportunity for complaint.
To be sure, there was no great reason why Miss Newton should evince
a fondness for Teddy Burke. He had never laid himself out to win her
regard. Quick to note her hostile attitude toward him, he had taken a
wicked delight in playing more than one mischievous prank upon her,
which in time she had ferreted out and very correctly laid at his door.
She had been the only person in Department 40 to refuse to contribute
toward the collection of Christmas gifts which the others had taken
so much pains and pleasure in preparing for the boy. “What! Give
that impudent youngster a present? Well, I guess not!” had been her
indignant exclamation when Sam Hickson had put the project for making
Teddy’s Christmas a merry one before her. “Catch me spending a cent on
a boy who calls me names.” Unfortunately, it had been borne to her ears
that Teddy had named her “The Gobbler.”
In due season, Teddy had learned all this from Sam Hickson, and,
although he received the news with a fine show of indifference, and
declared loftily that the “old Gobbler could keep her old present
for all he cared,” nevertheless it piqued him considerably more than
he would let his friend Sam know, or would admit even to himself. He
vowed secretly that he would “get even” with her, and planned untold
mischievous vengeance to be wreaked upon her offending head. Yet deep
in his heart it hurt him just a trifle to feel that there was one
person in Department 40 who, to use his expression, “had no use for
him.”
It now lacked but two days until stock taking, and Teddy had made
himself exceptionally useful to Sam Hickson in straightening and
counting innumerable granite-ware utensils which formed a large part
of the red-haired salesman’s individual stock. As is usually the case
in a department store, the salespersons in the house furnishings had
begun to take account of their wares before the day set for wholesale
reckoning of left-over stock. “Nobody in their right mind ever leaves
it till the last day,” Hickson had confided to Teddy. “I’d have to stay
here all night if I didn’t start beforehand. You keep an eye on this
stuff. Whenever you see these folks selling any of it, tell me. Then I
can take it off my count.”
As the others in the department were of precisely the same mind,
everyone watched his or her tables with an eagle eye. The Gobbler, who
had dominion over a vast region of tinware, hovered about her tables,
for all the world like the cross old fowl for which Teddy had named
her, and gobbled loud directions to all comers who ventured into the
sacred precincts of her domain.
It was on the day before stock-taking that Teddy, flitting impishly
about the department, conceived the great scheme for “getting even.”
From a safe distance he eyed his enemy, who was laboriously counting
row upon row of shining pie and cake tins, and moving each pile, as she
counted it, to one side of the long table on which it reposed. Long
before the hour when she departed for the lunch-room, neat stacks of
tinware rose on one half of her table, while a space of about a foot in
width separated the elect from the uncounted.
“Just wait until she goes to lunch,” reflected Teddy wickedly, as,
safely screened by a protecting wall of dishpans, he peered owlishly at
the industrious Gobbler as she delved patiently in her stock.
Miss Newton, however, was in no great hurry to go to lunch. Engrossed
in her task the minutes slipped by, and when at last she stalked
majestically off in the direction of the time-desk, Teddy was called
upon to go on an errand for Mr. Everett.
The instant he was free, he hurried down the aisle toward the hapless
table, vengeance in his eye. “Maybe she won’t be mad, though,” he
chuckled, as he paused before the rows of tinware and eyed the dividing
space which separated the figurative sheep from the goats. “She won’t
know what she’s counted and what she hasn’t, when I get through with
’em. She’ll think a customer did it. I’d just as soon tell her it was
little Teddy that mixed ’em up, though.”
His hand slid out toward a pile of cake tins. Dividing it evenly, he
lifted the upper half and was about to distribute it in picturesque
confusion over the table, when a sudden cry of distress broke upon his
ears, causing him to let the pile of pans to rattle back into place.
Bearing down upon him came Miss Newton, but her hard face wore a look
of dismay which was quite new to it.
“Oh, boy,” she shrieked, as she hurried toward him, “have you seen
it? Help me look for it. Oh, I must find it!” She wrung her hands
frantically, and to Teddy’s horror began to cry.
“What’s the matter?” asked Teddy sharply. The woman’s evident distress
had driven all thought of mischief from his mind.
“Oh, oh!” she moaned. “I’ve lost my purse. It had all my salary in it.
I just got paid this morning. I put it in my apron pocket. I’m sure I
did. But it’s not there now. Oh, dear, what’ll I do? I haven’t paid my
board, or my laundry, or anything!”
She searched frantically among the rows of tinware, peered up and down
the narrow aisles, then dropped her head in her hands and lurching
against the tinware table with a force that sent a pile of pie tins
jingling to the floor, burst into noisy weeping.
A thin little hand reached forth and patted the sobbing woman on the
shoulder. “Never you mind, Miss Newton, I’ll find your money for you.
How much did you lose, and where do you think you lost it?” Teddy was
transformed into a small edition of a knight-errant about to go to the
rescue of a lady in distress. “What kind of a purse was it?”
“Ten dollars,” gurgled the Gobbler. “I don’t know where I lost it. It
was all I had. Oh-h-h! It was a little, black pocketbook.”
“Don’t you cry, now. I’ll find it,” promised Teddy hopefully. He began
a rapid search among the piles of tinware. This time, however, he was
extremely careful not to disarrange them. Next he darted up and down
the aisles, peering under the tables, his alert eyes scanning every
inch of the floor, but to no purpose.
“Maybe someone’s picked it up and taken it to the ‘Lost and Found,’ or
to Mr. Duffield. You stay here. I’ll go and see.”
Down the department hurried the little figure, anxiously inquiring of
the various salespersons, “Have you seen Miss Newton’s purse?” But
no one had seen it. A knot of sympathetic clerks gathered about him,
asking eager questions and shaking their heads in denial. A hurried
trip to the “Lost and Found” proved fruitless. Mr. Duffield disclaimed
all knowledge of it.
“I guess it’s gone for good,” remarked a woman. “Somebody’s always
ready to snap up money and keep it. She might as well brace up and make
the best of it. I know how it goes, though. I lost my salary once, and
I never heard of it again.”
“It was all the money she had,” Teddy found himself repeating
mechanically. “I hate to go and tell her we can’t find it.”
“I’ll tell her,” volunteered the woman. “Where is she?”
“Down there in tin pans, crying her eyes out,” muttered Teddy.
The woman started in the direction of Miss Newton.
“Wait a minute.” Inspiration had come to Teddy. His hand went into his
trousers’ pocket. Only that morning he had received his salary. “Here.”
He fished up three new one-dollar bills. Separating one of them from
its companions, he held it up. “I’m goin’ to give her this. How much
are the rest of you goin’ to give?”
“There’s a dollar for you, Reddy.” Sam Hickson laid the mate to Teddy’s
dollar in the boy’s hand.
“I’ll give you fifty cents. I know how it goes. I can’t spare any
more.” This came from the woman who had volunteered to break the news.
“I’ll give a dollar,” volunteered another salesman.
“Here’s fifty cents more,” smiled a pretty girl, opening a tiny purse
she had taken from her apron pocket. “Listen, Teddy, go ’round the
department and ask everybody.”
“Hold this.” Teddy thrust the money he had collected into Hickson’s
hand and sped off on his errand of mercy. He was back within a few
moments with the encouraging news, “Got two dollars more.”
“What’s all this?” demanded a brusque voice. “How often have I said to
you, ‘don’t stand in groups?’” Mr. Everett had appeared on the scene
with a suddenness that startled the knot of workers gathered about
Teddy.
“The Gob--Miss Newton’s lost her purse. She feels awful. We’ve got six
dollars, and we’re goin’ to give it to her,” announced Teddy almost
defiantly. He had flushed rosy red.
Mr. Everett regarded the boy with a quizzical smile. “How much did she
lose?” he asked sharply.
“Ten dollars, and she hasn’t paid her board, or her laundry, or
anything. She----”
The buyer’s hand traveled to his breast pocket. Taking out a seal
wallet, he counted four crisp one-dollar bills. “There’s your ten
dollars. Now, scatter, all of you. What would Mr. Martin say if he
happened along?” Turning abruptly, Mr. Everett walked away.
“There’s a buyer for you!” glowed one of the men.
“He’s a real man. Now, Teddy----”
But Teddy was half way down the aisle.
“Here’s your ten dollars, Miss Newton,” he cried jubilantly. “Hold your
hands, and don’t dare lose it this time.”
The disconsolate weeper straightened up with a jerk, and stared in
tearful amazement at the boy who had so sturdily come to her aid.
“Why--where--did you get it? That’s not my money!”
“Yes it is. Hurry up and take it,” retorted Teddy impatiently. “It’s
from the folks in the department. You’d better go and get your lunch
now. I won’t let anybody touch your stock while you’re gone. Take it.
I’ve got to go. Mr. Everett is yelling 65.”
Dumping the money on the table, Teddy was about to scuttle away, when
two detaining arms reached out and seized him. “You’re the best boy
that ever lived,” quavered the Gobbler. Then Teddy Burke turned redder
than his ruddy hair, as his erstwhile enemy, the Gobbler, imprinted a
resounding kiss on his freckled cheek.
Wriggling from the grateful embrace, Teddy raced off up the aisle
almost at a gallop, muttering, “She got even with me, all right!”