A SUCCESS IN THE MOUSE BUSINESS.
"Now, Tom, if you will draw the wagon, I will steady the house, and see
that the mice don't get out and run away," said Leo, when he had drawn
the chariot of the beauties a short distance.
"Small loss if they do," replied Tom Casey, who had already made up his
mind that they were going on a fool's errand.
"Not a bit of it, Tom. These mice are worth fifty cents a pair," added
Leo, as he placed himself by the house, and his companion took the pole
of the wagon.
"Fifty cints--is it? Sure who'd give fifty cints for those bits o'
crayturs? I wouldn't give fifty cints for a tousand of 'em, let alone a
pair of 'em."
"When I come back with five or six dollars in my pocket, which I shall
get for this establishment, you will change your tune, Tom."
"Well, the house is foist rate, and you may get five dollars for that.
Sure I think it's worth it; but I wouldn't give two cints for all the
mice that's in it."
"Perhaps you wouldn't, Tom. You haven't any taste for white mice."
"Taste--is it? Sure, would anyone ate 'em?"
Tom Casey was a recent importation from the Green Isle, and the emerald
dust had not been rubbed off him by the civilizing and humanizing
influence of the public schools; but he brought with him from Ireland a
big heart, which was worth more than polish and refinement, though both
go very well together. In spite of the grave responsibility which
rested upon him, Leo laughed heartily at the blunder, and took the
trouble to explain the meaning of taste in its artistic sense.
The procession--for the crowd of boys and girls was augmented
continually when the mouse-car reached High Street--advanced towards
its destination, and Leo had all he could do to keep the youngsters
from crowding upon and upsetting the wagon, in their eagerness to see
the mice and their magnificent dwelling-house.
"Just twig 'em, Jimmy!" shouted one who had tipped over half a dozen of
his companions in his enthusiasm. "Their tails is as long as Seven's
rope."
"Hotel dees mice," said another, spelling out the sign over the grand
parade. "What does that mean, Billy?"
"They're going to take 'em to a hotel to make soup of. I guess there's
some Chinamen at the Tremont. They say them coveys eats rats. Twig the
red eyes they has!"
Leo kept the youngsters at bay as well as he could, and hurried Tom
along, till they reached State Street, where he took a stand in front
of the Exchange. A crowd of curious merchants, clerks, and curb-stone
brokers immediately gathered around the palace to examine the structure
and its inhabitants. It was a novel establishment, and excited no
little attention.
"What have you there, my boy?" asked a well-dressed gentleman, working
his way into the interior of the ring.
"White mice, sir," replied Leo.
"They are cunning little creatures," added the gentleman, bending down
and looking into the grand parade, where the mice were now feeding on
canary seed.
They had become somewhat accustomed to the crowd, and, as if conscious
that they were for sale, put the best foot forward.
"What's the price of them?" asked the gentleman.
"Six dollars for the mice and house," replied Leo; but the words almost
choked him.
"Six dollars!" exclaimed the questioner, edging off. "That's a very
modest price, young man."
"The mice bring fifty cents a pair, and there's a great deal of work in
the house, besides the stock."
"But you don't expect any one to give you six dollars for a trap like
that, with half a dozen rats in it--do you?"
"I think it is worth that, sir. Do you wish to buy it?"
"I thought it would amuse my children; but I can't think of giving
anything like six dollars for it," added the gentleman, shaking his
head.
"What would you be willing to give for it?"
"I'll give you a dollar for it."
"No, sir, I couldn't think of selling it at any such price as that. I
would give it away before I would sell it for that," replied Leo,
indignant at having his work so grossly undervalued.
"I will give you two dollars for it. I have a little lame boy at home,
who can't go out, and I am willing to give two for it."
"I will not sell it for less than five dollars, sir."
"Why, that's a rascally price!" exclaimed the proposed purchaser. "Five
dollars for a mere rat-trap!"
"That's my lowest price, sir. If you don't want it, the law don't
compel you to take it," added Leo, vexed to have the person run down
his handiwork.
The gentleman backed out of the crowd, and disappeared. Leo thought he
could not care much for his little lame boy, if he was not willing to
pay five dollars for such an elegant establishment as the "_Hotel des
Mice_," which could not help being a very great pleasure to the
invalid. Half a dozen others looked into the palace, asked questions
about the habits of the mice, and inquired the price of the house and
its inmates. Leo answered them all very politely; but they laughed and
sneered when he mentioned the six dollars.
The "mouse business" did not seem so prosperous as Leo had anticipated.
He had been confident that a dozen persons would want the elegant
establishment, and he was not quite sure there would not be a quarrel
among them for the possession of it at the price he named. He could not
see why these rich merchants and bankers should haggle at six dollars
if they had any children at home. His heart began to feel heavy in his
bosom, for he had expected to sell his present stock of merchandise as
soon as he named the price, and to find half a dozen more who would
want them badly enough to give him advance orders.
There appeared to be a discount on the mouse business. The gentlemen in
State Street were singularly cold and wanting in enthusiasm on the
subject of white mice. It began to look like a failure, and Tom Casey
seemed to be a true prophet. What an inglorious termination to his
career as a mouse merchant it would be to drag the palace back to No. 3
Phillimore Court, and tell Maggie that no one would buy it, even at the
moderate price of five dollars!
But Leo soon realized that he was becoming chicken-hearted; that he was
almost in despair even before he had been half an hour in the field.
This was not his usual style, and he was ashamed of it, as he
considered his weakness.
"Make or break!" exclaimed he, slapping his hand upon his chest, and
throwing his shoulders back, as if to stiffen his frame. "I'll stick to
it till something breaks. This is a new business, and I must _make_ the
trade."
The effect of this slapping of the chest and this stiffening of the
frame was immediately apparent in his demeanor, for they were the
visible manifestations of a firm will. He was more cheerful, answered
inquiries more briskly, and was less affected by adverse criticism of
his handicraft. Men asked the price, sneered, and turned away. There
were plenty to admire his workmanship, but as yet none to buy. While
Leo was thus struggling against the tide of fortune, the crowd opened,
and Mr. Checkynshaw appeared within the ring. He was a great man, and
he showed it in his manner--perhaps more in his manner than in any
other way.
Mrs. Wittleworth had taken leave of the banker an hour before, and
since that time he had been alone in his private office, only
occasionally interrupted by a business call. Mr. Checkynshaw was
troubled. Fitz was a thorn in his flesh and a stumbling-block in his
path. Doubtless it was very annoying for the father of Marguerite to
break up the educational and social relations she had sustained from
early childhood. Doubtless it was very wicked of Fitz to put him to all
this trouble for nothing. Perhaps it was rash in him to discharge his
clerk; but Fitz was so airy and impudent, that a decent self-respect
would not permit him to tolerate his insolence.
Mr. Checkynshaw wrote a letter, upon which he labored for a long time;
for the letter appeared to be full of difficulties. He finished it at
last; but, instead of enclosing it in an envelope, he folded it up and
put it into his pocket. Then he took his hat, drew on his overcoat, and
went out. He visited a stationery store in the lower part of the
street, purchased some French paper and envelopes, and walked up the
street till he saw the crowd in front of the Exchange, which had
gathered around the "_Hotel des Mice_."
"What have you here, boy?" he asked, when he recognized Leo.
"White mice, sir. My father can't work now, and I am going to try and
make something by selling them," replied Leo, cheerfully.
"What is the price?" demanded the banker, rather curtly.
"Six dollars, sir."
"I'll take it, boy," replied Mr. Checkynshaw, with a promptness which
astonished the young mechanic.
The banker took the money from his pocket-book and handed it to Leo.
"Good on your head!" whispered Tom Casey, his eyes opening as wide as
teacups when he saw the bank bills; and his dark prophecy was suddenly
demolished.
"You know where I live?" interrogated Mr. Checkynshaw.
"Yes, sir."
"Take it up to the house, then," added the banker.
"I will, sir;" and Leo thought the great man, as his first customer,
was worthy of his reputation.
Just then the gentleman who had the lame boy pushed his way into the
middle of the ring.
"What's the lowest price you will take for the concern?" said he.
"It is sold, sir," replied Leo, triumphantly.
"Sold!" exclaimed the tardy customer, who appeared to think that no one
could be foolish enough to buy such an establishment unless he had a
lame son.
"Yes, sir; I just sold it."
"What did you get?"
"Six dollars."
"I bought it," interposed Mr. Checkynshaw, bowing to the other
gentleman, as though he knew him.
"I'm sorry I didn't take it, for it would have pleased my boy."
"You are too late."
"But I will get up another for you," said Leo, exhilarated by this
sudden improvement of the mouse business.
"When can you do it?" asked the gentleman, who was quite disappointed
to find he could not purchase the establishment at his own price, as he
had expected to do at a later hour in the day, after the young man had
had an opportunity to consider the vanity of worldly hopes.
"That depends upon what kind of one you want. If you wish for one like
this, I can't get it done before Monday. I can give you a two-dollar
house, with one pair of mice, to-morrow," replied Leo, in the most
business-like tones.
"I want the best one you can get up. I want one as good or better than
this."
"I will build one as good as this. I will have it at your house on
Monday; but the price will be six dollars."
"Very well. I thought I should be able to buy this one for two or three
dollars before night, for I didn't think any one else would want it."
Probably the example of Mr. Checkynshaw had some influence on the
customer. If white mice and their habitations were really articles of
merchandise, he was willing to pay the market price. Leo wrote down his
name and residence, and assured the gentleman that he should have the
mice on Monday; or, if he got the house done, on Saturday.
"Don't you want an establishment of this kind, Baxter?" asked Mr.
Checkynshaw of a busy person who had worked his way through the crowd.
"You have two or three boys."
Mr. Baxter examined the palace and its denizens, and answered that he
did want one, though not till the banker informed him that he had
purchased one. It is wonderful how things sell after a great man has
purchased. The new customer did not want any two-dollar palaces; he
desired one as good as any other person had, and he gave his order
accordingly. If Mr. Checkynshaw was fool enough to pay six dollars for
such an establishment, Mr. Baxter could not suffer in reputation by
doing the same.
Leo was as happy as a lord. It was make, and not break.
"Leo," said the banker, "how is your father?"
"Better, sir, I thank you."
"I think I will go down and see him. He has shaved me for years. By the
way, is your sister--what's her name?"
"Maggie, sir."
"Is Maggie at home?"
"Yes, sir."
"I wish to see her very much," said Mr. Checkynshaw, walking away.
What could he want to see Maggie for? was Leo's thought, as he started
his team--Tom Casey--up State Street.