grass in the midst of what resembled a volcano on the war path. Dirt,
stones, grass, sticks, and heaven knows what else were milling around
us in clouds, and out of the corner of one eye I saw Ma Bean's geranium
bed sail gaily across the street and drape itself over Mrs. Harry
Brown's front gate. Glass was falling around us like shrapnel, for
every window in the Bean's house shivered itself out onto the lawn.
The tree--well, Sir, it fell on the house, knocked off a chimney and
broke down the piazza roof, and the next day Half Baked had to hire
Jed Snow's team of oxen to pull it clear before they could even start
cutting it up.
[Illustration]
I've a very vivid recollection of what my father gave me, and I rather
think Freddy's was the same only more so, in fact none of the crowd
slid bases for some time, and Half Baked made Freddy cut six cords of
wood during the next month.
I don't know what has become of Freddy, but I have never seen his name
in the headlines, so I guess he's still hunting for easy ways to do
things, but you can bet he's left gunpowder out of his schemes for the
last forty years.
Now Ted you just mail me those "trots." I'll enjoy them, and you give
those old timers a fair show from now on. It's not sporting Ted to pull
a "pony" on them, for they can't win any way if you don't want them to.
Play the game.
Your affectionate father,
WILLIAM SOULE.
LYNN, MASS.,
_January 27, 19--_
DEAR TED:
That notice from Professor Todd stating that you had been taken off
probation was the most welcome bit of news I've had in a long time, and
the enclosed check is my way of saying thank you.
I knew if you once stopped fooling and got right down to cases, that
none of those old best sellers like J. C. or Virgil could hold you for
downs, and as for Quadratic Equations, your instructor writes me that
if you'll take 'em seriously you can make 'em eat out of your hand.
Now you're again on speaking terms with your lessons, you can keep
their friendship by visiting with them a couple of hours a day, and
when they once learn you mean business they'll follow you around like a
hungry cat follows the milk man.
There's nothing succeeds like success, whether it's getting respectable
marks in your studies, or selling shoes, and if you don't believe it
ask Charlie Dean.
Probably you've always thought of Charlie as my star salesman and
you're right, but it wasn't many years ago Charlie couldn't have sold
five dollar gold pieces for a quarter, even if he gave a patent corn
cutter away with each as a premium.
Charlie came to work for me right out of the high school, and as he was
always willing to do a little more than his share around the office, I
decided to give him a try on the road, where he'd have a chance to make
real money. So when a younger salesman left me one New Year's, I put
Charlie through a course of sprouts in the factory to be sure he knew
how the "Heart of the Hide" line was made, gave him a couple of trunks
full of new samples, and shipped him out to the middle west.
Charlie was gone three months and he didn't sell enough goods to pay
the express on his samples, but realizing a cub salesman's first trip
is always his hardest, I swallowed my tongue and sent him out again.
I couldn't understand it. Charlie was no loafer, and I felt sure he
was working hard each day, but he had no more success in persuading
buyers to stock "The Heart of the Hide" line than old King Canute had
in bossing the sea around. If he had done fairly well, I'd thought he
was just green and would develop, but when he had been out six months
and his sales record sheet was as white as a field of new fallen snow,
I decided too much was enough, and wired him to return to the factory,
for Fair Bros. were getting more solid in that territory every day, and
I simply had to have distribution there.
When Charlie arrived in Lynn, I was going to fire him, for I never
believed in putting a man back in the office who has been on the road.
He's too liable to be down on the house, and afflict all the other
clerks with the same poison; but Charlie pleaded so hard to stay, I
finally gave him back his old job, and, as he showed no signs of being
a trouble maker, I paid him no further attention.
The next winter, I had a hunch that women's fall styles would run
heavy on calfskin, so I loaded up with a hundred thousand pairs of
heavyweight cut soles and patted myself on the back that I had put one
over on the trade. A few weeks later, the buyers made so loud a noise
about Vici Kid a deaf mute could have heard 'em.
There I was, caught flatfooted with a hundred thousand pairs of soles
stored in the basement, and the market on them dropping every day so
fast I got dizzy when I tried to figure out how much I stood to lose.
I tried to take a loss and turn them back to the manufacturer. Nothing
doing, nor would any other cut sole house take them except at a price
that would have come near to busting me. Next I tried the manufacturers
of women's shoes, not a chance. Then as the soles ran pretty heavy I
tried boys' makers, again nothing doing.
I was getting desperate, for I had a lot of money tied up in those
soles, and so far as I could see I was liable to own 'em for some time
unless the sheriff took 'em.
One morning, I happened to think of Al Lippincott. You know his factory
in Dover, the red one you can see from the station? Al makes a line of
boys' and youths', but he is the hardest buyer in the whole trade, a
regular rip tearing snorter who begins to yell the minute a salesman
steps into his office, and keeps it up until the salesman either wants
to lick him or to beat it.
I got Al on the long distance, and finally, after his usual outburst
that nearly melted the wire, he allowed he was going to be in Lynn that
afternoon and would drop in.
I went home feeling somewhat better, but while I was eating lunch the
telephone rang, and I learned your Ma had been badly smashed up in an
automobile accident, and had been taken to the Salem Hospital.
I never thought of Al again until I was going to bed that night, and
then I was so worried about your Ma I didn't care much whether he'd
called or not.
The next morning, when I rolled back the top of my desk, I found an
order for the whole hundred thousand pairs of cut soles made out in
Charlie Dean's handwriting and billed to Al Lippincott at two cents a
pair more than I had paid for 'em.
I never asked Charlie how he made the sale, and he never told me, but
when he asked for another chance on the road he got it, and knowing
he'd sold the toughest man in the United States he made good from the
kick-off.
I only mention Charlie because when you were on probation you were in
the same kind of fix he was before he sold Al Lippincott. Now you know
you can lick those studies of yours. I want you to crowd 'em so hard
the teachers will mark down at least a B for you when you get up to
recite.
Your affectionate father,
WILLIAM SOULE.
LYNN, MASS.,
_February 10, 19--_
DEAR TED:
This trouble you seem to be having with your eyes, is causing your
Ma a great deal of worry. She has visions of a blind son tapping his
way through life with a cane and I expect in a few days, she'll have
reached the dog on a leash stage. I'd be more worried, if I hadn't
happened to remember that the mid-years are only two weeks off, and
that eye trouble is one of the best known alibis.
Your suggestion of coming home early Sunday, so you can give your
eyes a rest, I agree to most heartily. We'll go into Boston and have
an oculist examine you. Then if you need glasses, I'll see that you
get them, and if you don't, you're out of luck if you're trying to
establish an alibi for flunking your exams.
Eyesight is a mighty curious thing. Some folks get so nearsighted
they'll step over a ten dollar bill to pick up a nickel, and others
can see a dollar a pair profit in a shipment of shoes the ordinary
manufacturer would be glad to sell at cost. It takes pretty good
eyesight to be a successful shoe manufacturer nowadays, for it's the
ability to see profits where they don't exist, and then handle your
output so that you make two little profits grow where only one grew
before, that buys new tires for the car, and sends sons to "prep"
schools.
Somehow, your reports don't make me feel you've strained your eyes
studying. If you had, you wouldn't have made the break you did in your
oral English exam. when according to Professor Todd you stated that
Ben Johnson was president of the American League. Then, too, I haven't
had an excess electric light bill from the school, so it's hard for me
to believe your eyesight has been ruined by your burning the midnight
electricity.
I remember a clerk I once had in the office, who had a terrible time
with his eyes, especially, when he was about due for a bawling out
for some fool mistake. He once made out a lot of shoe tags with the
specifications calling for eight iron soles on comfort slippers, and
when I was about to claw his hide for such a blunder, he claimed his
desk was so far from a window he couldn't half see. I remembered that
a lot of folks can read real well by electric light, and there was a
hundred candle power bulb right over him; but I gave him the benefit of
the doubt and moved him over beside a window.
Two weeks later, he made a mistake in a bill that cost me several
hundred dollars, and then it was the bright light that dazzled him. I
was suspicious, but he pleaded so hard for a day off, to rest his poor
eyes in a darkened room, I told him to go ahead, and the next noon as
I was driving home along the boulevard I spotted him fishing from some
rocks, in a glare that would have made an Arab see green.
I meant to fire him, but I was so busy I forgot it, and for a month he
went along without making a noticeable mistake. Then he came to me one
day for a raise. I told him that his eyesight was so poor, that if the
cashier put any extra money in his envelope he'd never even see it, and
that he'd better strain his eyes a little looking for another job, as
I couldn't have the responsibility on my shoulders of his going blind
while working for me.
The old man wasn't born yesterday, Ted, and having had considerable
experience with eyesight alibis he's a bit gun shy.
Perhaps one reason I'm a little suspicious of this eye trouble of
yours, is that I have a very vivid recollection of your Uncle Ted the
first year he was at boarding school. Ted started out like a whirlwind
that fall, all A's and B's in his studies, until along in November he
began to get more interested in wrestling with a flute he was trying to
learn to play, than with his lessons, so that in December his marks had
a striking resemblance to those of the present-day Germany.
In January, he developed serious eye trouble. He wrote home that his
eyes were so bad he couldn't study, and was sure to fail at mid-year.
Whether my father believed the first part of his wail I never knew,
but I'm sure he did the second. Anyway he collared Ted one Saturday
afternoon, and drove him over to the oculist at Bristol Centre taking
me along as ballast.
Ted put up some pretty good arguments against going, claiming a
terrible headache and a violent pain in his stomach. My father made him
though, and when we finally reached the oculist, Ted really did look
sick enough to have had not only eye trouble, but about all the other
known diseases, as well.
Doctor Boggs, who was a queer little scrap of a man, as quick tempered
as gunpowder, plumped Ted down in a chair, and began to peer at his
eyes through a magnifying glass. The more he looked, the more nervous
Ted became. Finally, the doctor asked him if his eyes felt any better,
and Ted allowed they did.
Then the doctor put a lot of charts up about twenty feet away, and
asked Ted to read the letters on them, which he did so quickly the
doctor couldn't change the charts fast enough. I grinned, for by then
I was sure Ted was faking. Ted also realized that for a boy whose eyes
had been causing him so much trouble, he'd been giving a remarkable
exhibition so when Doctor Boggs began trying different glasses on him,
Ted protested that he couldn't see a thing with any of them.
The doctor was very patient, trying on pair after pair, Ted groaning
louder with each new one. At last, the old fellow stopped for a few
minutes and rummaged around in a desk drawer where he kept a lot of his
eyeglasses. Suddenly, he turned to Ted clapped a new pair on his nose,
and stood back smiling sweetly at him.
"There my boy," he said, as sweet as honey. "Those are much better,
aren't they!"
I took a look at Ted and almost choked. Then I realized what was coming
to him, so I tried to pass him the high sign. It was too late.
"Those are the only ones I've been able to see through, doctor," Ted
chirped innocently.
The next instant, the doctor with one word "Fraud!" grabbed Ted by an
ear and marched him to the door, while father followed looking about as
pleasant as a thunder storm.
You've probably guessed the reason why already. There was no glass
in the last frames. After we got home, father and Ted retired to the
woodshed and I heard the most heartrending sounds. When Ted returned
to school his marks began to improve at once, and they kept on getting
better and better until the end of the year, and since that day Ted has
never had on a pair of glasses. It was one of the quickest and most
complete cures of eye trouble ever recorded, and it also proved that
old Doctor Boggs knew his job.
Faking is mighty poor business Ted, whether it's trying to establish an
alibi for flunking your school exams, or making army shoes with paper
soles for the government. The first is apt to get you into the habit
of shirking your work, and the second is mighty likely to land you in
jail. Some business men, not many, by faking the quality of their goods
shoot up like a sky rocket, but when the time for repeat orders comes
along, they come down like the stick, and if there's anything any more
useless than the spent stick of a sky rocket, it's a man who tries to
ease his way through life on alibis.
Do your best and stand by it. If it is your best, you have no cause
to be ashamed no matter how it turns out, and remember that a man who
never made a mistake never made anything.
My boy, if there really is something the matter with your eyes, we
can't have them attended to any too quickly, and if there isn't I
somehow feel a little frankness now, on my part, may effect almost as
rapid a cure as your Uncle Ted's and without any painful ending.
Your affectionate father,
WILLIAM SOULE.
LYNN, MASS.,
_February 20, 19--_
DEAR TED:
My boy, I owe you an apology for doubting you had eye trouble. It was
hard for me to believe you were faking; but the circumstantial evidence
against you was pretty strong. I should have known better, though, for
you have always played fair with me so I ask your pardon.
That letter from the oculist, in Portsmouth, saying you needed glasses
was a relief and a disappointment. A relief, to know you weren't trying
to slip one over, and a disappointment to learn you must wear glasses.
Don't let wearing glasses disturb you. You won't need them when you are
playing football, and if you only wear them when you read your nose
won't be disfigured by the strain.
It's funny how a young fellow like you, who has the time and the
education to appreciate them, don't seem to care about reading good
books, while an old rough and ready like your dad, can't have enough of
them. When I was your age, I was too busy trying to help support the
family, to find time to read much besides the Epping Bugle, whereas,
you seem to be too busy figuring out how to have a good time, to care
what the biggest men of the world thought about things.
You've wanted to know why I am always buying so many books, and
although I never realized it before, I guess it's because I couldn't
have them when I was young.
Yes, on that house party at Manchester, Ted, go ahead and have a good
time and while I remember it here's a check that may come in handy for
a few extras. If I were you, I'd take all the extras in the way of
clothes you can cram into a suit case.
Forewarned is forearmed you know, and it's just as well when going to
a house party, or to a fight, to carry all the heavy artillery you
muster, for you never can be sure you won't need it.
I've been to only one house party, and I don't expect I shall ever go
to another; but if I do even if it's only for a week end, I'm going
to take every rag of clothing I own from oilskins to dress suit, not
forgetting rubber boots and pumps, especially the pumps.
I believe a person is supposed to have a good time at a house party,
but my only offense was about as enjoyable as the time I had typhoid.
Perhaps you remember the summer your Ma and I went to Pittsfield for
two weeks, and left you with your Aunt Sarah over at Marblehead.
Well anyway we did, and I haven't thought much of Pittsfield since.
We got there on a Friday, and the next morning I went down town for
something and ran slap into Jack Hamilton.
Jack and I were boys together in Epping, and used to do considerable
business trading rabbits and whatever live stock we happened to own.
Jack left Epping when he was seventeen, went to work for a stock
broker in Boston, and made barrels of money, incidently marrying a
Philadelphia girl who had callouses on her thumbs from cutting coupons.
Jack has always been my broker and handled all my finances, but for a
good many years we hadn't seen much of each other socially, so when he
suggested your Ma and I go out that afternoon to his cottage in Lenox,
and stay over Sunday, I was glad to accept, thinking we'd have a chance
to talk over old times. I went back to the hotel and told your Ma, and
then promptly forgot all about it, for there was an old fellow living
in Pittsfield who'd just invented an extension last that looked good to
me.
I spent most of the afternoon in the old inventor's shop and when I
returned to the hotel along about five, I found a high-wheeled cart
outside which Jack had sent over to get us, and your Ma having duck
fits for fear I wouldn't show up.
She said she'd put everything in my suit case I'd need, so I only
slicked up a bit and we were off.
It was a mighty pretty ride over to Lenox, but when we turned in at the
gate to Jack's cottage, I thought our driver had made a mistake, for
the place looked bigger than the Boston Public Library, and about as
homelike as a New York apartment house.
A frozen-faced individual in brass-buttoned red vest and a waiter's
uniform met us at the front door, and when I told him I was William
Soule of Lynn he led the way into the hall and disappeared.
We hung around for some time. Then a maid came along and showed us
to our rooms. It was a mighty nice room I had, with pink silk wall
coverings and gray wicker furniture, and with a tiled bath off it, that
gleamed like a Pullman porter's smile. I looked the bed over carefully,
decided it was comfortable, and then thought I'd go out in the yard
and walk around. As I stepped on to the piazza, a haughty-faced woman
disentangled herself from a group of ladies who were playing cards, and
came towards me murmuring, Mr. Soule?
I pleaded guilty, and she extended two cold fingers, that had about as
much cordiality in them as a dead smelt, and said she was pleased to
meet me. From her tone, I judged she wasn't going to lead any cheers
over the fact, so I bowed politely and marched on out to the stables
in front of which I saw a boy exercising a mighty likely-looking colt.
Jack had some fine horses, and a wonderful herd of Jerseys. His head
groom was a real human sort of chap, who knew more about cattle than
any man I ever met, and we were having a real good visit together when
a gong like a fire alarm started somewhere in the house.
I made the piazza in three jumps, tore through the hall and up the
stairs determined to get your Ma out before the house burned down,
for what I'd seen of the Lenox Fire Department, sitting in his shirt
sleeves before the door of the hose house as we drove over from
Pittsfield, hadn't inspired me with any great amount of confidence in
his ability to put out anything bigger than a bonfire.
As I rushed into the upper hall, I thought it funny I didn't smell
smoke, so when I ran smack into a maid I grabbed her and asked her
where the fire was.
"Fire!" she squealed.
"Yes," I answered, "wasn't that a fire gong?"
Ted, you should have seen her face. I thought she'd choke. She did her
best to keep it straight, and not laugh, but it was some struggle.
At last she managed to stammer, that the gong wasn't for fire at all,
but to let the guests know it was time to dress for dinner.
I felt as big as a man on Broadway looks from the tower of the
Woolworth building, so I slipped her a dollar and ducked for my room.
There I sat down to get my breath, hoping that girl wouldn't tell on
me, and wishing I was back in Lynn, for I saw rough weather ahead
unless I kept my eyes open and my mouth shut.
I shaved, and started to climb into my regimentals. Your Ma had put in
shirts, studs, collars, tie, vest, coat, silk socks, pants, and every
last article of necessary trappings except pumps, and pumps were about
as necessary to me then as a little leather is to a pair of shoes.
I had a horrible sort of feeling as though my stomach was slowly
revolving around inside of me, and my legs felt as if they were trying
to go two ways at once, for I had worn a pair of tan shoes over from
Pittsfield, and I knew from the glimpse I'd caught of Mrs. Hamilton's
friends, that if I didn't wear my dress suit I'd rank lower than the
deuce in that game.
Just how to wear that dress suit I couldn't quite figure out. It had to
be done, that was certain, but as raw as I was on society stuff, I knew
tan shoes and full dress would not get by. Then I remembered the bell
in the wall beside the bed. In two jumps I had a thumb on it squeezing
for dear life, for I thought if one of the servants answered, I could
get word out to my friend the head groom to lend me a pair of black
shoes. What size didn't matter, I'd have made any size fit.
Then I heard someone running along the hall outside, and yanked open
the door in the face of the same maid I'd asked about the gong.
I slammed the door shut and looked at my watch. It was seven o'clock,
and I figured half an hour at the most, was all the time I had to get
a pair of black shoes, and from the way I was located, a pair of black
shoes seemed as easy to get as money from the government on a war
contract.
[Illustration]
Jack wasn't home, and anyway he wore shoes about three sizes smaller
than mine, and as for his wife she was out of the question.
I'd about decided to go to bed and play sick, when I happened to glance
out of the window and saw a girl about fifteen riding a horse around
the circular drive in front of the house.
She was a real friendly-looking kid, and grinned up at me as she
passed, so the next time she came around I leaned out and beckoned to
her. She rode up under my window, and I told her the fix I was in.
"What size?" she asked without any hesitation.
"Anything from nine up," I replied.
"Gimme some money," she said.
I dropped her a ten spot. She caught it and was off, tearing down the
drive like a jockey, and twenty minutes later she shoved a pair of
pumps through my door she'd bought in Pittsfield, and I sailed down to
dinner a trifle late, but as dignified as a London alderman.
Now Ted you've had considerable more experience with society than I've
had, and probably you won't make any break at that house party, but if
I were you after you get your suit case packed, I'd go through it a
second time to see if anything's missing. Carefulness is a mighty handy
habit to have around the house, whether it's a man's ability to look
far enough ahead not to borrow on his insurance policy, or his wife's
skill in keeping down the bills.
I've had clerks in the office who'd do a job in jig time and leave
behind enough mistakes to make the Bolsheviki envious, and when it
comes time to sweeten salaries they are always surprised and hurt,
because they are passed by for the fellows who haven't such fancy
windups, but do have better control.
Speed is a tremendous asset to-day, and when it's combined with control
it's almost unbeatable. For example, Walter Johnson. Still, I've seen
old Cicotte mow down the Red Sox with only two hits when he hadn't
enough speed to break a window, and you'll find that a young fellow who
can do a job in half a day, and get it right, is a better man to have
on your pay roll than a chap who can do the same work in half an hour,
and then spend a day correcting his mistakes.
Have a good time, and perhaps when you get back to school your eyes
will feel better so you can make a creditable showing at your mid-years.
Your affectionate father,
WILLIAM SOULE.
P. S. The girl who bought me the pumps is Jack Hamilton's daughter.
She's married and has three children so don't get excited.
LYNN, MASS.,
_February 28, 19--_
DEAR TED:
I did considerable wondering while you were home last week, why it was
your clothes carried a reek that seemed a cross between a tannery vat
and a grease extractor.
Your Ma says "stink" is vulgar. Maybe it is, but it's good plain
English, and it describes that poison gas you seemed to be carrying
around with you, better than any such ladylike word as smell.