GUESTS OF HONOR
One morning shortly after the recovery of the treasure Mr. Lorring
called us into the bank.
“The first thing you young whippersnappers know,” he lit into us in his
booming way, “you’re going to have a damage suit on your hands.”
“What’s wrong?” says Poppy, kind of anxious-like, his thoughts, of
course, turning instantly to the canning company.
“WHAT’S WRONG!” came the increased thunder. “Look at me! I’m wasting
away. In one week I’ve dropped from two-eighty to two-seventy-seven.”
We were grinning now. For we saw that he wasn’t really huffy. He was
just pretending.
“It’s your confounded pickles,” he went on. “They’re interfering with
my domestic affairs. In the morning my wife is in such a hurry to get
over to the church that she doesn’t half prepare breakfast. She’s never
home at noon. And at night the cry is that she’s ‘too tired to cook.’
To a man who loves victuals, as I do, this is a hardship. And I’ve
made up my mind to protest.”
“I don’t blame you,” grinned Poppy. “And the thing for you to do, Mr.
Lorring, as I see it, is to help us start up a regular pickle factory.
Then we can release the church women, and your wife will do her cooking
at home.”
“Um ...” the gray eyes twinkled. “A pickle factory, heh? Think you can
make a go of it?”
“I don’t see why we can’t.”
“Would it surprise you,” Mr. Lorring then looked at us curiously,
“to know that yesterday afternoon I had a long talk with Mr. Foreman
Pennykorn?”
“About us?” says Poppy quickly, his voice touched with uneasiness. For
he realized, of course, that we had been called into the bank on a
matter of importance.
“Partly. But our talk was mostly about pickles and community interests.
Now, I know how you boys feel toward the canning company. It’s your
idea that they gave you a crooked deal, and so you’ve got it in for
them. On the other hand they’re equally bitter toward you, because of
your interference. So, in a way, it’s six of one against a half dozen
of the other. And any sensible concession from their side ought to be
matched by a similar concession from your side. That’s good business.
Naturally, under the circumstances, you want to further buck them
by starting up a pickle factory of your own. And if you decide to go
ahead on that plan, getting financial backing elsewhere, I can’t stop
you. But I’m not sure that it would be the best thing for you to do,
or, even more important, the best thing for the town. You might make
a success of your new factory; then again you might not. Everything
is all right so far. And, to that point, you deserve a great deal of
credit for what you’ve done, Poppy in particular. As you boys probably
realize, I think a great deal of you. I’m proud of you, in fact. You’re
just the kind of up-and-coming boys we need. So, keep it up. It’s good
for you and also good for the community. To get back to the pickle
proposition, though, I have been asked by Mr. Pennykorn to use my
influence to bring you and the canning company together.”
“Never!” cried Poppy, with flashing eyes.
“And why not?” came steadily.
“I guess you don’t know everything they’ve done, Mr. Lorring. For if
you did you’d realize how impossible it is for us ever to tie up with
them.”
“Outside of the fact that you have a boyish hatred for them, are you
afraid they’ll skin you?”
“They would if they got a chance.”
“But suppose I make it my business, as your older friend, to see that
they never get such a chance--though, to that point, I haven’t much
doubt of their honesty.”
“What do you mean?” says Poppy, more quietly.
“Here’s the proposition that Mr. Pennykorn asked me to put before
you: They want to organize a separate pickle branch. As you know,
they talked of buying a plant in Ashton. But the local Chamber of
Commerce has talked them out of that notion. And they have agreed to
build the proposed new plant here _if_ they can immediately take over
your cucumber stock and further get exclusive manufacturing rights on
your ‘Pedigreed Pickles,’ as a companion line to their ‘Dandy Dills.’
The new company, to call it that, will be capitalized at one hundred
thousand dollars, and common stock, having a par value of one hundred
dollars a share, will be issued in the amount of sixty thousand
dollars, the balance of the stock to be held in reserve, as is quite
proper. Of the six hundred issued shares, you boys will be given fifty
shares apiece; Mrs. O’Mally the same. If the stock earns ten per
cent, each one’s share of the yearly earnings will be five hundred
dollars. Also there is the possibility of greater earnings, which would
materially increase the value of the stock. Personally, I think it is
a very fair proposition. And my advice would be for you to accept it.
Nor need you have any uncertainty over your position as minority stock
holders. I’ll see that you are properly taken care of.”
It was then further pointed out to us how much better the established
company could serve the town than us. So we finally told Mr. Lorring
that we would do whatever he thought was best. In due time the promised
stock was delivered, after which, of course, the Pennykorns were as
nice as pie to us. I suppose it was best for us to bury the hatchet.
But, to this day, I still feel sort of queer when I’m around them. I’ll
never forget that exciting night in the bank. I guess they never will,
either. I don’t see how they could.
Having come to a settlement with the canning company, the public
announcement was then made that ground would soon be broken for a
separate new pickle factory. And in celebration the Chamber of Commerce
got up a swell supper, to which all of the surrounding farmers were
invited. The word got out, too, that the canning company was going to
issue new contracts, under which they would agree to pay the farmers
the highest market prices for their stuff. That, of course, made
everybody happy. So it was a lively bunch that turned out to the big
feed, with the Tutter band doing the tooting stuff and the big hall
all dolled up in fancy paper streamers. Poppy and I were there, for
they couldn’t very well leave us out. And I guess it was Mr. Lorring’s
doings that we got places at the head table, where the big basket of
artificial fruit was. Boy, oh, boy, did we ever light into that grub!
Then, at the invitation of the master of ceremonies, or whatever you
call him, several prominent business men made short speeches about “the
most progressive little city in the middle west,” after which came a
long-winded introduction.
“And so,” the master of ceremonies wound up, “it is my great pleasure,
fellow boosters, to introduce one of the guests of honor, who, young
as he is, has literally swept the nation off its feet. Seven-League
Stilts! We all know who invented them. We know, too, who’s responsible
for this clever ‘Pedigreed Pickles’ idea.... Let’s have a few words
from Poppy Ott.”
Gee-miny Christmas! Poppy and I almost fainted. Guests of honor! We
were it and never had suspected it! Finally, though, I got some of my
senses back.
“Get up,” I kicked old dumb-bell under the table. “They’re calling on
you.”
Well, he got up--though it took him a long time to do it. He was kind
of white, too, like the time he ate the green apples. And, oh, gee, how
proud I was of him! _My_ pal! The bulliest pal in the whole world! A
few months ago he was a tramp. And now see him. Good old Poppy!
Everything was deadly still. For everybody was waiting to hear the
speech. Presently Poppy sat down. And then you should have heard the
applause! Afterwards he asked me, kind of sheepish-like, what he had
said. And did I ever _laugh_! For the funny part is that he _never said
a word_!
In conclusion, I hardly need to tell you that Tom and his recovered
grandpa were brought together. And was that ever a joyful meeting for
the old gentleman. Tom now lives in the old-fashioned house near the
canning factory. He’s crazy over our Pickle Parlor and I imagine that
we’ll sell out to him in time, as the building and lot are his, anyway.
You’ll smile when I tell you that Uncle Abner and Mrs. O’Mally got
married. As for old Butch, he got a steady job up the canal and never
came back.
Picking up the story of Tom’s father, Nathan Weir wasn’t dead, as
his family had supposed, but for years he had been in the Ohio state
penitentiary, where he had been taken following a robbery in which
he had been shot in the arm. Blood poison setting in, the arm was
later taken off. His wife had died, and from his long absence it was
concluded that he was dead, too. Getting out of the penitentiary,
he had come back to Rimtown, finding his father dead and the family
scattered. After that he got mixed up in a jewel robbery in Peoria,
and to hide from the law he came to Tutter, knowing about the old
tunnel--and what was his amazement to find his brother and son living
near the pirate’s old home in a cave! Learning about the gold cucumber,
from listening, he had stolen it, thinking that it would give him the
“key” to the treasure’s hiding place. Failing in this, he finally
decided to lay low and secretly grab the treasure when the others had
lifted it. His mind was “off,” or otherwise, in having heard about
our “diamonds” he wouldn’t have broken into Poppy’s cellar. For he
should have known that there was no connection between our advertised
“diamonds” and those of which he had been robbed by his crooked Peoria
accomplice. Later he got the idea that the diamonds were in Mr.
Weckler’s safe ... yet how peculiar must have been his feelings to
break into that particular house! No doubt he stepped on the yellow
cat. And in all probability its yowling made him furious, which would
explain why he strangled it. The “machine” that we had seen at church
was just a contraption that some boy had rigged up. I think it was
Spider Whickleberry. I heard the kids telling afterwards how slick
Spider could pick off cats. He thought it was fun to catch them and
then let them go.
We found the “cat strangler” living in a hut in the heart of the willow
patch. He was sick. And two days later he died in the hospital. As he
was Tom’s father, the less we say about him the better. He’s gone. And
that’s enough.
My story comes to an end here. And I can only hope that you have
enjoyed it. Coming soon is POPPY OTT AND THE FRECKLED GOLDFISH. Can you
imagine a scientist spending his whole lifetime studying _freckles_?
Professor Aldercott Pip, A.B., M.A., Ph.D., modestly claimed to be the
best-informed freckle specialist in the world. But we could hardly
credit our ears when we heard about his marvelous “freckle” dust. Gosh!
Then came the amazing surprise of the freckled goldfish!
It was Poppy, of course, who planned our new “aquarium” fish store.
And was it ever a darb! In the selling campaign that followed our
main slogan was: “What is home without a freckled goldfish?” We got
up all kinds of nifty schemes. “You trade in your old-fashioned auto
for a new one,” he told the Tutter people, “so why not trade in your
old-fashioned goldfish and get one of the up-to-date freckled kind?”
“The book of a million laughs!” That is what you’ll call it when you’ve
read it. And remember, too, it’s coming soon.
THE END
_This Isn’t All!_
Would you like to know what became of the good friends you have made in
this book?
Would you like to read other stories continuing their adventures and
experiences, or other books quite as entertaining by the same author?
On the _reverse side_ of the wrapper which comes with this book, you
will find a wonderful list of stories which you can buy at the same
store where you got this book.
_Don’t throw away the Wrapper_
_Use it as a handy catalog of the books you want some day to have.
But in case you do mislay it, write to the Publishers for a complete
catalog._
Jerry Todd and Poppy Ott Series
BY LEO EDWARDS
Durably Bound. Illustrated. Individual Colored Wrappers. Every Volume
Complete in Itself.
Hundreds of thousands of boys who laughed until their sides ached over
the weird and wonderful adventures of Jerry Todd and his gang demanded
that Leo Edwards, the author, give them more books like the Jerry Todd
stories with their belt-bursting laughs and creepy shivers. So he took
Poppy Ott, Jerry Todd’s bosom chum and created the Poppy Ott Series,
and if such a thing could be possible--they are even more full of fun
and excitement than the Jerry Todds.
THE POPPY OTT SERIES
POPPY OTT AND THE STUTTERING PARROT
POPPY OTT AND THE SEVEN-LEAGUE STILTS
POPPY OTT AND THE GALLOPING SNAIL
POPPY OTT’S PEDIGREED PICKLES
THE JERRY TODD BOOKS
JERRY TODD AND THE WHISPERING MUMMY
JERRY TODD AND THE ROSE-COLORED CAT
JERRY TODD AND THE OAK ISLAND TREASURE
JERRY TODD AND THE WALTZING HEN
JERRY TODD AND THE TALKING FROG
JERRY TODD AND THE PURRING EGG
JERRY TODD IN THE WHISPERING CAVE
WESTERN STORIES FOR BOYS
By JAMES CODY FERRIS
Individual Colored Wrappers and Illustrations by
WALTER S. ROGERS
Each Volume Complete in Itself.
Thrilling tales of the great west, told primarily for boys but which
will be read by all who love mystery, rapid action, and adventures in
the great open spaces.
The Manley Boys, Roy and Teddy, are the sons of an old ranchman, the
owner of many thousands of heads of cattle. The lads know how to ride,
how to shoot, and how to take care of themselves under any and all
circumstances.
The cowboys of the X Bar X Ranch are real cowboys, on the job when
required but full or fun and daring--a bunch any reader will be
delighted to know.
THE X BAR X BOYS ON THE RANCH
THE X BAR X BOYS IN THUNDER CANYON
THE X BAR X BOYS ON WHIRLPOOL RIVER
THE X BAR X BOYS ON BIG BISON TRAIL
THE X BAR X BOYS AT THE ROUND-UP
Football and Baseball Stories
Durably Bound. Illustrated. Colored Wrappers.
Every Volume Complete in Itself.
The Ralph Henry Barbour Books for Boys
In these up-to-the-minute, spirited genuine stories of boy life there
is something which will appeal to every boy with the love of manliness,
cleanness and sportsmanship in his heart.
LEFT END EDWARDS
LEFT TACKLE THAYER
LEFT GUARD GILBERT
CENTER RUSH ROWLAND
FULLBACK FOSTER
LEFT HALF HARMON
RIGHT END EMERSON
RIGHT GUARD GRANT
QUARTERBACK BATES
RIGHT TACKLE TODD
RIGHT HALF HOLLINS
The Christy Mathewson Books for Boys
Every boy wants to know how to play ball in the fairest and squarest
way. These books about boys and baseball are full of wholesome and
manly interest and information.
PITCHER POLLOCK
CATCHER CRAIG
FIRST BASE FAULKNER
SECOND BASE SLOAN
PITCHING IN A PINCH
THIRD BASE THATCHER, By Everett Scott
GROSSET & DUNLAP, _Publishers_, NEW YORK
TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES:
Italicized or underlined text is surrounded by underscores: _italics_.
Obvious typographical errors have been corrected.
Inconsistencies in hyphenation have been standardized.
Archaic or variant spelling has been retained.