THE MARTIN MINUTE MEN
“Well, Reddy, you did it.” Sam Hickson regarded the grinning knight
of the ladder with mirthful eyes. Half an hour had elapsed since Mr.
Jarvis’ temporary eclipse, and the redoubtable Teddy had purposely
sought out his friend to hear his views on the subject.
“It was just like a play, wasn’t it?” chuckled Teddy. “Where the
villain gets canned in the last act and the hero comes up and gives him
the ha, ha! I was glad Mr. Everett got a chance at him. It took all the
bubble out of him.”
“I’m glad you haven’t got it in for me,” retorted Hickson. “You’re not
a safe person to be on the outs with.”
“Friendship is a golden tie,” murmured Teddy. “My last year’s copy-book
said so, and I say so, too.”
“Much obliged.” The salesman slapped Teddy on the back with appreciative
vigor.
“I didn’t say anything about knocking your friends down, though.” The
affectionate blow caused Teddy to ruefully rub the spot between his
thin shoulders where it had descended. “I’m not made of wood.”
“You’re made of mischief,” laughed Hickson. “You’re chuck full and
running over with it.”
“P’r’aps. Say, did that funny woman who wanted the oven buy one?”
“No, she’s poking around here yet. She says she can’t make up her mind
until she looks things over. Maybe she wasn’t mad at Jarvis. She says
he thinks he is too smart. I hope she buys. It’s going to be a dull
day. Somebody just told me that it’s raining outside.”
“Hm-m!” Teddy cast a roving glance across the department. “I guess I’d
better do a little work for a change. I’ll see you later.” He sauntered
off in the direction of the spot devoted to the display of ovens. From
afar he had glimpsed the woman who did not admire Mr. Jarvis. “Maybe I
can help her pick out an oven and get a sale for Mr. Hickson,” was his
kindly thought as he approached the undetermined customer.
“I’ll open that door for you, Madam.” The woman was tugging fruitlessly
at the obstinate door on an oven that had caught her fancy.
“Oh, thank you.” She favored this unexpected helper with a pleasant
smile. “Why, you are that boy who was standing there when that horrid
man tried to tell me that I didn’t know what I wanted. Who is that man?
I asked the salesman who showed me these ovens, but he didn’t hear me,
I guess.” There was a note of menace in her question that was not lost
on Teddy.
“Oh, that is our assistant buyer. His name is Mr. Jarvis. He’s an
efficiency man.”
“He’s not half so efficient as he might be,” snapped the woman. “Now
that I know his name I’m going to report him. This seems to be a good
oven.” Engaged now in peering into it, she did not mark the seraphic
joy on a small freckled face.
“It’s a very good oven,” assured Teddy glibly. “If you’d like to buy it
I’ll get Mr. Hickson to wait on you.”
“Very well. Have you a pencil and paper? I wish you’d put down that
man’s name and the number of this department. I shall write to this
firm about him.”
Teddy got out his notebook and pencil. With deep satisfaction he tore
a leaf from the back and inscribed on it, “Mr. Nathan Jarvis, Dept.
40.” Before he put the book away he turned to the front page and
wrote, “October 6. Canned again by a customer.” A second sinister mark
followed this pertinent item. “That’s pretty good for one day,” he
murmured, as he tucked the record of the morning’s preserving in his
pocket. “If he gets bottled a few more times, he can have a label and
be put in Martin Hall for a decoration. Pickled Percolator would look
nice.” Teddy giggled to himself as his whimsical imagination pictured
the plump assistant unhappily confined in a huge glass jar, a gigantic,
awe-inspiring monument to the pickler’s art.
Although Teddy’s sworn crusade against Mr. Jarvis might easily be
criticized, it must also be remembered that his motive, at least, was
prompted by loyalty alone. Had the assistant been merely a disagreeable
factor in the department the lad would have accepted him as such and
foreborne to play on him more than an occasional mischievous prank. Mr.
Jarvis, however, was engaged in an enterprise of the most contemptible
nature. By false words and gross misrepresentation he was laboring to
cut the ground from under Mr. Everett’s feet.
Teddy knew this. His sturdy boy nature revolted at the very idea of
such unfairness. What he yearned to do was to expose the assistant’s
shortcomings to the public. He was too shrewd to be deceived by Mr.
Jarvis. He knew, as well as others in the department knew, that the
man was not even a truly capable assistant. His knowledge of the stock
he burned to become buyer of was not sound. Moreover, his methods
of running the department were too unsettled and flighty to insure
success. His superiors had yet to learn this. Now that the bugle call
for efficiency was blaring its warning note throughout the business
world, he was possessed of a valuable ally. Teddy believed that his
duty lay in catching the plotter in his own net.
For a week after the fatal bucket episode, Mr. Jarvis had considerably
less to say than usual. The sixth of October had not been a red-letter
day for him. First of all he had been made the victim of what he
privately knew to be an intentional accident. Mr. Everett’s untimely
appearance on the scene had spoiled the arraignment he had purposed to
let loose on Teddy. The buyer’s reprimand had put him to rout. Later he
was glad he had said nothing to the lad. The red-haired boy’s air of
calm innocence would have proved impregnable.
Three mornings afterward he had been summoned to the superintendent’s
office as a result of blandly accusing a woman of not knowing her own
mind. In the face of the indignant letter that he had been coldly
requested to read, his volubility deserted him. He was forced to listen
to a number of pointed remarks relating to courtesy to customers
and admonished that it was the policy of the store to humor rather
than antagonize the public. Nothing was left him save to apologize
hypocritically for what must “surely have been a misunderstanding,” and
retire with dark thoughts concerning “meddlesome women.”
“The Percolator looks as if he’d like to bite to-day,” confided Teddy
to Harry Harding several days later, as the two sat eating their
noonday luncheon. Although Teddy was not aware of it, Mr. Jarvis had
that morning been taken to task by Mr. Everett for making a change in
the arrangement of certain stock, contrary to the buyer’s order. In
consequence, the assistant was immersed in his own wrath, and presented
a most war-like appearance as he marched up and down the confines of 40
on the hunt for trouble.
“You’d better be careful he doesn’t bite you,” was Harry’s playful
caution.
“He’s afraida me,” grinned Teddy. “I’m such a good boy I scare him. If
he got after me, Mr. Everett’d take my part.”
“But suppose you did something so bad that Mr. Everett couldn’t help
you?” Harry was merely teasing, but Teddy took it seriously.
“I never do anything bad,” he boasted, elevating his sharp chin to a
lofty angle. “I’m s’prised at you, Harry Harding.”
Harry’s boyish laugh rang out. “I was only joking, Teddy,” he
apologized. “I know you wouldn’t do anything very terrible. Dustless
Dusters and buckets that walk are your limit.”
Teddy acknowledged his crimes with a snicker. “I’ve gotta turn over a
new leaf,” he announced. “Night school’s going to begin to-morrow. Did
you know it?”
“Yes; I found out this morning. Mr. Marsh sent a messenger around the
store with a notice. I suppose you signed it, too.”
“Yep. I wonder if we’ll like night school? Last year I was mad as hops
because I had to go to day school. Remember?”
“I certainly do. How about it this year?”
“Oh, I’d just as soon go. I don’t want to grow up a dummy. Besides,
it’s only two nights a week. I hope Mrs. Martin’ll give us a good
supper,” ended Teddy waggishly.
Both boys giggled at the bare idea of the stately wife of the senior
partner in the rôle of cook for a horde of hungry boys.
“I don’t care much what I have to eat. It’s school I’m thinking of.”
Harry’s eyes glowed at the prospect of resuming his studies.
“Huh!” snorted Teddy. “I guess when I work all day I oughta have a good
supper. If I don’t like the stuff they give us to eat, I’ll make up for
it when I get home. What I like best is that we are going to be soldier
boys. We’ll be joining the ‘Martin Minute Men’ now. Some name.”
“I suppose it came from the Minute Men in the Revolutionary war,” mused
Harry. “It’s a dandy name. Seems fine to think of being men instead
of just boys. We are to drill an hour after supper each night before
school begins.”
“Yes, and we’ll wear khaki uniforms like the real soldiers and in
summer we can go to camp, and whenever our country needs us we’ll be
all ready to go. Hurrah for the good old United States!” Teddy’s voice
rose shrilly as he waved his spoon fantastically on high.
“Sh-h-h!” cautioned Harry. The little boy’s joyful outcry could be
heard above the clatter of dishes and busily humming voices.
But Harry’s warning came too late. The roomful of lively boys had heard
the cheer and now echoed it with a noisy fervor that made the walls
ring.
“Now are you satisfied?” laughed Harry, as the tumult gradually
subsided.
“I didn’t think I was hollering so loud.” Teddy appeared a trifle
abashed. “Anyhow, who’s going to care? Nobody that loves his country
could scold you for hurrahing for it.”
Teddy was still more confused when in the next moment he found himself
and Harry completely surrounded by a crowd of merry-faced boys, all
talking at once.
“What’s the matter with the U. S.?” demanded Arthur Worden joyfully.
“And what’s the matter with Teddy Burke?”
“Nothing’s the matter with either of ’em,” was Howard Randall’s
tribute. His fat face was beaming approval of Teddy. Out of their early
squabbles had sprouted firm friendship.
“We were talking about school,” explained Harry, “and Ted got excited
over being a Minute Man.”
“We’re all crazy to get our uniforms,” put in another boy eagerly. “I
hope I’ll be in the same company with you fellows. We all have to go up
to Martin Hall to-night.”
The lads lingered about the table until the last moment of their lunch
hour. Teddy and Harry were deservedly well-liked and outside of Leon
Atkins’ dislike for Harry, neither had an enemy among the boys of the
store.
Teddy’s fears in regard to the supper that night were groundless. The
management of Martin Brothers furnished for their young men a plain but
substantial meal that was exactly suited to their needs. Both lads were
supremely happy as they sat at table in the great dairy lunch room with
a goodly number of other young men, still the raw material from which
was to come the new life and blood of the great establishment that
housed and protected them.
Again they thrilled with pride as they sat beside their comrades in
Martin Hall and listened to the inspiring speeches of Mr. Keene and
Mr. Marsh. Then came a general looking-over and registering of the two
companies. These were named Company D and Company E to distinguish them
from those of the store messenger force who had yet to graduate from
day school. All those whose last names began with one of the first
thirteen letters of the alphabet were consigned to Company D. The
others fell to Company E.
Company D, to which Harry and Teddy now belonged, had Tuesday and
Friday assigned to them for their school work. Company E went to school
on Monday and Thursday nights. At the conclusion of the registration
and assignments Mr. Keene again mounted to the stage and addressed his
flock.
“Boys,” he said, “I am glad to see that you are glad to come back to
school. You’ve shown us that to-night by your attention and enthusiasm.
This year you are going to do more than be good pupils. You are going
to be good soldiers. That means a great many different things. I know
that there isn’t a boy here to-night who wouldn’t willingly lay down
his life for his country.”
Mr. Keene was interrupted by a frantic burst of cheers. He smilingly
waited for the demonstration of applause to die away. Then he continued:
“Your cheers prove you are patriots. Love of country is the highest
form of patriotism, but there’s another kind of patriotism that counts,
too. It is loyalty to the house that employs you. If you try to do the
best that is in you for those who are trying to do their best for you,
then you are patriots. A patriot at work will become a patriot at war.
Wherever you may be placed, boys, whether it’s in this store or in the
trenches, be loyal to your trust; obedient to your orders. Whether it
means business or war, remember you are on the firing line and must
prove yourselves to be good soldiers. That’s all.”
Mr. Keene smilingly nodded down at the rows of upturned faces. As he
left the stage he received a tribute of boyish adoration that echoed
and re-echoed through the great hall. There was but one Mr. Keene.
“I guess anybody’d want to be a good soldier just to please Mr. Keene,”
glowed Teddy, when, half an hour later, the chums trotted homeward
together through the crisp, starry October night.
“He’s splendid.” Harry reinforced Teddy’s enthusiasm. “Isn’t it
wonderful, Ted, that we can work in a store like this?”
“Yep. I’m going to stay in Martin Brothers’ store till I’m dead. When
I get too old to be superintendent, I’m going to get a job in the
transfer gathering up packages.”
“If you ever got to be superintendent, you’d have money enough to live
on when you were too old to work,” smiled practical Harry.
“That’s so,” admitted Teddy, “but I wouldn’t have much fun. I’d rather
hustle a truck than get old and sit in the sun and have only crackers
to eat and think about the Dragoness and the Clothes-pole and the
Percolator and all my dear friends. I guess I won’t grow up. I’d rather
stay a red-haired boy with 65 for a number.”