THE BEAUTY OF EFFICIENCY
When on the next morning Teddy Burke returned to Department 40 he was
hailed as a hero and petted outrageously by his delighted friends in
house furnishings. Mr. Jarvis, however, appeared not to see him. He was
deeply disgusted to behold “that red-headed imp” again entering into
what he fondly dreamed of making his undisputed domain. He had never
reckoned Teddy Burke as an obstacle until after it had slowly dawned
upon him that a Teddyless department was highly conducive to his peace
of mind. Luck had recently favored him in that two days before Teddy’s
return Mr. Everett had succumbed to a severe attack of bronchitis
that promised to keep him away from house furnishings for at least
two or three weeks. Mr. Jarvis was now bent on making his temporary
reign of buyer a permanent one. He did not, therefore, classify the
reinstatement of 65 as an undisguised blessing.
“Where’s Mr. Everett?” was Teddy’s first inquiry of Sam Hickson after
making the rounds of 40 and receiving its joyful approval of his
return. “I want to see him most of all. He fought like a good one for
me the day I got fired. That was some day! Whew! I’ll never forget it.”
“Mr. Everett’s sick,” informed Hickson gloomily. “He’s got bronchitis.
Couldn’t have come down with it at a worse time. Your friend the
Percolator worried him into it, I guess. Poor fellow, he’s had his
hands full with the crazy loon.”
“That’s too bad.” Teddy showed real concern. “Where does he live? I
might go’n see him.”
“I wish you would!” exclaimed Hickson heartily. “He thinks a lot of
you, Reddy. Maybe you could get him to change his mind.”
“Change his mind about what?” Teddy’s face registered round-eyed alarm.
He wondered if Hickson could mean----
“He’s going to resign.” The salesman spoke Teddy’s thought. “Just
before he was taken sick he told me that another store’d made him a
good offer. More salary than he gets here. He’d rather not take it.
He’s built up this department and he loves it. But he can’t stand
Jarvis. When you spoke of going to see him it just came to me that
you’d be the very one to let him know how much we need him here. He’s
promised to take me with him. I’ll go, of course. But I hate like sixty
to leave Martin Brothers. They’ve been fine to me.”
Teddy gasped. His whole world seemed to be on the verge of tumbling
down about him. Without Mr. Everett and genial Sam Hickson, what a
desert spot 40 would become! He would go, too. Still, there was Harry
to think of and Mr. Keene. Besides, no other store had a school like
Martin Brothers, or a military company like the Minute Men.
“It’s _awful_,” he breathed, aghast at the dreadful prospect. “If I
hadn’t got fired I’d have done my last canning before this and sealed
up the can.”
“You had your own troubles,” sympathized Hickson, “but you behaved like
a brick. I’m glad that young sneak got his. The story’s gone all over
the store.”
“I guess I’m some hero.” Teddy puffed out his chest.
“You’ll do, but don’t go and spoil it all by getting a swelled head,”
was Hickson’s dampening advice.
“I won’t.” Teddy grinned, quite unoffended at this jolt. “I’ve got to
get busy an’ look after the perky Percolator. He must have missed me a
lot.”
“I noticed he did run up and kiss you this morning,” jibed the salesman.
“I’da punched his fat face if he had,” threatened Teddy, looking utter
repugnance of such a horrible possibility.
At luncheon that day, the first with Harry in many weeks, Teddy
remarked sourly: “I lost a lot of time by getting fired. The old
Percolator’s been buzzing around to beat the band. Mr. Everett’s sick.
Mr. Hickson says he’s going to resign from kettles and pans. I’m going
to see him one of these nights. I found out where he lives. Mr. Hickson
says Mr. Everett’ll be glad to see me.”
“I’m sure he will,” nodded Harry. “Oh, Ted, I’ve got something funny to
tell you. One day while you were out of the store I was talking to Miss
Welch about you. I didn’t tell her that it was Leon who spoiled Mr.
Martin’s painting, but she said that something I said made her suspect
him. You see I asked her to watch out and if she ever heard anything
that might help to prove you didn’t do it, to let me know. Of course
she doesn’t get much chance to leave her desk, but she remembered a man
in the store who goes all over it. She’s known him ever since she came
here.”
“The Dustless Duster?” guessed Teddy.
Harry nodded. “Miss Welch told him the whole story. She even told him
Leon’s name and described him. Mr. Ferris, that’s the Dustless Duster’s
real name, said he knew Leon was a bad boy. He told her about reporting
him for sleeping in the bin, and that he’d seen Leon poking around the
store in all sorts of places where he had no business to be. He began
to keep his eye on the precious Clothes-pole. He thought if he could
catch him doing any more mischief, he would take him to Mr. Keene and
scare him into telling about the painting. So, to please Miss Welch,
every once in a while when he was near the book stock-room, he’d poke
his head in the lower door to see how Leon was behaving. But he never
caught him at anything until the morning we had the fight. We didn’t
see him but he saw us and heard everything we said. So you see you owe
a whole lot to the kind Dustless Duster.”
“I wish I could do something grand for him,” replied Teddy, his small
face aglow. “I’m going to if I ever get a chance. Say, Harry, what a
lot of nice men there are in this store.”
“The finest in the world,” came the enthusiastic response. “Mr.
Rexford’s first with me, though, and Mr. Keene next. A while back I
thought my Year of Promise was going to be a big fizzle, but it’s
getting better every minute. There’s only one thing I wish was
different. I wish that business about the ring hadn’t happened. It
makes me feel silly every time I think of it. Still I know I wasn’t
wrong.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t care about that,” consoled Teddy. “You did your best.
These people that steal for a living are too sharp for boys like us.”
“I never dare look at Mr. Prescott. I always feel ashamed. I haven’t
seen him much lately, but I suppose I shall next month. There’s going
to be a great big sale in silverware, so he’ll be around jewelry, I
guess.” Harry did not seem elated at the prospect.
“That’s nothing to cry about. Think of me and the Percolator.
Some little puzzle.” Teddy looked as solemn as though his was the
responsibility of bearing the weight of the world upon his thin
shoulders.
Afternoon found him trailing his plump aversion with a will born of his
devotion to Mr. Everett. Now alone at the helm, Mr. Jarvis was rapidly
discovering how difficult it was to be in half a dozen places at once.
If he remained in the office to receive and argue with the numerous
traveling salesmen who were forever dropping in, he was obliged to let
the department run itself. Then, too, he was not fitly equipped to meet
these bland-faced, smoothly-spoken sons of commerce whose business
it is to exalt their own wares above those of a rival manufacturer.
Their steady flow of irresistible argument bewildered him. To hide his
ignorance of this branch of Mr. Everett’s work he met these men with a
high and mighty manner intended to cover up his lack of knowledge of
house furnishings.
Naturally, they went away highly disgruntled, to talk him over among
themselves when they chanced to encounter one another in a certain
hotel in the city to which most of the travelers engaged in selling
house furnishings gravitated as a kind of wayside home. It is the most
usual thing in the world for traveling salesmen who carry similar lines
of goods to hang together when their day’s work is done. Rivals though
they may be, their favorite pastime consists in congregating to talk
about the lines of goods which they make their living by selling. Among
them Mr. Everett was known and respected, whereas Mr. Jarvis was dubbed
a “joke” and a “mistake.”
Mr. Jarvis, however, was not aware of these very personal opinions of
himself. Privately, he yearned to put aside his haughty manner, to
buy right and left of these insistent clamorers. He had been ordered,
however, to buy lightly and use the utmost judgment in purchasing
that little. Martin Brothers were not taking chances on a man who had
still to prove his superiority over Mr. Everett. True, Mr. Jarvis was
in line for promotion, should Mr. Everett resign his position, as it
was rumored that he intended to do. But Mr. Jarvis’ future as buyer of
Department 40 was still vague.
But while the ambitious assistant wrestled with the buying problems of
Mr. Everett’s department, the salespeople in kettles and pans heartily
welcomed his frequent absences from the selling floor. The rumor that
Mr. Everett intended to resign had been wafted about the department
with the result that it went far toward ruining the strict but
kindly discipline the buyer had ever maintained. A curious spirit of
insurrection, which had long lain dormant, sprang suddenly into life.
Threats of “The day Mr. Everett’s resignation goes in, mine goes in,
too,” became a familiar mutter about the department.
When first the news of the buyer’s illness had been received, his flock
had been inspired with the desire to do their level best for his sake.
They had continued to remain in this beatific state until word of his
impending resignation had reached them. Then their good resolutions
were swallowed up in revolutionary mutterings. Their minds continually
on this sore subject, their salesmanship suffered in consequence. No
longer did they work with might and main to make the day’s receipts
count. They served with due courtesy customers who wished to buy, but
no one went out of his or her way to bring in additional sales. They
made no concerted plan to revolt. They simply did so, each in his own
fashion.
The second week of Mr. Everett’s absence Mr. Jarvis was taken to task
for the falling off of sales in Department 40 and admonished to do
better. The next evening he held a meeting of the salespeople under
his charge after the store had closed. He lectured touchingly on the
beauty of efficiency in selling to a company of young men and women who
listened to him with the stolid faces of wooden Indians. And the next
day’s receipts dropped a trifle lower.
“Halt!” challenged Sam Hickson late one afternoon as Teddy Burke
flitted past him.
Teddy halted, assuming a strictly military carriage.
“March!” ordered the salesman. “March back here a minute. I’ve got
something on my mind.”
“I’m s’prised,” beamed Teddy, trotting back. “I never would have
thought it.”
“That’ll do,” warned Hickson. “Look here, I thought you were going to
see Mr. Everett? If you went, you kept pretty still about it.”
“I didn’t go.” Teddy came to instant sobriety. “I’ve been waiting.”
“Waiting for what?”
“To jam on the lid. Don’t you understand? If I could go to Mr. Everett
and say, ‘Don’t resign. The perky Percolator’s canned,’ he’d come back
to 40 when he got well.”
“You’ll never go then,” predicted Hickson. “You’re crazy, Reddy. You
can’t wish the fellow out and watch him go. It would take something
pretty serious to rush him out of here. You and I aren’t the kind to
try any crooked work.”
“I wouldn’t do anything dishonest to him for the world.” Teddy flared
up like a torch. “You must have a nice idea of me, Mr. Sam Hickson.”
“Now don’t get excited,” placated the man. “Didn’t you hear me say that
you and I weren’t that kind?”
“Y-e-s. Anyhow, something might happen.”
“It’ll have to happen in a hurry then, or it’ll be no use,” was
Hickson’s disheartened opinion.
“I’m going to go and sit on one of those big whales o’ clothes hampers
down by the office an’ think,” announced Teddy. “I don’t want you to
come talking to me’n disturb my think-tank, either.”
“I’ve got something better to do,” laughed his friend. “I’m going to
count up my book.”
With a backward grin over one shoulder, Teddy strolled thoughtfully
toward the clothes hamper. Testing it carefully to insure that even his
light weight upon it would not result in catastrophe, the boy seated
himself. Chin on hands, buried in thought, he resembled a wise young
owl on a perch.
“Where can I find Mr. Everett?” A crisp voice broke up Teddy’s
meditations.
“At home in bed,” leaped to Teddy’s lips, but courtesy prevailed. “Mr.
Everett is sick, sir,” was what he did say. “He hasn’t been here for
over three weeks.”
“You don’t say so! Hmm! Who is his assistant and where will I find
him?”
Teddy was about to go in search of Mr. Jarvis, but changed his mind. He
decided that he felt like indulging in a little further conversation
with this tall, good-looking stranger who smiled upon him so pleasantly.
“His assistant’s Mr. Jarvis. He’s an efficiency man.”
“You don’t say so!” repeated the stranger, raising his eyebrows. His
amusement appeared to deepen.
“Yep.” Teddy forgot himself. “He knows all ’bout efficiency.”
“And does he like to talk about it?” a peculiar gleam shot into the
man’s eyes.
“Does he?” Teddy warmed to the subject. “He eats it alive. He c’n talk
yards of it and never lose his breath.”
“That is good. I am interested in efficiency myself. Where did you say
I would find him?”
“I didn’t say.” Teddy’s brief liking for the pleasant stranger
vanished. Here was another efficiency crank. Sliding from his makeshift
throne he peered up and down the department. “There he is, down among
the ice-chests.” The little boy turned a scornful back on the man
and marched off. “Wait till he tries to sell the Percolator a ton of
tinware or a kitchen stove,” muttered the lad. “He’ll get his head
froze off. Funny. He looked nice. Not a bit like a fishy old fishiency
fish. Guess I’ll watch him get the freeze.”
Teddy watched and saw something that made him open his eyes. At first
glance it looked as though his prediction would be verified. Almost
instantly the assistant’s haughty stare broke up in a fatuous smile.
“What do you know about that?” wondered Teddy, as he saw the two men
shake hands. “I s’pose they found out that they were both fishy fishes.”
In this Teddy had made a most accurate guess. Thanks to his own
yearning for conversation he had put in the stranger’s possession a
most valuable method of approaching the unapproachable assistant. As
it happened the man represented a house against whom Mr. Everett had
a grudge of long standing. For several years he had refused to buy of
them, due to a fault which they had of taking orders at one price and
delivering them at another a trifle higher than quotation. Mr. Everett
had been supported by the firm in his refusal to deal with them, and
for a long time they had not ventured to send a representative to call
on him.
The pleasant stranger had heard of the assistant from a friendly
traveler staying at the same hotel with him and had determined to take
advantage of Mr. Everett’s absence to try to place an order. It is to
be doubted whether he had any extreme interest in efficiency, but he
hailed it as a trusty bridge on which to place his feet.
Mr. Jarvis was naturally delighted at last to meet a man after his
own heart. In triumph he led him into Mr. Everett’s office, there to
extoll the beauties of efficiency to his heart’s content. At the end of
a two-hour session the smiling stranger left with a good-sized order on
his book, while Mr. Jarvis was equally certain that he also had done
well.
The result of his well-doing did not become manifest until several days
had passed. A call to the system manager’s office sent him hurrying
there in the hope of being informed of Mr. Everett’s resignation as
buyer, followed by his appointment to the position. His interview with
the manager was totally different from expectation. He was informed
that he had bought neither wisely nor well. In a heart-to-heart talk
with that august individual it soon became evident that Mr. Jarvis knew
very little about the relative merits and prices of kettles and pans
and less about the firms that manufactured them. Efficiency of his sort
withered beside the clear business judgment of Mr. Everett.
But the worst was yet to come. The following day Mr. Jarvis again held
down a chair in the assistant manager’s office to learn what that
far-seeing individual thought of him as a business man. He had not
been placed in his proper sphere, the manager concluded and suggested
pertinently that if he cared to remain in the store another position
suitable to his somewhat peculiar abilities might be found for him.
At the end of that session Mr. Jarvis returned to the department which
he in a few short weeks had so nearly succeeded running into the rocks.
But he did not remain there. No, indeed. He collected his possessions
and shook the dust of Department 40 from his feet without so much as
a farewell word to kettles and pans. And the next elevator bore him
upward to that mysterious haunt known as the Bureau of Adjustment,
where in settling the claims of a claim-hungry public his fatal
efficiency might soar unheeded and undisturbed.
“Who stole the perky Percolator?” demanded Teddy Burke on the morning
following Mr. Jarvis’ flight from house furnishings. “I haven’t seen
his sweet face this morning.”
Sam Hickson laughed happily. “You won’t see it unless you go up to the
Bureau of Adjustment. He bubbled up once too often, I guess, and the
system manager got him.”
“Why, when, what for?” almost shouted Teddy in wild excitement.
“I don’t know much about it. I only know he’s gone. Duffield just
told me. I hope Mr. Everett hasn’t sent in his resignation yet. If he
hasn’t, he might come back.”
“And is the Percolator canned for good?” gasped Teddy.
“He sure is.”
“Then I’m going to see Mr. Everett to-night.” Teddy skipped joyfully
up an aisle to interview Miss Newton on the subject. Miss Newton was
busy, however, with a customer. She looked so amiable and smiling that
he decided she had heard the news. Seized with a brilliant thought he
jerked the little leather-covered book from his pocket. There was just
room on the page for one more item. So he wrote, “March 14. Canned for
good, but not by me.”
And it was not until some time afterward that Teddy Burke learned just
how important a part he had played in the final canning of the “perky
Percolator.”