CHAPTER II. Susan
CHAPTER III. “How to Win the Affections”
CHAPTER IV. Kilo
CHAPTER V. Sammy Mills
CHAPTER VI. The Castaway
CHAPTER VII. The Colonel
CHAPTER VIII. The Medium-Sized Box
CHAPTER IX. The Witness
CHAPTER X. The Boss Grafter
CHAPTER XI. The False Gods of Doc Weaver
CHAPTER XII. Getting Acquainted
CHAPTER XIII. “Second: A Small Present”
CHAPTER XIV. Something Turns Up
CHAPTER XV. Difficulties
CHAPTER XVI. Two Lovers, and a Third
CHAPTER XVII. According to Jarby's
CHAPTER XVIII. Another Trial
CHAPTER XIX. Pap Briggs' Hen Food
KILO
CHAPTER I. Eliph' Hewlitt
Eliph' Hewlitt, book agent, seated in his weather-beaten top buggy,
drove his horse, Irontail, carefully along the rough Iowa hill road that
leads from Jefferson to Clarence. The Horse, a rusty gray, tottered in
a loose-jointed manner from side to side of the road, half asleep in
the sun, and was indolent in every muscle of his body, except his tail,
which thrashed violently at the flies. Eliph' Hewlitt drove with his
hands held high, almost on a level with his sandy whiskers, for he was
well acquainted with Irontail.
The road seemed to pass through a region of large farms, offering few
opportunities for selling books, the houses being so far apart, but
Eliph' knew the small settlement of Clarence was a few miles farther
on, and he was carrying enlightenment to the benighted. He glowed with
missionary zeal. In his eagerness he thoughtlessly slapped the reins on
the back of Irontail.
Instantly the plump, gray tail of the horse flashed over the rein and
clamped it fast. Eliph' Hewlitt leaned over the dashboard of his buggy
and grasped the hair of the tail firmly. He pulled it upward with all
his strength, but the tail did not yield. Instead, Irontail kicked
vigorously. Eliph' Hewlitt, knowing his horse as well as he knew human
nature, climbed out of the buggy, and taking the rein close by the bit
led Irontail to the side of the road. Then he took from beneath the
buggy seat a bulky, oil-cloth-wrapped parcel and seated himself near the
horse's head. There was no safety for a timid driver when Irontail had
thus assumed command of the rein. There was no way to get a rein from
beneath that tail but to ignore it. In an hour or so Irontail would
grow forgetful, carelessly begin flapping flies, and release the rein
himself.
Eliph' Hewlitt unwrapped the oilcloth from the object it enfolded. It
was a book. It was Jarby's 'Encyclopedia of Knowledge and Compendium of
Literature, Science, Art, Comprising Useful Information on One Thousand
and One Subjects, Including A History of the World, the Lives of all
Famous Men, Quotations From the World's Great Authors, One Thousand and
One Recipes, Et Cetera'. One Volume, five dollars bound in cloth; seven
fifty in morocco. Eliph' Hewlitt passed his hand affectionately over the
gilt-stamped cover, and then opened it at random and read.
For years he had been reading Jarby's Encyclopedia, and among its ten
thousand and one subjects he always found something new. It opened now
at “Courtship--How to Make Love--How to Win the Affections--How to Hold
Them When Won,” and although he had read the pages often before, he
found in all parts of the book, whenever he read it, a new meaning.
It occurred to him that even a book agent might have reason to use the
helpful words set for in clear type in the chapter on “Courtship--How to
Make Love,” and he realized that sometime he must reach the age when he
would need a home of his own. For years he had thought of woman only as
a possible customer for Jarby's Encyclopedia. Every woman, not already
married, he now saw, might be a possible Mrs. Eliph' Hewlitt.
Suddenly he raised his head. On the breeze there was borne to him the
sound of voices--many voices. He closed the book with a bang. His small
body became tense; his eyes glittered. He scented prey. He wrapped the
book in its oilcloth, laid it upon the buggy seat, and taking Irontail
by the bridle, started in the direction of the voices.
Half a mile down the road he came upon a scene of merriment. In a
cleared grove men, women and children were gathered; it was a church
picnic. Eliph' Hewlitt took his hitching strap from beneath the buggy
seat and secured Irontail to a tree.
“Church picnic,” he said to himself; “one, two, sixteen, twenty-four,
AND the minister. Good for twelve copies of Jarby's Encyclopedia or
I'm no good myself. I love church picnics. What so lovely as to see the
pastor and his flock gathered together in a bunch, as I may say, like
ten-pins, ready to be scooped in, all at one shot?”
He walked up to the rail fence and leaned against it so that he might be
seen and invited in. It was better policy than pushing himself forward,
and it gave him time to study the faces. He did not find them hopeful
subjects. They were not the faces of readers. They were not even the
faces of buyers. Even in their holiday finery, the women were shabby
and the men were careworn. The minister himself, white-bearded and
gray-haired, showed more signs of spiritual grace than intellectual
strength.
One woman, fresh and bright as a butterfly, appeared among them, and
Eliph' Hewlitt knew her at once as a city dweller, who had somehow got
into this dull and hard-working community. Almost at the same moment
she noticed him, and approached him. She smiled kindly and extended her
hand.
“Won't you come in?” she asked. “I don't seem to remember your face, but
we would be glad to have you join us.”
Eliph' Hewlitt shook his head.
“No'm,” he said sadly. “I'd better not come in. Not that I don't want
to, but I wouldn't be welcome. There ain't anything I like so much
as church picnics, and when I was a boy I used to cry for them, but I
wouldn't dare join you. I'm a”--he looked around cautiously, and said in
a whisper--“I'm a book agent.”
The lady laughed.
“Of course,” she said, “that DOES make a difference; but you needn't be
a book agent to-day. You can forget it for a while and join us.”
Eliph' Hewlitt shook his head again.
“That's it,” he said. “That's just the reason. I CAN'T forget it. I try
to, but I can't. Just when I don't want to, I break out, and before I
know it I've sold everybody a book, and then I feel like I'd imposed on
good nature. They take me in as a friend and then I sell 'em a copy of
Jarby's 'Encyclopedia of Knowledge and Compendium of Literature, Science
and Art,' ten thousand and one subjects, from A to Z, including recipes
for every known use, quotations from famous authors, lives of famous
men, and, in one word, all the world's wisdom condensed into one volume,
five dollars, neatly bound in cloth, one dollar down and one dollar a
month until paid.”
He paused, and the lady looked at him with an amused smile.
“Or seven fifty, handsomely bound in morocco,” he added. “So you see I
don't feel like I ought to impose. I know how I am. You take my mother
now. She hadn't seen me for eight years. I'd been traveling all over
these United States, carrying knowledge and culture into the homes
of the people at five dollars, easy payments, per home, and I got a
telegram saying, 'Come home. Mother very ill.'” He nodded his head
slowly. “Wonderful invention, the telegraph,” he said. “It tells
all about it on page 562 of Jarby's 'Encyclopedia of Knowledge and
Compendium of Literature, Science and Art,'--who invented; when first
used; name of every city, town, village and station in the U.S. that
has a telegraph office; complete explanation of the telegraph system,
telling how words are carried over a slender wire, et cetery, et cetery.
This and ten thousand other useful facts in one volume, only five
dollars, bound in cloth. So when I got that telegram I took the train
for home. Look in the index under T. 'Train, Railway--see Railway.'
'Railway; when first operated; inventor of the locomotive engine;
railway accidents from 1892 to 1904, giving number of fatal accidents
per year, per month, per week, per day, and per miles; et cetery, et
cetery. Every subject known to man fully and interestingly treated, WITH
illustrations.”
“I don't believe I care for a copy to-day,” said the lady.
“No,” said Eliph' Hewlitt, meekly. “I know it. Nor I don't want to sell
you one. I just mentioned it to show you that when you have a copy of
Jarby's Encyclopedia of Knowledge you have an entire library in one
book, arranged and indexed by the greatest minds of the nineteenth and
twentieth centuries. One dollar down and one dollar a month until paid.
But--when I got home I found mother low--very low. When I went in she
was just able to look up and whisper, 'Eliph'?' 'Yes, mother,' I says.
'Is it really you at last?' she says. 'Yes, mother,' I says, 'it's me
at last, mother, and I couldn't get here sooner. I was out in Ohio,
carrying joy to countless homes and introducing to them Jarby's
Encyclopedia of Knowledge and Compendium of Literature, Science and Art.
It is a book, mother,' I says, 'suited for rich or poor, young or old.
No family is complete without it. Ten thousand and one subjects, all
indexed from A to Z, including an appendix of the Spanish War brought
down to the last moment, and maps of Europe, Asia, Africa, North and
South America and Australia. This book, mother,' I says, 'is a gold mine
of information for the young, and a solace for the old. Pages 201 to 263
filled with quotations from the world's great poets, making select and
helpful reading for the fireside lamp. Pages 463 to 468, dying sayings
of famous men and women. A book,' I says, 'that teaches us how to live
and how to die. All the wisdom of the world in one volume, five dollars,
neatly bound in cloth, one dollar down and one dollar a month until
paid.' Mother looked up at me and says, 'Eliph', put me down for one
copy.' So I did. I hope I may do the same for you.”
The lady was about to speak, but Eliph' Hewlitt held up his hand
warningly.
“No,” he said. “I beg your pardon. I didn't MEAN to say that. I couldn't
think of taking your order. I didn't mean to ask it any more than I
meant to ask mother. It's habit, and that's what I'm afraid of. I'd
better not intrude.”
The lady evidently did not agree with him. He amused her because he was
what she called a “type,” and she was always on the lookout for “types.”
She urged him to join the picnic, and said he could try not to talk
books, and reminded him that no one could do more than try. He climbed
the fence with a reluctance that was the more noticeable because his
climbing was retarded by the oilcloth-covered parcel he held beneath
his arm. The lady smiled as she noticed that he had not feared his
soliciting habits sufficiently to leave the book in the buggy, and she
made a mental note of this to be used in the story she meant to write
about this book-agent type.
“My name is Smith,” she told him, as she tripped lightly toward the
group about the lunch baskets.
Eliph' Hewlitt was a small man and his movements were short and jerky.
He drew his hand over his red whiskers and coughed gently when she
mentioned her name, and as she hurried on before him he looked at her
tall, straight figure; noticed the stylish mode of her simple summer
gown, and caught a glimpse of low, white shoes and neat ankles covered
by delicately woven silk.
“Courtship--How to Make Love--How to Win the Affections--How to Hold
Them When Won,” he meditated. “Lovely, but she will not suit. She is an
encyclopedia of knowledge and compendium of literature, science and art,
but she is not the edition I can afford. She is gilt-edged and morocco
bound, and an ornament to any parlor, but I can't afford her. My style
is cloth, good substantial cloth, one dollar down and one dollar a month
until paid. As I might say.”