O. STROUT. FINE GROCERIES
During the summer that the foregoing events were happening in Europe,
Mr. Hiram Maxwell, in the little New England town of Fernborough had
a serious accident happen to himself the effects of which were far
reaching, and finally affected many people.
In unloading a barrel of sugar from a wagon, it slipped from the skid
and fell upon his leg causing a compound fracture. He was taken home,
but when the doctor was called he advised his immediate removal to the
Isaac Pettingill Free Hospital for he was afraid an amputation would be
necessary. Unfortunately, his fears proved to be true, and Hiram's right
leg was amputated just below the knee.
“That Hiram's an unlucky cuss,” said Mr. Strout to his hearers one
evening at the grocery. “But think of me. This is our busy season and
with everything piled onto me I'm just about tuckered out. What help
will he be stumbling around on crutches?”
“Can't he have a wooden leg?” asked Abner Stiles.
“Yes, of course he can. An' if you lost your head and got a wooden one
in its place you'd be just as well off as you are now.”
This remark caused a laugh at Abner which he took good-naturedly. When
Mr. Strout was out of sorts he always vented his spleen on somebody.
“Well,” said Benoni Hill, “I'm awful sorry for Hiram with a wife and
children to support. Of course his pay will go right on, bein' as he's a
partner.”
“I don't know about that,” said Strout. “That's for the trustees to
decide, and I've got to decide whether I'll do two men's work for one
man's pay.”
“He would for you,” Abner blurted out.
“If you think so much of him, why don't you come in and do his work for
him?” said Strout.
“When you were going to buy this store, and Mr. Sawyer got ahead of yer,
yer promised me a job here as pay for some special nosin' round I'd
done fer yer--but when yer got in the saddle you forgot the feller who'd
boosted yer up. When a man breaks his word to me onct he don't do it a
second time. That's why,” and Abner went out and slammed the door after
him.
Mr. Strout was angry, and when in that state of mind he was often
lacking in prudence in speech.
“That comes of turning a place of business into a resort for loafers.
If I owned this store outright there'd be a big sign up somewhere--'When
you've transacted your business, think of Home Sweet Home.'”
“I reckon that's a hint,” said Benoni Hill, as he arose and put on his
hat. “You won't be troubled with me or my trade in futur'. There are
stores in Cottonton jus' as good as this, and the proprietors are
gentlemen.”
He left the store, and one by one the “loafers” followed him as no one
had the courage to break the silence that fell upon the company after
old Mr. Hill's departure.
Mr. Strout, left alone to close up the store, was more angry than ever.
“What cussed fools. I was hitting back at Abner and they thought the
coat fit and put it on. They'll come round again. They won't enjoy
tramping over to Cottonton for kerosene and molasses.”
The store was lighted by kerosene lamps resting on brackets. It was Mr.
Strout's custom to take them down, blow them out, and replace them
on the brackets. One was always left burning, as Mr. Strout said “so
burglars could see their way round.”
Mr. Strout's anger rose higher and higher and there was no one present
upon whom he could expend it. He grasped one of the lamps, but his hold
on the glass handle was insecure and it fell to the floor, the lamp
breaking, while the burning oil was thrown in every direction. He wished
then that some of the “loafers” were present to help him put the fire
out. There was no water nearer than the pump in the back yard. He
grabbed a pail and started to get some water. He forgot the back-steps
and fell headlong. For some minutes he was so dazed that he could do
nothing. The glare of the fire lighted up the yard, or he would have had
difficulty in filling the pail. When he returned, he saw that the fire
was beyond his control. He could not go through the store, so he climbed
the back yard fence and made his way to the front of the store crying
“Fire” at the top of his voice.
It seemed an age to him, before anyone responded. He felt then the need
of friends, neighbours--even “loafers” would have been acceptable.
A bucket brigade formed, but their efforts were unavailing. As the other
lamps were exploded by the heat new inflammable material was thrown
about. In a quarter of an hour the whole interior was in flames, and in
an hour only a grim, black skeleton, lighted up by occasional flashes of
flame, remained of Strout and Maxwell's grocery store.
Next morning comment was rife. Mr. Strout had told how the fire was
caused but there were unbelievers.
“I think the cuss set it on fire himself,” said Abner Stiles to his
employer, Mr. Ezekiel Pettingill.
“Be careful, Abner,” was the caution given him. “It don't do to accuse a
man of anything 'less you have proof, an' your thinkin' so ain't
proof.” Mr. Strout went to Boston to see the trustees. The insurance was
adjusted and Mr. Strout was authorized to proceed with the re-building
at once. During the interim orders were filled from the Montrose store.
Fortunately, the stable and wagon shed were some distance from the
store, and had not been in danger.
The new store was larger than the old one, and many improvements, in Mr.
Strout's opinion, were incorporated in the new structure. He ordered the
new sign. When it was put up, the whole town, including the “loafers”
were present. “I s'pose he fixed it with the trustees” said Benoni Hill
to Abner Stiles.
“Danged if I think so,” was the reply. “He's allers been meaner'n dirt
to Hiram, an' has allers wanted to git him out. Burnin' up the store
giv' him his chance.”
“You mean the store burnin' up,” corrected Benoni.
“I dunno. The Bible says God works in a mysterious way his wonders to
perform, an' so do some individooals.”
One noon after dinner, Mr. Strout said to his wife. “Bessie, put on your
things an' come down to the new store. I want to show you somethin'.”
“And leave the dishes?”
“You can bring 'em with you if you want to,” her husband replied.
When they reached the store, upon which the painters were at work, he
pointed to the new sign.
“See that? Read it out loud.”
Mrs. Strout complied:
“O. STROUT. FINE GROCERIES.”
“What did I tell yer?” was his only comment.