The Wooing of Calvin Parks

CHAPTER XI

CONCERNING TRADE

It was Christmas week, and East Cyrus was making ready for the festival. The butcher's shop was hung with turkeys and chickens, and bright with green of celery and red of cranberries and apples. The dry-goods store displayed in its window, beside the folds of gingham and "wool goods" and the shirt-waist patterns, a shining array of dolls and sofa-pillows, pincushions and knitted shoes; while the bookstore had all the holiday magazines, and a splendid assortment of tissue paper in every possible shade.

But delightful as all this was to the eyes of East Cyrus, there was one shop that so far outshone the rest that all day long an admiring group of children stood before it, gazing in at the window, and fairly goggling with wonder and longing. This was the shop of Mr. Ivory Cheeseman. Across and across the window were strings of silver tinsel, wonderful enough in themselves, but still more wonderful for the freight they bore; canes of every description, from the massive walking-stick that might have supported Lonzo's giant frame, down to dapper and delicate affairs no bigger than one's little finger; and all made of candy, red and white and yellow. That was a sight in itself, I should hope; but that was not all. The broad shelf beneath was covered with tinsel-sprinkled green, and here were creatures many, cats and lions and elephants, dromedaries and horses and turtles, all in clear barley sugar, red and yellow and white. Chocolate mice there were, too, bigger than the cats as a rule; and flanking these zoölogical wonders, row upon row of shining glass jars, containing every stick that ever was twisted, every drop that ever was dropped.

Inside, a long counter overflowed with the more recondite forms of goodies, caramels, and burnt almonds, chocolate creams and the like; behind this counter a pretty girl stood smiling, ready to dispense delight in any sugary form, at so much a pound.

In the kitchen behind the shop the little stove was glowing like a friendly demon, and beside the long table stood Mr. Cheeseman and Calvin Parks, deep in talk.

"Now you want," said the old man, "to get a good price for these goods, friend Parks. I'm lettin' you have 'em at wholesale price, because you're a man I like, and because I wish to see you well fixed and provided with a partner for life. Now here's your chance, and I'm goin' to speak right out plain. You're a good fellow, but you are not a man of business!"

"That's right!" murmured Calvin meekly. "That's straight, stem to stern."

"I hear about you now and again, in the way of trade," Mr. Cheeseman went on. "Folks come in, and talk a spell; you know how 'tis. I've gone so fur as to ask folks about you, folks whose opinion was worth havin'. They all like you fust-rate; say you're a good feller, none better, but you'll never make good. Ask 'em why, and they tell about your givin' goods away right along; a half a dozen sticks here, a roll of lozengers there, quarter-pounds all along the ro'd so to say. Now, young man, that ain't trade!"

Calvin's slow blood crept up among the roots of his hair. "I don't know as it's any of their darned business!" he said slowly.

"It ain't, nor yet it ain't mine to tell you; nor yet it ain't the wind's; yet it keeps on blowin' just the same, and while you're cussin' it for liftin' your hat off, it's turnin' your windmill for you. See?"

Calvin raised his head with a jerk.

"I see!" he said. "That's straight. I see that, Mr. Cheeseman, and thank you for sayin' it. But – well now, see how 'tis at my end. I'm joggin' along the ro'd, see? hossy and me, who so peart, lookin' for trade. Well, here come a little gal; pretty, like as not, – little gals mostly are, and when they ain't you're sorry enough to make it even – and when she sees us she stops, and hossy stops. He knows! wouldn't go on if I told him to. Say she don't speak a word; say she just looks at me kind o' wishful; what would you do? She's a child, and she wants a stick of candy; that's what I'm there for, ain't it, to see that she gets it? Well! and she hasn't got a cent. What would you do? Would you drive off and leave her cryin' in the ro'd behind you?"

"I would!" said Mr. Cheeseman firmly. "She'd ought to have got a cent from her Ma, and she'll do it next time if you don't give in now."

"Mebbe she has no Ma!" said Calvin gloomily. "Mebbe her Ma's a Tartar."

"That ain't your lookout!" retorted Mr. Cheeseman. "Now, friend Parks, it comes to just this. You put this to yourself straight; are you runnin' a candy route, or an orphan asylum?"

Calvin was silent, gazing darkly at the pan of cinnamon drops before him. Mr. Cheeseman, having driven his nail home, put away his hammer.

"Now about your stock!" he said cheerfully. "You rather run to sticks in your fancy, but if I was you I'd go a mite more into fancy truck Christmas time. Gives 'em a change, and seems more holiday like. Take this lobster loaf, now!"

He laid his hand on a huge mass, chocolate-coated, its side displaying strata of red and white. "This is a good article when you strike a large family or a corner store. It's cheap, and it's fillin'. You let me put you up a couple of loaves; what say?"

"All right!" said Calvin, still gloomily. "What next?"

"Well, here's chicken bones!" and Mr. Cheeseman picked up a handful of short white sticks. "These is good goods; try one!"

Calvin crunched a stick. "Chocolate fillin'?" he said.

"Yes; with just a dite of peanut butter to give it a twist. Children like 'em; like the name, too; makes 'em think of the turkey that's comin'. Two or three pounds of them? That's right! All the sticks, I s'pose? and all the drops? That's it! I expect you to make your fortune this time, and no mistake. Now we come to gum drops! how about them?"

"Well," said Calvin, "I never found gum drops what you'd call real amusin' myself; I like something with a mite more snap to it, don't you?"

"Did, when I had teeth like yours!" Mr. Cheeseman replied. "But you take old folks, or folks that's had their teeth out, and say, 'gum drops' to 'em, and they'll run like chickens. They like something soft, you see. How's your route off for teeth?"

"Why – I don't know as I've noticed specially!" said Calvin, his brown eyes growing round.

"Fust thing a candy man ought to notice! Well, you take a good stock of gum drops, that's my advice. Now come to the animals – what is it, Lonzo?"

Lonzo shambled in from the shop; the tears were running down his platter face, and his huge frame shook with sobs.

"She – she won't give me the el'phant!" he said.

"What elephant? Cheer up, Lonzo! don't you cry, son; Christmas is comin', you know."

"You said – you said – if I cleaned the dishes all up good for Christmas I could take my pick, and I picked the el'phant, and she won't give it to me!"

At this juncture the pretty girl appeared, flushed and defiant.

"Mr. Cheeseman, he wants that big elephant, the handsomest thing in the window; and it's a shame, and he sha'n't have it. I offered him the one you made first, that got its leg broke, and he won't look at it. There's just as much eatin' to it, for I saved the leg."

"I don't want to eat it!" sobbed Lonzo. "I want to love it a spell fust."

Mr. Cheeseman looked grave. "Well!" he said, "we'll see, son! You stop cryin', anyhow."

He went into the shop, Calvin following him, and they looked over the low green curtain into the show-window. In the very centre, towering above the lions, camels and rabbits, stood a majestic white elephant fully a foot high. His tusks were of clear barley sugar; he carried a gilded howdah in which sat an affable personage with chocolate countenance and peppermint turban; the whole was a triumph of art, and Mr. Cheeseman gazed on it with pride, and Calvin with admiration.

"It's the handsomest piece of confectionery I ever saw!" said Calvin with conviction.

"It is handsome, I'm free to confess!" said Mr. Cheeseman. "It cost me consid'able labor, that did. Take it out careful, Cynthy!"

"Mr. Cheeseman! you ain't goin' to give it to Lonzo!" cried the pretty girl indignantly.

"Certin I am!" said the old man. "I told him he should take his pick, and he's taken it. I didn't think of that figger, 'tis true, but what I say I stand to. Easy there! I guess you'd better let me lift it out, Cynthy!"

Very tenderly he lifted out the glittering trophy and placed it in Lonzo's outstretched hands. The simpleton chuckled his rapture, and retired to his dim corner – to worship, one might have thought; he put his prize on a low table and grovelled before it on the floor.

Mr. Cheeseman, heedless of Cynthy's lamentations, proceeded to re-arrange the show-window, trying one effect and another, head on one side and eyes screwed critically. Satisfied at length, he turned slowly and rather reluctantly toward Calvin Parks, who had been standing silently by.

"After all," he said apologetically, "Christmas is for the children, and Lonzo is the Lord's child, my wife used to say, and I expect she was right."

Calvin's twinkle burst into a smile.

"That's all right, Mr. Cheeseman!" he said. "That suits me first-rate. I was only wonderin' whether it was just exactly what you would call trade!"

CHAPTER XII

CALVIN'S WATERLOO

Christmas Eve. All day a blaze of white and gold, softening now into cold glories of rose and violet over the great snow-fields. The road, white upon white, outlined with fringes of trees, and here and there a stretch of stump fence, was as empty as the fields, the solitary sleigh with its solitary occupant seeming only to emphasize the loneliness.

Calvin Parks looked down the long stretch of road into which he had just turned, and gave a long whistle.

"Hossy," he said, "do you know what this ro'd wants? It wants society! I don't know as it would be reasonable to expect a house, or even a barn, but it does seem as if they might scare up a cow; what?"

Hossy whinnied sympathetically.

"Just so!" said Calvin. "That's what I say. Christmas Eve and all, it does really appear as if they might scare up a cow. Not that she'd be likely to trade to any great extent. What say? She'd buy as much as that last woman did? That's so, hossy; you're right there. But we ain't complainin', you and me, I want you to understand. We've done real well this trip, and before we get our little oats to-night we'll work off every stick in the whole concern, you see if we don't, and have money to put in the bank, io, money to put in the bank. Gitty up, you hossy!" He flourished his whip round the brown horse's head and whistled a merry tune.

"Hello! What's up now?"

Some one was standing at the turn of the road ahead, waving to him; a child; a little girl in cloak and hood, her red-mittened hands gesticulating wildly.

"We're a-comin', we're a-comin'!" said Calvin Parks. "Git there just the very minute we git there, you see if we don't. Why, Mittie May! you don't mean to tell me this is you?"

"Oh! yes, please!" cried the child. "Oh! please will you come and see Miss Fidely? oh! please will you?"

"There! there! little un; why, you're all out of breath. Been runnin', have ye?"

"Oh, yes!" panted Mittie May. "I ran all the way, for fear I wouldn't get here before you went by. Will you come and see Miss Fidely, Mr. Candy Man?"

"Well!" said Calvin, "that depends, little gal. There's three p'ints I'd like to consider in this connection and as touchin' this matter, as old parson used to say. First, is Miss Fidely good-lookin' and agreeable to see? Second, does she anyways want to see me? Third, how far off does she live? It's gettin' on towards sundown, and hossy and me have a good ways to go before we get our oats."

"It's not far," said the child. "And she wants to see you terrible bad. Her goods ain't come that she ordered, and the tree's all up, and the boys and girls all comin' to-morrow, and no candy. And I told her about you, and how you mostly came along this road Wednesdays, and she said run and catch you if I could, and I run!"

"I should say you did!" said Calvin. "Now you hop right in here with me, little gal! Hopsy upsy – there she comes! Let me tuck you in good – so! now you tell me which way to go, and hossy and me'll git there. That's a fair division, ain't it?"

Still panting, the child pointed down a narrow cross-road, on which at some distance stood a solitary house.

"That the house?" asked Calvin. Mittie May nodded.

"I hope Miss Fidely ain't large for her size," said Calvin; "she might fit rayther snug if she was."

It was a tiny house, gray and weather-beaten; but the windows were trim with white curtains and gay with flowers; on the stone wall a row of milk-pans flashed back the afternoon sun; the whole air of the place was cheerful and friendly.

"I expect Miss Fidely's all right!" said Calvin with emphasis. "Smart woman, to judge by the looks of her pans, and there's nothing better to go by as I know of. Them's as bright as Miss Hands's, and more than that I can't say. Now you hop out, Mittie May, and ask her will she step out and see the goods, or shall I bring in any special line?"

The child stared. "She can't come out!" she said. "Miss Fidely can't walk."

"Can't walk!" repeated Calvin.

"No! and the path ain't shovelled wide enough for her to come out. Come in and see her, please!"

His eyes very round, Calvin followed the child up the narrow path and in at the low door. Then he stopped short.

The door opened directly into a long, low room, the whole width of the house. The whitewashed walls were like snow, the bare floor was painted bright yellow, with little islands of rag carpet here and there. There were a few quaint old rush-bottomed chairs, and in one corner what looked like a child's trundle-bed, gay with a splendid sunflower quilt. These things Calvin saw afterwards; the first glance showed him only the Tree and its owner. It was a low, spreading tree, filling one end of the room completely. Strings of pop-corn festooned the branches, and flakes of cotton-wool snow were cunningly disposed here and there. Bright apples peeped from amid the green, and from every tip hung a splendid star of tinsel or tin foil. No "boughten stuff" these; all through the year Miss Fidely patiently begged from her neighbors: from the women the tinsel on their button-cards, from the men the "silver" that wrapped their tobacco. Carefully pressed under the big Bible, they waited till Christmas, to become the glory of the Tree. The presents might not have impressed a city child much, for every one was made by Miss Fidely herself; the aprons, the mittens, the cotton-flannel rabbits and bottle-dolls for the tiny ones, the lace-trimmed sachets and bows for the older girls. Mittie May, all forgetful of marble palaces, stole one glance of delighted awe, and then remembered her manners.

"Here's the Candy Man, Miss Fidely!" she said.

Miss Fidely turned quickly; she had been tying an apple to one of the lower branches with scarlet worsted.

"Pleased to meet you!" she said. "Do take a seat, won't you? I can't rise, myself, so you must excuse me!"

Miss Fidely sat in a thing like a child's go-cart on four wheels. Her little withered feet clad in soft leather moccasins peeped out from under her scant brown calico skirt. They could never have supported the strong square body and powerful head, Calvin thought; she must have spent her life in that cart; and at the thought a mist came over his brown eyes. But he took the hard brown hand that was held out to him, and shook it cordially.

"I am real pleased to make your acquaintance!" he said. "Nice weather we're havin'; a mite cold, but 'tis more seasonable that way, to my thinkin'."

"I was so afraid Mittie May wouldn't catch you!" Miss Fidely went on. "I s'pose she's told you my misfortune, sir. I order my candy from a firm in Tupham Centre; and I had a letter this mornin' statin' that they had burned up and lost all their stock, and couldn't fill any orders. 'Twas too late to order elsewhere, and I couldn't make enough for all hands – thirty children I expect to-morrow, and some of 'em comin' from nine or ten miles away – and what to do I didn't know; when all of a sudden Mittie May thought of you. She lives on the next ro'd, not fur from here, Mittie doos, and she helps me get the tree ready; don't you, Mittie May? I don't know what I should do without her, I'm sure."