Rebecca of Sunnybrook Farm
Page 14
XIV
MR. ALADDIN
A single hour's experience of the vicissitudes incident to a businesscareer clouded the children's spirits just the least bit. They did notaccompany each other to the doors of their chosen victims, feeling surethat together they could not approach the subject seriously; but theyparted at the gate of each house, the one holding the horse while theother took the soap samples and interviewed any one who seemed of acoming-on disposition. Emma Jane had disposed of three single cakes,Rebecca of three small boxes; for a difference in their ability topersuade the public was clearly defined at the start, though neither ofthem ascribed either success or defeat to anything but the imperiousforce of circumstances. Housewives looked at Emma Jane and desired nosoap; listened to her description of its merits, and still desirednone. Other stars in their courses governed Rebecca's doings. Thepeople whom she interviewed either remembered their present need ofsoap, or reminded themselves that they would need it in the future; thenotable point in the case being that lucky Rebecca accomplished, withalmost no effort, results that poor little Emma Jane failed to attainby hard and conscientious labor.
"It's your turn, Rebecca, and I'm glad, too," said Emma Jane, drawingup to a gateway and indicating a house that was set a considerabledistance from the road. "I haven't got over trembling from the lastplace yet." (A lady had put her head out of an upstairs window andcalled, "Go away, little girl; whatever you have in your box we don'twant any.") "I don't know who lives here, and the blinds are all shutin front. If there's nobody at home you mustn't count it, but take thenext house as yours."
Rebecca walked up the lane and went to the side door. There was a porchthere, and seated in a rocking-chair, husking corn, was a good-lookingyoung man, or was he middle aged? Rebecca could not make up her mind.At all events he had an air of the city about him,--well-shaven face,well-trimmed mustache, well-fitting clothes. Rebecca was a trifle shyat this unexpected encounter, but there was nothing to be done butexplain her presence, so she asked, "Is the lady of the house at home?"
"I am the lady of the house at present," said the stranger, with awhimsical smile. "What can I do for you?"
"Have you ever heard of the--would you like, or I mean--do you need anysoap?" queried Rebecca.
"Do I look as if I did?" he responded unexpectedly.
Rebecca dimpled. "I didn't mean THAT; I have some soap to sell; I meanI would like to introduce to you a very remarkable soap, the best nowon the market. It is called the"--
"Oh! I must know that soap," said the gentleman genially. "Made out ofpure vegetable fats, isn't it?"
"The very purest," corroborated Rebecca.
"No acid in it?"
"Not a trace."
"And yet a child could do the Monday washing with it and use no force."
"A babe," corrected Rebecca
"Oh! a babe, eh? That child grows younger every year, instead ofolder--wise child!"
This was great good fortune, to find a customer who knew all thevirtues of the article in advance. Rebecca dimpled more and more, andat her new friend's invitation sat down on a stool at his side near theedge of the porch. The beauties of the ornamental box which held theRose-Red were disclosed, and the prices of both that and the Snow-Whitewere unfolded. Presently she forgot all about her silent partner at thegate and was talking as if she had known this grand personage all herlife.
"I'm keeping house to-day, but I don't live here," explained thedelightful gentleman. "I'm just on a visit to my aunt, who has gone toPortland. I used to be here as a boy and I am very fond of the spot."
"I don't think anything takes the place of the farm where one livedwhen one was a child," observed Rebecca, nearly bursting with pride athaving at last successfully used the indefinite pronoun in generalconversation.
The man darted a look at her and put down his ear of corn. "So youconsider your childhood a thing of the past, do you, young lady?"
"I can still remember it," answered Rebecca gravely, "though it seems along time ago."
"I can remember mine well enough, and a particularly unpleasant one itwas," said the stranger.
"So was mine," sighed Rebecca. "What was your worst trouble?"
"Lack of food and clothes principally."
"Oh!" exclaimed Rebecca sympathetically,--"mine was no shoes and toomany babies and not enough books. But you're all right and happy now,aren't you?" she asked doubtfully, for though he looked handsome,well-fed, and prosperous, any child could see that his eyes were tiredand his mouth was sad when he was not speaking.
"I'm doing pretty well, thank you," said the man, with a delightfulsmile. "Now tell me, how much soap ought I to buy to-day?"
"How much has your aunt on hand now?" suggested the very modest andinexperienced agent; "and how much would she need?"
"Oh, I don't know about that; soap keeps, doesn't it?"
"I'm not certain," said Rebecca conscientiously, "but I'll look in thecircular--it's sure to tell;" and she drew the document from her pocket.
"What are you going to do with the magnificent profits you get fromthis business?"
"We are not selling for our own benefit," said Rebecca confidentially."My friend who is holding the horse at the gate is the daughter of avery rich blacksmith, and doesn't need any money. I am poor, but I livewith my aunts in a brick house, and of course they wouldn't like me tobe a peddler. We are trying to get a premium for some friends of ours."
Rebecca had never thought of alluding to the circumstances with herprevious customers, but unexpectedly she found herself describing Mr.Simpson, Mrs. Simpson, and the Simpson family; their poverty, theirjoyless life, and their abject need of a banquet lamp to brighten theirexistence.
"You needn't argue that point," laughed the man, as he stood up to geta glimpse of the "rich blacksmith's daughter" at the gate. "I can seethat they ought to have it if they want it, and especially if you wantthem to have it. I've known what it was myself to do without a banquetlamp. Now give me the circular, and let's do some figuring. How much dothe Simpsons lack at this moment?"
"If they sell two hundred more cakes this month and next, they can havethe lamp by Christmas," Rebecca answered, "and they can get a shade bysummer time; but I'm afraid I can't help very much after to-day,because my aunt Miranda may not like to have me."
"I see. Well, that's all right. I'll take three hundred cakes, and thatwill give them shade and all."
Rebecca had been seated on a stool very near to the edge of the porch,and at this remark she made a sudden movement, tipped over, anddisappeared into a clump of lilac bushes. It was a very short distance,fortunately, and the amused capitalist picked her up, set her on herfeet, and brushed her off. "You should never seem surprised when youhave taken a large order," said he; "you ought to have replied 'Can'tyou make it three hundred and fifty?' instead of capsizing in thatunbusinesslike way."
"Oh, I could never say anything like that!" exclaimed Rebecca, who wasblushing crimson at her awkward fall. "But it doesn't seem right foryou to buy so much. Are you sure you can afford it?"
"If I can't, I'll save on something else," returned the jocosephilanthropist.
"What if your aunt shouldn't like the kind of soap?" queried Rebeccanervously.
"My aunt always likes what I like," he returned
"Mine doesn't!" exclaimed Rebecca
"Then there's something wrong with your aunt!"
"Or with me," laughed Rebecca.
"What is your name, young lady?"
"Rebecca Rowena Randall, sir."
"What?" with an amused smile. "BOTH? Your mother was generous."
"She couldn't bear to give up either of the names she says."
"Do you want to hear my name?"
"I think I know already," answered Rebecca, with a bright glance. "I'msure you must be Mr. Aladdin in the Arabian Nights. Oh, please, can Irun down and tell Emma Jane? She must be so tired waiting, and she willbe so glad!"
At the man's nod of assent Rebecca sped down the lane, cryingirrepr
essibly as she neared the wagon, "Oh, Emma Jane! Emma Jane! weare sold out!"
Mr. Aladdin followed smilingly to corroborate this astonishing,unbelievable statement; lifted all their boxes from the back of thewagon, and taking the circular, promised to write to the ExcelsiorCompany that night concerning the premium.
"If you could contrive to keep a secret,--you two little girls,--itwould be rather a nice surprise to have the lamp arrive at theSimpsons' on Thanksgiving Day, wouldn't it?" he asked, as he tucked theold lap robe cosily over their feet.
They gladly assented, and broke into a chorus of excited thanks duringwhich tears of joy stood in Rebecca's eyes.
"Oh, don't mention it!" laughed Mr. Aladdin, lifting his hat. "I was asort of commercial traveler myself once,--years ago,--and I like to seethe thing well done. Good-by Miss Rebecca Rowena! Just let me knowwhenever you have anything to sell, for I'm certain beforehand I shallwant it."
"Good-by, Mr. Aladdin! I surely will!" cried Rebecca, tossing back herdark braids delightedly and waving her hand.
"Oh, Rebecca!" said Emma Jane in an awe-struck whisper. "He raised hishat to us, and we not thirteen! It'll be five years before we'reladies."
"Never mind," answered Rebecca; "we are the BEGINNINGS of ladies, evennow."
"He tucked the lap robe round us, too," continued Emma Jane, in anecstasy of reminiscence. "Oh! isn't he perfectly elergant? And wasn'tit lovely of him to buy us out? And just think of having both the lampand the shade for one day's work! Aren't you glad you wore your pinkgingham now, even if mother did make you put on flannel underneath? Youdo look so pretty in pink and red, Rebecca, and so homely in drab andbrown!"
"I know it," sighed Rebecca "I wish I was like you--pretty in allcolors!" And Rebecca looked longingly at Emma Jane's fat, rosy cheeks;at her blue eyes, which said nothing; at her neat nose, which had nocharacter; at her red lips, from between which no word worth listeningto had ever issued.
"Never mind!" said Emma Jane comfortingly. "Everybody says you're awfulbright and smart, and mother thinks you'll be better looking all thetime as you grow older. You wouldn't believe it, but I was a dreadfulhomely baby, and homely right along till just a year or two ago, whenmy red hair began to grow dark. What was the nice man's name?"
"I never thought to ask!" ejaculated Rebecca. "Aunt Miranda would saythat was just like me, and it is. But I called him Mr. Aladdin becausehe gave us a lamp. You know the story of Aladdin and the wonderfullamp?"
"Oh, Rebecca! how could you call him a nickname the very first time youever saw him?"
"Aladdin isn't a nickname exactly; anyway, he laughed and seemed tolike it."
By dint of superhuman effort, and putting such a seal upon their lipsas never mortals put before, the two girls succeeded in keeping theirwonderful news to themselves; although it was obvious to all beholdersthat they were in an extraordinary and abnormal state of mind.
On Thanksgiving the lamp arrived in a large packing box, and was takenout and set up by Seesaw Simpson, who suddenly began to admire andrespect the business ability of his sisters. Rebecca had heard the newsof its arrival, but waited until nearly dark before asking permissionto go to the Simpsons', so that she might see the gorgeous trophylighted and sending a blaze of crimson glory through its red crepepaper shade.