by Various
"Some called it one thing, some another, but my opinion is that it was inflammation of the borealis, Mrs. Henry, though I may say I have never mentioned this to anyone before. She, by the way," observed Mr. Stevens, lifting his accusing finger at Mrs. Henry, "used a Mossback before we were married. But the general agent of the Marsale was a friend of my father--oh, no, I wasn't working for the company then he induced us to trade it in on a Marsale that's the way I happened to connect myself with the company; he gave us a very liberal trade," concluded Mr. Stevens, with a shading on the adverb which is somewhat fine for cold type. "Were you raised in Canada, Mrs. Henry?"
"Just across the line in New York State."
"My wife's people were from Onondaga county. The Marsale machine is made not far from there. The works cover twenty acres and they turn out a machine every minute and a half, night and day."
"It must keep the agents pretty busy selling them," smiled Mrs. Henry at her own joke. Mr. Stevens brightened sympathetically.
"Indeed it does. I have always thought I should have liked the sales department. I'm not permitted to do any selling myself; no. How? I belong to the department of publicity; sorry I haven't a card with me. But machines are very cheap now. I believe the best Marsale can be had--I mean the drop-cabinet, ball-bearing, side-snap-action machine can be had for sixty-five dollars and our people are very liberal in the matter of exchanges. Might I see your machine, Mrs. Henry?"
"I don't want any machine," declared Mrs. Henry, who felt the ground slipping the least bit and clung instinctively to her sheet-anchor.
"I venture to say, without ever looking at it, that sixty dollars and your machine would take the best Marsale our people show and of course, easy payments for the asking, Mrs. Henry."
"I don't want a machine."
"I mean--if you should."
"I don't want one now."
"The attachments are all included at sixty-five dollars. You pay absolutely nothing for extras."
"But I don't need a machine now."
"And five dollars a month----"
"I don't need one."
"Without interest."
"That's liberal enough."
"And we give you a contract which is absolutely indefeasible. It is as good as a Government bond, Mrs. Henry. Would you like to have a new Marsale sent up on trial, Mrs. Henry, in order to fam--"
"No--I don't want a new machine yet."
"We would take it away any time on the mailing of a postal and we leave the postals already addressed."
"You needn't talk. I won't take a machine on trial," declared Mrs. Henry.
Mr. Stevens adjusted his ball-bearing spectacles. "Then I hope you will consider our proposal about the position."
"You might leave your card. If I conclude to try a machine I am willing to say I would take it from you."
"Thank you very much. I think I will be going now. Good afternoon," and Mr. Stevens slowly and sadly made his way out. Mrs. Henry was conscious as she returned to the dining-room of some degree of perspiration, but her niece did not appear to have heard the conversation, and at that moment her daughter Belle came in and made it easier for Mrs. Henry to discuss the machine question in a general way.
"Position, granny!" exclaimed Belle indignantly. "He's just fooling you, mother. He never intends to give you any position."
And now that he had gone it looked so to Mrs. Henry herself. In fact, she could not remember just exactly what he had said; and all during dinner she was trying to recollect just what his wife had died of.
It was not quite six weeks later that another representing the Marsale Sewing Machine Company called to see Mrs. Henry.
"You needn't come in," piped Mrs. Henry as he made a preliminary move across the threshold. "I don't want a machine--I promised Mr. Stevens that when I wanted a new machine I would take it of him." ·
"Oh, well--would you----"
But Mrs. Henry with a burst of resolution shut the door in his face, and Belle and Jessie applauded.
Next morning there was a knock at the door of the Henry flat. Mrs. Henry and Belle were out. Jessie answered. Two men stood there with a sewing-machine; but not for long. As the door opened one of the men had his back half-way through it and the two set the machine inside. It was Mr. Stevens with a new Marsale.
"They offered to show me how it worked," said Jessie tearfully when Mrs. Henry and Belle came home. "I begged them not to leave it. They just would do it."
Mrs. Henry looked apoplectic. Belle stormed. Jessie, poor Jessie, cried; tears were her only weapon.
"They will be back to-morrow, they said," trembled Jessie. That night Mrs. Henry ate round steak for dinner.
In the morning, while Belle was dusting the parlor, a Marsale wagon stopped in front of the flat. Mrs. Henry, warned, met the emissary at the door. He was a pleasant, round kind of a man with a genial smile and a hair trigger laugh. "My name is Laycock, mam."
"Take your machine right out of my house. I don't want any machine. You had no business to leave it here."
"But, madam, we were told you thought favorably of the new Marsale."
"I promised Mr. Stevens when I got ready I would buy my new machine of him."
"I understand, I understand," interposed Mr. Laycock smiling firmly. "But we are not on commission now, any of us. It doesn't make a particle of difference. Everybody about the Chicago office of the Marsale Company draws a salary--even the cat--ha! ha! ha!" and Mr. Laycock, who had a rosy, smile and warm teeth, laughed heartily at Mrs. Henry, and incidentally over her shoulder at Belle and Jessie, who flanked her doubtfully.
"It doesn't make any difference."
"There I beg to differ," interposed Mr. Laycock with that sidewise twist of the head which pleasantly agrees yet firmly disagrees. "Salary has a distinct advantage over a commission basis. Oh, yes, indeed--but Mrs. Henry--would you let me see your old machine?"
"No, sir. I won't."
"Ha! ha! ha! Well, I know it's all right," declared Mr. Laycock, recovering his voice gently. "I think you said it was a Mossback. Ha! ha! ha! Yes'm. They are good machines. We make this machine sixty-five dollars, Mrs., Henry, all complete. And I am willing--yes, I will stretch a point--say ten dollars for your Mossback," burst Mr. Laycock, frankly. "It's more than I have any business to give, but my salary is fixed by contract."
"I don't intend to buy a machine and I won't do it, so you might as well take your machine right out of here."
"But my dear Mrs. Henry."
"You needn't dear me--take your machine away."
"Do you understand our system of easy payments, Mrs. Henry?"
"No, and I don't want to. Take your machine away."
"It wouldn't make a particle of difference having promised Mr. Stevens. He will get credit for the sale just the same. Say fifteen dollars for your machine, Mrs. Henry, and it brings this elegant, curly maple, extension front-end, really swell machine--why," declared Laycock, overcome with the absurdity of his own proposal, "it brings it down to fifty dollars."
"Mama doesn't want any machine," snapped Belle, for Mrs. Henry seemed to be failing.
"But have you ever run our machine, Miss?" protested Mr. Laycock. "Don't condemn it without having seen it," he urged. "If you would let me see your old machine--"
"Not if you stay here a week," exclaimed Belle, angrily.
"Ha! ha! ha! Well, of course not. But now, Mrs. Henry, I am not going to take this machine away if you want it for next to nothing. I will make you one more proposition. Twenty dollars; Mrs. Henry, for your old machine! Without ever seeing it! It makes this cost you----"
"No!!"
"With your choice of saddles, Mrs. Henry--"
"But I don't want it," screamed Mrs. Henry.
"Well, I'm sorry. I certainly am sorry. It is one of our rules never to try to force a machine on anybody, Mrs. Henry. Sullivan, give me a lift here, please. Ladies, I am sorry."
"Humph!"
"I will leave my card."
"You nee
dn't mind."
"I don't. It's all right; take two. And, by the way, here's a postal. Come, Sullivan."
"Did you ever see such cheek in all your born days?" cried Belle, as the two men toiled down the stairs with the big machine. But of course Jessie never had, coming from Canada, and so averred.
Twice, thereafter, Mr. Stevens called. Mrs. Henry and Belle were out each time. It was poor Jessie who had to meet him. However, she reported as if in duty bound that he had expressed great indignation at the conduct of Mr. Laycock and Mr. Sullivan. He even came again--though in the absence of Mrs. Henry--this time, so Jessie reported, at the instance of the general manager, who desired a full account of the conduct of the two salesmen who had been so offensive: But not satisfied with Jessie's imperfect recollection of the details, Mr. Stevens agreed to return for them the following Wednesday. And he did return.
Mrs. Henry, sewing at the window, looked out and saw below a wagon in front of the door. T wo men were just lifting a sewing-machine out of it. One of the men was Mr. Stevens. Mrs. Henry ran in a panic for the girls.
"Lock the door. Take off your shoes," she cried. "There is the sewing-machine wagon. Keep still as mice. Maybe they'll think we've gone out."
Reduced to stocking feet the three women waited anxiously for developments. They heard together the slow, patient efforts of the men carrying up-stairs the new machine; heard them set it down with emphasis; firmly touch the bell button; and felt them waiting for an answer. There was a second ring and a third. There was some discussion in the hall and some fear in the flat that their visitors might climb up on the machine and peer in through the diaphanous transom curtain.
Presently the beleaguered women heard steps; the men were going downstairs. They heard them knock at the door of the flat below and ask if Mrs. Henry's folks were at home; heard them come up and ask the same question at the door of the opposite flat and heard the woman quite distinctly reply, "I think they are; they were all in a few minutes ago." And the three trembled.
One of the men then went down the stairs and came up the back way. But Mrs. Henry had prepared for that, and the shade on the kitchen door was drawn. The man rapped; rapped again and hard; swore a little and descended the stairs baffled. He made his way around to the front hall. There was a further confab; there were further inquiries of the neighbors; more ringing; some profanity, together with expostulations apparently from Mr. Stevens; and--silence.
Within the flat it was growing warm; not only warm, but close. Yet no one dreamed of making a sound or of getting within range of the transom window. At the expiration of half an hour there was life again in the hall; a final and despairing pull at the bell, and the machine was laboriously carried down-stairs. From behind peep-holes in the curtains three unarmed women watched the efforts of the men to get the machine into the wagon. When they had succeeded--Mrs. Henry couldn't resist--she raised the curtain.
Mr. Stevens, lifting up the machine, lifted up his sad eyes; he saw Mrs. Henry. He pushed the machine firmly over the footboard with one hand--with the other he lifted his hat and without a change of his sad face bowed to Mrs. Henry; it was as if the incident were closed.
There was rejoicing in the flat that day; it looked like a complete and final victory for Mrs. Henry. How she was really undone came weeks later in the nature of a shock.
Jessie one afternoon answered a ring at the door and presently came into Mrs. Henry's room.
"A gentleman to see you, Auntie," said she, timidly. "I told him you would be in in a minute." Jessie disappeared.
Mrs. Henry walked into the parlor; but she staggered when, sitting near the door, she saw Mr. Stevens. He rose as she entered. His spectacles had lost nothing of their sad expression and the long hair fell across his forehead in the same tearful plenty, imparting to his face its familiar innocence.
"Mrs. Henry--good morning, madam--I want to ask you----"
"Mr. Stevens, you can't sell me a sewing-machine, now or ever." Mr. Stevens looked hurt.
"It is not that which I wish to----"
"And you needn't talk any more about getting me a position, for I won't have it."
"It is not that, Mrs. Henry, which I wish to mention."
"Well, then, I suppose you have come to apologize--I don't bear any hard feelings, Mr. Stevens."
"Thank you," paused Mr. Stevens adjusting his spectacles. "But there's another--another matter still that I wished to speak about, Mrs. Henry. It is about your niece, Miss Musgrove--Jessie. We are anxious to get married." Mrs. Henry swallowed deeply.
"We have become deeply attached to each other during the summer. She has felt that I should take the initiative. You being her nearest living guardian, we naturally look, Mrs. Henry, to you."
"I hope, auntie," it was Jessie, timorous and subdued, who spoke from the doorway. "I hope you are not displeased."
Mrs. Henry rose. Mr. Stevens adjusted his spectacles more firmly on his nose--and held mournfully on to his chair.
"Jessie Musgrove, you are a deceitful thing," snapped her auntie.
"I have never found her so, Mrs. Henry," ventured her admirer.
"I used to know Mr. Stevens in Canada, auntie."
"Then why didn't you say so instead of making a fool of me?"
"I started to tell you what he said, auntie, about knowing our folks in Canada."
"I presume it is largely my fault, Mrs. Henry--I was afraid that if I showed any attention to Jessie you might think I wanted to sell you a machine," explained Mr. Stevens.
'''Oh, of course you didn't want to do that," sneered Mrs. Henry; Belle was as yet unmarried.
"No, to say the truth, I didn't, Mrs. Henry; not after my first visit with Jessie. What I was trying to do was to make you a present of a machine. In fact, I brought it up-stairs here one day and tried my best to get in with it, Mrs. Henry. In presenting the machine I thought I might make a little explanation--" and Mr. Stevens furtively wiped his eye with a silk handkerchief. "But I couldn't get in that day--so I was obliged to take the machine away again. I was sorry that I had to do it. The cartage both ways cost me seventy-five cents."
Mrs. Henry's heart was beating very fast. "Under the circumstances, I think, Jessie--" she began indignantly.
"She didn't know. It was to be a surprise," explained Mr. Stevens, regretfully. "But I've got the machine yet. I'm manager of the sales department now."
"Well, I declare, you ought to be, Mr. Stevens--you beat all I ever seen," exclaimed Mrs. Henry excitedly. "I expect," she added with reluctant candor, "I'll have to buy a machine now, pretty soon, anyway."
Contents
MARY
By Horace Annesley Vachell
His real name was Quong Wo, but my brother Ajax always called him Mary, because the boy's round, childish face had a singular smoothness and delicacy. A good and faithful servant he proved during three years. Then he ran away at the time of the anti-Chinese riots, despite our assurance that we wished to keep him and protect him.
"Me no likee Coon Dogs," said he, with a shiver.
The Coon Dogs were a pack of cowboys engaged in hunting Chinamen out of the peaceful, but sometimes ill-smelling, places which, by thrift, patience, and unremitting labour, they had made peculiarly their own. From the Coon Dogs Ajax and I received a letter commanding us to discharge Mary. A skull and cross-bones, and a motto, "Beware the bite of the Coon Dogs!" embellished this billet, which was written in red ink. Courtesy constrained us to acknowledge the receipt of it. Next day we put up a sign by the corral gate--
NO HUNTING ALLOWED ON THIS RANCH!
In the afternoon Mary disappeared.
Uncle Jake was of opinion that Mary had divined the meaning of our sign. He had said to Uncle Jake: "I go. Me makee heap trouble for boss."
Later, upon the same day, we learned from a neighbour that the Coon Dogs had tarred and feathered one poor wretch; another had been stripped and whipped; a third was found half-strangled by his own queue; the market-gardens near San Lorenzo, miracles of
industry, had been ravaged and destroyed. Before taking leave our neighbour mentioned the sign.
"Boys," said he, "take that down--and ship Mary. I'm mighty glad," he added reflectively, "that my ole woman does the cookin."
"Mary skedaddled after dinner," said Ajax, frowning, "but I'm going into town to-morrow to bring him back."
However, Mary brought himself back that same night. We were smoking our second pipes after supper, when Ajax, pointing an expressive finger at the window, exclaimed sharply: "Great Scot! What's that?"
Pressed against the pane, glaring in at us, was a face--a face so blanched and twisted by terror and pain that it seemed scarcely human. We hurried out. Mary staggered towards us. In his face were the cruel, venomous spines of the prickly pear. The tough boughs of the manzanita thickets through which he had plunged had scourged him like a cat-o'- nine tails. What clothes he wore were dripping with mud and slime.
"Coon Dogs come," he gasped. "I tellee you."
Then he bolted into the shadows of the oaks and sage brush. We pursued, but he ran fast, dodging like a rabbit, till he tumbled over and over--paralysed by fear and fatigue. We carried him back to the ranch-house, propped him up in a chair, and despatched Uncle Jake for a doctor. Before midnight we learned what little there was to know. Mary had been chased by the Coon Dogs. He, of course, was a-foot; the cowboys were mounted. A couple of barbed-wire fences had saved him from capture. We had listened, that afternoon, too coolly, perhaps, to a tale of many outrages, but the horror and infamy of them were not brought home to us till we saw Mary, tattered scarred, bedraggled, lying crumpled up against the gay chintz of the arm-chair. The poor fellow kept muttering: "Coon Dogs come. I know. Killee you, killee me. Heap bad men!"
Next morning Uncle Jake and the doctor rode up.
"I can do nothing," said the latter, presently. "It's a case of shock. He may get over it; he may not. Another shock would kill him. I'll leave some medicine."
