Caleb Wright: A Story of the West

by John Habberton

XIX—DAYS IN THE STORE

CALEB'S departure was effected without publicity, no one having known of its probability but the Somertons and Pastor Grateway, whom Caleb had asked to provide a temporary substitute to lead his weekly "class-meetin'." The substitute, however, made haste to tell of his new dignity, so within twenty-four hours the entire town knew that Caleb had gone to New York, and great was the wonder; for from the date of the foundation of the town no Claybanker had been known to go to New York intentionally, although it was reported that an occasional native had reached the metropolis in the course of a desultory journey to the bad.

Philip felt quite competent to manage the business without assistance, early summer being, like spring, a period of business inactivity; but within a week he was mystified by the appearance of many people who had never before entered the store, but who now evinced not only a willingness but a strong desire to become customers. Referring to a full list which Caleb had prepared months before, but which until now had lain unnoticed in the desk,—a list of adults throughout the county,—Philip found opposite the names of the visitors some comments not entirely uncomplimentary; among them, "Tricky"; "Shaky"; "Never believe him"; "Don't sell to her without written order from her dad"; "Thief"; "Require his note, with good endorsement—he can get it"; "Her husband's published notice against trusting her"; etc. The incursion increased in volume as time went on, and compelled Philip to say to Grace, at the end of the seventh day:—

"I didn't suppose there could be so many undesirable people in a single fairly respectable and small county. They've evidently thought me 'an easy mark,' as the city boys say, if I could be found away from Caleb's sheltering wing, but not one of them has succeeded in getting the better of me. Men talk of the tact needed in avoiding the plausible scamps who invade business circles in the city, but after this week's experience I think I could pass inspection for a city detective's position."

"If you had a list like Caleb's to refer to, so that you might know what to expect of every one you met," Grace added, with a roguish twinkle in her eyes, for which the eyes themselves were obscured a moment, after which infliction Philip continued:—

"I really wish that an important trade or two, of almost any kind, would turn up, for me to manage without assistance; not that I underrate Caleb's value, but I should like to demonstrate that besides having been an apt pupil, I've at least a little ability that is wholly and peculiarly mine. Then I should like to write Caleb about it; the honest chap would be quite as pleased as I at any success I might report, and he would feel less uneasy at being away."

Within an hour or two, a native whom Philip knew by sight and name, although not one of his own customers, shuffled into the store, and asked:—

"Don't know nobody that wants to trade goods for forty acre o' black wannut land, I s'pose?"

"Black walnut timber? How old?"

"Well, the best way to find out's to look at it for yourself."

"Whereabouts is it? I may take a look at it when I get a chance."

"'Tain't more'n two mile off. What's to keep ye from gittin' on yer hoss now an' ridin' out with me? We can git there an' back in an hour."

"Do it, Phil," Grace whispered. "The horse needs exercise, and so do you. I can hold the fort for an hour."

"The land's too fur from my place," explained the farmer, as the two men rode along at an easy canter, "an' I can't keep track o' the lumber market, to know when to cut an' ship wannut lawgs, but 'tain't that way with you."

"How much do you want for it?"

"Well, I reckon five dollar an acre won't hurt ye—five dollars in goods. I've been a holdin' it a long time, 'cause wannut land is wuth more'n more ev'ry year; but my folks wants an awful lot o' stuff, an' my boys want me to lay in a lot o' new farmin' tools, an' make an' addition to the barn, an' I kind o' ciphered up what ev'rythin' wanted, all told, would cost, an' I made out 'twould be nigh onto two hundred dollars, an' I sez to myself, sez I, 'By gum, I'll sell the wannut lot; that's what I'll do.' It's all free an' clear—I've got the deed in my pocket, an' 'twon't take ye ten minutes at the County Clerk's office to find that there's no mortgages on it. Whoa! There! Did ye ever see finer wannut land'n that? Let's ride up an' down through it. I dunno any trees that grows that's as cherful to look at, from the money standp'int, as tall, thick black wannuts."

Philip was not an expert on standing timber, but it was plain to see that the ground over which he rode, to and fro, was well sprinkled with fine black walnut trees. It lay low enough to be subject to the annual overflow of the creek, not far away, but Philip was bargaining for timber—not for land. The two men continued to ride until the farmer said:—

"Here's my line—see the blaze on this tree? You can see t'other end o' the line way down yander, ef you skin yer eye—a big blazed hick'ry; or, we'll ride down to it."

"Never mind," said Philip. "I'll give you two hundred in goods as soon as you like."

"I thort you would," said the farmer. "Well, I'll bring in the papers, fully executed, to-morrer, an' I'll leave a list o' stuff that ye might lay out, to save time; my wife can do her sheer o' the tradin' when she comes in to-morrer. An' I'll assign ye my own deed, when we get back to town, so's ye can have the title examined to-day, ef ye like, an' put a stopper agin any new incumbrances, though I ain't the kind o' man to make 'em after passin' my word. 'A bargain's a bargain!' that's my motto."

When Philip returned to the store he found awaiting him a young man on horseback, whose face was unfamiliar. When the seller of the walnut land had departed, the young man said:—

"See anythin' wrong 'bout this hoss?"

After a hasty but close examination Philip admitted that he did not.

"Glad o' that," said the man, "'cause o' this." As he spoke he handed Philip a bit of paper on which was written, in Caleb's familiar chirography and over Caleb's signature:—

"Dear Jim: Anybody would be glad to give you seventy-five dollars in cash for your colt, but you're foolish to sell now. Keep him a year, and you'll get fifty more, but if you're bound to sell, please give Mr. Somerton first show.

"Yours truly,
"Caleb Wright."

"I suppose, from this, that you'd rather have seventy-five dollars than your colt?" Philip said, as he returned the letter.

"That's about the size of it; but if you ain't sharp-set for a healthy three-year-old, of the kind they hanker after up to the city, I reckon I can find somebody that is, seein' that Caleb's a good judge an' never over-prices hosses when he thinks he's likely to do the buyin' of 'em."

"Come in," said Philip, who quickly made out a receipt for seventy-five dollars for one sorrel horse, aged three years, which the young man signed.

"James Marney," said Philip, reading the signature. "I thought I knew every name in the county, but—"

"But I come from the next county," said the young man. "Caleb'll be disappointed not to see me, but this young woman says he's gone East. What'll you gimme for the saddle an' bridle? I'm goin' to the city an' can't use 'em there."

The equipments named were in fair condition, so after some "dickering" Philip exchanged six dollars for them, and the young man sauntered off in the direction of Claybanks' single "saloon."

"'A fool and his money,'" quoted Philip to Grace; "but as he didn't heed Caleb's injunction, I don't suppose any word of mine would have had any effect. Mark my words: I'll clear twenty-five at least on that transaction within a week, for there's a city dealer here now to buy a string of young horses. That forty acres of walnut trees is ours, too, and cheap enough to hold until winter, when labor will be cheap; then I'll have the trees cut and hauled to the creek, to be rafted out when the overflow comes."

Grace looked at her husband admiringly, contemplatively, exultantly, and said:—

"Who'd have thought it a year ago?"

"Thought what, ladybird?"

"Oh, that you would have blossomed into a keen-eyed, quick, successful trader."

"It does seem odd, doesn't it? There's more profit in to-day's transactions than my city salary for a month amounted to. Ah, well; live and learn. If you'll keep shop a few minutes longer, I'll put both horses into the barn and go up to the court-house and see if Weefer's title to the forty acres of walnut is clear."

In a few moments he returned with some papers in his hands and a countenance more than ordinarily cheerful, so that Grace said:—

"Apparently the title is good."

"Oh, yes; but here's something unexpected, and quite as gratifying,—a letter from Caleb. I didn't imagine, till now, how glad I should be to hear from the dear old chap."

"Read it—aloud—at once!" Grace said, clapping her hands in joyous anticipation. "Where does he write from?"

"New York. H'm—here goes.

"'Dear Philip, Hoping you're both well, I write to say that I'm a good deal better, though Niagara nearly knocked me deaf, and New York's about finished the job. If we had water-power like Niagara at Claybanks, it would be the making of the town. I told Miss Truett that I thought the foam on the falls beat any lace in her store, and she thought so too.'"

"Oh, what fun she'll have with Caleb!" Grace exclaimed.

"Probably, as you think so; but who is she?"

"She's the head of one of the departments of the store I was in. I gave Caleb letters to her and some of the other people who would give him information, for my sake, about goods he was to buy for us. Mary Truett is the ablest business woman in the place, and besides, she's as good as gold; not exactly pretty, but wonderfully charming, and as merry as a grig. She's a perfect witch; I'd give anything to see her demure face as she listens to Caleb, and then to hear her 'take him off' after he has gone. But do go on with the letter."

"Where was I? Oh—'New York's noisier than Niagara, and all the noises don't play the same tune, either, but my second day here was Sunday, so I got broke in gradual, for which I hope I was truly grateful. I sampled the different kinds of churches, one of them being Miss Truett's.'"

"She's an Episcopalian," Grace said. "I wonder how Caleb got along with the service."

"Perhaps we can find out. He says: 'I don't know whether I stood up most, or sat down most, but I do know that I wouldn't have knowed when to do either if Miss Truett hadn't given me a powerful lot of nudges and coat-tail pulls, besides swapping books with me mighty lively while the minister was going forward and backward in them. I won't describe the service; for as you and your wife belong to that sect, I guess you know more than I can tell you, but I will say that there was enough "amens" in it to show where us Methodists got the habit of shouting out in meeting; and though I can't make up my mind after only one try, as a lot of our customers said when your Uncle Jethro put on sale the first box of lump sugar that ever came to Claybanks, I reckon that it is a first-rate manner of worship for them that are used to it, seeing that John Wesley was in it, and you two, and Miss Truett, for she looked like a picture of an angel when she was reading and singing and praying.'"

"Poor Caleb!" Grace sighed. "He's like all the other men who have met Mary Truett."

"Does she flirt even in church?"

"She never flirts. Don't be horrid! Go on with the letter."

"H'm. 'New York is hotter than Claybanks'—rank heresy, Caleb—'according to the thermometer, and the way the heat sizzles out of the sidewalks, and meanders upward, ought to be a warning to hardened sinners, and there are plenty of them here. Why, I asked a policeman on Broadway where was a first-class eating-house, and he pointed to one that he said was the best in town, and I had fried ham, and they charged me seventy-five cents for it, though it wouldn't have weighed half a pound raw. I don't harbor bad feelings, but the owner of that eating-house had better shy clear of me on Judgment Day. Miss Truett says it was extortionate, and I wish he could have seen her eyes when she said it.'"

"I wish I too could have seen them, for they are superb," Grace said. "I must write her for a full report on Caleb. But I'm interrupting."

"'That seaside boarding-place you engaged for me,'" continued Philip from the letter, "'is knocking my malaria endwise, which it ought to, seeing the price of board that is tacked up on the door, but anyhow, I feel like a giant every morning when I start for the city; that is, I think I do, though I never was a giant to find out for sure. I take a walk morning and evening, looking at the ocean, and trying to tell myself what I think of it, but not a word can I get hold of. Miss Truett says it's just so with her.' H'm—there's that woman again!"

"Bless her!"

"I shouldn't say so. I'm afraid Caleb has lost his head over her."

"He'll find it again. Any good man will be bettered by meeting her. Is there anything more about her?"

"Yes, and at once. Here it is: 'Miss Truett is all interest about your wife, and I like to get her going on the subject, for she thinks that Mrs. Somerton is everything that is nice and good and splendid; and when Miss Truett thinks anything, she knows how to say it in a style that beats any lawyer or preacher I ever heard. It ain't a pretty thing to say about a woman, maybe, but I mean only what's right when I say that when she talks it always seems to me that sometime or other she swallowed a big dictionary, colored pictures and all, and not a scrap of it disagreed with her. She says she wishes she had a job just like Mrs. Somerton's, and I told her that there was only one way to get it, and that if ever I saw an unmarried Western merchant of about your age and general style, I'd give him her name and some pointed advice.

"'Most of the goods you wanted are bought and shipped, and when the corn-meal gets here I'll get out for England.

"'With hearty regards to Mrs. Somerton, I am

"'Yours always,
"'Caleb Wright.'"

"Oh, Mary Truett!" exclaimed Grace, when the reading ended. "What fun you've had!"

"As she seems to be the spirit of the letter," said Philip, "tell me something more about her."

"I don't know what more to say. I wasn't familiar with her, for she was a department head, and not of my department, but she had a way of saying kind and merry things to some girls in other parts of the store. She is about thirty; she has parents and brothers, and works merely because she is overflowing with energy, and has no taste for the trivialities of mere society life. Yet her manners are charming, and genuine, too. 'Twas the fashion of the store to worship her, and no one ever tired of it."

"All this, yet unmarried at thirty? How did it happen?"

"I don't know. Perhaps 'twas because she never met you when you were a bachelor. It hasn't been for lack of admirers. Probably she is waiting for a man who is worthy of her. I know she saved many girls in her department and in some others from making foolish marriages, and I committed some of her warnings and arguments to memory—though I got them at second-hand—and I used them on other girls."

"I suppose we couldn't persuade her to come out here, to assist you in the store?"

"Scarcely. She is very well paid where she is. Besides, what would there be for her in other ways?"

"As much as there is for you, poor girl."

"Oh, no—for I have my husband."

"And you feel sure that she isn't trifling with Caleb?"

"The idea! If you could see them together—dear, poor Caleb, with his thin figure, ragged beard, tired face, and stooping pose—Mary rather short, but erect, with broad shoulders, brilliant eyes, rosy cheeks, the reddish brown hair that delights your artistic eye, and as quick in her motions as if she never knew weariness. She's of the kind that never grows old; there are such women. Oh, the comparison is ridiculous—'tis unkind to Caleb to make it. Besides, she is not the only clever business woman to whom I gave him letters."

"H'm! He's startlingly silent about the others. What troubles me is this: Caleb is so honest and earnest, and so unaccustomed to brilliant women, that he may lose his heart, and the more impossible the affair, the more he'll suffer. 'Twould be bad business to have him go abroad to be cured of malaria, only to return and die of heartache."

"Phil, Caleb isn't a fool."

"No, but he's a man."