II.
Bob staid a long time. Neither did he move as swiftly on his return trip as he had when he started out.
"I'll tell you what it is, John," he said, at the first opportunity, "we'll have to take in some outside partners, after all. A couple of the Flemings could help us first-rate. They always have their meals later than we do."
"Well," said John, "I don't know but it would be a good thing to have somebody to share the responsibility."
"But I don't see how we can make room for any more boys inside here. It's crowded enough now."
"We don't all need to be inside at once. One could be floor-walker, and one a detective, or something in the crowd. I'd like it. It's tiresome sitting in this little place all day. I got awfully cramped this morning."
So overtures were made to Tom and Fred Fleming, who felt quite flattered, and accepted the honor at once. After some discussion they were installed as silent partners, and contributed their quota of fish-hooks and decalcomanie pictures, etc., to the now flourishing business.
The shop being so near, Aunt Sue and Bessie visited it in the afternoon to see how the boys were getting on. They were shocked to see some of their own possessions airing in the new store. An old set of false curls hung dangling on a nail, like a scalp adorning an Indian wigwam as an honorable trophy.
"'YOU OUTRAGEOUS BOYS!' EXCLAIMED AUNT SUE."
"You outrageous boys!" exclaimed Aunt Sue, as she seized and confiscated it. "Where did you get this?"
"Out of the attic," said Bob, meekly. "I thought you were done with it."
"But it's not for sale if I am done with it. I'm surprised at you."
Aunt Sue seemed really hurt, and was scarcely mollified by Bob's saying, coaxingly, "Oh, now, Aunt Sue, don't be vexed. I always liked to see them hanging down your neck. They looked so pretty, I thought somebody else might be glad to get them."
By this time Bessie had discovered a tin-type of herself among a lot of cheap pictures, and her wrath burst forth on John, who was just congratulating himself on having escaped his aunt's wrath.
"I'd like to know what right you have to offer my picture for sale," she said, indignantly.
"It's not yours. It's mine. You gave it to me on my birthday."
"And that's all you care for it! I'll be careful how I ever give my picture to another boy. Give it to me this minute."
"Why, no, Bess. It shows how much we admire it. Other folks do too. I had an offer for it this morning, but I couldn't make the change."
Bessie's eyes flashed; and Aunt Sue, coming to the rescue, quietly laid the picture in her bag with the curls.
"I think you had better show us your whole stock, boys," she said, calmly. "What are your skates doing here?"
"I'm going to sell them. I'd rather have a bicycle than skates any day."
"Very well; only if you part with them don't expect to have a new pair given to you when winter comes. What books have you? Why, boys, you are not going to sell your dictionary!"
"Oh, I'm tired of looking through it. The old bother!"
"It must be taken home," said Aunt Sue, with decision. "It won't do to have your father's dictionaries thumbed and dog-eared in this way. You must keep your own."
The boys were beginning to think that the custom of their immediate relatives was not going to be profitable. But the seizures were over now, and Aunt Sue actually bought in John's old copy of Original Poems. Bessie, too, concluded to be forgiving, and she and Aunt Sue made several other purchases, so that they left the boys in good spirits in spite of the bad beginning.
In the trying morning hours the boys had decided to close early every Saturday afternoon "for the sake of their clerks." But they felt better after the Flemings came to their assistance, and did not close until six o'clock, when everything had to be packed in boxes and carried home until Monday. Before doing this, however, they took an account of stock and balanced their accounts, which was a comparatively simple matter, as they sold nothing on credit. Aunt Sue had bought half their supply of bird-seed, and Molly Fleming had taken all the bouquets at half price to distribute in the infant school the next morning. The boys spent the evening in talking over the events of the day.
"If we did so well on the first day, what may we not expect on the second?" was the feeling with which the young merchants began business on Monday. But Monday brought new trials. The goods had all to be packed away, and the store closed by school-time, which seemed rather humiliating. Of course the boys intended to resume punctually at twelve o'clock. But how unlucky! They all unaccountably missed their lessons, and were kept in to correct them, so that they lost the whole of their noon trade.
Perhaps this only gave greater zest to the afternoon spell, for they kept open quite late that evening. Still, with all their devotion, business flagged. Infant schools could not absorb a stock of bouquets every day, and Aunt Sue had enough bird-seed to last her a week. The sour-ball business proved to be quite a losing one, for the luscious things melted away mysteriously even when kept in the shade, although each partner kept a strict watch on himself, and seldom, oh, very seldom, refreshed himself with one.
Things got so serious that the four partners held a business meeting that evening after the store closed.
"We've got to do something, boys, or we'll break before the week's out, sure as fate," said Fred Fleming.
By Tuesday the boys had that care-worn look that men acquire when they can't make both ends meet. The other boys really pitied them, and some of them actually bought slate-pencils on their way to school in the afternoon, though they did not need them.
That very afternoon an occurrence took place which threatened to end the boys' store-keeping quite tragically.
An organ grinder, with his red-coated monkey, planted himself just beside the pile of lumber and began to play. This pleased Tom and Bob, who happened to be in sole charge at the time. They enjoyed a monkey's antics as well as any one.
Perhaps it was the flag waving over the sign of the "Stanley Brothers" that suggested to the man to play "Rally round the Flag, Boys." He played it with a will, and the boys, and girls too, rallied with a vengeance. The young merchants found their store again a grand centre of attraction.
The monkey seemed particularly delighted with it, for, after dancing and bowing on the organ-top a short time, he leaped upon the counter, and before the proprietors knew what he was about he had thrust his paw into the box of rubber balls, and was throwing a ball into the crowd.
A shout of delight greeted this feat. Tom and Bob each made a dive after the monkey, but he dexterously eluded them, and threw another ball.
Of course the balls were thrown back at him, and in a moment the air seemed full of them, flying in every direction. The boys could not turn their heads but bounce would come a ball into their eyes, and if they tried to say, "You rascal," the words would be cut short by a ball flying into their mouths. The uproar was tremendous, and the crowd grew larger every minute. The monkey seemed to be in his element, dancing and jumping from shelf to shelf, grinning and chattering with all his might, and when there was no ball convenient he did not hesitate to throw something else.
The boys grew desperate when they saw their slate-pencils and Jew's-harps flying through the air.
"See here!" they shouted to the organ-grinder, who was now peacefully playing the "Marseillaise Hymn," "this thing is getting dangerous. Take your old monkey away, will you? You'll have to pay for all the damage. Do you hear?"
It would have been surprising if he had heard in all that uproar, but he gave no sign.
Tom made another lunge at the monkey, and fell sprawling over the counter. Then Bob dived at him, but the monkey, reaching down from a high perch, deftly lifted Bob's hat, and threw it into the crowd.
"You rascal. I'll pay you for this," screamed Bob.
But the next thing the monkey did was to plant himself on Bob's head. Bob, with his face as red as the monkey's coat, clutched wildly at him, but the monkey clutched the tighter.
Bob could do nothing but scream and beat at the mischievous animal, first with one hand, then with the other, then with both at once, while the crowd shouted with laughter, until the organ-grinder, seeing that his monkey was really in danger, stopped his music, called off his pet, and began to move away. Then the crowd of children dispersed.
John and Fred, who had been taking their turn "off" when these proceedings began, now made their way to their crest-fallen comrades. Bob was too angry to make any attempt to collect his property. He picked up his battered hat and walked home, saying, "I don't care what becomes of the old things. I've done with them."
A few of their friends were kind enough to assist them in the search, but it was a sorry-looking set of goods that were collected.
"They're half of them gone," said Tom. "I do believe that monkey went off with his cheeks and pockets full of our things."
"I'll have that man prosecuted," said John, fiercely. "Which way did he go?"
"Oh, he's more likely to prosecute us. He says Bob half killed his monkey."
Sadly the boys packed up their damaged goods and carried them home, protesting that they had had enough of store-keeping. The monkey had scratched Bob's head so hard that he was really suffering, and Bess had to run for the arnica bottle, and bandage his head.
Aunt Sue was particularly liberal with the cake and preserves that evening at tea, and if anything could have comforted the boys, it was such thoughtfulness.
A FLIRTATION.
[SQUIRRELS, AND HOW TO KEEP THEM.]
BY JAMES OTIS.
It seems almost cruel to catch and cage such a bright, winsome little fellow as a squirrel. In his natural state he seems to be thoroughly happy. His home is a snug little hole in the fork of a tree, and all the nut-bearing giants of the forest pay tribute to him. Bright, happy, "cunning" little fellow, if you must keep him as a pet, lavish upon him such kindness and attention as shall reconcile him to the prison bars, and make him forget his forest home.
The name squirrel comes from the Greek word sciurus, which is made up of two words, signifying shade and tail, indicative of the little creature's habit of shading its entire body when at rest with its tail.
Of the species known to our woods, the most common is the striped squirrel, an industrious little body, fond of his home and family, and seldom given to roving, but one which the confinement of a cage kills in a very short time.
Then there is a little animal known by the boys as a chipmunk, which some naturalists declare is a member of the squirrel family, while others give it the name of dormouse. It makes a good pet, but must be kept in a warm place, and besides the usual food for squirrels it requires milk.
The black squirrel is the largest of its species, and while it will live in a cage, is rarely a tractable animal, requiring a vast amount of patience to induce it even to take its food when any one is looking at it.
Then there is the flying-squirrel, which resembles the striped species. It does not really fly, but has the power of flattening its legs and feet in such a way that they do not look unlike wings. In leaping, the legs and feet sustain it in the air until it almost seems as if it was flying.
It is the gray squirrel that is the most contented in captivity, and the most easily tamed; therefore, if one really thinks it necessary to his happiness to make a prisoner of such a liberty-loving little creature, he should procure one of the gray species.
If the reader is a would-be squirrel owner, and proposes to catch one in the woods, he will be obliged to take just the kind of one that is foolish enough to enter his trap; but if he proposes to buy one, he should select it carefully, for much depends upon the condition of the prisoner in taming or keeping him.
See that the fur is sleek and glossy, for dry, ruffled-looking fur is a sure sign the animal is sick, or pining so for the woods that he will not live very long in a cage. Observe well if the feet are clean, for if they are dirty, he has lost all pride in his appearance, which is another sign of homesickness or some equally serious ailment. The eyes should be bright, and the teeth perfectly white. Yellow teeth are a sign of age, and it is as difficult to tame a very old squirrel as it is to keep him alive in captivity.
Beware of squirrels brought around by men who say they have caught and tamed them. If they look stupid and inactive, the chances are that they have been drugged to make them seem tame, and if they live, they will surely be wild and intractable.
Having made the selection of just such a one as you want for a pet, give him all the comfort possible in the way of a cage. It is better to have a large rough one than a small neat looking one; and if it is not possible to buy a large cage, make one yourself, and the squirrel will be pleased at the absence of style because of the increased facilities for moving about.
A board thirty-six inches long and sixteen wide is quite as small a base for the house and run-around as should be given. Twenty-two inches of this length should be devoted to the dwelling portion, which should be built something after the style of a one-story cottage, with a second floor just at the slope of the roof, so that the attic may serve as sleeping-room and a place to which the squirrel can retire when he is anxious to be hidden from view.
The lower front of the house may be of wire, so that a portion of his domestic life may be seen. The second floor should have in it an opening about three inches square, which is connected with the first floor by a small strip of board or thin stuff of any kind, placed at an angle, so that he can get "upstairs" without difficulty.
The floors should be of some hard wood, so that they may not absorb water, and the whole place should be cleaned thoroughly once in every three or four weeks. In order to do this readily, it is well to have one side of the house fastened with hinges, so it may be swung open, and then the little fellow can be shut into the wheel during house-cleaning. The lower compartment should have a wire door, through which food can be given.
The wheel in which he takes his treadmill exercise any tin or wire worker can make, and the hole which connects it with the house should be large enough to prevent any possibility of his getting squeezed if he attempts to go into his house while the wheel is turning rapidly.
Give the little prisoner plenty of nuts of any kind, although those containing the least oil are the best—acorns, wheat, stale bread, a little boiled potato, and once in a very great while a bit of cooked meat. Keep a small dish of water in the cage, and see to it carefully that it is changed each day.
In all dealings with the squirrel it is necessary to be gentle and patient with him, if it is desired to make of him a real pet. Do not force him out of his nest when he goes into it, nor keep him in the wheel when he desires to go into his house.
Each time that he is fed, whistle or make some peculiar sound, and he will soon learn to come when he is called. This is the first step toward teaching him to come into his owner's hands. After he has learned to come at call, hold some particular dainty in the fingers, and do not let him have it until he takes it himself.
When once he has learned to have perfect confidence in his master, he will not scruple to take food from his hands, and in a very short time will be bold enough to explore his pockets, going into them bodily, for something to eat that is a trifle better than his regular fare.