Bob was nineteen, dark-haired, rather short, and powerfully built. His turn of mind was highly scientific and practical, and he was trying to get through a course of electrical engineering at the Toronto School of Science, where he was better known as a half-back on the varsity team.
Carl was a year and a half younger than Alice and was her chief assistant with the bees, but he lacked his brother’s muscles. He had an idea that something in journalism would suit him exactly, but it was a long way from Harman’s Corners to a daily newspaper office. Meanwhile he looked after the store and attended the Woodville High School when he could, riding to and fro on his bicycle, and tried to prepare for the university.
But educational prospects looked rather bad just then. Everything had to be subordinated to the question of making a living, and Bob had come up from Toronto to help in threshing the matter out.
All the property had been left to the three children, and an old neighbor and friend, Isaac Ferguson, was appointed executor and trustee till the heirs should come of age. But an inventory of the property revealed a disastrous state of affairs.
All the land and buildings were heavily mortgaged. Although no proper books had been kept, it was plain that the store had not been paying expenses for a long time, and there was an appalling collection of unpaid bills—many of them bills for stock that had grown old and worthless. When all these liabilities were cleared off, there would not remain much more than a thousand dollars from Mr. Harman’s estate.
Part of this state of things was no surprise to Carl, who had been in closer touch with the business than either Alice or Bob, but even he rather inclined to the idea that it would be best to clear out the old stock at any price, get in some fresh stuff, and try to float the business for a little longer, at any rate.
“Even if we did sell out,” he argued, “we wouldn’t get enough to live on for long, and we’d have no chance of making any more.”
“Elliott’s would pay one of us forty dollars a month to stay here as clerk. I was talking to them yesterday,” responded Bob. “That would be a good job for Alice.”
“No, I’ll never do that, and I don’t see how you could go to see those people!” cried Alice, hotly. “If I only had a hundred hives of bees like these we wouldn’t need anything from anybody,” she went on after a moment’s indignation. “Why, last year I made over one hundred and twenty-five dollars from only eleven hives.”
“I wish we had them, too,” said Carl, “but we haven’t, so what’s the use. Bees cost about ten dollars a colony here and hard to get at that. I declare, Allie, you could get nearly as much for your apiary as the store is worth!”