Adventure Magazine, March 1916 — page 122: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

I20 a couple of times he gave in. I flashed the word to the house and—by Judas—Old Pil- kins tells me I’m crazy with the heat!” _ Mitchell gave his orders to the waiter be- fore replying. Then he said: “Did you ever hear the story, Matt, of the man whose larder had run low and he thought he’d try the efhicacy of prayer to replenish it?” “No,” said Matt suspiciously. “But go ““Q Lord,’ prayed the man, ‘I’m shy on grub, so please send me a sack of meal, and a barrel of molasses, and a bucket of lard, and a barrel of flour, and a sack of salt, and a barrel of sugar, and a can of tea, and a barrel of pepper— Oh, Lord, wait! That’s too much pepper!’ ” As he ended, Mitchell flipped the tele- gram back across the table and remarked: “Perhaps Pilkins feels that way. Nine thousand jardiniéres is some sufficiency if you haven’t a market for them.” “But the price, man! We could afford to carry them a while. It’s a dollar-and-a- quarter jar over any counter this side the Mississippi—and I had ’em nailed for forty- two cents! See that jar at the door? That’s some of Wilson’s stuff. It isn’t Rookwood, of course, but at the price you can’t beat it. The man’s an artist; and here I’ve got to crawfish and tell him I can’t make good. I’ve a mind to wire Pilkins a thing or two, and quit.” Mitchell smiled indulgently. He was married and Matt wasn’t. A man thinks before throwing up his job when he is mar- ried. He said to Matt: “You are not hanging anything on Pil- kins if you quit. Your stunt is to dope out a scheme to sell those jardiniéres at a big advance, and do it. Then you'll have the old man where you can talk turkey to him.” “‘There’s a small matter I’ll remind you of, mister,”’ retorted Matt ironically. ‘It’s the cash; and my option expires at six to- night.” “That,” said Mitchell, beginning an at- tack on his fruit, “is another reason why you shouldn’t quit. Forget. it, old chap. You can’t have everything your own way. There’s that laundry across the street. They don’t shut up shop because they can’t get all the trade in any one city block. They don’t expect it.” “Which is precisely why they don’t get it,” sneered Matt. ‘“What’s to hinder Adventure them?” he went on. In his present mood he was ready to dispute the earth’s convexity. “Tt’s an open market. If they’d put a real salesman on the job to solicit work instead of a common cart-driver, somebody who could put up a selling talk to the lady of the house——” “Somebody who could sell her jardi- niéres,”’ mocked Mitchell. ‘Or——” ‘“‘What’s that?” exclaimed Matt with a startled look. “Or,” pursued Mitchell, chuckling, ‘‘give one away with every bundle——” He capsized a spoonful of raspberries in transit to his mouth. Matt had brought tee down with a bang that rattled the shes. “By the Great Unwashed, you’ve done it, Luke!” he squealed. “(Done what?” demanded the other, mys- tified. “Given me a hunch that will sell those - jars. Say! This is a good big town. Must have a dozen laundries. What?” “Eight. Two cracker-jacks—the White Star, and Doyle’s—and the others, so-so. The White Star is Andrew Shifter’s, a big fat, nauseous sort of man I personally de- test. Doyle’s is the one over the way. He died a couple of years ago, and his widow and daughter Kitty stepped in, and have carried on the business. Believe me, the girl has both eyes open.” Matt frowned thoughtfully at his plate and finished his omelet in silence. Mitchell studied him curiously. “‘What’s the great idea?” he asked finally. “How long are you going to be in town?” countered Matt. “T’m getting out tonight.” Matt took a last swallow of coffee, and rose from the table. “Luke,” he said earnestly, “I haven’t time to talk now; but meet me here at noon. Maybe you can help me out a bit—advice. I am going now to shoot a wire into Old Pilkins that will make him turn to a new leaf in his joke-book.”’ IT AFTER several abortive attempts Matt framed a despatch to Mr. Ezra Pilkins which, he fancied, would wake that old fossil up. It read: Will guarantee you one hundred per cent. net Gomicbooks ) (E)