“What’s Tinkham’s Throat-Ease?” demanded Ben Holden in hall that evening before supper.
“That’s what I’d like to know,” said Sam Perkins, with a laugh. “I found a card about it in my room a while ago. What’s the joke?”
“Ask Kid,” said Lanny grimly.
Kid, perusing the absorbing adventures of “Hairbreadth Harry, the Gentleman Scout,” in a far corner of the hall, went on reading. To all appearances Kid was improving his mind with a large volume of the Encyclopedia Britannica, the story paper being held out of sight against the open pages. Such fiction as “Hairbreadth Harry” was not countenanced at Mt. Pleasant Academy, and it behooved Kid to use discretion.
“Kid!”
“Huh?” Kid dragged his eyes from the text and looked over the top of the volume.
“What’s Tinkham’s Throat-Ease?” demanded Stanley Pierce.
“The best remedy for coughs, colds, pneumonia, sore throat——”
“Also good on bread,” interpolated Dick Gardner.
“Bronchitis, tonsilitis and all affections of the throat and repsi—” Kid floundered—“repsi—repsitory organs.”
“Fine! But what about it?” asked Steve Lovell. “Why do I get a card on my bureau? What’s the idea?”
Kid closed the encyclopedia carefully, so that no tell-tale edges of the story paper were visible, and laid it aside. He was sorry to abandon Hairbreadth Harry in the gulch surrounded by a horde of shrieking redskins, but business was business!
“I put the card there, Steve. I’m the agent in this territory for Tinkham’s, you see.”
“You! What for? Who said so?”
“Well, here’s how it is.” Kid looked grave. “I—I have to make a little money, fellows. You see, my folks don’t—don’t send me much of an allowance now.” He paused and looked thoughtfully into the fire. The smiles faded on the faces of the others. Kid gulped and went on. “Of course, I can’t—can’t be self-supporting—yet, but I thought I could make enough to—to help, you know.” His voice trailed off into silence and there was a sympathetic silence around the fireplace. At length,
“Do you mean that you are going to sell the—the stuff?” asked Ben Holden.
“Yes. The tablets are only twenty-five cents a box. Of course that isn’t all profit, not by any means, but I make a little on each box. I don’t expect to sell many here at school, but maybe in the village and over at Riveredge and Whittier I can do pretty well.”
“I’m afraid you’ll never get rich that way,” said Steve Lovell kindly. “But you may make a little. Are the things really any good, Kid?”
“Fine! I’ve got some unsolicited testimonials I’d like you to read, Steve. I’ll get you a copy if you like.”
“No, never mind. Got any of the pills with you?”
Kid fished in his pockets doubtfully and seemed quite surprised when three boxes rewarded his search. He passed one to Steve, doing his best to avoid the indignant gaze of Small. Lanny was viewing him doubtfully, suspiciously, but it was Small that Kid feared might spoil the impression he had created. And so Kid, recalling that someone had once said that the way to make war was to start first was quite prepared. Steve sniffed at the tablets and made a face.
“Well, they smell bad enough,” he said.
“If you think they smell bad, you ought to taste ’em!” broke forth Small. “They’re the nastiest tasting things I ever——”
“But they cured your cough, didn’t they, Small?” interrupted Kid eagerly. “He just took one of them, fellows, and I don’t believe he has coughed since! Have you, Small? He had a fierce cough too; you fellows know how bad it was. I was getting real worried about him.”
Small gazed at Kid with open mouth, and Kid almost held his breath for fear that Small’s emotion would precipitate a spasm of coughing. But it didn’t. The temptation to be for a moment a person of importance was too much for him. He closed his mouth and nodded gravely.
“That’s so,” he said. “I took one of the tablets—swallowed it whole—and it stopped my cough at once. I don’t think I’ve coughed since then. You haven’t heard me, have you, Kid?”
“No, I haven’t. It was marvelous the way they worked with you, Small. And you certainly did have a mean old cough, didn’t you?”
“It was awful,” replied Small solemnly. “Sometimes at night I thought I’d never get to sleep!”
“Funny I never noticed it,” said Sam Perkins, his roommate.
“It was usually after you’d gone to sleep,” said Small hastily. “And then the way it hurt me!” He laid a hand cautiously over the top button of his waistcoat as though the gentlest touch was excruciating pain. The assemblage was impressed. That is, most of it was. Lanny still looked suspicious, and Bert, although his face was quite serious, somehow gave the impression of being secretly amused by something.
“What made you think of throat tablets?” asked Ben Holden. “Seems to me something else would have sold better.”
“Well, at this time of year,” replied Kid, “almost every fellow has a cough or a cold or a scrapy throat. I guess most of us have one now, if we stopped to think about it.” Several fellows cleared their throats experimentally. “We don’t notice at first, but after a while we wake up some morning with tonsilitis or—or quinsy or diphtheria or something. It’s taking a little medicine in time that does the business. That’s where Tinkham’s Throat-Ease comes in, you see. The first time you feel the least bit scratchy in your throat you just dissolve one of these in your mouth and you don’t have any more trouble. They’re great little things!”
“Gee, you talk like a patent medicine almanac!” declared Ben admiringly. “Here, I’ll take a box of them, Kid. And here’s your quarter.”
“Thank you.” Kid gravely handed him a box of the tablets and as gravely accepted his quarter. Then he turned away as though to go back to his reading, as though the idea of further sales didn’t occur to him. But Steve Lovell was already hunting for the price of a package of the invaluable Tinkham’s Throat-Ease. And after Steve had purchased Dick Gardner fell into line. And after Dick came Stanley Pierce, and then Kid had to climb the stairs to get more of the remedy. George Waters only had fifteen cents with him and Sam Perkins had only a dollar bill which was so badly torn that Kid balked at it. Kid said politely that he would trust them both. Whereupon Harold Cupples and Sewall Crandall said they’d each take a box too if Kid didn’t mind waiting a few days for payment. Kid secretly did mind, but declared he didn’t.
“Well, you’ve done pretty well, Kid,” said Steve Lovell when the final transaction was over. “How many boxes is that you’ve sold?”
“You haven’t sold any to Lanny or Bert,” said George Waters. “Get after them, Kid. What’s the matter with you, Lanny? Loosen up and patronize home industries.”
“He bought a box this afternoon,” said Kid hastily. “He liked them very much, didn’t you, Lanny?”
Kid’s look was so imploring that Lanny nodded. “Pretty good,” he said. “Taste beastly, but I guess they’ll do you good, all right.”
“Well, here’s Bert yet,” insisted George. “Why don’t you take a chance, Bert?”
“I—I’m flat broke,” replied Bert.
“Well, that’s all right. Kid’ll trust you, won’t you, Kid?”
“Of course.” Kid held a box of tablets toward Bert. As that youth made no move to take them Stanley Pierce kindly relayed them to him. “I’ll be very glad to trust him,” said Kid. “There’s no hurry, either; to-morrow or next day will do, Bert.”
Bert scowled formidably, but dropped the box in his pocket. And then the supper gong sounded and twelve hungry boys trooped into the dining-room. Kid and Small sat next to each other at Mr. Crane’s table, and it wasn’t long before Kid noticed that Small wasn’t much more than trifling with his food.
“Don’t you want your apple sauce?” whispered Kid. Small shook his head and pushed it over to him. Later Kid came in for Small’s cake and Small watched the transfer with scowling brow. “Thanks,” Kid murmured.
“You can thank those beastly tablets,” Small growled. “My mouth’s all drawn up and everything tastes like—like paregoric! I hope that cake chokes you!”
After supper Bert waylaid Kid on the stairs. “Here they are,” he announced, seeking to thrust a box of Tinkham’s tablets into Kid’s elusive hand.
“What?” asked Kid in surprise.
“Why, those old tablets. You didn’t think I wanted them, did you?”
Kid looked pained. “Why not? They’re the best things you could have, Bert, and if you start in taking them now your cold will be all gone by morning.”
“I haven’t got any cold,” denied Bert.
“Then why do you keep blowing your nose all the time?”
“What nose? I mean——”
“I suppose you did it unconsciously,” said Kid. “Probably you didn’t notice it, but at the supper table——”
“I didn’t! And I’m not going to get stung a quarter for these pesky things. So you can just take them back.”
“Well, of course, if you don’t want them I will, only——”
“Only what?” Bert demanded crossly.
“Only—well, maybe you’d better keep them, Bert, just for—for appearances. You see, the other fellows have all bought tablets, and if you didn’t they might think you were stingy, don’t you see? Of course, I might give you the tablets and pretend that you’d paid for them, but that would be telling a lie, wouldn’t it?”
“I guess it wouldn’t hurt you after the fibs you’ve told already to-night,” said Bert scathingly.
“Fibs I’ve told?” Kid was pained and indignant. “What fibs did I tell, I’d like to know!”
“Why—why, you made the fellows think that your folks had met with trouble and that you weren’t getting any money from home.”
“I said nothing of the kind,” retorted Kid warmly. “I only said they weren’t sending me much money now, and they aren’t. Why, whenever I want an extra dollar I have to write and say that I must have a hair cut. Honest, Bert, my hair’s been cut three times this month! I’m awfully afraid it’ll get discouraged and not grow any more!”
“Well, you made them think you needed the money——”
“So I do! Didn’t I promise to give ten dollars to the Fund for the trophy, Bert? Ten dollars isn’t so easy to make, either. Of course I don’t want your quarter if you begrudge it to me—”
“Well, I do,” growled Bert.
“But I’d hate to have to say that you’re the only fellow in House who hasn’t helped me.” And Kid smiled sweetly.
Bert glared at him a moment. Then his sense of humor came to his rescue and he grinned. “You’re a wonder, Kid!” he exclaimed. “Well, all right, I’ll take your old smelly tablets and I’ll give you a quarter for them some time. But I’ll get even with you, Kid, some day, don’t worry.”
“It’s only a quarter,” said Kid soothingly, “and you know you have a whole dollar saved—”
“I have, eh? Well, you don’t get any of that dollar, Kid. You’ll just wait now until I get some more money, you—you little Shylock!”
The next day it became known to the day pupils that Kid Fairchild was selling throat tablets to pay his tuition at school and support his starving family. By evening Kid had disposed of the last of his boxes and had five dollars and seventy cents rattling around in the bottom of a collar-box in his bureau drawer. He was still thirty cents short because Bert persisted in owing him and one of the day boys had passed a Canadian twenty cent piece on him in lieu of a quarter. But Kid was well satisfied with the results of his excursion into trade. The only fly in the ointment of his contentment was the realization that if he purchased a further supply of Tinkham’s Throat-Ease he would have to go to the village to sell it. Those of the fellows who had given the tablets a fair trial were anything but enthusiastic over their taste and Kid despaired of securing reorders. Meanwhile that five dollars and seventy cents was occasioning him a good deal of uneasiness. It wasn’t that Kid feared having it stolen. The trouble was that he had never been a believer in the hoarding of wealth. In Kid’s judgment money was meant to spend, and to go to bed night after night with all those quarters and dimes and nickels lying idle in the bureau drawer was excruciating torment to him. Of course he fully meant to send two dollars of it to the Tinkham Chemical Company to pay for the tablets, and he also meant to add twenty cents for another four dozen boxes of the remedy, but if Kid hated to see the money lying there idle he hated even more to see any part of it devoted to such base ends as the payment of just debts. And while he still hesitated Fate took a hand and the matter was decided for him.
On Saturday morning Doctor Merton summoned Kid to his office and complimented him. He had heard, he explained, of the unfortunate trouble that had overtaken James’s family and hoped sincerely that their embarrassment would prove only temporary. Meanwhile he thought James was showing much courage and enterprise in seeking to aid them by the sale of—was it Tinker’s Hair Balsam? No? Ah, Tinkham’s Throat-Ease! Well, in any case, he congratulated James on his thoughtfulness and was sure that his parents—and he was going to write to them and acquaint them with the circumstances—would be touched by the manly course James was pursuing. And—er—if James had any more of the excellent liver pills he would gladly purchase a package. Kid regretted that he hadn’t and embarrassedly withdrew. Outside, Nan, who had been waiting for him, slipped a quarter into his hand.
“Oh, Kid,” she whispered, “I think you’re just splendid. Mr. Folsom told us all about it last evening. You’re just as—as brave and—and manly as can be! And I want some of the—the medicine things, too, Kid and there’s my quarter! And——”
“I ain’t got any more,” sighed Kid sadly, looking longingly at the coin. “So I guess you’d better take this back——”
“But you’re going to send for some more, aren’t you?”
“Maybe,” replied Kid doubtfully. “I don’t know.”
“Oh, but you must! Why, just think how well you’ve done already! Mr. Folsom said you’d sold dozens and dozens of bottles or boxes or whatever it is, Kid! You keep that and when you get some more of it you can give me one. I do so want to help, Kid!”
To Kid’s credit, be it said, he refused the money. It pained him to do it, but he did. It had also pained him to be unable to get the quarter offered by the Doctor, in view of the fact that the Doctor was about to get him into a peck of trouble by writing home to his parents and commiserating with them on their sudden loss of fortune. Yes, Kid strongly wished that he had two more boxes of the tablets. But necessity is the mother of invention. Kid put his mind on the problem and by the time he had floundered through a history recitation—Mr. Folsom proving very gentle with him because of his troubles—he had evolved a plan.
“Say, Stanley,” he asked his roommate while that youth was brushing his hair for dinner, “did you like those tablets?”
Stanley viewed him coldly. “Like them! They’re punk!”
“Don’t you want your box, then?”
“I do not.”
“May I have it?”
“Yes, if you swallow them all,” replied Stanley venomously.
Kid didn’t agree to do that, but he got the box. It lacked just one tablet. In the course of the next half-hour Kid had gained possession of four other boxes by similar methods, and it was only the work of a minute to make three full boxes from the four. Then he waited on the Doctor and Nan and returned fifty cents richer. The sight of Mr. Crane on the porch suggested more dickering, for Mr. Folsom had purchased and Mr. Crane had not, owing to the supply of tablets having given out before his application had been entered. By the end of afternoon school Kid had given pleasure to Mr. Crane by selling him a box of Tinkham’s, too, and Kid’s assets had gone up to six dollars and forty-five cents.
But, as is so often the way, wealth did not bring happiness. Kid was troubled. To use his own phraseology, there was going to be an awful row when his father received that letter from Doctor Merton. For a while Kid wished that the baseball trophy had never been thought of. Also, all enthusiasm for the merits of Tinkham’s Throat-Ease had passed. He would settle with the people for what he had had and the fund would have to be satisfied with four dollars and forty-five cents instead of ten dollars. He was through with merchandizing!
And doubtless he would have stuck to that resolution if he had not, on the way to the rink in the afternoon to see the hockey game, by chance kicked up the box of tablets that Lanny had thrown away. Kid did not recognize at first the snow-covered object that his foot had struck, but examination revealed forty-nine perfectly good tablets, and Kid brushed the crust of snow from the box and dropped it into his pocket. Just one of those tablets would make complete the box he had in his room, and, thoughtfully, Kid turned and retraced his steps, although Mr. Crane was at that instant blowing the whistle to start the game. But Kid’s errand was soon completed and he was back at the rink, sandwiched in between Small and Bert.
That was a good game. The House Team, by hard practice, had secured a degree of team play that very nearly offset the playing of the Day Team’s individual stars. The first half ended with the score a tie at 4 to 4, and house students and day students, players and onlookers alike, were keyed up to a state of wild enthusiasm. Lanny, who had played hard and brilliantly and somewhat heedlessly, at right wing in place of Cupples, joined his classmates at the barrier, struggling into his sweater and panting for breath. He perched himself on the top of the boards and examined proudly a set of skinned knuckles. Bert was concerned, but Kid, constantly oppressed by the knowledge of coming calamity, chose to be sarcastic.
“How’d you cut you? Burn you?” he asked. “Say, Lanny, it’s a wonder you wouldn’t have them take you to the infirmary with that awful wound.”
“Don’t get fresh,” responded Lanny scowlingly. Kid smiled his sweetest.
“You’re fresher than I am, Lanny; you’ve been on the ice most of the time! Hasn’t anyone ever explained to you that it’s part of the game to stay on your feet?”
Lanny maintained a dignified silence.
“Also,” proceeded Kid thoughtfully, “if you stay back of the puck you may get a chance to make a shot, Lanny.”
“Cut it out, Kid! Lanny played a mighty good game.” Bert frowned his disapproval.
“Not bad, for a beginner,” responded Kid, sauntering away. Morgan, known familiarly as “Toots,” was the goal-tend on the Day Team. “Toots” was one of the few day pupils who had not aided Kid’s starving family by purchasing a box of Tinkham’s Throat-Ease, and Kid, spying “Toots” tightening his leg-guards at the end of the rink, decided that the omission ought to be corrected.
“Hello, ‘Toots.’”
“Hello, Kid! How are you?” grunted “Toots,” giving a final tug to a strap.
“So, so. Going to beat us, ‘Toots’?”
“Surest thing you know!”
“I dare say.” Kid was quite evidently distrait and depressed, a state so far removed from his usual condition that even “Toots” took notice. Then he remembered that Kid’s father had gone bankrupt, that the old home was to go under the hammer and that Kid—plucky little duffer!—was selling some sort of cough medicine to aid the fallen fortunes. Kid, apparently looking sadly about the rink, shot a glance at “Toots” and uncannily followed his thoughts. “Did you try those throat tablets, ‘Toots’?” he inquired.
“Toots” colored faintly. “I—I didn’t get any, Kid. I didn’t have any money with me yesterday.”
Kid nodded as though in dismissal of the subject. “Toots” cleared his throat and watched Kid’s pathetic listlessness during a moment’s silence. Finally,
“I heard you’d sold out, Kid,” he said hopefully.
“All the fellows were very kind,” answered Kid, with an evident effort to be brave in the face of adversity. “I only had twenty-four boxes of them.”
“Well—er—if you ever get any more, Kid, I’ll be glad to buy one.”
Kid smiled gratefully. “They’re mighty good things,” he said. “Fine to hold in your mouth when you’re playing; keeps your mouth from getting dry, you know.”
“That so? A fellow’s mouth does get awfully ‘cotton-woolly’ sometimes. Well, if you have any more come and see me, Kid. I—I was sorry to hear that—that your folks——”
Kid slowly, abstractedly pulled a box of the tablets from his pocket and view it regretfully. Then he held it out to the surprised “Toots.” “You can have this, I guess,” said Kid generously. “I was keeping it for myself, but I guess I need the money more than the tablets. I’m glad I saved it now, because you’re pretty nearly the only fellow who hasn’t got any of them.”
“Toots” took the box, turned it this way and that, cleared his throat, flushed and yielded. “I—I haven’t any money in these clothes, Kid,” he muttered, “but I’ll pay you to-morrow sure.”
Kid nodded. “That’ll be all right, ‘Toots.’ Any time to-morrow before noon will do. I’m sending some money away to-morrow, or I wouldn’t ask you to pay so soon.”
“Toots” placed the box at a corner of the net, having no pocket on him, thumped the ice with his stick, smiled bravely and turned away. Kid, outwardly disconsolate, inwardly triumphant, sauntered off.
The second half began with a fine exhibition of individual playing by Spooner and White and a speedy goal to the credit of the Day Team. After that the fortunes of the opponents see-sawed back and forth and there was no more scoring for a good ten minutes. Finally Ben Holden got the puck in the middle of the rink, the offense lined up quickly and, with the rubber darting back and forth like a shuttle, the House players rushed down the ice. Grimshaw, the Day Team’s cover-point, darted at the puck too late. A quick dribble on the part of Waters fooled him. The point made a wild dash with a slashing stick, but in vain, and Stanley Pierce, skating up from behind, secured the disk and slammed it into the net. After that Day fought desperately and only the excellent work of Gardner at goal kept them from swamping their opponents. There were five tries before Grimshaw, stealing the puck near his own goal, skated the length of the rink and passed to O’Connell, who scored. A minute or two later a lucky “lift” by Perkins scored the House’s sixth goal and the score was again tied. With less than a minute to play now all the indications pointed to an extra period. Ben Holden and White faced off, the whistle shrilled and the sticks slammed helter-skelter. Science, team-play, all the niceties of the game were forgotten. Each team, excited and reckless, fought wildly for that deciding goal.
In front of the Day Team’s net “Toots” Morgan watched the puck and the players warily. He would be glad when the game was over, he told himself, for he had had plenty of work and some hard knocks, and his mouth was as dry as the inside of a bake-oven. Suddenly remembering the box of tablets and Kid’s recommendation he glanced down to where it lay snuggled against the corner of the net. The play was far up the rink. Stooping, he reached the box, spilled several tablets out with his gloved hands and finally managed to pop one into his mouth. There was no time then to put the box back in a place of safety, for the whole field of players was rushing down upon him, so he tossed it behind him, gripped his stick, thrust his guarded legs together and awaited the onslaught. But Cupples overskated and there was a moment’s delay while Pierce hooked the puck, swept across the rink with it and, eluding a day player, started ahead again.
“Toots” was aware that something unpleasant was happening to him but was too intent on the game and too excited to realize for a moment that the unpleasantness was in his mouth. Then, when he did realize it, “Toots’” thoughts ran something like this:
“Holden’s got it!... Great Scott, what a nasty taste!... Oh, check him, Dave, check him!... Missed him!... Wonder what this thing’s made of! Ugh!... Here they come! Play back, Grim!... I can’t stand this! I’ll have to spit it out!...”
And then, with the play only twenty feet away in front of goal, “Toots” turned his head for an instant and the obnoxious tablet of Tinkham’s Throat-Ease dropped to the ice. And at the same instant there was a sudden cry of “Look out! Shot!” something sang through the air waist-high and “Toots,” sighting it only when it was almost at him, plunged wildly to the left. But, alas, out went his feet, down went “Toots,” and the puck fell with a soft thud to the ice at the back of the net! And House had won, 7 to 6!
Let us draw a veil over the incidents of the next few minutes. Billy Spooner was disappointed and vexed and some of the things he said to the unfortunate “Toots” were doubtless quite unjust. We will let them pass unheeded—even if “Toots” didn’t. House shouted its glee, waved its sticks and cavorted, and Lanny, who by rare chance had shot the winning goal, was seized by admiring team-mates and conveyed, shoulder-high, to the barrier, where, owing to the fact that someone let go too soon, he toppled into a snow bank! High above all other sounds of rejoicing piped Kid’s shrill voice in a pæan of triumph: