“Now, Miss Carruth, tell me the prices quoted for the boxes, and how many you had thought of ordering,” said Mr. Porter, in the voice so encouraging when used by older people to younger.
“Well, if I order any I suppose I ought to order a hundred,” began Constance.
“One hundred!” echoed Mr. Porter. “Why, little girl, that would not be a flea-bite. You ought to order five hundred at least.”
“Five hundred!” cried Constance, in dismay. “Why, Mr. Porter, I’m afraid I’ve hardly enough money to order one hundred at the rate they charge,” and she named the sums asked by the firms to which she had written.
“Bosh! Nonsense! That’s downright robbery. You let me write to a firm I know of and we’ll see what we’ll see. And now I’m going to take some stock in this company right off. I’m going to invest one hundred dollars in it to be used as a working capital—there—don’t say a word of protest,” as Constance voiced an exclamation. “I know what I’m up to, and—I love sweets. If you can’t pay back in any other way you can keep me supplied for a year. Just now you’ve got to start out in good shape, and there is no use doing things half way. But you haven’t asked me what I’m going to charge you for your booth?” concluded Mr. Porter, with a merry twinkle in his blue eyes.
“Why I forgot all about the price,” said Constance in confusion. “Oh, dear, how stupid I am.”
“Well, since it is a space we never thought to rent anyway, and couldn’t use for anything else if we wished to, suppose we say five dollars a month? I think those are pretty good returns for a cubby. If I do as well in proportion with all the other offices I’ll make the owners rich.”
“I’m afraid it is very low. I think you are only letting me have it so cheap just because you liked father. Don’t you think I ought really to pay more? I didn’t think I could get any sort of a place for less than ten dollars a month,” was Constance’s most unbusinesslike speech.
Mr. Porter looked at the earnest face regarding him so frankly and confidingly, and a very suspicious moisture came into his eyes. Rising from his chair he laid his hand kindly upon her shoulder as she arose and stood before him, and said very gently:
“Don’t worry yourself on that score, little girl, and—don’t mind it if I do call you little girl; you seem that to me spite of your business aspirations. I am asking you a fair price because I know you would rather feel that you are paying a fair price for what you get, and would prefer beginning your business venture on such a basis. I am also advancing this sum of money because I am confident you will succeed. It is purely a business speculation. I would do it for your father’s sake, but I know you would rather I did it upon strictly business principles. I can not lose my money in any case, because if I do not get the actual cash, I know I shall get my sweets—a whole hundred dollars’ worth. It fairly makes my mouth water to think of them, and my girls will go wild when I tell them. Keep up a brave heart, and, above all, keep that pretty modesty you have, for it will carry you farther than any amount of audacity. It is your best armor. There is nothing a man respects more than a brave and modest woman, my dear. Nothing in this world. Now, little woman, go home and think up the style and sizes of the boxes you will need and let me know at once. ’Phone me early Monday morning. Design something yourself if you can; it will take quicker. Next week I’ll have your stall put into shape and you can make your candies and stock up as soon as your boxes come. Then we will soon learn whether your faith in your fellow-beings is justified or misplaced. I believe you will find it justified; upon my soul I do; though I have never before seen such a scheme put to the test. Now good-bye; good-bye, and God bless you,” ended Mr. Porter, warmly shaking the small gloved hand.
“Good-bye, Mr. Porter, and, oh, thank you so much for your kind interest. I feel so brave and encouraged to begin now,” cried Constance, her eyes confirming her words, and her cheeks glowing.
Mr. Porter accompanied her to the elevator, and with another hearty farewell, sped her upon her way brimful of enthusiasm, and more than ever resolved to carry into effect the scheme which had entered her head many weeks before, and which was now taking definite form and shape.
The trolley car seemed fairly to crawl along, so did her desire to reach home and tell of the afternoon’s undertaking outstrip its progress. It was quite dark when she alighted and climbed the hill at her home, thinking, as she ascended the steps, how sweet and cheerful the little home looked, for her mother, in spite of the warnings volunteered by some of her friends that some day she would be robbed as the outcome of letting all the world look in upon her, would never have the shades drawn. Mrs. Carruth always replied:
“For the sake of those to whom a glimpse of our cheery hearth gives pleasure, and there are more than you guess, as I have learned to my own surprise, I shall take my chances with the possible unscrupulous ones.”
And so the window shades remained raised after the lamps were lighted, and many a passer-by was cheered along his way by a peep at the sweet, home-like picture of a gentle-faced woman, and three bright-faced girls, gathered around the blazing hearth, and reading or sewing in the soft lamp-light.
“Dear little Mumsey,” said Constance, softly, as she paused a moment before crossing the piazza. “Your girlie is going to help you keep just such a sweet home forever and ever, and ever.” Then giving the whistling bird-call by which the members of the family signaled to each other, she went close to the window and looked smilingly in.
Up bounced Jean to fly to the door; Eleanor raised her head from the book over which she was, as usual, bent, and nodded; Mrs. Carruth waved her hand and wafted a kiss.
“Oh, come in quick, and tell us where you have been, and what you have done,” cried Jean, opening the door with a whirl.
“Hello, baby! Give me a big hug first,” cried Constance, and Jean bounded into her arms. Mrs. Carruth had crossed the room to welcome the tardy one, and as soon as she was released from Jean’s tempestuous embrace, took the glowing face in both her hands gently to kiss the cheeks as she said:
“What a bonny, bonny glow the cheeks wear, sweetheart. Something very lovely must have happened.”
“Oh, mother, I’ve had such a perfectly splendid afternoon and feel so brave and proud about it all. Let me get my things off and I’ll tell you all about it. But is supper almost ready? I’m half-starved? Excitement sharpens one’s appetite doesn’t it? Heigh-ho. Nornie. What news of the ponies? If you’re to be a coach-woman you’ve got to have some sort of an equine creature to hustle along, haven’t you? Did you have time to go and see the prospective ones this afternoon? And oh, how did the auction turn out, mother? Gracious, what stirring people the Carruths are getting to be compared with the common-place, slow-going ones they were.”
“Jean, dear, run out and tell Mammy that Constance is home, and we will have supper at once. You can tell us all the news at the table, dear.”
Jean flew for Mammy’s quarters, quite as eager as Constance to have the supper served.
“Mammy! Mammy! Connie’s got back, and she’s starved dead! Mother says have supper right off quick,” burst out Jean, as she whisked through the butler’s pantry.
“Jes so. Whar dat chile been? Go ’long back an’ tell ’em de supper ‘ready an’ a waitin’, as de hyme book say, an’ I got sumpin’ dat dat chile pintedly love.”
“What is it, Mammy? What is it?” cried Jean, eagerly, as she ran over to inspect the dishes upon the range.
“Get out! Clear ’long! Yo’ keep yo’ little nose outen my dishes!” cried Mammy, with assumed wrath, as she pounced upon little Miss Inquisitive. “Yo’ go right ’long an’ tell her I’se got lay-over-catch-meddlers in hyer an’ lessen yo’ take keer you’ll turn inter one.”
“Fiddlestick!” retorted Jean, as she flew back.
A few moments later the family had gathered about the delightful supper table and Constance was relating the experiences of the afternoon, while first one and then another exclaimed over her venture, Mammy crying as she urged her to take another of the dainty waffles she had made especially for her. “Honey, what I tol’ yo’? Ain’ I perdic’ dat yo’ boun’ ter hit de tack spang on de right en’? I say dat dem pralines and fudges de banginest candies I ever is see, an’ de folks what done buy ’em—huh! My lan’ dey fair brek dey necks fallin’ ober one an’ner ter git at ’em de minit I sot myse’f on dat ar camp stool. An’ now yo’ gwine open a boof an’ ’splay ’em fer sale? But yo’ aint gwine stan’ behin’ de counter is yo’? Yo’ better not set out ter do no sich t’ing as dat, chile, whilst I’se yo’ Mammy. No-siree! I ain’ gwine stan’ fer no sich gwines-on as dat—in a Blairsdale. Yo’ kin hab yo’ cubby, as yo’ calls hit, an’ take yo’ chances wedder yo’ gits cheated or wedder yo’ meets up with hones’ folks, but yo’ cyant go behin’ no counter, an’ dats flat. When yo’ gwine begin makin’ all dat mess o’ candy?”
“Just as soon as I have some boxes to sell it in, Mammy, and those I must design. At least must suggest something pretty for the covers.”
“Have a picture of Baltie on the cover, Connie. He was the first one to take your candies to South Riveredge,” cried Jean, with thoughts ever for the faithful old silent partner.
“No, Baltie belongs to you and Mammy. By-the-way, how did you get on at the school to-day? You haven’t told me yet.”
“Just splendiferous! The boys bought every bit I took; I mean every bit that was left after Professor Forbes got all he wanted. He was at the gate when I drove up, and what do you think he did? Made me stop until he had bought six packages of fudge and six packages of pralines, and then made me promise always to save them for him. My goodness if that man doesn’t have one stomachache,” ended this sage young lady speaking from bitter experiences of her own.
“Jean!” cried Eleanor.
“Well, it’s true. Twelve whole packages of candy all for himself, greedy old thing! And he asked me if I couldn’t come twice a week. I told him I guessed not, and if he wanted it oftener than once a week he’d have to come after it. And he said that was precisely what he would do, and to ask my sister to please to have twelve packages for him on Wednesday afternoon. That man’s teeth will need a dentist just you see if they don’t,” ended Jean with an ominous wag of the head for the sweet-toothed professor, while the rest of the family shrieked with laughter.
“What do you suggest for my boxes, mother?” asked Constance, when the laugh had subsided.
“How about little white moire paper boxes with some pretty flower on the cover?”
“Pretty, but not very distinctive I’m afraid,” said Constance, doubtfully.
“How about those pretty Japanese boxes they have at Bailey’s?” ventured Eleanor.
“Still less distinctive. No; I must have some design that suggests me. Don’t think me conceited, but I want people to know that the candy is made and sold by a school-girl, who cannot be there to look after her counter, and must trust to their honesty. I’ve got an idea about my sign, but, somehow, I don’t seem to be able to get one that is worth a straw for the boxes, yet I’ve been thinking as hard as I could think.”
“Wait a minit, Baby,” said Mammy, and hurried from the room. She came back in about ten minutes holding a small box in her hand. Placing it upon the table before Constance, she said: “Now, Honey, mebbe dis yere idee ob mine ain’ nothin’ in de worl’ but foolishness, but seems ter me ef yo’ want distincshumness you’s got hit dar. I ain’ half lak ter let yo’ do hit, but dey’s yo’ candies, so I spec’ yo’ might as well let folks unnerstan’ hit.”
The box was one which Jean had given Mammy the previous Christmas. It was made of white moire paper with a small medallion in gilt in the left-hand upper corner, the medallion being in the shape of a little gold frame formed of gold beads. Originally there had been a colored picture of Santa Claus’s face within it, but over this Mammy had carefully pasted a small photo of Constance; one taken several years before. In the center of the box was written in gold script “Merry Christmas,” and just beneath that the word “bonbons.”
“Couldn’t you have yo’ name whar de Merry Christmas stan’ at an’ ‘candies’ whar de bong bongs is?” asked Mammy.
“Mammy, you old dear!” cried Constance, springing to her feet to throw her arms about the wise old creature. “You’ve hit it exactly. Why I couldn’t have anything better if I thought for a whole year. I’ll have some pictures taken right off and the boxes shall be just exactly like this. Hurrah for ‘Constance B.’s Candies!’ Come on Mammy, we’ve got to celebrate the brilliant idea!” and catching the astonished old woman by the arms, Constance whirled her off on a lively two-step, whistling the accompaniment, while Mammy cried:
“Gawd bress my soul, is yo’ gone stark crazy, chile!” and at length broke away to vanish protesting within the privacy of her kitchen.
During the ensuing week it would have been hard to find a busier household than the Carruths’. Instead of telephoning to Mr. Porter on Monday morning, as he had suggested, Constance wrote a long letter Saturday evening, giving accurate directions for the boxes, and enclosing a paper design to be sent to the manufacturers.
The letter reached him by the early mail, causing him to exclaim: “George, what a level little head she has got! She shall have those boxes before next Saturday, if I have to go after them myself. Why the idea is simply great!”
Going to his ’phone he called up Mrs. Carruth’s home. Constance had already gone to school, but Mrs. Carruth answered the ’phone. She was quite as delighted as Constance would have been, and promised to deliver the message to her upon her return. When she heard it Constance’s cheeks glowed.
“Isn’t he a dear, mother, to take so much trouble for me? And now I must get busy, busy, busy. I’ve pounds and pounds of candy to make between this and Saturday, and I must make it afternoons.”
“I can not bear to think of you doing this, dear,” said Mrs. Carruth, laying her hand tenderly upon the soft brown hair.
“Why not, I’d like to know?” cried Constance.
“Because it takes the time you should spend in outdoor exercise. You work hard in school, and that has always seemed to me to be quite enough for any girl to undertake. Yet here you and Eleanor are about to give up your afternoons for this work and the coaching.”
Mrs. Carruth sighed, for it was hard for her to adjust herself to the new order of things in her family. Raised upon a large plantation, where she, the only daughter, was her father’s idol, for whom everything must be done, and whose every wish must be considered, she shrank from the thought of her girls laboring for their daily bread, or stepping out into the world beyond their own thresholds. Her father would have felt that the world was about to cease revolving had she been obliged to take such a step. Indeed it would have quite broken his heart, for never had any woman of his household been forced to do aught toward her own maintenance. But times had changed since Reginald Blairsdale had been laid away in the little burial plot upon the plantation, where his wife had slept for so many years, and his daughter had lived to see many changes take place which would have outraged all his traditions.
“Now, mother, please listen to me,” said Constance, earnestly, as she slipped her arm about her mother’s waist. “I am not going to give up all my afternoons, and neither is Eleanor. As to the exercise, we each have a pretty long walk to and from school mornings and afternoons, and, in addition to that, Eleanor will go to her pupils’ houses to do her coaching. That gives her a good bit of exercise three afternoons each week, and she has all her Saturdays free. I shall give little more than two hours a day to my candy making, and I know you and Jean will gladly help me do the packing and tying up. Just how I shall send it over, I haven’t decided yet; that can be settled later when I send a ton or so each day,” laughed Constance. “Meanwhile Mammy will take it over, or I can. Only please don’t dampen my enthusiasm or worry because I am undertaking this step. I am perfectly well and strong, and I’ll promise not to do anything to endanger that health and strength. So smile upon my venture, Mumsey, dear, and make up your mind that it is going to be a great success,—because it is,” ended Constance, with a rapturous hug.
“You are my brave, sweet girl!” said Mrs. Carruth, very tenderly. “Yes, I’ll put my Blairsdale pride in my pocket—or rather my hand-bag, since pockets are no longer in fashion, and try to be a full-fledged, twentieth-century woman. Now what is the first step?”
“The first step is to make my candies before I try to sell ’em. No, the first is to order the stuff sent home to make them of. I’ll ’phone right down to Van Dorn’s this minute. I’ve plenty on hand for this afternoon’s candy, but I’ll lay in a big supply ahead.”
The ’phoning was soon done, and then Constance hurried to the kitchen where for the two ensuing hours she worked like a beaver. At the end of that time several pounds of tempting sweets were made and ready to be wrapped in paraffin paper. When this was done all was packed carefully into tin boxes to await the arrival of the paper ones.
Constance surveyed the candy with much satisfaction, as indeed she well might, for no daintier sweets could have been found. Turning to the others she cried:
“I feel as self-satisfied and self-righteous as though I’d just put a new skirt braid on my skirt, and I don’t know of anything that makes one feel more so. If I can make five pounds a day for six days I’d have a pretty good supply on hand for Saturday, my ‘opening day.’ My, doesn’t that sound business-like? Nornie, don’t you wish you’d taken to a commercial rather than a professional life? Come on Jean, the others will die of envy when they see our candy booth spread and spread until it swallows up all the office space in the Arcade,” and catching up the saucepan in which she had made her candy, Constance began to beat a lively tattoo upon the bottom of it, as an accompaniment to her whistling, as, still enveloped in her big apron, she pranced about the kitchen. Jean, also in gingham array, promptly joining in, for Jean’s resentment had vanished since she had been taken into the girls’ confidence and “entered the partnership” as she called it.
In a day or two another message came over the ’phone to Constance, asking her to call at the Arcade, the following afternoon.
Upon reaching there at three o’clock, she was met by Mr. Porter, who had been on the lookout for her.
“Glad you’ve come, little girl! Glad to see you,” he said heartily. “Come and look at your cubby and tell me what you think of it. I think it great.” While he talked Mr. Porter led the way to the rear of the Arcade. As they drew near the stairway, Miss Willing glanced up, gave an indifferent nod in answer to Constance’s “How do you do, Miss Willing?” and turned to her ’phone. Miss Willing much preferred being the center of attraction beneath the stairs, and was not enthusiastic over the thought of sharing her corner with “one of them big-bugs, as they think themselves.” Could she have known it, this girl, whom she was so stigmatizing, felt herself a very tiny bug indeed in the world in which Miss Willing dwelt, and secretly stood in considerable awe of the young lady who could look with so much self-assurance into the eyes of the patrons of her ’phone booth, and smile and joke with old and young men alike. There were always several around the booth. Constance wondered why they seemed to have to wait so long to have their calls answered. Her own ’phone calls at home were answered so promptly. However, while these sub-conscious thoughts passed through her brain, the more wide-awake portion of it was taking in the changed appearance of her cubby’s corner.
Mr. Porter had lost no time and spared no trouble, and the Arcade’s carpenter to whom he had given instructions to “do that job in shape and mighty quick,” had followed those instructions to a dot. There was the cubby, the wood all carefully painted in white enamel, the portable shelves made of sheets of heavy glass. A high railing and gate shut off one end, giving ingress to the proprietor, and privacy if she wished at any time to stay at her counter for awhile. On the lower shelf of the counter stood a little cash box divided into two sections: One for bills the other for silver. Just above it was a small white sign upon which was plainly painted in dark blue letters:
“Constance B.’s Candies.”
Take what you wish.
Leave cost of goods taken.
Make your change from my cash box.
Respecting my patrons’ integrity,
Constance B. C.
Kindly close the door.
Constance clasped her hands and gave a little cry of delight. All her ideas were so perfectly carried out.
“Oh, Mr. Porter, it is perfectly fascinating! How good you are! How am I ever going to pay for it though? I had no idea you were going to so much trouble and expense.”
“But you don’t have to pay for it. Every office has to be fitted up for its tenant’s needs you know, or he wouldn’t rent it. So I had to have your cubby fitted up for yours. Now you can stock up as soon as you’re a mind to. And, by-the-way, those boxes will be along to-morrow morning. I told them they must hustle, and they have. Are your photos ready to paste on ’em?”
“Yes, they came home last evening; at least six dozen of them did, and the rest will come next week. I’ll send them to the box manufacturers for the next lot and they can be put right on there. It will save our time.”
“Good! Twelve dozen boxes will be delivered this time, and the rest will be along pretty soon. Send your photos to them as quickly as you can. I’m glad you like your cubby.”
“Like it! Why I’d be the most ungrateful girl that ever lived if I didn’t like it. It’s just simply splendid! But a whole year’s rent won’t pay you back I’m afraid.”
“Don’t care whether it does or not. Mean to make you sign a five years’ lease next time. When will you stock up?”
“Mammy is coming over with me early Saturday morning. Just think we have already made over twenty-five pounds of candy. I want to have fifty on hand to start with. Do you think I’ll ever sell it?” and the pretty girlish face was raised to Mr. Porter’s with the most winning of smiles.
“Little flirt! I wonder if she knows he has daughters as old as she is,” muttered the girl at the ’phone. Constance was quite unconscious of either look or comment.
“Of course you’ll sell it. Mark my word it will go like hot cakes,” was the encouraging answer.
“I hope so. And thank you again and again for all you have done. Good-bye. Please tell your daughters what a proud girl you have made me,” and the little gloved hand was held toward him. He shook it warmly and walked with her to the front door. As he turned to go back a man who occupied a cigar stand near the door nodded and said with a laugh:
“Got a new tenant, Mr. Porter? Goin’ to let us have another pretty girl to talk to?”
“I’ve got a new tenant, yes, Breckel, but, unless I am very much mistaken, you will not talk to her a great deal, and when you do you’ll take your hat off, and toss away your cigar. It’s a pity we can’t have a few more such girls in our business world. It would raise the standard considerably. Men would find a better occupation than making fool speeches to them then. Mark my word that little woman will succeed.”
“I’m sure I hope she will if she’s the right stuff,” answered Breckel, the laugh giving place to a more earnest expression and tone of voice, which proved that the man, like most of his stamp, had something good in him to be appealed to.
At last the eventful morning arrived. Constance and Mammy were astir long before the clock struck six, and the candy kettles were bubbling merrily. Constance was pulling her big lump of molasses candy when Jean came bounding into the kitchen arrayed in her little night toga.
“Bress my soul!” cried Mammy. “Wha’ yo’ doin’ down hyer? Kite long back dis minit. Does yer want ter kitch yo’ deaf cold?”
“But Connie didn’t call me, and I said I’d help,” protested Jean.
“He’p! He’p! Yo’ look lak yo’ could he’p, don’t yo’? stannin’ dar dressed in nuffin in de worl’ but yo’ nightie an’ yo’ skin. Clar out dis minit befo’ I smack yo’ wid dis hyer gre’t spoon,” and Mammy made a dive for the culprit as she darted away.
A few hours later the candy boxes were in the bottom of the phaeton, Constance mounting guard over them while Mammy acted as Jehu.
When the Arcade was reached Mammy descended from the phaeton, blanketed Baltie, and then taking one of the large boxes in which the smaller ones were packed, said:
“Now honey, yo’ tek anodder—No, not two of ’em—dey’s too heavy fo’ you; I’ll come back fo’ dose. Now walk ’long head ob me, kase I want dese hyer folks what’s a-starin’ at us lak dey aint neber is seen anybody befo’, ter unnerstan’ dat I’se yo’ sarvint, an’ here fer ter pertec’ yo’. An’ I ain’ gwine stan’ no nonsense needer.”
“You need not be afraid Mammy. Everybody is just as kind and lovely as possible.”
“Huh! Dey’d better be,” retorted Mammy, with a warning snort.
In a short time the little booth made a brave showing with its quarter-pound, half-pound, and pound boxes of candy, each tied with pretty ribbon, and each bearing upon its cover the smiling face of its young maker.
When Miss Willing found a chance to take a sly peep at them she turned her head and sneered as she murmured: “Well, of all the conceit. My! Ain’t she just stuck on that face of hers though.”
Scarcely was all arranged, when Mr. Porter appeared upon the scene.
“Just in time to be the first customer,” he cried gayly. “How are you this morning? How-de-do, Auntie? Ah, you see I know your partner now. What all have you got here anyhow?” he continued as he peered into the cases. “Pralines, plain fudge, nut fudge, molasses candy, cream walnuts, caramels, butter-scotch. I say! You’ve been working, little girl, haven’t you?”
“Lak ter wo’k her finges mos’ off,” asserted Mammy.
“They’re none of them missing, though,” laughed Constance, holding up the pretty tapering fingers to prove her words.
“Then give me my candies, quick! I can’t wait another minute. You can almost see my mouth water like my old hunting dog’s.”
“Which kind will you have Mr. Porter?”
“All kinds of course!”
“Not really?”
“Yes, really. Do you think I’m going to miss any of the treat? Biggest boxes, please.”
Constance lifted from the case a pound box of each variety.
“How much?” asked Mr. Porter.
“Why nothing to you? How could I?” she asked, coloring at the thought of accepting more from him.
“Now see here, young lady, that won’t do. You can’t begin that way. Your business has got to be spot cash. Don’t forget that, or you’ll get into difficulties,” said her customer with a warning nod of his head.
“As near as I can make out Mr. Porter, it’s just the other way about; I’m getting my cash in advance. Now please listen to me,” said Constance very seriously, an appealing look in her expressive eyes. “You have done a great deal for me in arranging this booth so attractively, and encouraging me in every way. In addition to that you have ‘taken stock,’ as you call it, in the venture. Very well, I call it simply advancing capital. Now I shall never feel at ease until that sum is paid off, and one way for me to do it is to let you have all the candy you want. No—wait a minute; I haven’t finished,” as Mr. Porter raised his hand in protest. “If you will promise to come to the booth for all the candy you want, I will charge you just the same for it as I charge the others, but it must go toward canceling my obligation so far as money can cancel it. Now, please, say yes, and make my opening day a very happy one for me. Otherwise I shall have to refuse to let you have any candy until I have paid back the hundred dollars. Isn’t that right and fair, Mammy?” she asked, turning to look into the kind old face beside her.
“Hits jist de fa’r an’ squar’ livin’ truf. Hit suah is, Massa Potah. Ain’ no gittin’ roun’ dat. We-all cyant tek no mo’ ’vestments ’dout we gibs somepin fer ter mak hit right. Miss Constance, know what she a-sayin’.”
The gay bandanna nodded vigorously to emphasize this statement.
Mr. Porter looked at them for a moment, and then broke into a hearty laugh.
“I give it up!” he cried. “Have it your own way, but if I eat sweets until I lose all my teeth, upon your heads be the blame. It isn’t every man who has a hundred dollars worth to pick from as he chooses.”
“You won’t have very long, because I expect to pay back in more ways than just candies,” cried Constance, merrily.
“But you surely don’t want all that?” she added, laying her hands upon the seven boxes lying upon the counter.
“Yes, I do! My soul, if she isn’t trying to do me out of my own purchases. Here, young lady, give me those boxes. I want them right in my own hands before you have some new protest to put forth,” and hastily piling his seven pounds of candy upon his arm, Mr. Porter fled for the elevator, leaving Mammy and Constance to laugh at his speedy departure.
At length all was arranged, the booth with its array of dainty boxes making a brave display.
Constance and Mammy stood for a moment looking at it before taking their departure, well pleased with the result of their undertaking. Then with a pleasant good morning to Miss Willing, whose eyes and ears had been more than busy during the past hour, they departed, leaving the little candy booth, its cash box, and its very unusual announcement upon the sign which swung above it, to prove or disprove the faith which one young girl felt in her fellow beings.
One month had passed since the eventful opening day. A month of hard, incessant work for Constance, Mammy and Jean, who insisted upon doing her share. It was nearly March, and the air already held a hint of spring. The pussy-willows were beginning to peep out upon the world, and in sheltered spots far away in the woodland the faint fragrance of arbutus could be detected.
From her opening day, Constance’s venture had prospered, and the little candy booth’s popularity became a fact assured. Up betimes every morning, Constance had her kettles boiling merrily and by seven o’clock many pounds of candy were ready to be packed in the dainty boxes. Then came Jean’s part of the work and never had she failed to come to time. True to her word to be a “sure-enough partner,” she was up bright and early and had her candies wrapped and packed before her breakfast was touched. Mammy and Baltie, soon became familiar figures in South Riveredge, and many of Constance’s patrons believed the old woman to be the real mover of the enterprise. How she found time to convey the candy boxes to the booth, arrange them with such care, collect the money deposited there the previous day by the rapidly increasing number of customers, and still reach home in time to prepare the mid-day meal with her usual care, was a source of wonder to all. Yet do it she did, and her pride and ambition for the success of the venture rivaled Constance’s. Failure was not even to be dreamed of. No one ever guessed the hours stolen from her sleep by the good soul to make up for the hours stolen from her daily duties, but many a night after bidding the family an ostentatious “good-night, ladies,” and betaking herself to her bedroom above stairs, did she listen until every sound was hushed and then creep back to her kitchen and work softly until everything was completed to her satisfaction.
Friday afternoons and Saturdays, Constance took matters into her own hands, and she soon discovered that another mode of transportation for her candy would be imperative, so rapidly was the demand for Constance B.’s Candies increasing. So after the first two weeks the local expressman was pressed into service, and the old colored man, who for years had run the elevator in the Arcade, received the boxes upon their delivery.
The way in which the old man had scraped acquaintance with Mammy, caused Mr. Porter considerable amusement. Mammy’s intercourse with the colored people she had met since coming North, had not been calculated to increase her respect for her race. Finding “Uncle Rastus” at the North, she instantly concluded that he had been born and raised there. That, like herself, he might have been transplanted, she did not stop to argue. But one day when Mammy was struggling with an unusually large consignment of candy, Uncle Rastus hurried to offer his services “to one ob de quality colored ladies,” as he gallantly expressed it. This led to a better understanding between the two old people, and when Mammy discovered that Rastus had been born and raised in the county adjoining her own, and that his old master and hers had been warm friends, Rastus’ claim to polite society was indisputable, and from that moment, Mammy and Rastus owned the Arcade, and the courtly old negro, and dignified old negress caused not a little amusement to Constance B.’s customers, and the people who frequented the Arcade. It would be hard to tell which grew to take the greater pride in the venture, for Rastus had all the old antebellum negro’s love and respect for his white folks and Mammy lost no opportunity for singing the praises of hers. And thus another member was added to the firm and Constance’s interests were well guarded.
Not once since launching upon her venture had Constance met with any loss. The little cash box invariably held the correct amount to balance the number of boxes taken from the booth, and the returns surprised Constance more than anyone else.
“I tell you I’m going to be a genuine business woman, see if I’m not,” she cried, after balancing her accounts one Saturday evening. “Why just think of it Mumsey, dear, here are fifteen dollars over and above all expenses for the week. If I continue like this I’ll be a million_nairess_ before I know what has happened. How are you flourishing, Nornie? Are your Pegasus Ponies as profitable?”
“Not quite, but I’m hopeful,” laughed Eleanor. “Some of them are spavined in their minds, I fear. At any rate they don’t ‘arrive’ as quickly as I’d like to have them in spite of all my efforts. However, they are not going backward, and I dare say that ought to gratify me, especially when they are willing to pay me two dollars an hour for helping them to stand still. I can’t make such a showing from driving my coach as you can make from wielding your big spoon, Connie dear, but ten dollars added to your fifteen will keep the wolf from the door, won’t it little mother?” ended Eleanor, laying her hand upon her mother’s shoulder.
Mrs. Carruth rested her cheek upon it as she replied:
“What should I do without my girls? I am so proud of my girls! So proud!—yet I cannot realize it all.”
“You haven’t got to do without us. We’re here to be done with, aren’t we, Nornie?” cried Constance, gayly.
“We certainly are,” was the hearty response.
“Then why don’t you add my part?” demanded Jean, who had faithfully made her journeys to the Irving School each Saturday morning, and upon each occasion returned triumphant with her candy box empty, but her little coin bag well filled with dimes, for her customers were always on the lookout for her.
“I have, Honey. It is all included in the amounts set down here,” answered Constance.
“Yes, but I want to know just which part of it is mine. How much did I sell last Saturday and how much to-day?” persisted Jean.
“Twenty-five packages last Saturday and eighteen this. Forty-three in all. Four dollars and thirty cents in two weeks, and four dollars in your first two weeks. Eight dollars and thirty cents all told, little girl. Two dollars seven and a half cents a week. I call that pretty good for a ten-year-old business woman, don’t you, Mumsey, dear?”
“I call it truly wonderful,” was Mrs. Carruth’s warm reply.
“What do you think of it, Mammy?” cried Constance. “Aren’t we here to be done with after that showing?”
“Done wid what?” promptly demanded Mammy, who had no intention of committing herself before becoming fully informed of all the facts.
“Done everything with. Made use of. Worked for all there is in us. Made to pay for ourselves. Isn’t that right, Mammy? Say ‘yes’ right off. Say ‘yes’ Mammy, because that’s why we are big, and young, and strong, and happy, and anxious to prove that we are the ‘banginest chillern’ that ever were. You’ve said so hundreds of times, you know you have, so don’t try to go back on it now. Aren’t we just right, Mammy? Successful business women and a firm of which you are proud to be a member? The Carruth Corporation, bound to succeed because, unlike other corporations, it has a soul, yes, four of ’em, and can prove that a corporation with four souls can outstrip any other ever associated. Mine’s as light as a feather this minute, so let’s prance,” ended Constance, springing toward Mammy, to catch her hardened hands in her own warm ones, and give a beckoning nod to Jean and Eleanor, who were quick to take her hint. The next instant a circle was formed around Mrs. Carruth’s chair, the girls singing in voices that made the room ring.
“Mammy, dear,
Listen here,
Isn’t this a lark?
Every day,
Work and play,
And each to do her part.”
While poor old Mammy sputtered and protested as she pounded around with them willy-nilly.
“Bangin’est chillern! Bangin’est chillern! Huh! I reckons you is! Huh! Let me go dis minit! Miss Jinny! Miss Jinny! Please ma’am, make ’em quit. Make ’em let loose ob me! Dar! You hear dat? Eben Baltie heer yo’in’ holler. Bres Gawd, I believes he’s ’fronted kase he lef’ outen de cop’ration. Dat’s hit! He’s sure is. Let me go dis minit, I say. He gotter be part ob it,” and giving a final wrench from the detaining hands, Mammy rushed away crying in answer to old Baltie’s neigh, which had reached her ears from his stable:
“Yas, yas, Baltic hawse, Mammy done heard yo’ a-callin’ an’ she’s a-comin’; comin’ to passify yo’ hurt feelin’s case you’s been left outen de cop’ration. Comin’, honey, comin’.”
About this book:
Original publication data:
Title: Three Little Women, A Story for Girls
Author: Gabrielle E. Jackson
Publisher: John C. Winston Company
Copyright: 1913, by John C. Winston Company