A MATTER OF BUSINESS

BY SINCLAIR LEWIS

Author of Main Stred

CANDEE'S sleeping porch faced theeast. At sunrise every morning he

startled awake and became a poet.He yawned, pulled up the gray camp-

ing blanket which proved that he hadonce gone hunting in Canada, pokedboth hands behind his neck, settled downwith a wriggling motion, and was ex-ceedingly melancholy and happy.

He resolved, seriously and all at once,to study music, to wear a rose down tobusiness, to tell the truth in his adver-tisements, and to start a campaign fora municipal auditorium. He longed toleap out of bed and go change the entireworld immediately. But always, as sun-rise blurred into russet, he plunged hisarms under the blanket, sighed, "Funnywhat stuff a fellow will think of at sixG.M.," yawned horridly, and was asleep.Two hours afterward, when he sat on theedge of the bed, rubbing his jaw in thehope that he could sneak out of shavingthis morning, letting his feet ramblearound independently in search of hisslippers, he was not it poet. He was Mr.Candee of the Novelty Stationery Shop,Vernon.

He sold writing paper, Easter cards,bronze book-ends, framed color prints.He was a salesman born. To him it wasexhilaration to herd a hesitating cus-tomer; it was pride to see his clerks,Miss Cagerty and the new girl, imitatehis courtesy, his quickness. He wasconscious of beauty. Ten times 'a weekhe stopped to gloat over a print in whicha hilltop and a flare of daisies expressedall the indolence of August. But-andthis was equally a part of him-he wasdelighted by "putting things over." Hewas as likely to speculate in a broken lotof china dogs as to select a stock of

chaste brass knockers. It was he whohad popularized Whistler in Vernon, andhe who had brought out the "Oh My!Bathing Girl," pictures.

He was a soldier of fortune, was Can-dee; he fought under any flag whichgave him the excuse. He was as muchan adventurer as though he sat on arampart wearing a steel corselet insteadof sitting at a golden-oak desk wearing ablue-serge suit.

Every Sunday afternoon the Candeesdrove out to the golf club. They camehome by a new route this Sunday.

"I feel powerful. Let's do some ex-ploring," said Candee.

He turned the car off the Boulevard.down one of the nameless hilly roadswhich twist along the edge of every city.He came into a straggly country ofmarket gardens, jungles of dead weeds,unpruned erab-apple trees, and tall,thin houses which started as artificial-stone mansions and ended as unpaintedframe shacks. In front of a tar-papershanty there was a wild-grape arbor ofthick vines draped upon second-handscantlings and cracked pieces of mold-ing. The yard had probably never beenraked, but it displayed petunias in atub salvaged from a patent washingmachine. On a shelf beside the gate wasa glass case with a sign:

ToYs FOR THEE CHILRUN.

Candee stopped the car.In the case were half a dozen wooden

dolls with pegged joints-an old-mandoll with pointed hat, jutting blackbeard, and lumpy, out-thrust hands; aPierrot with a prim wooden cockade; aprincess fantastically tall and lean.

4~O HARPER'S MONTHLY MAGAZINE

"Huh! Hand made! Arts-and-graftsstuff!" said Candee, righteously.

"That's so," said Mrs. Candee.He drove on."Freak stuff. Abs'lutely grotesque.

Not like anything I ever saw!""That's so," said Mrs, Candee.He was silent. He irritably worked

the air-choke, and when he found thatit was loose he said, "Damn!" As forMrs. Candee, she said nothing at all.She merely looked like a wife.

He turned toward __her argumenta-tively. "Strikes me those dolls weredarn ugly. Some old nut of a hermitmust have made 'em. They were--theywere ugly! Eh?"

"That's so," said Mrs. Candee."Don't you think they were ugly?""Yes, I think that's so," said Mrs.

Candee, as she settled down to meditateupon the new laundress who was comingto-morrow.

Next morning Candee rushed into hisshop, omitted the report on his Sundaygolf and the progress of his game whichhe usually gave to Miss Cogerty, anddashed at the shelf of toys. He hadnever thought about toys as he hadabout personal Christmas cards or dia-ries. His only specialty for children wasexpensive juveniles.

He glowered at the shelf. It was dis-ordered. It was characterless. Therewere one rabbit of gray Canton flannel,two rabbits of papier-mache, and ninetubercular rabbits of white fur. Therewere sixteen dolls which simpered andlooked unintelligent. There were onetrain, one fire engine, and a device forhoisting thimblefuls of sand upon atrestle. Not that you did anything withit when you had hoisted it.

"Huh!" said Candee."Yes, Mr. Candee?" said Miss

Cogerty."Looks like a side-street notions

store. Looks like a racket shop. Lookslike a-looks like-- Aah!" said Candee.

He stormed his desk like a battalionof marines. He was stern. "Got to takeup that bum shipment with the Fressen

Paper Company. I'll write 'em a letterthat'll take their hides off. I won'ttype it. Make it stronger if I turn theole pen loose."

He vigorously cleared away a pile offancy penwipers-stopping only to readthe advertisement on an insurance blot-ter, to draw one or two pictures on anenvelope, and to rub. the enticing pale-blue back of a box of safety matcheswith a soft pencil till it looked silvery ina cross-light. He snatched his fountainpen out of his vest pocket. He lookedat it unrelentingly. He sharpened theend of a match and scraped a clot of inkoff the pen cap. He tried the ink supplyby making a line of O's on his thumb-nail. He straightened up, looked re-provingly at Miss Cogerty's back,slapped a sheet of paper on the desk-then stopped again and read his mail.

It did not take him more than an hourto begin to write the letter he was writ-ing. In grim jet letters he scrawled:F'RESSE1,...-COMPANY:

GENTLEMEN,-I want you to thoroughlyunderstand-

Twenty minutes later he had addednothing to the letter but a curlicue onthe tail of the "d" in "understand."He was drawing the picture of a woodendoll with a pointed hat and a flaringblack beard. His eyes were abstractedand his lips moved furiously;

"Makes me sick. Not such a whaleof a big shop, but it's distinctive. Notall this commonplace junk-souvenirsand bum valentines. And yet ourtoys- Ordinary! Common! Hate tothink what people must have been say-ing about 'em! But those wooden dollsout there in the country-they wereugly, just like Nelly said, but somehowthey kind of stirred up the imagination."

He shook his head, rubbed his tem-ples, looked up wearily. He 'saw thatthe morning rush had begun. He wentout into the shop slowly, but as hecrooned at Mrs. Harry McPherson, "Ihave some new light - weight Englishenvelopes-crossbar lavender with a

-A MATTER OF'BUSINESS

stunning purple lining," he was imper-turbable. He went out to lunch withHarry Jason and told a really new flivverstory. He did not cease his bustlingagain till four, when the shop was for amoment still. Then he leaned againstthe counter and brooded:

"Those wooden dolls remind me of-Darn it! I don't know what they doremind me of! -Like something- Cas-tles. Gypsies. Oh, rats! Brother Can-dee, I thought you'd grown up! Hey,Miss Cogerty, what trying do? bon'tput those Honey Bunny books there!"

At home he hurried through dinner."Shall we play a little auction with

the Darbins?" Mrs. Candee yawned."No. 1- Got to mull over some

business plans. Think I'll take a driveby myself, unless you or the girls have to .use the machine," ventured Candee.

"No. I think I might catch up on mysleep. Oh, Jimmy, the new laundressdrinks just as much coffeeas the last onedid !"

"Yes?" said Candee, looking fixedlyat a candle shade and meditating. "Idon't know. Funny, all the wild crazyplans I used to have when I was asid, Suppose those dolls remind me)f that."

He dashed out from dinner, hastilystarted the car. He drove rapidly past.he lakes, through dwindling lines ofipeculative houses, into a world of hazel-iut brush and small boys with furtivelogs. His destination was the tar-)aper shack in front of which he hadeen the wooden dolls.

He stopped with a squawk of brakes,rustled up the path to the wild-grape.rbor, In the dimness beneath it, squat-ing on his heels beside a bicycle, was anan all ivory, and ebony, ghost white.nd outlandish black. His cheeks and'eined forehead were pale, his beard wasdack and thin and square. Only his.ands were ruddy. They were brick-rednd thick, yet cunning was in them, andhe fingers tapered to square ends. He'as a mediseval monk in overalls, alindu indecently without his turban.

421

As Candee charged upon him he lookedup and mourned:

"The chain, she rusty."Now Candee was the friendliest soul

in all the Boosters' Club. Squatting, hesympathized:

"Rusty, eh? Ole chain kind of rusty!Hard luck, I'll say. Ought to use graph-ite on it. That's it-graphite. 'Memberwhen I was a kid-"

"I use graphite. All rusty before I gethim," the ghost lamented. His was adeep voice, and humorless and grave.

Candee was impressed. "Hard luck!How about boric acid? No, that isn'tit--chloric acid. No, oxalic acid. That'sit-oxalic! That'll take off the rust."

"Os-all-ic," murmured the ghost."Well, cheer up, old man. Some day

you'll be driving your own boat.""Oh! Say!"-the ghost was childishly

proud-"I got a phonograph!""Have you? Slick!" Candee became

cautious and inquisitive. He rose and,though actually he had not touched thebicycle, he dusted off his hands. Craft-ily: "Well, I guess you make pretty goodmoney, at that. I was noticing-"

"Reason I turned in, I noticed you hadsome toys out front. Thought I mightget one for the kids. What do youcharge?" He was resolving belliger-ently, "I won't pay more than a dollarper."

"I sharge fifty cent."Candee felt cheated. He had been

ready to battle for his rights and it wasdisconcerting to waste all this energy.The ghost rose, in sections, and amhiedtoward the glass case of dolls. He wastall, fantastically tall as his own toyemperors, and his blue-denim jacket wasthick with garden soil. Beside him Can-dee was rosy and stubby and distress-ingly neat. He was also uneasy. Herewas a person to whom he couldn't talknaturally .

"So youmake dolls, eh? Didn't knowthere was a toy maker in Vernon."

"No, I am nod a tOYmaker. I am asculptor." The ghost was profoundlysad. "But nod -de kine you fink. I do

422 HARPER'S MONTHLY MAGAZINE

not make chudges in plog hats to put oncourthouses. I would lige to. I wouldmake fine plog hats. But I am not rec-ognize. I make epitaphs in de monoo-ment works.: Huh!" The ghost soundedhuman now, and full of guile. "I am deonly man in dose monooment works datknow what 'R.I.P.' mean in de orizhinalGreek!"

He leaned against the gate andchuckled. Candee recovered from hisfeeling of being trapped in a particularlychilly tomb. He crowed:

"I'll bet you are, at that. But youmust have a good time making thesedolls."

"You lak dem?""You bet! I certainly do. 1-" His

enthusiasm stumbled. In a slightlyastonished tone, in a low voice, he mar-veled, "And I do, too, by golly!" Then:"You- I guess you enjoy making-"

"No, no! It iss not enjoyment. Deyare my art, de dolls. Dey are how Iget even wit' de monooment works. Ishould wish I could make him for a liv-ing, but nobody want him. One yearnow-always dey stand by de gate,waiting, and nobody buy one. Oh, well,I can't help dat! I know what I do, evenif nobody else don't. I try to makehim primitive, like what a child wouldmake if he was a fine craftsman like me.Dey are all dream dolls. And me, Imake him right. See! Nobody canbreak him!"

He snatched the Gothic princess fromthe case and banged her on the fence.

Candee came out of a trance of em-barrassed unreality and shouted: "Sureare the real stuff. Now, uh, the-uh-May I ask your name?"

"Emile J umas my name."Candee snapped his fingers. "Got it,

by golly!"" Pardon?""The Papa Jumas dolls! That's

their name. Look here! Have you gotany more of these in the house?"

"Maybe fifty." Jumas had beenroused out of his ghostliness.

"Great! Could you make five or six

a day, if you didn't do anything else andmaybe had a boy to help you?"

"Oh yez. No. Well, maybe four.""See here. I could- I have a little

place where I think maybe I could sell afew. Course you understand I don'tknow for sure. Taking a chance. But Ithink maybe I could. I'm J. T. Candee.Probably you know my stationery shop.I don't want to boast; but I will saythere's no place in town that touches itfor class, But I don't mean I couldafford to pay you any fortune. But"-all his caution collapsed-" Jumas, I'mgoing to put you across!" .

The two men shook hands a numberof times and made sounds of enthusiasm,sounds like the rubbing of clothes on awashboard. But Jumas Was stately irhis invitation:

"Will you be so good and step in t<have a leetle homemade wine?"

It was one room, his house, with a lofabove, but it contained a harp, a doubhbed, a stove, a hen that was doubtfuof strangers, a substantial Mamm:Jumas, six children, and forty-twiwooden dolls.

"Would you like to give up the monument works and stick to making these?glowed Candee, as he handled the dolls

Jumas mooned at him. "Oh ycz.'Ten minutes later, at the gate, Cande

sputtered: "By golly! by golly! Certainly am pitching wild to-night. Ncsafe to be out alone. For first time in mlife forgot to mention prices. Crazy aa kid-and I like it!" But he trieto sound managerial as he returnee"What do you think I ought to pay yoapiece?"

Craftily Papa Jumas piped: "I t'inyou sell him for more than fifty cenI t'ink maybe I ought to get fifty."

Then, while the proprietor of tlNovelty Stationery Shop wrung spirituhands and begged him to be carefiCandee the adventurer cried: "Do y<know what I'm going to do? I'm goiito sell 'em at three dollars, and I'm goiito make every swell on the Boulevabuy one, and I'm going to make 'E

- ' A MATTER OF BUSINESS

pay their three bones, and I'm going tomake 'em like it.l Yes, sir! And you gettwo dollars apiece!"

It Was not till he was on the sleepingporch, with the virile gray blanketpatted down about his neck, that Candeegroaned: "What have I let myself infor? And are they ugly or not?" Hedesired to go in, wake his wife, and askher opinion. He lay and worried, andwhen he awoke at dawn and discoveredthat he hadn't really been tragicallyawake all night, he was rather indignant.

Buthewas exhilarated at breakfast andlet Junior talk all through his oatmeal.

He came into the shop with a roar.••Miss Cogerty! Get the porter and havehim take all those toys down to thatracket shop on Jerusalem Alley thatbought our candlestick remainders. Godown and get what you can for 'em.We're going to have- Miss Cogerty,we're going to display in this shop a linef arts-and-crafts dolls that for artistic

execution and delightful quaintness-Say, that's good stuff for an ad. I'llput a ten-inch announcement in theCourier. I'll give this town one jolt.You wait!"

Candee did not forever retain his en-thusiasm for Papa Jumas dolls. Nor did;hey-revolutionize the nurseries of Ver-Ion. To be exact, some people liked.hem and some people did not like them.~nough were sold to keep Jumas occu-lied, and not enough so that at therreat annual crisis of the summer motorrip to Michigan, Candee could affordL nickel-plated spotlight as well as slipovers. There was a reasonable holidayale through the autumn following, andJways Candee liked to see them on thehelf at the back of the shop-thenedieevaldolls like cathedral grotesques,he Greek warrior Demetrios, and theaodern dolls-the agitated trafficpolice-Ian and the aviator whose arms Wererings. Candee and Junior played ex-lorer with them on the sleeping porch,nd with them populated a castle madef' chairs. '

428

But in the spring he discovered MissArnold's batik lamp shades.

Miss Arnold was young, Miss Arnoldwas pretty, and her lamp shades hadmany "talking points" for a salesmanwith enthusiasm. They were terra-cottaand crocus and leaf green; they hadflowers, fruit, panels, fish, and whirli-gigs upon them, and a few original deco-rations which may have been nothingbut spots. Candee knew that they wereeither artistic or insane; he was excited,and in the first week he sold forty ofthem and forgot the Papa Jumas dolls.

In late April a new road salesmancame in from the Mammoth Doll Cor-poration. He took Candee out to lunchand was secretive and oozed hints aboutmaking a great deal of money. Headmitted at last that the Mammoth peo-ple were going to put on the market adoll that" had everything else beat fourways from the ace." He produced aSkillyoolly doll. She was a simpering,star-eyed, fluffy, chiffon-clothed ladydoll, and, though she was cheaply made,she was not cheaply priced.

"The Skillyoolly drive is going to bethe peppiest campaign you ever. saw.There's a double market-not only thekids, but all these Janes that like to sticka doll up on the piano, to make the roomlook dressy when Bill comes calling.And it's got the snap, eh?"

"Why don't you-? The departmentstores can sell more of these than I can,"Candee fenced.

"That's just what we don't want todo. There's several of these fluff dollson the market-not that any of themhave the zip of our goods, of course.What We want is exclusive shops, thatdon't handle any other dolls whatever,so we won't have any inside competi-tion, and so we can charge a class price."

"But I'm already handling somedolls-"

"If I can show you where you cantriple your doll turnover, I guess we cantake care of that, eh? For one thing,we're willing to make the most generouson-sale proposition you ever hit."

4~4 HARPER'S MONTHLY MAGAzINE

The salesman left with Candee sam-ples of the Skillyoolly dolls, and a blankcontract. He would be back in this ter-ritory next month, he indicated, and hehoped to close the deal. He gave Candeetwo cigars and crooned:

"Absolutely all we want is to haveyou handle the Skillyoolly exclusivelyand give us a chance to show what wecan do. 'You tell 'em, pencil, you gotthe point!'''

Candee took the dolls home to hiswife, and now she was not merely wifelyand plump and compliant. She squealed.

"I think they're perfectly darling! Sohuggable-just sweet. I know you couldsell thousands of them a year. You musttake them. I always-thought the Jumasdolls were hideous."

"They aren't so darn hideous. Justkind of different," Candee said, uncom-fortably.

Next morning he had decided to takethe Skillyoolly agency-and he was aslonely and unhappy about it as a boywho has determined to run away fromhome.

Papa J umas came in that day andCandee tried to be jolly and superior.

"Ah there, old monsieur! Say, I mayfix up an arrangement to switch yourdolls from my place to the Toy andChina Bazaar."

Jumas lamented: "De Bazaar iss acheap place. I do not t'ink they ligemy t'ings."

"Well, we'll see, we'll see. Excuse menow. Got to speak to Miss Cogertyabout-about morocco cardcases-eard-cases."

He consulted Miss Cogerty and thelovely Miss Arnold of the batik lampshades about the Skillyoolly dolls. Both'of them squeaked ecstatically. Yet Can-dee scowled at a Skillyoolly standing onhis desk and addressed her:

"Doll, you're a bunch of fluff. Youmay put it over these sentimental fe-males for a while, hut you're no good.You're a rotten fake, and to charge twoplunks for you is the darndest nerve Iever heard of. And yet I might make a

thousand' a year clear out of you. Athousand a year. Buy quite a few cordtires, curse it!"

At five Miss Sorrell bought some cor-respondence cards. '

Candee was afraid of Miss Sorrell.She was the principal of a private school,He never remembered what she wore,but he had an impression that she wasclad entirely in well-starched four-plylinen collars. She was not a person to

.whom you could sell things. She lookedat you sarcastically and told you whatshe wanted. But the girls in her schoolwere fervid customers, and; though hegrumbled, "Here's that old grouch," heconcentrated upon her across the show·case.

When she had ordered the correspondence cards and fished the copper address plate out of a relentless seal purseMiss Sorrell blurted: "I want to telyou how very, very much I appreciatethe Papa Jumas dolls. They are th.only toys sold in Vernon that hav-imagination and solidity."

"Folks don't care much for themmostly. They think I ought to carr;some of these fluffy dolls."

"Parents may not appreciate themand I suppose they're so original thachildren take a little time getting use'to them. But my nephew loves hiJumas dolls dearly; he takes them tbed with him. We are your debtors fahaving introduced them."

As she' dotted out, Candee Was vowing: "I'm not going to have any of thosSkillyoolly hussies in my place! I'm-I'll fight for the Jumas dolls! I'll makpeople like 'em, if it takes a leg. I don'care if I lose a thousand a year on thenor ten thousand, or ten thousand milliotillion!"

It was too lofty to last. He reflectethat he didn't like Miss Sorrell. She haa nerve to try to patronize him! Ehastened to his desk. He made compttations for half an hour. Candee was airregular and temperamental cost acountant. If his general profit w:sufficient he rarely tracked down tl

"JUMAS, I'M GOING TO PUT YOU ACROSS!"

share produced by items. Now he foundthat, allowing for rent, overhead, andinterest, his profit on Papa Jumas dollsin the last four months had been fourdollars. He gasped:

"Probably could make 'em popular ifI took time enough. But-four dollars!And losing a thousand a year by nothandling Skillyoollys. I can't affordluxuries like that. I'm not in businessfor my health. I've gol a wife and kidsto look out for. Still, I'm makingenough to keep fat and cheery on, en-tirely aside from the dolls. Family don'tseem to be starving. I guess I can affordone luxury. 1- Oh, rats!"

He reached, in fact, a sure, clear, ring-ing resolution that he would stock Skilly-oolly dolls; that he'd be hanged if he'dstock Skillyoolly dolls; and that hewould give nine dollars and forty centsif he knew whether he was going to stockthem or not.

Aftcr thc girls had gone out that eve-ning he hinted to his wife: "I don'teally believe I want to give up the

Jumas dolls. May cost me a little profitfor a while yet, but I kind of feel obli-

VOL. CXLII.-:'-To. 850.-54

gated to the poor old Frcnchic, and thereally wise birds-you take this MissSorrell, for instance-they appreciate-"

"Then you can't handle the Skilly-oolly dolls?"

"Don't use that word! Skillyoolly!Ugh! Sounds like an old maid tickling ababy!"

"Now that's all very well, to be sosuperior and all-and if you mean thatI was an old maid when we were mar-ried-"

"Why, Nelly, such a thought nev'entered my head!"

"Well, how could I tell? You're sobound and determined to be arbitraryto-night. It's all very well to be char-itable and to think about that Jumas-and I never did like him, horrid, skinnyold man I-and about your dolls thatyou're so proud of, and I still insistthey're ugly, but I do think there's somefolks a little nearer home that you got toshow consideration for, and us goingwithout things we need-"

"Now I guess you've got about asmany clothes as anybody-"

"See here, Jimmy Candee! I'm not

,426 HARPER'S MONTHLY MAGAZINE

complaining about myself. I like prettyclothes, but I never was one to demandthings for myself, and you know it!"

"Yes, that's true. You're sensible-""Well, I try to be, anyway, and I

detest these wives that simply drivetheir husbands like they were pack-horses, but- It's the girls. Not thatthey're bad off. But you're like all theseother men. You think because a girl hasa new dancing frock once a year thatshe's got everything in the world. Andhere's Mamie crying her eyes out be-cause she hasn't got anything to wearto the Black Bass dance, and that hor-rible Jason girl will show up in silverbrocade or something, and Mamie thinksWin Morgan won't even look at her.Not but what she can get along. I'mnot going to let you work and slave forthings to put on Mamie's back. But ifyou're going to waste a lot of moneyI certainly don't see why it should go toa perfect stranger-a horrid old French-man that digs graves, or whatever it is-when we could use it right here athome!"

" Well, of course, looking at it thatway-" sighed Candee.

"Do you see?""Yes, but-there's a principle in-

volved. Don't know that I can make itclear to you, but I wouldn't feel as if Iwas doing my job honestly if I sold alot of rubbish."

"Rubbish? Rubbish? If there's anyrubbish it isn't those darling Skillyoollydolls, but those wretched, angular Jumasthings! But if you've made up yourmind to be stubborn- And of courseI'm not supposed to know anythingabout business! I merely scrimp andsave and economize and do the mar-keting!"

She flapped the pages of her magazineand ignored him. All evening she waspatient. It is hard to endure patience,and Candee was shaken. He was fondof his wife. Her refusal to support hisshaky desire to "do his job honestly"left him forlorn, outside the 'door of hercomfortable affection.

"Oh, I suppose I· better be sensible,"he said to himself, seventy or eightytimes.

He was taking the Skillyoolly con-tract out of his desk as a cyclone enteredthe shop, a. cyclone in brown velvet,white hair, and the best hat in Vernon-Mrs. Gerard Randall. Candee wentrejoicing to the battle. He was a sales-man. He was an artist, a scientist, andthe harder the problem the better.Mechanically handing out quires of note-paper to customers who took whateverhe suggested bored Candee as it wouldbore an exhibition aviator to drive atractor. But selling to Mrs, Randall wasnot a hare. She was the eternal dow-ager, the dictator of Vernon society, richand penurious and overwhelming.

He beamed upon her. He treacher-ously looked mild. He seemed edifiedbyher snort:

"I want a penholder for my desk thatwon't look like a beastly schoolroompen."

"Then you want a quill pen in mauveor a sea-foam green." Mrs. Randallwas going to buy a quill pen, or she wasgoing to die-or he was.

"I certainly do not want a quill pen,either mauve or pea-green or sky-bluebeige! Quill pens are an abomination,and they wiggle when you're writing,and they're disgustingly common."

"My pens don't wiggle. They havepatent grips-"

" Nonsense!""Well, shall we look at some other

kinds?"He placidly laid out an atrocious pen-

holder of mother-of-pearl and streakybrass which had infested the shop foryears.

"Horrible! Victorian! Certainly not!"He displayed a nickel penholder

stamped, "Souvenir of Vernon," a brit-tle, red wooden holder with a cork grip,and a holder of chased silver, verybulgy and writhing.

"They're terrible!" wailed Mrs. Ran-dall.

MISS ARKOLD'S LAMP SHADES HAD MANY "TALKING POINTS"

She sounded defenseless. He Hashedbefore her eyes the best quill in the shop,crisp, firm, tinted a faint rose..

" Well," she said, ~'eebly. She held it,wabbled it, wrote a sentence in the' agi-tated air. "But it wouldn't go with mydesk set," she attempted.

He brought out a .desk set of seal-brown enamel and in the bowl of shot hethrust the rose quill. " . ..

"How did you remember what mydesk set was like?"

"Ah! Could one forget?" He did notlook meek now; he looked insulting andcheerful. .

"Oh, drat the man! I'll take it. ButI don't want you to think for one mo-

ment that I'd stand being bullied thisway if I weren't in a hurry." .

He grinned. He resolved, "I'm goingto make the ole dragon buy three Jumasdolls-no, six! Mrs. Randall, I knowyou're in-a rush, but I want you tolook at something that will interest you."

"I sllPpose you're going to tell methat 'we're finding this line very popu-lar,' whatever it is. I don't want it."

"Quite the contrary. I want you tosee these because they haven't gone wellat all."

"Then why should I be interested?""Ah, Mrs. Randall, if Mrs. Randall

were interested, everybody else would'have to be."

4£8 IIARPER'S MONTHLY MAGAZINE

"Stop being sarcastic, if you don'tmind. That's my own province." Shewas glaring at him, but she 'wasfollowinghim to the back of the shop.

He chirped: "I believe you buy yourtoys for your grandchildren at theBazaar. But I want to show you some-thing they'll really like." He was hold-ing up a Gothic princess, turning herlanky magnificence round and round.As Mrs. Randall made an "aah" soundin her throat, ·he protested. "Wait!You're wrong. They're not ugly;they're a new kind of beauty."

"Beauty! Arty! Tea-roomy!""Not at all. Children love 'em. tm

so dead sure of it that I want- Let'ssee. You have three grandchildren. Iwant to send each of them two PapaJumas dolls. I'll guarantee- No.Wait! I'll guarantee the children won't

.care for them at first. Don't say any-thing about the dolls, but just leave 'emaround the nursery and watch. Insideof two weeks you'll find the children socrazy about 'em they won't go to bedwithout 'em. I'll send 'em up to yourdaughter's house ami when you getaround to it you can decide whether youwant to pay me or not."

"Humph·! You are very eloquent.But I can't stand here all day. Ask oneof your young women to wrap up four

or five of these things and put them inmy car. And put them on my bill. Ican't be bothered with trying to remem-ber to pay you. Good day!"

While he sat basking at his desk heremembered the words of the severeschoolmistress, :YI:issSorrell, "Only toysin Vernon that have imagination andsolidity."

"People like that, with brains, they'rethe kind. I'm not going to be a popcorn-and-lemonade seller. Skillyoolly dolls!Any ten-year-old boy could introducethose to a lot of sentimental females.Takes a real salesman to talk Jumasdolls. And- If I could only get Nellyto understand!"

Alternately triumphant and. melan-choly, he put on his hat, trying the effectin the little crooked mirror over thewater cooler, and went out to theBoosters' Club weekly lunch.

Sometimes the Boosters' lunches weregiven over to speeches; sometimes theywere merry and noisy; and when theywere noisy Candee was the noisiest. Buthe was silent to-day. lIe sat at the longtable beside Darbin, the ice-cream manu-facturer, and when Darbin chuckled in-vitingly, "Well. you old Bolshevik,what's the latest junk you're robbingfolks for?" Candee's answer was feeble.

SHE WAS A SDIPERING, STAR-EYED, f:HIFFON-<:TJOTHED LADY

HE STARED AT TilE TWO DOLL,>

"That's all right, now! 'S good stuff."He looked down the line of the

Boosters-men engaged in electrotypingand roofing, real estate and cigar mak-ing; certified accountants and teachersand city officials. He noted Oscar Sun-derquist, the young surgeon.

He considered: "I suppose they're allgoing through the same thing-quickturnover on junk versus building upsomething permanent, and maybe tak-ing a loss; anyway, taking a chance.Huh! Sounds so darn ridiculously easywhen you put it that way. Of course aregular fellow would build up the long-time trade and kick out cheap stuff.Only-not so easy to chase away athousand or ten thousand dollars whenit comes right up and tags you. Oh,gee! I dunno! I wish you'd quit fuss-ing like a schoolgirl, Brother Candee.I'm going to cut it out.': By way ofillustrating which he turned to hisfriend Darbin, "Frank, I'm worried.I want some advice. Will it bother youif I weep on your shoulder?"

"Go to it! Shoot! Anything I cando-"

He tried to make clear to Darbin howinvolved was a choice between PapaJumas and the scent pots of the Skilly-oolly. Darbin interrupted:

"Is that all that ails you? Cat's

sake! What the deuce difference does itmake which kind of dolls you handle?Of course you'll pick the kind thatbrings in the most money. I certainlywouldn't worry about the old French-man. I always did think those Jumasbiznai were kind of freakish."

"Then you don't think it matters?""Why, certainly not! Jimmy, you're

a good business man, some ways.You're a hustler. But you always wereerratic. Business isn't any jazz-banddance. You got to look at these thingsin a practieal way. Say, come on; thepresident's going to make a spiel. Kidhim along and get him going."

"Don't feel much like kidding.""I'll tell you what I think's the mat-

ter with you, Jimmy; your liver's onthe burn."

"Maybe you're right," croaked Can-dee. He did not hear the president'sannouncement of the coming clam-bake.He was muttering, in an injured way:"Damn it! Damn it! Damn it!"

He was walking back to the shop.He didn't want to go back; he didn't

care whether Miss Cogerty was sellingany of the ecrase sewing baskets or not.He was repeating Durbin's disgusted:"What differencedoes it make? Why allthe fuss?"

430 HARPER'S MONTIIL Y MAGAZINE

c c BESIDES," HE SHOUTED, "HOW DO WE KNOWTIlE SKILLYOOLYS WOULD SELL?"

"At most I'd lose a thousand a vear.I wouldn't starve. This little decision--'-nobody cares a hang. I was a.fool tospeak to Nelly and Darbin. Now they'llbe watching me. Well, I'm not going tolet 'em ..think I'm an erratic fool. TeiIwords ol'~pproval from a crank like thatSorrell woman isa pretty thi~ re-turn for years ofwork. Yes, 1'11-I'll be sensible."

He spent thelate afternoon infuriously re-ar~ranging the tableof vases and can-dlesticks. "Exer-cise, that's whatI need, not all thisgrousingaround,"he said. Butwhen he wenthome he had,without ever offi-cially admittingit to himself thathe was doing it,thrust a Jurnasdoll and a Skilly-oolly into hispocket, and these,in the absence ofhis wife, he hidbeneath his bedon the sleepingporch. With hiswife he had a strenuous and entirelyimaginary conversation:

"Why did I bring them home? Be-cause I wanted to. I don't see any needof explaining my motives. I don't in-tend to argue about this in any way,shape, manner, or form!" He looked athimself in the mirror, with admirationfor the firmness, strength of character,iron will, and numerous other virtues re-vealed in his broad nose and square-also plump-chin. It is true that hiswife came in and caught him at it, andthat he pretended to be examining hisbald spot. It is true that he listened

mildly to her reminder that for two weeksnow he hadn't rubbed any of the sulphurstuff on his head. But he marched down-stairs-b~hind her-with an imperialtread. He had solved his worry! Some-how, he was going to work it all out.

Just how he was going to work it outhe did not state.That detail mightbe left till afterdinner.

He did notagain think of thedolls hidden be-neath his bed tillhe had divedunder the blanket.Cursing a little,he erawlcd outand set them onthe rail of thesleeping porch.

He awoke,suddenly andsharply, at sun-up. He heard avoice-surely nothis own - snarl-ing: "Nobody isgoing to help you.If you want to goon looking for amagic way out-go right on look-ing. You won'tfind it!"

He stared atthe two dolls. The first sunlight was onthe Skillyoolly object, and in that in-tolerant glare he saw that her fluffydress was sewed on with cheap threadwhich would break at the first roughhandling. Suddenly he was out of bed,pounding the unfortunate Skillyoolly onthe rail, smashing her simpering face,wrenching apart her ill-jointed limbs,tearing her gay chiffon. He was dashinginto the bedroom, waking his bewilderedwife with:

"Nelly! Nelly! Get up! No, it's allright. But it's time for breakfast."

She foggily looked at her wrist watch

II

A MATTER OF BUSINESS

on the bedside table, and complained,"Why, it isn't but six o'clock!"

"I know it, but we're going to do astunt. D'you realize we haven't hadbreakfast just by ourselves and had achance to really talk since last summer?Come on ! You fry an egg and I'll startthe percolator. Come on!"

"Well," patiently, reaching for herdressing gown.

While Candee, his shrunken bathrobeflapping about his shins, excitedly putthe percolator together and attached itto the baseboard plug, leaving out noth-ing but the coffee, he chattered of theBoosters' Club.

As they sat down he crowed: "Nelly,we're going to throw some gas in the olecar and run down to Chicago and back,next week. How's that?"

"That would be very nice," agreedMrs. Candee.·

"And we're going to start readingaloud again, evenings, instead of all thisdoggone double solitaire."

"That would be fine."-os, and by the way, I've finally

made up my mind. I'm not going tomess up my store with that Skillyoollystuff. Going to keep on with the Jumasdolls, but push 'em harder."

"Well, if you really think-""And, uh- Gee! I certainly feel

great this morning. Feel like a milliondollars. What say we have anotherfried egg?"

"I think that might be nice," saidMrs. Candee, who had been married fornineteen years.

"Sure you don't mind about theSkillyoolly dolls?~'

"Why, no, not if you know what you

431

want. And that reminds me! How ter-rible of me to forget! When' you ranover to the Jasons' last evening, theSkillyoolly salesman telephoned thehouse-he'd just come to town. Heasked me if you were going to take theagency, and I told him no. Of courseI've known all along that you weren't.But hasn't it been interesting, thinkingit all out? I'm so glad you've beenfirm."

"Well, when I've gone into a thingthoroughly I like to smash it rightthrough. . . . Now you take FrankDarbin; makes me tired the way he'sfussing and stewing, trying to find outwhether he wants to buy a house inRosebank or not. So you-you told theSkillyoolly salesman no? I just won-der- Gee! I kind of hate to give upthe chance of the Skillyoolly market!What do you think?"

"But it's all settled now.""Then I suppose there's no use fuss-

ing- I tell you; I mean a fellowwantsto look at a business deal from all sides.See how I mean?"

"That's so," said Mrs. Candee, admir-ingly. As with a commanding step hewent to the kitchen to procure anotherfried egg she sighed to herself, "Sucha dear boy-and yet such a forceful

"man.Candee ran in from the kitchen. In

one hand was' an egg, in the otherthe small frying -pan. "Besides," heshouted, "how do we know the Skilly-oollys would necessarily sell so darnwell? You got to take everything likethat into consideration, and then decideand stick to it. See how I mean?"

"That's so," said Mrs. Candee.