Dawson Black: Retail Merchant Part 56

"Nothing," smiled Barlow, "only I just wondered if you couldn't give young Black here a little longer on that note. He's all right. Would you give him a little longer if I endorsed his note?"

"Look here, Mr. Barlow," snapped Blickens, "you've interfered once or twice in my business. I told Black that I'd give him till twelve o'clock to take up that mortgage. If he is going around whining after I have helped him, I'll give him no time at all. He must pay the money right here and now--or I'll foreclose at once."

"Pay him, Dawson," said Barlow, quietly.

"I won't accept a check--it isn't legal tender, and his check wouldn't be any good either."

By this time I had pulled out the roll of money, and say, it did me good to see Blickens' eyes. They stuck out of his head so far you could have knocked them off with a stick. He fairly gurgled with disappointment, but there was nothing else to do but take his medicine, which he did none too graciously.

I gave Barlow a demand note, with the farm as collateral, to cover the loan he had made me. I felt safer; but it wasn't my fault that I hadn't lost my farm. What a lot of trouble borrowing money gets one into!

When I got home from this episode, which had started me so unpleasantly, but which had finished so well for me, I found a letter from Larry Friday, in which he said that he found he had been stung badly on the store, and he didn't know whether he would be able to carry it on or not. He hoped, however, before the note matured, to find _some_ of the money, but would see eventually that I got paid back what I would have to pay. I felt positively sick.

I was sitting by Betty's bedside when I read the letter, and she noticed my face change.

"What is it, boy dear?"

I silently pa.s.sed the letter over to her and waited for her to say, "I told you so." Some women are wonderful--aren't they? She said nothing of the sort, but patted my hand and said:

"Too bad, but never mind, dear, I'd much sooner you'd lose a few dollars because you've such a big heart, than have you make a lot of money by being like Blickens."

I realized that I would have to set to and save every penny I could to apply against that note when it came due. There was still a month to get together whatever money I could, but it was going to spoil some selling plans I had wanted to try for the store. Never again, would I endorse a note for any man! I have certainly learned my lesson. But why, oh why, couldn't I have profited by other people's experience instead of having to learn business methods by my own? The tuition fee in the school of experience is mighty high.

Now, I must tell you the dreadful scare we had a few nights later. At eleven-thirty at night--just as I was impatiently walking the floor of our little sitting-room, while the doctor was upstairs with Betty, I heard the fire engine dash past the end of the street. At the same time I saw a huge tongue of flame shoot above the house, with the accompaniment of a dull roar. The flame was in the direction of my store, and, of course, my first thought was that my store had caught fire again--or that Stigler had fired it.

For the last few months Stigler had been acting queerly. He used to stand across the road from my store and nervously bite his finger nails.

Then he would unconsciously rub his forehead in a slow methodical way.

After a time he would return to his own store, would gaze into the windows and mutter incoherently to himself. I felt that Stigler had for some time been on the verge of a nervous breakdown. Business had been going very badly with him, I knew, because a jobbing house from which I bought had stopped his credit.

During the previous three weeks he had been selling goods at ridiculous prices. Not satisfied with normal cuts, he in many cases had sold goods below cost. It had worried me, and I had told Barlow, who had said to let him alone, as a price cutter was a hog and would eventually finish by cutting his own business throat, and he had advised me to keep clear of Stigler, as he (Stigler) attributed all his misfortunes to my compet.i.tion--and he hadn't forgiven me for winning Betty.

Well, to get back to that fatal night. I saw the nurse in the corridor, so I told her that I would be home again in a few minutes, and not to tell Mrs. Black that there was a fire. I then grabbed my hat and ran down the street.

I found it was not my store, but Stigler's. It was a most horrible, but fascinating, sight. The body of the store was blazing like a furnace.

The bright red glow from it shone across the road and its light, dancing upon the faces of the crowd watching the fire, made an eerie sight.

Little tongues of fire were already shooting out of the upstairs windows, while one side of the roof was well alight. Little running streams of flame kept playing backwards and forwards across it, and, even while I watched, there was another roar and part of the roof collapsed.

I knew the fireman who was holding the horses' heads. "Some fire," I said to him in an undertone.

"You bet it is," he replied curtly; "the beggar set it himself."

"Nonsense!" I said incredulously.

"The place has been saturated with gasoline. A fire couldn't catch like that in so brief a time. It will be a pretty serious matter for Stigler, believe me."

My brain was in a whirl with the roar and crash of the fire, the light glowing all around. The knowledge that Stigler had fired his own store and the fact that I was the man he had openly blamed for his misfortune gave me an impression of deep apprehension. Yet somehow I felt sorry for Stigler, for, while he had all the time been competing with me, I had never competed with him; although, goodness knows, I probably would have done so had it not been for the wiser council of Barlow.

While I stood there, wondering and anxious, I felt some one near me.

Why, I don't know, but my feeling of apprehension was now accompanied by intense horror. I wanted to turn and see who it was--and yet I positively dreaded to. In a moment I heard a voice hiss in my ear:

"I hope yer satisfied now. That's your work. You--you were the cause of that. You've been the ruin of an honest man, but yer sha'n't live to enjoy yer victory--"

I turned and saw Stigler--his face chalky white--his blood-shot eyes wide and staring; a little saliva trickling from the corner of his mouth. Just then another crash came and a flame shot skyward. It played upon his face and gave him the appearance of some evil spirit. I put my hands up just as he leaped toward me. I felt his fingers tightening around my throat. I tried to shout, but couldn't--only beating my fists upon his face.

It was over as quickly as it started, for the crowd instantly tore him from me. At last my scattered wits recalled what had happened, and I saw Stigler being marched away shrieking and laughing crazily.

Two good souls took hold of me, one by each arm, and led me away from the scene of the fire. After a few minutes I regained my self-control, and remembered what was taking place at home. I asked my friends to go that far with me. As we reached the end of our street a policeman came to me and said, "Can you tell me anything about Stigler?"

"Not to-night," I replied.

"Will you report to the police station in the morning? We'll probably want you."

"What for?"

"Well, Stigler has just died." . . .

Poor Stigler--he had been his own worst enemy and had paid a heavier price than any one else would have demanded of him!

My thoughts were really sad as I opened the door of my home--home? yes, indeed! For as soon as I entered the house I knew it was a dearer home than it had ever been.

The doctor was downstairs, smiling.

"Tell me, doctor, quick--what is it?"

"Well, Daddy," he said kindly, "would you like to see your little boy?"

"How's Betty?" was my answer to him.

"Doing splendidly."

"Can I?--"

"Don't look so worried. This thing is happening every day, all over the country."

THE END