GETTING UP TO DATE
By ROBERTA WAYNE
An American short story writer and contributor to magazines.
A realistic story differs from a romantic story in that it concerns the events of ordinary life. Its characters are the people whom we know,—those who move about us in daily life. Its plot centers around everyday events. Naturally a realistic story depends largely upon character interest.Getting Up To Dateconcerns such a simple thing as storekeeping, and the methods of attracting customers. Job Lansing, in the story, represents the type of person who clings to old ways. His niece, Ellie, represents the spirit of youth and progress,—the spirit of adaptability.The simplicity and familiarity of such a story is just as interesting as is wild adventure in the most vivid romance.
A realistic story differs from a romantic story in that it concerns the events of ordinary life. Its characters are the people whom we know,—those who move about us in daily life. Its plot centers around everyday events. Naturally a realistic story depends largely upon character interest.
Getting Up To Dateconcerns such a simple thing as storekeeping, and the methods of attracting customers. Job Lansing, in the story, represents the type of person who clings to old ways. His niece, Ellie, represents the spirit of youth and progress,—the spirit of adaptability.
The simplicity and familiarity of such a story is just as interesting as is wild adventure in the most vivid romance.
Old Job Lansing stood, hatchet in hand, and stared down into the big packing-case that he had just opened.
“El-lee,” he called, “come here quick.” And as footsteps were heard and the shutting of a door, he continued: “They've sent the wrong stuff. This isn't what we ordered!”
The girl buried her head in the box from which she brought forth bolt after bolt of dress goods, voiles with gay colors, dainty organdies, and ginghams in pretty checks and plaids. As she rose, her eyes glowed and instinctively she straightened her shoulders. “Yes, Uncle, it is what we ordered. I sent for this!”
“Youdid!” The old man trembled with rage.
“But, Uncle, they're so pretty and I think—”
“You can think and think as much as you please, but those goods will never sell. They'll just lie on the shelves.Youmay think they're pretty, but an Injin won't buy a yard of 'em, and it's Injins we're trading with.”
“But there's no reason why the squaws shouldn't buypretty dresses instead of ugly calico. There's more money in this, and it's a pleasure to sell such dainty stuff. Besides, we can sell to the white people. There's Mrs. Matthews—”
“I've heard all your arguments before, and I tell you, you'll never sell it.”
Old Job had never married. For many years he had lived alone in the rooms behind his store, and he had become self-centered and a bit fussy and intolerant. If he had realized how much his life was to be upset, he could never have brought himself to offer his widowed sister and her family a home; for he valued his quiet life, and, above all, he wanted to do things in his own way.
He was never at ease with the two nephews, who soon left to make their own way in the world.
But with Ellie it was different. Her affectionate ways won Job's heart. They were chums, often going together on long horseback rides to distant peaks that looked inviting. And as the girl developed, he loved to have her with him as he worked and he was delighted at her interest in everything in the little store. She even learned the prices of the goods and helped him.
Old Job had kept this store at the “summit” for thirty years, and he was sure he knew every side of the business. As long as he kept a good supply of beans and flour, that was all that was necessary. A good-sized Indian village lay down the creek about a mile, and it was from this settlement that Job Lansing got most of his trade.
The old man had come to the age when he lived mostly in the past. He liked to talk of the “glorious” days. “Things were lively around here then,” he used to say. “Why, for every dollar's worth I sell now, then I used to sell fifty dollars. They were the good old times!”
“But why?” questioned Ellie, bringing him sharply back to the present. “There are a lot more people here now and we should do better.” Then, with a gesture of impatience, “Uncle, there's no sense in it. We've got to get up to date. I don't blame Joe and Glenn for leaving. There's no future here.”
“Shucks!” said Job Lansing. “You don't know what you're talking about.”
But Ellie always managed to have the last word. “I'm going to dosomething! See if I don't!”
And she had done it!
For weeks, now, Job Lansing had been quite pleased with her. She had never been so reasonable. She had taken a great notion to cleaning up the store. Not that he approved of her moving the goods around; but still, it was a woman's way to be everlastingly fussing about with a dust-cloth. You couldn't change them.
He had decided that this new interest on Ellie's part came from the feeling of responsibility he had put upon her two months before when he had been called to Monmouth. His old mining partner was ill and wanted to see him. Before he went he gave his niece a few directions and told her how to make up the order for goods, that had to go out the next day. He rode away feeling that the business would be all right in her hands.
Now, as he stormed around the store, he realized why she had taken such an interest in the arrangement of the shelf space; why a gap had been left in a prominent place. It was for this silly stuff that wouldn't sell! He wanted to send it back, but, as it had been ordered, he would have to pay express on it both ways.
Ellie stood her ground, a determined expression in her face. She unpacked the heavy box and put the gay organdies and voiles in the places she had arranged for them. One piece, of a delicate gray with small, bright, magenta flowers in it, she left on the counter; and to the astonishment of the old man, she let a length of the dainty goods fall in graceful folds over a box placed beneath it.
This was one of the notions she had brought back from Phœnix, where she had gone on a spring shopping trip with Mrs. Matthews, wife of the superintendent at the Golden Glow mine. How she had enjoyed that day! Her eager eyes noted every up-to-date detail in the big stores where they shopped; but to her surprise, Mrs. Matthews had bought onlysuch things as they might easily have carried in her uncle's store—plain, but pretty, ginghams for the Matthews' children, a light-blue organdie for herself, a box of writing-paper, and a string of beads for Julie's birthday.
Ellie's pretty little head was at once filled with ideas that coaxed for a chance to become solid facts. Her uncle's trip to Monmouth gave her an opportunity, and, after weeks of waiting, the boxes had been delivered and the storm had broken.
When they closed the store for the night, Ellie was tired. She was not so sure of success as she had been. But, at least, she had made an effort to improve things. How she longed for her mother, absent on a two months' visit to one of her sons!
With the morning came new courage, even exhilaration, for unconsciously she was finding joy in the struggle; not as a diversion in the monotony and loneliness of her life, for Ellie did not know what monotony meant, and she felt herself rich in friends. She had two.
One was Louise Prescott at Skyboro, only ten miles away, daughter of a wealthy ranchman. They often visited each other, for each had her own pony and was free to come and go as she wished. And the other was Juanita Mercy, down the cañon in the opposite direction. Now, for the last two years, Louise had been away at school. But she was always thrilled at getting back to the mountains. She had returned the day before, and Ellie knew that early the next morning she would be loping her pony over the steep road that led to the little mountain store.
And it was when Ellie was standing guard over her new goods, fearing that her uncle might, in a moment of anger, order them to be sent back, that Louise rode up, and, throwing her reins forward over her pony's neck, leaped from the saddle and rushed into the store.
“Oh, Ellie! it's good to get back, and I have four months of vacation. Won't we have a grand time!—Why, you've been fixing up the store, Mr. Lansing; and how lovely it looks! I must have Mama come up and see these pretty summerthings.” Turning again to Ellie, she threw her arms around her and whispered: “Come on out and sit on our dear old bluff. I just can't get enough of the hills to-day, and I want to talk and talk and talk.”
But it was not Louise who did the talking this time. While her eyes were feasting on the gorgeous scenery before her, the dim trails that led up and up the steep mountain on the other side of the creek, Ellie unburdened herself of her troubles. She told how she had ordered the goods on her own responsibility.
“Why, Ellie, how could you do it? I'd never have had the courage!”
“But I justhadto, Lou. I don't want to leave the mountains, and I don't want to be poor all our lives. Uncle's getting old and set in his ways, and he can't seem to see that things are going behind all the time. Dear old uncle! He's been so good to us! And now I'd like to help him. I'm just trying to save him from himself.”
“And you will. I think it's fine!”
“Yes, it's fine, if—if—if!” exploded Ellie, who was not quite so optimistic as she had been in the morning. Several Indian women had come into the store, and while they stared in astonishment at the pretty goods displayed on the counter, they had gone out without buying anything.
Job Lansing had shrugged his shoulders, and while not a word had escaped him, his manner had said emphatically, “I told you so!”
“But where is there anyif, I'd like to know. You just have to sell all that stuff as fast as you can, and that will show him.”
“But if the squaws won't buy? They didn't seem wild about it this morning.”
“Well, you're not dependent on the squaws, I should hope. I'm going to tell Mother, and she'll come up, if I say so, and buy a lot of dresses.”
“Now, Lou Prescott, don't you dare! That will spoil everything. Uncle would say it was charity. You seeweare trading with squaws. Don't laugh, Louise! I must makegood! I justmust! But how am I going to make those squaws buy what I want them to buy? If Uncle would only plan and work with me, I know we could make a success of it. But he won't!”
“You should have invested in beads, reds and blues and greens, all colors, bright as you could get them.”
“That's a good idea, Lou. I'll do it. But they can't buy a string of beads without buying a dress to match it! I'll do it, Lou Prescott!”
An hour later, when they returned to the store, Job Lansing looked up from the counter, his face wrathful. He had just measured off six yards of pink organdie and was doing it up in a package for Joe Hoan's daughter. Job Lansing hated to give in. He had tried to get Lillie Hoan to wait until Ellie returned, but she had insisted, and so the old man was the first to sell a piece of the pretty goods. He did it ungraciously.
Ellie and Louise stood still and stared at each other. Then Ellie whispered: “It's a good omen. I'm going to succeed.”
And that night a second order was dispatched. Job Lansing made no objection, but he did not ask her what she had sent for.
The next two days were busy ones for Ellie. Her uncle fretted to himself, for not once did she come inside the store to help him. Louise came each day, and the two girls spent their time in Ellie's room, where the rattling sound of the old sewing-machine could be heard.
But on the third day Ellie was up early and was already dusting out the store when her uncle entered. It was Saturday, always a busy day. This pleased Job Lansing. “That girl has a pile of good sense along with this other nonsense,” he said to himself as he watched her.
About nine o'clock Louise arrived and entered quickly, throwing down a square package. “Here they are, Ell. He brought them last night. I came right over with them, but I have to hurry back. They are beauties, all right.”
The girls disappeared once more into the bedroom, where they could be heard laughing and exclaiming.
When Ellie emerged no one would have known her, for the little cowboy girl was dressed in a dainty voile with pink blossoms in it, and around her neck was a long string of pink beads that matched perfectly the flowers in her gown.
Job Lansing started as if he were going to speak, then suppressed the words and went on with his work. Ellie tried to act as if everything was the same as usual. Selecting some blues and pinks and greens among her ginghams and voiles, she draped them over boxes and tubs. Then across each piece she laid a string of beads that matched or contrasted well with the colors in the material, and waited for results.
And the result was that when Joe Phinney's wife, the squaw who helped them in the kitchen, came in with the intention of buying beans and flour, she took a long look, first at Ellie, then at the exhibit, and without a word turned and left. She did not hurry, but she walked straight back to the Indian village.
“Guess she was frightened,” commented Job.
Ellie was disappointed. She had depended on old Mary, and it was through her that she hoped to induce the other squaws to come. Some of them had never been in the store. They were shy, and left their men to do the buying.
Their sole visitor for the next hour was Phil Jennings, the stage-driver, who stopped in for the mail. “Well, well, what's all this about! Are you trying to outshine the stores in town, Miss Ellie? And how pretty you look this morning.”
“Yes, Mr. Jennings. We're going to have a fine store here by this time next year. Uncle's thinking of enlarging it and putting in an up-to-date stock. On your way down, you might pass the word along that our summer goods are in and that I have some beautiful pieces here for dresses, just as good as can be bought in Tucson or Phœnix. It's easier than sending away to Chicago.”
“Well, I sure will, Miss Ellie. Mother was growling the other day because she would have to go to Monmouth to buy ginghams for the kids.”
“Please tell her that next week I'm expecting some ready-madeclothes for children, and it will pay her to come up and see them.”
“I'll tell her,” said Phil Jennings, as he cracked his whip and started off. All he could talk about that day was “that clever little girl of Job Lansing's” who was going to make a real store at the summit and keep the mountain trade where it belonged.
“Where are you, Uncle?” called Ellie, as she came back into the store.
“I'm hiding!” said Job. “Ashamed to be seen. Enlarge the store! It's more than likely I'll have to mortgage it. And you drumming up trade that way. It isn't ladylike.”
“Well, it simply has to be done. He'll give us some good advertising down the road to-day. I wish there was some one I could send down the creek. I wonder if you couldn't ride down, yourself.”
But Job Lansing pretended not to hear.
Ellie did not feel as brave as her words indicated. She knew that their trade from day to day came from the Indian settlement, and looked disconsolately out of the window. But in a moment she gave an exclamation of joy and found herself shaking her uncle's arm. “Here they come, Uncle, dear! Here they come!”
“Who? What are you talking about?”
“The squaws! They're here in full force. Mary, the old darling, she's brought the whole tribe, I do believe!”
Ellie busied herself at the counter, trying to appear at ease when the Indian women filed into the store and stood gazing about them. She was impatient to know if they were pleased, but their impassive faces told nothing. She would just have to let them take their time. So she pretended not to notice them as they drew near to the counter, fingering the beads and dress-goods.
“How do you like my new dress, Mary?” Ellie turned on them suddenly. The squaws approached slowly and began to feel the cloth. Mary took hold of the beads and said, “Uh!” Then in a moment, “How much?”
Ellie's impulse was to throw her arms around Mary andhug her, but she was very dignified and grown-up as she answered calmly: “We don't sell the beads. They are not for sale!”
“Well of all things! Not for sale!” muttered Job, as he slipped through the rear door into the store-room and slammed it vehemently.
“They are not for sale, but we give a string of them to any one who buys a dress.”
Five of the squaws bought dresses, and each time a long string of beads was passed over.
In the afternoon, Ellie's watchful eyes caught the first glimpse of them as the same squaws, accompanied by others, rounded the curve in the path and came single file up the steep short-cut to the store.
Ellie counted her profits that night and was satisfied. Still, there were some twenty or twenty-five squaws in the settlement who had never been inside the store, and she made up her mind that they must be persuaded to come.
The next week a large packing-case arrived. Ellie was the one to wield the hatchet this time, for her uncle was still in an ungracious mood. The box was larger than she expected, but this was explained when it was opened. Two large dolls were inside—one with curly short hair and boyish face, and the other a real “girly” doll. A letter explained that with an order for children's ready-to-wear clothes it might be an advantage to have dolls on which to display them.
“I wonder!” said Ellie, to herself. “Look here, Uncle,” she called, as the old man came into the store; “see what they've sent me! Look at these pink and white dolls, when we're trading with Indians. Isn't it a joke?”
“A coat of brown paint is what you want,” said old Job, laughing a cynical laugh.
“You've hit it, Uncle! You certainly have dandy ideas! I shouldn't have thought of it.”
Then in a moment he heard her at the telephone giving a number. It was the Prescott ranch. “Hello, is that you, Louise? Can you come up to-day? I need you. All right. And Lou, bring your oil paints. It's very important.”
It was with much giggling and chattering that the two girls began their transformation of the pink-and-white dolls. Their bisque faces were given a thin coating of brown paint. The old man watched them from across the store and almost gasped as he saw them rip off the wigs. Then they retreated to the kitchen. He was so curious that he made several trips to the door and peeked through a crack.
What he saw was the two girls bending over a pot on the stove, which they were stirring furiously. Once in a while Ellie raised the stick with something black on the end, and finally the two dripping dolls' wigs were hung over the stove to dry. Of course the boiling had taken all the curl out of the hair, but that was what they wanted, for the two dolls were now brown-faced, dark-haired figures. They were arrayed in the ready-to-wear clothes, and the girls stood back to survey them.
“They look fine, Ellie! That is, yours does; but my girl here doesn't look quite right.”
Job Lansing was pretending to be busy. He turned and at once broke into a roar of laughter. “Well, when did you ever see a blue-eyed Injin?”
“Oh that's it, Ellie. Your doll had brown eyes, but mine are blue. What shall we do? It looks silly this way.”
“Paint 'em black!” chuckled the old man.
“Of course!” said Ellie. Then in a tone loud enough to carry across the store, “Isn't Uncle quick to notice things?” Ellie meant him to hear what she said, but she was none the less sincere, for she did have a high regard for her uncle's ability. She had said to Louise often in the last few days, “When I get Uncle started, there'll be no stopping him.” Still, the remark had been sent forth with a purpose.
Job Lansing gave the girl a quick glance. She was daubing brown paint on the girl-doll's eyes. He was pleased by her praise and no less by her readiness to take his advice.
The little dresses and suits sold quickly. Mrs. Matthews bought a supply, and told others about them.