CHAPTER XXIIGUESTS OF HONOR
Onemorning shortly after the recovery of the treasure Mr. Lorring called us into the bank.
“The first thing you young whippersnappers know,” he lit into us in his booming way, “you’re going to have a damage suit on your hands.”
“What’s wrong?” says Poppy, kind of anxious-like, his thoughts, of course, turning instantly to the canning company.
“WHAT’S WRONG!” came the increased thunder. “Look at me! I’m wasting away. In one week I’ve dropped from two-eighty to two-seventy-seven.”
We were grinning now. For we saw that he wasn’t really huffy. He was just pretending.
“It’s your confounded pickles,” he went on. “They’re interfering with my domestic affairs. In the morning my wife is in such a hurry to get over to the church that she doesn’t half prepare breakfast. She’s never home at noon. And at night the cry is that she’s ‘too tired to cook.’ To a man wholoves victuals, as I do, this is a hardship. And I’ve made up my mind to protest.”
“I don’t blame you,” grinned Poppy. “And the thing for you to do, Mr. Lorring, as I see it, is to help us start up a regular pickle factory. Then we can release the church women, and your wife will do her cooking at home.”
“Um ...” the gray eyes twinkled. “A pickle factory, heh? Think you can make a go of it?”
“I don’t see why we can’t.”
“Would it surprise you,” Mr. Lorring then looked at us curiously, “to know that yesterday afternoon I had a long talk with Mr. Foreman Pennykorn?”
“About us?” says Poppy quickly, his voice touched with uneasiness. For he realized, of course, that we had been called into the bank on a matter of importance.
“Partly. But our talk was mostly about pickles and community interests. Now, I know how you boys feel toward the canning company. It’s your idea that they gave you a crooked deal, and so you’ve got it in for them. On the other hand they’re equally bitter toward you, because of your interference. So, in a way, it’s six of one against a half dozen of the other. And any sensible concession from their side ought to be matched by a similar concession from your side. That’s good business. Naturally, under the circumstances, you want tofurther buck them by starting up a pickle factory of your own. And if you decide to go ahead on that plan, getting financial backing elsewhere, I can’t stop you. But I’m not sure that it would be the best thing for you to do, or, even more important, the best thing for the town. You might make a success of your new factory; then again you might not. Everything is all right so far. And, to that point, you deserve a great deal of credit for what you’ve done, Poppy in particular. As you boys probably realize, I think a great deal of you. I’m proud of you, in fact. You’re just the kind of up-and-coming boys we need. So, keep it up. It’s good for you and also good for the community. To get back to the pickle proposition, though, I have been asked by Mr. Pennykorn to use my influence to bring you and the canning company together.”
“Never!” cried Poppy, with flashing eyes.
“And why not?” came steadily.
“I guess you don’t know everything they’ve done, Mr. Lorring. For if you did you’d realize how impossible it is for us ever to tie up with them.”
“Outside of the fact that you have a boyish hatred for them, are you afraid they’ll skin you?”
“They would if they got a chance.”
“But suppose I make it my business, as your older friend, to see that they never get such achance—though, to that point, I haven’t much doubt of their honesty.”
“What do you mean?” says Poppy, more quietly.
“Here’s the proposition that Mr. Pennykorn asked me to put before you: They want to organize a separate pickle branch. As you know, they talked of buying a plant in Ashton. But the local Chamber of Commerce has talked them out of that notion. And they have agreed to build the proposed new plant hereifthey can immediately take over your cucumber stock and further get exclusive manufacturing rights on your ‘Pedigreed Pickles,’ as a companion line to their ‘Dandy Dills.’ The new company, to call it that, will be capitalized at one hundred thousand dollars, and common stock, having a par value of one hundred dollars a share, will be issued in the amount of sixty thousand dollars, the balance of the stock to be held in reserve, as is quite proper. Of the six hundred issued shares, you boys will be given fifty shares apiece; Mrs. O’Mally the same. If the stock earns ten per cent, each one’s share of the yearly earnings will be five hundred dollars. Also there is the possibility of greater earnings, which would materially increase the value of the stock. Personally, I think it is a very fair proposition. And my advice would be for you to accept it. Nor need you have any uncertainty over your position as minority stockholders. I’ll see that you are properly taken care of.”
It was then further pointed out to us how much better the established company could serve the town than us. So we finally told Mr. Lorring that we would do whatever he thought was best. In due time the promised stock was delivered, after which, of course, the Pennykorns were as nice as pie to us. I suppose it was best for us to bury the hatchet. But, to this day, I still feel sort of queer when I’m around them. I’ll never forget that exciting night in the bank. I guess they never will, either. I don’t see how they could.
Having come to a settlement with the canning company, the public announcement was then made that ground would soon be broken for a separate new pickle factory. And in celebration the Chamber of Commerce got up a swell supper, to which all of the surrounding farmers were invited. The word got out, too, that the canning company was going to issue new contracts, under which they would agree to pay the farmers the highest market prices for their stuff. That, of course, made everybody happy. So it was a lively bunch that turned out to the big feed, with the Tutter band doing the tooting stuff and the big hall all dolled up in fancy paper streamers. Poppy and I were there, for they couldn’t very well leave us out. And Iguess it was Mr. Lorring’s doings that we got places at the head table, where the big basket of artificial fruit was. Boy, oh, boy, did we ever light into that grub! Then, at the invitation of the master of ceremonies, or whatever you call him, several prominent business men made short speeches about “the most progressive little city in the middle west,” after which came a long-winded introduction.
“And so,” the master of ceremonies wound up, “it is my great pleasure, fellow boosters, to introduce one of the guests of honor, who, young as he is, has literally swept the nation off its feet. Seven-League Stilts! We all know who invented them. We know, too, who’s responsible for this clever ‘Pedigreed Pickles’ idea.... Let’s have a few words from Poppy Ott.”
Gee-miny Christmas! Poppy and I almost fainted. Guests of honor! We were it and never had suspected it! Finally, though, I got some of my senses back.
“Get up,” I kicked old dumb-bell under the table. “They’re calling on you.”
Well, he got up—though it took him a long time to do it. He was kind of white, too, like the time he ate the green apples. And, oh, gee, how proud I was of him!Mypal! The bulliest pal in the whole world! A few months ago he was a tramp. And now see him. Good old Poppy!
Everything was deadly still. For everybody was waiting to hear the speech. Presently Poppy sat down. And then you should have heard the applause! Afterwards he asked me, kind of sheepish-like, what he had said. And did I everlaugh! For the funny part is that henever said a word!
In conclusion, I hardly need to tell you that Tom and his recovered grandpa were brought together. And was that ever a joyful meeting for the old gentleman. Tom now lives in the old-fashioned house near the canning factory. He’s crazy over our Pickle Parlor and I imagine that we’ll sell out to him in time, as the building and lot are his, anyway. You’ll smile when I tell you that Uncle Abner and Mrs. O’Mally got married. As for old Butch, he got a steady job up the canal and never came back.
Picking up the story of Tom’s father, Nathan Weir wasn’t dead, as his family had supposed, but for years he had been in the Ohio state penitentiary, where he had been taken following a robbery in which he had been shot in the arm. Blood poison setting in, the arm was later taken off. His wife had died, and from his long absence it was concluded that he was dead, too. Getting out of the penitentiary, he had come back to Rimtown, finding his father dead and the family scattered. After that he got mixed up in a jewel robbery inPeoria, and to hide from the law he came to Tutter, knowing about the old tunnel—and what was his amazement to find his brother and son living near the pirate’s old home in a cave! Learning about the gold cucumber, from listening, he had stolen it, thinking that it would give him the “key” to the treasure’s hiding place. Failing in this, he finally decided to lay low and secretly grab the treasure when the others had lifted it. His mind was “off,” or otherwise, in having heard about our “diamonds” he wouldn’t have broken into Poppy’s cellar. For he should have known that there was no connection between our advertised “diamonds” and those of which he had been robbed by his crooked Peoria accomplice. Later he got the idea that the diamonds were in Mr. Weckler’s safe ... yet how peculiar must have been his feelings to break into that particular house! No doubt he stepped on the yellow cat. And in all probability its yowling made him furious, which would explain why he strangled it. The “machine” that we had seen at church was just a contraption that some boy had rigged up. I think it was Spider Whickleberry. I heard the kids telling afterwards how slick Spider could pick off cats. He thought it was fun to catch them and then let them go.
We found the “cat strangler” living in a hut in the heart of the willow patch. He was sick. Andtwo days later he died in the hospital. As he was Tom’s father, the less we say about him the better. He’s gone. And that’s enough.
My story comes to an end here. And I can only hope that you have enjoyed it. Coming soon is POPPY OTT AND THE FRECKLED GOLDFISH. Can you imagine a scientist spending his whole lifetime studyingfreckles? Professor Aldercott Pip, A.B., M.A., Ph.D., modestly claimed to be the best-informed freckle specialist in the world. But we could hardly credit our ears when we heard about his marvelous “freckle” dust. Gosh! Then came the amazing surprise of the freckled goldfish!
It was Poppy, of course, who planned our new “aquarium” fish store. And was it ever a darb! In the selling campaign that followed our main slogan was: “What is home without a freckled goldfish?” We got up all kinds of nifty schemes. “You trade in your old-fashioned auto for a new one,” he told the Tutter people, “so why not trade in your old-fashioned goldfish and get one of the up-to-date freckled kind?”
“The book of a million laughs!” That is what you’ll call it when you’ve read it. And remember, too, it’s coming soon.
THE END