Paul the Peddler; Or, The Fortunes of a Young Street Merchant

“How much was your loss, Paul?” asked his mother.

“There were nearly forty packages. They cost me about a dollar, but if I had sold them all they would have brought me in twice as much. I had only sold ten packages.”

“Shall you make some more?”

“No, I think not,” said Paul. “I’ve got tired of the business. It’s getting poorer every day. I’ll go out after dinner, and see if I can’t find something else to do.”

“You ain’t going out now, Paul?” said Jimmy.

“No, I’ll stop and see you draw a little while.”

“That’s bully. I’m going to try these oxen.”

“That’s a hard picture. I don’t think you can draw it, Jimmy.”

“Yes, I can,” said the little boy, confidently. “Just see if I don’t.”

“Jimmy has improved a good deal,” said his mother.

“You’ll be a great artist one of these days, Jimmy,” said Paul.

“I’m going to try, Paul,” said the little boy. “I like it so much.”

Little Jimmy had indeed made surprising progress in drawing. With no instruction whatever, he had succeeded in a very close and accurate imitation of the sketches in the drawing books Paul had purchased for him. It was a great delight to the little boy to draw, and hour after hour, as his mother sat at her work, he sat up to the table, and worked at his drawing, scarcely speaking a word unless spoken to, so absorbed was he in his fascinating employment.

Paul watched him attentively.

“You’ll make a bully artist, Jimmy,” he said, at length, really surprised at his little brother’s proficiency. “If you keep on a little longer, you’ll beat me.”

“I wish you’d draw something, Paul,” said Jimmy. “I never saw any of your drawings.”

“I am afraid, if you saw mine, it would discourage you,” said Paul. “You know, I’m older and ought to draw better.”

His face was serious, but there was a merry twinkle of fun in his eyes.

“Of course, I know you draw better,” said Jimmy, seriously.

“What shall I draw?” asked Paul.

“Try this horse, Paul.”

“All right!” said Paul. “But you must go away; I don’t want you to see it till it is done.”

Jimmy left the table, and Paul commenced his attempt. Now, though Paul is the hero of my story, I am bound to confess that he had not the slightest talent for drawing, though Jimmy did not know it. It was only to afford his little brother amusement that he now undertook the task.

Paul worked away for about five minutes.

“It’s done,” he said.

“So quick?” exclaimed Jimmy, in surprise. “How fast you work!”

He drew near and inspected Paul’s drawing. He had no sooner inspected it than he burst into a fit of laughter. Paul’s drawing was a very rough one, and such a horse as he had drawn will never probably be seen until the race has greatly degenerated.

“What’s the matter, Jimmy?” asked Paul. “Don’t you like it?”

“It’s awful, Paul,” said the little boy, almost choking with mirth.

“I see how it is,” said Paul, with feigned resentment. “You’re jealous of me because you can’t draw as well.”

“Oh, Paul, you’ll kill me!” and Jimmy again burst into a fit of merriment. “Can’t you really draw any better?”

“No, Jimmy,” said Paul, joining in the laugh. “I can’t draw any better than an old cow. You’ve got all the talent in the family in that line.”

“But you’re smart in other ways, Paul,” said Jimmy, who had a great admiration of Paul, notwithstanding the discovery of his artistic inferiority.

“I’m glad there’s one that thinks so, Jimmy,” said Paul. “I’ll refer to you when I want a recommendation.”

Jimmy resumed his drawing, and was proud of the praises which Paul freely bestowed upon him.

“I’ll get you a harder drawing book when you’ve got through with these,” said Paul; “that is, if I don’t get reduced to poverty by having my stock in trade stolen again.”

After a while came dinner. This meal in Mrs. Hoffman’s household usually came at twelve o’clock. It was a plain, frugal meal always, but on Sunday they usually managed to have something a little better, as they had been accustomed to do when Mr. Hoffman was alive.

Paul was soon through.

He took his hat from the bureau, and prepared to go out.

“I’m going out to try my luck, mother,” he said. “I’ll see if I can’t get into something I like a little better than the prize-package business.”

“I hope you’ll succeed, Paul.”

“Better than I did in drawing horses, eh, Jimmy?”

“Yes, I hope so, Paul,” said the little boy.

“Don’t you show that horse to visitors and pretend it’s yours, Jimmy.”

“No danger, Paul.”

Paul went downstairs and into the street. He had no definite plan in his head, but was ready for anything that might turn up. He did not feel anxious, for he knew there were plenty of ways in which he could earn something. He had never tried blacking boots, but still he could do it in case of emergency. He had sold papers, and succeeded fairly in that line, and knew he could again. He had pitted himself against other boys, and the result had been to give him a certain confidence in his own powers and business abilities. When he had first gone into the street to try his chances there, it had been with a degree of diffidence. But knocking about the streets soon gives a boy confidence, sometimes too much of it; and Paul had learned to rely upon himself; but the influence of a good, though humble home, and a judicious mother, had kept him aloof from the bad habits into which many street boys are led.

So Paul, though his stock in trade had been stolen, and he was obliged to seek a new kind of business, was by no means disheartened. He walked a little way downtown, and then, crossing the City Hall Park, found himself on Broadway.

A little below the Astor House he came to the stand of a sidewalk-merchant, who dealt in neckties. Upon an upright framework hung a great variety of ties of different colors, most of which were sold at the uniform price of twenty-five cents each.

Paul was acquainted with the proprietor of the stand, and, having nothing else to do, determined to stop and speak to him.

CHAPTER VII

A NEW BUSINESS

The proprietor of the necktie stand was a slender, dark-complexioned young man of about twenty-five, or thereabouts.

His name was George Barry. Paul had known him for over a year, and whenever he passed his stand was accustomed to stop and speak with him.

“Well, George, how’s business?” asked Paul.

“Fair,” said Barry. “That isn’t what’s the matter.”

“What is it, then?”

“I’m sick. I ought not to be out here to-day.”

“What’s the matter with you?”

“I’ve caught a bad cold, and feel hot and feverish. I ought to be at home and abed.”

“Why don’t you go?”

“I can’t leave my business.”

“It’s better to do that than to get a bad sickness.”

“I suppose it is. I am afraid I am going to have a fever. One minute I’m hot, another I’m cold. But I can’t afford to close up my business.”

“Why don’t you get somebody to take your place?”

“I don’t know anybody I could get that I could trust. They’d sell my goods, and make off with the money.”

“Can you trust me?” asked Paul, who saw a chance to benefit himself as well as his friend.

“Yes, Paul, I could trust you, but I’m afraid I couldn’t pay you enough to make it worth while for you to stand here.”

“I haven’t got anything to do just now,” said Paul. “I was in the prize-package business, but two fellows stole my stock in trade, and I’m not going into it again. It’s about played out. I’m your man. Just make me an offer.”

“I should like to have you take my place for a day or two, for I know you wouldn’t cheat me.”

“You may be sure of that.”

“I am sure. I know you are an honest boy, Paul. But I don’t know what to offer you.”

“How many neckties do you sell a day?” asked Paul, in a businesslike tone.

“About a dozen on an average.”

“And how much profit do you make?”

“It’s half profit.”

Paul made a short calculation. Twelve neckties at twenty-five cents each would bring three dollars. Half of this was a dollar and a half.

“I’ll take your place for half profits,” he said.

“That’s fair,” said George Barry. “I’ll accept your offer. Can you begin now?”

“Yes.”

“Then I’ll go home and go to bed. It’s the best place for me.”

“You’d better. I’ll come round after closing up, and hand over the money.”

“All right! You know where I live?”

“I’m not sure.”

“No. – Bleecker street.”

“I’ll come up this evening.”

George Barry walked away, leaving Paul in charge of his business.

He did so with perfect confidence. Not every boy in Paul’s circumstances can be trusted, but he felt sure that Paul would do the right thing by him.

I may as well say, in this connection, that George Barry had a mother living. They occupied two rooms in a lodging-house in Bleecker street, and lived very comfortably. Mrs. Barry had an allowance of two hundred dollars a year from a relation. This, with what she earned by sewing, and her son by his stand, supported them very comfortably, especially as they provided and cooked their own food, which was, of course, much cheaper than boarding. Still, the loss of the young man’s earnings, even for a short time, would have been felt, though they had a reserve of a hundred dollars in a savings bank, from which they might draw if necessary. But George did not like to do this. The arrangement which he made with Paul was a satisfactory one, for with half his usual earnings they would still be able to keep out of debt, and not be compelled to draw upon the fund in the bank. Of course, something depended on Paul’s success as a salesman, but he would not be likely to fall much below the average amount of sales. So, on the whole, George Barry went home considerably relieved in mind, though his head was throbbing, and he felt decidedly sick.

Arrived at home, his mother, who understood sickness, at once took measures to relieve him.

“Don’t mind the loss of a few days, George,” she said, cheerfully; “we shall be able to get along very well.”

“It’ll only be part loss, mother,” he said. “I’ve got Paul Hoffman to take my place for half the profits.”

“Paul Hoffman! Do I know him?”

“I don’t think he has ever been here but I have known him for a year.”

“Can you trust him?”

“Yes, I’m not at all afraid. He is a smart boy, and as honest as he is smart. I think he will sell nearly as much as I would.”

“That is an excellent arrangement. You needn’t feel uneasy, then.”

“No, the business will go on right.”

“I should like to see your salesman.”

“You’ll see him to-night, mother. He’s coming round this evening to let me know how he’s got along, and hand over the money he’s taken.”

“You’d better be quiet now, George, and go to sleep, if you can. I’ll make you some warm tea. I think it’ll do you good.”

Meanwhile Paul assumed charge of George Barry’s business. He was sorry his friend was sick, but he congratulated himself on getting into business so soon.

“It’s more respectable than selling prize packages,” thought Paul. “I wish I had a stand of my own.”

He was still a street merchant, but among street merchants there are grades as well as among merchants whose claim to higher respectability rests upon having rent to pay. Paul felt that it was almost like having a shop of his own. He had always looked up to George Barry as standing higher than himself in a business way, and he felt that even if his earnings should not be as great, that it was a step upward to have sole charge of his stand, if only for a day or two.

Paul’s ambition was aroused. It was for his interest to make as large sales as possible. Besides, he thought he would like to prove to George Barry that he had made a good selection in appointing him his substitute.

Now, if the truth must be told, George Barry himself was not possessed of superior business ability. He was lacking in energy and push. He could sell neckties to those who asked for them, but had no particular talent for attracting trade. He would have been a fair clerk, but was never likely to rise above a very moderate success. Paul was quite different. He was quick, enterprising, and smart. He was a boy likely to push his way to success unless circumstances were very much against him.

“I’d like to sell more than George Barry,” he said to himself. “I don’t know if I can, but I’m going to try.”

The day was half over, and probably the most profitable, so far as business was concerned. Paul had only four or five hours left.

“Let me see,” he said to himself. “I ought to sell six neckties to come up to the average of half a day’s sale. I wonder whether I can do it.”

As his soliloquy ended, his quick eye detected a young man glancing at his stock, and he observed that he paused irresolutely, as if half inclined to purchase.

“Can’t I sell you a necktie to-day?” asked Paul, promptly.

“I don’t know,” said the other. “What do you charge?”

“You can have your choice for twenty-five cents. That is cheap, isn’t it?”

“Yes, that’s cheap. Let me look at them.”

“Here’s one that will suit your complexion,” said Paul.

“Yes, that’s a pretty one. I think I’ll take it.”

“You have to pay twice as much in the shops,” continued Paul, as he rolled it up. “You see, we have no rent to pay, and so we can sell cheap. You’ll save money by always buying your neckties here.”

“The only objection to that is that I don’t live in the city. I am here only for a day. I live about fifty miles in the country.”

“Then I’ll tell you what you’d better do,” said Paul. “Lay in half a dozen, while you are about it. It’ll only be a dollar and a half, and you’ll save as much as that by doing it.”

“I don’t know but you are right,” said his customer, whom the suggestion impressed favorably. “As you say, it’s only a dollar and a half, and it’ll give me a good stock.”

“Let me pick them out for you,” said Paul, briskly, “unless there’s something you see yourself.”

“I like that one.”

“All right. What shall be the next?”

Finally, the young man selected the entire half-dozen, and deposited a dollar and a half in Paul’s hands.

“Come and see me again,” said Paul, “and if you have any friends coming to the city, send them to me.”

“I will,” said the other.

“Tell them it’s the first stand south of the Astor House. Then they won’t miss it.”

“That’s a good beginning,” said Paul to himself, with satisfaction. “Half a day’s average sales already, and I’ve only been here fifteen minutes. Let me see, what will my profits be on that? Three shillings, I declare. That isn’t bad, now!”

Paul had reason to be satisfied with himself. If he had not spoken, the young man would very probably have gone on without purchasing at all, or, at any rate, remained content with a single necktie. Paul’s manner and timely word had increased his purchase sixfold. That is generally the difference between a poor salesman and one of the first class. Anybody can sell to those who are anxious to buy; but it takes a smart man to persuade a customer that he wants what otherwise he would go without. The difference in success is generally appreciated by dealers, and a superior salesman is generally paid a handsome salary.

“I don’t believe George Barry would have sold that man so many ties,” thought Paul. “I hope I shall have as good luck next time.”

But this, of course, was not to be expected. It is not every customer who can be persuaded to buy half-a-dozen ties, even by the most eloquent salesman. However, in the course of an hour more, Paul had sold three more to single customers. Then came a man who bought two. Then there was a lull, and for an hour Paul sold none at all. But business improved a little toward the close of the afternoon, and when it was time to close up, our young merchant found that he had disposed of fifteen.

“My share of the profits will be ninety-three cents,” thought Paul, with satisfaction. “That isn’t bad for an afternoon’s work.”

CHAPTER VIII

A STROKE OF ILL LUCK

Paul transferred his frame of goods to a neighboring office at the end of the afternoon, the arrangement having been made by George Barry, on first entering into business as a street merchant. This saved a good deal of trouble, as otherwise he would have been compelled to carry them home every night and bring them back in the morning.

“Well, Paul,” asked his mother, when he returned to supper, “have you found anything to do yet?”

“I have got employment for a few days,” said Paul, “to tend a necktie stand. The man that keeps it is sick.”

“How much does he pay you, Paul?” asked Jimmy.

“Half the profits. How much do you think I have made this afternoon?”

“Forty cents.”

“What do you say to ninety-three cents? Just look at this,” and Paul displayed his earnings.

“That is excellent.”

“I had good luck. Generally, I shan’t make more in a whole day than this.”

“That will be doing very well.”

“But I shall make more, if I can. One fellow bought six neckties of me this afternoon. I wish everybody would do that. Now, mother, I hope supper is most ready, for selling neckties has made me hungry.”

“Almost ready, Paul.”

It was a humble meal, but a good one. There were fresh rolls and butter, tea and some cold meat. That was all; but the cloth was clean, and everything looked neat. All did justice to the plain meal, and never thought of envying the thousands who, in their rich uptown mansions, were sitting down at the same hour to elaborate dinners costing more than their entire week’s board.

“Are you going out, Paul?” asked Mrs. Hoffman, noticing that he took his hat.

“Yes, I must go and see George Barry, and carry the money I have received for sales.”

“Where does he live?”

“In Bleecker street. I shan’t be gone long.”

Paul reached the number which had been given him. It was a large, four-story house, with the appearance of a barracks.

“Mr. Barry,” said the servant, in answer to his question—“he lives upstairs on the fourth floor. Room on the right.”

Paul plodded his way upstairs, and found the room without difficulty.

On knocking, the door was opened by Mrs. Barry, who looked at him inquiringly.

“Does George Barry live here?” asked Paul.

“Yes. Are you the one he left in charge of his business?”

Paul answered in the affirmative, adding, “How is he?”

“He seems quite feverish. I am afraid he is going to have a fever. It’s fortunate he came home. He was not able to attend to his business.”

“Can I see him?”

“Come in,” said Mrs. Barry.

The room was covered with a worn carpet, but looked neat and comfortable. There was a cheap sewing-machine in one corner, and some plain furniture. There was a bedroom opening out of this room, and here it was that George Barry lay upon the bed.

“Is that Paul Hoffman, mother?” was heard from the bedroom.

“Yes,” said Paul, answering for himself.

“Go in, if you like,” said Mrs. Barry. “My son wishes to see you.

“How do you feel now, George?” asked Paul.

“Not very well, Paul. I didn’t give up a minute too soon. I think I am going to have a fever.”

“That is not comfortable,” said Paul. “Still, you have your mother to take care of you.”

“I don’t know how I should get along without her. Can you look after my business as long as I am sick?”

“Yes; I have nothing else to do.”

“Then that is off my mind. By the way, how many ties did you sell this afternoon?”

“Fifteen.”

“What!” demanded Barry, in surprise. “You sold fifteen?”

“Yes.”

“Why, I never sold so many as that in an afternoon.”

“Didn’t you?” said Paul, gratified. “Then you think I did well?”

“Splendidly. How did you do it?”

“You see, there was a young man from the country that I persuaded to buy six, as he could not get them so cheap at home. That was my first sale, and it encouraged me.”

“I didn’t think you’d sell more than six in the whole afternoon.”

“Nor did I, when I started; but I determined to do my best. I don’t expect to do as well every day.”

“No, of course not. I’ve been in the business more than a year; and I know what it is. Some days are very dull.”

“I’ve got the money for you. The fifteen ties came to three dollars and seventy-five cents. I keep one-fourth of this as my commission. That leaves two dollars and eighty-two cents.”

“Quite correct. However, you needn’t give me the money. You may need to change a bill, or else lose a sale. It will do if you settle with me at the end of the week.”

“I see you have confidence in me, George. Suppose I should take a fancy to run away with the money?”

“I am not afraid.”

“If I do, I will give you warning a week beforehand.”

After a little more conversation, Paul withdrew, thinking he might worry the sick man. He offered to come up the next evening, but George Barry said, “It would be too much to expect you to come up every evening. I shall be satisfied if you come up every other evening.”

“Very well,” said Paul. “Then you may expect me Saturday. I hope I shall have some good sales to report, and that I shall find you better.”

Paul descended to the street, and walked slowly homeward. He couldn’t help wishing that the stand was his own, and the entire profits his. This would double his income, and enable him to save up money. At present this was hardly possible. His own earnings had been, and were likely to continue, very fluctuating.

Still, they constituted the main support of the family. His mother made shirts for an establishment on Broadway at twenty-five cents each, which was more than some establishments paid. She could hardly average more than one shirt a day, in addition to her household work, and in order to accomplish this, even, she was obliged to work very steadily all day. Jimmy, of course, earned nothing. Not that he was too young. There were plenty of little newsboys who were as small as he—perhaps smaller. I have seen boys, who did not appear to be more than four years old, standing at the corners, crying the news in their childish treble. But Paul was not willing to have Jimmy sent out into the streets to undergo the rough discipline of street life. He was himself of a strong, robust nature, and did not shrink from the rough and tumble of life. He felt sure he could make his way, and give as well as receive blows. But Jimmy was shy and retiring, of a timid, shrinking nature, who would suffer from what would only exhilarate Paul, and brace him for the contest. So it was understood that Jimmy was to get an education, studying at present at home with his mother, who had received a good education, and that Mrs. Hoffman and Paul were to be the breadwinners. “I wish mother didn’t have to sit so steadily at her work,” thought Paul, many a time. He resolved some time to relieve her from the necessity; but at present it was impossible.

To maintain their small family in comfort required all that both could earn.

The next morning Paul started out after breakfast for the street stand, wondering what success he was destined to meet with.

About the middle of the forenoon Mrs. Hoffman prepared to go out.

“Do you think you can stay alone for an hour or two, Jimmy?” she asked.

“Yes, mother,” answered Jimmy, who was deep in a picture which he was copying from one of the drawing-books Paul had bought him. “Where are you going mother?”

“To carry back some work, Jimmy. I have got half-a-dozen shirts done, and must return them, and ask for more.”

“They ought to pay you more than twenty-five cents apiece, mother. How long has it taken you to make them?”

“Nearly a week.”

“That is only a dollar and a half for a week’s work.”

“I know it, Jimmy; but they can get plenty to work at that price, so it won’t do for me to complain. I shall be very glad if I can get steady work, even at that price.”

Jimmy said no more, and Mrs. Hoffman, gathering up her bundle, went out.

She had a little more than half a mile to go. This did not require long. She entered the large door, and advanced to the counter behind which stood a clerk with a pen behind his ear.

“How many?” he said, as she laid the bundle upon the counter.

“Six.”

“Name?”

“Hoffman.”

“Correct. I will look at them.”

He opened the bundle hastily, and surveyed the work critically. Luckily there was no fault to find, for Mrs. Hoffman was a skillful seamstress.