and Emma Jane advised Clara Belle to
measure the
height of the Simpson ceilings; but a note in the
margin of the
circular informed them that it stood
two and a half feet high when set up in all its dignity
and
splendor on a proper table, three dollars extra.
It was only of polished brass, continued the
circular,
though it was
invariablymistaken for solid gold, and
the shade that accompanied it (at least it accompanied
it if the agent sold a hundred extra cakes)
was of crinkled crepe paper printed in a dozen
delicious hues, from which the joy-dazzled agent might
take his choice.
Seesaw Simpson was not in the
syndicate. Clara
Belle was rather a successful agent, but Susan, who
could only say "thoap," never made large returns,
and the twins, who were somewhat young to be thoroughly
trustworthy, could be given only a half dozen
cakes at a time, and were obliged to carry with them
on their business trips a brief
document stating the
price per cake, dozen, and box. Rebecca and Emma
Jane offered to go two or three miles in some one
direction and see what they could do in the way of
stirring up a popular demand for the Snow-White and
Rose-Red brands, the former being
devoted to laundry
purposes and the latter being intended for the toilet.
There was a great
amount of hilarity in the
preparation for this event, and a long council in Emma
Jane's attic. They had the soap company's
circularfrom which to arrange a proper speech, and they
had, what was still better, the
remembrance of a
certain patent-medicine vender's
discourse at the
Milltown Fair. His method, when once observed,
could never be forgotten; nor his manner, nor his
vocabulary. Emma Jane
practiced it on Rebecca,
and Rebecca on Emma Jane.
"Can I sell you a little soap this afternoon? It
is called the Snow-White and Rose-Red Soap, six
cakes in an
ornamental box, only twenty cents for
the white, twenty-five cents for the red. It is made
from the purest ingredients, and if desired could be
eaten by an
invalid with
relish and profit."
"Oh, Rebecca, don't let's say that!" interposed
Emma Jane hysterically. "It makes me feel like a
fool."
"It takes so little to make you feel like a fool,
Emma Jane," rebuked Rebecca, "that sometimes I
think that you must BE one I don't get to feeling
like a fool so
awfully easy; now leave out that eating
part if you don't like it, and go on."
"The Snow-White is probably the most remarkable
laundry soap ever manufactured. Immerse the
garments in a tub,
lightly rubbing the more soiled
portions with the soap; leave them submerged in
water from
sunset to
sunrise, and then the youngest
baby can wash them without the slightest effort."
"BABE, not baby," corrected Rebecca from the
circular.
"It's just the same thing," argued Emma Jane.
"Of course it's just the same THING; but a baby
has got to be called babe or
infant in a
circular,
the same as it is in poetry! Would you rather say
infant?"
"No," grumbled Emma Jane; "
infant is worse
even than babe. Rebecca, do you think we'd better
do as the
circular says, and let Elijah or Elisha try
the soap before we begin selling?"
"I can't imagine a babe doing a family wash with
ANY soap," answered Rebecca; "but it must be true
or they would never dare to print it, so don't let's
bother. Oh! won't it be the greatest fun, Emma
Jane? At some of the houses--where they can't
possibly know me--I shan't be frightened, and I
shall reel off the whole rigmarole,
invalid, babe, and
all. Perhaps I shall say even the last
sentence, if I
can remember it: `We sound every chord in the
great mac-ro-cosm of satisfaction."
This conversation took place on a Friday afternoon
at Emma Jane's house, where Rebecca, to her
unbounded joy, was to stay over Sunday, her aunts
having gone to Portland to the
funeral of an old
friend. Saturday being a
holiday, they were going
to have the old white horse, drive to North Riverboro
three miles away, eat a twelve o'clock dinner
with Emma Jane's cousins, and be back at four
o'clock punctually.
When the children asked Mrs. Perkins if they
could call at just a few houses coming and going,
and sell a little soap for the Simpsons, she at first
replied
decidedly in the
negative. She was an
indulgent parent, however, and really had little
objection to Emma Jane
amusing herself in this unusual
way; it was only for Rebecca, as the niece of the
difficult Miranda Sawyer, that she raised scruples;
but when fully persuaded that the
enterprise was a
charitable one, she acquiesced.
The girls called at Mr. Watson's store, and
arranged for several large boxes of soap to be charged
to Clara Belle Simpson's
account. These were
lifted into the back of the wagon, and a happier
couple never drove along the country road than
Rebecca and her
companion. It was a glorious
Indian summer day, which suggested nothing of
Thanksgiving, near at hand as it was. It was a
rustly day, a
scarlet and buff, yellow and carmine,
bronze and
crimson day. There were still many
leaves on the oaks and maples, making a goodly
show of red and brown and gold. The air was like
sparkling cider, and every field had its heaps of
yellow and russet good things to eat, all ready for the
barns, the mills, and the markets. The horse forgot
his twenty years, sniffed the sweet bright air, and
trotted like a colt; Nokomis Mountain looked blue
and clear in the distance; Rebecca stood in the
wagon, and apostrophized the
landscape with sudden
joy of living:--
"Great, wide, beautiful, wonderful World,
With the wonderful water round you curled,
And the wonderful grass upon your breast,
World, you are
beautifully drest!"
Dull Emma Jane had never seemed to Rebecca
so near, so dear, so tried and true; and Rebecca,
to Emma Jane's
faithful heart, had never been so
brilliant, so bewildering, so
fascinating, as in this
visit together, with its
intimacy, its freedom, and
the added delights of an exciting business
enterprise.
A
gorgeous leaf blew into the wagon.
"Does color make you sort of dizzy?" asked Rebecca.
"No," answered Emma Jane after a long pause;
"no, it don't; not a mite."
"Perhaps dizzy isn't just the right word, but it's
nearest. I'd like to eat color, and drink it, and
sleep in it. If you could be a tree, which one
would you choose?"
Emma Jane had enjoyed
considerable experience
of this kind, and Rebecca had succeeded in unstopping
her ears, ungluing her eyes, and loosening her
tongue, so that she could "play the game" after
a fashion.
"I'd rather be an apple-tree in blossom,--that
one that blooms pink, by our pig-pen."
Rebecca laughed. There was always something
unexpected in Emma Jane's replies. "I'd choose
to be that
scarlet maple just on the edge of the
pond there,"--and she
pointed with the whip.
"Then I could see so much more than your pink
apple-tree by the pig-pen. I could look at all the
rest of the woods, see my
scarlet dress in my beautiful
looking-glass, and watch all the yellow and brown
trees growing
upside down in the water. When
I'm old enough to earn money, I'm going to have
a dress like this leaf, all ruby color--thin, you
know, with a
sweeping train and ruffly, curly edges;
then I think I'll have a brown sash like the trunk
of the tree, and where could I be green? Do they
have green petticoats, I wonder? I'd like a green
petticoat coming out now and then
underneath to
show what my leaves were like before I was a
scarlet maple."
"I think it would be awful homely," said Emma
Jane. "I'm going to have a white satin with a pink
sash, pink stockings,
bronze slippers, and a spangled
fan."
XIV
MR. ALADDIN
A single hour's experience of the vicissitudes
incident to a business
career clouded
the children's spirits just the least bit.
They did not accompany each other to the doors
of their chosen victims, feeling sure that together
they could not approach the subject seriously;
but they parted at the gate of each house, the
one
holding the horse while the other took the
soap samples and interviewed any one who seemed
of a coming-on
disposition. Emma Jane had disposed
of three single cakes, Rebecca of three small
boxes; for a difference in their
ability to persuade
the public was clearly defined at the start, though
neither of them ascribed either success or defeat to
anything but the
imperious force of circumstances.
Housewives looked at Emma Jane and desired no
soap; listened to her
description of its merits, and
still desired none. Other stars in their courses
governed Rebecca's
doings. The people whom she
interviewed either remembered their present need
of soap, or reminded themselves that they would
need it in the future; the
notable point in the case
being that lucky Rebecca
accomplished, with almost
no effort, results that poor little Emma Jane failed
to
attain by hard and
conscientious labor.
"It's your turn, Rebecca, and I'm glad, too,"
said Emma Jane,
drawing up to a
gateway and
indicating a house that was set a
considerabledistance from the road. "I haven't got over
trembling from the last place yet." (A lady had put her
head out of an
upstairs window and called, "Go
away, little girl;
whatever you have in your box we
don't want any.") "I don't know who lives here,
and the blinds are all shut in front. If there's
nobody at home you mustn't count it, but take the
next house as yours."
Rebecca walked up the lane and went to the
side door. There was a porch there, and seated in
a rocking-chair,
husking corn, was a good-looking
young man, or was he middle aged? Rebecca