The Newsboy Partners; Or, Who Was Dick Box? Part 33

CHAPTER XXIV

MR. CROSSCRAB'S VISIT

Business with the partners went on as usual for several days. There was a brisk demand for papers, and slowly they saw the little savings in the bank grow. They began to have visions of a fine stand by Christmas, and the one they had first considered was still in their mind, for the owner had not succeeded in disposing of it.

"d.i.c.k," remarked Jimmy one night, "I've got a new scheme."

"What is it?" and d.i.c.k looked up from the book he was reading at his partner on the other side of the table. Jimmy was laboriously figuring on the back of an old envelope.

"Well, you know that weekly ill.u.s.trated paper that's making such a hit now? It comes out every Friday, an' lots of the boys sell it."

"Yes, I know the one you mean. What about it?"

"I was thinking we might add it to our stock. If we did, and sold enough of 'em, we could make quite a bit. There's two and a half cents profit on each copy, and if we sold fifty each that'd be two dollars and a half each week."

"Good! You're coming on with your arithmetic," exclaimed d.i.c.k. "Why, that sounds good, Jimmy. Let's do it."

"There's one thing agin it, though."

"What's that?"

"There's no returns. You can't take back what you don't sell, and we might lose on it."

"Well, I suppose we'll have to take that risk. Business men generally have to venture something."

"I know, but we ain't got much capital. If we was to lose a dollar in the week it wouldn't be no fun."

"No; still I think it's worth trying."

"Then I'll do it. I'll order a stock for this Friday, and we'll see what we can do."

Jimmy was glad his chum had agreed to the scheme, which the older newsboy had had in mind for some time, ever since he saw how well some of his companions were doing with the new weekly, which was making quite a bid for trade.

Accordingly, when Friday came, Jimmy got up early, and purchased one hundred copies of the periodical. These he divided with d.i.c.k, and the two boys, rather more heavily laden than usual, started out for their day's business.

If d.i.c.k thought he was going to dispose of all his copies of the new weekly quickly, he was much disappointed. Down in the financial section he sold his usual number of daily papers, but, when it came to disposing of the other, he had no luck.

"Why, I get that magazine at home every Friday morning," said one broker, the one for whom d.i.c.k had delivered the letter that day he nearly was arrested at the park fountain. "I subscribe for it."

"Then you don't want two copies," spoke d.i.c.k cheerfully, though he began to have his doubts about Jimmy's new scheme.

He found that nearly every person whom he asked to buy the weekly received it at his house, either through the mail, or from some boy who had a route in that vicinity. He did manage to sell a few copies, but not enough to pay for carrying the fifty around.

"I don't believe you'll have much of a success with that," said a banker, who was one of d.i.c.k's steady customers. "The concern sent out an army of agents to get subscriptions by the year, before allowing boys to sell it on the streets, and persons down here haven't time to read a magazine like that during business hours. We get it at our homes."

Before the day was over d.i.c.k began to believe this was true. He only managed to sell twelve copies out of the fifty he had taken out, and, as the sale of the magazine was practically over on the day of publication, he could see a financial loss staring him in the face.

"That is, unless Jimmy managed to dispose of all of his," he thought.

"Guess I'll quit now, and go up and see how he's making out."

He found Jimmy on his corner, busily engaged in disposing of the evening papers, for his customers did not stop work as early as did those in the financial section.

"How's the new weekly going, Jimmy?" asked 'd.i.c.k, when there came a lull in trade.

"Rotten!" was Jimmy's characteristic answer. "It's a regular lemon, down here. It's on de blink. I sold ten copies, and I couldn't get rid of another one. So I stowed 'em away, and I got busy with me--I mean my--regular papers. No trouble to sell them. How'd you make out?"

"Not much better. I sold twelve."

"Say, ain't that the limit? I'll never try a new stunt like that ag'in. Everybody I struck to buy one, had one already, or got it home."

"Same with me," agreed d.i.c.k.

"Well, I can see us losin' some of our hard-earned plunks," went on Jimmy.

"Never mind," consoled his partner. "We made a good try, and we'll know better next time."

"You bet I will. What's that the book says about a trolley conductor stickin' to his car?"

"I guess you mean the one about the shoemaker sticking to his last,"

said d.i.c.k, with a smile.

"Well, last or first, it don't make much difference, only I'm going to stick to daily papers after this. Crimps! T'ink what a lot of fun we could have had with de c.h.i.n.k we lost!"

"Well, we'll make it up, somehow," said d.i.c.k. "Don't worry over it."

But Jimmy could not help it, and it was some time before he got over the financial disaster which came to him and his partner. However, it was, as d.i.c.k said, a good lesson to them, not to venture into a field of which they knew nothing.

Jimmy had, under d.i.c.k's guidance, resumed his studies at night, and Frank Merton came in occasionally. The boys began to plan on attending night school as soon as the term opened, which would be in a few weeks.

"Then you'll have to study harder than you do now, Jimmy," said d.i.c.k.

"Those teachers will not be as easy on you as I am."

"Well, I guess I can stand it," answered Jimmy, with a little sigh.

"As long as I've got to read and write and do arithmetic, I might as well learn to do it good."

One evening, when Jimmy had not come in, as he had undertaken to dispose of a lot of late extras, d.i.c.k sat alone in the room. He was vainly puzzling over his queer case, and wondering if he would ever learn who he was, and who his folks were, if he had any. He tried and tried again to penetrate back into the past, but he had to stop at a certain place. And that was a confused scene, where he found himself in a crowd, felt a stunning blow on the head and then awoke in the box with Jimmy.

"I'm afraid that's as near it as I ever shall get," thought poor d.i.c.k.

"If only I could see something, or somebody, or hear something said that would recall the past. But I can't."

A little later some one knocked on the door. Thinking it was Mr.

Snowden, who used to call on the permanent lodgers in the house occasionally, d.i.c.k called out an invitation to enter.

A tall young man came in. He was a stranger to d.i.c.k, who looked at him in the light of the gas-jet, wondering what was wanted.

"Is Jimmy Small here?" asked the young man.