Keeping up with Lizzie.

by Irving Bach.e.l.ler.

IN WHICH THE LEADING TRADESMEN OF POINTVIEW BECOME A BOARD OF a.s.sESSORS

The Honorable Socrates Potter was the only "scientific man" in the village of Pointview, Connecticut. In every point of manhood he was far ahead of his neighbors. In a way he had outstripped himself, for, while his ideas were highly modern, he clung to the dress and manners that prevailed in his youth. He wore broadcloth every day, and a choker, and chewed tobacco, and never permitted his work to interfere with the even tenor of his conversation. He loved the old times and fashions, and had a drawling tongue and often spoke in the dialect of his fathers, loving the sound of it.

His satirical mood was sure to be flavored with clipped words and changed tenses. The stranger often took him for a "hayseed," but on further acquaintance opened his mouth in astonishment, for Soc.

Potter, as many called him, was a man of insight and learning and of a quality of wit herein revealed. He used to call himself "an attorney and peacemaker," but he was more than that. He was the attorney and friend of all his clients, and the philosopher of his community. If one man threatened another with the law in that neighborhood, he was apt to do it in these terms, "We'll see what Soc. Potter has to say about that."

"All right! We'll see," the other would answer, and both parties would be sure to show up at the lawyer's office. Then, probably, Socrates would try his famous lock-and-key expedient. He would sit them down together, lock the door, and say, "Now, boys, I don't believe in getting twelve men for a job that two can do better,"

and generally he would make them agree.

He had an office over the store of Samuel Henshaw, and made a specialty of deeds, t.i.tles, epigrams, and witticisms.

He was a bachelor who called now and then at the home of Miss Betsey Smead, a wealthy spinster of Pointview, but nothing had ever come of it.

He sat with his feet on his desk and his mind on the subject of extravagance. When he was doing business he sat like other men, but when his thought a.s.sumed a degree of elevation his feet rose with it. He began his story by explaining that it was all true but the names.

[Ill.u.s.tration: With his mind on the subject of extravagance.]

"This is the balloon age," said he, with a merry twinkle in his gray eyes. "The inventor has led us into the skies. The odor of gasoline is in the path of the eagle. Our thoughts are between earth and heaven; our prices have followed our aspirations in the upward flight. Now here is Sam Henshaw. Sam? Why, he's a merchant prince o' Pointview--grocery business--had a girl--name o'

Lizzie--smart and as purty as a wax doll. Dan Pettigrew, the n.o.blest flower o' the young manhood o' Pointview, fell in love with her. No wonder. We were all fond o' Lizzie. They were a han'some couple, an' together about half the time.

"Well, Sam began to aspire, an' nothing would do for Lizzie but the Smythe school at Hardcastle at seven hundred dollars a year. So they rigged her up splendid, an' away she went. Prom that day she set the pace for this community. Dan had to keep up with Lizzie, and so his father, Bill Pettigrew, sent him to Harvard. Other girls started in the race, an' the first we knew there was a big field in this maiden handicap.

"Well, Sam had been aspirin' for about three months, when he began to perspire. The extras up at Hardcastle had exceeded his expectations. He was goin' a hot pace to keep up with Lizzie, an'

it looked as if his morals was meltin' away.

"I was in the northern part o' the county one day, an' saw some wonderful, big, red, tasty apples.

"'What ye doin' with yer apples?' says I to the grower.

"'I've sent the most of 'em to Samuel Henshaw, o' Pointview, an'

he's sold 'em on commission,' says he.

"'What do ye get for 'em ?' I asked.

"'Two dollars an' ten cents a barrel,' says he.

"The next time I went into Sam's store there were the same red apples that came out o' that orchard in the northern part o' the county.

"'How much are these apples?' I says.

"'Seven dollars a barrel,' says Sam.

[Ill.u.s.tration: Seven dollars a barrel.]

"'How is it that you get seven dollars a barrel an' only return two dollars an' ten cents to the grower?' I says.

"Sam stuttered an' changed color. I'd been his lawyer for years, an' I always talked plain to Sam.

"'Wal, the fact is,' says he, with a laugh an' a wink, 'I sold these apples to my clerk.'

"'Sam, ye're wastin' yer talents,' I says. 'Go into the railroad business.'

"Sam was kind o' shamefaced.

"'It costs so much to live I have to make a decent profit somewhere,' says he. 'If you had a daughter to educate, you'd know the reason.'

"I bought a bill o' goods, an' noticed that ham an' b.u.t.ter were up two cents a pound, an' flour four cents a sack, an' other things in proportion. I didn't say a word, but I see that Sam proposed to tax the community for the education o' that Lizzie girl. Folks began to complain, but the tax on each wasn't heavy, an' a good many people owed Sam an' wasn't in shape to quit him. Then Sam had the best store in the village, an' everybody was kind o' proud of it. So we stood this a.s.sessment o' Sam's, an' by a general tax paid for the education o' Lizzie. She made friends, an' sailed around in automobiles, an' spent a part o' the Christmas holidays with the daughter o' Mr. Beverly Gottrich on Fifth Avenue, an'

young Beverly Gottrich brought her home in his big red runabout.

Oh, that was a great day in Pointview!--that red-runabout day of our history when the pitcher was broken at the fountain and they that looked out of the windows trembled.

"Dan Pettigrew was home from Harvard for the holidays, an' he an'

Lizzie met at a church party. They held their heads very high, an'

seemed to despise each other an' everybody else. Word went around that it was all off between 'em. It seems that they had riz--not risen, but riz--far above each other.

"Now it often happens that when the young ascend the tower o' their aspirations an' look down upon the earth its average inhabitant seems no larger to them than a red ant. Sometimes there's n.o.body in sight--that is, no real body--nothin' but clouds an' rainbows an' kings an' queens an' their families. Now Lizzie an' Dan were both up in their towers an' lookin' down, an' that was probably the reason they didn't see each other.

"Right away a war began between the rival houses o' Henshaw an'

Pettigrew. The first we knew Sam was buildin' a new house with a tower on it--by jingo!--an' hardwood finish inside an' half an acre in the dooryard. The tower was for Lizzie. It signalized her rise in the community. It put her one flight above anybody in Pointview.

"As the house rose, up went Sam's prices again. I went over to the store an' bought a week's provisions, an' when I got the bill I see that he'd taxed me twenty-nine cents for his improvements.

"I met one o' my friends, an' I says to him, 'Wal,' I says, 'Sam is goin' to make us pay for his new house an' lot. Sam's ham an'

flour have jumped again. As an a.s.sessor Sam is likely to make his mark.'

"'Wal, what do ye expect?' says he. 'Lizzie is in high society, an' he's got to keep up with her. Lizzie must have a home proper to one o' her station. Don't be hard on Sam.'

"'I ain't,' I says. 'But Sam's house ought to be proper to his station instead o' hers.'

"I had just sat down in my office when Bill Pettigrew came in--Sam's great rival in the grocery an' aspiration business. He'd bought a new automobile, an' wanted me to draw a mortgage on his house an' lot for two thousand dollars.

"'You'd better go slow,' I says. 'It looks like bad business to mortgage your home for an automobile.'

"'It's for the benefit o' my customers,' says he.

"'Something purty for 'em to look at?' I asked.

"'It will quicken deliveries,' says he.

"'You can't afford it,' I says.

"'Yes, I can,' says he. 'I've put up prices twenty per cent., an'

it ain't agoin' to bother me to pay for it.'

"'Oh, then your customers are goin' to pay for it!' I says, 'an'