After dinner, Stuyvesant told Phonny that he should be glad to help him about his cage, were it not that he was engaged to go with Beechnut that afternoon, to plow. Phonny was very sorry to hear this. In fact he had a great mind to go himself, and help plow, and so put off making his cage until the next day. It is very probable that he would have decided upon this plan, but while he was hesitating about it, Beechnut came to tell Stuyvesant that he should not be able to finish the plowing that day, for he was obliged to go away. Then Stuyvesant said that he would help Phonny. So they went together into the shop.

They found the squirrel safe. Phonny examined the water very attentively, to see whether Frink had been drinking any of it. He was very confident that the water had diminished quite sensibly. Stuyvesant could not tell whether it had diminished or not.

“And now,” said Phonny, “the first thing is to put the shop in order.”

So saying, he took the plane away from before the trap, and looked at the hole to see whether Frink had gnawed it any bigger. He had not. Phonny then carried the trap to the back side of the shop and put it upon a great chopping-block which stood there. He did this for the purpose of having the bench clear, so as to put the tools in order upon it.

“I am glad that you are going to put this shop in order,” said Stuyvesant,—“that is, if you will let me use it afterward.”

“Yes,” said Phonny, “I will let you use it. But what should you want to make in it?”

“Why, Beechnut has given me charge of the hen-house,” said Stuyvesant, “and I am to have one third of the eggs.”

Here Phonny stopped suddenly in his work and looked up to Stuyvesant as if surprised.

“What, my hen-house!” said he.

“The one that you used to have,” said Stuyvesant. “He said that you sold it to him.”

“So I did,” said Phonny, thoughtfully. As he said this, he laid down his saw, which he had just taken to hang upon a nail where it belonged, and ran off out of the shop.

He was in pursuit of Beechnut. He found him harnessing a horse into a wagon.

“Beechnut,” said he, “have you given Stuyvesant the charge of my hen-house?”

“I have offered it to him,” said Beechnut, “but he has not told me yet whether he accepted the offer or not.”

“You are going to let him have half the eggs if he takes care of the house and the hens?” inquired Phonny.

“One third of them,” said Beechnut.

“I did not know that you would do that,” said Phonny. “If I had known that you would be willing to let it out in that way, I should have wanted it myself.”

“I am not certain that it would be safe to let it to you,” said Beechnut.

“Why not?” asked Phonny.

“I am not sure that you would be persevering and faithful in taking care of the hens.”

“Why should not I as well as Stuyvesant?” asked Phonny. “Stuyvesant is not so old as I am.”

“He may have more steadiness and perseverance, for all that,” said Beechnut.

“I think you might let me have it as well as him,” said Phonny.

“Very well,” said Beechnut, “either of you. It shall go to the one who has the first claim.”

“You say he did not accept your offer of it to him?”

“No,” said Beechnut, “I believe he did not.”

“Then I agree to accept it now,” said Phonny, “and that gives me the first claim.”

Beechnut did not answer to this proposal, but went on harnessing the horse. When the horse was all ready, he gathered up the reins and stood a moment, just before getting into the wagon, in a thoughtful attitude.

“Well now, Phonny,” said he, “here is a great law question to be settled, whether you or Stuyvesant has the best right to the contract. Go and ask Stuyvesant to come to the shop-door.”

So Beechnut got into the wagon and drove out of the shed, and along the yard, until he came to the shop-door, and there he stopped. Phonny and Stuyvesant were standing in front of the door.

“Stuyvesant,” said Beechnut, “here is a perplexing case. Phonny wants to have the care of the hen-house on the same terms I offered it to you. You did not tell me whether you would take it or not.”

“No,” said Stuyvesant, “I was going to tell you that I would take it, but if Phonny wants it, I am willing to give it up to him.”

“And you, Phonny,” said Beechnut, “are willing, I suppose, if Stuyvesant wants it, to give it up to him?”

“Why—yes,” said Phonny. In saying this, however, Phonny seemed to speak quite reluctantly and doubtfully.

“That’s right,” said Beechnut. “Each of you is willing to give up to the other. But now before we can tell on which side the giving up is to be, we must first decide on which side the right is. So that you see we have got the quarrel into a very pretty shape now. The question is, which of you can have the pleasure and privilege of giving up to the other, instead of which shall be compelled to give up against his will. So you see it is now a very pleasant sort of a quarrel.”

“No,” said Phonny, “it is not any such thing. A quarrel is not pleasant, ever.”

“Oh, yes,” said Beechnut, “one of the greatest pleasures of life is to quarrel. We can not possibly get along, without quarrels. The only thing that we can do is to get them in as good shape as possible.”

“Have you got a pencil and paper in your shop?” continued Beechnut.

“Yes,” said Phonny.

“Bring them out to me.”

Phonny brought out a pencil and a small piece of paper, and held them up to Beechnut in the wagon.

“Now boys,” said Beechnut, “are you willing to submit this case to Mr. Wallace, for his decision?”

“Yes,” said Phonny.

“I am too,” said Stuyvesant.

“Then I’ll write a statement of it,” said Beechnut.

Beechnut accordingly placed the paper upon the seat of the wagon beside him, and began to write. In a few minutes he held up the paper and read as follows:

“There,” said Beechnut, “there is a simple statement of the case.”

“I don’t understand it very well,” said Phonny.

“Don’t you?” said Beechnut; “then I’ll read it again.”

So Beechnut began again.

“A. has a certain contract——”

Here Beechnut paused and looked up at the boys.

“A. means Beechnut,” said Stuyvesant.

“Then why don’t you say Beechnut?” said Phonny.

“And the contract,” continued Stuyvesant, “is the agreement about the hens.”

“Which he is willing to offer,” continued Beechnut, “to either B. or C.”

“That is, either to you or me,” said Stuyvesant.

“Yes,” said Phonny, “I understand so far. But what is that about priority.”

“Priority,” said Beechnut, “means precedence in respect to time.”

“That is harder to understand than priority,” said Phonny.

“The question is,” continued Beechnut, “which must be considered as first in order of time, the one who had the offer first, or the one who accepted first.”

“The one who accepted first,” said Phonny.

“You are not to decide the question,” said Beechnut. “I was only explaining to you what the question is. You must carry the paper to Mr. Wallace and get his opinion.”

“But Beechnut,” said Phonny, “why don’t you tell him all about it, just as it was, instead of making up such a story about A. B. and C. and priority.”

“Why, when we refer a case to an umpire for decision,” said Beechnut, “it is always best, when we can, to state the principle of the question in general terms, so that he can decide it in the abstract, without knowing who the real parties are, and how they are to be affected by his decision. Here’s Mr. Wallace now, who would not like very well to decide in favor of his brother and against you, even if he thought that his brother was in the right. But by not letting him know any thing but the general principle he can decide just as he thinks, without fear that you would think him partial.”

“Well,” said Phonny, “I will carry him the paper.”

“You must only give him the paper,” said Beechnut, “and not tell him any thing about the case yourself.”

“No,” said Phonny, “I will not.”

“For if you do,” continued Beechnut, “he will know who the parties are, and then he will not like to decide the question.”

“Well,” said Phonny, “I will not tell him.”

“Let Stuyvesant go with you,” said Beechnut.

“Well,” said Phonny.

Phonny accordingly took the paper and went into the house with Stuyvesant. He led the way up into his cousin Wallace’s room. He found Wallace seated at his table in his alcove, where he usually studied. The curtains were both up, which was the signal that Phonny might go and speak to him.

Phonny and Stuyvesant accordingly walked up to the table, and Wallace asked them if they wished to speak to him.

Phonny handed him the paper.

“There,” said he, “is a case for you to decide.”

Wallace took the paper and read it. He said nothing, but seemed for a moment to be thinking on the subject, and then he took his pen and wrote several lines under the question. Phonny supposed that he was writing his answer.

After his writing was finished, Wallace folded up the paper, and told Phonny that he must not read it until he had given it to Beechnut.

“How did you know that it was from Beechnut?” said Phonny.

“I knew by the handwriting,” said Wallace. “Besides, I knew that there was nobody else here who would have referred such a question to me, in such a scientific way.”

So Phonny took the paper and carried it down to Beechnut.

Beechnut opened it, and read aloud as follows:

“The question is, then, boys,” said Beechnut, “whether Stuyvesant had had a reasonable time to consider my offer, before Phonny came forward. What do you think about that, Phonny?”

“Why, yes,” said Phonny, “he had an hour.”

Stuyvesant said nothing.

“I will think about that while I am riding,” said Beechnut, “and tell you what I conclude upon it when I return. Perhaps we shall have to refer that question to Mr. Wallace, too.”

So Beechnut drove away, and the boys went back into the shop. Here they resumed their work of putting the tools in order, and while doing so, they continued their conversation about the question of priority.

“I think,” said Phonny, “that you had abundance of time to consider whether you would accept the offer.”

“We might leave that question to Wallace, too,” said Stuyvesant.

“Yes,” said Phonny, “let’s go now and ask him.”

“Well,” said Stuyvesant, “I am willing.”

“Only,” said Phonny, “we must not tell him what the question is about.”

“No,” said Stuyvesant.

So the boys went together up to Wallace’s room. They found him in his alcove as before. They advanced to the table, and Wallace looked up to them to hear what they had to say.

“B. had an hour to consider of his offer,” said Phonny, “don’t you think that that was enough?”

Phonny was very indiscreet, indeed, in asking the question in that form, for it showed at once that whatever might be the subject of the discussion, he was not himself the person represented by B. It was now no longer possible for Wallace to look at the question purely in its abstract character.

“Now I know,” said Wallace, “which is B., and of course you may as well tell me all about it.”

Phonny looked at Stuyvesant with an expression of surprise and concern upon his countenance.

“No matter,” said Stuyvesant, “let us tell him the whole story.”

Phonny accordingly explained to Wallace, that the contract related to the care of the hen-house and the hens,—that it was first offered to Stuyvesant, that Stuyvesant did not accept it for an hour or two, and that in the course of that time he, Phonny, had himself applied for it. He concluded by asking Wallace if he did not think that an hour was a reasonable time.

“The question,” said Wallace, “how much it is necessary to allow for a reasonable time, depends upon the nature of the subject that the offer relates to. If two persons were writing at a table, and one of them were to offer the other six wafers in exchange for a steel pen, five minutes, or even one minute, might be a reasonable time to allow him for decision. On the other hand, in buying a house, two or three days would not be more than would be reasonable. Now, I think in such a case as this, any person who should receive such an offer as Beechnut made, ought to have time enough to consider the whole subject fairly. He would wish to see the hen-house, to examine its condition, to consider how long it would take him to put it in order, and how much trouble the care of the hens would make him afterward. He would also want to know how many eggs he was likely to receive, and to consider whether these would be return enough for all his trouble. Now, it does not seem to me, that one hour, coming too just when Stuyvesant was called away to dinner, could be considered a reasonable time. He ought to have a fair opportunity when the offer is once made to him, to consider it and decide understandingly, whether he would accept it or not.”

“Well,” said Phonny, with a sigh, “I suppose I must give it up.”

So he and Stuyvesant walked back to the shop together.