Quaker John was one of the best known figures in the small seaport town of Old Quay. Short of stature, heavy of tread, always quietly attired in a black suit, which varied not in cut from year to year; indeed, the same suit had once been known to do duty for three years together, till his wife one day, so ’twas said, handed them over to the chimney-sweep in mistaken identity. You might have told that he was of Puritan descent some yards away, but the ‘letter of the law’ in him had been softened down by the kindly genius of the old-fashioned Quaker. A genial twinkle lay in hiding at the back of his steadfast eye, and a smile was always ‘at heel’ beside his big and honest mouth. A broad and spectacled nose completed the portrait of one in whom the harmlessness as of a dove did not of necessity efface the wisdom of the serpent. At least, so said Yankee Bill, who read character ‘at sight’; but then, Bill was a disciple of that cynical logic which proclaims not only all priests to be humbugs, but all men immersed in business who make pretensions to piety to be hypocrites or fools.

He had happened to pass along the street one ‘fourth-day’ morning as John came out of the meeting-house, and overheard him address a remark about business to a Quaker friend at his side, and thereafter was merciless in ridicule. ‘John’s patent incubator,’ he styled the meeting-house, ‘for plot-hatching,’ and pretended to be afraid of doing business with him on Wednesday afternoons for fear of being ‘skinned.’

Bill was a waif from the seas who had somehow been thrown up at Old Quay a few years back, and having ‘prospected around’ and ‘pegged out a claim’ for himself in the indiscriminate region of commission business, life insurance, advertising agencies, secretaryships, and other nebulous formative processes, was now almost as well-known a figure in the town as Quaker John himself.

The chief foundation in any abiding friendship is a certain diversity of temperament which those who wondered at the mutual liking that had sprung up between the retiring stockbroker’s clerk and the worldly Yankee had evidently overlooked. To John the American’s audacity was a perpetual delight, tempered by occasional Puritan scruples as to whether he was justified in associating with so hardened an unbeliever. To Bill Coody the Quaker’s reposefulness and quiet self-sufficiency were both a sleeping-draught and irritant.

Nothing delighted him more than to get a rise out of John; but John was hard to catch, and even when craftily inveigled into a theological argument, was extremely chary of entering into definite statements. Even when his position was most hotly assailed by the other, who made unsparing use of the argumentum ad hominem, reinforced by a store of malicious anecdotes of religious ‘professors’ all the world over, John never lost his temper, but mildly suggested that his antagonist was an Anarchist in disguise.

John himself, though immersed in business which some of the ‘plain people’ have been used to look askance at, lived after the simple fashion of the straiter sect.

After his day’s work at the office, where as head clerk much responsibility lay on his shoulders, he would go straight home and employ his leisure on fine days in his garden, and on wet days in his library, for John was not only a book-collector, but also a reader.

One pipe of tobacco he allowed himself before going to bed on week days and two on ‘first-days,’ and flavoured his tobacco with a chapter of ‘George,’ as he styled in affectionate intimacy his favourite author (Mr. Meredith) on week-days, but a portion of Barclay’s ‘Apology’ on ‘first-day’ evenings.

One evening John was sitting reading as usual, when the maid-servant came in to say that Mr. Coody wished to have a few words with him. ‘Very well,’ replied her master, laying aside ‘George’ with a sigh, and wondering what business Bill might have on hand to come at such an untimely hour.

In came his friend as unceremoniously as ever, and, sitting himself down on the sofa, drew vigorously at his cheroot for a minute or two before entering upon the topic that had brought him thither.

‘Look here, John,’ he exclaimed all at once, ‘you’re a confidential cuss, I guess, and I’ve got a scheme on hand that will “scoop the boodle” if properly carried out; and what I want to know is, whether your people will take a hand in it or no. It’s a certain thing, and will go ahead like a runaway buggy anyway; but the less friction the better, so that if your people will grease the wheels a bit, so much the better for them and all consarned.’

‘Tell me precisely what it is,’ replied John cautiously, ‘then I may be able to offer an opinion; but, of course, I can’t say off-hand whether the firm will entertain the idea or not.’

‘Waal,’ replied Bill, ‘I guess you’re the firm pretty often, for your bosses are generally away huntin’ or shootin’ or foolin’ around somewhere; anyway, your advice is generally listened to, I guess. Waal, to come to business. I’m fixin’ up a new store on the most modern principles. I sell everything cheaper than anybody else anywhere in this little country of yours; any bloomin’ thing that’s asked for, why, it’s there, delivered free to any part of the United Kingdom. Everybody comes along—Noah’s Ark on a wet day ain’t in it for the pushin’ there’ll be at our doors once we get opened out—and, another thing, everybody gets made into an automatic shareholder; for profits have to lie till they reach £5, when each man, woman, and child gets a share given them, will they, nill they—and you bet, John, they will. I tell you, the thing’s fixed up, and is goin’ to give Old Quay shocks. Why, I’m buyin’ up here and there bankrupt stocks enough to bust the place with—pianners, hardware, bicycles, rose-trees, fam’ly Bibles, rat-traps—every taste will be suited, for I tell you cosmopolitanism ain’t in it with Bill Coody. I tell you I’ll be in a position to bust every single bicycle dealer in this little one-hoss place; every pianner dealer can shut up shop when I get started. Why, there won’t be a pitman in Northumberland who hasn’t got a demi-grand Eureka B. C. piano in his house in another three weeks’ time, and every colliery village will have its Bayreuth Festival with “Canny Dog Cappie” and “Weel may the keel row” tinklin’ away down each row.’ ‘But think of the poor shopkeeper!’ John interrupted, aghast at this slaughter of the innocents.

‘Now, John,’ expostulated Bill, as one who reproves a child for foolishness, ‘it’s not “first-day,” and you ain’t “in meeting,” so stick to business, if you please. Waal, the thing’s got to go, as I’m sayin’, and the only question is, are your people goin’ to join in or no? If not, I bust their little donkey go-cart of Supply Stores which they set up a few years back in South Street “for the mutual encouragement of thrift and the supply of the best articles at first-hand cost” as the prospectus says, combinin’ philanthropy and five per cent, plus their commission on floatin’ the shop. Now, I know how much they have in it, your bosses. J. B. has 10,000 shares, and young T. he has 5,000 out of a total of 30,000, so they’re the largest shareholders in the concern, but Bill Coody has shares in it, too, John, he or his nominees. Likely you’ve noticed the shares have been jumpin’ up a bit lately and been wonderin’ what the jooce was up, eh?’

‘Yes,’ responded John quietly, endeavouring to conceal any disquietude he might feel; ‘yes, I’ve noticed that.’

‘Waal, we’ve got enough to bust their shop up pretty well, and if your people don’t come into my showyard I’ll give their shares away with a pound of tea,’ and here he pulled out a handful of certificates from his trousers’ pocket and flourished them in John’s face, which was gradually growing longer as the other unrolled his arguments.

‘But how did you get the necessary capital?’ John inquired after a pause, professional curiosity piqued at this unexpected revelation of means.

‘Waal,’ replied the American, as he carelessly lit another cheroot, expectorating with relish into John’s carefully-trimmed fire, ‘I’ll tell you straight out, for I’m one of them that goes straight to the point—fibbin’ ain’t in it with truthfulness, and bluffin’s no good when the cards are on the table. Waal, I bank with the Old Bank here, and decent enough people they are, too, but a trifle slow, so no sooner did the Joint Stock Bank open out a new branch in Old Quay than in I go, and I says, “Look here, boss, I want £5,000 of the ready, and I’ll bring you business,” I says. Well, the boss rubs his hands in butter, and he says, “Sartinly, sartinly, Mr. Coody, we know your name well, sir; most happy to oblige, I’m sure, and much obliged if you could introduce us to a few of your friends,” so after a bit more palaver and a deposit of some shares the deal’s done. Waal, down the street goes Bill Coody, and into the parlour of the Old Bank, and says to the partners straight out: “Now, look here, gentlemen, there’s no beatin’ about the bush with me, and no frivolity in matters of business, and what I want is £5,000 straight down, which is the figure I’ve just been offered by the new Joint Stock Bank over the way. Now I like your style,” I says, “and I should be sorry to leave you; but sentiment’s not my style of doin’ business, so there you have it.” Waal, the old gentleman looked at me over his spectacles, same way as you do, John, and under his spectacles also, and offers me a pinch of snuff, while he and his partner waggle their heads together in a far-off corner of the room. Waal, after a bit more palaver and a little “pi” jaw thrown in gratis about the evils of speculatin’, and a hope that a strange bank will not interfere with mutual friendly business relations, that deal’s done, and Bill Coody has £10,000 to draw upon by feedin’-time that morning.

‘Waal, John, I think you’ll have the hang of it now, and will be able to advise your bosses as to what’s best for them and the community, too, at large, and I want an answer—a regular business-like document—signed, sealed, and delivered, by this time to-morrow night, for there’s a shipload of my goods in already and lyin’ at the quay, and I can’t let the thing dry-rot while two thickheads worry the situation out and try to tinker up a mind between them. So fix it up for them, John, yourself. Ta-ta; I must be off. There’s a chap waitin’ for me at the club on business.’ And rising as he spoke, he went as unceremoniously as he came, leaving a trail of rank tobacco that was as penetrating to John’s nostrils as his communications had been to his intellect.

John lit his pipe again, which had gone out as he listened to Bill’s scheme, and thought for a while how ‘George’ would have dealt with the situation; how his penetrating intellect would have pierced through Bill’s armour-plating, and revealed the naked artificer within.

Ah! if ‘George’ had only been there for five minutes, several of the questions that were troubling him might have received instant solution. He could not feel certain how far Bill meant business with his store. It was not all bluff, of course; but how much of it was bluff, how much business, he could not of himself determine.

It might be that he wanted to be bought off at a price, or be offered a post upon the directorate, or was merely a ‘bull’ of the shares. However, one thing was certain: there must be no shilly-shallying. Either Bill must be squared or he must be defied.

That was the question for him to determine. No doubt, from a strictly business point of view, the chief matter to be considered was which of the two courses was likely to prove most beneficial to his principals; but the thought of the poor shopkeepers was present in John’s mind, and operated largely in influencing his mind in the direction of defiance. There was poor old Mrs. S——, for example, who kept herself and two grandchildren on the proceeds of a small florist’s business, once her son-in-law’s. What would happen to her if Bill were to flood the town with rose-trees at a shilling the dozen?

To-morrow was Saturday, and Bill demanded an answer by the evening. The next day being ‘first-day,’ he would have to satisfy his conscience—that ‘still small voice’ which, even in the silence of the meeting, interrogated him severely on his dealings during the past week, and permitted no subterfuge or evasive answer—and it was useless to think he could do so by pleading that he was only a subordinate, not an official, in this affair of the store. Well, so be it. It must be defiance, then—war to the knife—if Bill was in earnest; for to offer to put him on the directorate of the supply stores would merely mean setting up Bill’s store under the old title.

John sat late as he pondered over the situation. Suddenly one of the Articles of Association of the stores flamed within the chamber of his brain, and a twinkle shone in his eye, as he reflected that it should enable him to mate Bill’s cleverness at the very outset.

Bill had quoted from the prospectus, but he had evidently overlooked the Articles of Association, and John chuckled to himself delightedly as he recalled Article 5.

Shortly after seven next morning John might have been observed taking the air upon the quay, casting shrewd glances as he passed along. He had some suspicions concerning the amount of value of Bill’s consignment of pianos, family Bibles, etc., and he thought he might possibly discover something for himself if he saw what vessels were lying at the quay.

There was a green-hulled brigantine from Norway lying alongside, but she was full of battens and pit-props; a steam-collier lay next, but she must simply be waiting there for stores or sailing orders. A tramp came next, apparently from America, by the labels on some of her packages that the cranes were already swinging overhead.

This, then, must be Bill’s consignment, for there was nothing else in the river or at the quay that John could see that could possibly have anything on board for Bill or his stores.

As he stood there immersed in thought, a figure appeared on the deck above him, and, leaning his arms on the taffrail, regarded the scene below him with a gloomy air. ‘The skipper,’ thought John, as he noted his blue broadcloth and peaked cap, and on the spur of a sudden inspiration immediately accosted him.

‘Fine morning, captain. I happen to have heard a rumour to the effect that you were wanting an offer for your cargo. If so, I might possibly get you an offer from a friend of mine—at a reasonable figure, of course.’

‘Waal,’ replied the other slowly, ‘I guess I’m ready for a deal, as the consignees are bust up, and only 25 per cent. of the freight paid for; but it’s not a knock-out, I tell ye, for I’ve had a bid already for the lot.’

‘Was it from a man they call Bill Coody, by any chance?’ asked John, with a fine carelessness. ‘Waal,’ replied the skipper, as he turned his quid, ‘his name’s nothin’ to me, so long as he has the ready. Mr. Cash is the gent I do business with; but if my memory sarves me right, I think Bill Coody was the name on his pasteboard.’

‘What precisely is the cargo?’ queried John. ‘Is it dry-store goods—organs, pianos, and such like commodities?’

‘Ay, that’s about what it is—all the sort o’ fixin’s that make a harmonious home for the retired commercial gent—organs, melodeons, brick-a-bacs, articles of virtoo and amusement combined; and a fine variety of wood goods besides. Waal, if you’re for a deal you must be sharp about it, for I’ve to fix up with Mr. Coody by ten o’clock this mornin’, and I leave again this afternoon, havin’ just signed a fresh charter party for a cargo of fireclay bricks. So name your figure, plank down the cash, and I’m ready to deal.’

‘Well, what did Mr. Coody offer you?’ asked John pertinently. ‘Three hundred pounds in bank notes,’ replied the skipper; ‘but I’ll take £400 to clear; and dirt cheap, too, when you think o’ what a nest o’ nightingales your fam’ly and friends will be at ten dollars a head.’

‘Thank you,’ said John, as he moved away; ‘I’ll just go round and have a talk with my friend, and will let you know the result before ten o’clock.’

‘Right,’ replied the captain, cutting himself a fresh plug of tobacco; ‘£400 down, coin o’ the realm, before ten, mind ye, and your friend’s set up for life with a “house beautiful” that Solomon in all his glory and Mrs. Sheba couldn’t have fixed up better between them.’

‘What a curious, profane, hard-featured set of men these Americans are!’ thought John, as he stepped briskly away in the direction of his senior partner’s house. ‘Why, the mind of that skipper is exactly of the same temper as Bill’s; his features are as irregular, even his voice has the same twanging, nasal habit. However, he means business evidently, and I think I can persuade Mr. William to buy up his cargo, which will put, I imagine, a pretty stiff spoke in Bill’s wheel.’

Within a quarter of an hour John was on Mr. William’s doorstep, and ten minutes afterwards was explaining the strategical position to the senior partner in his dressing-gown. ‘Certainly, John,’ said Mr. William slowly, after listening attentively to John’s recital; ‘we couldn’t possibly have Coody on our Board; it wouldn’t do at all. Why, he’s a mere adventurer, and his method of under-cutting, “busting” people up, etc., would bring discredit upon our firm and have a bad effect upon our business. No, it’s quite evident, John, as you say, that we can’t square him—as to how far he means business, I don’t know. I incline to think he is bluffing us; but there isn’t time to find out how much he has up his sleeve; and if we buy up this cargo we trump his ace, you think, and can make a profit out of it ourselves at the stores after? Well, I daresay you’re right, John; and, after all, £400 won’t ruin us. We buy his cargo, and as he can’t “bear” the shares, he’ll be like a chained dog showing his teeth, but doing no damage. Yes, I think it is an excellent idea, John,’ Mr. William said in conclusion, ‘and if you’ll wait one minute I’ll give you the cheque for £400.’

By ten o’clock that morning John had completed his defences; the cargo was bought; he held an indemnity against any claims from the skipper and owners of the goods in question; he had made an inquiry at the Old Bank, and now was sitting down at the office to write a short note marked ‘private’ to Bill, to tell him it was to be ‘war to the knife.’

‘And I may tell thee, Bill, that thee had better give in with a good grace; for, in the first place, thee cannot sell the shares below par—vide the Articles of Association, paragraph 10—and, in the second, we have bought up thy cargo; and, finally, I feel assured that stores managed on thy suggested lines would never bring a blessing with them. Thou saidst it was to be “war to the knife,” but we hope thee will think better of it, for thy sake more than for our own,’ and with a friendly warning John finished his letter, and despatched it by hand to ‘William Coody, Esq.’

Late that afternoon, just as John was leaving the office, a letter was brought to him in Bill’s handwriting. It ran as follows:

‘Ta-ta, John, I’m off, you quaint, cocked-hat old Puritan Precisian; but I couldn’t leave without having tried a fall with you first, and, on totting it up, I think Bill Coody’s just had a trifle the best of the mÊlÉe. If I’d got on to the stores, I’d have stayed in this derned little one-hoss place, but those all-fired articles[21] upset that cart. I’ll allow you that, John; but I have you, my boy, over that little cargo of mine. Why, the whole show was a got-up job, the cargo saw-dust, salvage stocks worth £20 at an outside figure. The skipper, being a pal of mine, lent me his duds, this morning, for I knew you’d be down there sniffing and spectacling about with the morning’s sunrise, and I had the show ready for you, John, to walk into, and in you walked like blue blazes. The £400 will about pay for my trouble, and for the premiums on the store shares. Your principals will have to buy the shares back from the banks—they mustn’t buy below par, though, John—you remind them of that.

‘I’ve sold my biz., and am off with my pal, the skipper, this moment. No time to handshake. Ta-ta, John, and bear no malice. Stick to piety and 5 per cent., and don’t buy up bankrupt cargoes, and you’ll be Lord Mayor of Old Quay before you’re finished. So long, your pardner,