Paul the Peddler; Or, The Fortunes of a Young Street Merchant

Jr. Horatio Alger

Paul the Peddler; Or, The Fortunes of a Young Street Merchant

CHAPTER I

PAUL THE PEDDLER

“Here’s your prize packages! Only five cents! Money prize in every package! Walk up, gentlemen, and try your luck!”

The speaker, a boy of fourteen, stood in front of the shabby brick building, on Nassau street, which has served for many years as the New York post office. In front of him, as he stood with his back to the building, was a small basket, filled with ordinary letter envelopes, each labeled “Prize Package.”

His attractive announcement, which, at that time, had also the merit of novelty—for Paul had himself hit upon the idea, and manufactured the packages, as we shall hereafter explain—drew around him a miscellaneous crowd, composed chiefly of boys.

“What’s in the packages, Johnny?” asked a bootblack, with his box strapped to his back.

“Candy,” answered Paul. “Buy one. Only five cents.”

“There ain’t much candy,” answered the bootblack, with a disparaging glance.

“What if there isn’t? There’s a prize.”

“How big a prize?”

“There’s a ten-cent stamp in some of ‘em. All have got something in ‘em.”

Influenced by this representation, the bootblack drew out a five-cent piece, and said:

“Pitch one over then. I guess I can stand it.” An envelope was at once handed him.

“Open it, Johnny,” said a newsboy at his side. Twenty curious eyes were fixed upon him as he opened the package. He drew out rather a scanty supply of candy, and then turning to Paul, with a look of indignation, said:

“Where’s the prize? I don’t see no prize. Give me back my five cents.”

“Give it to me. I’ll show you,” said the young merchant.

He thrust in his finger, and drew out a square bit of paper, on which was written—One Cent.

“There’s your prize,” he added, drawing a penny from his pocket.

“It ain’t much of a prize,” said the buyer. “Where’s your ten cents?”

“I didn’t say I put ten cents into every package,” answered Paul.

“I’d burst up pretty quick if I did that. Who’ll have another package? Only five cents!”

Curiosity and taste for speculation are as prevalent among children as with men, so this appeal produced its effect.

“Give me a package,” said Teddy O’Brien, a newsboy, stretching out a dirty hand, containing the stipulated sum. He also was watched curiously as he opened the package. He drew out a paper bearing the words—Two Cents.

“Bully for you, Teddy! You’ve had better luck than I,” said the bootblack.

The check was duly honored, and Teddy seemed satisfied, though the amount of candy he received probably could not have cost over half-a-cent. Still, he had drawn twice as large a prize as the first buyer, and that was satisfactory.

“Who’ll take the next?” asked Paul, in a businesslike manner. “Maybe there’s ten cents in this package. That’s where you double your money. Walk up, gentlemen. Only five cents!”

Three more responded to this invitation, one drawing a prize of two cents, the other two of one cent each. Just then, as it seemed doubtful whether any more would be purchased by those present, a young man, employed in a Wall street house, came out of the post office.

“What have you got here?” he asked, pausing.

“Prize packages of candy! Money prize in every package! Only five cents!”

“Give me one, then. I never drew a prize in my life.”

The exchange was speedily made.

“I don’t see any prize,” he said, opening it.

“It’s on a bit of paper, mister,” said Teddy, nearly as much interested as if it had been his own purchase.

“Oh, yes, I see. Well, I’m in luck. Ten cents!”

“Ten cents!” exclaimed several of the less fortunate buyers, with a shade of envy.

“Here’s your prize, mister,” said Paul, drawing out a ten-cent stamp from his vest pocket.

“Well, Johnny, you do things on the square, that’s a fact. Just keep the ten cents, and give me two more packages.”

This Paul did with alacrity; but the Wall street clerk’s luck was at an end. He got two prizes of a penny each.

“Well,” he said, “I’m not much out of pocket. I’ve bought three packages, and it’s only cost me three cents.”

The ten-cent prize produced a favorable effect on the business of the young peddler. Five more packages were bought, and the contents eagerly inspected; but no other large prize appeared. Two cents was the maximum prize drawn. Their curiosity being satisfied, the crowd dispersed; but it was not long before another gathered. In fact, Paul had shown excellent judgment in selecting the front of the post office as his place of business. Hundreds passed in and out every hour, besides those who passed by on a different destination. Thus many ears caught the young peddler’s cry—“Prize packages! Only five cents apiece!”—and made a purchase; most from curiosity, but some few attracted by the businesslike bearing of the young merchant, and willing to encourage him in his efforts to make a living. These last, as well as some of the former class, declined to accept the prizes, so that these were so much gain to Paul.

At length but one package remained, and this Paul was some time getting rid of. At last a gentleman came up, holding a little boy of seven by the hand.

“Oh, buy me the package, papa?” he said, drawing his father’s attention.

“What is there in it, boy?” asked the gentleman.

“Candy,” was the answer.

Alfred, for this was the little boy’s name, renewed his entreaties, having, like most boys, a taste for candy.

“There it is, Alfred,” said his father, handing the package to his little son.

“There’s a prize inside,” said Paul, seeing that they were about to pass.

“We must look for the prize by all means,” said the gentleman. “What is this? One cent?”

“Yes sir”; and Paul held out a cent to his customer.

“Never mind about that! You may keep the prize.”

“I want it, pa,” interposed Alfred, with his mouth full of candy.

“I’ll give you another,” said his father, still declining to accept the proffered prize.

Paul now found himself in the enviable position of one who, at eleven o’clock, had succeeded in disposing of his entire stock in trade, and that at an excellent profit, as we soon shall see. Business had been more brisk with him than with many merchants on a larger scale, who sometimes keep open their shops all day without taking in enough to pay expenses. But, then, it is to be considered that in Paul’s case expenses were not a formidable item. He had no rent to pay, for one thing, nor clerk hire, being competent to attend to his entire business single-handed. All his expense, in fact, was the first cost of his stock in trade, and he had so fixed his prices as to insure a good profit on that. So, on the whole, Paul felt very well satisfied at the result of his experiment, for this was his first day in the prize-package business.

“I guess I’ll go home,” he said to himself. “Mother’ll want to know how I made out.” He turned up Nassau street, and had reached the corner of Maiden lane, when Teddy O’Brien met him.

“Did you sell out, Johnny?” he asked.

“Yes,” answered Paul.

“How many packages did you have?”

“Fifty.”

“That’s bully. How much you made?”

“I can’t tell yet. I haven’t counted up,” said Paul.

“It’s better’n sellin’ papers, I’ll bet. I’ve only made thirty cents the day. Don’t you want to take a partner, Johnny?”

“No, I don’t think I do,” said Paul, who had good reason to doubt whether such a step would be to his advantage.

“Then I’ll go in for myself,” said Teddy, somewhat displeased at the refusal.

“Go ahead! There’s nobody to stop you,” said Paul.

“I’d rather go in with you,” said Teddy, feeling that there would be some trouble in making the prize packages, but influenced still more by the knowledge that he had not capital enough to start in the business alone.

“No,” said Paul, positively; “I don’t want any partner. I can do well enough alone.”

He was not surprised at Teddy’s application. Street boys are as enterprising, and have as sharp eyes for business as their elders, and no one among them can monopolize a profitable business long. This is especially the case with the young street merchant. When one has had the good luck to find some attractive article which promises to sell briskly, he takes every care to hide the source of his supply from his rivals in trade. But this is almost impossible. Cases are frequent where such boys are subjected to the closest espionage, their steps being dogged for hours by boys who think they have found a good thing and are determined to share it. In the present case Paul had hit upon an idea which seemed to promise well, and he was determined to keep it to himself as long as possible. As soon as he was subjected to competition and rivalry his gains would probably diminish.

CHAPTER II

PAUL AT HOME

Paul went up Centre street and turned into Pearl. Stopping before a tenement-house, he entered, and, going up two flights of stairs, opened a door and entered.

“You are home early, Paul,” said a woman of middle age, looking up at his entrance.

“Yes, mother; I’ve sold out.”

“You’ve not sold out the whole fifty packages?” she asked, in surprise.

“Yes, I have. I had capital luck.”

“Why, you must have made as much as a dollar, and it’s not twelve yet.”

“I’ve made more than that, mother. Just wait a minute, till I’ve reckoned up a little. Where’s Jimmy?”

“Miss Beckwith offered to take him out to walk with her, so I let him go. He’ll be back at twelve.”

While Paul is making a calculation, a few words of explanation and description may be given, so that the reader may understand better how he is situated.

The rooms occupied by Paul and his mother were three in number. The largest one was about fourteen feet square, and was lighted by two windows. It was covered with a neat, though well-worn, carpet; a few cane-bottomed chairs were ranged at the windows, and on each side of the table. There was a French clock on the mantel, a rocking chair for his mother, and a few inexpensive engravings hung upon the walls. There was a hanging bookcase containing two shelves, filled with books, partly school books, supplemented by a few miscellaneous books, such as “Robinson Crusoe,” “Pilgrim’s Progress,” a volume of “Poetical Selections,” an odd volume of Scott, and several others. Out of the main room opened two narrow chambers, both together of about the same area as the main room. One of these was occupied by Paul and Jimmy, the other by his mother.

Those who are familiar with the construction of a New York tenement-house will readily understand the appearance of the rooms into which we have introduced them. It must, however, be explained that few similar apartments are found so well furnished. Carpets are not very common in tenement-houses, and if there are any pictures, they are usually the cheapest prints. Wooden chairs, and generally every object of the cheapest, are to be met with in the dwellings of the New York poor. If we find something better in the present instance, it is not because Paul and his mother are any better off than their neighbors. On the contrary, there are few whose income is so small. But they have seen better days, and the furniture we see has been saved from the time of their comparative prosperity.

As Paul is still at his estimate, let us improve the opportunity by giving a little of their early history.

Mr. Hoffman, the father of Paul, was born in Germany, but came to New York when a boy of twelve, and there he grew up and married, his wife being an American. He was a cabinetmaker, and, being a skillful workman, earned very good wages, so that he was able to maintain his family in comfort. They occupied a neat little cottage in Harlem, and lived very happily, for Mr. Hoffman was temperate and kind, when an unfortunate accident clouded their happiness, and brought an end to their prosperity. In crossing Broadway at its most crowded part, the husband and father was run over by a loaded dray, and so seriously injured that he lived but a few hours. Then the precarious nature of their prosperity was found out. Mr. Hoffman had not saved anything, having always lived up to the extent of his income. It was obviously impossible for them to continue to live in their old home, paying a rent of twenty dollars per month. Besides, Paul did not see any good opportunity to earn his living in Harlem. So, at his instigation, his mother moved downtown, and took rooms in a tenement-house in Pearl street, agreeing to pay six dollars a month for apartments which would now command double the price. They brought with them furniture enough to furnish the three rooms, selling the rest for what it would bring, and thus obtaining a small reserve fund, which by this time was nearly exhausted.

Once fairly established in their new home, Paul went out into the streets to earn his living. The two most obvious, and, on the whole, most profitable trades, were blacking boots and selling newspapers. To the first Paul, who was a neat boy, objected on the score that it would keep his hands and clothing dirty, and, street boy though he had become, he had a pride in his personal appearance. To selling papers he had not the same objection, but he had a natural taste for trade, and this led him to join the ranks of the street peddlers. He began with vending matches, but found so much competition in the business, and received so rough a reception oftentimes from those who had repeated calls from others in the same business, that he gave it up, and tried something else. But the same competition which crowds the professions and the higher employments followed by men, prevails among the street trades which are pursued by boys. If Paul had only had himself to support, he could have made a fair living at match selling, or any other of the employments he took up; but his mother could not earn much at making vests, and Jimmy was lame, and could do nothing to fill the common purse, so that Paul felt that his earnings must be the main support of the family, and naturally sought out what would bring him in most money.

At length he had hit upon selling prize packages, and his first experience in that line are recorded in the previous chapter. Adding only that it was now a year since his father’s death, we resume our narrative.

“Do you want to know how much I’ve made, mother?” asked Paul, looking up at length from his calculation.

“Yes, Paul.”

“A dollar and thirty cents.”

“I did not think it would amount to so much. The prizes came to considerable, didn’t they?”

“Listen, and I will tell you how I stand:

One pound of candy  . . . . . . . .   .20

Two packs of envelopes . . . . . . .  .10

Prize. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .  .90

–—

That makes . . . . . . . . . . . .  $1.20

I sold the fifty packages at five cents each, and that brought me in two dollars and a half. Taking out the expenses, it leaves me a dollar and thirty cents. Isn’t that doing well for one morning’s work?”

“It’s excellent; but I thought your prizes amounted to more than ninety cents.”

“So they did, but several persons who bought wouldn’t take their prizes, and that was so much gain.”

“You have done very well, Paul. I wish you might earn as much every day.”

“I’m going to earn some more this afternoon. I bought a pound of candy on the way home, and some cheap envelopes, and I’ll be making up a new stock while I am waiting for dinner.”

Paul took out his candy and envelopes, and set about making up the packages.

“Did any complain of the small amount of candy you put in?”

“A few; but most bought for the sake of the prizes.”

“Perhaps you had better be a little more liberal with your candy, and then there may not be so much dissatisfaction where the prize is only a penny.”

“I don’t know but your are right, mother. I believe I’ll only make thirty packages with this pound, instead of fifty. Thirty’ll be all I can sell this afternoon.”

Just then the door opened, and Paul’s brother entered.

Jimmy Hoffman, or lame Jimmy, as he was often called, was a delicate-looking boy of ten, with a fair complexion and sweet face, but incurably lame, a defect which, added to his delicate constitution, was likely to interfere seriously with his success in life. But, as frequently happens, Jimmy was all the more endeared to his mother and brother by his misfortune and bodily weakness, and if either were obliged to suffer from poverty, Jimmy would be spared the suffering.

“Well, Jimmy, have you had a pleasant walk?” asked his mother.

“Yes, mother; I went down to Fulton Market. There’s a good deal to see there.”

“A good deal more than in this dull room, Jimmy.”

“It doesn’t seem dull to me, mother, while you are here. How did you make out selling your prize packages?”

“They are all sold, Jimmy, every one. I am making some more.”

“Shan’t I help you?”

“Yes, I would like to have you. Just take those envelopes, and write prize packages on every one of them.”

“All right, Paul,” and Jimmy, glad to be of use, got the pen and ink, and, gathering up the envelopes, began to inscribe them as he had been instructed.

By the time the packages were made up, dinner was ready. It was not a very luxurious repast. There was a small piece of rump steak—not more than three-quarters of a pound—a few potatoes, a loaf of bread, and a small plate of butter. That was all; but then the cloth that covered the table was neat and clean, and the knives and forks were as bright as new, and what there was tasted good.

“What have you been doing this morning, Jimmy?” asked Paul.

“I have been drawing, Paul. Here’s a picture of Friday. I copied it from ‘Robinson Crusoe.’”

He showed the picture, which was wonderfully like that in the book, for this—the gift of drawing—was Jimmy’s one talent, and he possessed it in no common degree.

“Excellent, Jimmy!” said Paul. “You’re a real genius. I shouldn’t be surprised if you’d make an artist some day.”

“I wish I might,” said Jimmy, earnestly. “There’s nothing I’d like better.”

“I’ll tell you what, Jimmy. If I do well this afternoon, I’ll buy you a drawing-book and some paper, to work on while mother and I are busy.”

“If you can afford it, Paul, I should like it so much. Some time I might earn something that way.”

“Of course you may,” said Paul, cheerfully. “I won’t forget you.”

Dinner over, Paul went out to business, and was again successful, getting rid of his thirty packages, and clearing another dollar. Half of this he invested in a drawing-book, a pencil and some drawing-paper for Jimmy. Even then he had left of his earnings for the day one dollar and eighty cents. But this success in the new business had already excited envy and competition, as he was destined to find out on the morrow.

CHAPTER III

PAUL HAS COMPETITORS

The next morning Paul took his old place in front of the post office. He set down his basket in front, and, taking one of the packages in his hand, called out in a businesslike manner, as on the day before, “Here’s your prize packages! Only five cents! Money prize in every package! Walk up, gentlemen, and try your luck!”

He met with a fair degree of success at first, managing in the course of an hour to sell ten packages. All the prizes drawn were small, with the exception of one ten-cent prize, which was drawn by a little bootblack, who exclaimed:

“That’s the way to do business, Johnny. If you’ve got any more of them ten-cent prizes, I’ll give you ten cents a piece for the lot.”

“Better buy some more and see,” said Paul.

“That don’t go down,” said the other. “Maybe there’d be only a penny.”

Nevertheless, the effect of this large prize was to influence the sale of three other packages; but as neither of these contained more than two-cent prizes, trade began to grow dull, and for ten minutes all Paul’s eloquent appeals to gentlemen to walk up and try their luck produced no effect.

At this point Paul found that there was a rival in the field.

Teddy O’Brien, who had applied for a partnership the day before, came up with a basket similar to his own, apparently filled with similar packages. He took a position about six feet distant from Paul, and began to cry out, in a shrill voice:

“Here’s your bully prize packages! Best in the market! Here’s where you get your big prizes, fifty cents in some of ‘em. Walk up boys, tumble up, and take your pick afore they’re gone. Fifty cents for five!”

“That’s a lie, Teddy,” said Paul, who saw that his rival’s attractive announcement was likely to spoil his trade.

“No, ‘tisn’t,” said Teddy. “If you don’t believe it, just buy one and see.”

“I’ll tell you what I’ll do,” said Paul, “I’ll exchange.”

“No,” said Teddy; “I ain’t a-goin’ to risk givin’ fifty cents for one.”

“More likely you’d get ten for one. You’re a humbug.”

“Have you really got any fifty-cent prizes?” asked a newsboy, who had sold out his morning stock of papers, and was lounging about the post office steps.

“Best way is to buy, Johnny,” said Teddy.

The boy did buy, but his prize amounted to only one cent.

“Didn’t I tell you so?” said Paul.

“Just wait a while and see,” said Teddy. “The lucky feller hasn’t come along. Here, Mike, jest buy a package!”

Mike, a boy of fifteen, produced five cents, and said, “I don’t mind if I do.”

He selected a package, and, without opening it, slipped it into his pocket.

“Why don’t you open it?” said Teddy.

“What’s the use?” said Mike. “There ain’t no fifty cents inside.”

However, he drew it out of his pocket, and opened it.

“What’s this?” he exclaimed, pulling out a piece of scrip. “Howly St. Patrick! it’s I that’s in luck, anyhow I’ve got the fifty cents!”

And he held up to view a fifty-cent scrip.

“Let me look at it,” said Paul, incredulously.

But there was no room for doubt. It was a genuine fifty cents, as Paul was compelled to admit.

“Didn’t I tell you so?” said Teddy, triumphantly. “Here’s where you get fifty-cent prizes.”

The appeal was successful. The sight of the fifty-cent prize led to a large call for packages, of which Teddy immediately sold ten, while Paul found himself completely deserted. None of the ten, however, contained over two cents. Still the possibility of drawing fifty cents kept up the courage of buyers, while Paul’s inducements were so far inferior that he found himself wholly distanced.

“Don’t you wish you’d gone pardners with me?” asked Teddy, with a triumphant grin, noticing Paul’s look of discomfiture. “You can’t do business alongside of me.”

“You can’t make any money giving such big prizes,” said Paul. “You haven’t taken in as much as you’ve given yet.”

“All right,” said Teddy. “I’m satisfied if you are. Have a package, Jim?”

“Yes,” said Jim. “Mind you give me a good prize.”

The package was bought, and, on being opened, proved to contain fifty cents also, to Paul’s great amazement. How Teddy’s business could pay, as it was managed, he could not comprehend. One thing was certain, however, his new competitor monopolized the trade, and for two hours Paul did not get a solitary customer.

“There’s something about this I don’t understand,” he pondered, thoughtfully. “He must lose money; but he’s spoiled my trade.”

Paul did not like to give up his beat, but he found himself compelled to. Accordingly he took his basket, and moved off toward Wall street. Here he was able to start in business without competitors, and succeeded in selling quite a number of packages, until a boy came up, and said:

“There’s a feller up at the post office that’s givin’ fifty-cent prizes. I got one of ‘em.”

There was a group of half-a-dozen boys around Paul, two of whom were about to invest; but on hearing thus they changed their intention, and walked of in the direction of the post office.

Looking up, Paul saw that the boy who had injured his trade was Mike, who had drawn the first fifty-cent prize from his competitor.

“Can’t you stop interfering?” he said, angrily. “I’ve lost two customers by you.”

“If you don’t like it, you can lump it,” said Mike, insolently. “This is a free country, ain’t it?”

“It’s a mean trick,” said Paul, indignantly.

“Say that ag’in, and I’ll upset your basket,” returned Mike.