CHAPTER XI.

RENFRO BECOMES A MENTOR.

Morrison was at his desk. He jerked out a surly answer to Renfro’s pleasant, “Good morning.”

In the same mood he turned in his chair and saw Renfro. The frown by some mysterious manner was jerked into a smile. “Hello Horn,” he beamed. “Got my message--didn’t you?” In rapid jerks he continued, “Needn’t have bothered to come in. Could have told you over the wire. Want you to take a pupil on Old Grief.”

A look of dismay on Renfro’s face answered him. “Oh, no--haven’t the least idea of taking it away from you,” he hastened to reassure Renfro. “I want you to take Merle Riker out there with you this afternoon and teach him how you get new customers.”

He pointed to a chair and Renfro dropped into it. But there was no break in Morrison’s conversation. “Good kid, but lacks pep--Mother’s a widow--needs the money--gave him one of our best routes. He’s good to collect, because the people are all good pay. He doesn’t lose a subscriber. Doesn’t get any new ones either. Just keeps the route the way it is. And he’s got the best route for new customers in town--all except Old Grief,” he winked. “Now the Riker family will need a Christmas turkey and the Globe needs new subscribers out there. See?”

“Yes sir,” Renfro got in an answer this time.

“I’ll send a sub out in Merle’s place this afternoon and you take him with you,” Morrison continued. “Keep still about it. Don’t want to make a precedent out of this--unusual case--feel sorry for the family. All the kid needs is some pep. Inspire it. Get me, Horn?”

Renfro nodded. “I’ll do my best,” he promised.

And he kept his word. When he reached the station that night, a slender boy with a face which was molded along feminine lines, and whose clothes were well worn met him. Renfro studied him a minute before he began talking. As he studied he decided that like Morrison, he was going to like this boy. He lacked enterprise. But Renfro believed that this was on account of shyness due to his poverty.

For when the boy lifted his eye lashes there was a quality of steel in his gray eyes. His mouth too had a firmness at the corners that promised much. He walked along the street in quick long steps, which matched those taken by Renfro and he was ever in an alert, ready to listen attitude.

“We’ll try some new subscribers first,” Renfro volunteered. “Then you can help me throw my papers and if we have time we’ll get a few more.”

“All right,” the steel quality was also in the boy’s voice.

Renfro consulted his book, found a number three doors away and led the way to a little L shaped cottage. A big, burly man came to the door. “Do you read the Globe?” Renfro began in a pleasant way.

The man started to shut the door with a gruff, “No,” when Renfro’s foot slipped just inside enough to prevent that. “I am the new carrier on this route,” he began. “I have taken it for several years’ service, so I wanted all the people to know me.”

The man stared at him more kindly and opened the door a bit farther himself. “I don’t like the Globe,” he said, the surliness still in his voice. “It comes too late in the evening and--”

“It came too late in the evening,” Renfro smiled. “I bring it before any other carrier on this route brings the other evening papers. And I can prove it. You ask any of the people on my route.”

The man hesitated. Renfro reached into his bag and brought out a paper. “I’ll leave one now and stop on my way home to get your order,” he smiled.

The man took the paper and laughed. “I’ll see,” he promised. “I’m going to call up the grocer on the corner and see if you are the first boy out with your papers,” he added. “My wife wants an early paper, so she can read it before she starts getting the supper.”

Renfro turned to Merle as they walked toward the street. “After that I have to be prompt,” he said. “We’ll carry my papers now. From now on--I’ll carry my route before I try to get a single new subscriber.”

Merle nodded. “Yes, Hooch,” he agreed. “I’ll remember that, too.”

He reached out his arm for the papers and Renfro gave him half the bundle. Together they traversed Old Grief, with its pawn shops, second hand stores, lunch wagons, cheap butcher stores, army supply store and dozens of other “imitation places of business”. Then they came into the poorer residence district, where the children fought for the honor of carrying the paper to the door. From this they passed into the street on which lived the old residents of Lindendale, who would not leave their ancestral homes.

“There,” Renfro nodded toward the big house surrounded with shrubbery which needed trimming, “is where Judge Wier lives--Helen Wier’s father.”

Merle Riker stared. “Judge Wier helped my mother,” he said simply, “I hope some one finds his daughter. He’s a kind man.”

Renfro laughed. “Most people don’t know it,” he added.

At one house Renfro stopped to collect. The woman had not had her money Saturday and was inclined to show an ugly disposition because Renfro had stopped for it in the middle of the week instead of waiting until the next Saturday.

“It isn’t convenient for me to pay every time,” she said in a cross voice, “and if you’re afraid to trust me, I’ll get another paper.”

Renfro looked straight at her. “I have to pay for my papers every week,” he said. “And I come every evening thru the rain and snow and cold, right on time, because it’s my job. And you--”

“I suppose you were going to say mine is to pay you on time too,” the woman was still surly though she saw Renfro’s logic before he had time to utter it all. “Wait.”

She went into the house and returned with twenty cents.

“She’ll pay next Saturday,” Merle spoke before Renfro could. “She saw what you meant and knew you were right, too.”

The route finished, Renfro again consulted his red book, in which all his prospective subscribers were listed. “Want to try a place of business?” he asked, “Or, are all the people on your route families.”

Merle shook his head and explained that he had three blocks of the east side stores in his route, though few of the merchants who kept them were regular subscribers. “They buy the papers on the street,” he explained, “so I don’t think it’s much difference whether or not I have them.”

“Means more money for you,” Renfro gave the best reason first, the one which he knew would appeal to a boy needing money. “Then, too, when they want a paper they buy most any one. If the boy they meet doesn’t have the Globe they may ask another boy for one, but if the second one doesn’t happen to have one then the chances are even that they will buy another paper. Get me?”

Merle nodded.

So back to the pawn shop, and second hand clothing store district they went. It was a butcher shop, however, into which Renfro led the way. He smiled at the man behind the block and waited until the customer had been served and departed with his bundle. “Read the paper I left yesterday?” he asked, “and how did you like the market report?”

The butcher came around from behind the block to discuss the market report. He admitted that he had liked the report in the Globe. “But I can buy it off the street boy who comes in every evening,” he volunteered. “I don’t need to bother to subscribe. It wastes my time.”

“Oh, no,” Renfro shook his head but was very courteous, “It won’t take you nearly so much time to pay me once a week as it does to pay the boys on the street every day. And sometimes they forget to come in or you have a customer and they can’t wait, then you have to go to the door and hunt one up.”

The man grinned. “Oh, beat it,” he laughed good naturedly, “you want my subscription. Is it a prize?”

“I want to save you time,” Renfro was still serious, “and money. Sometimes you can’t get the Globe when you go out after it, because the boys may be sold out. Then you have to take another paper and you have a different market report. And you may lose money because the other will not be so thorough.”

“Yes,” the butcher was serious now. “You are a good talker, and I will subscribe to save time. It is just as you say, though I never thought of it before. You make out a card and I’ll pay now and you bring it tomorrow. Early!”

“Yes, sir,” Renfro began making out the card.

The next prospective subscriber was a woman, one of the have-to-be-convinced of everything sort. Renfro had left her a paper the evening before and she had read it but yet she couldn’t see much difference between it and the evening paper she had taken for five years. Renfro opened one of his papers, carried it to the library table, showed her the Woman’s page, explained the information which it contained, talked about the features, the editorials, and knowing the nature of most women, ended with its strong society column.

“I’ll try it,” she agreed. “I’ll take it a week and then if every copy is as good as your two samples, I’ll subscribe regularly.”

“Every copy is just like the sample.” Renfro was sober then.

But outside he and Merle chuckled. “She thinks we get out extra good papers for samples,” they laughed and laughed.

“I’d like to go back to the first man you gave the sample paper,” Merle said at the sidewalk. “I think I understand now how to get customers but I’d like to see what he does.”

Back to the little L shaped house they went. The man was ready for them. “The man at the corner says you are all right. What I want is an early evening paper, so I’ll sign your subscription card.”

“That is the secret of getting subscriptions,” Renfro confided to Merle when they were alone again. “Find out what your prospective subscribers want and then show them that your paper is the one which gives them exactly that--from early papers to those which are carefully folded and put in a convenient place on the front porch.”