I guess you know Zadok Biggs, the little tin-peddler who was always whistling. If you don’t you ought to know him, because he knows more than almost anybody else in the world, I guess. That’s because he has traveled around a lot on his red wagon, and talked to almost everybody in Michigan. Besides, I think he had quite a lot of brains to start with. He says so, anyhow, and he told us that the only reason he wasn’t a judge in the United States Supreme Court was because he was so little. You see, he started out with the idea of being a big man, and he is pretty good-sized when he sits down, but as soon as he stands up he’s only about four feet. That is a handicap for a judge. Still, Mark Tidd says it is more important what a judge has in his head than in the legs of his pants, and maybe he’s right.

Zadok came into town next day and drove right up to Tidds’. He thinks Mark is the greatest boy in the world, on account of his name. Zadok is funny about names. He collects them like some boys do stamps or birds’ eggs, and he says Mark’s name, Marcus Aurelius Fortunatus Tidd, is the best one of the lot.

“Well, well, well!” he said. “What’s this I am informed? (Most folks would say ‘told.’) Runnin’ a mill, eh? Now can you beat that? Indeed you cannot. But what would one expect of a boy with a name like Marcus Aurelius Fortunatus Tidd? Nothing less. A boy with such a name is bound to be remarkable. What success, Marcus, what success?”

“We’re goin’ p-p-pretty good,” says Mark.

“To be sure. Certainly. You are, as I understand, fabricating (‘manufacturing’ is the usual word) articles from wood.”

“Yes.”

“Wooden chopping-bowls, perhaps.”

“Yes.”

“A good product. A fine thing to make. The market is good now. I am obliged to pay much more for them than I did. I hope your prices have gone up.”

“They have,” says Mark.

“And are you having any trouble? You always have trouble, do you not? You always meet with opposition—unjust opposition?”

Then Mark told him all about it, and Zadok was as mad as a sparrow that a cat chases away from a pile of crumbs.

“My name, Zadok,” he said, “means ‘just.’ It describes me. I am just by name and just by nature. Such things as this fill me with wrath. (Most men would say ‘make me mad.’) What are you doing to this man Wiggamore?”

“The question is what is he doing to us,” says I.

“No, no,” says Zadok. “Ask Marcus Aurelius if it is. When a man plans to do you harm you do not wait until he does it. No, indeed. Instead, you plan yourself how to avert the calamity. Is that not so, Marcus? And you lay schemes to get the better of that man?”

“That’s right,” says Mark.

“Zadok will help you. Not that Marcus Tidd needs help, but the brain and the experience of Zadok Biggs are at your disposal. Zadok will look about and Zadok will set his vast intelligence to work. Then an opportunity may present itself. Opportunities are marvelous things, and you are quick to grasp them. A hint, and you see your chance. Be patient, be watchful, and Zadok will give the hint.”

With that he went into the house to see Mr. Tidd and Mark’s mother and we went to work.

That afternoon a man came up into the mill and we saw him go over and talk to Silas Doolittle. After a while both of them came over to us, and Silas said the man was a Mr. Dwight that was in the woodenware business in the city and an old customer of his.

“I sold him most of my bowls, and he handled a good sight of drumsticks and dumb-bells and tenpins for me. Seems like I never had very good luck sellin’ such things, and Mr. Dwight he used to come over every little while, jest like he’s done to-day, and kind of take things off my hands.”

“Yes,” says Dwight. “I’m always glad to help a friend out. Silas tells me you have quite a little stock in the warehouse. Well, I don’t need anything just now, and prices are ’way down and the market is loaded up, but just to be a good fellow I’ll take what you’ve got.”

Silas was beaming and happy. He looked like he thought he had done a fine stroke of business.

“Ship ’em to the same address?” says he.

“Yes,” says Dwight.

“I’ll go and git in a car,” says Silas.

Mark looked at him out of the corner of his eye, but he didn’t grin or speak sharp or do anything unpleasant. He wouldn’t have hurt Silas’s feelings for a lot. It wasn’t Silas’s fault he hadn’t any head for business, and he was doing his best. But Mark just says, sort of hesitating-like:

“Jest a m-m-minute, Silas. What p-price was Mr. Dwight offerin’?”

“Why,” says Silas, “we didn’t say nothin’ about price! I know Dwight’ll send us a check for whatever he’s warranted in payin’.”

“I know he would,” says Mark, “but s-s-somehow I’d rather know jest what he’s goin’ to p-pay before we ship. What f-figger do you calc’late you kin give, Mr. Dwight?”

“Why, it’s like this,” says Dwight. “Retail prices is ’way down, and everybody’s loaded up with stock. I can’t offer as much as I’d like to. You better just send them along, and I’ll give you the best price I can when I dispose of the goods.”

“Somehow that d-d-don’t sound jest right to me,” says Mark. “It’s kind of uncertain. I think we ought to know jest what you’ll p-p-pay.”

“Well,” says Dwight, “I couldn’t offer you as much to-day as I might be able to get for you. I’ve got to be safe. I couldn’t set a price and then sell at a loss. You’d get more by waiting.”

“Maybe so,” says Mark, “but I’d rather you m-made an offer.”

Dwight sort of hesitated a little and hemmed and hawed, but pretty soon he told Mark what he could pay for each kind of goods.

“Um!...” says Mark. “That the b-best you can do?”

“It’s the best the market will allow me to offer.”

“Market’s crowded, eh?”

“Badly.”

“With bowls in special?” says Mark.

“Yes,” says Dwight.

“Um!... Good mornin’, Mr. Dwight. I don’t calc’late we kin do any b-b-business.”

“Why not? What’s wrong with that offer?”

“It hain’t fair,” says Mark.

“What——”

“And you hain’t fair,” says Mark, “and I calc’late, jedgin’ from what you’ve tried to do to-day, that you hain’t n-never been fair with Mr. Bugg.”

“What do you mean, young man? Are you charging me with sharp practice?”

“I’m sayin’,” says Mark, in the gentle way he has when somebody’s done something to make him think they’re cheating him—“I’m sayin’ that you’ve known Silas perty well, and you’ve made perty good m-money off him. You’ve come over here a g-g-good many times, makin’ b’lieve you was doin’ a favor, when you was actually payin’ him a lot less than he could git for his goods if he had known what he was d-doin’.”

“Now, Mark—” says Silas, in that frightened way of his.

“Young man—” began Dwight again. But Mark interrupted.

“I’ve took the t-t-trouble to study the market, Mr............