Stuyvesant: A Franconia Story

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:

My judgment is, that it would depend upon whether B. had a reasonable time to consider and decide upon the offer, before C. came forward. In all cases of making an offer, it is implied that reasonable time is allowed to consider it.

“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.

Chapter VII

The Work Shop

When the boys entered the shop door, the first thing for Phonny to do, was to look and see if his trap was safe. It was safe. It remained standing upon the horse-block where he had placed it.

“And now,” said Phonny, “the question is, where I am to find a box for a cage. I must go and look about.”

“And I must go and look at my hen-house,” said Stuyvesant.

Phonny proposed that Stuyvesant should go with him to find a box, and then help him make a cage, and after that, he would go, he said, and help Stuyvesant about the repairs of the hen-house.

“I must go and look at the hen-house first,” said Stuyvesant. “I can do that, while you are finding the box, and then I will help you.”

“Well,” said Phonny. “But – on the whole, I will go with you to look at it, and then you can go with me to find the box.”

So the boys walked along toward the hen-house together.

When they came to the place, they went in, and Stuyvesant proceeded to examine the premises very thoroughly. There were two doors of admission. One was a large one, for men and boys to go in at. The other was a very small one, a square hole in fact, rather than a door, and was intended for the hens.

This small opening had once been fitted with a sort of lid, which was attached by leather hinges on its upper edge to a wooden bar or cleat nailed to the side of the house, just over the square hole. This lid formed, of course, a sort of door, opening outward and upward. When up, it could be fastened in that position, by means of a wooden button. The button and the bar of wood remained in its place, but the door was gone.

“Where is the door?” asked Stuyvesant, after he had examined all this very carefully.

“Why, I took it off,” said Phonny, “to make a little stool of. I wanted a square board just about that size.”

“And did you make a stool?” asked Stuyvesant.

“No,” said Phonny. “I found that I could not bore the holes for the legs. I tried to bore a hole, but I split the board.”

“Then I must find another piece of board, somewhere,” said Stuyvesant.

Stuyvesant next turned his attention to the great door. He swung it to and fro, to see if the hinges were in order. They were. Next he shut it, but he found there was nothing to keep it shut.

“There used to be a button,” said Phonny.