LESTER’S BROTHER Benjamin had little tolerance for Lester’s defeated-man-slumped-in-a-chair attitude. Benjamin was a tireless worker, unceasingly optimistic. He sold from door to door, and he had over the years taken on more and more lines, so that when he found an especially susceptible client he could return month after month with something else to sell. Among the lines he sold was the series of books distributed by Alonzo Clapp, of Albany, the jobber to whom Luther Huber had turned for the distribution of coarse goods, and when Clapp approached Ben with the idea of selling erotic jewelry, Ben took the line on eagerly, with exactly the same eagerness with which he would have added a promising line of cookware.
Every evening, when Ben came home, his eyes fell on his brother, the defeated man, slumped in his lightweight chair. Ben couldn’t stand seeing his brother so. With the help of some of the other Pipers, he managed to find and subsidize a shabby and cramped apartment where Lester, Millie, and Herb could live on their own, out of Ben’s sight. One evening, in Herb’s fifteenth year, Herb was sitting on the floor of the larger room of that apartment — a room that served as living room, dining room, kitchen, and Herb’s bedroom — fixing a meat grinder. Millie was setting the table for dinner. The sound of footsteps on the stairs made Millie and Herb start and look at each other with concern.
“Someone’s coming up the stairs, Lester,” Millie said. Lester Piper didn’t move. He sat slumped in his chair. Millie sighed. “It’s sure to be Mrs. Lightner,” she said to Herb. “I owe Mr. Lightner for two weeks’ worth of meat, and she doesn’t like him to give credit. She knows he never asks to be paid. You answer it, Herb.”
There was a knock at the door, and Herb answered. He opened the door a crack and said before he looked through it, “My mother and father aren’t home.”
“The hell they’re not,” said a breathless, wheezing, masculine voice from the hallway. “Your father’s sitting in the cork chair in the corner, and your mother’s standing beside him, wringing her hands.”
“It’s Uncle Ben,” said Herb. He opened the door, and Benjamin Piper lurched into the room, placing a heavy hand on Herb for support.
“Good evening, Benjamin,” said Millie, her eyes down, her hands nervous. Benjamin was a creditor, even if he was Lester’s brother and never made demands. “It’s always good to see you.”
Ben grunted. “Good evening to you, brother,” he shouted at Lester, in an attitude of false good humor. “Any prospects?”
Lester raised his head and squinted at his brother. “I’m ruined,” he said.
“And you’ve been ruined for more than ten years,” said Ben. He turned to Herb and said, “You ought to sell tickets to see him. The Ruined Man. And I’ll bet you could do it, Herb. You’ve got a good tongue.” He boxed the boy playfully on the ears.
“Stop it, Uncle Ben,” said Herb. He twisted away. Ben held him with his large hands.
“All right, all right,” he said. “That’s why I’m here, though. I’ve got something for you, Herb, something to sell. Better than newspapers. Better than those rat pies.”
“What is it?” asked Herb. He had acquired a skepticism much stronger than his mother’s about the Piper enthusiasms. He recognized a tendency in himself toward dreaming and scheming, and he fought it back with skeptical questioning. Whenever one of his Piper relatives got a certain gleam in his eye, Herb got an uncomfortable feeling in his stomach, like hunger.
Millie came forward, put a hand on Herb’s shoulder, and drew him to her. It was a protective gesture, and Ben recognized it. He chuckled.
“Now don’t be frightened,” he said. “It’s nothing foolish, and you don’t have to put any money in or anything like that. It’s one of my lines. A guaranteed success. Such a success for me that I’ve got more than I can handle with it. I’m going to get you into it, Herb. Of course, I’ll take a cut, but we can go through all of that later. Don’t look so skeptical, Herb! It’s a regular company, and they offer a straight commission arrangement. I’ll even buy your samples for you.”
“What is it?” asked Herb.
“Books,” said Ben.
“Books?” asked Herb.
“Yep,” said Ben. “Books. Professor Clapp’s Five-Foot Shelf of Indispensable Information for Modern Times. It’s a great sche — ”
He saw the fear in Millie’s eyes, and he raised his hands quickly, waving them in front of her as if to erase what he had said.
“It’s a great arrangement,” he corrected himself. “You go to a house, show the books, and you make the people want them, even though they can’t afford to buy them and probably wouldn’t get around to reading all of them if they did. Now here’s the beauty of it. You pipe up with, ‘Mr. Whoosis, I wonder if we might step outside for a smoke?’ When you get Whoosis alone, you say, ‘Please, Mr. Whoosis, let me spare you any embarrassment. The cost of the entire five-foot shelf of books is indeed quite high, as I’m sure you’ve guessed from the quality of the books themselves. Suppose I were to tell you that the first book can be yours, right now, for just five cents.’ He can’t believe it, of course. But it’s true. You give him the first book for a nickel and get him to sign a paper saying he’ll buy another book every month for fifty-nine cents a book until he’s bought the whole five-foot shelf.”
“Oh, Ben,” said Millie disapprovingly.
“Now, Millie,” said Ben, “what on earth is wrong with it? These people are getting a chance to enjoy some of the best books of our times. Why, just think how easily that fifty-nine cents would be wasted on useless things! No home should be without books.”
“What books are they?” asked Herb.
“Oh, I don’t know,” said Ben. “Clapp buys them from the printers and booksellers; whatever they can’t sell, they sell to him by the crate, cheap.”
“Ben,” said Millie, “you’re a scoundrel.”
He shrugged. “Come with me, Herb,” he said. “I’ve got your books downstairs.”
In Topical Guide 261, Mark Dorset considers Books: Five-Foot Shelf of and Marketing: Subscription Schemes from this episode.
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