John Fitzgerald Read Online Free

never knows what to expect
from them. And the longer you are married to them, the less you know what to
expect. We will wash our hands and then I'll introduce you to Mr. Kramer."
        The man in the parlor was wearing a blue
suit and shiny black boots. He had on a ruffled shirt with a shoestring
necktie. He was smoking a cigar. And I couldn't help noticing that he had five
cigars in the breast pocket of his suit. Papa noticed too.
    "I see you
found the cigars, Alex," he said.
        "Didn't think you would mind,
Fitz," Mr. Kramer said. Hardly anybody called Papa by his first name. Men,
especially, called him Fitz.
        "Meet my youngest son, John,"
Papa said. "John, this is Mr. Kramer."
        Mr. Kramer shook my hand. "Glad to
know you, young man," he said.
        "I'm glad to know you, sir," I said.
        Mr. Kramer looked at Papa. "Your wife
is both beautiful and charming," he said.
      I wondered how charming he would have thought
Mamma was if he could have heard what she said about him. "Thank
you," Papa said. "Sit down, Alex. We have time for a smoke before
dinner."
        Mr. Kramer sat down on the black leather
chair that matched our couch. Papa sat in his rocking chair. He took a cigar
from the humidor and used the clipper on the end of his watch chain to snip off
the end. Then he lit the cigar and leaned back in his chair.
        "It has been a long time, Alex,"
Papa said, blowing some smoke toward the ceiling. "The last time I saw you
I was publishing the Silverlode Advocate before the
mining camp became a ghost town."
    "Must be
close to fifteen years," Mr. Kramer said.
    "How is
business with you?" Papa asked.
        "Not too good," Mr. Kramer
answered. "I remember the time when I could start out with a sheep dog and
trade myself right up to a good team of horses in no time at all. Either I am
getting rusty or people are getting smarter."
        Papa laughed as he exhaled some smoke.
"I remember one time in Silverlode when you
started out with a pocketknife and ended up with a milk cow."
        "I recall that deal," Mr. Kramer
said, puffing on his cigar. "I bought the pocketknife in Abie Classman's Emporium for fifty cents. I sold the milk
cow to a Mormon for twenty dollars."
        "I think you topped that one the time
you started out with a burro and ended up with a team of horses and a
buggy," Papa said. I was listening so hard it felt as if my ears had
doubled in size. Mr. Kramer made my brother Tom look like a piker. I knew it
was rude to interrupt my elders but I was so curious I couldn't help it.
    "How did you
do those things, Mr. Kramer?" I asked.
    He looked at Papa
before answering.
        "Go ahead," Papa said. "It
might save J.D. from getting skinned trading some time."
        Mr. Kramer knocked the ashes on his cigar
into the ashtray. "It is what you might call trading up," he said.
"First you find somebody who wants something they don't have more than
they want something they own. You always get the best of the bargain because
they are eager to exchange something they don't particularly need for something
they really do want. Let us assume that you are a prospector and you own a
horse but would rather have a burro. So you trade the horse for a burro
although you know the horse is worth more."
        "Thank you for explaining," I
said. I just couldn't understand why Papa had called Mr. Kramer a sharpie. For
my money he was just doing people a favor, getting them something they wanted
for something they didn't want.
        "I came into town riding a gentle
saddle horse," Mr. Kramer said to Papa. "It would make a good horse
for a lady. Know anybody who needs one?"
        "Not offhand," Papa said.
"But if you can get your hands on a good team of mules I know where you
can get a very good price for them. Pete Ferguson, who runs a logging camp
about twenty miles from here, is looking for a good team of mules."
         Mr.
Kramer smiled. "Then I'll just have to trade my saddle horse up