The Great American Pie Company

When the two men were comfortably settled in the shade and had lighted their pipes, Eph, as the senior in the trade and the party with a complaint, opened his mouth to speak; but before the words came forth, Phineas outflanked him and let fly a thunderbolt.

“Eph,” he said, “you got to lower down your pie prices to even up with what mine are.”

Eph looked at his companion in astonishment.

“Lower down my prices!” he ejaculated. “You be crazy, Phin; plum crazy! Don't I give a bigger pie an' a better pie than what you do?”

“Well, then,” remarked Phineas, with a sly twinkle in his eye, “how do you reckon I can h'ist my prices up any? Mebby you think I can git ten cents fer a small, mean pie whiles you ask ten cents fer a big, good one? My idee is that if we want to run along nice an' smooth, an' not have no trouble, what we want to do is to git together an' go in cahoots, an' then it don't make no difference what we sell at.”

“I'm ag'in' trusts,” said Eph, coldly.

“So'm I,” said Phineas. “Who said anything about trusts? All we want is to even things up a bit. Fust thing you know, you'll git mad an' cut your prices down to eight cents, an' I'll have to drop to six; an' you'll come to six, an' I'll go to four; an' you'll go to four, an' I'll sell pies at two; an' you'll put your pies down to two cents, an' blame my hide if I don't give pies away. Dog me if I don't!”

Eph looked worried. “Oh, come now, Phin,” he said anxiously, “you won't up an' do that, will you?”

“Dog me if I don't!” Phin repeated stubbornly.

Eph arose and shook his fist at Phineas.

“You old ijit!” he yelled. “I'll teach ye!” And bending over, he seized a large, soft pie and slapped it down over the head of the seated Phineas. In a moment the two men were standing face to face, fists clenched, and breath coming short and fast, each waiting for the other to strike the first blow.

But neither struck. Eph's eyes fell to Phineas's shoulder, where a large fragment of pie had lodged. Phineas moved slightly and the pie fragment wavered, tottered, and--Eph reached out his hand quickly to catch it, and Phineas dodged and, closing in, grasped him around the waist and pulled down. Eph sank upon his knees and Phineas followed him, and the two men, nose to nose, eye to eye, looked at each other and grinned.

“If we're goin' to fight this thing out,” said Eph, “let's go over in the shade an' set down. It's too blame hot fer wrastlin'.”

“I reckon you see now how your plan would work out,” said Phineas; “we'd give away nigh on to a thousand pies, an' all because we didn't use hoss sense. I'm ag'in' trusts, same as you. I'd vote any day to down any o' them big fellers, but a little private agreement between gentlemen don't hurt nobody. What I say is, git together an' fix on a fair price an' stick to it.”

“Jest what I say,” said Eph. “You lift your price up to ten cents--”

“Never in this green world,” said Phineas. “Contrariwise, you drop your grade of pie down equal to mine, an' put your price down to eight cents.”

“Not so long as I live!” said Eph.

“Well, then,” said Phineas, “it stands this way. If we leave our prices as they be, it means fight an' loss to us both, an' we won't change em, so what's to be done?” Eph looked out over the river gloomily.

“Dog me if I know,” he sighed. “There's just one thing,” said Phineas. “We got to form a stock company, you an' me, an' put all our earnings together, an' then, every so often, divide up even. Then if I sell more pies because mine are eight cents, you'll git your half of all I sell; an' if you sell more because your pies are bigger an' better, I'll get my share of what you sell. An' when things git goin' all right, we'll raise up the price all around--say, my pies to ten cents an' yours to twelve; an' bein' in cahoots, there won't be nobody to say we sha'n't do it, an' we'll lay aside that extra profit to build up the business.”

“Phineas,” said Eph, solemnly, “it's a wonder I didn't think o' that myself.”

“Ain't it, now?” asked Phineas. “But I 've give this thing some thought, an' I ain't begun to tell you where it ends. I wanted to see how you took to it before I let it all out on you.”

Eph leaned forward eagerly. “Go on,” he said. “Let it out on me now.”

“When the only two homemade pie-makers git together like we'll be,” said Phineas, triumphantly, “I'd like to know who'll stop us from liftin' up the price. Huh! Them that don't like to pay our prices, they can eat bakers' pies an' welcome.”

“I know some folks in this town,” Eph said, “that wouldn't eat bakers' pies if they had to pay twenty-five cents apiece for homemade.” He paused to consider this pregnant statement, and then added: “But I reckon the bakers would git away a heap of our trade if we begun liftin' our prices much.” Phineas's eyes snapped.

“They would, hey?” he said, laughing. “Mebby they would an' mebby they wouldn't. What do you suppose we'd be doin' with that surplus we'd accumulate? Come strawberry season, we'd up an' buy every strawberry that come to Gloning. We'd pay more than anybody could afford to, an' add the difference to our strawberry-pie price, because we'd have the only strawberry pies in town. An' what strawberries we couldn't use right off we'd can for winter pies. An' as other fruits come in, we'd buy them up the same way. But we wouldn't be mean. We'd open a fruit-store an' sell folks fruit at a good high price if they'd sign an agreement not to use any fer pie. An' in a little while the bakers would git sick an' sell out their shops to us fer almost nothin'. An' then we'd go into the bakin' business big.”

“We'd bake cakes an' bread then,” said Eph, eagerly.