Harry�s bulky trunk hit the cobblestone walk with every step he took. He wasn�t used to being a door-to-door salesman, but his close friend had reassured him, �In no time, you won�t have to work like that no more.� Charlie was supposed to be finding them both better jobs, but Harry doubted he�d be able to while the national economy suffered.
Those not for us are against us, Harry thought to himself, the way his dad had taught him to do when he was depressed. Blame it on someone else� that was his motto.
Straightening his metal-rimmed glasses, and smoothing out the old corduroy suit that used to belong to his granddad, Harry gave the trunk a good tug. He tugged it so hard that he went sprawling onto the front stoop of 2213A Little Walk Way. Rubbing his head and straightening up, Harry rang the doorbell.
A little old lady answered it, and smiled up at him.
�What can I do for you, young man?� she asked.
Harry gulped down his pride and answered her, �I am Harry Thimble of Feathers and Finds, I sell quill pens. Could I interest you in any of our fine assortment of products?�
The woman scrunched-up her face to listen and then affirmed with a smile, �Oh� are you from the pharmacy? No, I�m afraid I�m not quite out of pills yet.�
�No, no madam� quills!� he tried once more.
�Bills? I have many of those� which one would you like to pay for me?�
Maybe I should just skip this house, Harry thought, but then stubbornly added, �I have eagle feathers, hawk feathers, condor��
�Oh� quills� why didn�t you say so in the first place,� the old lady backed away and motioned for him to follow her inside.
Harry wanted to say that he had been trying to tell her for the past five minutes, but was rendered breathless by the great strain of the trunk.
Those not for us are against us, his brain repeated, but it wasn�t calming him, in fact it only made his frustration worse.
The little old lady led him through her house and into a study. There was a man snoozing by the fire. He was very old and yet blithe� no doubt the woman�s husband. She went over and shook him several times to wake him.
�Hoommm�� the man opened his dreary eyes and placed his spectacles upon his nose.
�Quills,� Harry hastily interrupted.
�Oh yes, quills��
�Quills?� the old man replied. �Don�t be ridiculous! No one peddles quills!�
�I do,� Harry said, throwing open his trunk. It was filled with every variety of feather you could imagine.
�So you do,� the man looked at Harry with that sleepy look still in his eyes. Ignoring Harry, he turned to his wife. �How much longer �till supper, dear?�
�Not long� I�m ordering Chinese, does that sound okay?�
�Hoommm� just green tea for me then.�
�Okay, dear!�
�Excuse me,� a rather flustered Harry enunciated the words.
�Yes?� the little lady asked.
�Well, aren�t you going to buy something?� he threw a handful of crow feathers on the floor.
�Oh no, we haven�t any need for mills,� she smiled and left the room. Her husband went back to sleep.
Harry stood there, his face turning red with rage. Those not for us are against us, his brain repeated it over and over again, and it was driving him mad.
Finally, Harry couldn�t stand it anymore, and picking up the scattered quills, turned to leave, but fell over his Feathers and Finds trunk and impaled himself on a quill that he was holding.
The resounding thud woke the old man and seeing Harry sprawled on the floor, he went over and prodded the dead man�s body. Then, noticing what Harry had been injured on, he picked up the quill, the blood still dripping from its tip.
�Dear me, that�s going to leave a stain.� The man left the study, not caring for poor Harry, who hadn�t cared for anything.