UNDER A CLOUD
Willie’s troubles began the next morning. Long before the appointed
hour, he was on hand at the Custom-house. But he found he was alone.
The elevator man was there and a few persons who seemed to be
employed about the building were visible, but the office in which
Willie was to work was deserted. Willie did not know what to do. He
did not like to venture boldly into the offices, nor was he desirous
of waiting outside, at the door. So he stepped within the anteroom
and sat down on the little settee. Presently one or two men entered
the anteroom and brushed past him without paying any attention to
him.
After a while a rangy, well-grown boy came up the corridor,
whistling noisily. Willie had a good opportunity to observe him as
he came down the long passageway. There was a swagger about the
lad’s carriage that suggested conceit or at least self-complacency.
The boy’s cap was tilted rakishly over one ear. Even before Willie
could see his face distinctly, he felt sure the lad before him was a
“smarty.” When the boy drew close enough so that his features could
be distinguished plainly, Willie was certain that his guess was
correct. In fact, he saw at once that the fellow was more than
“smart.” He was tough. A leering, ugly expression was plainly marked
on his face. Hard lines were already stamped about his mouth and
eyes. And Willie knew without ever hearing the boy speak, that his
talk would be vulgar and profane. He was the more certain when the
lad came blustering into the office, laid his hand on the swinging
gate, and pushed it open. The first two fingers of the hand were
stained a deep brown, from cigarettes.
The lad pushed through the gate, which he allowed to slam shut with
a bang. He glanced into all the rooms of the suite, probably trying
to discover if he was on hand before the boss. He saw no one but a
few minor clerks who had come in while Willie was waiting at the
door. Then he returned to the little railing, and facing Willie,
said in a coarse voice, “Whatcha want?”
“I’m the new office boy,” said Willie, quietly, feeling an instant
and instinctive dislike for the lad before him.
“You are, hey?” said the lad, giving Willie an ugly stare. “Well,
you’re a deuce of an office boy!” and the fellow swore noisily.
Then, after another stare, he went on, “Whose cradle did they rob to
get you, huh?”
At this reference to his size, Willie flushed angrily. The lad who
was talking to him was a full head taller than Willie, and yet he
was a full year younger. Willie, of course, did not know that, but
he instantly guessed that the office boy had not had nearly as much
schooling as he himself had had. Willie was right, for the office
boy had never even gotten into high school.
Willie’s impulse was to make an angry and cutting reply, but he
restrained himself. It wouldn’t do, he thought, to get into a
quarrel with his predecessor before he himself was actually
installed in office. And no sooner had Willie thought that than it
occurred to him that perhaps the lad before him was trying to pick a
quarrel with him. He might want to discredit him, or he might want
to give him a beating. There wasn’t any question that the lad
probably could whip him in a fight. Not only was the boy a head
taller than Willie, but he probably weighed forty pounds more than
Willie. So Willie decided to take a tight rein on himself. He sat
still and made no reply.
The insolent office boy promptly tried another line of attack. He
began to question Willie, as though he were examining him for the
place. But at that juncture Mr. King came bustling in. Willie was
greatly relieved when the tall Special Agent stepped through the
doorway.
“Hello, Willie!” he cried, seeing his new helper. “Glad to see
you’re on hand promptly.” Then the Special Agent turned to the big
office boy. “Tom,” he said, “I wish you’d show this boy just what
his duties are, before you go to your new job.”
The big lad took Willie in charge and instructed him in his new
duties. “You sit at this here desk,” he said, “and when anybody
comes in, you see that he gets to the Chief quick. See? And you
answer the buzzer when Mr. King rings. See? And you take care of his
desk and his mail. See?” The lad glanced quickly round. Mr. King was
not in his room. The old office boy stepped into it and beckoned to
Willie. “You gotta keep the ink-wells filled and good pens on the
desk. You’ll find them in that cupboard. Be sure you keep several on
the desk. And when the mail comes, grab it quick and put it on the
boss’s desk. Don’t do a thing to it, but put it on his desk. He
don’t want anybody to monkey with his mail. And you’ll have to clean
out these spittoons twice every day. About the middle of the morning
and the middle of the afternoon you want to take them down-stairs to
the wash-room and clean them out. See? The boss is awful particular
about it.”
“Where is the wash-room?” asked Willie.
“The elevator man will show you. I couldn’t exactly tell you how to
find it.”
Just then the Special Agent came into the room and sat down at his
desk. The office boy promptly withdrew, and Willie followed. The
office boy gave him some further directions and disappeared. Willie
sat down at his desk in the anteroom. Almost at once the buzzer
sounded, startling Willie so that he fairly jumped from his chair.
He stepped to the Special Agent’s desk.
“Just sit down and answer the questions on this card,” said Mr.
King. “This is your examination.”
Willie was taken aback. “My examination?” he said. “I don’t
understand.”
“This is a Civil Service job you’ve got,” replied Mr. King. “You
have to pass an examination before I can regularly appoint you.”
Willie looked a little alarmed.
“You needn’t worry,” smiled the Special Agent. “You’ve been to high
school and you will have no difficulty in passing the examination.”
“If this is a Civil Service post,” said Willie, “how could you
discharge that other office boy so suddenly?”
“Oh! I got rid of him by promoting him.”
“By promoting him!” gasped Willie.
“Sure. They need a boy in one of the departments here. He has to be
a boy on the Civil Service list, who has had at least a little
experience. They always get their boys that way. The boys start in
my office and move on up.”
“Then I suppose he’s glad he lost his place here.”
“In a way, perhaps. But he knows I moved him along to get rid of
him. It really isn’t much of a promotion. He’ll get an extra dollar
a week, maybe, but he’ll have to work to earn it. And he knows it.
He didn’t do any work here at all. He was the worst loafer I ever
had on the job. I’m hoping you will be an improvement.”
“I’m going to be,” said Willie, very quietly, and more to himself
than to his new boss.
He took the papers back to his desk and read them over. The
questions were simple and he found that he could answer all of them
readily. He drafted his answers, then went over each answer
carefully to see whether he had misspelled any words, and whether he
could improve the wording. When he was fully satisfied that he had
his answers in as good shape as he could put them, he copied them
neatly on fresh paper and handed the sheets to Mr. King.
The latter went over the papers at once. Then he touched the buzzer.
“Your papers are satisfactory,” he said, “and you are formally
appointed to the job. You are now in a Civil Service position and
cannot be ousted from it except for misbehavior or incompetency.”
“Thank you, Mr. King,” said Willie. “I’m glad to know it.”
“Very well. But don’t think that because you are a Civil Service
employee you can loaf on the job. We don’t always promote boys when
we get rid of them. Just remember that.”
Willie went back to his desk and began to familiarize himself with
his tasks. He made some mistakes at first. When a man inquired for
Mr. King and Willie took the man into the inner office without first
speaking to Mr. King, the Special Agent was provoked. The minute the
man was gone, Mr. King rang his buzzer and reprimanded Willie.
“Don’t do that again,” he said sharply. “Always find out a caller’s
name and business, and then find out whether it is convenient for us
to see him. That applies to any of us here in the office. We can’t
be bothered by every Tom, Dick, and Harry who chooses to walk in.”
“Very well, sir,” said Willie. “I’m sorry I made a mistake.” He was
puzzled about the mistake, too, for he was certain the old office
boy had told him his business was to conduct callers promptly to the
Chief. “Probably I misunderstood him,” thought Willie.
Presently the mail-carrier came with a great bunch of letters.
Willie promptly took them to Mr. King. Hardly had he resumed his
seat at his desk before the buzzer rang angrily. “Sort this mail,”
said Mr. King sharply. “Deliver each letter to the man it’s
addressed to. Be sure you slit the envelopes in my own mail. I can’t
waste time opening envelopes.”
Willie’s eyes popped open wide. “Why, I thought,” he began, and then
was silent.
He sorted, slit, and delivered the mail as directed. But while he
was doing it, he was trying to recall what the old office boy had
told him. Willie was certain he had been told not to slit any
letters. Could it be that he had misunderstood?
Time went faster than he dreamed it could. Willie was busy every
moment. Before he knew it, the morning was almost past. Willie
thought of the spittoons. He leaped to his feet and darted into the
Special Agent’s office. From either side of the big mahogany desk he
lifted a shining brass cuspidor and started for the door.
“Hold on there,” roared the Chief. “What in blazes are you doing
with those spittoons? Don’t get so gay. There’ll be plenty of jobs
worth doing, without wasting your time on cuspidors. What did you
mean to do with them, anyway?”
Willie’s suspicions were becoming certainties, as he answered,
“Clean them, of course. Isn’t that part of my work?”
“Certainly not,” exploded the Special Agent. “That’s work for the
scrub women. What in blazes do you think I would do while you were
off somewhere cleaning spittoons, and half a hundred people were
waiting outside my office? Where did you intend to wash those
things, anyway?”
Willie stepped close to his Chief’s desk, and very quietly and
distinctly said, “In the washroom—just where I was instructed to
clean them.”
“Instructed!” roared the Special Agent. “Who instructed you to clean
spittoons?”
“I was told that was part of my work,” said Willie, dodging the
question. “I thought I had to clean them twice a day.”
Despite his anger, the Special Agent burst into laughter. “I see
somebody has been stringing you,” he said. “And I see you don’t
exactly like to be a telltale. All right. You needn’t name anybody.
I am a good guesser. But tell me this. Why did you bring that man
into my office without first announcing him? Did you understand that
that also was a part of your duties?”
“I thought so,” said Willie.
“And did you understand that you were to dump the mail on my desk
the way you did?”
Willie grinned. “I understood that it was important that it be done
in just that way,” he said.
“Well, I’ll be hanged!” exploded the Chief. “This is really funny.”
And all his bottled-up wrath effervesced in laughter. “See here,” he
went on. “I guess the safest plan will be for you to inquire how to
do things, each time you tackle a new task. Then you’ll get things
straight.”
“I’ll do it, sir,” said Willie. “And I’ll ask one question right
away. I didn’t have time to get the pens ready for your desk. How
many do you want, and how do you want them?”
“Pens!” cried the Special Agent. “That’s one thing I can’t abide on
my desk. I use a fountain pen. I want my desk just as it is now—as
clear as possible. I’ll attend to my mail, sort it, answer it, and
get it out of the way. I want my desk clear—always.”
“Thank you,” said Willie, grinning. “I think I understand a lot of
things.”
The Special Agent grinned back. “I do, too,” he smiled. “Now go back
to your desk and—do the best you can under the circumstances.”
Thereafter Willie got on excellently. In a few days’ time he felt
quite at home in his job. His duties were simple enough. They were
to do the ordinary tasks done by an ordinary office boy—to run
errands, to distribute the incoming mail, to post outgoing mail, to
wrap and unwrap packages, to look after the office supplies, such as
pens and ink, and so on. In particular he was to receive visitors at
the gate.
All the remainder of his tasks were so trivial for a boy of Willie’s
ability that Willie was inclined at first greatly to underrate his
job. For he did not at once comprehend the full importance, either
to himself or to his employer, of this matter of inquirers. Least of
all did he see at first what bearing it might have on his own
fortunes. Naturally cheerful and well-mannered, Willie tried to be
polite to every one who called. In that respect he was so different
from his predecessor that people who were familiar with the latter
at once noticed the change. Willie’s first understanding of what his
conduct might mean to him came when he unwittingly overheard a
conversation between his Chief and a stranger he had just conducted
to the Special Agent’s office.
“Billy,” the visitor was saying, “where did you get that new office
boy? He’s a peach. He was as courteous to me as though I were his
rich uncle. And he’s very intelligent. He understood at once why I
was here. When he found you could not see me right away, he came out
and expressed regret at the delay and handed me a magazine to read
while I waited. Then he went on about his work just as quietly and
industriously as could be. Wasn’t a bit fresh. Didn’t try to pick up
a conversation with me or anything. But he kept his eye on you, and
the instant you were free, he stepped to the doorway and waited for
your orders. Then he brought me in to you. And he didn’t say, ‘Mr.
King will see you now.’ Instead he said, ‘Won’t you please step in.
Mr. King is free now.’ He opened the gate and escorted me in
himself, giving my name to you as I entered. He’s a peach. I’m
minded to steal him from you.”
That was all Willie overheard. It was enough. It set him to
thinking. Evidently the man appreciated the fact that Willie had
tried to make him comfortable. If he had not over-heard this
conversation, Willie would never have given a thought to the
occurrence. He had not made any special effort to be nice to the
man. It was natural for Willie to treat people kindly. He had been
brought up that way.
Now Willie reviewed the entire occurrence in his mind. He tried to
remember every word and act of his. When he had thought it all over,
he said to himself very soberly, “Of course that man liked to be
treated politely. I know how it makes a fellow feel when a fresh
office boy barks out ‘Whatcha want?’ as that guy did who held this
job before me. Anybody would like to be treated politely. And it
pleased him that I handed him a magazine. I don’t know why I did
that. Just happened to, I guess. But he thought I was trying to make
him comfortable. I’ll remember that. If it makes a man feel like
giving a fellow a job in his own office, it’s a trick worth
remembering. In future I’ll make a real effort to make everybody
comfortable. Mr. King said he didn’t always promote boys when he got
rid of them, and some day something might happen and I’d be glad of
a chance at another job.”
Poor Willie! Much sooner than he would have believed possible, he
was wondering very seriously if he could find another job.
He thought the matter over a bit further and a new idea came to him.
“Why, I believe that’s one of the best ways to keep the job I’ve
already got,” muttered Willie. “I could see that that man went into
Mr. King’s office feeling mighty good about something, though I
never dreamed I had anything to do with it. Mr. King can put through
a whole lot more work in an hour if he deals with people that feel
good than he could if he had to talk to a lot of soreheads. That’s a
cinch. Why, if I could keep callers all jollied up so they feel
good-natured, it ought to make things easier for Mr. King.”
A minute later Willie chuckled. “That’s one thing I tumbled to,
myself,” he muttered, “without being shown by my predecessor.” Then
he laughed good-naturedly at the recollection of the spittoons he
had tried to clean. “I sure was a greeny,” he said. “But the affair
didn’t hurt me a bit. So I have no call to feel sore at the other
office boy. I’ll just forget him.”
That was easier to say than to do, however, for every day or so
Willie met the fellow somewhere. Always the older lad tried to bully
Willie. If they met in a corridor, he would walk in the middle of
the way and roughly crowd Willie to one side. He nicknamed Willie
Peanut. If there was no one around to hear him, he called Willie
names and swore at him. So far, Willie had never met the fellow
outside of the Custom-house. He had no doubt that the boy would
handle him roughly if they did meet on the street, for Smith—that
was the bully’s name, Tom Smith—had threatened him with a good
whipping the first time he caught him alone. So Willie resolved to
keep his eyes open when he was on the street.
It really was not difficult to avoid the bully, however, for there
was slight chance of their meeting except in the Custom-house. The
Smith boy lived up-town and ducked into the subway the minute the
clock struck five. Willie, on the other hand, came to work early and
left late. He had found a boarding-house very near at hand. It was
close to the Armenian quarter, and was not five minutes’ walk from
the Custom-house. It was not at all the sort of home he would want
to live in permanently, but it would answer very well for the
present. An Irish tugboat man and his wife named McMichael had a
room to rent, and Willie engaged it. The Irishman and his wife were
rough, but very kind-hearted, and they were honest. The woman had
lost her only son, and she took a great liking to Willie. So he
fortunately had a place that was clean and convenient, and he
received the best of treatment.
It puzzled Willie, too, to know how he was going to install his
wireless. The house in which he lived was close to the elevated
railway. Willie knew that the powerful electric currents in the
third rail would affect his communication badly. Furthermore, high
buildings arose on every hand. So far as wireless communication was
concerned, Willie was like a man down in a well. He was walled in on
all sides. Besides, there was no really good place to string up an
aerial. So Willie postponed the installation of his wireless system.
The question was settled for him, however, in a way that was
unexpected to Willie. Although Uncle Sam had agents created
expressly to prevent infractions of the prohibition laws, the
Special Agent of the Treasury was also charged with the duty of
preventing the unlawful entry of liquor into the country.
There had always been more or less liquor smuggling going on, but
since the prohibition amendment became effective, the smuggling of
liquor had assumed the proportions of a great industry. Liquor
manufacturers in countries where the liquor traffic was not
forbidden, were shipping vast quantities of wet goods to America,
because of the high prices that could be obtained for the forbidden
products.
Whole fleets of whiskey-laden vessels were constantly sailing from
Bermuda and other foreign West Indian ports, and anchoring in the
ocean just outside the three-mile limit, where Uncle Sam’s
jurisdiction ceases. Small boats by the score, equipped with
powerful motors and manned by desperate crews, were smuggling the
stuff ashore in the dark. The “dry Navy” composed of former
submarine chasers, and the Customs Department’s own sea-going force
of four boats were working hard to prevent the landing of these rum
ships and to seize the smuggled liquor.
Most of these patrol craft were equipped with wireless, and the
Special Agent had to issue his orders at long distance. He lacked a
wireless outfit in his own office, however, and had to use a
government wireless in another part of the city. He telephoned his
messages to the operator there. This would have been satisfactory
enough if the operator had not been so busy with other work that
sometimes the Special Agent’s messages were held up for hours before
the operator could send them.
After an especially provoking delay one day, Mr. King called to his
office boy. “Willie,” he said, “are you competent to communicate
with my boats by wireless?”
“Yes, sir,” replied Willie. “I can talk to them if you wish.”
“Well, we don’t have any wireless in this office, and I have no
appropriation to buy any. But I am tired of all this delay in
sending orders. What would an outfit cost? If it doesn’t set me back
too much, I’ll be hanged if I don’t buy an outfit myself.”
“If you could get me a good battery,” said Willie, eagerly, “you
could use my set. I’ve got everything we need except a strong
battery.”
“What would that cost?”
“Maybe it wouldn’t cost anything. We might be able to use the
battery from an old motor-truck. You’ve got a lot of them in the
department.”
“That’s a fact. And we likely have some extra batteries. We could
use one of them, couldn’t we?”
“Sure,” said Willie. “It won’t cost a cent, if you can get a
battery. I’ll rig up the outfit and run it for you.”
“Then I’ll do it. But there’s one thing we want understood. If we
put in this outfit, you mustn’t neglect your work to be fooling with
your wireless. You can use it before and after office hours, and
during your hour off at noon, as much as you like. But during
business hours you’re not to touch it unless you are handling
messages for me.”
“That’s agreed to,” replied Willie.
“Then I’ll see what we can do about the battery. And by the way,
please get me a fresh supply of stationery from that cupboard in the
corner. Just fill this compartment in my drawer.” And the Chief
tossed his bunch of keys to Willie.
While Willie was trying to find the key that fitted the cupboard,
Mr. King turned to his telephone and called up the motor equipment
bureau. Then he stepped out of the room.
Willie got the cupboard open, filled his superior’s desk drawer with
stationery, and locked the cupboard. He laid the keys on Mr. King’s
desk. Then he picked them up and put them in his pocket. “Somebody
might take them,” said Willie to himself, “or they might be lost.”
Before Mr. King returned to his desk, a powerful, highly charged
battery was delivered at the office door. Willie receipted for it.
Just then Mr. King returned.
“Get your outfit and rig it up as quick as you can,” he said.
Willie slipped over to his boarding-house to get his suit case. Mrs.
McMichael was not at home and Willie could not get in the house. He
thought she might be visiting some of the neighbors and he walked
about the neighborhood looking for her. After a time she came back.
Willie was waiting on the step. He got his suit case and hurried
back to the office. He realized that he had been gone quite a while.
“I’ll work all the faster to make up for it,” thought Willie.
As he entered the office, he thought of Mr. King’s keys and handed
them to their owner. Then he got busy with his wireless set. Before
night he had it installed, with a long, single-wire aerial on the
roof, and his lead-in wire running to an inner room not visible from
the Special Agent’s office. Willie tested the outfit and found it
worked satisfactorily, but he did not remain after office hours to
try it further. Instead, he hustled out to buy a few little things
he needed to improve his outfit—a new detector, some additional
wire, and a few other trifles.
Very early next morning he was on hand, and he had all his
adjustments made before the time came for Willie to be at his desk.
The instant the clock struck twelve he rushed out to luncheon, got a
sandwich and a cup of coffee, and hurried back to use his wireless.
He glanced into the Special Agent’s room. Mr. King was still at his
desk. His back was turned and he did not see Willie. The clock
showed that Willie had been gone only fifteen minutes.
“I’ll have forty-five minutes,” thought Willie. “Maybe I can get in
touch with some of the fellows at home. I’m sure the battery will
carry far enough, and some of the boys might be listening in during
the noon hour, the way we used to do.”
He went into the inner room, closed the door, and for three-quarters
of an hour tried to call his friends at Central City. Over and over
again he flashed out the signals CBWC—CBWC—CBWC—de CBM—CBM—CBM. But
he flashed it in vain. No answering signal came to him.
At one o’clock he went to his desk. Mr. Somers, the head clerk, was
just entering the office. One by one, the other assistants came in.
Then the Special Agent returned to his desk. A few moments later the
buzzer rang briskly. Willie sprang to answer.
“Send Mr. Somers here,” said the Special Agent so sharply that
Willie was surprised. He had never heard his boss use that tone
before.
Mr. Somers came at the call. “Shut the door,” he heard Mr. King say,
as Mr. Somers entered the inner office. A few moments later Mr.
Somers came out, looking grave.
Again the buzzer sounded. “Send Mr. Rawley,” ordered the Treasury
Agent.
Mr. Rawley came and was succeeded by Mr. Finn. Others followed him.
Presently every employee in the Special Agent’s office had been
closeted with Mr. King. Willie wondered what was afoot. Once more
the buzzer rang. Willie promptly answered the summons.
“What time did you leave this office to get your luncheon?” asked
Mr. King sharply.
“Twelve o’clock exactly,” said Willie.
“When did you get back?”
“Twelve-fifteen, exactly.”
“Was anybody in the office when you returned?”
“I did not see a soul, sir, except yourself.”
“What did you do between twelve-fifteen and one o’clock?”
“I was in the wireless room during every moment.”
“Can you prove it?”
“I—I—I don’t know, sir. Nobody saw me go in and nobody saw me come
out. There was nobody in the office when I got back except yourself.
I don’t think you saw me, sir.”
“No, I didn’t.”
“And I returned to my desk just as Mr. Somers came in. He was the
first man to get back from luncheon. I don’t see how I can prove I
was in the wireless room during that time. Why do you ask if I can?”
“Because,” said the Special Agent slowly, while his eyes seemed to
bore clear through Willie, “I was the last person apparently to
leave this office for luncheon. You were the only person in the
place during the noon hour. During that hour a package of very
important papers was taken from my desk.”