O merry it was in the good greenwood when the goblin and
sprite ranged free,
When the kelpie haunted the shadowed flood, and the dryad
dwelt in the tree;
But merrier far is the trolley-car as it routs the witch from
the wold,
And the din of the hammer and the cartridges' clamor as
they banish the swart kobold!
O, a sovran cure for psychic dizziness
Is a breath of the air of the world of business!
--_Idyls of a Sky-Scraper_.
It is recorded in the last chapter that Mr. Amidon ran from Miss
Waldron's presence in such a state of agitation that he hardly knew
whither he went. To the reader who wonders why he was agitated, I have
only to hint that he was wretchedly inexperienced. And as it was, he
soon got his bearings and walked briskly toward his hotel; still,
however, in a state of mind entirely new to him.
Gradually he lessened his gait, absorbed in mental reconstructions of
his parting with Elizabeth. The pet lion which, while affectionately
licking the hand which caresses it, brings the blood, and at the taste
reverts instantly to its normal savagery, is acted on by impulses much
like those of Amidon. His thoughts were successions of moving pictures
of the splendid girl whom he had held in his arms and kissed. He saw
her sitting by the fire as he entered. His mind's eye dwelt on the
image of the strong, full figure and the lovely head and wondrous eyes.
He felt her lean against him as they stood by the table, and his arms
fairly ached with the thrill of that parting embrace. His lips
throbbed still with the half-ravished kisses, and he stopped with an
insane impulse to return and repeat the tender robbery. Then,
wondering at the turbulence of his thoughts, he walked on.
During this pause, he was dimly conscious that a person whom he had
seen approaching had neared the point of meeting, and after a moment's
halt, had passed on. As he resumed his walk, he heard rapid steps
behind him, and was passed by a man who strongly resembled the
passenger whom he had just met. This figure turned a corner a few rods
in advance of Florian, and almost immediately reemerged; having turned,
apparently, for the purpose of encountering Amidon once more. This
time, he walked up, and halted, facing Amidon.
"You'll be at the office in the morning, I suppose, Mr. Brassfield?"
said the man.
"At the office?" said Amidon. "My office? Yes."
"Well," this new acquaintance proceeded, in tones which indicated a
profound sense of personal injury, "you'd better come prepared to fill
my place in the establishment as soon as possible."
This statement was followed by a pause of the sort usually adopted for
the purpose of noting the effect of some startling utterance. Amidon
was feeling in his pocket for Elizabeth's first-found letter, and the
affairs of the Brassfield Oil Company had little interest for him. Yet
he dimly realized that some one was resigning something.
"Let me see," said he musingly; "what--what do you do?"
The man gave a sort of hop, of the kind we have been taught to expect
of the stag when the bullet strikes him.
"Do?" he snorted. "What do I _do_? What do _I_ do? Do you mean
to---- I'll tell what I do! I get together options for you and send
you cipher telegrams about 'em, and don't get any answers! I attend
stock-holders' meetings and get whipsawed by minorities because you are
dead to the world off there in New York, or the Lord knows where, and
don't furnish me with proxies! I stay here and try to protect your
interests when you desert 'em, and you send some white-headed old
reprobate of a Pinkerton man to shadow me for a week and try to pry
into my work! And when you get home you never show up at the
counting-room, though you know what a pickle things are in; and when I
meet you on the street, I get cut dead: that's what I do! And I stand
it, do I? Ha, ha, ha! Not if J. B. Stevens knows himself, I don't!
Good night, Mr. Brassfield. Come round in the morning, and I'll _show_
you what I do!"
After the speaker had rushed away, which he incontinently did following
this outburst, Amidon's mind reverted to Elizabeth; and not until he
had reached his room did his thoughts return to his encounter in the
street; and then it was only to wonder if this man Stevens was really
of any importance, and if a breach with him was a matter of any
consequence.
His mind soon drifted off from this, however, and he got out of bed to
turn on the lights and read the above-mentioned letter. And as he read
it, he grew ashamed. That embrace, those kisses, now seemed an outrage
to him. Was this his return for the sweet confidences, the revelations
of hidden things, with which she had honored him? "You must forget
this," she had written, "only at such times of tenderness as you will
sometimes have when you are gone," and: "When you see me again, . . .
without a word or look from me, know me, even more than you now do,
yours." And after this, he had permitted her allurement to fly to his
brain, and had given her reason to think that because she had lowered
her guard, he had struck her a dastard's blow. His eyes grew soft with
pity, and they moistened, as he repeated to himself, "Poor little girl!
poor little girl!"
Oh, yes! doubtless it was silly of him; but please to remember that he
was quite as far from being blase as--as we used to be; and that he was
just now becoming really in love with Elizabeth. And love is much
nearer kin to pity than pity is to love. So he lay there and pitied
Elizabeth, and wondered when the wedding was to be. He must have Clara
find this out from Brassfield. And he thought regretfully of Madame le
Claire. His reflections thus touched on the two most unhappy women in
Bellevale.
To the hypnotist he had become so much more than a "case," merely, that
a revulsion of feeling was setting in against bringing him here to be
turned over to a woman for whom he cared nothing. It was a shame, she
thought. It was something which no one had a right to expect of any
girl.
And Elizabeth Waldron still sat by the dying fire, her heart full of a
fighting which would not let her sleep. She felt humbled and insulted,
and her face burned as did her heart. But all the time she felt angry
with herself for her inconsistency. She had longed for Eugene's
letters, and when they came, so few and cold, she was grieved. She had
expected a dozen little caresses, even before he left her carriage; and
she was saddened because she missed them. She had thought of his
coming in on her in a manner quite different from that in which he had
actually crept into her presence--and when he had only pressed her
hands, she had felt defrauded and robbed. And when at parting he had
done (somewhat forcibly, it is true) what she had many times allowed,
and what she had all the time wanted of him, she felt outraged and
offended!
These thoughts kept her long by the fire, and accompanied her to her
chamber. "Elizabeth Waldron," said she to her mirror, "you are going
insane! Aren't you ashamed that now, when he has shown his love and
understanding of the things you love and try to understand, and
surprised you by the possession of the very qualities you have felt
secretly regretful on account of his not having--that you feel--that
way? What ails you, that you begin to feel toward the dearest man in
all the world as if he were a stranger?--Ah, but you do, you do! And
you'll never be happy with him, nor even make him happy!--And, oh, that
letter, that letter! That awful letter for him to read on the cars!
If you had never written that!"
"What's my manager's name--Stevens?" asked Mr. Amidon of Judge
Blodgett. "Yes? Well, I'm going to have trouble with him! I won't be
bullied by my clerks. And who is the next man?"
"Alderson," said the judge. "It's all in the notes, you know."
"And very convenient, too," said Amidon. "And who is the stenographer?"
"Miss Strong," answered the judge.
"Strong, Strong," said Amidon musingly. "The author, I believe, by the
notes?"
"I never said she was!" protested the judge. "Not positively, but
only----"
"Well, let's go down--or perhaps I had better go alone," said Florian.
"Please come down in an hour or so, won't you?"
The judge noted for the first time the decision of returning confidence
in Amidon's manner. Two things contributed to this: the first was the
sense of something tangible and intelligible in this going down to
business in the morning like an ordinary American; and the other was
rising anger at the attack made on him by this man Stevens in the
street last night. What sort of discipline can there be in the
business, thought he, when an employee dares use such language toward
his employer? A good towering passion is a great steadier of the
nerves, sometimes. He walked into the counting-room, saw his name and
the word "Private" on the glass of a certain door, went boldly beyond
it, and was followed by a young woman with a note-book and pencil.
Presently, in came Mr. Stevens without knocking.
"Here's another pretty how-de-do!" he exclaimed, without any greeting
except an angry snort. "You promised to sign that contract for the
output of the Bunn's Ferry wells while you were in New York, and
didn't! The papers are back with a notice that the deal is off except
at a lower price. How'm I to make anything of this business, I'd like
to know, if you----"
Amidon was surprised that Stevens was ignoring his threat to resign;
but he was firm in his resolution to enforce discipline. The fact that
he himself had been so long in a state of fear and under control, made
the luxury of assuming the attitude of command an irresistible
temptation.
"Mr. Stevens," said he sternly, "have the kindness to read what is
painted on that door!"
Though he had no need, Mr. Stevens gazed in astonishment at the word
"Private."
"Kindly ask Mr. Alderson to step here a moment," went on Mr. Amidon.
Stevens stood mute, but Alderson overheard and came.
"You may draw Mr. Stevens a salary check to date, and a month in
advance, in lieu of notice," said Mr. Amidon. "Mr. Stevens, you are no
longer in the employ of this concern. Mr. Alderson, you may take
charge until a successor to Mr. Stevens is found. I should now regard
it as a favor if I might have my private office to myself and my
stenographer!"
Alderson took the paralyzed Stevens by the shoulders and walked him out
into the main office. Amidon's spirits rose, as he waited for the
check to come in for his signature. He stabbed his letters with the
paper-knife, and felt in a blissful state of general insurrection. The
subjection of the past fortnight seemed to fall from him. After he had
signed the check, he turned to Miss Strong.
"If you please," said he, in a voice of tense stridency, "I will give
you a few letters."
The stenographer, who seemed to regard the events of the past few
minutes as nothing short of a cataclysm, flutteringly leafed over her
book, and just as Amidon began wondering what he could think of to put
into a letter, she burst into tears. Amidon closed his desk with a
bang, and giving Alderson orders covering his absence, walked out into
the streets, full of the joy of gratified destructiveness. He met
Alvord, and temerariously agreed to go with him to the lodge that
evening. He finally found Blodgett, and informed him of what had been
the result of his first morning in the office.
"Well, it's your business, Florian," said he, "but you'll need somebody
who knows something about your affairs. And if you go on attending
lodge meetings where you don't know the passwords, and nosing into
houses where you don't intend to go, and discharging all the trusted
men in your employ, you'll soon have more things to attend to than a
couple of mesmerists and an elderly lawyer can take care of! But it's
your affair; I've known you too long to try to turn you when you get
one of your tantrums on. The smash-up ought to be worth seeing,
anyhow!"