individual fortune is not necessarily an ability based on superior
intelligence--that in the case of the average multi-millionaire it
merely is a sort of sublimated instinct, in a way like the instinct of
a rat-terrier for smelling out hidden rats. The ordinary dull-nosed dog
goes past a wainscoting and never suspects a thing; then your terrier
comes along and he takes one whiff at the bottom of that baseboard and
immediately starts pawing for his prey. He knows. It's his nature to
know. Yet in other regards he may be rather an uninteresting creature,
one without special gifts.
And so it is with many of our outstanding dollar-wizards, or at least
so it would appear to those on the outside looking in. They differ
from the commonplace run of mortals only in their ken for detecting
opportunities to derive dividends from quarters which we cannot
discern. Peel off their financial ratings from them and they'd be as
the rest of us are--or even more so.
Now Mr. E. Randall Golightly, the pressed-brick magnate, would impress
you as being like that. When it came to amassing wealth--ah, but
there was where he could show you something! Otherwise he offered
for the inspection of an envying planet the simple-minded easy-going
unimportant personality of a middle-aged gentleman who was credulous,
who was diffident in smart company, who was vastly ignorant of
most matters excepting such matters as pertained to his particular
specialty which, as just stated, was getting rich and richer. Out in
the world away from his office and his plants, he had but little to
say, thus partly concealing the fact that on the grammar side at least
his original education wofully had been neglected. He was quiet and
self-effacing, also he was decent and he was kindly.
But when a smart young man representing Achievements came by
appointment, asking for an interview on the general subject of his
early struggles, Mr. Golightly became properly flattered and suddenly
vocal. Achievements was a monthly magazine devoted to purveying to
the masses recipes for attaining success in business, the arts, the
crafts, the sciences and the professions, the theory of its editors
being that the youth of the land, reading therein how such-and-such
leaders attained their present prominence, would be inspired to step
forth and do likewise. Deservedly it had a large national circulation.
Rotarians all over the country bought it regularly and efficiency
experts prescribed it for their clients as doctors prescribe medicine
for ailing patients.
Mr. Golightly was no bookworm, but he knew about Achievements, as
what seasoned go-getter did not? The project outlined by the caller
appealed to him. It resuscitated a drowned vanity in his inner being.
So willingly enough he talked, giving dates and figures, and the young
scribe took notes and still more notes and then went back to his desk
and wrote and wrote and wrote. He wrote to the extent of several
thousand words and his pen was tipped with flaming inspiration. He had
such a congenial theme, such a typical Achievementalesque topic. Lord,
how he ripped off the copy!
In due time a messenger brought to Mr. Golightly sundry long printed
slips of an unfamiliar aspect called "galley proofs." Mr. Golightly
read these through, making a few minor corrections. He told nothing
at home regarding what was afoot; he was saving it up as a pleasant
surprise for Mrs. Golightly and the two Misses Golightly. Anyhow, he
had got out of the habit of telling at home what happened at the office.
One day in advance of publication date he received a copy of the issue
of the magazine containing the interview with him. It was more than a
mere content. Practically it dominated the number; it led everything
else. And it was more than an interview. It was a character study,
a eulogy for honest endeavor, a tribute to outstanding performance,
an example to oncoming generations--and fully illustrated with
photographs and drawings by a staff artist. It was what they called in
the Achievements shop a whiz and a wow.
A happy pride, almost a boyish pride, puffed up Mr. Golightly as he
walked into his thirty-thousand-a-year apartment on upper Park Avenue
that afternoon after business hours. A terrible and a devastating
humility deflated him an hour later when, without waiting for dinner,
he escaped thence to his club, there to sit through a grief-laden
evening in a secluded corner of the reading-room. Regret filled him;
elsewise he had a sort of punctured look as though all joy and all hope
of future joy had seeped out of his body through many invisible leaks.
As for domestic peace, future fireside comfort, agreeable life in the
collective bosom, if any, of his family--ha, ha! To himself within he
laughed a hollow despairing laugh. He began to understand why strong
men in their prime might look favorably upon suicide as an escape from
it all.
In his ears, like demoniac echoes, rang the semi-hysterical laments of
his womenfolk. There was, to begin with, the poignant memory of what
that outraged woman, Mrs. Golightly, had cried out:
"Wouldn't it be just like him to disgrace us this way? I ask you,
wouldn't it?" Ignoring his abased presence she was addressing her two
daughters, her deep voice rising above their berating tones. "What else
could we have expected from such a father and such a husband? Does he
think of us? Does he give a thought to my efforts to be somebody ever
since we moved here to New York? Does he care for all my scheming to
get you girls into really exclusive society? Or to get you married off
into the right set? Do our ambitions mean anything to him? No, _no_,
NO! What does he do? To gratify his own cheap cravings for notoriety
he lets this shameful detestable vulgar rag expose us before the whole
world. We'll be the laughing stock of everybody. Can you hear what the
Hewitt Strykers will say when they read these awful admissions?"
In her agony, the poor mother waved aloft the clutched copy of
Achievements and seared him with a devastating sidewise glare. "Can't
you hear the Pewter-Walsbergs gloating and snickering when they find
out that your father's first name is Ephraim and that he used to be
called 'Eph' for short and that he started life as a day-laborer and
that then he worked at the trade of a bricklayer and that secretly
all these years he's been paying his dues in a dirty old union and
carrying a dirty old union card--a thing which even I, knowing his
common tastes as I did, never suspected before! But here's a picture of
it printed in facsimile to prove it!" And now she beat with a frenzied
forefinger on a certain page of the offending periodical. "And then
he goes on to tell how with his own hands he made some of the very
bricks that went into the office-building where his office is now! And
then--then--then--oh, how can I ever hold up my head again?--then he
says that when we were first married we had to live on twelve dollars a
week and do all our own housework and that I even used to wash out his
undershirts!"
"Oh, mommer!" This was the senior Miss Golightly, bemoaning their ruin.
"And well may you say 'Oh, mommer'--with the invitations out for your
formal début next week!"
"Oh, popper!" exclaimed the stricken Miss Golightly. In the shock of
the moment she had temporarily forgotten about her scheduled début.
"Oh, popper, how could you do such a thing to me!"
"And Evelyn here expecting to join the Junior League--what chance has
the poor child now? How can she ever forgive you?"
"Oh, oh, oh!" screamed the younger Miss Golightly, not addressing
anyone in particular.
It was at this point that Mr. Golightly had grabbed his hat and clamped
it on his degraded head and fled from this house of vain and utter
repinings.
Late at night he crept in, almost as a burglar might creep in, and
sought the seclusion of his room, not daring again to face his three
women. Early next morning before any of them had risen to intercept him
with her further lamentations, he crept out again and at his office
spent a haunted forenoon. Every time his telephone buzzed he flinched.
And when, following lunch for which he had absolutely no appetite,
the girl on the private switchboard rang to tell him Mrs. Golightly
herself was on the line he flinched more than ever as he told the
exchange to plug in the connection, then braced himself for the worst.
If his daughters were resolved never again to speak to him, so be it.
At least he would take the blow standing. If it was to be a separation,
a divorce even, so be that, too. He had only himself to blame.
"Hello," he said, wanly; and awaited the explosion.
"Oh, Ephie!" Mrs. Golightly was calling him by an old pet name--a
beloved, homely name he had not heard her speak for years--and over
the singing wire her voice came to him flutingly, yes, actually with
affectionate flutings and thrills in it. "Oh, Ephie, you'll never
guess what has happened! Oh, Ephie, Mrs. Pewter-Walsberg just called
up! You know what she stands for in society? You know how I've worked
and schemed to get in with her crowd and how I've subscribed for
her pet charities and offered to serve on her tiresome committees
and all? Well, she just called up. She's going to let her daughter,
Millicent, be on the receiving line for Harriet's début. She's going
to see that Evelyn gets into the Junior League right away. Her word is
just law there. And she's invited you and me to dine with them next
Thursday--one of those small intimate dinners that she's so famous for.
Isn't it wonderful? And it's all due to you, dear, and I'm so grateful
and the girls are both so grateful that I just had to ring you up to
tell you."
"Humphphe-e-e!" Mr. Golightly got his breath back, as a diver emerging
from an ice-water bath might. "Did you say grateful?"
"Of course, you dear old stupid! It seems--listen to this, Ephie--it
seems that Mr. Pewter-Walsberg saw a copy of that adorable magazine
on the news-stand this morning and saw your name on the cover and
bought it out of curiosity and he read what it said about you and he
was so delighted with it that he didn't wait until tonight to show it
to her--Mrs. Pewter-Walsberg, I mean. He came right on uptown with
it and read it to her. And she says--they both say, in fact--it took
a great strong silent resolute man like you to see that the trend of
the day is for democracy; and that it's high time the lower orders who
aren't in society should know that there are no barriers to keep out
those who rise by their own efforts from humble beginnings, but just
the other way around; and that when ordinary people find out how far
you've climbed--your position in business and our position in society
and all--it's calculated to make them more satisfied with their lot
and keep down anarchy and socialism and all such dreadful things. And
she says Mr. Pewter-Walsberg will take it as a very great favor if you
can arrange for these clever magazine people to interview him next--it
seems they started forty years ago without a cent out in Illinois or
some such outlandish place. Think of it, dear--a man like Herbert
Pewter-Walsberg, with a hundred and fifty millions behind him--asking
for a favor from you! Isn't it just too wonderful?... Hold the wire,
Ephie, the girls are here waiting to congratulate you on being so smart
in their behalf and to beg your pardon, as I do, for being so sort of
excited as we all three were last night. But they didn't understand
then, and neither did I. But now we do, and we do so appreciate it
all--you splendid brilliant shrewd old darling, you! Ephie dearest,
tell me this--how did you ever come to figure out such a marvelous
stroke of genius all by yourself?"
"Maria," answered Mr. Golightly, and, as he answered, his chest
expanded perceptibly and brushed against the edge of his desk, "if
you'd been in the pressed-brick game as long as I have, you'd know
there are several ways of killing a cat besides choking it to death
with butter."
* * * * * *
Transcriber's note:
Extensive research has revealed that the copyright on this work was not
renewed, and therefore, it has entered into the public domain.
Small capitals were changed to all capitals.
The following corrections have been made, on page
17 "plied" changed to "piled" (She piled his plate abundantly)
56 "femine" changed to "feminine" (details of feminine lingerie)
68/9 "a a" changed to "a" (it blocked a gap through which)
101 "or" changed to "of" (behind her back, of course)
206 "It" changed to "If" (If it hadn't been for him).
Otherwise the original was preserved, including unusual or archaic
words and expressions and unusual and inconsistent spelling and
hyphenation.