I
Two years previously Mr. Petersen had arrived in Brownsville Landing and
had rented an office in the most up-to-date building there was, putting
up a modest sign, “Christian Petersen, Lawyer.” The other lawyers, who
announced themselves LL.D’s, laughed at his sign, but all the same, in
spite of it, or perhaps because of its old-fashioned simplicity, he
attracted clients from the beginning. People liked him; he was careful,
polite and he knew his business. Although a foreigner, he was not
offensively eccentric or ridiculous. There were one or two little
things, such as riding a saddle horse, and wearing breeches and leggins,
which were not approved of, nor was his polite avoidance of any social
relations. Still, he was always friendly and antagonised no one.
After six months of legal practice, he branched out unexpectedly. A new
sign appeared under the old one: “REAL ESTATE.” Now he began making
money in earnest. The town was growing, new factories were building, and
he knew how to take advantage of the growth.
It was a horrible, squalid little town, too near the city for any but
the pettiest of retail trade to flourish, too far for any influence of
urbanity. It was technically on the Hudson River, but as a matter of
fact, the river bank was used exclusively for commercial purposes,
freight yards and so on, and the town itself lay in a little hollow,
which was stiflingly hot all summer long. There were the old people,
whose families had lived there for generations, who had old Colonial
houses and furniture; they looked with alarm and hostility upon the new
element, the workers in the mills, the factories, the brick yards, this
foreign-born, incomprehensible rabble, which was, nevertheless, the life
blood of the town, which sustained three savings banks and fourteen
saloons, which lay dead drunk by the roadsides, and crowded the public
library. Then there were “new people,” factory managers, and their like,
who were respectable and well-to-do, but not “_quite_”.... And with all
these people Mr. Petersen was perfectly at home, buying, selling,
renting, and arranging for them all.
Before long a third sign appeared: “CONTRACTOR.” And in this capacity he
had perhaps his greatest success. He began with the building of some
little cottages for the workers in a cotton mill, and he was so
excellent and painstaking and experienced a supervisor that his fame
spread rapidly. He explained with simplicity that as a boy in the “old
country” he had been apprenticed to a builder. And although a lawyer, he
was not at all ashamed of this; he was, on the contrary, quite proud of
his thorough knowledge of the trade.
He was a Swede, son of a poor man, and self-educated, but there were few
people in the town who spoke English as well as he did, in spite of a
singing drawl and an indefinably exotic note.