FOOT-WORK
I should very much like to have been present while Jerry made some of
his visits to the house of the girl Marcia in order to have heard with
my own ears what she said to Jerry in those first few weeks of their
acquaintance. Some of it, a very little, I did learn from Jerry's
letters to me, but much more from Jack Ballard, who visited the lady
upon his own account and supplied the missing links in my information
as to the growing friendship. But the nature of Jerry's feelings
toward her I can only surmise by my knowledge of the character of the
boy himself through which I tried to peer as with my own eyes, at the
personality of this extraordinary female. That she was more than
ordinarily clever there was no reason to doubt; that she was
attractive to the better class of young men in her own set was beyond
dispute; that she was thoroughly unscrupulous as to the means by which
she attained her ends (whatever they were) seemed more than probable.
Perhaps she did not differ greatly from other young female persons in
her own walk of life, but I would have been better pleased if Jerry's
education in the ways of the world could have proceeded a little more
slowly. It seemed to me as I compared them, that the girl Una, who had
called herself Smith, brazen as she was, would have been a much saner
companion. I could not believe, of course, that either of them could
sway Jerry definitely from the path of right thinking, but I realized
that the eleven years during which Jerry had been all mine were but a
short period of time when compared to the years that lay before him.
From the description I had of her, the Van Wyck girl was not at all
the kind of female that I thought Jerry would like. She was an exotic,
and was redolent, I am sure, of faint sweet odors which would perplex
Jerry, who had known nothing but the smell of the forest balsams. She
was effete and oriental, Jerry clean and western.
But, of course, I had not met the girl and my opinion of her was based
upon the merest guesses as to her habits and character. She seemed to
be, according to Ballard, essentially feminine (whatever he meant by
that) and in spite of her protestations to Jerry as to her
self-sufficiency and soundness, to have a faculty for ingratiating
herself into the fullest confidence of the young men who came into her
net.
In looking over the above, it occurs to me that I may be accused of
prejudice against or unfairness to this girl of whom I really knew so
little, for if I do not tell the truth, this work has no value. But
upon consideration I have decided to let my opinions stand, leaving my
own personal point of view to weigh as little or as much as it may in
the mind of my reader. To say that I was jealous of Jerry's attentions
to any young woman would be as far from the truth as to say that I was
not jealous for his happiness. But as several weeks went by and Jerry
did not appear at the Manor, his notes meanwhile becoming more and
more fragmentary, I found a conviction slowly growing in my mind that
my importance in Jerry's scheme of things was diminishing with the
days. One afternoon just before the dinner hour I was reading Heminge
and Condell's remarkable preface to the "Instauratio Magna" of Bacon,
which advances the theory that the state of knowledge is not greatly
advancing and that a way must be opened for the human understanding
entirely different from any known. In the midst of my studies Jerry
rushed in, flushed with his long drive in the open air, and threw his
great arms around my neck, almost smothering me.
"Good old Dry-as-dust! Thought I'd surprise you. Glad to see me?
Anything to eat? By George! You're as yellow as a kite's foot. Been
reading yourself into a mummy, haven't you?"
It was good to see him. He seemed to bring the whole of outdoors in
with him.
I took him by the shoulders and held him off from me, laughing in pure
happiness.
"Well. What are you looking at? Expect to see my spots all changed?"
"I think you've actually grown."
"In four weeks? Rubbish! I think I've contracted. If there's anything
to make a fellow feel small it's rubbing elbows with four million
people. Good old Roger! Seems as if I'd been away for a lifetime. Then
again it seems as if I'd never been away at all, as if New York was
all a dream. Well, here I am, like Shadrach, past the fiery furnace
and not even scorched. It's a queer place--New York--full of queer
people, living on shelves, like the preserves in a pantry. Great
though! I'm getting to understand 'em a little, though they don't
understand me. I suppose I'm queer to them. Funny, isn't it? 'Old
fashioned,' a fellow called me the other day. I didn't know whether to
hit him or take him by the hand. I think he meant it as a compliment.
I had been polite, that's all. Most people don't understand you when
you say, 'Thank you' or 'Excuse me.' They just stare, and then dash
on. I used to wonder where they were all going and why they were
rushing. I don't now. I rush like the rest of 'em, even when I've got
nothing to do of a morning but to buy a new cravat. By Jove, I'm
rattling on. Is dinner ready?"
It was. We dined on Horsham Manor's simple fare, but Jerry ate it as
though he had never been away. And when dinner was over we adjourned
to the library and talked far into the night. I observed for one
thing, that he was now smoking cigarettes with perfect facility. I
made no comment, but could not help recalling the fact that it was in
this, too, that Eve had tempted and Adam fallen. He ran on at a great
rate, but said little of the girl Marcia, or indeed of any women. I
think he hadn't been able to forget my attitude toward them, and in
the light of his new contacts considered himself vastly superior to me
in experience of the world. But the mere fact that he now avoided
mention of the Van Wyck girl advised me that his thoughts of her were
of a sort which he thought I could not possibly comprehend.
He told of some of the things already mentioned, with humor and some
bewilderment. He had made it a habit to go and walk the streets for
awhile every day when he could mingle with the crowds and try and get
their point of view. He hadn't gotten very far yet, but he was
learning. He knew the different parts of the city and chose for his
walks the East side by preference. He had seen filth and squalor on
one avenue and on the next one elegance and wealth. The contrasts were
amazing.
"Something's wrong, Roger," he said again and again. "Something's
wrong. It doesn't seem fair somehow. I'm sure the people on one street
can't all be deserving and those on another all undeserving. The Fifth
Avenue lot, the ones I associate with in the clubs, are all very well
in their way, but they seem to waste a lot of time. They don't produce
anything, they're not helping to keep the world together. The real
workers are elsewhere. I've seen 'em, talked to some of 'em. They've
got vitality that the other chaps haven't. Flynn's friends are
_great_. I've been sparring with 'em--some pretty good ones, too."
"How did you manage?"
"All right. You know, Flynn always said I gave promise of being a
pretty good boxer, so I've been working a little in the afternoon at
his gymnasium. I had to, Roger, to keep in shape. There are all sorts
of chaps there, mostly professionals. You know he's training this new
middleweight, Carty, for a fight next March. I didn't like to put on
the gloves with any of 'em, but Flynn insisted."
Jerry paused and I saw a smile growing slowly at the corners of his
lips. I knew that smile. Jerry wore it the day Skookums disobeyed
orders and had the encounter with the skunk.
"You had a good go of it?" I asked.
He nodded.
"You see, there was a big Jew named Sagorski, 'Battling' Sagorski
they call him, hanging around the place. He's a 'White Hope.' He's
been sparring partner of one of the champions and he thinks a good
deal of himself. Flynn doesn't like him a great deal--some dispute
about a debt, I believe. I was sparring with Flynn, Sagorski watching.
"I heard someone make a remark and then Sagorski's voice sneering.
Flynn dropped his hands and turned.
"'Ye always c'ud talk, Sagorski,' said he. 'But talk's cheap. I'll
match the bye again ye six rounds, fer points, double or quits, the
same bein' the small amount that's been hangin' betune us the little
matter of a year.'
"Sagorski was up in a moment, smiling rather disdainfully. 'Yer on,'
he growled.
"They fixed us up, seconds, timekeepers and all, and we went at it. He
was a good one and strong but slow, Roger. You know, Flynn's lighter
than I am, but lightning fast. Sagorski gave me more time, but he had
a good left and an awful wallop with his right. Flynn had warned me to
look out for that right and I did. The first round was slow. Each of
us was feeling the other out. I landed a few and got one in the ribs.
The second round went faster. I avoided him by ducking and
side-stepping, but he kept boring in, still smiling disagreeably. I
didn't like that smile. He wanted to knock me out, I think, for he
made several vicious swings that might have settled me, but I got away
from them and kept him moving.
"'Wot's this, sonny?' he sneered at last, 'a foot race?'
"But he didn't make me mad--not then. I kept hitting him freely, not
hard, you know, but piling up points nicely for Flynn. He couldn't
really reach me at all and was getting madder and madder. It was
funny. I think I must have let up a little then, for I think it was in
the fourth round he got in past my guard and swung a hard right on my
nose. The blow staggered me and I nearly went down. Anyway, Roger, it
made me angry. It seemed a part of that ugly smile. I saw red for a
moment and then I went for him with everything I had, straight-arms,
swings, uppercuts--everything. I think I must have been in better
shape than he was, for by the time the round was ended he was groggy.
"When we came up for the next I heard Flynn whispering at my ear,
'Finish him, Masther Jerry. If you don't, he'll put ye out.'
"I didn't need that warning. I sparred carefully for a minute, feeling
out what he had left. He swung at me hard, just grazing my ear. Then I
went after him again, feinted into an opening and caught him flush on
the point of the chin."
He paused for breath. "I didn't want to, you know, Roger, but Flynn
was so insistent--and, of course, having started--"
"'You bored in, that th' opposed might beware of thee,'" I
paraphrased.
He laughed.
"Yes, I bored in. There was nothing else to do. Flynn didn't say much,
but he was pleased as punch. It took ten minutes to bring the fellow
around. I was bending over Sagorski, wetting his face, and as he
looked up at me I told him I was awfully sorry. What do you think he
said?
"'Aw, you go to hell!' Impolite beggar, wasn't he?"
"You have been at least catholic in the choice of companions," I
remarked, with a smile, recalling Flynn's prediction about Jerry's
weight in wild cats.
"Oh, yes. All sorts of people. I think on the whole I understand the
poorer classes best. They do swear, I find, horribly at times, but
they don't intend harm by it. I doubt if they really know what it
means. 'Hell' is merely an expletive like 'Oh' or 'By Jove' with us
chaps. Funny, isn't it?"
"That truck-driver didn't think so," I said.
"That was my first week. I know a lot more now. I've felt sorry about
him."
"You needn't," I laughed.
And after a pause:
"And down town, Jerry," I inquired. "How are things going there?"
His expression grew grave at once.
"Oh, I've been going to the office pretty regularly, but it's slow
work. I don't understand why, but I don't seem to get on at all."
"That's too bad," I said slowly. "You must get on, old man."
"Yes, I know, but it comes hard. It seems that I'm frightfully rich.
In fact, nobody seems to know how rich I am. I've got millions and
millions, twenty--thirty perhaps. So much that it staggers me. It's
like the idea of infinity or perpetuity. I can't grasp it at all. It's
piling up in new investments, just piling up and nothing can stop it."
"You don't want to stop it, do you?"
"But if it was only doing some good--When I see the misery all
about--"
"Wait a bit. You're putting the cart before the horse, my boy. There's
no sin in being rich, in piling it up, as you say, if you're not doing
anybody any harm. Have you ever thought of the thousands who work for
you, of the lands, the railroads, the steamships, the mills, all
carrying and producing--producing, Jerry, helping people to live, to
work? Isn't it something to have a share in building up your country?"
"But not the lion's share. It's so impersonal, Roger. My companies may
be helping, but I'm not. I want to help people myself."
"That's just what I'm getting at. The more money you make, the more
people you can help," I laughed. "It's simplicity itself."
"In theory, yes. But I see where it's leading me. If I go on making
money, where will I find the time to give it away? It seems to be a
passion with these men getting more--always more. I don't want to get
like Ballard or Stewardson. And I _won't!"_
He snapped his jaws together and strode with long steps the length of
the room.
"I _won't_, Roger," he repeated. "And I've told 'em so."
I remained silent for a moment, gazing at the portrait of John Benham
on the wall opposite me. He had a jaw like Jerry's, not so well turned
and the lips were thinner, a hard man, a merciless man in business, a
man of mystery and hidden impulses. The boy was keen enough, I knew,
when it came to a question of right and wrong. There was some ancient
history for Jerry to learn. Did Jerry already suspect the kind of man
his father had been?
"You're sure that you're right?" I asked quietly.
"Positive. It's all very well to talk about those my money helps, but
it harms, too. If anything gets in the way of Ballard's interests or
mine, he crushes 'em like egg-shells. My father--"
Jerry hesitated, repeated the word and then paced the floor silently
for a moment. I thought it wise to remain silent.
"Oh, I know what it all means to those men. Power! Always! More power!
And I don't want it if it's going to make me the kind of man that
Henry Ballard is, blind to beauty, deaf to the voice of compassion, a
piece of machinery, as coldly scientific in his charities as he is in
the--"
"But that's necessary, Jerry," I broke in. "A man of Henry Ballard's
wealth must plan to put his money where it will do the most good--"
"Or where it will magnify the name of Henry Ballard," he said quickly.
"Oh, I don't know much yet, but I'm pretty sure that kind of thing
isn't what Christ meant."
He threw out his arms in a wide gesture. "Roger, I've talked to some
of these poor people. There's something wrong with these charity
organizations. They're too cold. They patronize too much. They don't
get under the skin."
"You haven't wasted a great deal of time," I remarked when he paused.
He smiled. "Well, you know, I couldn't sit in a club window and watch
the buses go by."
"Have you declared these revolutionary sentiments to your executors?"
I asked after awhile.
He threw himself in an armchair and sighed.
"I suppose I ought to say that Mr. Ballard has been very patient with
me. He was. I told him that I didn't want any more money, that I had
enough. I think I rather startled him, for he looked at me for a long
while over the half-moons in his glasses before he spoke.
"'I don't think you realize the seriousness (he wanted to say enormity
but didn't) of your point of view. There's no standing still in this
world,' he said. 'If you don't go ahead, you're going to go back.
That's all very well for you personally if you choose to remain idle,
but it won't do where great financial interests are involved. I want
to try to make you understand that a going concern moves of its own
momentum. But it's so heavy that once you stop it, it won't go again.
The thought of abandoning your career is in itself hazardous. I hope
you will not repeat the sentiments you have expressed to me elsewhere.
If the street heard what you have just said there would be a fall in
your securities which might be disastrous.'
"'But other people would benefit, wouldn't they?' I asked.
"He glared at me, speechless, Roger, and got very red in the face.
'And this,' he stammered at last, 'is the fine result of your Utopia.
Ideals! Dreams! My God! If your father could hear you--he'd rise in
his grave!'
"I'm just what he made me,' I said coolly.
"He stared at me again as though he hadn't heard what I had said.
"'Do you mean that you're going to abandon this career we've made for
you, the most wonderful that could be given mortal man?' he asked,
though his tone was not pleasant.
"I did owe him a lot, you see. He's true to his own ideals, though
they're not mine. And I was very uncomfortable.
"'I hope you won't think me ungrateful, Mr. Ballard,' I said as calmly
as I could. 'In some ways you've been very like a father to me. I want
you to understand that I appreciate all that you and the other
co-executors have done for me. I've been very happy. But I want you to
know, if you don't know it already, that I'm very stupid about
business. It bewilders me. I'll try as hard as I can to please you and
will do my best at it, but you can understand that that won't be very
much when my heart isn't in it. I don't want to see the Benham
securities fall, because that would hurt you, too. I'll keep silent
for awhile and do just what you want me to do. But I don't want any
more money. The responsibility, the weight of it, oppresses me. I'm
too simple, if you like, but I don't think I'll change.'
"'And what,' he asked slowly when I stopped, 'what do you propose to
do with all this money we've kept together for you?'
"His voice was low, but his face was purple and he snapped his words
off short as if their utterance hurt him.
"'With your permission, sir,' I said quietly, 'I expect to give a
great deal of it away.'
"Roger, he couldn't speak for rage. He glared at me again and then,
jamming his hat on his head, stalked stiffly out. Oh, I've made a
mess of things, I suppose," he sighed, "but I can't help it. I'm sick
of the whole miserable business."
I made no comment. I had foreseen this interview, but it had come much
sooner than I had expected. I felt that I had known Jerry's mind and
what he would do eventually, but it was rather startling that he had
come to so momentous a decision and had expressed it so vigorously at
the very outset of his career. It was curious, too, as I remembered
things that had gone before, how nearly his resolution coincided with
the one boyishly confessed to the female, Una Smith, in the cabin in
the woods last summer. At the time, I recalled, the matter had made no
great impression upon me. I had not believed that Jerry could realize
what he was promising. But here he was reiterating the promise at the
very seats of the mighty.
The subject was too vast a one for me to grasp at once. I wanted to
think about it. Besides, he didn't ask my advice. I don't think he
really wanted it. I looked at Jerry's chin. It _was_ square. For all
his sophistries, Jack Ballard was no mean judge of human nature.