BRINK DOES A SIDESLIP
Mostly it was a case of Old Hickory runnin' wild on the main track and
Brink Hollis being in the way. What we really ought to have in the
Corrugated general offices is one of these 'quake detectors, same as
they have in Washington to register distant volcano antics, so all hands
could tell by a glance at the dial what was coming and prepare to stand
by for rough weather.
For you never can tell just when old Hickory Ellins is going to cut
loose. Course, being on the inside, with my desk right next to the door
of the private office, I can generally forecast an eruption an hour or
so before it takes place. But it's apt to catch the rest of the force
with their hands down and their mouths open.
Why, just by the way the old boy pads in at 9:15, plantin' his hoofs
heavy and glarin' straight ahead from under them bushy eye dormers of
his, I could guess that someone was goin' to get a call on the carpet
before very long. And sure enough he'd hardly got settled in his big
leather swing chair before he starts barkin' for Mr. Piddie.
I expect when it comes to keepin' track of the overhead, and gettin' a
full day's work out of a bunch of lady typists, and knowin' where to buy
his supplies at cut-rates, Piddie is as good an office manager as you'll
find anywhere along Broadway from the Woolworth tower to the Circle; but
when it comes to soothin' down a 65-year-old boss who's been awake most
of the night with sciatica, he's a flivver. He goes in with his brow
wrinkled up and his knees shakin', and a few minutes later he comes out
pale in the gills and with a wild look in his eyes.
"What's the scandal, Piddie?" says I. "Been sent to summon the firin'
squad, or what?"
He don't stop to explain then, but pikes right on into the bond room and
holds a half-hour session with that collection of giddy young
near-sports who hold down the high stools. Finally, though, he tip-toes
back to me, wipes the worry drops from his forehead, and gives me some
of the awful details.
"Such incompetency!" says he husky. "You remember that yesterday Mr.
Ellins called for a special report on outside holdings? And when it is
submitted it is merely a jumble of figures. Why, the young man who
prepared it couldn't have known the difference between a debenture 5 and
a refunding 6!"
"Don't make me shudder, Piddie," says I. "Who was the brainless wretch?"
"Young Hollis, of course," whispers Piddie. "And it's not the first
occasion, Torchy, on which he has been found failing. I am sending some
of his books in for inspection."
"Oh, well," says I, "better Brink than some of the others. He won't take
it serious. He's like a duck in a shower--sheds it easy."
At which Piddie goes off shakin' his head ominous. But then, Piddie has
been waitin' for the word to fire Brink Hollis ever since this cheerful
eyed young hick was wished on the Corrugated through a director's pull
nearly a year ago, when he was fresh from college. You see, Piddie can't
understand how anybody can draw down the princely salary of twenty-five
a week without puttin' his whole soul into his work, or be able to look
his boss in the face if there's any part of the business that he's vague
about.
As for Brink, his idea of the game is to get through an eight-hour day
somehow or other so he can have the other sixteen to enjoy himself in,
and I expect he takes about as much interest in what he has to do as if
he was countin' pennies in a mint. Besides that he's sort of a
happy-go-lucky, rattle-brained youth who has been chucked into this high
finance thing because his fam'ly thought he ought to be doing something
that looks respectable; you know the type?
Nice, pleasant young chap. Keeps the bond room force chirked up on rainy
days and always has a smile for everybody. It was him organized the
Corrugated Baseball Nine that cleaned up with every other team in the
building last summer. They say he was a star first baseman at Yale or
Princeton or wherever it was he was turned loose from. Also he's some
pool shark, I understand, and is runnin' off a progressive tournament
that he got Mr. Robert to put up some cups for.
So I'm kind of sorry, when I answers the private office buzzer a little
later, and finds Old Hickory purple in the face and starin' at something
he's discovered between the pages of Brink's bond book.
"Young man," says he as he hands it over, "perhaps you can fell me
something about this?"
"Looks lite a program," says I, glancin' it over casual. "Oh, yes. For
the first annual dinner of the Corrugated Crabs. That was last Saturday
night."
"And who, may I ask," goes on Old Hickory, "are the Corrugated Crabs?"
"Why," says I, "I expect they're some of the young sports on the general
office staff."
"Huh!" he grunts. "Why Crabs?"
I hunches my shoulders and lets it go at that.
"I notice," says Old Hickory, taking back the sheet, "that one feature
of the entertainment was an impersonation by Mr. Brinkerhoff Hollis, of
'the Old He-Crab Himself unloading a morning grouch'. Now, just what
does that mean?"
"Couldn't say exactly," says I. "I wasn't there."
"Oh, you were not, eh?" says he. "Didn't suppose you were. But you
understand, Torchy, I am asking this information of you as my private
secretary. I--er--it will be treated as confidential."
"Sorry, Mr. Ellins," says I, "but you know about as much of it as I do."
"Which is quite enough," says he, "for me to decide that the Corrugated
can dispense with the services of this Hollis person at once. You will
notify Mr. Piddie to that effect."
"Ye-e-es, sir," says I, sort of draggy.
He glances up at me quick. "You're not enthusiastic about it, eh?" says
he.
"No," says I.
"Then for your satisfaction, and somewhat for my own," he goes on, "we
will review the case against this young man. He was one of three who won
a D minus rating in the report made by that efficiency expert called in
by Mr. Piddie last fall."
"Yes, I know," says I. "That squint-eyed bird who sprung his brain tests
on the force and let on he could card index the way your gray matter
worked by askin' a lot of nutty questions. I remember. Brink Hollis was
guyin' him all the while and he never caught on. Had the whole bunch
chucklin'over it. One of Piddie's fads, he was."
Old Hickory waves one hand impatient. "Perhaps," says he. "I don't mean
to say I value that book psychology rigamarole very highly myself. Cost
us five hundred, too. But I've had an eye on that young man's work ever
since, and it hasn't been brilliant. This bond summary is a sample. It's
a mess."
"I don't doubt it!" says I. "But if I'd been Piddie I think I'd have
hung the assignment for that on some other hook than Hollis's. He didn't
know what a bond looked like until a year ago and that piece of work
called for an old hand."
"Possibly, possibly," agrees Old Hickory. "It seems he is clever enough
at this sort of thing, however," and he waves the program.
I couldn't help smotherin' a chuckle.
"Am I to infer," says Mr. Ellins, "that this He-Crab act of his was
humorous?"
"That's what they tell me," says I. "You see, right after dinner Brink
was missin' and everybody was wonderin' what had become of him, when all
of a sudden he bobs up through a tin-foil lake in the middle of the
table and proceeds to do this crab impersonation in costume. They say it
was a scream."
"It was, eh?" grunts Old Hickory. "And the Old He-Crab referred to--who
was that?"
"Who do you guess, Mr. Ellins?" says I, grinnin'.
"H-m-m-m," says he, rubbin' his chin. "I can't say I'm flattered. Thinks
I'm an old crab, does he?"
"I expect he does," I admits.
"Do you?" demands Old Hickory, whirlin' on me sudden.
"I used to," says I, "until I got to know you better."
"Oh!" says he. "Well, I suppose the young man has a right to his own
opinion. And my estimate of him makes us even. But perhaps you don't
know with what utter contempt I regard such a worthless----"
"I got a general idea," says I. "And maybe that's because you don't know
him very well."
For a second the old boy stares at me like he was goin' to blow a
gasket. But he don't. "I will admit," says he, "that I may have failed
to cultivate a close acquaintance with all the harum-scarum cut-ups in
my employ. One doesn't always find the time. May I ask what course you
would recommend?"
"Sure!" says I. "If it was me I wouldn't give him the chuck without a
hearin'."
That sets him chewin' his cigar. "Very well," says he. "Bring him in."
I hadn't figured on gettin' so close to the affair as this, but as I had
I couldn't do anything else but see it through. I finds Brink drummin' a
jazz tune on his desk with his fingers and otherwise makin' the best of
it.
"Well," says he, as I taps him on the shoulder, "is it all over?"
"Not yet," says I. "But the big boss is about to give you the third
degree. So buck up."
"Wants to see me squirm, does he?" says Brink. "All right. But I don't
see the use. What'll I feed him, Torchy?"
"Straight talk, nothing else," says I. "Come along."
And I expect when Brink Hollis found himself lined up in front of them
chilled steel eyes he decided that this was a cold and cruel world.
"Let's see," opens Old Hickory, "you've been with us about a year,
haven't you?"
Hollis nods.
"And how do you think you are getting on as a business man?" asks Mr.
Ellins.
"Fairly rotten, thank you," says he.
"I must say that I agree with you," says Old Hickory. "How did you
happen to honor us by making your start here?"
"Because the governor didn't want me in his office," says Hollis, "and
could get me into the Corrugated."
"Hah!" snorts Old Hickory. "Think we're running a retreat for younger
sons, do you!"
"If I started in with that idea," says Brink, "I'm rapidly getting over
it. And if you want to know, Mr. Ellins, I'm just as sick of working in
the bond room as you are of having me there."
"Then why in the name of the seven sins do you stick?" demands Old
Hickory.
Brink shrugs his shoulders. "Dad thinks it's best for me," says he. "He
imagines I'm making good. I suppose I've rather helped along the notion,
and he's due to get some jolt when he finds I've nose-dived to a crash."
"Unfortunately," says Old Hickory, "we cannot provide shock absorbers
for fond fathers. Any other reasons why you wished to remain on our pay
roll?"
"One," says Brink, "but it will interest you less than the first. If I
got a raise next month I was planning to be married."
Old Hickory sniffs. "That's optimism for you!" says he. "You expect us
to put a premium on the sort of work you've been doing? Bah!"
"Oh, why drag out the agony?" says Brink. "I knew I'd put a crimp in my
career when I remembered leaving that crab banquet program in the book.
Let's get to that."
"As you like," says Old Hickory. "Not that I attach any great importance
to such monkey shines, but we might as well take it up. So you think I'm
an old crab, do you?"
"I had gathered that impression," says Brink. "Seemed to be rather
general around the shop."
Old Hickory indulges in one of them grins that are just as humorous as a
crack in the pavement. "I've no doubt," says he. "And you conceived the
happy idea of dramatizing me as the leading comic feature for this
dinner party of my employees? It was a success, I trust."
"Appeared to take fairly well," says Brink.
"Pardon me if I seem curious," goes on Old Hickory, "but just how did
you--er--create the illusion?"
"Oh, I padded myself out in front," says Brink, "and stuck on a lot of
cotton for eyebrows, and used the make-up box liberal, and gave them
some red-hot patter on the line that--well, you know how you work off a
grouch, sir. I may have caught some of your pet phrases. Anyway, they
seemed to know who I meant."
"You're rather clever at that sort of thing, are you?" asks Old Hickory.
"Oh, that's no test," says Brink. "You can always get a hand with local
gags. And then, I did quite a lot of that stuff at college; put on a
couple of frat plays and managed the Mask Club two seasons."
"Too bad the Corrugated Trust offers such a limited field for your
talents," says Old Hickory. "Only one annual dinner of the Crab Society.
You organized that, I suppose?"
"Guilty," says Brink.
"And I understand you were responsible for the Corrugated baseball team,
and are now conducting a pool tournament?" goes on Old Hickory.
"Oh, yes," says Brink, sort of weary. "I'm not denying a thing. I was
even planning a little noonday dancing club for the stenographers. You
may put that in the indictment if you like."
"H-m-m-m!" says Old Hickory, scratchin' his ear. "I think that will be
all, young man."
Brink starts for the door but comes back. "Not that I mind being fired,
Mr. Ellins," says he. "I don't blame you a bit for that, for I suppose
I'm about the worst bond clerk in the business. I did try at first to
get into the work, but it was no good. Guess I wasn't cut out for that
particular line. So we'll both be better off. But about that He-Crab act
of mine. Sounds a bit raw, doesn't it? I expect it was, too. I'd like to
say, though, that all I meant by it was to make a little fun for the
boys. No personal animosity behind it, sir, even if----"
Old Hickory waves his hand careless. "I'm beginning to get your point of
view, Hollis," says he. "The boss is always fair game, eh?"
"Something like that," says Brink. "Still, I hate to leave with you
thinking----"
"You haven't been asked to leave--as yet," says Old Hickory. "I did have
you slated for dismissal a half hour ago, and I may stick to it. Only my
private secretary seemed to think I didn't know what I was doing.
Perhaps he was right. I'm going to let your case simmer for a day or so.
Now clear out, both of you."
We slid through the door. "Much obliged for making the try, Torchy,"
says Brink. "You had your nerve with you, I'll say."
"Easiest thing I do, old son," says I. "Besides, his ain't a case of
ingrowin' grouch, you know."
"I was just getting that hunch myself," says Brink. "Shouldn't wonder
but he was quite a decent old boy when you got under the crust. If I was
only of some use around the place I'll bet we'd get along fine. As it
is----" He spreads out his hands.
"Trust Old Hickory Ellins to find out whether you're any use or not,"
says I. "He don't miss many tricks. If you do get canned, though, you
can make up your mind that finance is your short suit."
Nearly a week goes by without another word from Mr. Ellins. And every
night as Brink streamed out with the advance guard at 5 o'clock he'd
stop long enough at my desk to swap a grin with me and whisper: "Well, I
won't have to break the news to Dad tonight, anyway."
"Nor to the young lady, either," says I.
"Oh, I had to spill it to Marjorie, first crack," says he. "She's
helping me hold my breath."
And then here yesterday mornin', as I'm helping Old Hickory sort the
mail, he picks out a letter from our Western manager and slits it open.
"Hah!" says he, through his cigar. "I think this solves our problem,
Torchy."
"Yes, sir?" says I, gawpin'.
"Call in that young humorist of yours from the bond room," says he.
And I yanks Brink Hollis off the high stool impetuous.
"Know anything about industrial welfare work, young man?" demands Old
Hickory of him.
"I've seen it mentioned in magazine articles," says Brink, "but that's
about all. Don't think I ever read one."
"So much the better," says Mr. Ellins. "You'll have a chance to start in
fresh, with your own ideas."
"I--I beg pardon?" says Brink, starin' puzzled.
"You're good at play organizing, aren't you," goes on Old Hickory.
"Well, here's an opportunity to spread yourself. One of the
manufacturing units we control out in Ohio. Three thousand men, in a
little one-horse town where there's nothing better to do in their spare
time than go to cheap movies and listen to cheaper walking delegates. I
guess they need you more than we do in the bond room. Organize 'em as
much as you like. Show 'em how to play. Give that He-Crab act if you
wish. We'll start you in at a dollar a man. That satisfactory?"
I believe Brink tried to say it was, only what he got out was so choky
you could hardly tell. But he goes out beamin'.
"Well!" says Old Hickory, turnin' to me. "I suppose he'll call that
coming safely out of a nose dive, eh?"
"Or side-slippin' into success," says I. "I think you've picked another
winner, Mr. Ellins."
"Huh!" he grunts. "You mean you think you helped me do it. But I want
you to understand, young man, that I learned to be tolerant of other
people's failings long before you were born. Toleration. It's the
keystone of every big career. I've practiced it, too, except--well,
except after a bad night."
And then, seein' that rare flicker in Old Hickory's eyes, I gives him
the grin. Oh, sure you can. It's all in knowin' when.