It was an outrageous piece of petty finance on high models, and it
euchred Eddie out of everything he had in the world except his illusion
that Jabez was working for the good of the factory.
Eddie always said "The Fact'ry" in the tone that city people use when
they say "The Cathedral."
Ellaphine saw through the wiles of Jabez and the measly capitalists he
had bound together, and she was ablaze with rage at them and with pity
for her tender-hearted child-husband; but she did not reveal these
emotions to Eddie.
She encouraged him to feast on the one sweetmeat of the situation: that
the hands would not be turned off and the factory would keep open doors.
In fact, when doubt began to creep into his own idle soul and a feeling
of shame depressed him, as the butt of the jokes and the pity that the
neighbors flung at him, Ellaphine pretended to be overjoyed at the
triumph he had wrested from defeat.
And when he began to chafe at his lack of occupation, and to fret about
their future, she went to the factory and invaded the office where the
usurper, Jabez Pittinger, sat enthroned at the hallowed desk, tossing
copious libations of tobacco-juice toward a huge new cuspidor. She
demanded a job for Eddie and bullied Jabez into making him a bookkeeper,
at a salary of forty-five dollars a month.
Thus, at last, Eddie Pouch found his place in the world. There are
soldiers who make ideal first sergeants and are ruined and ruinous as
second lieutenants; and there are soldiers who are worthless as first
sergeants, but irresistible as major-generals. Eddie was a born first
sergeant, a routine man, a congenital employee--doomed, like fire, to be
a splendid servant and a disastrous master.
Working for himself, he neglected every opportunity. Working for
another, he neglected nothing. Meeting emergencies, tricking creditors
and debtors, and massacring competitors were not in his line; but when
it came to adding up columns of figures all day, making out bills,
drawing checks for somebody else to sign, and the Santa Claus function
of stuffing the pay-roll into the little envelopes--Eddie was there.
Shrewd old Jabez recognized this. He tried him on a difficult collection
once--sent him forth to pry an ancient debt of eighteen dollars and
thirty-four cents out of the meanest man in town, vice Uncle Loren.
Eddie came back with a look of contentment.
"Did you git it?" said Jabez.
"Well, you see, it was like this: the poor feller--"
"Poor heller! Did you git it?"
"No; he was so hard up I lent him four dollars."
"What!"
"Out of my own pocket, o' course."
Jabez remarked that he'd be hornswoggled; but he valued the incident and
added it to the anecdotes he used when he felt that he had need to
justify himself for playing Huerta with his dreamy Madero.