When a man has battled with poverty all his life, fearing it as he
fought it, feeling for its skinny throat to throttle it, and yet
dreading all the while the coming of the time when it would gain the
mastery and throttle him--when such a man is told that he is rich, it
might be imagined he would receive the announcement with hilarity. When
Richard Denham realized that he was wealthy he became even more sobered
than usual, and drew a long breath as if he had been running a race and
had won it. The man who brought him the news had no idea he had told
Denham anything novel.
He merely happened to say, "You are a rich man, Mr. Denham, and will
never miss it."
Denham had never before been called a rich man, and up to that moment
he had not thought of himself as wealthy. He wrote out the check asked
of him, and his visitor departed gratefully, leaving the merchant with
something to ponder over. He was as surprised with the suddenness of
the thing as if someone had left him a legacy. Yet the money was all of
his own accumulating, but his struggle had been so severe, and he had
been so hopeless about it, that from mere habit he exerted all his
energies long after the enemy was overcome--just as the troops at New
Orleans fought a fierce battle not knowing that the war was over. He
had sprung from such a hopelessly poor family. Poverty had been their
inheritance from generation to generation. It was the invariable legacy
that father had left to son in the Denham family. All had accepted
their lot with uncomplaining resignation, until Richard resolved he
would at least have a fight for it. And now the fight had been won.
Denham sat in his office staring at the dingy wall-paper so long, that
Rogers, the chief clerk, put his head in and said in a deferential
voice:
"Anything more to-night, Mr. Denham?"
Denham started as if that question in that tone had not been asked him
every night for years.
"What's that, what's that?" he cried.
Rogers was astonished, but too well trained to show it.
"Anything more to-night, Mr. Denham?"
"Ah, quite so. No, Rogers, thank you, nothing more."
"Good-night, Mr. Denham."
"Eh? Oh, yes. Good-night, Rogers, good-night."
When Mr. Denham left his office and went out into the street everything
had an unusual appearance to him. He walked along, unheeding the
direction. He looked at the fine residences and realized that he might
have a fine residence if he wanted it. He saw handsome carriages; he
too might set up an equipage. The satisfaction these thoughts produced
was brief. Of what use would a fine house or an elegant carriage be to
him? He knew no one to invite to the house or to ride with him in the
carriage. He began to realize how utterly alone in the world he was. He
had no friends, no acquaintances even. The running dog, with its nose
to the ground, sees nothing of the surrounding scenery. He knew men in
a business way, of course, and doubtless each of them had a home in the
suburbs somewhere, but he could not take a business man by the
shoulders and say to him, "Invite me to your house; I am lonely; I want
to know people."
If he got such an invitation, he would not know what to do with
himself. He was familiar with the counting-room and its language, but
the drawing-room was an unexplored country to him, where an unknown
tongue was spoken. On the road to wealth he had missed something, and
it was now too late to go back for it. Only the day before, he had
heard one of the clerks, who did not know he was within earshot, allude
to him as "the old man." He felt as young as ever he did, but the
phrase, so lightly spoken, made him catch his breath.
As he was now walking through the park, and away from the busy streets,
he took off his hat and ran his fingers through his grizzled hair,
looking at his hand when he had done so, as if the grey, like wet
paint, might have come off. He thought of a girl he knew once, who
perhaps would have married him if he had asked her, as he was tempted
to do. But that had always been the mistake of the Denhams. They had
all married young except himself, and so sunk deeper into the mire of
poverty, pressed down by a rapidly-increasing progeny. The girl had
married a baker, he remembered. Yes, that was a long time ago. The
clerk was not far wrong when he called him an old man. Suddenly,
another girl arose before his mental vision--a modern girl--very
different indeed to the one who married the baker. She was the only
woman in the world with whom he was on speaking terms, and he knew her
merely because her light and nimble fingers played the business sonata
of one note on his office typewriter. Miss Gale was pretty, of course--
all typewriter girls are--and it was generally understood in the office
that she belonged to a good family who had come down in the world. Her
somewhat independent air deepened this conviction and kept the clerks
at a distance. She was a sensible girl who realized that the typewriter
paid better than the piano, and accordingly turned the expertness of
her white fingers to the former instrument. Richard Denham sat down
upon a park bench. "Why not?" he asked himself. There was no reason
against it except that he felt he had not the courage. Nevertheless, he
formed a desperate resolution.
Next day, business went on as usual. Letters were answered, and the
time arrived when Miss Gale came in to see if he had any further
commands that day. Denham hesitated. He felt vaguely that a business
office was not the proper place for a proposal; yet he knew he would be
at a disadvantage anywhere else. In the first place, he had no
plausible excuse for calling upon the young woman at home, and, in the
second place, he knew if he once got there he would be stricken dumb.
It must either be at his office or nowhere.
"Sit down a moment, Miss Gale," he said at last; "I wanted to consult
you about a matter--about a business matter."
Miss Gale seated herself, and automatically placed on her knee the
shorthand writing-pad ready to take down his instructions. She looked
up at him expectantly. Denham, in an embarrassed manner, ran his
fingers through his hair.
"I am thinking," he began, "of taking a partner. The business is very
prosperous now. In fact, it has been so for some time."
"Yes?" said Miss Gale interrogatively.
"Yes. I think I should have a partner. It is about that I wanted to
speak to you."
"Don't you think it would be better to consult with Mr. Rogers? He
knows more about business than I. But perhaps it is Mr. Rogers who is
to be the partner?"
"No, it is not Rogers. Rogers is a good man. But--it is not Rogers."
"Then I think in an important matter like this Mr. Rogers, or someone
who knows the business as thoroughly as he does, would be able to give
you advice that would be of some value."
"I don't want advice exactly. I have made up my mind to have a partner,
if the partner is willing."
Denham mopped his brow. It was going to be even more difficult than he
had anticipated.
"Is it, then, a question of the capital the partner is to bring in?"
asked Miss Gale, anxious to help him.
"No, no. I don't wish any capital. I have enough for both. And the
business is very prosperous, Miss Gale--and--and has been."
The young woman raised her eyebrows in surprise.
"You surely don't intend to share the profits with a partner who brings
no capital into the business?"
"Yes--yes, I do. You see, as I said, I have no need for more capital."
"Oh, if that is the case, I think you should consult Mr. Rogers before
you commit yourself."
"But Rogers wouldn't understand."
"I'm afraid I don't understand either. It seems to me a foolish thing
to do--that is, if you want my advice."
"Oh, yes, I want it. But it isn't as foolish as you think. I should
have had a partner long ago. That is where I made the mistake. I've
made up my mind on that."
"Then I don't see that I can be of any use--if your mind is already
made up."
"Oh, yes, you can. I'm a little afraid that my offer may not be
accepted."
"It is sure to be, if the man has any sense. No fear of such an offer
being refused! Offers like that are not to be had every day. It will be
accepted."
"Do you really think so, Miss Gale? I am glad that is your opinion.
Now, what I wanted to consult you about, is the form of the offer. I
would like to put it--well--delicately, you know, so that it would not
be refused, nor give offence."
"I see. You want me to write a letter to him?"
"Exactly, exactly," cried Denham with some relief. He had not thought
of sending a letter before. Now, he wondered why he had not thought of
it. It was so evidently the best way out of a situation that was
extremely disconcerting.
"Have you spoken to him about it?"
"To him? What him?"
"To your future partner, about the proposal?"
"No, no. Oh, no. That is--I have spoken to nobody but you."
"And you are determined not to speak to Mr. Rogers before you write?"
"Certainly not. It's none of Roger's business."
"Oh, very well," said Miss Gale shortly, bending over her writing-pad.
It was evident that her opinion of Denham's wisdom was steadily
lowering. Suddenly, she looked up.
"How much shall I say the annual profits are? Or do you want that
mentioned?"
"I--I don't think I would mention that. You see, I don't wish this
arrangement to be carried out on a monetary basis--not altogether."
"On what basis then?"
"Well--I can hardly say. On a personal basis, perhaps. I rather hope
that the person--that my partner--would, you know, like to be
associated with me."
"On a friendly basis, do you mean?" asked Miss Gale, mercilessly.
"Certainly. Friendly, of course--and perhaps more than that."
Miss Gale looked up at him with a certain hopelessness of expression.
"Why not write a note inviting your future partner to call upon you
here, or anywhere else that would be convenient, and then discuss the
matter?"
Denham looked frightened.
"I thought of that, but it wouldn't do. No; it wouldn't do. I would
much rather settle everything by correspondence."
"I am afraid I shall not be able to compose a letter that will suit
you. There seem to be so many difficulties. It is very unusual."
"That is true, and that is why I knew no one but you could help me,
Miss Gale. If it pleases you, it will please me."
Miss Gale shook her head, but, after a few moments, she said, "How will
this do?"
"Dear Sir"--
"Wait a moment," cried Mr. Denham; "that seems rather a formal opening,
doesn't it? How would it read if you put it 'Dear friend'?"
"If you wish it so." She crossed out the "sir" and substituted the word
suggested. Then, she read the letter:
"Dear Friend,--I have for some time past been desirous of taking a
partner, and would be glad if you would consider the question and
consent to join me in this business. The business is, and has been for
several years, very prosperous, and, as I shall require no capital from
you, I think you will find my offer a very advantageous one. I will----"
"I--I don't think I would put it quite that way." said Denham, with
some hesitation. "It reads as if I were offering everything, and that
my partner--well, you see what I mean."
"It's the truth," said Miss Gale, defiantly.
"Better put it on the friendly basis, as you suggested a moment ago."
"I didn't suggest anything, Mr. Denham. Perhaps it would be better if
you would dictate the letter exactly as you want it. I knew I could not
write one that would please you."
"It does please me, but I'm thinking of my future partner. You are
doing first-rate--better than I could do. But just put it on the
friendly basis."
A moment later she read:
"... join me in this business. I make you this offer entirely from a
friendly, and not from a financial, standpoint, hoping that you like me
well enough to be associated with me."
"Anything else, Mr. Denham?"
"No. I think that covers the whole ground. It will look rather short,
type-written, won't it? Perhaps you might add something to show that I
shall be exceedingly disappointed if my offer is not accepted."
"No fear," said Miss Gale. "I'll add that though. 'Yours truly,' or
'Yours very truly'?"
"You might end it 'Your friend.'"
The rapid click of the typewriter was heard for a few moments in the
next room, and then Miss Gale came out with the completed letter in her
hand.
"Shall I have the boy copy it?" she asked.
"Oh, bless you, no!" answered Mr. Denham, with evident trepidation.
The young woman said to herself, "He doesn't want Mr. Rogers to know,
and no wonder. It is a most unbusiness-like proposal."