He woke feeling very strange, and not exactly as fresh as a daisy. He
felt much more like a cauliflower cooled after boiling. His head buzzed
a bit, with a sort of gay giddiness, but for all that he knew that he
was not the same Hugh Braddy that had been catapulted from bed by an
alarm clock in his Long Island City home the morning before.
"A man can do what he's a mind to," he said to himself in a slightly
husky voice. His first move was to get breakfast. The old Hugh Braddy
would have gone humbly to a one-armed beanery for one black coffee and
one doughnut--price, one dime. The new Hugh Braddy considered this
breakfast, and dismissed it as beneath a man of his importance. Instead,
he went to the Mortimore Grill and had a substantial club breakfast. He
called up Angelica, his wife, and cut short her lecture
with--"Unavoidable, m'dear. Inventory at the store." His tone, somehow,
made her hesitate to question him further. "It'll be all right about
that raise," he added grandly. "Have a good supper to-night. G'by."
He bought himself an eleven-cent cigar, instead of his accustomed
six-center, and, puffing it in calm defiance of a store rule, strode
into the employees' entrance of the Great Store a little after nine.
Without wavering, he marched straight to the office of Mr. Berger, who
looked up from his morning mail in surprise.
"Well, Mr. Braddy?"
Mr. Braddy blew a smoke ring, playfully stuck his finger through it, and
said:
"Mr. Berger, I'm thinking of going with another concern. A fellow was in
to see me the other day, and he says to me, 'Braddy, you are the best
rug man in this town.' And he hinted that if I'd come over with his
concern they'd double my salary. Now, I've been with the Great Store
more than twenty years, and I like the place, Mr. Berger, and I know the
ropes, so naturally I don't want to change. But, of course, I must go
where the most money is. I owe that to Mrs. B. But I'm going to do the
square thing. I'm going to give you a chance to meet the ante. Sixty's
the figure."
He waved his cigar, signifying the utter inconsequence of whether Mr.
Berger met the ante or not. Before the amazed manager could frame a
reply, Mr. Braddy continued:
"You needn't make up your mind right away, Mr. Berger. I don't have to
give my final decision until to-night. You can think it over. I suggest
you look up my sales record for last year before you reach any
decision." And he was gone.
All that day Mr. Braddy did his best not to think of what he had done.
Even the new Mr. Braddy--philosophy and all--could not entirely banish
the vision of Angelica if he had to break the news that he had issued an
ultimatum for twice his salary and had been escorted to the exit.
He threw himself into the work of selling rugs so vigorously that his
fellow salesmen whispered to each other, "What ails the Ole
Hippopotamus?" He even got rid of a rug that had been in the department
for uncounted years--showing a dark-red lion browsing on a field of rich
pink roses--by pointing out to the woman who bought it that it would
amuse the children.
At four o'clock a flip office boy tapped him on the shoulder and said,
"Mr. Boiger wants to see you." Mr. Braddy, whose head felt as if a hive
of bees were establishing a home there, but whose philosophy still
burned clear and bright, let Mr. Berger wait a full ten minutes, and
then, with dignified tread that gave no hint of his inward qualms,
entered the office of the manager.
It seemed an age before Mr. Berger spoke.
"I've been giving your proposition careful consideration, Mr. Braddy,"
he said. "I have decided that we'd like to keep you in the rugs. We'll
meet that ante."