MR. THOMPSON went in for etchings, and Tommy had to stop, look, and
listen. He was not bored, because his proud delight in Mr. Thompson's
versatility kept him awake. There were so many evidences of a wide
interest in the non-money-making things of life in this home that Tommy
found himself free from the oppression of his burden. Mrs. Thompson was
away on a visit to her people and the two men dined alone.
Over the coffee in the library the talk finally drifted to Mr. Thompson.
From that to Mr. Thompson's “Experiments” at the factory was a short
step. Tommy had learned that all of these “Experiments” were at work in
the experimental shop and in the selling department, and that not all of
them were young men. Then Mr. Thompson talked about his advertisement in
the New York Herald.
“I received many answers. I should have thrown yours away if you had not
given your age. It was too sophisticated and smart-Alecky. It didn't
mean anything--except the truth. Not knowing you, I was not sure it was
true. I can't stand puzzles, so I sent for you.”
“I'm glad you did. It saved my life,” blurted Tommy.
“Don't exaggerate, Leigh,” admonished Thompson, calmly.
“I didn't,” said Tommy. “But I won't.” He couldn't tell Mr. Thompson,
first, what had compelled him to look in the nor, second, how he had
taken it for granted that his own answer would bring him employment.
“Do you want to tell me about it?” asked Thompson, in a matter-of-fact
voice that nevertheless in some curious way showed sympathy--in advance.
Tommy's eyes clouded with the pain of struggle. “I--can't, Mr.
Thompson,” he answered.
Thompson's eyes did not leave Tommy's. “They called you Tommy at
college?”
“Yes, sir--everybody,” answered Tommy.
“It is not always a recommendation. A diminutive nickname is apt to keep
a man young. But there are degrees of youth, and superficial affection
often has a babying effect. I'll call you Tommy hereafter.” Mr. Thompson
said this in a musing voice. It made Tommy laugh, until Mr. Thompson
said, seriously, “A secret is hard on concentration, isn't it?”
Tommy started. He couldn't help it. Mr. Thompson went on:
“It makes the result of the concentration test I applied to you the
other day all the more remarkable. At your age, with your imagination
and the habit of introspection that an untold secret begets, it was
unfair to make the test even more difficult about the magical virtues
of the number seven. Crossing out all odd numbers after one and seven is
the common test. I have improved it, I think. I must have concentrated
imagination, if I can get it. You did very well. Of course you are no
wonder, Leigh--”
“Certainly not!” interrupted Tommy, indignantly, before he stopped to
think that it was not an accusation.
Thompson smiled. “But you did well enough to justify me in keeping
you--for a while longer, at all events.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Now you must continue to study our work. Discover what you want to do;
then make sure it is what you really want. Then try to convince yourself
that it isn't. When you know, tell me. Do you want more money?”
“Yes, I do, but I won't take it,” answered Tommy, very quickly.
“Very well,” said Mr. Thompson, regarding the incident as closed.
Tommy was perfectly sincere in his resolve not to accept unearned money.
Nevertheless, he felt a little disappointed at Mr. Thompson's prompt
acquiescence. Then Tommy realized more than ever that the joy of telling
the truth is in the instant acceptance of the truth by your hearers. It
is what makes it important for words to mean the same thing in all minds
at all times. If “no” always meant “no” there would be much less trouble
in this world.
Tommy resolved to find out which part of the business appealed to him
the most, and then he would tell Mr. Thompson. Then there would be more
money to send home every week. He had sent so little! But he had paid
off the fifty dollars he borrowed to pay for his transportation to
Dayton.
“Where do you live?” asked Mr. Thompson.
Tommy told him; told him all about Mrs. Clayton and all about Bill and
Bill's carburetor mania. When Mr. Thompson spoke it was not to refer to
anything that Tommy had said.
“Don't know much about the selling end of the business, do you?” he
asked.
“No, sir.''
“Would you LIke to learn? Think before you speak.”
Tommy thought. At length he said, “Yes, I would, very much.”
“Think you'd like it?”
Tommy's habit of being honest made him discover that he could not answer
either yes or no truthfully. So he decided, as usual when in doubt, to
tell the truth. Better to be considered an ass than a liar--easier and
safer.
“I wasn't thinking of that. I was thinking that in the shop I can
learn only what a mechanic thinks of the product, and what the shipping
departments think of moving it away. What the buyer thinks, I don't
know. So I don't know whether I'd like to be a salesman.”
“They get good money. You'd like that. Think again before you answer.”
Tommy thought. To him money meant only one thing: Not what one hundred
thousand dollars, for instance, might buy for him, but what seventeen
thousand dollars--no more, no less--would do for his soul's peace. He
answered Mr. Thompson slowly:
“I don't know which is the greater pleasure--doing work you really love
for fair pay, or making more money out of work you neither like nor
dislike. I--I don't know, Mr. Thompson,” he finished, and looked at his
chief dubiously.
Mr. Thompson stared into space. “That's so,” he said at last, in a
perfunctory way.
Tommy felt he had hit no bull's-eye, but he was neither sorry nor angry.
He bethought himself of his bedroom, where he could do his thinking
unstimulated and undepressed. He arose and said:
“I've had a very nice time, Mr. Thompson, and you don't know how
grateful I am to you, sir.”
“Yes, it's bedtime,” said Mr. Thompson, absently. Then he came back to
Tommy. “Tommy,” he said, “if you ever feel like coming to me to tell me
what an ignorant ass you think you are, do so. I'll agree with you; and
perhaps, after I listen to your reasons I'll even raise your salary on
the spot. If you get lonesome walk it off; don't come to me. But Mrs.
Thompson will introduce you to a lot of nice young people--”
Tommy shook his head violently. “Thank you very much, Mr. Thompson.
But I'd--” He floundered till a ray of light showed him the way out. He
finished, “I'd be more than glad if Mrs. Thompson would let me call
once in a while so I could confidentially tell her what I think of her
husband.”
Tommy smiled what he thought was a debonair smile. He wasn't going to
know nice young people who some day might read in the newspapers--And,
anyhow, he wasn't in Dayton to have a good time, but to sweat seventeen
thousand dollars' worth.
“I see I can't do a damned thing for you, young man,” said Thompson,
evenly. He accompanied Tommy to the door. He held out his hand.
“Remember, when you want to tell me that you are not only an ignoramus,
but an ass, and, to boot, blind, come up and say it. Good night, Tommy!”
And he shook Tommy's hand firmly.
“All I know,” thought Tommy to himself on the way home, “is that he is
the greatest thing that ever came down the pike.”
He thought of the day when he could feel that he owed nothing and
dreaded nothing.
He fell asleep thinking he ought to look into the selling end of the
business.