In the directory I found eleven pages of Joneses; three hundred
and eighty-four Henry Joneses; and (excluding seventeen dentists)
eighty-seven Doctor Henry Joneses. I asked one of the typists in
the office to copy out the list, and prepared to wade in. We
were on the eve of a labor war, and it was exceedingly difficult
for me to get away. As the managing partner of Hodge & Westoby,
boxers (not punching boxers, nor China boxers, but just plain
American box-making boxers), I had to bear the brunt of the whole
affair, and had about as much spare time as you could heap on a
ten-cent piece. I had to be firm, conciliatory, defiant and
tactful all at once, and every hour I took off for Jonesing
threatened to blow the business sky-high. It was a tight place
and no mistake, and it was simply jackrabbit hindleg luck that
pulled me through!
My first Jones was a hoary old rascal above a drug store. He was
a hard man to get away from, and made such a fuss about my
wasting his time with idle questions that I flung him a dollar
and departed. He followed me down to my cab and insisted on
sticking in a giant bottle of his Dog-Root Tonic. I dropped it
overboard a few blocks farther on, and thought that was the end
of it till the whole street began to yell at me, and a policeman
grabbed my horse, while a street arab darted up breathless with
the Dog-Root Tonic. I presented it to him, together with a
quarter, the policeman darkly regarding me as an incipient
madman.
The second Jones was a man of about thirty, a nice, gentlemanly
fellow, in a fine offce. I have usually been an off-hand man in
business, accustomed to quick decisions and very little beating
about the bush. But I confess I was rather nonplussed with the
second Jones. How the devil was I to begin? His waiting-room
was full of people, and I hardly felt entitled to sit down and
gas about one thing and the other till the chance offered of
leading up to the Van Coorts. So I said I had some queer,
shooting sensations in the chest. In five minutes he had me
half-stripped and was pounding my midriff in. And the questions
that man asked! He began with my grandparents, roamed through my
childhood and youth, dissected my early manhood, and finally came
down to coffee and what I ate for breakfast.
Then it was my turn.