"Looks like the very place for one of my acknowledged abilities," said
Duncan. He turned the knob and entered, advancing to the middle of the
dingy room. There, standing beside a cold and rusty stove whose pipe
wandered giddily to a hole in the farthest wall (reminding him of some
uncouth cat with its tail over its back), he surveyed with the single
requisite comprehensive glance the tiers of shelves tenanted by a
beggarly array of dingy bottles; the soda fountain with its company of
glasses and syrup jars; the flanking counters with their broken
show-cases housing a heterogenous conglomeration of unsalable wares;
the aged and tattered posters heralding the virtues of potent affronts
to the human interior--to say naught of its intelligence; the drab
walls and debris-littered flooring.
A slight grating noise behind him brought Duncan round with a start. At
a work-bench near the window sat a white-haired man garbed baggily in
an old crash coat and trousers. His head was bowed over something
clamped in a vise, at which he was tinkering busily with a file. He did
not look up, but, as his caller moved, inquired amiably: "Well?"
"Good-morning," stammered Duncan; "er--I should say afternoon."
"So you should," Sam admitted, still fussing with his work. "Anything
you want?"
Duncan swallowed hard and mastered his confusion. "Would it be possible
for me to speak to the proprietor a moment?"
"I should jedge it would. Go right along." Sam filed vigorously.
"Might I ask--are you Mr. Graham?"
"Yes, sir; that's me."
The filing continued stridently. Duncan moved closer. There was scant
encouragement to be gathered from Graham's indifferent attitude; yet
his voice had been pleasant, kindly.
"I--I'm looking for employment," said Duncan hastily. "If--"
"Employment!"
Graham dropped his tools with a clatter and faced round. For a moment
his eyes twinkled and a wintry smile lightened his fine old features.
"Well, I declare!" he said, rising. "You must be the stranger the whole
town's been talkin' about."
"If at any time," Duncan pursued hastily, "you should have an opening
here that you can offer me, I shall endeavour to give satisfaction.
Good-day, sir." And he made for the door.
"Eh, just a minute," said Graham. "Are you in a hurry?"
Duncan paused, smiling nervously. "Oh, no--only I mustn't press it, you
know--just say it and get right--I mean I don't want to take up your
valuable time, sir."
Graham chuckled. "Guess the folks haven't been talking much to you
about me," he suggested. "You seem to have a higher opinion of the
value of my time than anybody else in Radville."
"Yes, but--that is to say--"
"But if you're really looking for a job, I'd like to give you one first
rate."
Duncan started toward him in breathless haste. "You--you'd like
to!--You don't mean it!"
"Yes," Graham nodded, smiling with enjoyment of his little joke. It was
harmless; he didn't for a moment believe that Duncan really needed
employment; and on the other hand it tickled him immensely to think
that anyone should apply to him for work.
"Well," said Duncan, staring, "you're the first man I ever met that
felt that way about it."
Sam's amusement dwindled. "The trouble is," he confessed--"the trouble
is, my boy, my business is so small I don't need any help. There isn't
much of anything to do here."
"That's just the sort of a place I'd like," said Duncan impulsively.
Then he laughed a little, uneasily. "I mean, I'm willing to take any
position, no matter how insignificant. I mean it, honestly."
"This might suit you, then--"
"I wish you'd let me try it, sir."
"But you don't understand." Graham was serious enough now; there wasn't
any joke in what he had to say. "To tell you the truth, I can't afford
it. When your pay was due, I'm afraid I shouldn't have any money to
give you."
Duncan dismissed this paltry consideration with a princely gesture. "I
don't mind that part," he insisted. "Mr. Graham, if you'll teach me the
drug business I'll work for you for nothing."
He said it earnestly, for he meant it just a bit more seriously than he
himself realised at the moment; and I'm glad to think it was because
Sam's serene and gentle, guileless nature had appealed to the young
man. He had that in him, that instinct for decency and the right, that
made him like this simple, sweet and almost childish old man at
sight--like him and want to help him, though he was hardly conscious of
this and believed his motive rather more than less selfish, that he was
grasping at this opportunity for relief from the deadly ennui that
oppressed him as madly as a famished man at a crust. Indeed, the boy
was eager to deceive himself in this respect, with youth's wholesome
horror of sentiment.
"Between you and me," he hurried on, "it's this way: I've been here for
two weeks with nothing to do but look at a book, and it's got me crazy
enough to want to work!"
But still I like to think it was for a better reason, that his conduct
then bore out my theory that there are streaks of human kindliness and
right-thinking in all of us--buried deep though they may be by many an
acquired stratum of callousness and egoism: the sediment of life caking
upon the soul....
But as for Sam, as soon as he recovered he shook his head in thoughtful
deprecation. "Well, I swan!" he said. "I guess you must find it pretty
slow down here. But"--brightening--"if you feel that way about it, I'd
better take you over to Sothern and Lee's. They'd be glad to get you at
the price."
"And in a week they'd think they were over-paying me," Duncan argued.
"No--I've been there. Why not try me on here?"
"Well, I'm just a little bit afraid you wouldn't learn much, my boy. I
don't do business enough to give you a good idea of it. Sothern and Lee
get all the trade nowadays."
"But look here, sir: don't you think if I came in here perhaps we could
build up the business?"
"No, I'm afraid not," Graham deprecated, pursing his lips and rubbing
the white stubble of his beard with a toil-worn thumb.
Duncan eyed him in bitter humour. "No, of course not. You're right--but
somebody must have tipped you off."
Graham paid little heed, whose mind was bent upon his own parlous
circumstances. "I haven't got capital enough to stock up the store," he
explained; "that's the real trouble. Folks have got into the habit of
going to the other store because I'm out of so many things."
"Well, to be sure," said Duncan, a little dashed; "you can't expect to
do business unless you've got things to sell...."
"I don't expect it, my boy," Sam assented dolefully. "'Twouldn't be in
reason.... You see," he added, hope lightening his gloom, "I'm working
on an invention of mine, and if that should work out I'd get some money
and be able to get a fresh stock. Then I'd be glad to have you."
Duncan brushed this impatiently aside. "How much business are you doing
here now?"
"Some days"--Graham reckoned it on his fingers--"I take in a dollar or
two, and some days... nothing.... There's my sody fountain," he said
with a jerk of a thumb toward it: "got that fixed up a little while
ago, and it's bringing in a little. Not much. You see, I need more
syrups. I've only got vanilly now."
"Soda water!" Duncan jumped at the idea. "Hold on! All the girls round
here drink soda, don't they?"
"Oh, yes," said Graham abstractedly.
The thought infused new life into the younger man's waning purpose.
"Mr. Graham, I wish you'd let me come in here for a while. I don't care
about wages."
Graham lifted his shoulders resignedly. "Well, my boy, it don't seem
right, but if you really want to work here for nothing, I'll be glad to
have you; and if things look up with me, I'll be glad to pay you."
Abruptly he found his hand grasped and pumped gratefully.
"That's mighty good of you, Mr. Graham. When can I start?"
"Why... whenever you like."
In a twinkling Duncan's hat and gloves were off. "I'd like to, now," he
said. "Where can we get more syrups?"
"Unfortunately... I'll have to buy them."
"How much?" Duncan's hand was in his pocket in an instant.
"Oh, no, you mustn't do that." Sam backed away in alarm. "I couldn't
allow it, my boy. It's good of you, but..."
"Either," Nat told himself, "I'm asleep or someone's refusing to take
money from me." He grinned cheerfully. "Oh, that's all right," he
contended aloud. "I'll draw it down as soon as we begin to sell soda."
He selected a bill from his slender store. "Will five dollars be
enough?"
"Oh, yes, but it wouldn't be right for me to--"
But by this time Duncan was pressing the bill into his hand.
"Nonsense!" he insisted. "How can we build up trade without syrup?"
"But--but--"
"And how can I learn the business without trade?" He closed Graham's
unwilling fingers over the money and skipped away.
Sighing, Graham gave over the unequal argument. "Well, if you're
satisfied, my boy.... But I'll have to write to Elmiry for it."
"Telegraph."
"Telegraph!" Graham laughed. "That'd kill Lew Parker, I guess."
"Who's he?"
"Telegraph operator and ticket agent."
"Well, he won't be missed much. Telegraph and tell 'em to send the
goods C.O.D. Please, Mr. Graham. We want to get things moving here, you
know; we've got to build up the business. We'll put out some signs and
... and ... well, we'll get the people in the habit of coming here
somehow. You'll see!"
He raked the poverty-stricken shelves with a calculating eye, all his
energy fired by enthusiasm at the prospect of doing something. Graham
watched him with kindling liking and admiration. His old lips quivered
a little before he voiced his thought.
"You--you know, my boy, you've got splendid business ability," he
asserted with whole-souled conviction.
Duncan almost reeled. "What?" he cried.
"I was just saying, you have wonderful business ability."
"You're the first man that ever said that. I wonder if it's so."
"I'm sure of it."
"Well," said Nat, chuckling, "I'll write that to my chum. He'll--"
"Oh, I can tell," Graham interrupted. "Now, I ... Well, you see, I've
been a failure in business. So far as that goes, I've been a failure in
everything all my life."
Duncan stared for a moment, then offered his hand. "For luck," he
explained, meeting Graham's puzzled gaze as his hand was taken.
Wondering, Graham shook his head; and gratitude made his old voice
tremulous. He put a hand over Duncan's, patting it gently.
"I want you to know, my boy, that I appreciate..." His voice broke.
"It's mighty kind of you to buy the syrup--very kind--"
"Nothing of the sort; it's just because I've got great business
ability." Duncan laughed quietly and moved away. "We'll want to clean
up a bit," said he; "got a broom? I'll raise the dust a bit while
you're out sending that wire."
"You'll find one in the cellar, I guess, but--your clothes--"
"Oh, that's all right. Where's the cellar?"
"Underneath," Graham told him simply, taking down a battered hat from a
hook behind the counter.
"I know; but how do I get there?"
"By the steps; you go through that door there into the hall. The steps
are under the stairs to our rooms. I live above the store, you see."
"Yes.... Good-bye, Mr. Graham."
"Good-bye, my boy."
Duncan watched the old man move slowly out of sight, then with a groan
sat down on the counter to think it over. "It wouldn't be me if I
didn't make a mess of things somehow," he told himself bitterly. "Now
you have gone and went and done it, Mr. Fortune Hunter. You stand a
swell chance of getting away with the goods when you take a wageless
job in a spavined country drug-store with no trade worth mentioning and
nothing to draw it with... just because that old duffer's the only
human being you've spotted in this burg!...
"Wonder what Harry would say if he heard about that wonderful business
ability thing...
"But what in thunder can we do to bring business to this bum joint?"
He raked his surroundings with a discouraged glance.
"Oh," he said thoughtfully, "hell!"
Five minutes later Ben Sperry found him in the same position, his head
bent in perplexed reverie. Sperry had been travelling for Gresham and
Jones, a wholesale drug-house in Elmira, more years than I can
remember. His friendship for Sam Graham, contracted during the days
when Graham's was the drug-store of Radville, has survived the decay of
the business. He's a square, decent man, Sperry, and has wasted many an
hour trying to persuade Sam to pay a little more attention to the
business. I suspect he suffered the shock of his placid life when he
found Sam absent and the shop in the care of this spruce, well set-up
young man.
"Anything I can do for you?" chirped Duncan cheerfully, dropping off
the counter as Sperry entered.
"No-o; I just wanted to see old Sam. Is he upstairs?"
"No, Mr. Graham's not in at present," Duncan told him civilly.
Sperry wrinkled his brows over this problem. "You working here?" he
asked.
"Yes, sir."
"Well, I'll be hanged!"
"Let us hope not," said Duncan pleasantly. He waited a moment, a little
irritated. "Sure there's nothing _I_ can do for you?"
"No-o," said Sperry slowly, struggling to comprehend. "Thank you just
the same."
"Not at all." Duncan turned away.
"You see," Sperry pursued, "I don't buy from drug-stores: I sell to
'em."
Duncan faced about with new interest in the man. "Yes?" he said
encouragingly.
"My card," volunteered Sperry, fishing the slip of pasteboard from his
waistcoat pocket. He dropped his sample case beside the stove and
plumped down in the chair, to the peril of its existence. "I don't make
this town very often," he pursued, while Duncan studied his card.
"Sothern and Lee are the only people I sell to here, but I never miss a
chance to chin a while with old Sam. So, having half an hour before
train time, I thought I'd drop in."
"Mr. Graham doesn't order from your house, then?"
"Doesn't order from anybody, does he?"
"I don't know; I've just come here. He'll be sorry to have missed you,
though. He's just stepped out to wire your house--I gather from the
fact that it's in Elmira; he mentioned that town, not the firm
name--for some syrups."
"You don't mean it!" Sperry gasped. "What's struck him all of a sudden?
He ain't put in any new stock for ten years, I reckon."
"Well, you see," Duncan explained artfully, "I've persuaded him, in a
way, to try to make something out of the business here. We're going to
do what we can, of course, in a small way at first."
Sperry wagged a dubious head. "I dunno," he considered. "Sam's a nice
old duffer, but he ain't got no business sense and never had; you can
see for yourself how he's let everything run to seed here. Sothern and
Lee took all his trade years ago."
"Yes, I know; that's why he needs me," said Duncan brazenly. In his
soul he remarked "O Lord!" in a tone of awe; his colossal impudence
dazed even himself. "But don't you think he could get back some of the
trade if the store was stocked up?"
"No doubt about that at all," Sperry averred; "he'd get the biggest
part of it."
"You think so?"
"Sure of it. You see, everybody round here likes Sam, and Sothern and
Lee have always been outsiders. They'd swing to this shop in a minute,
just on account of that. Fact is, I wasted a lot of talk on our firm a
couple of years ago, trying to make our people give him some credit,
but they couldn't see it. He owed them a bill then that was so old it
had grown whiskers."
"And still owes it, I presume?"
"You bet he still owes it. Always will. It's so small that it ain't
worth while suing for----"
"Look here, Mr. Sperry, how much is this bill with the whiskers?"
"About fifty dollars, I think," said the travelling man, fumbling for
his wallet. "I'm supposed to ask for payment every time I strike town,
you know, so I always have it with me; but I haven't had the heart to
say a word to Sam for a good long time.... Here it is."
Duncan studied carefully the memorandum: "To Mdse, as per bill
rendered, $47.85." "I wonder..." he murmured.
"Eh?" said Sperry.
"I was wondering:... Suppose you were to tell your people that there's
a young fellow here who'd like to give this store a boom.... Say he
wants a little credit because--because Mr. Graham won't let him put in
any cash----"
"Not a bit of use," Sperry negatived. "I would, myself, but the
house--no."
"But suppose I pay this bill----"
"Pay it? You really mean that?"
"Certainly I mean it." Duncan produced the wad of bills which Kellogg
had furnished him the night before his departure from New York. Thus
far he had broken only one of the five-hundred-dollar gold
certificates, and of that one he had the greater part left; living is
anything but expensive in Radville.
"I'm beginning to understand that I was cut out for an actor," he told
himself as he thumbed the roll with a serious air and an assumed
indifference which permitted Sperry to estimate its size pretty
accurately.
"That's quite a stack of chips you're carrying," Sperry observed.
Duncan's hand airily wafted the remark into the limbo of the
negligible. "A trifle, a mere trifle," he said casually. "I don't
generally carry much cash about me. Haven't for five years," he added
irrepressibly. He extracted a fifty-dollar certificate from the sheaf,
and handed it over.
"I'll take a receipt, but you needn't mention this to Mr. Graham just
now."
"No, certainly not." Sperry scrawled his signature to the bill.
"And about that line of credit?----"
"Well, with this paid, I guess you could have what you needed, in
moderation. Of course----"
"My name is Duncan--Nathaniel Duncan." Sperry made a memorandum of it
on the back of an envelope. "Any former business connections?"
"None that I care to speak about," Duncan confessed glumly.