A MAN OF AFFAIRS
When, with some eighteen dollars in his pocket, Don on Sunday ordered
Nora to prepare for him on that day and during the following week a
breakfast of toast, eggs, and coffee, he felt very much a man of
affairs. He was paying for his own sustenance, and with the first
money he had ever earned. He drew from his pocket a ten-dollar bill, a
five-dollar bill, a two-dollar bill, and some loose change.
"Pick out what you need," he ordered, as he held the money toward
her.
"I don't know how much it will be, sir. I'll ask the cook, sir."
"Very well; ask the cook. About dinners--I think I'd better wait until
I see how I'm coming out. Dinners don't matter so much, any way,
because they come after I'm through work."
Don ate his breakfast in the dining-room before the open fire, as his
father used to do. In smoking-jacket and slippered feet, he enjoyed
this as a rare luxury--even this matter of breakfasting at home, which
until now had been merely a negative detail of routine.
When he had finished he drew his chair closer to the flames and
lighted a cigarette. He had been cutting down on cigarettes. He had
always bought them by the hundred; he was now buying them by the box.
Until this week he never realized that they represented money. He was
paying now twenty-five cents for a box of ten; and twenty-five cents,
as he had learned in the restaurant in the alley, was a sum of money
with tremendous possibilities. It would buy, for one thing, five egg
sandwiches; and five egg sandwiches would keep a man from being
uncomfortably hungry a good many hours.
Thus a quarter, from being merely an odd piece of loose change, took
on a vital, tangible character of its own. Translated into smokes, it
gave a smoke a new value. He had started in to make a box of
cigarettes last a day; but he was now resolved to make them last two
days. This allowed him one after each meal and two in the evening.
If at first he had considered this a hardship, he was beginning to
appreciate the fact that it had its compensating advantages. This
morning, for instance, he felt that he had never tasted such good
tobacco in his life. Like his breakfast, it was a pleasure to be
prolonged--to give his thought to. He smoked slowly and carefully and
keenly. With his head against the back of his chair, he watched the
white cloudlets curl upward after he had inhaled their fragrance. This
was no dull habit indulged in automatically.
In this moment of indulgence his thoughts turned to Miss Winthrop. It
was nearing twelve, and perhaps this had something to do with it. He
was going to miss that luncheon hour. He had come to look forward to
it as quite the most interesting event of the day. From his
comfortable position before the fire, he wondered why.
It was impossible to say she had any definite physical attractions,
although her eyes were not bad. They piqued a man's curiosity, those
eyes. One remembered them. That was true also of her mouth. Don had no
very definite notion of its exact shape, but he remembered how it
surprised one by changing from the tenderness of a young girl's mouth
to the firmness of a man's a dozen times in the course of a few
minutes' conversation.
It was quarter-past twelve. If he had known her telephone number he
would have called her up now, just to say "Hello." He would be taking
a chance, however; for, as likely as not, she would inquire what he
was doing, and would, he felt sure, scold him for having so late a
breakfast.
Odd, that a woman should be so energetic! He had always thought of
them as quite the opposite. Leisureliness was a prerogative of the
sex. He had always understood that it was a woman's right to pamper
herself.
Undoubtedly she would object to his sitting on here before the open
fire. Farnsworth would not waste a morning like this--he seemed to
hear her telling him so. If he wanted that ten thousand a year, he
ought to be working on those circulars. A man was not paid for what he
didn't know. Here, with nothing else to do, was a good time to get
after them. Well, he had gone so far as to bring them home with him.
He rose reluctantly, went upstairs to his room, and brought them down.
He began on the electric company which was offering gold bonds at a
price to net four and a half per cent. Then Nora came in to call him
to the telephone.
"Who is it, Nora?"
"Miss Stuyvesant, sir."
"Oh, yes."
He hurried to the telephone.
"Good-morning, Frances."
"Dad and Mother have gone to church and it's very stupid here," she
complained. "Can't you come over?"
He hesitated the fraction of a second.
"Oh, of course,--if you don't want to,--" she began quickly.
"It isn't that, Frances. Of course I want to come; only, there were
some papers I brought home from the office--"
"Well?"
"I can go over them some other time. I'll be right up."
* * * * *
A discovery that encouraged Don the following week was that by some
unconscious power of absorption he grew sufficiently familiar with the
financial jargon of the office to feel that it really was within the
possibilities that some day he might understand it fully. He found
several opportunities to talk with Powers, and the latter, after
recovering from his surprise at the primitive nature of some of Don's
questions about notes and bonds, went to some trouble to answer them.
Not only that, but he mentioned certain books that might supply fuller
and more fundamental information.
"I know these sound like fool questions," Don apologized, "but I've
never been down in this end of the town much."
"That's all right," replied Powers. "Come to me any time you're
stuck."
After Powers went out, Don sat down and tried to recall some of the
things he had been told. He remembered some of them and some of them
he didn't. But that day at lunch Miss Winthrop handed him a
stenographic report of the entire conversation. Don looked over it in
amazement. It was in the form of question and answer.
_Mr. Pendleton:_ Say, old man, what is a gold bond, anyway?
_Mr. Powers:_ I beg your pardon?
And so on down to Don's final apology.
_Mr. Pendleton:_ I know these sound like fool questions--
_Mr. Powers:_ That's all right--
"Read it over in your spare time," advised Miss Winthrop; "then you
won't ask him the same questions twice."
"But how in thunder did you get this?" he inquired.
"I wasn't busy just then, and took it down. I knew you'd forget half
he told you."
"It was mighty good of you," he answered. "But I wish you had left out
my talk. Now that I see it in type, it sounds even more foolish than I
thought it was."
"I've seen a lot of things that didn't turn out well in type," she
nodded. "But you needn't read that part of it. What Powers said was
worth while. He knows what he's talking about, and that's why he's the
best bond salesman in the house."
"What sort of a salary does _he_ draw?"
"I don't know," she answered. "And if I were you I'd forget the salary
end of my job for a while."
"It's a mighty important end," he declared.
"I don't see it," she returned frankly. "I suppose you're starting on
twenty-five?"
"That's all," he admitted.
"It's all you're worth. Any one to support besides yourself?"
"No."
"Then what you worrying about?"
"But, good Heavens, a man can't live on that--any length of time."
"Can't? I know men who support a wife and children on less."
"Eh?"
"And do it decently," she nodded. "I live on half of that myself."
"You?"
"Of course. Did you think I drew a salary like Farnsworth?"
She laughed at his open astonishment. It appeared genuine.
"You live on half of twenty-five dollars a week?" he repeated.
She did not care to pursue the subject. It was a bit too personal.
"So do hundreds of thousands of others," she informed him. "On that
and less than that. Now, you put that paper away in your pocket, and
don't ask Powers another question until you know it by heart. Then get
after him again. When you run across something you don't know, why
don't you write it down?"
He took out his engagement-book on the spot and made an entry.
"I've written down that you say it's possible to live on twenty-five
dollars a week," he informed her, as he replaced the book in his
pocket.
"Don't be silly," she warned. "You'd better write down something about
not worrying about your salary at all."
"I'll do that," he returned.
He took out his engagement-book again and scribbled a line.
"Miss Winthrop says not to worry about my salary."
[Illustration: "CAN'T? I KNOW MEN WHO SUPPORT A WIFE AND CHILDREN ON
LESS"]
"I didn't say it," she protested.
"Them's your very words."
"I mean--" she grew really confused. "I mean--you needn't put it down
that I said it. You ought to say it to yourself."
He shook his head. "That's too deep for me."
"Then let's drop the subject," she answered curtly. "Only don't get
the idea that it's I who am worrying about your salary, one way or the
other."
"No need of getting peeved about it," he suggested.
"Not in the slightest," she agreed.
But she did not wait for her eclair, and went back to the office in
anything but a good humor.
On the whole, Miss Winthrop was rather disappointed in him as a result
of this last interview--the more so because he had begun the day so
well. Her hopes had risen high at the way he approached Powers, and at
the seriousness with which he had listened to what Powers had to say.
He had acted like a man eager to learn. Then he had spoiled it all by
placing undue emphasis on the salary end.
This new development in Pendleton came as a surprise. It did not seem
consistent with his nature as she read it in his eyes. It was not in
character. It left her doubting her judgment about him along other
lines. She did not object to his ambition. That was essential. He
ought to work for Farnsworth's position--but for the position, not the
salary. The position stood for power based upon ability. That was the
sort of success she would be keen about if she were a man.
Curious, too, that Mr. Pendleton should be so keen about money in this
one direction. She had thought his tendency all the other way, and had
made a mental note that sometime she must drive home to him a few
facts about having a decent respect for money. A man who would return
the loan of a two-dollar bill in five dollars' worth of roses was not
the sort of man one expected to have a vaulting ambition for thousands
for their own sake. One thing was sure--he was not the type of man who
ought to occupy so much of her attention on a busy afternoon.
At a few minutes before five, just as Miss Winthrop was jabbing the
last pin into her hat, a messenger boy hurried into the office with a
parcel bearing a noticeable resemblance to a one-pound candy box. He
inquired of Eddie for Miss Winthrop, and Eddie, with considerable
ceremony, escorted the boy to the desk of that astonished young
woman.
"Sign here," the boy ordered.
Miss Winthrop gave a swift glance around the office. Mr. Pendleton was
at work at Powers's desk and didn't even look up. It was a remarkable
exhibition of concentration on his part. Blake, however, swung around
in his chair and raised his brows.
Miss Winthrop seized the pencil and wrote her name, dotting the "i"
and crossing the "t" with vicious jabs. Then she picked up the box and
hurried toward the door.
"From a devoted admirer?" inquired Blake, as she passed him.
Don saw the color spring to Miss Winthrop's cheeks, but she hurried on
without a word in reply. He understood now what it was she did not
like about Blake. Don was not at all of an aggressive nature, but at
that moment he could have struck the man with the greatest
satisfaction. It seemed the only adequate way of expressing himself.
Blake was still smiling.
"Sort of caught her with the goods that time, eh?" observed Blake.
"I don't get you," answered Don.
"Candy by messenger? Well, I've been looking for it. And when those
haughty ones do fall, believe me, they fall hard."
"Maybe," answered Don. "But I'll bet you five dollars to a quarter
you're wrong about her."
Blake's eyes narrowed a trifle.
"I'll take you," he answered. "What's your proof?"
"I sent her that stuff myself."
"You? Holy smoke, that's going some!"
"I sent her that to pay for some typewriting she did for me and
because I knew she wouldn't take any money."
"I lose. Come out and have a drink?"
"Thanks," answered Don. "I'm on my way uptown. Give that quarter to
Eddie."