Laughing Bill Hyde and Other Stories Part 15

When he saw Miss Harris at supper-time and undertook to explain his black eyes she a.s.sured him coldly that he and his ebony gig-lamps mattered nothing in her young life, as evidence of which she flashed a magnificent three-quarter carat diamond solitaire on her third finger.

She and Mr. Gross expected to be married inside of two or three years if all went well, she told him.

At eight o'clock, disguised behind a pair of blue goggles, Louis headed for Miss Monon's door, glad that the cozy corner was so dimly lighted. When he arrived she bathed his battle-scarred features with hamamelis, which is just the same as Pond's Extract, but doesn't cost so much, and told him the other girls had acted foolishly. She was very sweet and gentle with him and young Mitch.e.l.l, imperfect as was his vision, saw something in her he had never seen before.

A week went by, during which it seemed that all the railroads except the Monon had suddenly gone out of business. It was as if a strike had been declared. Another week pa.s.sed and Mitch.e.l.l's sales were scarcely noticeable, so Mr. Comer called him in to ask:

"Is your 'phone disconnected?"

"No, sir."

"Do you know the price of our goods?"

"Yes, sir."

"Don't you sleep well at home?"

"Yes, sir."

"Then what has become of those pick-ups?"

"I seem to have lost--my trade."

"Your 'trade'! Bah! Young man, you've been dissipating. That expense account turned your head. You've been blowing in our money on your friends and you've let your customers go. If you can't hold the railroad business we'll get some fellow who can. Cut out your sewing-circle wine suppers and your box parties to the North Sh.o.r.e debutantes and get busy. You've got a week to make good. One week."

There wasn't the slightest chance, and Mitch.e.l.l told Miss Monon so when Thursday came around. He told her all about that promised position on the road and what it meant to him, and then he told her that beginning Monday he'd have to hunt a new berth at twelve dollars per. She was very quiet, very sympathetic--so sympathetic, in fact, that he told her some other things which no young man on a diminis.h.i.+ng salary should tell. She said little at the moment, but she did considerable thinking, and she got busy on her 'phone early the next morning. The first number she called was the Santa Fe's. When she had finished talking with Miss Dunlap that hempen-haired sentimentalist was dabbing her eyes with her handkerchief and blowing her nose, a.s.suring Miss Monon, at the same time, that she was a dear and that it was all right now that she knew the truth. Miss Monon blushed prettily, thanked her, and confessed that she had felt it coming on for some time. Thereupon they took turns calling the others, from the Big Four to the C.&E.I., with the result that Mitch.e.l.l's wire began to heat up.

Phoebe Snow called him to say that she hadn't meant what she said, that he was a good old scout, and that the rate clerk was sorry also, and wanted to stand treat for a Dutch lunch. Then she left an order for a ton and a half of engine bolts.

Miss Gratz cried a little when she heard Mitch.e.l.l's voice and told him to make his own price on forty kegs of washers and suit himself about delivery.

Miss Dunlap confessed that it was her pride which had spoken, and, anyhow, she knew altogether too much about marriage to take another chance. She'd rather have one man friend than three husbands.

One by one the flock returned, and Sat.u.r.day night Mitch.e.l.l sent five pounds of chocolates and a sheaf of red roses to the one who had made it all come out right. He got his share of business after that, and when the holidays came they brought him his promotion.

Murphy, who knew most of the facts, was the first to congratulate him.

"Jove!" he said, "that little Monon lady saved your bacon, didn't she?

By. the way, you never told me what her name was."

Young Mitch.e.l.l's cheeks a.s.sumed a sh.e.l.l-pink shade as he replied: "It doesn't matter what her name was, it's Mitch.e.l.l now. We were married yesterday and--all the roads were represented at the wedding."

WITH BRIDGES BURNED

Louis Mitch.e.l.l knew what the telegram meant, even though it was brief and cryptic. He had been expecting something of the sort ever since the bottom dropped out of the steel business and prices tobogganed forty dollars a ton. Nevertheless, it came as an undeniable shock, for he had hoped the firm would keep him on in spite of hard times. He wondered, as he sadly pocketed the yellow sheet, whether he had in him the makings of a good life-insurance agent, or if he had not better "join out" with a medicine show. This message led him to think his talents must lie along the latter line. Certainly they did not lie in the direction of metal supplies.

He had plenty of time to think the situation over, however, for it is a long jump from b.u.t.te to Chicago; when he arrived at the latter place he was certain of only one thing, he would not stand a cut in salary.

Either Comer & Mathison would have to fire him outright or keep him on at his present wage; he would not compromise as the other salesmen had done and were doing.

Twenty-five hundred a year is a liberal piece of money where people raise their own vegetables, but to a man traveling in the West it is about equal to "no pair." Given two hundred dollars a month and a fair expense account a salesman can plow quite a respectable furrow around Plymouth Rock, but out where they roll their r's and monogram their live stock he can't make a track. Besides the loss of prestige and all that went with it, there was another reason why young Mitch.e.l.l could not face a cut. He had a wife, and she was too new, too wonderful; she admired him too greatly to permit of such a thing. She might, she doubtless would, lose confidence in him if he took a step backward, and that confidence of hers was the most splendid thing in Mitch.e.l.l's life. No, if Comer & Mathison wanted to make any change, they would have to promote him. Ten minutes with the "old man," however, served to jar this satisfactory determination to its foundation. Mr. Comer put the situation clearly, concisely.

"Business is rotten. We've got to lay all the younger men off or we'll go broke," he announced.

"But--I'm married," protested the young salesman.

"So am I; so is Mathison; so are the rest of the fellows. But, my boy, this is a panic. We wouldn't let you go if we could keep you."

"I can sell goods--"

"That's just it; we don't want you to. Conditions are such that we can't afford to sell anything. The less business we do the fewer losses we stand to make. Good Lord, Louis, this is the worst year the trade has ever known!"

"B-but--I'm married," blankly repeated Mitch.e.l.l.

Comer shook his head. "We'd keep you in a minute if there was any way to do it. You go home and see the wife. Of course if you can show us where you're worth it, we'll let you stay; but--well, you can't.

There's no chance. I'll see you to-morrow."

Ordinarily Mitch.e.l.l would not have allowed himself the extravagance of a cab, but to-day the cars were too slow. He wondered how the girl would take this calamity, their very first. As a matter of fact, she divined the news even before he had voiced his exuberant greetings, and, leading him into the neat little front room, she curled up at his side, demanding all the reasons for his unexpected recall. He saw that she was wide-eyed and rather white. When he had broken the bad news she inquired, bravely:

"What is your plan, boy?"

"I haven't any."

"Nonsense!"

"I mean it. What can I do? I don't know anything except the steel business. I can lick my weight in wildcats on my own ground--but--"

The wife nodded her blonde head in complete agreement. "But that lets me out," he concluded, despondently. "I can sell steel because I know it from the ground up; it's my specialty."

"Oh, we mustn't think about making a change."

"I've handled more big jobs than any man of my age and experience on the road, and yet--I'm fired." The husband sighed wearily. "I built that big pipe line in Portland; I sold those smelters in Anaconda, and the cyanide tanks for the Highland Girl. Yes, and a lot of other jobs, too. I know all about the smelter business, but that's no sign I can sell electric belts or corn salve. We're up against it, girlie."

"Have people quit building smelters?"

"They sure have--during this panic. There's nothing doing anywhere."

The wife thought for a moment before saying, "The last time you were home you told me about some Western mining men who had gone to South Africa--"

"Sure! To the Rand! They've made good, too; they're whopping big operators, now."

"You said there was a large contract of some sort coming up in London."

"Large! Well, rather! The Robinson-Ray job. It's the biggest ever, in my line. They're going to rebuild those plants the Boers destroyed. I heard all about it in Montana."

"Well!" Mrs. Mitch.e.l.l spoke with finality. "That's the place for you.

Get the firm to send you over there."