The Fortune Hunter Part 16

He thought deeply, and sighed. "It ain't moral....

"But it's one of the rules, it must be did. Henry said a ribbon clerk was a social equal....

"Come, now! No more shennanigan! Brace up! Be a man!...

"A man? That's the whole trouble: I am a man; I've got no business in a place like that."

He turned and moved away slowly. But the idea had him by the heels. He struggled against a growing resolution to return. Then enlightenment came to him suddenly. He paused again, grappling with this amazing revelation of self.

"Great Scott! Harry was right, d.a.m.n him! He said this place would reconstruct me from the inside out and vice versa, and by jinks! it has. I actually _want_ to work!...

"Can you beat that--_me_!"

He swung back to Leonard and Call's, mentally reviewing his instructions.

"Let's see. I was to wait at least a month, to let the shopkeepers get accustomed to the sight of me.... _Hmm_.... Harry certainly has a cute way of expressing his thought.... But it can't be helped; I can't wait. If I do, I'll throw up the job....

"I'm to walk in and say, politely: '_I'm looking for employment. If at any time you should have an opening here that you can offer me, I shall endeavour to give satisfaction. Good-day_.'...

"But be careful not to press it. Just say it and get right out...."

With the air of a man who knows his own mind he pulled open the wire screen-door and strode in.

Two minutes later he emerged, breathing hard, but with the glitter of determination in his eye.

"I wouldn't 've believed I could get away with it. Here goes for the next promising opening."

He headed for Sothern and Lee's drug-store.

"Wonder what that fellow would have said if I'd had the nerve to wait and listen...."

In the drug-store he experienced less difficulty in making his speech and exit; he flattered himself that he accomplished both gracefully, even impressively. And indeed you may believe he left a gaping audience behind him. So likewise at G.o.dfrey's notions and stationery shop.

As he emerged from the latter the resonant clamour of the Methodist Church clock drove him home for dinner, hungry and glowing with self-approbation. At all events, no one had refused him: he had not been set upon and incontinently kicked out. He felt that he was getting on.

"Now this afternoon," he mused, "I'll wind up the job. By night everyone in town will know I want work."

But if he had thought a moment he would have realised that he might have spared himself the trouble; the consummation he so earnestly desired was already being brought about by resident and recognised, if unofficial, agents for the dissemination of news.

It was two o'clock or thereabouts, I gather, when, shaping his course toward Radville's commercial centre, Duncan hesitated on the corner of Beech Street, c.o.c.king an incredulous eye up at the weather-worn sign which has for years adorned the side of Tuthill's grocery: a hand indicating fixedly:

THIS WAY TO GRAHAM'S DRUG STORE

"Two druggists in Radville!" he mused. "Is it possible?... Then it's Harry's mistake if the scheme fails; he said this was a one-horse country town, but I'm blest if it isn't a thriving metropolis! Two!...

Here, I'm going to have a look."

He turned up Beech and presently discovered the object of his quest, a two-storey building of "frame," guiltless of the ardent caress of a paint-brush since time out of mind. On the ground floor the windows were made up of many small square panes, several of which had been rudely mended. Through them the interior glimmered darkly. In the foreground stood a broken bottle, shaped like a mortuary urn and half full of pink liquid. Beside it reposed a broken packing-box in which bleary camphor-b.a.l.l.s nestled between torn sheets of faded blue paper.

Of these a silent companion in misery stood on the far side of the window: a towering paG.o.da-like cage of wire in which (trapped, doubtless, by means of some mysterious bait known only to alchemists) three worn but brutal-looking sponges were apparently slumbering in exhaustion. Back of these a dusty plaster cast of a male figure lightly draped seemed to represent the survival of the fittest over some strange and deadly patent medicine. The recessed door bore an inscription in gold letters, tarnished and half obliterated:

AM GRAHAM RUGS & CHEM C LS

R SCRIPTION CAREF LY C POUNDED

"Looks like the very place for one of my acknowledged abilities," said Duncan. He turned the k.n.o.b 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 gla.s.ses 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 att.i.tude; 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 amus.e.m.e.nt 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."