Our Mr. Wrenn: The Romantic Adventures of a Gentle Man Part 51

"To-morrow," she smiled, with a hint of tears, "I'll be a reg'lar lady, I guess, and make you explain and explain like everything, but now I'm just glad. Yes," defiantly, "I _will_ admit it if I want to! I _am_ glad!"

Her door closed.

CHAPTER XIX

TO A HAPPY Sh.o.r.e

Upon an evening of November, 1911, it chanced that of Mrs. Arty's flock only Nelly and Mr. Wrenn were at home. They had finished two hot games of pinochle, and sat with their feet on a small amiable oil-stove. Mr. Wrenn laid her hand against his cheek with infinite content. He was outlining the situation at the office.

The business had so increased that Mr. Mortimer R. Guilfogle, the manager, had told Rabin, the head traveling-salesman, that he was going to appoint an a.s.sistant manager. Should he, Mr.

Wrenn queried, try to get the position? The other candidates, Rabin and Henson and Glover, were all good friends of his, and, furthermore, could he "run a bunch of guys if he was over them?"

"Why, of course you can, Billy. I remember when you came here you were sort of shy. But now you're 'most the star boarder!

And won't those others be trying to get the job away from you?

Of course!"

"Yes, that's so."

"Why, Billy, some day you might be manager!"

"Say, that would be great, wouldn't it! But hones', Nell, do you think I might have a chance to land the a.s.sistant's job?"

"I certainly do."

"Oh, Nelly--gee! you make me--oh, learn to bank on myself--"

He kissed her for the second time in his life.

"Mr. Guilfogle," stated Mr. Wrenn, next day, "I want to talk to you about that a.s.sistant managers.h.i.+p."

The manager, in his new office and his new flowered waistcoat, had acted interested when Our steady and reliable Mr. Wrenn came in. But now he tried to appear dignified and impatient.

"That--" he began.

"I've been here longer than any of the other men, and I know every line of the business now, even the manufacturing. You remember I held down Henson's job when his wife was sick."

"Yes, but--"

"And I guess Jake thinks I can boss all right, and Miss Leavenbetz, too."

"Now will you kindly 'low _me_ to talk a little, Wrenn? I know a _little_ something about how things go in the office myself!

I don't deny you're a good man. Maybe some day you may get to be a.s.sistant manager. But I'm going to give the first try at it to Glover. He's had so much more experience with meeting people directly--personally. But you're a good man--"

"Yes, I've heard that before, but I'll be gol-darned if I'll stick at one desk all my life just because I save you all the trouble in that department, Guilfogle, and now--"

"Now, now, now, now! Calm down; hold your horses, my boy. This ain't a melodrama, you know."

"Yes, I know; I didn't mean to get sore, but you know--"

"Well, now I'll tell you what I'm going to do. I'm going to make you head of the manufacturing department instead of getting in a new man, and s.h.i.+ft Henson to purchasing. I'll put Jake on your old job, and expect you to give him a lift when he needs it. And you'd better keep up the most important of the jollying-letters, I guess."

"Well, I like that all right. I appreciate it. But of course I expect more pay--two men's work--"

"Let's see; what you getting now?"

"Twenty-three."

"Well, that's a good deal, you know. The overhead expenses have been increasing a lot faster than our profits, and we've--"

"Huh!"

"--got to see where new business is coming in to justify the liberal way we've treated you men before we can afford to do much salary-raising--though we're just as glad to do it as you men to get it; but--"

"Huh!"

"--if we go to getting extravagant we'll go bankrupt, and then we won't any of us have jobs.... Still, I _am_ willing to raise you to twenty-five, though--"

"Thirty-five!"

Mr. Wrenn stood straight. The manager tried to stare him down.

Panic was attacking Mr. Wrenn, and he had to think of Nelly to keep up his defiance. At last Mr. Guilfogle glared, then roared: "Well, confound it, Wrenn, I'll give you twenty-nine-fifty, and not a cent more for at least a year. That's final. _Understand?_"

"All right," chirped Mr. Wrenn.

"Gee!" he was exulting to himself, "never thought I'd get anything like that. Twenty-nine-fifty! More 'n enough to marry on now! I'm going to get _twenty-nine-fifty!_"

"Married five months ago to-night, honey," said Mr. Wrenn to Nelly, his wife, in their Bronx flat, and thus set down October 17, 1913, as a great date in history.

"Oh, I _know_ it, Billy. I wondered if you'd remember. You just ought to see the dessert I'm making--but that's a s'prise."

"Remember! Should say I did! See what I've got for somebody!"

He opened a parcel and displayed a pair of red-worsted bed-slippers, a creation of one of the greatest red-worsted artists in the whole land. Yes, and he could afford them, too.

Was he not making thirty-two dollars a week--he who had been poor!

And his chances for the a.s.sistant managers.h.i.+p "looked good."

"Oh, they'll be so comfy when it gets cold. You're a dear! Oh, Billy, the janitress says the Jewish lady across the court in number seventy is so lazy she wears her corsets to bed!"