Kitabı oku: «Mixed Faces», sayfa 7
The interview told of the great man's magnanimity and generosity. Not even his solicitude for old Bill's comfort was overlooked. In fact the great man wouldn't trust the hostler, but fed Bill bran mash with a spoon. The suit of clothes he bought "Mister Timothy Jones" was lined with silk. The underwear might have been of red gold instead of red flannel. Thus did a brave man reward those who served him in time of stress. It even intimated that Timothy Jones might retire for life on his monetary rewards.
It was the next day at luncheon when the cheerful James was given reason to think less happily of his exploit, and to wonder what happened to a worm that turned once too often. The newspapers contained the statements that the wires were now open to Princetown and that in that flourishing city dwelt a man whose feelings were outraged, who was indignant, who asserted he had not been in Yimville on the day of the speech, in fact had never in his life made a speech in Yimville, and that if he had made a speech in Yimville he most certainly would not – never, never, never – have expressed the sentiments so brazenly attributed to him. He was an office seeker in the interests of public rather than personal welfare, and for no other reason. He had yielded to the overwhelming petitions of his friends, indeed, not without considerable pain. And then Jimmy read something that for the first time caused him to appreciate the possible grave consequences of his ebullient imposture:
"'I am not at the moment in a position to make any definite and specific charges,' his Honor told the representative of the Morning Star: 'but I have certain well-defined grounds for believing that the citizens of Yimville, for whom I have the most profound respect and admiration, knowing that they include some of the most intellectual and patriotic ladies and gentlemen in the whole of the United States, have been imposed upon by an individual who (I have been told) faintly resembles me as far as personal appearance is involved. Yet how this person, who is, I regret to say, but a common, vulgar ignoramus, could have the barefaced effrontery to address an intelligent audience either in his own or an assumed character, I can not comprehend. Needless to say I shall at once take steps to learn the truth, and the impostor shall be made to suffer the extreme penalties of the law providing for the punishment of such flagrant acts against the public and private welfare of duly constituted citizens. The world must be made safe for Democracy. Those who are guilty of lack of observance for those common and well-defined and closely stipulated rules that govern the intercourse existing between individuals or those collections of individuals which are in turn by mutual consent formed into committies, must hereafter be consistently regulated by those able to dictate either by force of arms or the divine influence of reason, until they can no longer prove a menace to the rules governing, by consent of the governed and the voice of the governed, human relations in general, in particular, and in private.'"
Jimmy pondered over the last sentence a long time.
"I suppose he means 'The guilty shall be punished,'" he said, and then added, admiringly, "By gosh! If he were a Democrat he'd be president of the United States yet. He surely would! He can use more words to say less than any other man living, and, come to think of it, he has the greatest assets of stupidity, which are pompous silence, and a patronizing grin. The art of so obfuscating his expression with words that neither his friends nor his enemies can come to any positive conclusion as to what he means. But if I'm not mistaken, this same J. Woodworth-Granger, Judge by election, is after the scalp of one James Gollop, drummer for a living, and – humph! – wonder when the next train leaves that will take me out of this state's jurisdiction? It seems to me, Jim, that you should be on your way. Good Lord! Some men can never take a joke! The idea of raising such a fuss over a little thing like that!"
And, so potent was his increasing apprehension, Mr. James Gollop did not actually smile again until seven-thirty that evening, when he received a reply to a question addressed to the conductor of the eastbound train.
"Are we over the state line yet?" was the question asked.
"By about thirty miles, I should reckon," was the reply.
"Thank heaven for that!" said Mr. Gollop, resuming a placid mental attitude, and the celebrated Gollop grin. "It's a wise man who knows where he's not welcome. Both celebrity and notoriety are distinctions to be shunned. A mud-cat is the most secure of all fish because nobody wishes to either catch and eat, or play with and caress him. His sole virtue is his obscurity, the sharpness of his bones his only protection. I'd rather be a catfish than a salmon after all!"
And the conductor, passing on his way with his nickel-plated lantern deftly anchored by his arm and his nickel-plated punch industriously working in his hand, mumbled, "Happy man! He's got just what he wants. Wish I was general passenger agent of this line. I'm not a catfish because I want to be one. He seems to be – just that!"
CHAPTER IX
Jimmy retired to the smoking compartment in the Pullman and sat down to think it all over. It had but one other occupant, a huge man with heavy shoulders who lowered the paper he had been reading and looked at Jimmy through a pair of clear, gray, appraising eyes that conveyed such a sense of directness as to slightly disconcert one with a guilty conscience.
"Great Scott!" thought Jimmy. "Hope he's not a sheriff or a United States marshal looking for me," and then indulged in an inward smile at the absurdity of his being of sufficient importance to have a federal officer on his trail. He seated himself and took a furtive glance at the man's face. It was a distinctly attractive face, due to its marked indications of character. It expressed not only firmness and intelligence but a sense of humor. Jimmy decided that this individual should appreciate a joke and wondered who he was.
"Funny old chap," he thought. "Might be a banker, but I think he's a drummer. Wonder who he's out for? Somehow he's mighty familiar; but surely I'd never forget an old Trojan like that. Maybe I've met him sometime, and he's got all that gray around his temples since then. Gray hairs do make a difference."
He was still puzzling over this lost identity when the man laid the newspaper to one side, lighted a fresh cigar and, turning toward Jimmy, said, "Funny about that affair over in Yimville, isn't it? Have you read about it?"
Jimmy had to look away lest the twinkle in his eyes betray him, and then decided his best policy would be to take it with a laugh. A laugh he decided was the most disarming of human manifestations. He emitted one.
"Yes, I read about it in the papers yesterday and to-day. That fellow at Yimville does seem to have kicked up an amusing controversy. One set of papers says he was mobbed, and the other that he made a hit. But – pshaw! – of course it has no effect whatever on Judge Granger's chances for the nomination! Tempest in a child's teapot that will last about as long."
"Perhaps! I'm not to sure about that. Moreover, I'm not so certain that Granger, unmolested, could have got the nomination. He would have been up against a good stiff fight. I understand that he's a trifle too self-satisfied to be a very popular candidate. Nothing hurts a man with a swelled head like ridicule. Ridicule will trim men that can't be touched with any other weapon under the sun. And – " he chuckled as if amused – "the whole state has something to laugh over now, whether he made that speech, or whether he didn't!"
The man looked out of the window for a moment and then, as if no longer interested in the Yimville episode, inquired, "Didn't I see you getting some sample cases aboard the train? What's your line?"
"Chocolates. Columbus Chocolate Co. of New York. Are you on the road?"
"Well, not exactly. I'm in water power plants at present."
"Something I don't know much about," said Jimmy. "But I wish I did. Mighty interesting. In fact I never took the trouble to look one over until a little while ago."
"Where was that?" inquired the man.
"Up at a place called Princetown. Good water power there. Big plant, I suppose you would call it."
"Yes, I suppose they have good power up there. I have heard so," said the man, inspecting the ash of his cigar as if interested in how long it would last without breaking. "Let's see – automobile factory there, isn't there?"
"Yes. Sayers Automobile Company. Fine cars, too, but unknown except out here. At least I should say so. That's the trouble with half the enterprises in the country. They can make first class articles but they can't sell them. Sometimes I think we Americans aren't such good hustlers after all. We've got the reputation in Europe, I am told, of blowing about our stuff; but I'm not certain that we do. If I were a manufacturer, I'd not make anything that wasn't the best I could make. I'd put everything I knew and everything I could learn into whatever I made. I'd not have a man work for me fifteen minutes if he didn't believe that it was the best thing of its kind on earth. And then I'd know that when that man went out and talked about my line of goods, whether he was a salesman or not, he'd swear that it was the best on earth."
The man smiled, "In other words, even your workmen blowing, eh?"
"I don't think it's blowing to say what you honestly believe about your line. When a man is absolutely convinced that he is offering the very best thing on the market and gets hot under the collar if anybody questions it, he becomes a good salesman. He never can be that unless he is honestly positive that he is talking truth. Telling the truth isn't boasting. It's the way to sell goods. Blowing means ignorance or lying. A man can not lie about anything he has to sell – if it's nothing bigger than hairpins – and get away with it very long. I never lie about my line – never! I really believe that some of our stuff is the best of its kind made. I say so. I honestly admit it when some other house brings out a certain line that beats ours, and then I hustle back home and put on my spurs, and get out my hammer, and try to get my firm to see it, and to meet the new stuff and if possible to go it one better."
Jimmy had forgotten all about Yimville, now that he was expatiating on a pet hobby of his. Evidently, too, Yimville had passed from the mind of his companion, who seemed pondering over salesmanship.
"But – but how would it be applicable to power plants?" he demanded.
"I don't know," admitted Jim, "but the principle is the same for chocolates, or power plants or – automobiles. That's what started me off – those Sayers automobiles. I never heard about that car until I saw one in the street. I don't know anything about them. But the one I saw looked so pretty that I talked with the man who owned it, and he was in love with the thing. So, because I never heard of it, and no one else seemed to have done so, it proves that there's something wrong with the Sayers selling organization. They haven't handled their capital right, because every dollar invested in advertising is a dollar in the value of the plant – in that intangible asset called 'goodwill,' without which neither a house nor a man can succeed."
"Young man," said his companion, "you are in the wrong line. You ought to be selling advertising space. I told you I was in power plants but – I'm in some other things as well. Did you ever solicit advertising contracts for any first class advertising firm?"
"I never did," admitted Jimmy, "But I have given some advice about advertising that has paid the purchasers. And I've pondered over sales organization for years. I tell you – it's a science! If ever I get a chance to test these theories of mine – I'll – " He paused as if ashamed of his serious enthusiasm, and as usual, derided them – "I'll probably fail!"
"Why deride yourself?" queried the man, regarding Jim with grave and interested eyes. "If sales organization is a hobby of yours, why not ride it? Evidently you've thought about it somewhat. What is wrong with the average sales organization? Where does it fail? What improvements can you suggest in prevalent methods? Have you thought of anything new and original to improve them? If so, I'd like to hear about it, because I'm one of those who are never too old to learn."
Jimmy accepted and launched into his argument with all the vim of an enthusiast discussing a subject to which he had given thought.
"Have you got one of your personal cards with you? Hope you don't think I'm impertinent," said the man, after Jimmy had run down.
Jimmy laughed and gave him the card and while he wondered what was coming next, his companion carefully slipped it into his pocketbook.
"If ever you decide to get out of chocolates," he said, thoughtfully, "you might call on me – or – let's see! Here!" He took another card from his pocket just as the train came to a stop and the porter came hurrying in and shouted, "Sorry, sah! Done forgot to call you sooner. Corinth!"
Both Jim and his fellow traveler jumped to their feet and hastened out. Jimmy saw that the card was that of "Mr. Charles W. Martin, Suites 105-7-9-11 Z, Flat Iron Bldg., New York. Specialist in everything pertaining to power plants."
Out on the platform Martin asked, "Where do you stop here in Corinth, Mr. Gollop?"
"At the City Hotel," said Jimmy. "Good sample rooms there. Good grub. Good beds."
"I think I'll go there, too," said Martin, and together they entered the hotel bus and were driven away.
As usual Jimmy was welcomed by his first name, and informed that there was some mail there for him. When he looked around from its perusal Martin had disappeared and he did not meet him again until he was seated in a corner of the restaurant alone, when a voice behind him said, "Hope you don't mind if I join you, Mr. Gollop," and looked up to see his traveling companion.
"Not at all, Mr. Martin," he replied. "Always glad to have good company. I'm a sociable sort of cuss myself. I detest traveling alone, eating alone, or loafing alone. I suppose I'm gregarious."
A troubled, thoughtful shadow chased itself over the elder man's face, as he said, with a half-sigh, "I understand. It's not good for a man to be alone. And the older he becomes, the more he feels lonesomeness, and the more he wants – home!"
The word was the magic one for Jimmy. Somehow that word always moved him and brought out his great undercurrent.
"Why, do you know," he said, leaning across the table with shining eyes, "if I didn't have a home to go to, always, after I've made my round, I'd be like a horse that had been robbed of his stall? I live for it! I work for it! I look forward to it all the time! But you see, I'm different than most men. Luckier, I think, because my mother's there! And if I didn't have a thing in the world but her, I'd be rich. And if I had everything else but her, I'd be poor! I'm mighty proud of my home and my mother. I shall be leaving here for home to-morrow afternoon," continued Jimmy. "After I've hustled around and seen about a dozen customers. Being a drummer and having a craze for home, are two pretty tough propositions to combine. But – what would home be without chocolates? Why, do you know, I don't think I'd have been able to have a home at all without 'em! By chocolates Maw and I live or die. Funny, isn't it, that if there was an earthquake that wiped a spot off the maps and hurt me when I read about it, I'd keep going on just about the same; but if everybody stopped eating chocolates, I'd be wiped off the map, and I reckon the world would be going on just the same? Sometimes I think every man's world is the smallest thing there is because it's bounded only by his own happiness or tragedy. He's just one of billions, but if his pet dog dies, he's astonished because the universe isn't covered with gloom and probably he's the only one that's sorry about the dog, or that even knows the dog has croaked. Maybe somebody else hears about it and is glad – the chap that the dog bit the week before he went to dog-heaven. But – anyhow – I'm bound for home to-morrow. Back to Baltimore, as the song goes."
"Baltimore?" said Martin. "That's a coincidence! I go to Baltimore myself to-morrow. Struthers people. Know them? Make tools of precision."
"Everybody in Baltimore knows of them," declared Jim with full civic pride.
"I shall take the two-thirty train," said Martin. "Maybe we shall travel together."
"That's the one I take," said Jim. "Match you to see who engages berths for both of us."
"I'll gladly engage one for you without matching," declared Martin, a proffer which Jim immediately accepted.
They lounged together that evening, and the more Jimmy knew of Martin, the better he liked him. There was something homely and sane about the man that appealed to him. For a time he kept subconsciously questioning why he maintained a peculiar feeling that this was not the first time they had met; yet this sense of unrest was dissipated by the respect he had formed for him, quite unaccountably. He was, indeed, surprised with himself for his liking when he realized how satisfactory it was to have Martin sharing his journey on the following day. In his perpetual journeyings he had met many men who were congenial, men of the goodfellow type, but here was a man who had but little of the customary "goodfellow" attributes and habits, and who yet won his regard. There was the disparity of ages, the contrast of taciturnity with free expression, and a large lack of mutual experience; but somehow all these barriers were not supervened to the detriment of their fellowship. Jim felt as if he were with an acquaintance – most friendly too – of years standing, long before they arrived at Baltimore.
"Perhaps you can recommend me to a good hotel," said Martin, as they neared their destination. "I've never stopped in Baltimore. In fact, I'm a total stranger there."
"Why stop at a hotel at all?" suggested Jimmy, generously. "Why not come out and put up with me? My mother's the finest there is! We're pretty plain people, but it ought to beat being in a hotel. I'll have three days home this time, and I'll show you down to Struthers' place, and – by jingoes! – you shall be introduced to big Bill, my pet tree, in his winter clothes, and if I can't make you believe in Maryland hospitality, it won't be my fault."
Martin accepted as directly as he appeared to decide everything. And the beauty of it was that Mrs. Gollop, who shared her son's hospitable nature, accepted and made welcome the guest that Jimmy brought home as if she were thoroughly accustomed to her son's unconventional methods.
"Does he always bring strangers home like this?" asked Martin, with a faint smile, on the second day of his visit after Jim's mother had been eloquently expatiating on Jim's idiosyncrasies and virtues during the latter's temporary absence.
"You never can tell what Jimmy will do," she replied with a laugh, and then thoughtfully stared through her window into the street. "But I am always certain that he will do the honest, decent, and generous action. He laughs his way through the world, but in the laugh is never malice nor cruelty. His sole failing is that he cannot resist a joke. He has always been so. His sense of the ridiculous is absurdly out of proportion to his serious side. I used to feel hopeless for his future because he laughed so much; but now I know the difference. One may still laugh and be loyal in all things. He has no false ideas or unattainable ambitions. He has no false pride. He believes in doing his best in all things. He is sorry for those who are unfortunate, and unenvious of those who have succeeded. He is sincere, and he is unassuming, a good friend, and a tolerant enemy. His tastes are simple, his pleasures homely."
She stopped, flushed and, added, "But I boast too much! Yet I can't help it because – well – because there has never been such a son as mine, and I'm not ashamed to feel proud of him!"
But Mr. Martin was now looking out of the window, and, Mr. Martin did not smile.
