himself, that he would know of at least one—or should. But
in order to divert suspicion from himself he was going to
add that of course he probably could get news of some one
in his own set, only, the situation being so unusual (any
reference to any such thing in his own world being likely to
set his own group talking), he preferred to ask some one
like Short, who as a favor would keep it quiet.
As it chanced on this occasion, Short himself, owing to his
having done a very fair day’s business, was in an
exceedingly jovial frame of mind. And Clyde having
entered, to buy a pair of socks, perhaps, he began: “Well,
it’s good to see you again, Mr. Griffiths. How are you? I was
just thinking it’s about time you stopped in and let me show
you some of the things I got in since you were here before.
How are things with the Griffiths Company anyhow?”
Short’s manner, always brisk, was on this occasion doubly
reassuring, since he liked Clyde, only now the latter was so
intensely keyed up by the daring of his own project that he
could scarcely bring himself to carry the thing off with the air
he would have liked to have employed.
Nevertheless, being in the store and so, seemingly,
committed to the project, he now began: “Oh, pretty fair.
Can’t kick a bit. I always have all I can do, you know.” At
the same time he began nervously fingering some ties hung
upon movable nickeled rods. But before he had wasted a
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579
moment on these, Mr. Short, turning and spreading some
boxes of very special ties from a shelf behind him on the
glass case, remarked: “Never mind looking at those, Mr.
Griffiths. Look at these. These are what I want to show you
and they won’t cost you any more. Just got ’em in from New
York this morning.” He picked up several bundles of six
each, the very latest, as he explained. “See anything else
like this anywhere around here yet? I’ll say you haven’t.” He
eyed Clyde smilingly, the while he wished sincerely that
such a young man, so well connected, yet not rich like the
others, would be friends with him. It would place him here.
Clyde, fingering the offerings and guessing that what Short
was saying was true, was now so troubled and confused in
his own mind that he could scarcely think and speak as
planned. “Very nice, sure,” he said, turning them over,
feeling that at another time he would have been pleased to
possess at least two. “I think maybe I’ll take this one,
anyhow, and this one, too.” He drew out two and held them
up, while he was thinking how to broach the so much more
important matter that had brought him here. For why should
he be troubling to buy ties, dilly-dallying in this way, when
all he wanted to ask Short about was this other matter? Yet
how hard it was now—how very hard. And yet he really
must, although perhaps not so abruptly. He would look
around a little more at first in order to allay suspicion—ask
about some socks. Only why should he be doing that, since
he did not need anything, Sondra only recently having
presented him with a dozen handkerchiefs, some collars,
ties and socks. Nevertheless every time he decided to
speak he felt a sort of sinking sensation at the pit of his
stomach, a fear that he could not or would not carry the
thing off with the necessary ease and conviction. It was all
so questionable and treacherous—so likely to lead to
exposure and disgrace in some way. He would probably not
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580
be able to bring himself to speak to Short to-night. And yet,
as he argued with himself, how could the occasion ever be
more satisfactory?
Short, in the meantime having gone to the rear of the store
and now returning, with a most engaging and even
sycophantic smile on his face, began with: “Saw you last
Tuesday evening about nine o’clock going into the
Finchleys’ place, didn’t I? Beautiful house and grounds they
have there.”
Clyde saw that Short really was impressed by his social
station here. There was a wealth of admiration mingled with
a touch of servility. And at once, because of this, he took
heart, since he realized that with such an attitude
dominating the other, whatever he might say would be
colored in part at least by his admirer’s awe and respect.
And after examining the socks and deciding that one pair at
least would soften the difficulty of his demand, he added:
“Oh, by the way, before I forget it. There’s something I’ve
been wanting to ask you about. Maybe you can tell me
what I want to know. One of the boys at the factory—a
young fellow who hasn’t been married very long—about
four months now, I guess—is in a little trouble on account of
his wife.” He paused, because of his uncertainty as to
whether he could succeed with this now or not, seeing that
Short’s expression changed ever so slightly. And yet,
having gone so far, he did not know how to recede. So now
he laughed nervously and then added: “I don’t know why
they always come to me with their troubles, but I guess they
think I ought to know all about these things.” (He laughed
again.) “Only I’m about as new and green here as anybody
and so I’m kinda stumped. But you’ve been here longer
than I have, I guess, and so I thought I might ask you.”
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581
His manner as he said this was as nonchalant as he could
make it, the while he decided now that this was a mistake—
that Short would most certainly think him a fool or queer.
Yet Short, taken back by the nature of the query, which he
sensed as odd coming from Clyde to him (he had noted
Clyde’s sudden restraint and slight nervousness), was still
so pleased to think that even in connection with so ticklish a
thing as this, he should be made the recipient of his
confidence, that he instantly recovered his former poise and
affability, and replied: “Why, sure, if it’s anything I can help
you with, Mr. Griffiths, I’ll be only too glad to. Go ahead,
what is it?”
“Well, it’s this way,” began Clyde, not a little revived by the
other’s hearty response, yet lowering his voice in order to
give the dreadful subject its proper medium of obscurity, as
it were. “His wife’s already two months gone and he can’t
afford a kid yet and he doesn’t know how to get rid of it. I
told him last month when he first came to me to try a certain
medicine that usually works”—this to impress Short with his
own personal wisdom and resourcefulness in such
situations and hence by implication to clear his own skirts,
as it were—“But I guess he didn’t handle it right. Anyhow
he’s all worked up about it now and wants to see some
doctor who could do something for her, you see. Only I
don’t know anybody here myself. Haven’t been here long
enough. If it were Kansas City or Chicago now,” he
interpolated securely, “I’d know what to do. I know three or
four doctors out there.” (To impress Short he attempted a
wise smile.) “But down here it’s different. And if I started
asking around in my crowd and it ever got back to my
relatives, they wouldn’t understand. But I thought if you
knew of any one you wouldn’t mind telling me. I wouldn’t
really bother myself, only I’m sorry for this fellow.”
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582
He paused, his face, largely because of the helpful and
interested expression on Short’s, expressing more
confidence than when he had begun. And although Short
was still surprised he was more than pleased to be as
helpful as he could.
“You say it’s been two months now.”
“Yes.”
“And the stuff you suggested didn’t work, eh?”
“No.”
“She’s tried it again this month, has she?”
“Yes.”
“Well, that is bad, sure enough. I guess she’s in bad all
right. The trouble with this place is that I haven’t been here
so very long either, Mr. Griffiths. I only bought this place
about a year and a half ago. Now, if I were over in
Gloversville—” He paused for a moment, as though, like
Clyde, he too were dubious of the wisdom of entering upon
details of this kind, but after a few seconds continued: “You
see a thing like that’s not so easy, wherever you are.
Doctors are always afraid of getting in trouble. I did hear
once of a case over there, though, where a girl went to a
doctor—a fellow who lived a couple miles out. But she was