work he might not soon have the time again. He now
ambled out into Central Avenue, the very heart of Lycurgus,
which in this section was crossed by several business
streets, which together with Central Avenue for a few
blocks on either side, appeared to constitute the business
center—all there was to the life and gayety of Lycurgus.
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Chapter 5
BUT once in this and walking about, how different it all
seemed to the world to which so recently he had been ac
customed. For here, as he had thus far seen, all was on a
so much smaller scale. The depot, from which only a half
hour before he had stepped down, was so small and dull,
untroubled, as he could plainly see, by much traffic. And the
factory section which lay opposite the small city—across the
Mohawk—was little more than a red and gray assemblage
of buildings with here and there a smokestack projecting
upward, and connected with the city by two bridges—a half
dozen blocks apart—one of them directly at this depot, a
wide traffic bridge across which traveled a car-line following
the curves of Central Avenue, dotted here and there with
stores and small homes.
But Central Avenue was quite alive with traffic, pedestrians
and automobiles. Opposite diagonally from the hotel, which
contained a series of wide plate-glass windows, behind
which were many chairs interspersed with palms and
pillars, was the dry-goods emporium of Stark and
Company, a considerable affair, four stories in height, and
of white brick, and at least a hundred feet long, the various
windows of which seemed bright and interesting, crowded
with as smart models as might be seen anywhere. Also
there were other large concerns, a second hotel, various
automobile showrooms, a moving picture theater.
He found himself ambling on and on until suddenly he was
out of the business district again and in touch with a wide
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and tree-shaded thoroughfare of residences, the houses of
which, each and every one, appeared to possess more
room space, lawn space, general ease and repose and
dignity even than any with which he had ever been in
contact. In short, as he sensed it from this brief inspection
of its very central portion, it seemed a very exceptional, if
small city street—rich, luxurious even. So many imposing
wrought-iron fences, flower-bordered walks, grouped trees
and bushes, expensive and handsome automobiles either
beneath porte-cochères within or speeding along the broad
thoroughfare without. And in some neighboring shops—
those nearest Central Avenue and the business heart
where this wide and handsome thoroughfare began, were
to be seen such expensive-looking and apparently smart
displays of the things that might well interest people of
means and comfort—motors, jewels, lingerie, leather goods
and furniture.
But where now did his uncle and his family live? In which
house? What street? Was it larger and finer than any of
these he had seen in this street?
He must return at once, he decided, and report to his uncle.
He must look up the factory address, probably in that region
beyond the river, and go over there and see him. What
would he say, how act, what would his uncle set him to
doing? What would his cousin Gilbert be like? What would
he be likely to think of him? In his last letter his uncle had
mentioned his son Gilbert. He retraced his steps along
Central Avenue to the depot and found himself quickly
before the walls of the very large concern he was seeking.
It was of red brick, six stories high—almost a thousand feet
long. It was nearly all windows—at least that portion which
had been most recently added and which was devoted to
collars. An older section, as Clyde later learned, was
connected with the newer building by various bridges. And
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the south walls of both these two structures, being built at
the water’s edge, paralleled the Mohawk. There were also,
as he now found, various entrances along River Street, a
hundred feet or more apart—and each one, guarded by an
employee in uniform—entrances numbered one, two and
three—which were labeled “for employees only”—an
entrance numbered four which read “office”—and entrances
five and six appeared to be devoted to freight receipts and
shipments.
Clyde made his way to the office portion and finding no one
to hinder him, passed through two sets of swinging doors
and found himself in the presence of a telephone girl
seated at a telephone desk behind a railing, in which was
set a small gate—the only entrance to the main office
apparently. And this she guarded. She was short, fat, thirty-
five and unattractive.
“Well?” she called as Clyde appeared.
“I want to see Mr. Gilbert Griffiths,” Clyde began a little
nervously.
“What about?”
“Well, you see, I’m his cousin. Clyde Griffiths is my name. I
have a letter here from my uncle, Mr. Samuel Griffiths. He’ll
see me, I think.”
As he laid the letter before her, he noticed that her quite
severe and decidedly indifferent expression changed and
became not so much friendly as awed. For obviously she
was very much impressed not only by the information but
his looks, and began to examine him slyly and curiously.
“I’ll see if he’s in,” she replied much more civilly, and
plugging at the same time a switch which led to Mr. Gilbert
Griffiths’ private office. Word coming back to her apparently
that Mr. Gilbert Griffiths was busy at the moment and could
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not be disturbed, she called back: “It’s Mr. Gilbert’s cousin,
Mr. Clyde Griffiths. He has a letter from Mr. Samuel
Griffiths.” Then she said to Clyde: “Won’t you sit down? I’m
sure Mr. Gilbert Griffiths will see you in a moment. He’s
busy just now.”
And Clyde, noting the unusual deference paid him—a form
of deference that never in his life before had been offered
him—was strangely moved by it. To think that he should be
a full cousin to this wealthy and influential family! This
enormous factory! So long and wide and high—as he had
seen—six stories. And walking along the opposite side of
the river just now, he had seen through several open
windows whole rooms full of girls and women hard at work.
And he had been thrilled in spite of himself. For somehow
the high red walls of the building suggested energy and
very material success, a type of success that was almost
without flaw, as he saw it.
He looked at the gray plaster walls of this outer waiting
chamber—at some lettering on the inner door which read:
“The Griffiths Collar & Shirt Company, Inc. Samuel Griffiths,
Pres. Gilbert Griffiths, Sec’y.”—and wondered what it was
all like inside—what Gilbert Griffiths would be like—cold or
genial, friendly or unfriendly.
And then, as he sat there meditating, the woman suddenly
turned to him and observed: “You can go in now. Mr. Gilbert
Griffiths’ office is at the extreme rear of this floor, over
toward the river. Any one of the clerks inside will show you.”
She half rose as if to open the door for him, but Clyde,
sensing the intent, brushed by her. “That’s all right.
Thanks,” he said most warmly, and opening the glass-
plated door he gazed upon a room housing many over a
hundred employees—chiefly young men and young
women. And all were apparently intent on their duties
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before them. Most of them had green shades over their
eyes. Quite all of them had on short alpaca office coats or
sleeve protectors over their shirt sleeves. Nearly all of the
young women wore clean and attractive gingham dresses
or office slips. And all about this central space, which was
partitionless and supported by round white columns, were
offices labeled with the names of the various minor officials
and executives of the company—Mr. Smillie, Mr. Latch, Mr.
Gotboy, Mr. Burkey.
Since the telephone girl had said that Mr. Gilbert Griffiths
was at the extreme rear, Clyde, without much hesitation,
made his way along the railed-off aisle to that quarter,
where upon a half-open door he read: “Mr. Gilbert Griffiths,
Sec’y.” He paused, uncertain whether to walk in or not, and
then proceeded to tap. At once a sharp, penetrating voice
called: “Come,” and he entered and faced a youth who
looked, if anything, smaller and a little older and certainly
much colder and shrewder than himself—such a youth, in
short, as Clyde would have liked to imagine himself to be—
trained in an executive sense, apparently authoritative and
efficient. He was dressed, as Clyde noted at once, in a
bright gray suit of a very pronounced pattern, for it was
once more approaching spring. His hair, of a lighter shade
than Clyde’s, was brushed and glazed most smoothly back
from his temples and forehead, and his eyes, which Clyde,
from the moment he had opened the door had felt drilling
him, were of a clear, liquid, grayish-green blue. He had on a