pair of large, horn-rimmed glasses which he wore at his
desk only, and the eyes that peered through them went
over Clyde swiftly and notatively, from his shoes to the
round brown felt hat which he carried in his hand.
“You’re my cousin, I believe,” he commented, rather icily, as
Clyde came forward and stopped—a thin and certainly not
very favorable smile playing about his lips.
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“Yes, I am,” replied Clyde, reduced and confused by this
calm and rather freezing reception. On the instant, as he
now saw, he could not possibly have the same regard and
esteem for this cousin, as he could and did have for his
uncle, whose very great ability had erected this important
industry. Rather, deep down in himself he felt that this
young man, an heir and nothing more to this great industry,
was taking to himself airs and superiorities which, but for
his father’s skill before him, would not have been possible.
At the same time so groundless and insignificant were his
claims to any consideration here, and so grateful was he for
anything that might be done for him, that he felt heavily
obligated already and tried to smile his best and most
ingratiating smile. Yet Gilbert Griffiths at once appeared to
take this as a bit of presumption which ought not to be
tolerated in a mere cousin, and particularly one who was
seeking a favor of him and his father.
However, since his father had troubled to interest himself in
him and had given him no alternative, he continued his wry
smile and mental examination, the while he said: “We
thought you would be showing up to-day or to-morrow. Did
you have a pleasant trip?”
“Oh, yes, very,” replied Clyde, a little confused by this
inquiry.
“So you think you’d like to learn something about the
manufacture of collars, do you?” Tone and manner were
infiltrated by the utmost condescension.
“I would certainly like to learn something that would give me
a chance to work up, have some future in it,” replied Clyde,
genially and with a desire to placate his young cousin as
much as possible.
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“Well, my father was telling me of his talk with you in
Chicago. From what he told me I gather that you haven’t
had much practical experience of any kind. You don’t know
how to keep books, do you?”
“No, I don’t,” replied Clyde a little regretfully.
“And you’re not a stenographer or anything like that?”
“No, sir, I’m not.”
Most sharply, as Clyde said this, he felt that he was
dreadfully lacking in every training. And now Gilbert Griffiths
looked at him as though he were rather a hopeless
proposition indeed from the viewpoint of this concern.
“Well, the best thing to do with you, I think,” he went on, as
though before this his father had not indicated to him
exactly what was to be done in this case, “is to start you in
the shrinking room. That’s where the manufacturing end of
this business begins, and you might as well be learning that
from the ground up. Afterwards, when we see how you do
down there, we can tell a little better what to do with you. If
you had any office training it might be possible to use you
up here.” (Clyde’s face fell at this and Gilbert noticed it. It
pleased him.) “But it’s just as well to learn the practical side
of the business, whatever you do,” he added rather coldly,
not that he desired to comfort Clyde any but merely to be
saying it as a fact. And seeing that Clyde said nothing, he
continued: “The best thing, I presume, before you try to do
anything around here is for you to get settled somewhere.
You haven’t taken a room anywhere yet, have you?”
“No, I just came in on the noon train,” replied Clyde. “I was
a little dirty and so I just went up to the hotel to brush up a
little. I thought I’d look for a place afterwards.”
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“Well, that’s right. Only don’t look for any place. I’ll have our
superintendent see that you’re directed to a good boarding
house. He knows more about the town than you do.” His
thought here was that after all Clyde was a full cousin and
that it wouldn’t do to have him live just anywhere. At the
same time, he was greatly concerned lest Clyde get the
notion that the family was very much concerned as to
where he did live, which most certainly it was not, as he
saw it. His final feeling was that he could easily place and
control Clyde in such a way as to make him not very
important to any one in any way—his father, the family, all
the people who worked here.
He reached for a button on his desk and pressed it. A trim
girl, very severe and reserved in a green gingham dress,
appeared.
“Ask Mr. Whiggam to come here.”
She disappeared and presently there entered a medium-
sized and nervous, yet moderately stout, man who looked
as though he were under a great strain. He was about forty
years of age—repressed and noncommittal—and looked
curiously and suspiciously about as though wondering what
new trouble impended. His head, as Clyde at once noticed,
appeared chronically to incline forward, while at the same
time he lifted his eyes as though actually he would prefer
not to look up.
“Whiggam,” began young Griffiths authoritatively, “this is
Clyde Griffiths, a cousin of ours. You remember I spoke to
you about him.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Well, he’s to be put in the shrinking department for the
present. You can show him what he’s to do. Afterwards you
had better have Mrs. Braley show him where he can get a
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270
room.” (All this had been talked over and fixed upon the
week before by Gilbert and Whiggam, but now he gave it
the ring of an original suggestion.) “And you’d better give
his name in to the timekeeper as beginning to-morrow
morning, see?”
“Yes, sir,” bowed Whiggam deferentially. “Is that all?”
“Yes, that’s all,” concluded Gilbert smartly. “You go with
Whiggam, Mr. Griffiths. He’ll tell you what to do.”
Whiggam turned. “If you’ll just come with me, Mr. Griffiths,”
he observed deferentially, as Clyde could see—and that for
all of his cousin’s apparently condescending attitude—and
marched out with Clyde at his heels. And young Gilbert as
briskly turned to his own desk, but at the same time shaking
his head. His feeling at the moment was that mentally
Clyde was not above a good bell-boy in a city hotel
probably. Else why should he come on here in this way. “I
wonder what he thinks he’s going to do here,” he continued
to think, “where he thinks he’s going to get?”
And Clyde, as he followed Mr. Whiggam, was thinking what
a wonderful place Mr. Gilbert Griffiths enjoyed. No doubt he
came and went as he chose—arrived at the office late,
departed early, and somewhere in this very interesting city
dwelt with his parents and sisters in a very fine house—of
course. And yet here he was—Gilbert’s own cousin, and the
nephew of his wealthy uncle, being escorted to work in a
very minor department of this great concern.
Nevertheless, once they were out of the sight and hearing
of Mr. Gilbert Griffiths, he was somewhat diverted from this
mood by the sights and sounds of the great manufactory
itself. For here on this very same floor, but beyond the
immense office room through which he had passed, was
another much larger room filled with rows of bins, facing
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aisles not more than five feet wide, and containing, as
Clyde could see, enormous quantities of collars boxed in
small paper boxes, according to sizes. These bins were
either being refilled by stock boys who brought more boxed
collars from the boxing room in large wooden trucks, or
were being as rapidly emptied by order clerks who,
trundling small box trucks in front of them, were filling
orders from duplicate check lists which they carried in their
hands.
“Never worked in a collar factory before, Mr. Griffiths, I
presume?” commented Mr. Whiggam with somewhat more
spirit, once he was out of the presence of Gilbert Griffiths.
Clyde noticed at once the Mr. Griffiths.
“Oh, no,” he replied quickly. “I never worked at anything like
this before.”
“Expect to learn all about the manufacturing end of the
game in the course of time, though, I suppose.” He was
walking briskly along one of the long aisles as he spoke,
but Clyde noticed that he shot sly glances in every direction.
“I’d like to,” he answered.
“Well, there’s a little more to it than some people think,
although you often hear there isn’t very much to learn.” He
opened another door, crossed a gloomy hall and entered