the least of their troubles—their work and their heavy
material existence being all. In addition, not knowing just
what Clyde was, or what his coming might mean to their
separate and individual positions, they were inclined to be
dubious and suspicious.
After a week or two, however, coming to understand that
Clyde was a nephew of the president, a cousin of the
secretary of the company, and hence not likely to remain
here long in any menial capacity, they grew more friendly,
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but inclined in the face of the sense of subserviency which
this inspired in them, to become jealous and suspicious of
him in another way. For, after all, Clyde was not one of
them, and under such circumstances could not be. He
might smile and be civil enough—yet he would always be in
touch with those who were above them, would he not—or
so they thought. He was, as they saw it, part of the rich and
superior class and every poor man knew what that meant.
The poor must stand together everywhere.
For his part, however, and sitting about for the first few days
in this particular room eating his lunch, he wondered how
these men could interest themselves in what were to him
such dull and uninteresting items—the quality of the cloth
that was coming down in the webs—some minute flaws in
the matter of weight or weave—the last twenty webs hadn’t
looked so closely shrunk as the preceding sixteen; or the
Cranston Wickwire Company was not carrying as many
men as it had the month before—or the Anthony
Woodenware Company had posted a notice that the
Saturday half-holiday would not begin before June first this
year as opposed to the middle of May last year. They all
appeared to be lost in the humdrum and routine of their
work.
In consequence his mind went back to happier scenes. He
wished at times he were back in Chicago or Kansas City.
He though of Ratterer, Hegglund, Higby, Louise Ratterer,
Larry Doyle, Mr. Squires, Hortense—all of the young and
thoughtless company of which he had been a part, and
wondered what they were doing. What had become of
Hortense? She had got that fur coat after all—probably from
that cigar clerk and then had gone away with him after she
had protested so much feeling for him—the little beast.
After she had gotten all that money out of him. The mere
thought of her and all that she might have meant to him if
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things had not turned as they had, made him a little sick at
times. To whom was she being nice now? How had she
found things since leaving Kansas City? And what would
she think if she saw him here now or knew of his present
high connections? Gee! That would cool her a little. But she
would not think much of his present position. That was true.
But she might respect him more if she could see his uncle
and his cousin and this factory and their big house. It would
be like her then to try to be nice to him. Well, he would
show her, if he ever ran into her again—snub her, of
course, as no doubt he very well could by then.
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Chapter 7
IN SO far as his life at Mrs. Cuppy’s went, he was not so
very happily placed there, either. For that was but a
commonplace rooming and boarding house, which drew to
it, at best, such conservative mill and business types as
looked on work and their wages, and the notions of the
middle class religious world of Lycurgus as most essential
to the order and well being of the world. From the point of
view of entertainment or gayety, it was in the main a very
dull place.
At the same time, because of the presence of one Walter
Dillard—a brainless sprig who had recently come here from
Fonda, it was not wholly devoid of interest for Clyde. The
latter—a youth of about Clyde’s own age and equally
ambitious socially—but without Clyde’s tact or
discrimination anent the governing facts of life, was
connected with the men’s furnishing department of Stark
and Company. He was spry, avid, attractive enough
physically, with very light hair, a very light and feeble
mustache, and the delicate airs and ways of a small town
Beau Brummell. Never having had any social standing or
the use of any means whatsoever—his father having been
a small town dry goods merchant before him, who had failed
—he was, because of some atavistic spur or fillip in his own
blood, most anxious to attain some sort of social position.
But failing that so far, he was interested in and envious of
those who had it—much more so than Clyde, even. The
glory and activity of the leading families of this particular city
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had enormous weight with him—the Nicholsons, the Starks,
the Harriets, Griffiths, Finchleys, et cetera. And learning a
few days after Clyde’s arrival of his somewhat left-handed
connection with this world, he was most definitely
interested. What? A Griffiths! The nephew of the rich
Samuel Griffiths of Lycurgus! And in this boarding house!
Beside him at this table! At once his interest rose to where
he decided that he must cultivate this stranger as speedily
as possible. Here was a real social opportunity knocking at
his very door—a connecting link to one of the very best
families! And besides was he not young, attractive and
probably ambitious like himself—a fellow to play around
with if one could? He proceeded at once to make overtures
to Clyde. It seemed almost too good to be true.
In consequence he was quick to suggest a walk, the fact
that there was a certain movie just on at the Mohawk,
which was excellent—very snappy. Didn’t Clyde want to
go? And because of his neatness, smartness—a touch of
something that was far from humdrum or the heavy
practicality of the mill and the remainder of this boarding
house world, Clyde was inclined to fall in with him.
But, as he now thought, here were his great relatives and
he must watch his step here. Who knew but that he might
be making a great mistake in holding such free and easy
contacts as this. The Griffiths—as well as the entire world of
which they were a part—as he guessed from the general
manner of all those who even contacted him, must be very
removed from the commonalty here. More by instinct than
reason, he was inclined to stand off and look very superior—
more so since those, including this very youth on whom he
practised this seemed to respect him the more. And
although upon eager—and even—after its fashion,
supplicating request, he now went with this youth—still he
went cautiously. And his aloof and condescending manner
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Dillard at once translated as “class” and “connection.” And
to think he had met him in this dull, dubby boarding house
here. And on his arrival—at the very inception of his career
here.
And so his manner was that of the sycophant—although he
had a better position and was earning more money than
Clyde was at this time, twenty-two dollars a week,
“I suppose you’ll be spending a good deal of your time with
your relatives and friends here,” he volunteered on the
occasion of their first walk together, and after he had
extracted as much information as Clyde cared to impart,
which was almost nothing, while he volunteered a few,
most decidedly furbished bits from his own history. His
father owned a dry goods store now. He had come over
here to study other methods, et cetera. He had an uncle
here—connected with Stark and Company. He had met a
few—not so many as yet—nice people here, since he
hadn’t been here so very long himself—four months all told.
But Clyde’s relatives!
“Say your uncle must be worth over a million, isn’t he? They
say he is. Those houses in Wykeagy Avenue are certainly
the cats’. You won’t see anything finer in Albany or Utica or
Rochester either. Are you Samuel Griffiths’ own nephew?
You don’t say! Well, that’ll certainly mean a lot to you here.
I wish I had a connection like that. You bet I’d make it
count.”
He beamed on Clyde eagerly and hopefully, and through
him Clyde sensed even more how really important this
blood relation was. Only think how much it meant to this
strange youth.
“Oh, I don’t know,” replied Clyde dubiously, and yet very
much flattered by this assumption of intimacy. “I came on to
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learn the collar business, you know. Not to play about very
much. My uncle wants me to stick to that, pretty much.”
“Sure, sure. I know how that is,” replied Dillard, “that’s the
way my uncle feels about me, too. He wants me to stick