as being not only worldly, but sinful, he could occasionally
go to one or another of those—in the gallery—a form of
diversion which he had to conceal from his parents. Yet that
did not deter him. He felt that he had a right to go with his
own money; also to take his younger brother Frank, who
was glad enough to go with him and say nothing.
Later in the same year, wishing to get out of school
because he already felt himself very much belated in the
race, he secured a place as an assistant to a soda water
clerk in one of the cheaper drug stores of the city, which
adjoined a theater and enjoyed not a little patronage of this
sort. A sign—“Boy Wanted”—since it was directly on his
way to school, first interested him. Later, in conversation
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with the young man whose assistant he was to be, and
from whom he was to learn the trade, assuming that he
was sufficiently willing and facile, he gathered that if he
mastered this art, he might make as much as fifteen and
even eighteen dollars a week. It was rumored that Stroud’s
at the corner of 14th and Baltimore streets paid that much
to two of their clerks. The particular store to which he was
applying paid only twelve, the standard salary of most
places.
But to acquire this art, as he was now informed, required
time and the friendly help of an expert. If he wished to come
here and work for five to begin with—well, six, then, since
his face fell—he might soon expect to know a great deal
about the art of mixing sweet drinks and decorating a large
variety of ice creams with liquid sweets, thus turning them
into sundaes. For the time being apprenticeship meant
washing and polishing all the machinery and implements of
this particular counter, to say nothing of opening and
sweeping out the store at so early an hour as seven-thirty,
dusting, and delivering such orders as the owner of this
drug store chose to send out by him. At such idle moments
as his immediate superior—a Mr. Sieberling—twenty,
dashing, self-confident, talkative, was too busy to fill all the
orders, he might be called upon to mix such minor drinks—
lemonades, Coca-Colas and the like—as the trade
demanded.
Yet this interesting position, after due consultation with his
mother, he decided to take. For one thing, it would provide
him, as he suspected, with all the ice-cream sodas he
desired, free—an advantage not to be disregarded. In the
next place, as he saw it at the time, it was an open door to
a trade—something which he lacked. Further, and not at all
disadvantageously as he saw it, this store required his
presence at night as late as twelve o’clock, with certain
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hours off during the day to compensate for this. And this
took him out of his home at night—out of the ten-o’clock-
boy class at last. They could not ask him to attend any
meetings save on Sunday, and not even then, since he was
supposed to work Sunday afternoons and evenings.
Next, the clerk who manipulated this particular soda
fountain, quite regularly received passes from the manager
of the theater next door, and into the lobby of which one
door to the drug store gave—a most fascinating connection
to Clyde. It seemed so interesting to be working for a drug
store thus intimately connected with a theater.
And best of all, as Clyde now found to his pleasure, and yet
despair at times, the place was visited, just before and after
the show on matinee days, by bevies of girls, single and en
suite, who sat at the counter and giggled and chattered and
gave their hair and their complexions last perfecting
touches before the mirror. And Clyde, callow and
inexperienced in the ways of the world, and those of the
opposite sex, was never weary of observing the beauty, the
daring, the self-sufficiency and the sweetness of these, as
he saw them. For the first time in his life, while he busied
himself with washing glasses, filling the ice-cream and
syrup containers, arranging the lemons and oranges in the
trays, he had an almost uninterrupted opportunity of
studying these girls at close range. The wonder of them!
For the most part, they were so well-dressed and smart-
looking—the rings, pins, furs, delightful hats, pretty shoes
they wore. And so often he overheard them discussing
such interesting things—parties, dances, dinners, the
shows they had seen, the places in or near Kansas City to
which they were soon going, the difference between the
styles of this year and last, the fascination of certain actors
and actresses—principally actors—who were now playing
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44
or soon coming to the city. And to this day, in his own home
he had heard nothing of all this.
And very often one or another of these young beauties was
accompanied by some male in evening suit, dress shirt,
high hat, bow tie, white kid gloves and patent leather shoes,
a costume which at that time Clyde felt to be the last word
in all true distinction, beauty, gallantry and bliss. To be able
to wear such a suit with such ease and air! To be able to
talk to a girl after the manner and with the sang-froid of
some of these gallants! What a true measure of
achievement! No good-looking girl, as it then appeared to
him, would have anything to do with him if he did not
possess this standard of equipment. It was plainly
necessary—the thing. And once he did attain it—was able
to wear such clothes as these—well, then was he not well
set upon the path that leads to all the blisses? All the joys of
life would then most certainly be spread before him. The
friendly smiles! The secret handclasps, maybe—an arm
about the waist of some one or another—a kiss—a promise
of marriage—and then, and then!
And all this as a revealing flash after all the years of walking
through the streets with his father and mother to public
prayer meeting, the sitting in chapel and listening to queer
and nondescript individuals—depressing and disconcerting
people—telling how Christ had saved them and what God
had done for them. You bet he would get out of that now.
He would work and save his money and be somebody.
Decidedly this simple and yet idyllic compound of the
commonplace had all the luster and wonder of a spiritual
transfiguration, the true mirage of the lost and thirsting and
seeking victim of the desert.
However, the trouble with this particular position, as time
speedily proved, was that much as it might teach him of
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45
mixing drinks and how to eventually earn twelve dollars a
week, it was no immediate solvent for the yearnings and
ambitions that were already gnawing at his vitals. For Albert
Sieberling, his immediate superior, was determined to keep
as much of his knowledge, as well as the most pleasant
parts of the tasks, to himself. And further he was quite at
one with the druggist for whom they worked in thinking that
Clyde, in addition to assisting him about the fountain,
should run such errands as the druggist desired, which kept
Clyde industriously employed for nearly all the hours he
was on duty.
Consequently there was no immediate result to all this.
Clyde could see no way to dressing better than he did.
Worse, he was haunted by the fact that he had very little
money and very few contacts and connections—so few
that, outside his own home, he was lonely and not so very
much less than lonely there. The flight of Esta had thrown a
chill over the religious work there, and because, as yet, she
had not returned—the family, as he now heard, was
thinking of breaking up here and moving, for want of a
better idea, to Denver, Colorado. But Clyde, by now, was
convinced that he did not wish to accompany them. What
was the good of it, he asked himself? There would be just
another mission there, the same as this one.
He had always lived at home—in the rooms at the rear of
the mission in Bickel Street, but he hated it. And since his
eleventh year, during all of which time his family had been
residing in Kansas City, he had been ashamed to bring boy
friends to or near it. For that reason he had always avoided
boy friends, and had walked and played very much alone—
or with his brother and sisters.
But now that he was sixteen and old enough to make his
own way, he ought to be getting out of this. And yet he was
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46
earning almost nothing—not enough to live on, if he were
alone—and he had not as yet developed sufficient skill or
courage to get anything better.