Nevertheless when his parents began to talk of moving to
Denver, and suggested that he might secure work out
there, never assuming for a moment that he would not want
to go, he began to throw out hints to the effect that it might
be better if he did not. He liked Kansas City. What was the
use of changing? He had a job now and he might get
something better. But his parents, bethinking themselves of
Esta and the fate that had overtaken her, were not a little
dubious as to the outcome of such early adventuring on his
part alone. Once they were away, where would he live?
With whom? What sort of influence would enter his life,
who would be at hand to aid and council and guide him in
the straight and narrow path, as they had done? It was
something to think about.
But spurred by this imminence of Denver, which now daily
seemed to be drawing nearer, and the fact that not long
after this Mr. Sieberling, owing to his too obvious gallantries
in connection with the fair sex, lost his place in the drug
store, and Clyde came by a new and bony and chill superior
who did not seem to want him as an assistant, he decided
to quit—not at once, but rather to see, on such errands as
took him out of the store, if he could not find something
else. Incidentally in so doing, looking here and there, he
one day thought he would speak to the manager of the
fountain which was connected with the leading drug store in
the principal hotel of the city—the latter a great twelve-story
affair, which represented, as he saw it, the quintessence of
luxury and ease. Its windows were always so heavily
curtained; the main entrance (he had never ventured to
look beyond that) was a splendiferous combination of a
glass and iron awning, coupled with a marble corridor lined
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47
with palms. Often he had passed here, wondering with
boyish curiosity what the nature of the life of such a place
might be. Before its doors, so many taxis and automobiles
were always in waiting.
To-day, being driven by the necessity of doing something
for himself, he entered the drug store which occupied the
principal corner, facing 14th Street at Baltimore, and finding
a girl cashier in a small glass cage near the door, asked of
her who was in charge of the soda fountain. Interested by
his tentative and uncertain manner, as well as his deep and
rather appealing eyes, and instinctively judging that he was
looking for something to do, she observed: “Why, Mr.
Secor, there, the manager of the store.” She nodded in the
direction of a short, meticulously dressed man of about
thirty-five, who was arranging an especial display of toilet
novelties on the top of a glass case. Clyde approached him,
and being still very dubious as to how one went about
getting anything in life, and finding him engrossed in what
he was doing, stood first on one foot and then on the other,
until at last, sensing some one was hovering about for
something, the man turned: “Well?” he queried.
“You don’t happen to need a soda fountain helper, do you?”
Clyde cast at him a glance that said as plain as anything
could, “If you have any such place, I wish you would please
give it to me. I need it.”
“No, no, no,” replied this individual, who was blond and
vigorous and by nature a little irritable and contentious. He
was about to turn away, but seeing a flicker of
disappointment and depression pass over Clyde’s face, he
turned and added, “Ever work in a place like this before?”
“No place as fine as this. No, sir,” replied Clyde, rather
fancifully moved by all that was about him. “I’m working
now down at Mr. Klinkle’s store at 7th and Brooklyn, but it
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48
isn’t anything like this one and I’d like to get something
better if I could.”
“Uh,” went on his interviewer, rather pleased by the
innocent tribute to the superiority of his store. “Well, that’s
reasonable enough. But there isn’t anything here right now
that I could offer you. We don’t make many changes. But if
you’d like to be a bell-boy, I can tell you where you might
get a place. They’re looking for an extra boy in the hotel
inside there right now. The captain of the boys was telling
me he was in need of one. I should think that would be as
good as helping about a soda fountain, any day.”
Then seeing Clyde’s face suddenly brighten, he added: “But
you mustn’t say that I sent you, because I don’t know you.
Just ask for Mr. Squires inside there, under the stairs, and
he can tell you all about it.”
At the mere mention of work in connection with so imposing
an institution as the Green-Davidson, and the possibility of
his getting it, Clyde first stared, felt himself tremble the least
bit with excitement, then thanking his advisor for his
kindness, went direct to a green-marbled doorway which
opened from the rear of this drug-store into the lobby of the
hotel. Once through it, be beheld a lobby, the like of which,
for all his years but because of the timorous poverty that
had restrained him from exploring such a world, was more
arresting, quite, than anything he had seen before. It was all
so lavish. Under his feet was a checkered black-and-white
marble floor. Above him a coppered and stained and gilded
ceiling. And supporting this, a veritable forest of black
marble columns as highly polished as the floor—glassy
smooth. And between the columns which ranged away
toward three separate entrances, one right, one left and
one directly forward toward Dalrymple Avenue—were
lamps, statuary, rugs, palms, chairs, divans, tête-à-têtes—a
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49
prodigal display. In short it was compact, of all that gauche
luxury of appointment which, as some one once
sarcastically remarked, was intended to supply
“exclusiveness to the masses.” Indeed, for an essential
hotel in a great and successful American commercial city, it
was almost too luxurious. Its rooms and hall and lobbies
and restaurants were entirely too richly furnished, without
the saving grace of either simplicity or necessity.
As Clyde stood, gazing about the lobby, he saw a large
company of people—some women and children, but
principally men as he could see—either walking or standing
about and talking or idling in the chairs, side by side or
alone. And in heavily draped and richly furnished alcoves
where were writing-tables, newspaper files, a telegraph
office, a haberdasher’s shop, and a florist’s stand, were
other groups. There was a convention of dentists in the city,
not a few of whom, with their wives and children, were
gathered here; but to Clyde, who was not aware of this nor
of the methods and meanings of conventions, this was the
ordinary, everyday appearance of this hotel.
He gazed about in awe and amazement, then remembering
the name of Squires, he began to look for him in his office
“under the stairs.” To his right was a grand double-winged
black-and-white staircase which swung in two separate
flights and with wide, generous curves from the main floor
to the one above. And between these great flights was
evidently the office of the hotel, for there were many clerks
there. But behind the nearest flight, and close to the wall
through which he had come, was a tall desk, at which stood
a young man of about his own age in a maroon uniform
bright with many brass buttons. And on his head was a
small, round, pill-box cap, which was cocked jauntily over
one ear. He was busy making entries with a lead pencil in a
book which lay open before him. Various other boys about
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50
his own age, and uniformed as he was, were seated upon a
long bench near him, or were to be seen darting here and
there, sometimes, returning to this one with a slip of paper
or a key or note of some kind, and then seating themselves
upon the bench to await another call apparently, which
seemed to come swiftly enough. A telephone upon the
small desk at which stood the uniformed youth was almost
constantly buzzing, and after ascertaining what was
wanted, this youth struck a small bell before him, or called
“front,” to which the first boy on the bench, responded.
Once called, they went hurrying up one or the other stairs or
toward one of the several entrances or elevators, and
almost invariably were to be seen escorting individuals
whose bags and suitcases and overcoats and golf sticks
they carried. There were others who disappeared and
returned, carrying drinks on trays or some package or
other, which they were taking to one of the rooms above.
Plainly this was the work that he should be called upon to