This was written on the paper of the United Magazines Corporation, which had just been organized to take over the old company of Swinton, Scudder and Davis, and was labeled “The Office of the President.”
Eugene thought this was significant. Could Colfax be going to make him an offer of some kind? Well, the more the merrier! He was doing very well indeed, and liked Mr. Kalvin very much, in fact, all his surroundings, but, as an offer was a testimonial to merit and could be shown as such, he would not be opposed to receiving it. It might strengthen him with Kalvin if it did nothing else. He made an occasion to go over, first talking the letter over with Angela, who was simply curious about the whole thing. He told her how much interested Colfax appeared to be the first time they met and that he fancied it might mean an offer from the United Magazines Corporation at some time or other.
“I’m not particularly anxious about it,” said Eugene, “but I’d like to see what is there.”
Angela was not sure that it was wise to bother with it. “It’s a big firm,” she said, “but it isn’t bigger than Mr. Kalvin’s, and he’s been mighty nice to you. You’d better not do anything to injure yourself with him.”
Eugene thought of this. It was sound advice. Still he wanted to hear.
“I won’t do anything,” he said. “I would like to hear what he has to say, though.”
A little later he wrote that he was coming on the twentieth and that he would be glad to take dinner with Colfax.
The first meeting between Eugene and Colfax had been conclusive so far as future friendship was concerned. These two, like Eugene and Summerfield, were temperamentally in accord, though Colfax was very much superior to Summerfield in his ability to command men.
This night when they met at dinner at Colfax’s house the latter was most cordial. Colfax had invited him to come to his office, and together they went uptown in his automobile. His residence was in upper Fifth Avenue, a new, white marble fronted building with great iron gates at the door and a splendid entry set with small palms and dwarf cedars. Eugene saw at once that this man was living in that intense atmosphere of commercial and financial rivalry which makes living in New York so keen. You could feel the air of hard, cold order about the place, the insistence on perfection of appointment, the compulsion toward material display which was held in check only by that sense of fitness, which knowledge of current taste and the mode in everything demanded. His automobile was very large and very new, the latest model, a great dark blue affair which ran as silently as a sewing machine. The footman who opened the door was six feet tall, dressed in knee breeches and a swallow-tailed coat. The valet was a Japanese, silent, polite, attentive. Eugene was introduced to Mrs. Colfax, a most graceful but somewhat self-conscious woman. A French maid later presented two children, a boy and a girl.
Eugene by now had become used to luxury in various forms, and this house was not superior to many he had seen; but it ranked with the best. Colfax was most free in it. He threw his overcoat to the valet carelessly and tossed his babies in the air by turn, when they were presented to him by the French maid. His wife, slightly taller than himself, received a resounding smack.
“There, Ceta,” he exclaimed (a diminutive for Cecile, as Eugene subsequently learned), “how do you like that, eh? Meet Mr. Witla. He’s an artist and an art director and an advertising manager and——”
“A most humble person,” put in Eugene smilingly. “Not half as bad as you may think. His report is greatly exaggerated.”
Mrs. Colfax smiled sweetly. “I discount much that he says at once,” she returned. “More later. Won’t you come up into the library?”
They ascended together, jesting. Eugene was pleased with what he saw. Mrs. Colfax liked him. She excused herself after a little while and Colfax talked life in general. “I’m going to show you my house now, and after dinner I’m going to talk a little business to you. You interest me. I may as well tell you that.”
“Well, you interest me, Colfax,” said Eugene genially, “I like you.”
“You don’t like me any more than I like you, that’s a sure thing,” replied the other.
Chapter 39
The results of this evening were most pleasant, but in some ways disconcerting. It became perfectly plain that Colfax was anxious to have Eugene desert the Kalvin Company and come over to him.
“You people over there,” he said to him at one stage of the conversation, “have an excellent company, but it doesn’t compare with this organization which we are revising. Why, what are your two publications to our seven? You have one eminently successful one—the one you’re on—and no book business whatsoever! We have seven publications all doing excellently well, and a book business that is second to none in the country. You know that. If it hadn’t been that the business had been horribly mismanaged it would never have come into my hands at all. Why, Witla, I want to tell you one little fact in connection with that organization which will illustrate everything else which might be said in connection with it before I came here! They were wasting twenty thousand dollars a year on ink alone. We were publishing a hundred absolutely useless books that did not sell enough to pay for the cost of printing, let alone the paper, plates, typework and cost of distribution. I think it’s safe to say we lost over a hundred thousand dollars a year that way. The magazines were running down. They haven’t waked up sufficiently yet to suit me. But I’m looking for men. I’m really looking for one man eventually who will take charge of all that editorial and art work and make it into something exceptional. He wants to be a man who can handle men. If I can get the right man I will even include the advertising department, for that really belongs with the literary and art sections. It depends on the man.”
He looked significantly at Eugene, who sat there stroking his upper lip with his hand.
“Well,” he said thoughtfully, “that ought to make a very nice place for someone. Who have you in mind?”
“No one as yet that I’m absolutely sure of. I have one man in mind who I think might come to fill the position after he had had a look about the organization and a chance to study its needs a little. It’s a hard position to hold. It requires a man with imagination, tact, judgment. He would have to be a sort of vice-Colfax, for I can’t give my attention permanently to that business. I don’t want to. I have bigger fish to fry. But I want someone who will eventually be my other self in these departments, who can get along with Florence White and the men under him and hold his own in his own world. I want a sort of bi-partisan commission down there—each man supreme in his own realm.”
“It sounds interesting,” said Eugene thoughtfully. “Who’s your man?”
“As I say, he isn’t quite ready yet, in my judgment, but he is near it, and he’s the right man! He’s in this room now. You’re the man I’m thinking about, Witla.”
“No,” said Eugene quietly.
“Yes; you,” replied Colfax.
“You flatter me,” he said, with a deprecatory wave of his hand. “I’m not so sure that he is.”
“Oh, yes, he is, if he thinks he is!” replied Colfax emphatically. “Opportunity doesn’t knock in vain at a real man’s door. At least, I don’t believe it will knock here and not be admitted. Why the advertising department of this business alone is worth eighteen thousand dollars a year to begin with.”
Eugene sat up. He was getting twelve. Could he afford to ignore that offer? Could the Kalvin Company afford to pay him that much? They were paying him pretty well as it was. Could the Kalvin Company offer him the prospects which this company was offering him?
“What is more, I might say,” went on Colfax, “the general publishing control of this organization—the position of managing publisher, which I am going to create and which when you are fitted for it you can have, will be worth twenty-five thousand dollars a year, and that oughtn’t to be so very far away, either.”
Eugene turned that over in his mind without saying anything. This offer coming so emphatically and definitely at this time actually made him nervous and fearsome. It was such a tremendous thing to talk about—the literary, art and advertising control of the United Magazines Corporation. Who was this man White? What was he like? Would he be able to agree with him? This man beside him was so hard, so brilliant, so dynamic! He would expect so much.