Part 9 (2/2)
”What did you say your name was?” asked the other, again facing Richling. ”Ah, yes! Who are your references, Mr. Richmond?”
”Sir?” Richling leaned slightly forward and turned his ear.
”I say, who knows you?”
”n.o.body.”
”n.o.body! Where are you from?”
”Milwaukee.”
The merchant tossed out his arm impatiently.
”Oh, I can't do that kind o' business.”
He turned abruptly, went to his desk, and, sitting down half-hidden by it, took up an open letter.
”I bought that coffee, Sam,” he said, rising again and moving farther away.
”Um-hum,” said Sam; and all was still.
Richling stood expecting every instant to turn on the next and go. Yet he went not. Under the dusty front windows of the counting-room the street was roaring below. Just beyond a gla.s.s part.i.tion at his back a great windla.s.s far up under the roof was rumbling with the descent of goods from a hatchway at the end of its tense rope. Salesmen were calling, trucks were trundling, s.h.i.+pping clerks and porters were replying. One brawny fellow he saw, through the gla.s.s, take a herring from a broken box, and stop to feed it to a sleek, brindled mouser. Even the cat was valued; but he--he stood there absolutely zero. He saw it.
He saw it as he never had seen it before in his life. This truth smote him like a javelin: that all this world wants is a man's permission to do without him. Right then it was that he thought he swallowed all his pride; whereas he only tasted its bitter brine as like a wave it took him up and lifted him forward bodily. He strode up to the desk beyond which stood the merchant, with the letter still in his hand, and said:--
”I've not gone yet! I may have to be turned off by you, but not in this manner!”
The merchant looked around at him with a smile of surprise, mixed with amus.e.m.e.nt and commendation, but said nothing. Richling held out his open hand.
”I don't ask you to trust me. Don't trust me. Try me!”
He looked distressed. He was not begging, but he seemed to feel as though he were.
The merchant dropped his eyes again upon the letter, and in that att.i.tude asked:--
”What do you say, Sam?”
”He can't hurt anything,” said Sam.
The merchant looked suddenly at Richling.
”You're not from Milwaukee. You're a Southern man.”
Richling changed color.
”I said Milwaukee.”
”Well,” said the merchant, ”I hardly know. Come and see me further about it to-morrow morning. I haven't time to talk now.”
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