Part 5 (1/2)
So if you've failed to set the world on fire up to date, don't walk out on the dock to see what kind of a jump it is. If you can't be a winner, you can be a good loser and it's a toss-up which is the bigger thing! A guy who can beat the yellah streak we all pack somewheres, every time he fails to register a win, and will keep rememberin' that to-morrow has got yesterday beat eighty-seven ways, is no loser! On paper he mightn't be a winner, but he _is_. He's a bigger winner than the bird that gets over, because he's whipped the quit in him without no kind applause to cheer him on. I've seen losers that attracted more attention in runnin' _last_ than any six winners in the same precinct.
Them kind of birds can't help tryin'. They couldn't quit if they wanted to, which they don't! They got somethin' in 'em that keeps shovin' 'em along whether they're regrettin' the breaks or not.
They're always full of the old ambish no matter what the score is in the ninth. They're what you might call self-starters in the automobile of life--they don't need a _win_ now and then to crank 'em up, they keep goin' forward hittin' on all cylinders from the nursery to the embalmer!
Alex was one of them guys.
The Big Town fell for his stuff because it was _new_, the same as it will fall for _yours_ to-morrow if you get somethin' it never seen and the nerve to try it out!
About a month after Alex was workin' as head salesman for the Gaflooey Auto Company at a pittance of ten thousand a year, he come up to the flat for dinner one night. I seen right away that somethin' was wrong, because he only eat about half of the roast duck and brung along his own cigars. After nature could stand no more, and we had dragged ourselves away from the table to let the servant girl make good, we adjourn to the parlor and the wife gets ready to punish the neighbors with the victrola.
”Well,” says Alex, sittin' down in the only rocker, of course, ”it looks like they have finally gimme somethin' that even _I_ can't do!”
”Can that be possible?” I says, pickin' up the sportin' final.
”Wait till you hear this one!” remarks the wife, crankin' up the victrola. ”John McCormack singin' 'If Beauty Was Water, You'd Be Niagara Falls!' It's a knockout!”
”Say!” snorts Alex, gettin' peeved. ”Can't a man find no attention here?”
”Look in the telephone book under the A's,” I says.
”Never mind, dearie!” the wife tells him. ”I'll listen. What's on your mind?” She goes over and sits on the arm of his chair, knowin'
full well it gets my goat.
”I see you're the only one in this family that's got any sense!” pipes Alex, pattin' her hand.
”Yen,” I says, ”I ain't got enough sense to turn on a radiator. All I'm good for is to get the dollars, which of course is nothin' at all in keepin' up the home!”
”Well, you'll never have Rockefeller and that crowd gnas.h.i.+n' their teeth with all the dollars you'll get!” says Alex, ”and that ain't no lie!”
”Now, boys,” b.u.t.ts in the wife, ”let's all be friends even if we do belong to the same family. What is it, Alex? Speak up like a man.”
”Well,” he says, ”the Gaflooey people has started to make tourin' cars and roadsters! What d'ye think of that?”
”I'm simply dumfounded!” I says. ”Has Congress heard about this?”
”There you go again!” snorts Alex. ”Always tryin' to ridicule everything I do. It's simply a case of sour grapes with you--jealousy, that's all!”
”Sour grapes ain't jealousy,” I says. ”Sour grapes is brandy. Go on with your story, Alex.”
”Don't mind him,” whispers the wife in his ear. ”He'd laugh in church!”
”Why not?” I says. ”I ain't done no gigglin' since you and me first went there together.”
”Will you let go?” she says. ”Go on, Alex.”
”Well,” he says, ”they called me into the president's office to-day, and the former begins by tellin' me I'm the best salesman they ever had.”
”He don't care what he says, does he?” I b.u.t.ts in. ”I suppose you admitted the charge, eh?”
”After that,” goes on Alex, snubbin' me, ”he tells me they have decided to get into the pleasure car game, instead of just makin' trucks and the like. Their first offerin' is gonna be one of them chummy, clover-leaf roadsters which will hold five people comfortably.”