Part 21 (1/2)

The lovely Wilkinson shows a little spirit.

”How do you know I ain't a success?” he says. ”I'm making my good twenty-five dollars each and every week.”

”Yeh?” sneers Alex. ”I once heard tell of a feller which was makin'

thirty, but I ain't sure of it because none of the newspapers said a word about it.” He turns around and lowers his voice on account of some hisses comin' from fans in the back. ”Look here!” he says. ”All jokes to one side, they ain't nothin' that this feller done in the picture that can't be done by anybody. A man can do anything he wants to, _anything_, they ain't no limit--if he's got enough sand to fight his way through whatever stands in his way! I don't care what the thing is he wants, a man can get anything if he keeps tryin' and--”

”You hate yourself, don't you?” b.u.t.ts in the lovely Wilkinson, peevishly. ”I suppose you think _you_ could do anything--”

”I do not,” says Alex. ”I _know_ it! I ain't talkin' about myself though, I'm talkin' about you. You're a young married feller with a sweet, beautiful, and, for all I know, sensible little wife. You people are just startin' out, and I want to see you make good. I think you got the stuff in you somewheres, but not to be rough or nothin' of the sort, I must say you have been a success at concealin' it so far.

Twenty-five dollars a week ain't enough wages for n.o.body--as long as they's somebody makin' twenty-six--understand? And if you get where they pay you twenty-five dollars a _minute_ instead of a week, you wanna try and make 'em think you're worth thirty! The mistake you and a lot of young fellers make is quittin' at a given point. They ain't no point to quit! I bet when you was makin' eighteen dollars a week you hustled like blazes to make twenty, but when you got up to twenty-five you prob'ly told yourself that you was makin' as much as most of the boys you knew and more than some, so why wear yourself out and slave for a fatheaded boss, eh? Right in sight of the grandstand you blew up and quit in the stretch. I bet you think right now that you're makin' good because you're holdin' down the job, hey? That ain't makin' good, that's stealin' the boss's money--petty larceny, and deprivin' your future kids of a even chance--a felony! Give the boss everything you got, and he'll pay for it. If he don't, get out and dive in somewheres else! They ain't no place on earth where they ain't a openin' for a live one at any hour of the day or night!”

The lovely Wilkinson says nothin'.

Pretty soon and much to my delight, this here picture comes to a end, and while we're goin' out in the lobby, the lovely Wilkinson calls his wife aside and whispers somethin' in her ear. It ain't over a second later that we're all invited up to the Wilkinson flat for a little bite and the like before retirin'.

The girls starts a hot and no doubt interestin' argument about how many purls make a knit and so forth, and the lovely Wilkinson, after fidgetin' around a bit, calls us into another room. He closes the door very careful.

”I got something very personal and very important I'd like to speak to you about,” he says to Alex.

”I'll go out on the fire escape,” I says.

”No!” he says. ”I want you to stay and hear this too.” He turns to Alex again. ”I been thinking over what you said in the theatre to-night,” he begins, ”and I guess you're pretty near right about me.

However, I have a big chance now to make good and get out of the twenty-five dollar cla.s.s, only, as usual, luck is against me.”

”They is no such thing as luck,” says Alex. ”Forget about that luck thing, put the letter 'P' before the word and you got it! That's the first rule in my booklet, 'Success While You Wait.' I must send you one.”

”Thanks,” says the lovely Wilkinson. ”You see, I'm a salesman for a big wholesale clothing house downtown and right at the beginning of the war I went up to Plattsburg to try for a commission in the army. I was rejected on account of a bad eye. While I was up there, I met Colonel Williams, who is now practically in charge of the buying of equipment for the army. I've been trying for months to land the overcoat contract for my house and last week I finally got things lined up. I have got to have one thousand of our storm-proof army coats in Was.h.i.+ngton by five o'clock to-morrow afternoon. At that time, Colonel Williams will see me at the War Department and I can give him prices on various lots and so forth.”

”Why do you have to bring that many coats down?” asks Alex. ”Wouldn't a couple be enough for a sample?”

”No,” says Wilkinson. ”These coats are to be given to men in a cantonment near Was.h.i.+ngton, where they will get actual wear under varying conditions. If I'm not in Was.h.i.+ngton with them at five to-morrow, I'll lose my chance because, the following day, men from four rival houses have appointments with the Colonel.”

”Well,” I b.u.t.ts in, ”what's stoppin' you from goin' to Was.h.i.+ngton?”

”Nothing is stopping _me_,” he says, ”but I can't get the coats down there with me in time! The two s.h.i.+pments that we have sent by freight have gone astray somewhere and, as government supplies have the right of way over all other s.h.i.+pments, the express companies will not guarantee a delivery at any set time.”

”But them coats are government supplies, ain't they?” says Alex.

”Not yet!” says the lovely Wilkinson. ”Not until they are accepted.

Right now they are nothing but samples of clothing. I've gone into that part thoroughly.”

Alex gets up and walks around the room a coupla times, throwin' up a smoke screen from his cigar. Then he stops and looks at his watch.

”It's now almost eleven o'clock,” he says. ”Where are them coats?”

The lovely Wilkinson looks puzzled.

”Why,” he says. ”Why--they're in our stock room at 245 Broadway.”

”Can we get in there to-night?” asks Alex, reachin' for his hat.