Part 35 (1/2)
”Chops all right?” The older man broke the silence.
”Hunky. See that fellow over there?” d.i.c.k pointed to a somewhat soiled, slouchily dressed youth who had taken a seat near them. ”That's the way we look where I come from, only a heap more good-natured. Something like a mule, though, slow and kind of set-like; we could kick if it was worth while throwing out our heels. There ain't much hurry there, except if once in a lifetime you want to catch a train. Yes, and there's the factory, that's speeding up the folks.”
”Miss it?” his companion asked.
”The way we do things, you mean? No, sir! I wouldn't go back, except for a vacation, not if you gave me a present of Casper County on a golden tray. I like it here; it's a race.”
d.i.c.k spoke with emphasis and then took a great mouthful of food that required his full attention.
”Country boys are apt to feel that way.” Mr. Talbert looked gravely at the young man before him. ”The city would never grow as it does if it wasn't fed by country stock, strong young fellows who have worked out of doors and laid up energy to be exhausted later within the great buildings down town.”
”I can't say as I ever did much work.” The young Georgian grinned as he recalled his boyhood. ”But I played a heap and made enough trouble for the neighbors to win me a gilt-edged certificate in cussedness. Business is a sort of play, I reckon, and the biggest daredevil comes out ahead.”
”It means taking risks.”
”Do you think,” d.i.c.k asked, his cheeks flus.h.i.+ng as though he expected to be guyed for his question, ”that a fellow can come to New York any more without a penny and end a millionaire?”
”They're still doing it.” The business man eyed his guest with evident interest. ”But the number gets smaller all the time. It's a little like telling every boy that he can become president, this poor-man-to-millionaire business; nevertheless,” looking intently at his listener, ”it can be done.”
”Honest Injun?” The joviality left d.i.c.k's face, though he tried to put it in his voice. His thin mouth was tightly drawn and the hard lines were accentuated about his deep blue eyes.
”Honest Injun.” Mr. Talbert was amused again. ”But don't forget the secret. Always look out for yourself. Don't think about the other fellow, for if he's a good business man you can count on it he isn't thinking about you.”
”Listen!” d.i.c.k leaned forward. ”I'm meaning what I say. I've got to get rich. It ain't for myself; it's for a girl, a girl that ought to have the best of everything in New York.”
For the first time during the meal he spoke in a low voice, but with an intensity that drove the smile from his companion's face. With elbows on the table, his head resting on his hands, he looked into the older man's eyes as though he hoped by searching long enough to learn the secret of success that he saw about him in this great city--the success that moved outside in silent limousines, that inhabited beautiful houses filled with skilled servants, that sent its women and children, now the warm weather advanced, into other beautiful houses by the sea. In the Sunday supplements of the great papers he had seen pictures of these homes and of the women who dwelt in them. There was not a face among the many that belonged more truly in such surroundings than the face that he looked into at his boarding-house table every day. And among the men who had won this success were some, he knew, who had started as poor as he. He asked only to be told their secret.
Mr. Talbert did not smile at the mention of the girl as d.i.c.k feared he would. Instead he looked sympathetically at the long face before him.
”A girl's a good thing to work for,” he said. ”It keeps a man thrifty and sober. I'm not an expert on getting rich, for such money as I have was mostly made by my father before me. But I take it if a man is young and strong and has an apt.i.tude for his profession, he can still get what he wants in these United States. But he's got to want it more than anything else in the world, more than leisure or friends, more, perhaps, than honor. He's got to carry his work with him, study it in the evening, dream of it at night. He's got to live poor before he can live rich. He must be able to use men for his own aims. He must skin or he'll be skinned. See here, Mac,” clutching at a man who was pa.s.sing, ”come and give your advice to youth.”
A large, comfortable looking gentleman stopped at his friend's bidding and looked quizzically at d.i.c.k as they were introduced. He would not sit down, and as the others were through their meal Talbert settled his account and they all stood for a moment together.
”Have a cigar?” offering one to d.i.c.k.
”I think I won't,” d.i.c.k answered. ”Perhaps that's one of the things to go slow on, eh, if I mean to succeed?”
”Yes, when it comes to buying them yourself; but never refuse a gift,”
and his new acquaintance thrust the cigar into the young man's hand.
”Here's an emigrant from the State of Georgia,” Talbert said, turning to his friend, ”who is bent on becoming a millionaire. He's got health and determination; all he asks for is advice. What's yours?”
”David Harum's golden rule,” was the answer. ”Do unto the other feller the way he'd like to do unto you, and do it fust.”
They made their way past the waiters bearing their trays gleaming with straw-colored c.o.c.ktails, bright with fruit, pleasantly odorous with freshly cooked meats and vegetables, on out into the street. The older men continued to explain the road to success in kindly speech, their tone and bearing at variance with the harsh gospel which they preached.
d.i.c.k listened eagerly, as eagerly as he had once listened to the gospel of the evangelist at home. And as he shook hands and left them, he walked up Broadway feeling a strange elation. His hand went to his pocket for the cigar he usually smoked at this time, but, recalling himself, he put it resolutely back. He would live meagerly to-day that he might have a plethora in a golden to-morrow.
The soft May air blowing on his face recalled to him his southern home.
He had been poor down there, and yet not poor in comparison with his neighbors. His father had owned hundreds of acres of miserable soil on which his tenants had planted cotton and reaped scanty crops. He recalled those tenants--sallow, ill-fed whites, s.h.i.+ftless blacks. Their cabins reeked with dirt and were always cluttered with children. The men were continually in debt, and while his father got from them all he could, being accounted a hard master by his neighbors, d.i.c.k knew that there was little enough that any one made. It had been a good thing when his mother had sold some of the property. Had it not been for their timber they would have known real poverty. He felt a sudden revulsion for his old home, its sordidness, its slow piling of penny upon penny with no greater outlook upon life than a new rifle or a Victrola in the best room. There was no game worthy the name to be played down there, only a monotonous round of stupid covetousness. Here the play was difficult and the stakes big.
He held his head very high that afternoon, and fairly touched the clouds when, before he went home, he was informed that he would again be sent for a short time upon the road. His first trip had brought in good results and he was to be entrusted with a better circuit and to receive a slight increase in salary. He felt grateful for the advancement, and then, recalling the advice of noontime, put this thought from him. If he were getting more money it was because the firm thought he was worth it, and that they must pay more or lose him. Therefore it was to his own interest, while serving them, to be looking for advancement. In the autumn he might seek a job with Mr. Talbert.