Part 1 (1/2)
A Man and His Money
by Frederic Stewart Isham
CHAPTER I
THE COACH OF CONCORD
”Well? What can I do for you?”
The speaker--a scrubby little ard soreeable; the proprietor of the diminutive, run-down establishment, ”The St Cecilia Music Emporium,” was not, for certain well defined reasons, in an a He had been about to reach down for a little brown jug which reposed on the spot usually allotted to the waste paper basket when the shadow of the new-comer fell obtrusively, not to say offensively, upon hi from an indeterminate personality Mr Kerry Mackintosh repeated his question more bruskly; the shadow (obviously not a custoht Mr Mackintosh's wares!) started; his face showed signs of a vacillating purpose
”Apardon!” he an to back out, when a somewhat brutal command on the other's part to ”shut that d---- door d---- quick, and not let any more d---- hot air out”
arrested the visitor's purpose Instead of retreating, he advanced
”I beg pardon, were you addressing etic look had quite vanished
The other considered,about hot air escaping and coal six dollars a ton, and ended with: ”What do you want?”
”Work” The visitor's tone relapsed; it was now conspicuous for its want of ”success waves”; it seenizance of personal uselessness He who had brightened a moment before now spoke like an autoararments--on others!
”Good day!” he said curtly
But instead of going, the person coolly sat down The proprietor of the little shop glanced toward the door and half started from his chair
Whereupon the visitor s save one an impression of potential possibilities
Mr Mackintosh sank back into his chair
”Too great a waste of energy!” hethus defined his attitude, turned to a ”proof” of new rag-time This he surveyed discontentedly; struck out a note here, jabbed in another there The stranger watched hins the caller's fine resolution and assurance seean to have doubts as to the correctness of his position, thus to storm a man in his own castle, or office--even if it were such a disreputable-appearing office!
He shi+fted his feet thoughtfully; a thin lock of dark hair drooped ot up The composer dashed a blithe flourish to the tail of a note
”Hold on,” he said ”What's your hurry?” Sarcastically
”Didn't knoas in a hurry!” There was no attempted levity in his tone,--he spoke rather listlessly, as one who had found the world, or its problehtly wearisoht had suddenly assailed hi for work Why did you drift in here?”
”The place looked s places have no end of applicants--”
”Shouldn't think that would phase you With _your_ nerve!”
The visitor flushed ”I seem to have made rather a mess of it,” he confessed ”I usually do Good day”