by Sewell Ford
CHAPTER XVIII
HARTLEY PULLS A NEW ONE
Looked like kind of a simple guy, this Hartley Tyler. I expect it wasthe wide-set, sort of starey eyes, or maybe the stiff way he had ofholdin' his neck. If you'd asked me I'd said he might have qualified asa rubber-stamp secretary in some insurance office, or as a tea-taster,or as a subway ticket-chopper.
Anyway, he wasn't one you'd look for any direct action from. Too mildspoken and slow moving. And yet when he did cut loose with an originalmotion he shoots the whole works on one roll of the bones. He'd come outof the bond room one Saturday about closin' time and tip-toed hesitatin'up to where Piddie and I was havin' a little confab on some importantbusiness matter--such as whether the Corrugated ought to stand for thenew demands of the window cleaners, or cut the contract to twice a monthinstead of once a week. Mr. Piddie would like to take things like thatstraight to Old Hickory himself, but he don't quite dare, so he holds meup and asks what I think Mr. Ellins would rule in such a case. I wasjust giving him some josh or other when he notices Hartley standin'there patient.
"Well?" says Piddie, in his snappiest office-manager style.
"Pardon me, sir," says Hartley, "but several weeks ago I put in arequest for an increase in salary, to take effect this month."
"Oh, did you?" says Piddie, springin' that sarcastic smile of his. "Do Iunderstand that it was an ultimatum?"
"Why--er--I hadn't thought of putting it in that form, sir," saysHartley, blinkin' something like an owl that's been poked off his nest.
"Then I may as well tell you, young man," says Piddie, "that it seemsinadvisable for us to grant your request at this time."
Hartley indulges in a couple more blinks and then adds: "I trust that Imade it clear, Mr. Piddie, how important such an increase was to me?"
"No doubt you did," says Piddie, "but you don't get it."
"That is--er--final, is it?" asks Hartley.
"Quite," says Piddie. "For the present you will continue at the samesalary."
"I'll see you eternally cursed if I do," observes Hartley, withoutchangin' his tone a note.
"Eh?" gasps Piddie.
"Oh, go to thunder, you pin-head!" says Hartley, startin' back for thebond room to collect his eye-shade, cuff protectors and other tools ofhis trade.
"You--you're discharged, young man!" Piddie gurgles out throaty.
"Very well," Hartley throws over his shoulder. "Have it that way if youlike."
Which is where I gets Piddie's goat still further on the rampage bylettin' out a chuckle.
"The young whipper-snapper!" growls Piddie.
"Oh, all of that!" says I. "What you going to do besides fire him?Couldn't have him indicted under the Lever act, could you?"
Piddie just glares and stalks off. Having been called a pin-head by abond room cub he's in no mood to be kidded. So I follows in for a fewwords with Hartley. You see, I could appreciate the situation evenbetter than Piddie, for I knew more of the facts in the case than hedid. For instance, I had happened to be in Old Hickory's private officewhen old man Tyler, who's one of our directors, you know, had wished hisonly son onto our bond room staff.
He's kind of a rough old boy, Z. K. Tyler, one of the bottom-rungers wholikes to tell how he made his start as fry cook on an owl lunch wagon.Course, now he has his Broad Street offices and is one of the big noiseson the Curb market. Operatin' in motor stocks is his specialty, and whenyou hear of two or three concerns being merged and the minority holdershowlin' about being gypped, or any little deal like that, you can make asafe bet that somewhere in the background is old Z. K. jugglin' thewires and rakin' in the loose shekels. How he gets away with that stuffwithout makin' the rock pile is by me, but he seems to do it reg'lar.
And wouldn't you guess he'd be just the one to have finicky ideas as tohow his son and heir should conduct himself. Sure thing! I heard himsketchin' some of 'em out to Old Hickory.
"The trouble with most young fellows," says he, "is that they're broughtup too soft. Kick 'em out and let 'em rustle for themselves. That's whatI had to do. Made a man of me. Now take Hartley. He's twenty-five andhas had it easy all his life--city and country home, college, cars todrive, servants to wait on him, and all that. What's it done for him?Why, he has no more idea of how to make a dollar for himself than achicken has of stirring up an omelette.
"Of course, I could take him in with me and show him the ropes, but hecouldn't learn anything worth while that way. He'd simply be a copy-cat.He'd develop no originality. Besides, I'd rather see him in some otherline. You understand, Ellins? Something a little more substantial. Gotto find it for himself, though. He's got to make good on his own hookbefore I'll help him any more. So out he goes.
"Ought to have a year or so to pick up the elements of business, though.So let's find a place for him here in the Corrugated. No snap job. Iwant him to earn every dollar he gets, and to live off what he earns. Dohim good. Maybe it'll knock some of the fool notions out of his head.Oh, he's got 'em. Say, you couldn't guess what fool idea he came backfrom college with. Thought he wanted to be a painter. Uh-huh! An artist!Asked me to set him up in a studio. All because him and a room mate hadbeen daubin' some brushes with oil paints at a summer school they wentto during a couple of vacations. Seems a long-haired instructor had beentelling Hartley what great talent he had. Huh! I soon cured him of that.'Go right to it, son,' says I. 'Paint something you can sell for fivehundred and I'll cover it with a thousand. Until then, not a red cent.'And inside of twenty-four hours he concluded he wasn't any buddingWhistler or Sargent, and came asking what I thought he should tacklefirst. Eh? Think you could place him somewhere?"
So Old Hickory merely shrugs his shoulders and presses the button forPiddie. I expect he hears a similar tale about once a month and as arule he comes across with a job for sonny boy. 'Specially when it's adirector that does the askin'. Now and then, too, one of 'em turns outto be quite a help, and if they're utterly useless he can always dependon Piddie to find it out and give 'em the quick chuck.
As a rule this swift release don't mean much to the Harolds and Perceysexcept a welcome vacation while the old man pries open another sideentrance in the house of Opportunity, Ltd., which fact Piddie is wiseto. But in this ease it's a different proposition.
"Did you mean it, Tyler, handin' yourself the fresh air that way!" Iasks him.
"Absolutely," says he, snappin' some rubber bands around, a neat littlebundle.
"Who'd have thought you was a self starter!" says I. "What you going todo now?"
He hunches his shoulders. "Don't know," says he. "I must find somethingmighty quick, though."
"Oh, it can't be as desperate a case as that, can if?" I asks. "You knowyou'll get two weeks' pay and with that any single-footed young hicklike you ought to----"
"But it happens I'm not single-footed," breaks in Hartley.
"Eh?" says I. "You don't mean you've gone and----"
"Nearly a month ago," says Hartley. "Nicest little girl in the world,too. You must have noticed her. She was on the candy counter in thearcade for a month or so."
"What!" says I. "The one with the honey-colored hair and the bashfulbehavin' eyes?"
Hartley nods and blushes.
"Say, you are a fast worker when you get going, ain't you?" says I."Picked a Cutie-Sweet right away from all that opposition. But I judgeshe's no heiress."
"Edith is just as poor as I am," admits Hartley.
"How about your old man?" I goes on. "What did Z. K. have to say when heheard!"
"Suppose'we don't go into that," says Hartley. "As a matter of fact, Ihung up the 'phone just as he was getting his second wind."
"Then he didn't pull the 'bless you, my children,' stuff, eh?" Isuggests.
"No," says Hartley, grinnin'. "Quite the contrary. Anyway, I knew whatto expect from him. But say, Torchy, I did have a pretty vague notion ofwhat it costs to run a family these days."
"Don't you read the newspapers?" says I.
"Oh, I suppose I had gla
nced at the headlines," says Hartley. "And ofcourse I knew that restaurant prices had gone up, and laundry charges,and cigarettes and so. But I hadn't shopped for ladies' silk hose, orfor shoes, or--er--robes de nuit, or that sort of thing. And I hadn'ttried to hire a three-room furnished apartment. Honest, it's somethingawful."
"Yes, I've heard something like that for quite a spell now," says I."Found that your little hundred and fifty a month wouldn't go very far,did you?"
"Far!" says Hartley. "Why, it was like taking a one-gallon freezer ofice cream to a Sunday school picnic. Really, it seemed as if there werea thousand hands reaching out for my pay envelope the moment I got it.I don't understand how young married couples get along at all."
"If you did," says I, "you'd have a steady job explainin' the miracle toabout 'steen different Congressional committees. How about Edith? Is shea help--or otherwise?"
"She's a good sport, Edith is," says Hartley. "She keeps me bucked up alot. It was her decision that I just passed on to Mr. Piddie. We talkedit all out last night; how impossible it was to live on my presentsalary, and what I should say if it wasn't raised. That is, all but thecrude way I put it, and the pin-head part. We agreed, though, that I hadto make a break, and that it might as well be now as later on."
"Well, you've made it," says I. "What now?"
"We've got to think that out," says Hartley.
"The best of luck to you," says I, as he starts toward the elevator.
And with that Hartley drops out. You know how it is here in New York. Ifyou don't come in on the same train with people you know, or they workin different buildin's, or patronize some other lunch room, the chancesof your seein' 'em more 'n once in six months are about as good asthough they'd moved to St. Louis or Santa Fe.
I expect I was curious about what was goin' to happen to Hartley and hiscandy counter bride, maybe for two or three days. But it must have beenas many weeks before I even heard his name mentioned. That was when oldZ. K. blew into the private office one day and, after a half hour ofbusiness chat, remarks to Old Hickory; "By the way, Ellins, how is thatson of mine getting on?"
"Eh?" says Old Hickory, starin' at him blank. "Son of yours with us? I'dforgotten. Let's see. Torchy, in what department is young Tyler now?"
"Hartley?" says I. "Oh, he quit weeks ago."
"Quit?" says Z. K. "Do you mean he was fired?"
"A little of both," says I. "Him and Mr. Piddie split about fifty-fiftyon that. They had a debate about him gettin' a raise. No, he didn'tleave any forwardin' address and he hasn't been back since."
"Huh!" says Z. K., scratchin' his left ear. "He'd had the impudence togo and get himself married, too. Think of that Ellins! A youngster whonever did a stroke of real work in his life loads himself up with afamily in these times. Well, I suppose he's finding out what a fool heis, and when they both get good and hungry he'll come crawling back. Ohyes, I'll give him a job this time, a real one. You know I've beenrebuilding my country home down near Great Neck. Been having a deuce ofa time doing it, too--materials held up, workmen going out on strikesevery few days. I'll set Hartley to running a concrete mixer, orwheeling bricks when he shows up."
But somehow Hartley don't do the homeward crawl quite on schedule. Atany rate, old Z. K. was in the office three or four times after thatwithout mentionin' it, and you bet he would have cackled some if Hartleyhad come back. All he reports is that the house rebuildin' is draggin'along to a finish and he hopes to be able to move in shortly.
"Want you to drive over and see what you think of it," he remarks to Mr.Robert, once when Old Hickory happens to be out. "Only a few plasterersand plumbers and painters still hanging on. How about next Saturday?I've got to be there about 2 o'clock. What say?"
"I shall be very glad to," says Mr. Robert, who's always plannin' outways of revisin' his own place.
If it hadn't been for some Western correspondence that needed codereplies by wire I expect I should have missed out on this tour ofinspection to the double-breasted new Tyler mansion. As it was Mr.Robert tells me to take the code book and my hat and come along with himin the limousine. So by the time we struck Jamaica I was ready to filethe messages and enjoy the rest of the drive.
We finds old Z. K. already on the ground, unloadin' a morning grouch ona landscape architect.
"Be with you in a minute, Robert," says he. "Just wander in and lookaround."
That wasn't so easy as it sounded, for all through the big rooms wasscaffolds and ladders and a dozen or more original members of theOveralls Club splashin' mortar and paint around. I was glancin' at thesehorny-handed sons of toil sort of casual when all of a sudden I spotsone guy in a well-daubed suit of near-white ducks who looks strangelyfamiliar. Walkin' up to the step-ladder for a closer view I has to stopand let out a chuckle. It's Hartley.
"Well, well!" says I. "So you did have to crawl back, eh?"
"Eh?" says he, almost droppin' a pail of white paint. "Why, hello,Torchy!"
"I see you're workin' for a real boss now," says I.
"Who do you mean?" says he.
"The old man," says I, grinnin'.
"Not much!" says Hartley. "He's only the owner, and precious littlebossing he can do on this job. I'm working for McNibbs, the contractor."
"You--you mean you're a reg'lar painter?" says I, gawpin'.
"Got to be, or I couldn't handle a brush here," says Hartley. "This is aunion job."
"But--but how long has this been goin' on, Hartley?" I asks.
"I've held my card for nearly three months now," says he. "No, Ihaven't been painting here all that time. In fact, I came here only thismorning. The president of our local shifted me down here for--forreasons. I'm a real painter, though."
"You look it, I must say," says I. "Like it better than being in thebond room?"
"Oh, I'm not crazy about it," says he. "Rather smelly work. But it payswell. Dollar an hour, you know, and time and a half for overtime. Imanage to knock out sixty or so a week. Then I get something for beingsecretary of the Union."
"Huh!" says I. "Secretary, are you? How'd you work up to that so quick?"
"Oh, they found I could write fairly good English and was quick atfigures," says he. "Besides, I'm always foreman of the gang. Do all thecolor mixing, you know. That's where my art school experience comes inhandy."
"That ought to tickle the old man," says I. "Seen him yet?"
"No," says Hartley, "but I want to. Is he here?"
"Sure," says I. "He's just outside. He'll be in soon."
"Fine!" says Hartley. "Say, Torchy, stick around if you want to beentertained. I have a message for him."
"I'll be on hand," says I. "Here he comes now."
As old Z. K. stalks in, still red in the ears from his debate outside,Hartley climbs down off the step ladder. For a minute or so the old mandon't seem to see him any more'n he does any of the other workmen thathe's had to dodge around. Not until Hartley steps right up to him andremarks: "Mr. Tyler, I believe?" does Z. K. stop and let out a gasp.
"Hah!" he snorts. "Hartley, eh? Well, what does this mean--amasquerade?"
"Not at all," says Hartley. "This is my regular work."
"Oh, it is, eh?" says he. "Well, keep at it then. Why do you knock offto talk to me?"
"Because I have something to say to you, sir," says Hartley. "You sent acouple of non-union plumbers down here the other day, didn't you?"
"What if I did?" demands Z. K. "Got to get the work finished somehow,haven't I?"
"You'll never get it finished with scab labor, Mr. Tyler," says Hartley."You have tried that before, haven't you? Well, this is final. Sendthose plumbers off at once or I will call out every other man on thejob."
"Wh-a-a-at!" gasps Z. K. "You will! What in thunder have you got to dowith it?"
"I've been authorized by the president of our local to strike the job,that's all," says Hartley. "I am the secretary. Here are my credentialsand my union card."
"Bah!" snorts Z. K. "You impudent young shrimp. I don't believe a wordof
it. And let me tell you, young man, that I'll send whoever I pleaseto do the work here, unions or no unions."
"Very well," says Hartley. With that he turns and calls out: "Lay off,men. Pass the word on."
And say, inside of two minutes there isn't a lick of work being doneanywhere about the place. Plasterers drop their trowels and smoothingboards, painters come down off the ladders, and all hands begin sheddin'their work clothes. And while Z. K. is still sputterin' and fumin' themen begin to file out with their tools under their arms. MeanwhileHartley has stepped over into a corner and is leisurely peelin' off hispaint-spattered ducks.
"See here, you young hound!" shouts Z. K. "You know I want to get intothis house early next month. I--I've simply got to."
"The prospects aren't good," says Hartley.
Well, they had it back and forth like that for maybe five minutes beforeZ. K. starts to calm down a bit. He's a foxy old pirate, and he hates toquit, but he's wise enough to know when he's beaten.
"Rather smooth of you, son, getting back at me this way," he observessmilin' sort of grim. "Learned a few things, haven't you, since you'vebeen knocking around?"
"Oh, I was bound to," says Hartley.
"Got to be quite a man, too--among painters, eh?" adds Z. K.
Hartley shrugs his shoulders.
"Could you call all those fellows back as easily as you sent them off?"demands Tyler.
"Quite," says Hartley. "I wouldn't, though, until you had fired thosescab plumbers."
"I see," says Z. K. "And if I did fire 'em, do you think you haveinfluence enough to get a full crew of union men to finish this job bynext Saturday?"
"Oh, yes," says Hartley. "I could put fifty men at work here Mondaymorning--if I wanted to."
"H-m-m-m!" says Z. K., caressin' his left ear. "It's rather a big housefor just your mother and me to live in. Plenty of room for anotherfamily. And I suppose a good studio could be fixed up on the thirdfloor. Well, son, want to call it a trade?"
"I'll have to talk to Edith first," says Hartley. "I think she'll likeit, and I'll bet you'll like her, too."
Uh-huh! From late reports I hear that Hartley was right both ways. A fewdays later Mr. Robert tells me that the Tylers are all preparin' to moveout together. He had seen the whole four of 'em havin' a reunion dinnerat the Plutoria, and says they all seemed very chummy.
"Just like they was members of One Big Union, eh?" says I. "But say,Hartley's right up to date in his methods of handlin' a wrathy parent,ain't he? Call a strike on 'em. That's the modern style. I wonder ifhe's got it patented?"