CHAPTER VI
A SAFE MAN
James Wheaton was thirty-five years old, and was reckoned among thesolid young business men of Clarkson. He had succeeded far beyond hisexpectations and was fairly content with the round of the ladder that hehad reached. He never talked about himself and as he had no intimatefriends it had never been necessary for him to give confidences. Hisfather had been a harness-maker in a little Ohio town; he and his olderbrother were expected to follow the same business; but the brother grewrestless under the threat of enforced apprenticeship and prevailed onJames to run away with him. They became tramps and enjoyed themselvesroaming through the country, until finally they were caught stealing ina little Illinois village and both were arrested.
James was discharged through the generosity of his brother in taking allthe blame on himself; the older boy was sent to a reformatory alone.James then went to Chicago, where he sold papers and blacked boots for ayear until he found employment as a train boy, with a company operatingon various lines running out of Chicago. This gave him a wideacquaintance with western towns, and incidentally with railroads andrailroad men. He grew tired of the road, and obtained at Clarkson aposition in the office of Timothy Margrave, the general manager of theTranscontinental, which, he had heard, was a great primary school forambitious boys.
It was thus that his residence in Clarkson was established. He attendednight school, was assiduous in his duties, and attained in due coursethe dignity of a desk at which he took the cards of Margrave's callers,indexed the letter books and copied figures under the direction of thechief clerk. After a year, hearing that one of the Clarkson NationalBank's messengers was about to resign, he applied for this place.Margrave recommended him; the local manager of the news agency vouchedfor his integrity, and in due course he wended the streets of Clarksonwith a long bill-book, the outward and visible sign of his position asmessenger. He was steadily promoted in the bank and felt his pastreceding farther and farther behind him.
When, at an important hour of his life, Wheaton was promoted to bepaying teller, he was in the receiving teller's cage. He had known thatthe more desirable position was vacant and had heard his fellow clerksspeculating as to the possibility of a promotion from among theirnumber. Thompson, the cashier, had a nephew in the bank; and among theclerks he was thought to have the best chance. They all knew that thedirectors were in session, and several whose tasks for the day werefinished, lingered later than was their wont to see what would happen.Wheaton kept quietly at his work; but he had an eye on the door of thedirectors' room, and an ear that insensibly turned toward theannunciator by which messengers were called to the board room. It rangat last, and Wheaton wiped his pen with a little more than his usualcare as he waited for the result of the summons. This was on histwenty-fifth birthday.
"Mr. Wheaton!" The other clerks looked at one another. The question thathad been uppermost with all of them for a week past was answered.Thompson's nephew slammed his book shut and carried it into the vault.Wheaton put aside the balance sheet over which he had been lingering andwent into the directors' room. There had been no note of joy among hisassociates. He knew that he was not popular with them; he was not, intheir sense, a good fellow. When they rushed off after hours to the ballgames or horse races, he never joined them. When their books did notbalance he never volunteered to help them. As for himself, he alwaysbalanced, and did not need their help; and they hated him for it. Thiswas his hour of triumph, but he went to his victory without the cheer ofhis comrades.
He heard Mr. Porter's question as to whether he felt qualified to acceptthe promotion; and he sat patiently under the inquiries of the others asto his fitness. It required no great powers of intuition to know thatthese old men had already appointed him; that if they had not known totheir own satisfaction that he was the best available man, they wouldnot be taking advice from him in the matter.
"Sanders leaves on Monday to take another position, and we will put youin his cage to give you a trial," the president said, finally. Wheatonexpressed his gratitude for this mark of confidence. He was nottroubled by the suggestion of a trial. Porter and Thompson, the cashier,always spoke of his promotions as "trials." He had never failed thus farand his self-confidence was not disturbed by the care these men alwaystook to tie strings to everything they did with a view to easywithdrawal, if the results were not satisfactory. The position had beenfilled and there was nothing more to be said. Thompson, however, alwaysliked to have a last word.
"Wheaton, your family live here, don't they?"
"No," said Wheaton, smiling his difficult smile, "I haven't any family.My parents are dead. I came here from Ohio, and board over on the northside."
"Another Ohio man," said Porter, "you can't keep 'em down." They alllaughed at Porter's joke and Wheaton bowed himself out under cover ofit.
Later, when need arose for creating the position of assistant cashier,it was natural that the new desk should be assigned to Wheaton. He wasfaithful and competent; neither Porter nor Thompson had a son to installin the bank; and, as they said to each other and to their fellowdirectors, Wheaton had two distinguishing qualifications,--he did hiswork and he kept his mouth shut.
In the course of time Thompson's health broke down and the doctorsordered him away to New Mexico, and again there seemed nothing to do butto promote Wheaton. Thompson wished to sell his stock and resign, butPorter would not have it so; but when, after two years, it was clearthat the cashier would never again be fit for continuous service in thebank, Wheaton was duly elected cashier and Thompson was madevice-president.
Wheaton had now been in Clarkson fifteen years, and he was well awarethat other young men, with influential connections, had not done nearlyso well as he. He treasured no illusions as to his abilities; he did notthink he had a genius for business; but he had demonstrated to his ownsatisfaction that such qualities as he possessed,--industry, sobrietyand obedience,--brought results, and with these results he was wellsatisfied. He hoped some day to be rich, but he was content to makehaste slowly. He never speculated. He read in the newspapers every dayof men holding responsible positions who embezzled and absconded, butthere was never any question in his mind as between honesty and knavery.It irritated him when these occurrences were commented on facetiouslybefore him; he did not relish jokes which carried an implication that hetoo might belong to the dubious cashier class; and inquiries as towhether he would spend his vacation in Canada or, if it were winter, inGuatemala, were not received in good part, for he had much personaldignity and little humor. He was counted among the older men of the townrather than among men of his own age, and he found himself much more atease among his seniors. The young men appreciated his good qualities andrespected him; but he felt that he was not one of them; socially, he wasvoted very slow, and there was an impression abroad that he was stingy.Certainly he did not spend his money frivolously, and he never had doneso. Many fathers held him up as an example to their sons, and thistended further to the creation of a feeling among his contemporariesthat he was lacking in good fellowship.
Raridan knew the personal history of most of his fellow townsmen, and hewas fond of characterizing those whom he particularly liked or disliked,for the benefit of his friends. He took it upon himself to sketchWheaton for John Saxton's benefit in this fashion.
"Jim Wheaton's one of those men who never make mistakes," said Raridan,with the scorn of a man whose own mistakes do not worry him. "He wentinto that bank as a boy, and was first a model messenger, and then amodel clerk; and when they had to have a cashier there was the modelassistant, who had been a model everything else, so they put him in.There wasn't anybody else for the job; and I guess he's a good man forit, too. A bank cashier doesn't dare to make mistakes; and as Wheaton isnot of that warm, emotional nature that would lead him to lend moneywithout getting something substantial to hold before the borrower gotaway, he's the model cashier. You've heard of those bank cashiers whocan refuse a loan to a man and send him out of the bank singing happychants. Well
, Jim isn't that kind. When he turns down a man, the mandoesn't go on his way rejoicing. I don't know how much money Wheaton'sgot. He's made something, of course, and Porter would probably sell himstock up to a certain point. He'll die rich, and nobody, I fancy, willever be any gladder because he's favored this little old earth with hispresence."
As a bank clerk the teller's cage had shut Wheaton off from the world.Young women of social distinction who came sometimes to get checkscashed, knew him as a kind of automaton, that looked at both sides oftheir checks and at themselves, and then passed out coin and paper tothem; they saw him nowhere else, and did not bother themselves abouthim. After his promotion to be assistant cashier, he saw the worldcloser at hand. He had a desk and could sit down and talk to the menwhom he had studied from the cage for so long. The young women, too,approached him no longer with checks to be cashed, but with little booksin which they urged him officially and personally to subscribe tocharities. Porter, who was naturally a man of generous impulses, knewhis own weakness and made the cashier the bank's almoner. He was verysure that Wheaton would be as careful of the bank's money as of his own;he had taken judicial knowledge of the fact that Wheaton's balance onthe bank's books had shown a marked and steady growth through all theyears of his connection with it.
Wheaton's promotion to the cashiership had come in the spring; andshortly afterward he had changed his way of living in a few particulars.He had lodged for years in a boarding house frequented by clerks; aplace where his fellow boarders were, among others, a music teacher, amilliner and the chief operator of the telephone exchange. He had notfelt above them; their dancing class and occasional theater party hadseemed fine to him. Porter now suggested that Wheaton should be a memberof the Clarkson Club, and Wheaton assented, on the president'srepresentation that "it would be a good thing for the bank." Vacantapartments were offered at this time in The Bachelors', as it wascalled, and he availed himself of the opportunity to change his placeof residence. He had considered the matter of taking a room at the club,but this, after reflection, he rejected as unwise. The club was a newinstitution in the town, and he was aware that there were conservativepeople in Clarkson who looked on it as a den of iniquity,--with whatjustification he did not know from personal experience, but he had heardit referred to in this way at the boarding house table. He knew Raridanand the others at The Bachelors', but his acquaintance with them was ofa perfunctory business character. When he moved to The Bachelors',Raridan, who was always punctilious in social matters, formally calledon him in his room, as did also Captain Wheelock, the army officer thenstationed in Clarkson on recruiting service. The others in the housewelcomed him less formally as they chanced to meet him in the hall or onthe stairway; they were busy men who worked long hours and did notbother themselves about the amenities and graces of life.
His change to The Bachelors' was of importance to Wheaton in many ways.He saw here, in the intimacies of their common table, men of a highersocial standing than he had known before. Their way of chaffing oneanother seemed to him very bright; they mocked at the gods and were notdestroyed. Raridan was a new species and spoke a strange tongue. Raridanand Wheelock appeared at the table in dinner-coats, and after a fewweeks Wheaton followed their example. Raridan, he knew, dressed whetherhe went out or not, and he established his own habit in this particularwith as little delay as possible. The table then balanced, the smeltermanager, the secretary of the terra cotta manufacturing company, andthe traveling passenger agent of the Transcontinental Railroad appearingin the habiliments which they wore at their respective places ofbusiness, and Raridan, Wheaton and Wheelock in black and white.
The humor of this division was not lost on the traveling passengeragent, who chaffed the "glad rag" faction, as he called it, untilRaridan took up arms for his own side of the table.
"It may be true, sir, what you say about a division here between theworking and non-working classes; but wit and beauty have from mostancient times bedecked themselves in robes of purity. A man likeyourself, whose business is to persuade people to ride on the worstrailroad on earth, should properly array himself in sackcloth and ashes,and not in purple and fine linen, which belong to those who severallygive their thoughts to the,--er--promotion of peace"--indicatingWheelock--"sound finances," indicating Wheaton, "and--er--in my owncase--"
"Yes, do tell us," said the railroad man, ironically.
"To faith and good works," said Warrick imperturbably.
"And mostly works,--I don't think!" declared Wheelock.
The relations between Porter and Wheaton were strictly of a businesscharacter. This was not by intention on Porter's part. He assumed thatat some time he or Thompson had known all about Wheaton's antecedents;and after so many years of satisfactory service, during the greater partof which the bank had been protected against Wheaton, as against all therest of the employees, by a bonding company, he accepted the cashierwithout any question. Before Evelyn's return he had one day expressed toWheaton his satisfaction that he would soon have a home again, andWheaton remarked with civil sympathy that Miss Porter must now be "quitea young lady."
"Oh, yes; you must come up to the house when we get going again," Porteranswered.
Wheaton had seen the inside of few houses in Clarkson. He had arecollection of having been sent to Porter's several times, while he wasstill an errand boy in the bank, to fetch Porter's bag on occasions whenthe president had been called away unexpectedly. He remembered EvelynPorter as she used to come as a child and sit in the carriage outsidethe bank to wait for her father; the Porters stood to him then, and now,for wealth and power.
Raridan had a contempt for Wheaton's intellectual deficiencies; andpraise of Wheaton's steadiness and success vexed him as having somesting for himself; but his own amiable impulses got the better of hisprejudices, and he showed Wheaton many kindnesses. When the others atThe Bachelors' nagged Wheaton, it was Raridan who threw himself into thecontroversy to take Wheaton's part. He took him to call at some of thehouses he knew best, and though this was a matter of propinquity he knewnevertheless that he preferred Wheaton to the others in the house.Wheaton was not noisy nor pretentious and the others were sometimesboth.
Wheaton soon found it easy to do things that he had never thought ofdoing before. He became known to the florist and the haberdasher; therewas a little Hambletonian at a certain liveryman's which Warry Raridandrove a good deal, and he had learned from Warry how pleasant it was todrive out to the new country club in a runabout instead of using thestreet car, which left a margin of plebeian walking at the end of theline. He had never smoked, but he now made it a point to carrycigarettes with him. Raridan and many other young men of hisacquaintance always had them; he fancied that the smoking of a cigarettegave a touch of elegance to a gentleman. Captain Wheelock smokedcigarettes which bore his own monogram, and as he said that these didnot cost any more than others of the same brand, Wheaton allowed thecaptain to order some for him. But while he acquired the superficialgraces, he did not lose his instinctive thrift; he had never attemptedto plunge, even on what his associates at The Bachelors' called "surethings"; and he was equally incapable of personal extravagances. If hebought flowers he sent them where they would tell in his favor. If hehad five dollars to give to the _Gazette's_ Ice Fund for the poor, heconsidered that when the newspaper printed his name in its list ofacknowledgments, between Timothy Margrave, who gave fifty dollars, andWilliam Porter, who gave twenty-five, he had received an adequate returnon his investment.
A few days after Evelyn Porter came home, Wheaton followed Raridan tohis room one evening after dinner. Raridan had set The Bachelors' anexample of white flannels for the warm weather, and Wheaton also hadabolished his evening clothes. Raridan's rooms had not yet lost theirnovelty for him. The pictures, the statuettes, the books, the broadcouch with its heap of varicolored pillows, the table with itscandelabra, by which Raridan always read certain of the poets,--thesestill had their mystery for Wheaton.
"Going out to-night?" he asked with a show of ind
ifference.
"Hadn't thought of it," answered Raridan, who was cutting the pages of amagazine. "Kick the cat off the couch there, won't you?--it's thatblessed Chinaman's beast. Don't know what a Mongolian is doing with acat,--Egyptian bird, isn't it?"
"Don't let me interrupt if you're reading," said Wheaton. "But I thoughtsome of dropping in at Mr. Porter's. Miss Porter's home now, I believe."
"That's a good idea," said Raridan, who saw what was wanted. He threwhis magazine at the cat and got up and yawned. "Suppose we do go?"
The call had been successfully managed. Miss Porter was very pretty, andnot so young as Wheaton expected to find her. Raridan left him talkingto her and went across to the library, where Mr. Porter was reading hisevening paper. Raridan had a way of wandering about in other people'shouses, which Wheaton envied him. Miss Porter seemed to take his call asa matter of course, and when her father came out presently and greetedhim casually as if he were a familiar of the house he felt relieved andgratified.
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