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Show THE FATE OF A GOVERNMENT CLERK. Arbuthnot had come in later than usual, and had appeared to be in an unusual mood. He was pale when he entered, and had no jesting speech to make. He took his seat by Bertha, and replied to her remark with but little of his customary animation, now and then lapsing into silences as if he had forgotten his surroundings. Bertha seemed inclined to let his humor pass without notice, as if it was not exactly a new experience, but Richard commented upon it. "Something has gone wrong," he said. "What is it, Larry?" "Nothing has gone wrong," Arbuthnot answered, with a short, cheerless laugh. "I have seen a ghost, that is all." "A ghost!" said Bertha, in a low voice, and then sat silent, guarding her face from the fire with her favorite peacock feather screen. The professor began to stir his tea round and round, which exercise was his customary assistance to reflection or debate. He glanced at the peacock feather screen, and then at Arbuthnot. "A ghost is always an interesting scientific conundrum," he observed. "What form did it take?" Arbuthnot laughed his short, cheerless laugh again. "It took the form of a sanguine young man from the West," he said, "who has just come into a twelve hundred dollar clerkship, and feels that unending vistas of fortune lie before him. He was in such good spirits about it, that I rather lost my hold on myself, and said things I might as well have left unsaid." "What did you say?" Richard asked. "I told him that if he had money enough left to buy a return ticket home he had better buy one, and that if he had not I would lend it to him. I told him that at his age it wasn't a bad idea for a man to devote his time to establishing himself in some career he could depend on, and that, in default of having the energy to do that, he might reflect on the alternative of blowing his brains out, as a preparation for a peaceful old age. And I told him that I had seen young fellows like himself before, and that the end had been for them what it would be for him." "Well," said Richard, as he had stopped. "It wasn't any use," he answered. "I knew it would not be when I began. I simply made a spectacle of myself in a quiet way to no purpose, and as a result I am uncomfortable. It was all nonsense, but he reminded me-" "Of what?" said Richard, since he had paused again. A peculiar expression crossed his face. Tredennis saw him glance at the peacock-feather screen, and as quickly glance away. "Of - a young fellow of his age I - used to know," he answered. "What was his story?" inquired Richard, with his usual desire for information. "Where is he now?" "Dead," said Arbuthnot, and singularly enough, he had laughed again as he tossed his cigar into the grate and went to the piano. He produced a fresh cigar - which luxury was one of many accorded him in the household - lighted it, and rather to Tredennis's surprise, resumed his conversation as if there had been no pause in it. "The fellow will be an annoyance to me every day of his life," he said, faint hues showing themselves upon his forehead in spite of the half smile which was meant to deprive them of their significance. "I know that, confound him! He is in my room, and I shall have the benefit of every change in him and it will be a grind - there's no denying that it will be a grind." "I should like to know," said Tredennis, "what the change will be." "The changes will depend upon the kind of fellow he chances to be," said Arbuthnot. "There are two varieties. If there is a good deal in him, he will begin by being hopeful and working hard. He will think that he may make himself of value in his position and create a sort of career for himself. He will do more than is required of him, and neglect nothing. He will keep his eyes open and make friends of the men about him. He will do that for a few months, and then, suddenly, and for no fault whatever, one of these friends will be dropped out. Knowing the man to be as faithful as himself, it will be a shock to him, and he will get anxious, and worry over it. He will see him stranded without resources - struggling to regain his place, or get another, treated with amiable tolerance when he is not buffeted, snubbed, and put off. He will see him laughing about, day after day, growing shabbier, more care-worn, more desperate, until he disappears and is heard of no more, and everybody is rather relieved than not. He may have been a family man with a wife and half a dozen children, all living decently on his salary. Somebody else wanted his place and got it, not because of superior fitness for it, but because the opposing influence was stronger than his. The new man will go through the same experience when his turn comes - that is all. Well, my friend will see this and be anxious, and ask questions, and find out that his chances are just the same - no more and no less. He will try not to believe it, being young enough to be betrayed into the folly, and he will work harder than ever, and get over his blow a little, until he sees the same thing happen again and again. Then he will begin to lose some of his good spirits, he will be a trifle irritable at times, and lines will show themselves on his face, and he won't be so young. When he writes to the girl he is in love with - I saw a letter addressed to some young woman out West, lying on his desk to day - she will notice a change in him, and the change will reveal itself more in each letter, but he will hang on and grind away, and each election will be a nightmare to him. But he will grind away. And, then, at last-" He stopped and made a light, rather graceful gesture with his fingers. "What then?" demanded Tredennis, with manifest impatience. "There will be a new administration, and if he struggles through, it will be worse for him than if he were dropped, as in that once he throws away another four years of life and all the chances for a future they might hold if he were free to avail himself of them." Tredennis stood up, looking very large under the influence of the feeling which disturbed him. Arbuthnot himself was not entirely unimpressed by his quick movement and the energy it expressed. "You treat the matter coolly," he exclaimed, as he rose. Arbuthnot turned his attention to his cigar. "Yes," he replied, "I treat it coolly. If I treated it warmly or hotly, the effect produced would be about the same. My influence upon civil service is just what it might be expected to be - and no more. Its weight is easily carried." "I beg your pardon," said Tredennis, feeling the justice and adroitness of the speech. "Not at all," Arbuthnot answered. "It is not necessary. It makes you lose you hold on yourself to be brought face to face with the thing. It is quite natural. It has the same effect on me, and I am a cold blooded fellow, and a frivolous fellow into the bargain." "I have never thought of the matter before," said Tredennis, disturbedly. "I feel as if my indifference is something to be ashamed of." "If you give your attention as a duty to such subjects," was Arbuthnot's response, "you will be kept actively employed. If you take my advice you will let them alone." "The trouble is," said Tredennis, "that every one seems to let them alone." Richard regarded him from his place on the soft cushion, delightedly. "Here's an example for you, Larry," he said. "Profit by him. Everything is an object to him - everything is worth while. He is an example to us all. Let us all profit by him." "Oh, he began right," laughed Arbuthnot. "He began where you began," returned Richard. "I!" was the airy answer - "I never began at all. That is my little difficulty. I am the other one. I told you there was another one. I represent him." Tredennis regarded him steadily. For the first time in the course of their acquaintance, he began to suspect him. His manner was too high altogether, and the odd shade which had fallen upon his eyes before during the evening showed itself again. "Let us hear about the other one," he said. "He is easily disposed of," was the answer. "There was nothing of him at the outset. He came to his place without an object. He liked the idea of living in Washinton, and of spending his salary. We will say he was rather a well looking young fellow, and could dance and sing a little, and talk decently well. He had no responsibilities and never thought of the future. His salary clothed him, and allowed him little luxuries and ordinary pleasures. He spent it when he had it, and made debts when it was gone. Being presentable, he was invited out, and made himself useful and entertaining in a small way. When he thought of the possibilities of his career being brought suddenly to a close, he was uncomfortable, so he preferred not to think of it. It is not a pleasant thing to reflect that a man has about ten years in which to begin life and that after that he is ending it, but it is true. What he does from twenty to thirty he will be likely to and he must abide by from thirty to seventy, if he lives that long. This man, like the better one, has thrown away the years in which he might have been preparing himself to end decently. When they are gone he has nothing to show for them, and less than nothing. He is the feather upon the current, and when all is over for him he is whirled out of sight and forgotten with the rest. And, perhaps, if he had felt there was anything to be gained by his being a steady respectable fellow he might have [unreadable] down into one." - Mrs. Bennett, in The Century. |