OCR Text |
Show mJlll'"TT' "" 1 aiaraiinair'MmTiMOTMwiii H TLorT f I L. A BySeweUFord I liow I iiey jst i iiat w ay i turn down that bljr check waa too much for him and ho's gone back into the gym and shut the door. But I names him, juyt the same. "All, ycy!" says Bristow, smiUn'. "Your paid assistant. What makes you think he Is a true friend'."' "Well," .says T, "ho's always gone through the motions, ever since I picked him off a park bench. One of mv 'ang of rubbers, Swlfty was, oiT-e. He'd started start-ed out to be a pug, himself, over in South Brooklyn. A handy boy he was with the mitts, too, and good on footwork. If it hadn't been for a streak of yellow in him maybe he'd made good. But lie couldn't stand punishment; and at 2") he found himself hansin' around trainin' camps, with no trade, no steady job and a heartv appetite. When I ran across him. about as I was startin the studio, he was down and out. I took him on and ho ain't missed a meal since, lie ain't ever said much about being grateful. I doubt if he knows the word. But it's there. I've nover had much call to try him out, but I cxppct there ain't anything I could ask- Swifty .Toe to do for me that ho wouldn't make a stab at." Mr, "Bristow shrugs his shoulders. "Try that on a stray dog and you'll get results equally satisfactory," says lie. "A helper and a dependent cannot bo a real friend." "I'd bank strong on Swlfty in a pinch," , savs I. ! "It would be Interesting to arrange a I test," says Bristow. "Merkins, can you suirrest somethniEr?' Merkins can. He's an Ingenious young gent, and I suspect Is a movie fan and maybe tried hie hand at scenario writin'. After thinkln only a minute he sketches out a neat little plot. "Do you agree to try that?" asks Bristow. Bris-tow. "Go on, stage it," says I. So when Swiftv Is called In I'm discovered discov-ered with ir.y overcoat and hat on. stand-in' stand-in' by the door resristerln' supposed grief. "Gallagher." says Mr. Bristow. "how would you Hko to take charge of this es- I tablishnient?" "Me?" savs Swlfty, bis mouth droppin' , onen. ""Why whv what about Shorty j M" 'abe?" ! Then Bristow springs his tale about how I've been speeulatin' in stocks and not only lost my pile, but given out a lot of notes I can't meet, bin tin' that he's bought 'cm up and taken over the Stnd'o. "I've been having a talk with Professor Pro-fessor McCabe." goes on Bristow. "and -f-.'f ( (f"s lfl 1 U. ana. sfp 0!i m l V f-W"' ' - i'h ml him to leave at once. I am prepared to offer you twice your present salary to take his place." He's no rapid-fire thinker, Swifty. The speed of his mental reactions is about equal to the gait cf a turtle in low gear. For a minute he stands there gawpin', first at me and then at Bristow. Then he acts like he was trylh' to swallow a crust of bread. Finally he separates hlm-syif hlm-syif from thw words that have been 010'-gin' 010'-gin' the works. "Ah-r-r chee!" lie snorts. "Wotcher take me for?" "Ijo 1 understand, my man," asks Bristow, Bris-tow, "that you decline?" "Sure," says Swifty. "if Shorty gets the chuck I goes wit' him. See'.'" "Just a moment." puts in Bristow. "Perhaps you imagine that he may make a new start somewhere else. What if that should prove impossible? "What if be bad used other people's money in his speculations some of yours, it may be and might end his career in jaii?" "It's a frame-up, that's all,' says Swifty. "I know Shorty as well as I knows rnyscif, and take it from me. they don't make 'em any straighter. As for rne workhV for a fish-eyed crook like you. nothin' doin'. Come on, Shorty. I g'ot a little wad stowed away in the savin's bank, and a few Liberty bonds we can cash in, and " Well, there I had to crash in. I was gettin' dewey in the eyes and T felt like I had a bone in my throat. "Say, Eris-tow, Eris-tow, I guess this lias gone far enough, ain't it?" says I. "Don't let 'em kid you, Swifty. "You're a good scout, all right, and everything is ju3t as it was before the rehearsal started. Only I expect you've qualified in Class A." "Eh?" says Swifty, still doin' the open face act. "Wha what's the grand little idea? "Was was that tale of his about you bein' on the rocks all bunk?" "Absolutely," says I. "It -was raw stuff to pull on you, I'll admit, but JEr. Bristow and me was having a little debate about whether or not there was such a thing as friends, and when I mentions you as one I thought I could count on. he has this merry notion about puttin' you through the acid test. Now I hope he's satisfied." "Huh!" says Swifty. "Ain't he got friends of his own he could practice on?" "Mr. Bristow doesn't believe in friends," says I. "Says they don't exist." Swifty eyes him curious while he takes a deep breath or two. Then he observes, from the south corner of his mouth: "Say, how does he get that way?" "He's just been tellin' me, Swlfty," says I. "He's discovered somewhere that folks are friendly for what there is in it. Says we're all made like that. Also that whatever he wants he can go out and buy. Do I get it straight, Mr. Bristow?" He nods. "How about you, Shorty?" demands Swlfty. "You don't fail for that stuff, do you?" "No," says I. "If I'd had any inclinations inclina-tions that way you d have cured me just now. I guess I got to stick to believln' in friends. I hope I have a few here and there, such as they are. Anyway, there's you and Finckney. Odd combination combi-nation you two make. About as much alike as a clam and a cucumber. I wouldn't claim either of you was perfect, either, "iou'll admit you ain't my parlor ornament. Swifty, and there's a few little lit-tle points about polite refinement that vou ain't souped up yea. "While as for Pinckney Ogden Bruce, he's about as useless and scatter-brained as an Airedale Aire-dale pup. But I "wouldn't like to lose either of vou from my list. Funny, ain't it? "I'm just beglnnin' to dope out the answer. You might tako this, Merkins. Mavhe Mr. Bristow could make something some-thing out of it. For it strikes me that if all of us demanded perfect parties for friends there'U be few cf us who'd deserve de-serve 'cm. As it is. we seem to like 'em for what they are, the good along with the bad. Anyway, mine must take me that way." "You'll pardon me. professor, says Bristow. "if 1 do not agree with you." "If 50U did." says I, "I'd, begin to suspect myself." He comes back with another of them crooked smiles, but it's kind of a sickly attempt. "I have no intention of trj ing to force mv theories on anyclie," says he. "But to get back to more concrete affairs: What about those afternoons? Sunpose I make it fifteen hundred?" "No use." says I. "That's one of the things you can't wave your check book and get. I wouldn't try to sell you fifteen fif-teen hundred dollars' worth of health. SAY", KIIOKTY,'' romarks Swifty Swif-ty Joe as t drifts back to the Physical Culturo studio after lunch here the other day. ":hat Bristow party called up again." "Yes" says J. "Told him 1 couldn't take him on until tomorrow at 3:80, didii 't you .' ' ' "Nah," says Swifty. using the pott siclo of his face. "Tried to. But say, l:o 's one of those birds vou can't teil anything. Says how he'll be here at 2:15 today and to reserve the rest : of the afternoon tor him. Then ho hangs up." "Just like that, eh?" says I. "How interestin ". " Who is ho. anyway? asks Swiftv-. "Talks like one of these here now kinks." 'That's what he is, Swifty a king," says I. "All, vvotcha feedin' us!' protests Swifty. "They're gettin' a little scarce abroad," says J, "but here in the good eld United States we got a bumper crop. We 'vo got kings boweoop, as the Buddies Bud-dies say. Kings is what vre :re long on. And most of tts are proud of it." Swifty gawps at me for a second, rubs his cauliflower ear as a sign that he:s lost the trail, and then demands: "Whaddya mean, kinks f" "Heard of John D., the oil king, haven't you?" savs I. "And Mr! Schwab, the steel king? Well, they'ro only our headliners. We got lots move. . There's Henry, of Detroit; he's our flivver king. Then we got pickle kings, and bath-tub hinge, and chewing gum kings, and coal kings, and brof kings, and safety razor kings, and breakfast : food kings, and as many moro as there are nd. pages in the magazines." "Ah, them kind!" says Swifty. "Thcv don't bother me none." "Maybe not." says I, "but you give r,n to 'cm reg'lar, old son; that is, uu-; uu-; less you've quit eatin' food, and wear-in' wear-in' clothes, and buyin' things for the fat. Xo dodgiu' their tax collectors, r We all pay our share, and because : (here's so many of us that do is why they're kings." Swifty shrugs his shoulders care-'. care-'. less. That's a bit too deep for him, .' h he simply lets it slicks off. '"'This ; Bfistpw party," says Ac, "what kind , is he?" "About n third rater." pays T. "He's our paper-box king. "You don't hear - so much about him perhaps, but I happen hap-pen to know that in his line he's a topnotciier. Anythino; in pasteboard, - from egg-containers to the bos you lug-home lug-home your new Klussy Kut suit in, most likely comes from one'of his factories. fac-tories. And he runs a chain of pulp mills from the Allcgash to Chinook Falls, with enough hands in 'em to - outvote any two Tammany districts you could, name. Y'cs, he's some guy, Thomas D. Bristow." Swifty gets that, all right. In fact, 'he's impressed. He stares at me dazed. "Wot '11 I do then," says he, "when lie shows up at 2:lof" "Why," says I, "give him a chair and let him wait. Give him two chairs . if lie aint satisfied, or whittlo out a crown fur him. Do anvtliiug you think , ought to be floue for a paper-box .: king." "Ahr-r-r chee!" growls Swifty, reg- : ' isterin ' disgust. He don't believe in talking that way " about our truly gioat men, Swifty. : ' He 's got a reverent mind and a loyal : soul. Every man aocordin' to his bank account, is Swifty 's motto, and I ex-! ex-! rect there's a lot of others who hold - .the same. I dnn't know as I always get away from it myself. Eut this happens to bo one of my busy days. Inside of ten minutes I'm ' in tiie gym, workin' away with one of lny old reg'lars who has gouty finger joints and a 4i waist measure, but who's willin' to keep pluggin' away at ' the apparatus and cut dowu on the red meats until I get him back into shape. " Kind of interestin' too, taking these old boys with excess blood pressure, Wall 6treet livers, peevish digestions and so on, and sweatin' the rubbish out of 'em and gettin' 'em to breathe below the third rib. Maybe not so ' thrillin' as hammerin ' some ambitious ' comer through the ropes for the big end of the gate receipts, but I reckon it's a lot moro u'.eful. And in the long run it pays better. I don't get my picture on the sportin ' page so often of-ten as I used to when I was wearin' : the V.elt, but I don't have to live around - in trainin' camps or mix with a lot of tinhorn sports, either. And I'll admit 1 like the iob. So I'd cot the old boy v. ell lathered on and was givln' him a ten minutes' hreatiiin' spell, when Swifty sticks his )'crr! in the gvm door and announces ,:rsi-v "c.ayi shorty, lie's here." "lii':'" says J, iookin' blank at him. "That kink party Mr. Bristow," savs he. "Oh. very well," says I. "Lock the safe and tell him to mako himself at home. I'll be out in twenty minutes or so." You know how you'll frame up a picture pic-ture of someone you've never seen, just on their ren. What I was lookin' for when I finally steps into the front office as one of these potty old boys with a. hand-hewed faco and jutly eyebrows. And llffS ill'! HaH 'Sure'soyj 3mfy f Jnortj'&b & M f A ft the chucK IScd t hme?" Mr. "Bristow, because I couldn't deliver the goods." "May I ask why you could not?" says he. " T wouldn't press that if I was you," says I. "Eut T do," says he. "All right, then, I'll liave to give it to you," says I. "Your complaint Is common com-mon enough these days, and it's something some-thing that exercise and diet and deer breathing won't touch. You've got a bad ease of money on the brain complicated by bats In the belfrey. Too many fool ideas that you think are chunks of solid wisdom, and too chronic a habit of poinr out to buy the world. I can think of only ono treatment that would help." "Yes?" bays Bristow, lettin' on to be amused. "And that is?" "Sue some newspaper for libel." says I, "and let 'em put you on.tha witness stand." T don't mind sayln' either, that 1 took more or less satisfaction in hand in' tha: to Thomas D. Bristow. But Swifty, after chewin' a lead pencil for near two hours and covorin' the whole back of a calendar, calen-dar, figures out how my fun cost mo something like S-fSJi a minute. "Stop your ticklin. Swifty," saya I. "You make me feel like a plute." I expected he'd be pacin' up and down I chewin' a black cigar stump and gettin' ' red behind the ears. So I'm a little jarred when I discovers this busy group spread around my desk. Jn the swing chair, sort of iioldin' forth, as you might say, is this siiir, stoop-shouldered stoop-shouldered gent with the long face and the thin nose. It's an odd face, a bit whop per-jawed on one side, deep lines about the mouth corners, and the weirdest weird-est pair of buttermilk-bJue eyes J ever met. Camped in chairs Just beyond are two slicU-haired young fellows, one with a lapful of magazines and newspaper clippings, clip-pings, and the other with a notebook on his knue. Leanin' up against the water cooler is Swifty Joe, gawpin' fascinated. "Well," saya T, "reading from left to right, which is Mr. Barstow?" The long-faced party in the chair looks up, waves the young gent who's readin' something to stop, and remarks in a thin, wavery voice: "I er T am Mr. Bristow. And have T the pleasure of meeting Professor McCabe?" ! "If that's your idea of pleasure," says I, "you have. McCabe's my name. I 1 wasn't lookin' for you. thnugh, until tomorrow. to-morrow. Maybe Swifty didn't get it to j you clear." 1 "Oh, ye.-," says Briftaw careless. "But ! today suited mc better. You see, Pro- ' feasor, I had heard of you through some business acquaintances; rather important men, by the way. They spoke highly of your methods. Yesterday I decided to take a course with you. I need it. "We have been through rather a strenuous period pe-riod of late, we leaders of industry, if X may so class myself. I've had my "share, and it has left me not in the best condition. con-dition. And on the fifteenth of next month T must go abroad as chairman of the Commission to Promote International Fellowship, which I have recently organized. organ-ized. So you see I have no more than three weeks to give you, my dear Professor." Pro-fessor." He says it all easy and soothin", them queer eyes wanderln' around as lie talks and his slim fingers lacin' and u niacin' restless. "It didn't strike you I might be all dated up for today, eh?" sjiys J. "If it did." says he, "I failed to consider con-sider it. That can easily be arranged." "Think so, do you ?" sm ys I. "Of course." says he, "you may need , to cancel other engagements. I quite understand that this may be necessary. But, allow me to add, I am accustomed to paying for what I want liberally. ' I would suggest that we start in at ! once." And he unlimbers himself from : the cha ir. "Don't rush yourself," Fays T. "Ac- I cordin' to my schedule you don't start i in until 3:C0 tomorrow, if you start at all. That don't need any diagram, ; does it ?" I You'd most think a crisp comeback like that would get him pinkln' up be- j hind the ears. But it don't. Ho just J springs a curious, sappy, crooked smile j and flutters his bands at me like he 1 wa shooin' a balky sett in' hen off the i nest. I "Merkins," says ho, "my check book." j One of the slick -haired young gents j passes it over pro nipt and unscrews a 1 fountain pen. Business of f illin' in. ! "There!" ho goes on, passin' over a i baby blue slip. "That will be for the1 first week; afternoons, from 2 until 4:30." I glances at the cheek casual. It's for a round thousand, and I can hear j Swifty, who's rubberin' over my shoul- , der, breathin' hard. I'll admit, too, that's 1 more'n I usually take in for fifteen hours' work. But someway this T. D. Bristow ' person has stirred up the mulish streak j find that I would not care to have him continue as manager. His methods would not suit me at all. So I am requesting have wide Interests. T find all sorts of knowledge useful to me, even in the making of paper boxes. I must keep up with events and ideas. But there are only so many hours in the day and I have but one brain, fc'o I hire other brains, as I need them. At present I have six personal secretaries, aside from those in my business offices. Two are always with me. I may have a valuable thought which should not be lost. I may want something looked up. Then I must be informed as to the news of the day, and what the magazines are printing. I have poetry read to me at odd moments: book reviews, art notes, drama tic criticisms. "My fads T take care of in a similar way. A n active mentality Is bound to have fads. They are the escape valves. But of course I cannot devote to them the time that thy demand. So I hire experts to look after my fads. Poppy raising is one. Perhaps you have seen the Tom Bristow double -fringed scarlet poppy? No? Well, I have been awarded two first, prizes for it, and I pay my head gardener three thousand a year. Collecting Collect-ing pencil studies is another of my fads. A bankrupt art dealer gave me the Idea; said ft would be an original thing to do. So I hired him at a good salary and lie makes a monthly report of the treasures he picks up for me. This summer he made, a great find two sketches of an old lad;.' in a cha 1r, by some chap by the name of Whistler. So you see. McCabe. if you can buy what you want, why delude yourself your-self with the fiction of friendship?" "Why, I guess I never though much about It," says T. "Might be worth look-In' look-In' Into, this idea of yours. I've always supposed, though, that a few of my friends 1 -was the real thing, and if I've been ktd-j ktd-j din' myself along " "You surely have been, McCabe." breaks In Bristow. "Just for example now, suppose you pick out one person whom you could call a real friend." I don't know why, but off-hand I looks around for Swifty Joe Gallagher. J Fo ain't in sight, though. I expect seein' me i In me. I chucks the slip back on the desk. ".Listen, Mr. Man." says T. "Some of these parties you'd like to have me scratch off without any notice are old reg'lars of mine, who have been coming here to the Studio for years, and are de-pendin' de-pendin' on me to keep.'em In trim. Besides, Be-sides, most of 'em are personal friends." - "I beg pardon," says he, a cold look ' flicker in' into them butter milk -blue eyes and the thin upper lip tightenin' into a straight Jine. "Friends, did you say?" I nods. j "If you will permit me," saya he. j "They don't exist." "Eh?" says I, and I expect It left me with my mouth open. "Oh, it's a persistent and popular fallacy, fal-lacy, friendship." ways he; "but really, there Is no such thing." "Since when?" says I. "I suppose that condition has been going on since Adam." says he, smilin' sort of satisfied with himself, "Merkins, I take this. You see, my dear professor. 1 you merely confuse your ideas. One may have congenial acquantances, as weli as those who are uncongenial. Ono may have associates, amusing or otherwise. One may even have constant companions who are agreeable, likable, trustworthy in a degree, and more or less loyal. Those we value and cultivate. Or t hey may be irritating, deceitful, perhaps downright dishonest. That kind we en- ' dure because we don't know just how to get rid of them. But friendship, In ! the sense it is usually used; that implies! a personal .altruism which simply does not exist." Having unloaded that, Mr. Bristow leans back In the desk chair and twiddles , his lean fingers. I-Ie had me goin', all , right. I'd followed for a. while, then I got lost. Toward the last I was just scratchin' my head and watchin' Merkins scribble that fish-hook stuff on his pad. I could road one as well as I could understand un-derstand the' other. Course, I got the main idea. Bristow didn't believe in friends. "Then you're out of luck, I'll say," say 3 I, "Most persons seem to think I've been rather fortunate," says Bristow. And Merkins smothers a chuckle. While debatin' things like that ain't much in my line, and as a rule I'd be too busy, here T had half an hour before my next appointment and I didn't feel like lettin' him got away with any such chesty argument. "Mean to say, Mr, Bristow," j goes on. "that you never in your lite had anv-booy anv-booy who stuck by you through rousfh and smooth, who helped you when vou was down, and slapped vou on the back when you made a winning nobody vou could call a friend?" "I think my experience has been the usual one," says he. "There have been men who have been helpful to me it times; and women, too. More have been merely useful. But I am quite certain that none of them, whether consciously or not, but expected me at some time to become useful or helpful to them. That is human nature. We live first for ourselves. our-selves. It is the underlying law of every living thing, from protoplasm to philanthropist. philan-thropist. And when we talk of friends well, we are simply fooling ourselves." "You must have bumped uo against a lot of bard-boiled eggs in your time." says I, "to feel that way about it. What's your substitute for friends, anvwav secretaries?" sec-retaries?" and I jerks my thumb toward the slick-haired pair. "Hardly," says Bristow. "I use mv .secretaries as brain extensions. Most successful men do. They must, unless 'hey are content to be partial successes. 1 For every man of large affairs should |