|
Main
- books.jibble.org
My Books
- IRC Hacks
Misc. Articles
- Meaning of Jibble
- M4 Su Doku
- Computer Scrapbooking
- Setting up Java
- Bootable Java
- Cookies in Java
- Dynamic Graphs
- Social Shakespeare
External Links
- Paul Mutton
- Jibble Photo Gallery
- Jibble Forums
- Google Landmarks
- Jibble Shop
- Free Books
- Intershot Ltd
|
books.jibble.org
Previous Page
| Next Page
Page 71
"I see three was kilt-up in wan yistaday in th' Bur-ronx," said Cassidy
interestedly.
"Good thing for the tired business man, though," said Bean, yawning in a
bored way. "And that fellow of mine is careful."
Then his seeming boredom vanished.
"Say, you can't guess who I saw just now. Close to him as I am to you
this minute--"
* * * * *
Solitary in the big red car, descending the crowded lanes of the city
the next morning, Bean's sensations were conceivably those that had been
Ram-tah's at the zenith of his power. There was the fragrant and
cherished memory of the Greatest Pitcher, and a car to ride solitary in
that simply blared the common herd from before it. People in street-cars
looked enviously out at him. He lolled urbanely, with a large public
manner. When you were a king you behaved like one, and the world knelt
to you. Great pitchers sitting under the same roof with you; red
motor-cars; fumed oak dining-rooms; flappers; brokers; shares. He wished
he had thought to chew an unlighted cigar in this resplendent chariot.
There seemed to be almost a public demand for it. Certain things were
expected of a man!
"Be here at four-thirty," he directed.
And Paul, his fellow, glancing up along the twenty-two stories of the
office building, was impressed. He considered it probable that the bored
young man owned this building. "The guys that have gits!" thought Paul.
Bean was preposterously working once more, playing the part of a cog on
the wheel. Another day, it seemed, of that grotesque nonsense, even
after the world's Greatest Pitcher had sat not twenty feet from him the
night before, eating raspberry ice. But events could not long endure
_that_ strain. Before the day was over Breede would undoubtedly "fire"
him, with two or three badly chosen words; actually go through the form
of discharging a man who had once ruled all Egypt with a kindly but an
iron hand!
Of course, the fellow was unconscious of this, as he still must be of
the rare joke the flapper was exquisitely holding over his head. His
demeanour toward Bean betrayed no recognition of shares or pitchers or
big red cars, nor of the ever-impending change in their relationship. He
dictated fragments of English words, and Bean reconstructed them with
the cunning of a Cuvier. He felt astute, robust, and disrespectful. Just
one wrong word from Breede and all would be over between them. The poor
old wreck didn't dream that he had nursed a flapper in his bosom, a
flapper that would just perfectly have what she wanted--and no good
fussing.
In the outer office, however, he was aware that his expansion was subtly
making itself felt. Bulger had insensibly altered and was treating him
after the manner of a fellow club man. Old Metzeger said "Good morning!"
to him affectionately--for Metzeger--and once he detected Tully staring
at him through the enlarging glasses as if in an effort to read his very
soul. But he knew his soul was not to be read by such as Tully. Tully,
back there on the Nile, would have been a dancer--at the most, a fancy
skater--if, indeed, he had risen to the human order, and were not still
a slinking gazelle. Good name that, for Tully. He would remember
it--gazelle!
At three o'clock he glanced aside from his typewriter to see a director
enter Breede's room. He did not lift his look above the hem of the man's
coat, but he knew him for the quiet one. And yet, when the door closed
upon him, he seemed to become as noisy as any of them. Bean heard his
voice rising.
Another director came, the big one who gripped a cigarette with an
obviously cigar mouth. Once behind the shut door he seemed to approve of
the noise and to be swelling its volume.
Three other directors hurried in, the elderly advanced dresser in the
lead. He, of course, was always indignant, but now the other two were
manifesting choler equal to his own. They puffed and glowered and, when
the door had closed, they seemed to help skilfully with the uproar. It
was a mob scene.
Bean was reminded of a newspaper line he had once or twice encountered:
"The scene was one of indescribable confusion. Pandemonium reigned!"
Pandemonium indubitably seemed to reign over those directors. He
wondered. He wondered uncomfortably.
Previous Page
| Next Page
|
|