The Basket-Ball Boss by Leslie W. Quirk
“THE deal can be closed at your earliest convenience. Very truly yours.... That’s all, Miss Ticknor. Bring in the letter just as soon as you write it, please.”
As the stenographer closed the door behind her, Freeman Judd spun his pivoted desk chair in a half circle, and, with hands clasped across his stomach, gazed thoughtfully at the calendar on the wall. For a full minute he sat this way without moving; then, whirling back again, he pressed the button at the side of his desk.
A freckle-faced, red-headed office boy answered.
“George,” said Mr. Judd, “I guess he’s waited long enough. Tell him to come in now.”
The office boy grinned appreciatively. A moment later the door opened to admit a dapper young man, who looked something as Freeman Judd must have looked twenty-five years before.
The embarrassment as father and son faced each other ended when Judd, senior, said brusquely, “Sit down, Vern; sit down! Chairs don’t cost anything in this office. What’s the matter now? What are you here for?”
The boy looked him frankly in the eyes. “Thompson Brothers fired me this morning.”
If his father was irritated, his face did not betray the fact. “As a business man,” he grunted, “you don’t seem to be much of a success.”
The boy swallowed. It was like downing a bitter dose of medicine. “You see, father,” he blurted out, “I’ve come to believe you were right and I was wrong. I want to start in the business here just the way I did four years ago.”
“Ah, you do!” Freeman Judd surveyed his son a little grimly. “Suppose we review this thing, Vern. You’re a rich man’s son. When you went to college, I gave you a good big allowance. I wanted you to have all the advantages that I had missed. What did you do there? Did you stick to anything? Did you learn one thing—one single thing—thoroughly?”
“Not a thing,” admitted Vernon Judd cheerfully, “unless you count basket-ball.”
“Basket-ball? H’m! I don’t see how that is going to help you make a success of life. Well, you graduated, though Heaven knows how, and came in here. Three months later you quit. Things were too slow for you. Your grandfather had left you a little legacy, and you wanted action.”
The younger Judd chuckled. “Didn’t I get it?”
“You did,” admitted his father, allowing his face the luxury of a smile; “you got the action and the Wall Street boys got your money. Since then you’ve tried a dozen things, never holding on to one of them longer than a month or six weeks. And now you breeze back and ask me to give you another chance.”
The boy leaned forward earnestly, his mouth tightening into the same lines of determination that marked his father’s.
“Dad, a week ago I took myself into my room and had a frank talk with myself. When I was through, I’d made up my mind to quit being a chump and to turn myself into something useful. I wasn’t fired from Thompson Brothers’ because I didn’t do my work, but because I wouldn’t stand for a piece of dirty office politics. I’ve found myself. This time I’ll stick it out. Do I get another chance, or not?”
Freeman Judd looked the boy over, much as though he were eying a horse. “Vern,” he said finally, “I never thought I’d do such a thing, but I’m inclined to give you another go at your old job. I know you’ve got the goods, and I believe at last——” A knock at the door stopped him. “Come in, Wallber.”
“Sorry to disturb you, Mr. Judd,” said the head clerk, as he entered, with an envelope in his hand, “but the man who brought this said it had to have an answer right away.”
As he made out the letterhead, the boy’s face became a shade paler. His father scanned the communication with a frown.
“Vern”—the voice had taken a harsher tone—“this is a statement from Flett & Son. They say you owe them one hundred and fifteen dollars for some evening clothes, and that if it isn’t paid they will be obliged to sue.”
“It’s a rotten trick, dad. I bought the stuff eight months ago; I’d have paid for it, too, if I hadn’t lost my jobs while I was laying aside the money. I haven’t been dodging them. I explained how it was. Anyhow, they hadn’t any business sending a bill to you. I’m over age and——”
His father stood up abruptly. “It’s legalized blackmail,” he snapped. “They think I’ll pay this rather than allow it to get into the papers. And they’re right.” He paced up and down the room without speaking. Suddenly he faced the boy. “Vern, I’ve changed my mind about you. I don’t want you in here until you can prove to me that you are able to get a job paying enough to live on, and to hold it for a reasonable time.”
“But, dad——”
His father held up an interrupting hand. “No use talking. I have decided. When you have learned to stand alone on your own two feet, then you may come in with Judd & Company—not before. Any more bills? No? All right; I’ll pay this one. Then I intend giving you an order on the cashier for thirty dollars. Take that and buy a railroad ticket that will land you the greatest distance from New York. I don’t care where you go; the only condition is that you finally land a job, and that you keep it for a full six months. That shall be the test. Understand? Six months in the same position.”
Vernon Judd nodded soberly.
“When you’ve shown you can do that, and have lived on what you earn without running bills, come back and you’ll find a desk waiting for you. If you can’t do it, I don’t want to see you again. Well?”
“That’s a fair proposition, dad. Six months at the same job on a living wage. I’ll do it.”
Freeman Judd sucked in his lower lip. “Here’s your order for the thirty dollars, then. And remember, Vern, nobody wants to see you win more than your old dad. Good-by. As you go through the outer office, tell Wallber I want to see him.”