“Perky,” I said, “cheer up. It's nothing to be sad about. But I feel that I have been overworking. I'm going to take a vacation. I'm going to Chicago, and I'm going to-day; but you can stay and reap the reward of their gratitude. I am only a secondary person. You are their benefactor.”
Perkins didn't take my remarks in the spirit in which they were meant. He jumped up and slammed his desk-lid, and locked it, banged the door of the safe, and, grabbing his Pratt hat, crushed it on his head. He gave one quick glance around the office, another at the clock, and bolted for the door. I saw that he was right. The train was due in two minutes; and it was the train from Chicago on which the Grand Rapids Rheumatic Club would arrive.
When we reached the station, the train was just pulling in; and, as we jumped aboard, the Grand Rapids delegation disembarked. Some had crutches and some had canes, some limped and some did not seem to be disabled. In fact, a good many seemed to be odiously able-bodied; and there was one who looked like a retired coal-heaver.
It was beautiful to see them sniffing the air as they stepped from the train. They were like a lot of children on the morning of circus day.
They gathered on the station platform, and gave their club yell; and then one enthusiastic old gentleman jumped upon a box and shouted:—
“What's the matter with Perkins?”
The club, by their loudly unanimous reply, signified that Perkins was all right But as I looked in the face of Perkins the Great, I felt that I could have given a more correct answer. I knew what was the matter with Perkins. He wanted to get away from the vulgar throng. He wanted that train to pull out And it did.
As we passed out of the town limits, we heard the Grand Rapids Rheumatic Club proclaiming in unison that Perkins was—
“First in peace! First in war! First in the hearts of his countrymen!”
But that was before they visited their real estate holdings.