“I’ve noticed the habit.”
“His work around here hasn’t been any too good the past year,” Wells added. “But the Ledger probably will keep him on until he dies.”
To Flash, Old Herm never mentioned his son or his troubles. Instead, he showed a deep interest in the young photographer’s aspirations and progress on the paper.
“It does my old bones good to see a cub like you get on,” he said heartily. “So many boys these days want the path smoothed out for ’em or they won’t play. But you grab the bull by the horns and dare him to gore you. I had that kind of stuff in me, too, when I was a lad years ago. The bull was stronger than I was, and here I am, workin’ a watch dog job at sixty-eight.”
It was rather difficult for Flash to imagine that Old Herm ever had been a man to wrestle directly with life, but he felt flattered by the watchman’s remarks.
“You were saying the other day you remembered my father,” he reminded the old fellow.
“Oh, yes, yes, I remember him well.”
“You didn’t by chance ever work in the old Post building?”
Old Herm shook his head as he pulled out his watch, a huge disc of yellow gold. “Well, got to be movin’ along. Time to punch another one of them infernal clocks.”
Saturday evening instead of going directly home after work, Flash took dinner downtown and then went to the Y.M.C.A. for a swim with his friend, Jerry Hayes. It was practically the first recreation he had taken since starting his new job on the Ledger. Every spare moment had been spent in study and experimentation. Now he felt he could take a little time off.