The thing always of big importance was that I should beat someone else to a seat in the car. But now I began to watch and study that mass of humanity packed into the car with me. The mass resolved itself into individual beings. I picked out those having the old-age spirit from the ones who had the spirit of youth. By far the larger number-regardless of the years they had lived-were caught in the grip of the old-age fear, and were traveling in the old-age ruts. A good many, like little Miss Marsh, were trying to camouflage their old age by artificial means.
A new sympathy began to warm in my heart for mankind-so pitiably ignorant of Life and of the ways to gain its real joys. My New Yorker’s reserve began to relax, and I let myself do little helpful things for my fellow travelers. One night I helped an old East-Side Jew struggling under a load of second-hand clothing. The poor old chap’s surprised smile of appreciation brought a quick lump into my throat; and a kindlier feeling for the whole Jewish race warmed in my heart. I was growing tensely interested, too, in all the doings of our little New Jersey town. Each day I was making new friends. All of which meant a vitalizing of my heart’s stagnation.
My son George was well again, and had gone back to his work. Mattie-my wife-had come home. I had rented a small house not far from the printing-office, and we were getting ready to move to New Jersey.
Then, after I had been working for him two weeks, Ben Hutchins was seized with a bad attack of lumbago, and was laid up at home for a month. At the end of that time his daughter had persuaded him to go to California and spend the rest of the winter.
When he reached a final decision relative to this California trip, he sent for me to come and see him. I had been several times, during his sickness, to the big, old-fashioned house, where he lived with his widowed daughter. His wife was dead. When I went now we had another of our brief talks. He was going to leave the printing-plant entirely up to me.
“Run it as well as you can, and keep me posted how you’re coming on.”
He gave no further instructions. But by this time I had learned that he liked to be met in his own brief way of doing business-never wanted any fuss of words; when he felt justified in trusting a man, he trusted him absolutely. And I knew now that he felt this trust in me. When, on leaving, I shook hands with him, I gave him a tight grip of appreciation, and we exchanged a look of mutual understanding.
I had already hired another printer. And Mattie, now that we had moved over to our new home, came every day to the office and helped. I made a number of changes in the old plant. I even put into operation some of the modern efficiency methods which I had scorned in the New York plant. Our job printing was growing; and we were getting new subscribers and more advertising for the newspaper.
One day a peculiar thing happened. I had run over to New York, to get some new parts for our old press. This errand took me down town, in the neighborhood of the Sixth Avenue Elevated station, which had been a part of my daily rut for so many years. The sight of it now took me back to the day when I got my discharge. I smiled when I thought of how helpless I had stood there in the rain. It made me realize how far from the old rut I had traveled.
Then I thought of the old chap who had sold newspapers, and wondered if he was still working on his beat. I looked about for him and, sure enough, there he was, wearing the same ancient discolored straw hat. I followed and spoke to him. I had lost all fear now of being submerged in his old-age class. It was noon, and I asked him to go to lunch with me. He gazed in a daze of questioning surprise, then accepted the invitation.