“I cant. Good luck Nevada.” The whisky warm in his stomach, tingling in his fingers, Jimmy Herf stepped out into seven o’clock Park Avenue, whirring with taxicabs, streaked with smells of gasoline and restaurants and twilight.
It was the first evening James Merivale had gone to the Metropolitan Club since he had been put up for it; he had been afraid, that like carrying a cane, it was a little old for him. He sat in a deep leather chair by a window smoking a thirtyfive cent cigar with the Wall Street Journal on his knee and a copy of the Cosmopolitan leaning against his right thigh and, with his eyes on the night flawed with lights like a crystal, he abandoned himself to reverie: Economic Depression.... Ten million dollars.... After the war slump. Some smash I’ll tell the world. BLACKHEAD & DENSCH FAIL FOR $10,000,000.... Densch left the country some days ago.... Blackhead incommunicado in his home at Great Neck. One of the oldest and most respected import and export firms in New York, $10,000,000. O it’s always fair weather When good fellows get together. That’s the thing about banking. Even in a deficit there’s money to be handled, collateral. These commercial propositions always entail a margin of risk. We get ’em coming or else we get ’em going, eh Merivale? That’s what old Perkins said when Cunningham mixed him that Jack Rose.... With a stein on the tabul And a good song ri-i-inging clear. Good connection that feller. Maisie knew what she was doing after all.... A man in a position like that’s always likely to be blackmailed. A fool not to prosecute.... Girl’s crazy he
said, married to another man of the same name.... Ought to be in a sanitarium, a case like that. God I’d have dusted his hide for him. Circumstances exonerated him completely, even mother admitted that. O Sinbad was in bad in Tokio and Rome ... that’s what Jerry used to sing. Poor old Jerry never had the feeling of being in good right in on the ground floor of the Metropolitan Club.... Comes of poor stock. Take Jimmy now ... hasnt even that excuse, an out and out failure, a misfit from way back.... Guess old man Herf was pretty wild, a yachtsman. Used to hear mother say Aunt Lily had to put up with a whole lot. Still he might have made something of himself with all his advantages ... dreamer, wanderlust ... Greenwich Village stuff. And dad did every bit as much for him as he did for me.... And this divorce now. Adultery ... with a prostitute like as not. Probably had syphilis or something. Ten Million Dollar Failure.
Failure. Success.
Ten Million Dollar Success.... Ten Years of Successful Banking.... At the dinner of the American Bankers Association last night James Merivale, president of the Bank & Trust Company, spoke in answer to the toast ‘Ten Years of Progressive Banking.’ ... Reminds me gentlemen of the old darky who was very fond of chicken.... But if you will allow me a few serious words on this festive occasion (flashlight photograph) there is a warning note I should like to sound ... feel it my duty as an American citizen, as president of a great institution of nationwide, international in the better sense, nay, universal contacts and loyalties (flashlight photograph).... At last making himself heard above the thunderous applause James Merivale, his stately steelgray head shaking with emotion, continued his speech.... Gentlemen you do me too much honor.... Let me only add that in all trials and tribulations, becalmed amid the dark waters of scorn or spurning the swift rapids of popular estimation, amid the still small hours of the night, and in the roar of millions at noonday, my staff, my bread of life, my
inspiration has been my triune loyalty to my wife, my mother, and my flag.
The long ash from his cigar had broken and fallen on his knees. James Merivale got to his feet and gravely brushed the light ash off his trousers. Then he settled down again and with an intent frown began to read the article on Foreign Exchange in the Wall Street Journal.
They sit up on two stools in the lunchwaggon.