The Jucklins: A Novel

by Opie Percival Read

We stepped out into the hall and he yelled: "Down!" He shoved me into an elevator among a number of men and women, and though we were all jammed together no one appeared to notice me; but when we got out a boy whistled at a companion and yelled: "Hi, Samson!" Mr. Ging darted out under the arch, and I almost ran over him, when he halted on the sidewalk to talk to a man. They walked along together for quite a distance, nodding and making gestures, and when they separated Ging said to me that he had just bought a subdivision of real estate. At this I appeared to be pleased, but I was not; I was afraid that before the close of the deal he might entangle himself in so many transactions that he could not afford to pay cash for the mica mine. The further we went the faster he walked, and suddenly he darted through a wall, and the swinging doors came back and slapped me in the face. We sat down to a table and Mr. Ging said that I might take whatever I desired, but that he wanted only a cup of coffee and a piece of apple pie. I was hungry, had eaten no breakfast and felt as if I could devour a beef steak as big as a saddle skirt, but I said that coffee and apple pie would do me. He asked me a number of questions concerning the mine, its distance from a railway, condition of the wagon roads, and especially did he want to know whether the local tax assessor made it a point to discriminate against the non-resident property owner. I caught the spirit of his quick utterances, and blew out my words in a splutter, striving to be business-like, but before I could cover all his points he had eaten his pie and was impatiently waiting for me.

"Want to go round to-night?" he asked, and before I could tell him that I did want to go round, having but a vague idea as to what he meant, he added: "And if I can get off this afternoon I'll take you out to the stock-yards."

"I would much rather see your finest library," I replied.

"I guess you've got me there; don't know where it is, but I suppose we can find it in the directory."

"I have read of the Art Institute here. You know where that is, I presume."

"Y-e-s—low building over on the lake front. But I've never had time to go into it. Well, suppose we get back to the office."

I raced with him, but he beat me by a neck, being more accustomed to the track; and he shouted "Up!" as he darted under the marble arch. I grabbed him and held him for a moment, told him that I did not care to go up again so soon, that I would stroll about for a time and see him after a while.

"Yes, but you'll come back, eh? I guess we'll take that mine if we can agree upon terms. We own one in Colorado. Don't fail to come back. Up!"

I went out into the center of the maelstrom and laughed at him—a capitalist keeping pace with indigestion, racing against time. Little wonder that he was bald and pinched.

I thought that I would find a leisurely place and slowly eat a dinner, and I did find many places, but none of them was leisurely. I went to a hotel, and there I ate a meal without running the risk of having my chair thrown over, and then I returned to the Rookery. Mr. Ging was lost in his work, and in a room which opened into his apartment two girls were hammering a race on writing machines. I walked into this room, and the girls went on with their work as if I were at home looking over toward the General's house instead of looking down at them. A bell tinkled in Ging's room. One of the girls went to him and I heard him talking rapidly to her, and presently she came back with a pad of paper in her hand, and furiously attacked her machine. Ging rushed out into the hall and both machines stopped, and the girls began to nibble at bon-bons, but a moment later they dashed at their work, for Ging had returned. I went back into his room, and, glancing round, I saw one of the girls look up at the ceiling and then down at the floor. I knew that she was making fun of me, and in my heart I confessed myself her enemy.