The Hand of the Mighty, and Other Stories

by Vaughan Kester

Fifteen minutes later they were working away again as though nothing unusual had happened. Gordon, at his desk, was trying to add a long column of figures, while every now and then something fell upon the pages of the ledger before him that raised a round blister or blurred the ink.

That day marked the beginning of the change with John Norton. He felt that this new position of his was held at the expense of manhood and self-respect. This left its mark on his character. Alertness and energy seemed to leave him as the ambition faded out of his life. In his despair he became morbid. His was the uncertainty of a man who feels he has failed without knowing how or where. He told himself the day was coming to him just as it had come to Gordon, when his services would no longer be of value to any one,—his little contribution to the world's progress having been made he would be discarded, he would drift farther and farther out of the moving current of things until he finally reached the great Sargasso of human energy where the wrecks stay, a derelict.

At first he had preferred to look upon the position as temporary, as a convenience to serve his end until a better offered, but nothing better did offer and he finally lost all idea of another place. His only fear was that he might be discharged, and he knew that a week's idleness would be a calamity.

Try as he would he could not get ahead. It was with difficulty that he managed to keep up his life insurance, which was the only provision he was able to make for the future.

It was probable that at this time neither his economies nor his expenditures were ordered with any particular intelligence or to any practical ends. His ability was that of the average man and he sacrificed himself to the average opinion. It was necessary for him to live in a certain way; his home must be in a respectable neighborhood, his wife and children must be well dressed. These were the essentials.

Sometimes he talked with Alice of giving up the struggle. He had a vague notion that if he went into the country, where he could work with his hands, he would do better and get larger returns for his toil. But it always ended in talk; nothing ever came of it; his point of view was the extreme one. He felt that he belonged to another race and time, with different ideals, different capacities and different aptitudes. The men he knew were all of the same sort. With the brawn of pioneers and soldiers wasting in their arms they were clutching pens pathetically enough, or selling silks and millinery when they had much rather be felling trees. But the trees are all felled, the worlds work as far as it can be done by hand is finished, and these primitive natures, who in a wilderness would have been all sufficient to themselves, retain but a doubtful utility.

Alice never really knew how difficult it was for him,—he kept that to himself.

He was held accountable for all the laxity on the part of those under him, and the office force was habitually indifferent, as men are apt to be who feel there is nothing to be gained by zeal and conscientiousness. Scarcely a day passed that he did not smart beneath the weight of Haviland's displeasure, nor could he rid himself of the terrible and degrading fear he had of the man. He would stand in dogged silence—abject, bruised and shaken—whenever Haviland chose to break the ready vials of wrath upon him. Haviland was not always disagreeable, however; he had his genial moments when it was wise to enter heartily into the spirit of his peculiar humor.

Norton's position was nominally at least, confidential. Once each year he made out a statement that found its way before the directors at their annual meeting. In preparing this statement it was necessary to go over the stocks, bonds and securities in the vaults with Haviland; then together they counted the cash in hand and John signed his name to the report, a formality having a certain significance in the mind of one of the directors at least, for he turned in his first statement unsigned, and had been called before the directors. Mr. Bliss, the largest individual stockholder in the company, had gravely interrogated him regarding the matter. The explanation was simple enough. Haviland had not told him to sign the statement. Upon learning this, Mr. Bliss had suggested that the managing director immediately inform the bookkeeper as to the exact nature of his duties. John was greatly impressed by the incident, so much so that afterward, when making out the annual statement, he was always troubled by an exaggerated sense of its importance.

He had been with Bliss, Haviland and Company three years, when he made a little discovery. Haviland was speculating,—in direct violation of his agreement with the company.