Where the Blue Begins Read online

  CHAPTER NINE

  There had been great excitement in the private offices of Beagleand Company after Gissing's sudden disappearance. Old Mr. Beagle wasfurious, and hotly scolded his son. In spite of his advanced age, Beaglesenior was still an autocrat and insisted on regulating the detailsof the great business he had built up. "You numbskull!" he shouted toBeagle junior, "that fellow was worth any dozen others in the place, andyou let him be fired by a mongrel superintendent."

  "But, Papa," protested the vice-president, "the superintendent had toobey the rules. You know how strict the underwriters are about smoking.Of course he should have warned Gissing, instead of discharging him."

  "Rules!" interrupted old Beagle fiercely--"Rules don't apply in a caselike this. I tell you that fellow has a genius for storekeeping. Haven'tI watched him on the floor? I've never seen one like him. What's thegood of your newfangled methods, your card indexes and overhead charts,when you haven't even got a record of his address?"

  Growling and showing his teeth, the head of the firm plodded stifflydownstairs and discharged the superintendent himself. Already he sawsigns of disorganization in the main aisle. Miss Whippet was tearful:customers were waiting impatiently to have exchange slips O. K.'d: Mrs.Dachshund was turning over some jewelled lorgnettes, but it was plainthat she was only "looking," and had no intention to purchase.

  So when, after many vain inquiries, the advertisement reached itstarget, the old gentleman welcomed Gissing with genuine emotion. Hereceived him into his private office, locked the door, and produced adecanter. Evidently beneath his irritable moods he had sensibilities ofhis own.

  "I have given my life to trade," he said, "and I have grown weary ofwatching the half-hearted simpletons who imagine they can rise to thetop by thinking more about themselves than they do about the business.You, Mr. Gissing, have won my heart. You see storekeeping as I do--afine art, an absorbing passion, a beautiful, thrilling sport. It is anart as lovely and subtle as the theatre, with the same skill in wooingand charming the public."

  Gissing bowed, and drank Mr. Beagle's health, to cover his astonishment.The aged merchant fixed him with a glittering eye.

  "I can see that storekeeping is your genius in life. I can see that youare naturally consecrated to it. My son is a good steady fellow, but helacks the divine gift. I am getting old. We need new fire, new brains,in the conduct of this business. I ask you to forgive the unluckyblunder we made lately, and devote yourself to us."

  Gissing was very much embarrassed. He wanted to say that if he wasgoing to consecrate himself to floorwalking, he would relish a raisein salary; but old Beagle was so tremulous and kept blowing his nose soloudly that Gissing doubted if he could make himself heard.

  "I want you to take a position as General Manager," said Mr. Beagle,"with a salary of ten thousand a year."

  He rose and threw open a mahogany door that led out of his own sanctum."Here is your office," he said.

  The bewildered Gissing looked about the room--the mahogany flat-toppeddesk with a great sheet of plate glass shining greenly at its thickedges; an inkwell, pens and pencils, a little glass bowl full of brightpaper-clips; one of those rocking blotters that are so tempting; a watercooler which just then uttered a seductive gulping bubble; an electricfan, gently humming; wooden trays for letters and memoranda; on onewall a great chart of names, lettered Organization of Personnel; a nicedomestic-looking hat-and-coat stand; a soft green rug--Ah, how alluringit all was!

  Mr. Beagle pointed to the outer door of the room, which had a frostedpane. Through the glass the astounded floorwalker could read the words

  REGANAM LARENEG GNISSIG.RM

  What a delightful little room to meditate in. From the broad windows hecould see the whole shining tideway of Fifth Avenue, passing lazily inthe warm sunlight. He turned to Mr. Beagle, greatly moved.

  The next day an advertisement appeared in the leading papers, to thiseffect:--

  ________________________ BEAGLE AND COMPANY take pleasure in announcing to their patrons and friends that MR. GISSING has been admitted to the firm in the status of General Manager Je Maintiendrai __________________________

  Mrs. Purp's excitement at this is easier imagined than described. Heronly fear was that now she would lose her best lodger. She made Purpgo out and buy a new shirt and a collar; she told Gissing, ratherpathetically, that she intended to have the whole house repapered in thefall. The big double suite downstairs, which could be used as bedroomand sitting-room, she suggested as a comfortable change. But Gissingpreferred to remain where he was. He had grown fond of the top floor.

  Certainly there was an exhilaration in his new importance andprosperity. The store buzzed with the news. At his request, Miss Whippetwas promoted to the seventh floor to be his secretary. It was delightfulto make his morning tour of inspection through the vast building. Mr.Hound, the store detective, loved to tell his cronies how suspiciouslyhe had followed "The Duke" that first day. As Gissing moved through thebusy departments he saw eyes following him, tails wagging. Customerswere more flattered than ever by his courteous attentions. One dayhe even held a little luncheon party in the restaurant, at which Mrs.Dachshund, Mrs. Mastiff, and Mrs. Sealyham were his guests. He invitedtheir husbands, but the latter were too busy to come. It would have beenmore prudent of them to attend. That afternoon Mrs. Dachshund, carriedaway by enthusiasm, bought a platinum wrist-watch. Mrs. Mastiff boughta diamond dog-collar. Mrs. Sealyham, whose husband was temporarilyembarrassed in Wall Street, contented herself with a Sheratonchifforobe.

  But it began to be evident that his delightful little office was notgoing to be a shrine for quiet meditation. His vanity had been pleasedby the large advertisement about him, but he suddenly realized thepoison that lies in printer's ink. Almost overnight, it seemed, he hadbeen added to ten thousand mailing lists. Little Miss Whippet, althoughshe was fast at typewriting, was hard put to it to keep up with hiscorrespondence. She quivered eagerly over her machine, her smallpaws flying. New pink ribbons gleamed through her translucent summerygeorgette blouse. They were her flag of exultation at her surprisingrise in life. She felt it was immensely important to get all theseletters answered promptly.

  And so did Gissing. In his new zeal, and in his innocent satisfactionat having entered the inner circle of Big Business, he insisted onanswering everything. He did not realize that dictating letters is thequaint diversion of business men, and that most of them mean nothing. Itis simply the easiest way of assuring yourself that you are busy.

  This job was no sinecure. Old Mr. Beagle had so much affectionateconfidence in Gissing that he referred almost everything to himfor decision. Mr. Beagle junior, perhaps a little annoyed at thefloorwalker's meteoric translation, spent the summer afternoons atgolf. The infinite details of a great business crowded upon him.Inexperienced, he had not learned the ways in which seasoned"executives" protect themselves against useless intrusion. His telephonebuzzed like a hornet. Not five minutes went by without callers orinterruptions of some sort.

  Most amazing of all, he found, was the miscellaneous passion forpalaver displayed by Big Business. Immediately he was invited to joininnumerable clubs, societies, merchants' associations. Every day wouldarrive letters, on heavily embossed paper--"The Sales Managers Club willhold a round-table discussion on Friday at one o'clock. We would greatlyappreciate it if you would be with us and say a few words."--"Will yoube our guest at the monthly dinner of the Fifth Avenue Guild, and giveus any preachment that is on your mind?"--"The Merchandising UpliftGroup of Murray Hill will meet at the Commodore for an informallunch. It has been suggested that you contribute to the discussion onUnderwriting Overhead."--"The Executives Association plans a clambakeand barbecue at the Barking Rock Country Club. Around the bonfire a fewimpromptu remarks on Business Cycles will be called for. May we count onyou?"--"Will you address the Convention of Knitted Bodygarment Buyers,on whatever topic is nearest your heart?"--"Will you write
for Bunionand Callous, the trade organ of the Floorwalkers' Union, a thousand-wordreview of your career?"--"Will you broadcast a twenty-minute talk onDepartment Store Ethics, at the radio station in Newark? 250,000 radiofans will be listening in." New to the strange and high-spirited worldof "executives," it was natural that Gissing did not realize that thenet importance of this kind of thing was absolute zero. It did strikehim as odd, perhaps, that merchants did not dare to go on a junket orplan a congenial dinner without pretending to themselves that it hadsome business significance. But, having been so amazingly lifted intothis atmosphere of great affairs, he felt it was his duty to the storeto play the game according to the established rules. He was bornealong on a roaring spate of conferences, telephone calls, appointments,Rotarian lunches, Chamber of Commerce dinners, picnics to talk tariff,house-parties to discuss demurrage, tennis tournaments to settle thesales-tax, golf foursomes to regulate price-maintenance. Of all thesematters he knew nothing whatever; and he also saw that as far as thebusiness of Beagle and Company was concerned it would be better notto waste his time on such side-issues. The way he could really be ofservice was in the store itself, tactfully lubricating that complicatedengine of goods and personalities. But he learned to utter, when calledupon, a few suave generalities, barbed with a rollicking story. Thismade him always welcome. He was of a studious disposition, and likedto examine this queer territory of life with an unprejudiced eye. Afterall, his inward secret purpose had nothing to do with the success orfailure of retail trade. He was still seeking a horizon that would stayblue when he reached it.

  More and more he was interested to perceive how transparent the mummeryof business was. He was interested to note how persistently men fledfrom success, how carefully most of them avoided the obvious principlesof utility, honesty, prudence, and courtesy, which are inevitablyrewarded. These sagacious, humorous fellows who were amusing themselveswith twaddling trade apothegms and ridiculous banqueteering solemnities,surely they were aware that this had no bearing upon their own jobs?He suspected that it was all a feverish anodyne to still some inwardunease. Since they must (not being fools) be aware that these anticswere mere subtraction of time from their business, the obviousconclusion was, they were not happy with business. There was somestrange wistfulness in the conduct of Big Business Dogs, he thought.Under the pretence of transacting affairs, they were really trying todiscover something that had eluded them.

  The same thing, strangely enough, seemed to be going on in a sphere ofwhich he knew nothing, the world of art. He gathered from the papersthat writers, painters, musicians, were holding shindies almost everynight, at which delightful rebels, too busy to occupy themselves withactual creation, talked charmingly about their plans. Poets were readingpoems incessantly, forgetting to write any. Much of the newspapercomment on literature made him shudder, for though this was a provincequite strange to him, he had sound instincts. He discerned fatalignorance and absurdity between the pompous lines. Yet, in its own way,it seemed a bold and honest ignorance. Were these, too, like the wistfulexecutives, seeking where the blue begins?

  But what was this strange agitation that forbade his fellow-creaturesfrom enjoying the one thing that makes achievement possible--Solitude?He himself, so happy to be left alone--was no one else like that? Andyet this very solitude that he craved and revelled in was, by a sublimeparadox, haunted by mysterious loneliness. He felt sometimes as thoughhis heart had been broken off from some great whole, to which it yearnedto be reunited. It felt like a bone that had been buried, which Godwould some day dig up. Sometimes, in his caninomorphic conceptionof deity, he felt near him the thunder of those mighty paws. In raremoments of silence he gazed from his office window upon the sun-gilded,tempting city. Her madness was upon him--her splendid craze of haste,ambition, pride. Yet he wondered. This God he needed, this liberatinghorizon, was it after all in the cleverest of hiding-places--in himself?Was it in his own undeluded heart?

  Miss Whippet came scurrying in to say that the Display Manager beggedhim to attend a conference. The question of apportioning window spaceto the various departments was to be reconsidered. Also, the bookdepartment had protested having rental charged against them for booksexhibited merely to add a finishing touch to a furniture display. Otheragenda: the Personnel Director wished an appointment to discussthe ruling against salesbitches bobbing their hair. The CommissaryDepartment wished to present revised figures as to the economy thatwould be effected by putting the employees' cafeteria on the same flooras the store's restaurant. He must decide whether early closing onSaturdays would continue until Labor Day.

  As he went about these and a hundred other fascinating trivialities, hehad a painful sense of treachery to Mr. Beagle senior. The old gentlemanwas so touchingly certain that he had found in him the ideal shoulderson which to unload his honourable and crushing burden. With more thanpaternal pride old Beagle saw Gissing, evidently urbane and competent,cheerfully circulating here and there. The shy angel of doubt that laydeep in Gissing's cider-coloured eye, the proprietor did not come nearenough to observe.

  If there is tragedy in our story, alas here it is. Gissing, incorrigibleseceder from responsibilities that did not touch his soul, did not daretell his benefactor the horrid truth. But the worm was in his heart.Late one night, in his room at Mrs. Purp's, he wrote a letter to Mr.Poodle. After mailing it at a street-box, he had a sudden pang. To thedreamer, decisions are fearful. Then he shook himself and ran lightly toa little lunchroom on Amsterdam Avenue, where he enjoyed doughnuts andiced tea. His mind was resolved. The doughnuts, by a simple symbolism,made him think of Rotary Clubs, also of millstones. No, he must befugitive from honour, from wealth, from Chambers of Commerce. Fugitivefrom all save his own instinct. Those who have bound themselves are onlytoo eager to see the chains on others. There was no use attempting toexplain to Mr. Beagle--the dear old creature would not understand.

  The next day, after happily and busily discharging his duties, andstaying late to clean up his desk, Gissing left Beagle and Companyfor good. The only thing that worried him, as he looked round hiscomfortable office for the last time, was the thought of little MissWhippet's chagrin when she found her new promotion at an end. She hadtaken such delight in their mutual dignity. On the filing cabinet besideher typewriter desk was a pink geranium in a pot, which she wateredevery morning. He could not resist pulling out a drawer of her desk, andsmiled gently to see the careful neatness of its compartments, withall her odds and ends usefully arranged. The ink-eraser, with an absurdlittle whisk attached to it for brushing away fragments of rubbed paper;the fascicle of sharpened pencils held together by an elastic band; thetiny phial of typewriter oil; a small box of peppermints; a crumpledhandkerchief; the stenographic notebook with a pencil inserted at theblank page, so as to be ready for instant service the next day; the longpaper-cutter for slitting envelopes; her memorandum pad, on which waswritten Remind Mr. G. of Window Display Luncheon--it seemed cruel todeprive her of all these innocent amusements in which she delighted somuch. And yet he could not go on as a General Manager simply for thehappiness of Miss Whippet.

  In the foliage of the geranium, where he knew she would find it thefirst thing in the morning, he left a note:--

  MISS WHIPPET: I am leaving the store to-night and will not be back.Please notify Mr. Beagle. Explain to him that I shall never take aposition with one of his competitors; I am leaving not because I didn'tenjoy the job, but because if I stayed longer I might enjoy it too much.Tell Mr. Beagle that I specially urge him to retain you as assistantto the new Manager, whoever that may be. You are entirely competent toattend to the routine, and the new Manager can spend all his time atbusiness lunches.

  Please inform the Display Managers' Club that I can't speak at theirmeeting to-morrow.

  I wish you all possible good-fortune.

  MR. GISSING.

  As he passed through the dim and silent aisles of the store, he surveyedthem again with mixed emotions. Here he might, apparently, have beenkin
g. But he had no very poignant regret. Another of his numerousselves, he reflected, had committed suicide. That was the right idea:to keep sloughing them off, throwing overboard the unreal and factitiousGissings, paring them down until he discovered the genuine andinalienable creature.

  And so, for the second time, he made a stealthy exit from the employees'door.

  Four days later he read in the paper of old Mr. Beagle's death. Therecan be no doubt about it. The merchant died of a broken heart.