A Young Man in a Hurry, and Other Short Stories Part 45

He found it and handed it to her. It was her crutch; and she turned crimson to the roots of her hair.

"Lean on me," he said, very gently.

The girl bit her trembling lip till the blood came. "Thank you," she said, crus.h.i.+ng back her tears; "my crutch is enough--but you need not have known it. Kindness is comparative; one can be too kind."

He misunderstood her and drew back. "I forgot," he said, quietly, "what privileges are denied to criminals."

"Privilege!" she faltered. After a moment she laid one hand on his arm.

"I shall be very glad of your help," she said; "I am more lame than I wish the world to know. It was only the vanity of a cripple that refused you."

But he thought her very beautiful as she pa.s.sed with him out into the starlight.

MARLITT'S SHOES

I

Through the open window the spring suns.h.i.+ne fell on Calvert's broad back. Tennant faced the window, smoking reflectively.

"I should like to ask a favor," he said; "may I?"

"Certainly you may," replied Calvert; "everybody else asks favors three hundred and sixty-five times a year."

Tennant, smoking peacefully, gazed at an open window across the narrow court-yard, where, in the suns.h.i.+ne, a young girl sat sewing.

"The favor," he said, "is this: there is a vacancy on the staff, and I wish you'd give Marlitt another chance."

"Marlitt!" exclaimed Calvert. "Why Marlitt?"

"Because," said Tennant, "I understand that I am wearing Marlitt's shoes--and the shoes pinch."

"Marlitt's shoes would certainly pinch you if you were wearing them,"

said Calvert, grimly. "But you are not. Suppose you were? Better wear even Marlitt's shoes than hop about the world barefoot. You are a singularly sensitive young man. I come up-town to offer you Warrington's place, and your reply is a homily on Marlitt's shoes!"

Calvert's black eyes began to snap and his fat, pink face turned pinker.

"Mr. Tennant," he said, "I am useful to those who are useful to me. I am a business man. I know of no man or syndicate of men wealthy enough to conduct a business for the sake of giving employment to the unsuccessful!"

Tennant smoked thoughtfully.

"Some incompetent," continued Calvert, "is trying to make you uncomfortable. You asked us for a chance; we gave you the chance. You proved valuable to us, and we gave you Marlitt's job. You need not worry: Marlitt was useless, and had to go anyway. Warrington left us to-day, and you've got to do his work."

Tennant regarded him in silence; Calvert laid one pudgy hand on the door-k.n.o.b. "You know what we think of your work. There is not a man in New York who has your chance. All I say is, we gave you the chance and you took it. Keep it; that's what we ask!"

"That is what _I_ ask," said Tennant, with a troubled laugh. "I am sentimentalist enough to feel something like grat.i.tude towards those who gave me my first opportunity."

"Obligation's mutual," snapped Calvert. The hardness in his eyes, however, had died out. "You'd better finish that double page," he added; "they want to start the color-work by Monday. You'll hear from us if there's any delay. Good-bye."

[Ill.u.s.tration: "'I WISH YOU'D GIVE MARLITT ANOTHER CHANCE'"]

Tennant opened the door for him; Calvert, b.u.t.toning his gloves, stepped out into the hallway and rang for the elevator. Then he turned:

"Don't let envy make things unpleasant for you, Mr. Tennant."

"n.o.body has shown me any envy," said Tennant.

"I thought you said something about your friend Marlitt--"

"I never saw Marlitt; I only know his work."

"Oh," said Calvert, with a peculiar smile, "you only know his work!"

"That is all. Who is Marlitt?"

"The last of an old New York family; reduced circ.u.mstances, proud, incompetent, unsuccessful. Why does the artist who signs 'Marlitt'

interest you?"

"This is why," said Tennant, and drew a letter from his pocket. "Do you mind listening?"

"Go on," said Calvert, with a wry face. And Tennant began:

"'DEAR MR. TENNANT,--Just a few words to express my keenest interest and delight in the work you are doing--not only the color work, but the pen-and-ink. You know that the public has made you their idol, but I thought you might care to know what the unsuccessful in your own profession think. You have already taught us so much; you are, week by week, raising the standard so high; and you are doing so much for me, that I venture to thank you and wish you still greater happiness and success. MARLITT.'"

Calvert looked up. "Is that all?"

"That is all. There is neither date nor address on the note. I wrote to Marlitt care of your office. Your office forwarded it, I see, but the post-office returned it to me to-day.... What has become of Marlitt?"

Calvert touched the elevator-bell again. "If I knew," he said, "I'd find a place for--Marlitt."

Tennant's face lighted. Calvert, scowling, avoided his eyes.

"I want you to understand," he said, peevishly, "that there is no sentiment in this matter."

"I understand," said Tennant.

"You think you do," sneered Calvert, stepping into the elevator. The door slammed; the cage descended; the fat, pink countenance of Calvert, distorted into a furious sneer, slowly sank out of sight.

II

Tennant entered his studio and closed the door. In the mellow light the smile faded from his face. Perhaps he was thinking of the unsuccessful, from whose crowded ranks he had risen--comrades preordained to mediocrity, foredoomed to failure--industrious, hopeful, brave young fellows, who must live their lives to learn the most terrible of all lessons--that bravery alone wins no battles.

"What luck I have had!" he said, aloud, to himself, walking over to the table and seating himself before the drawing. For an hour he studied it; touched it here and there, caressing outlines, swinging ma.s.ses into vigorous composition with a touch of point or a sweeping erasure.

Strength, knowledge, command were his; he knew it, and he knew the pleasure of it.