Alex the Great Part 23

CHAPTER VI

THE LITTLE THINGS DON'T COUNT

They's many a guy clutterin' up a pay roll for about thirty bucks a week, which has got more brains than his boss has income tax. When he went to school they wasn't a day that some other kid didn't wanna murder him because he got 100 in arithmetic and the like. He pa.s.sed on to high school and even invaded college, where he dumfounded all in hearing with his knowledge of--everything! When he was fin'ly turned loose on a helpless world, he was so far ahead of his cla.s.s that they held special services for him and had the regular one the next day.

Now the dope oughta be that this marvel of intelligence should be down in Wall Street now, tellin' J. P. Morgan and etc. that the next time they come in late for work he'd fire 'em. Well, about once in ten thousand times this is true. Usually, however, this guy is the bird that takes your card at the office door and says, "Sit down, Mr.

Morgan's fifth a.s.sistant secretary will see you in a moment." And then the head bookkeeper rings a bell and this guy says, "Yes, sir," and jumps!

They is a reason for this, the same as for everything else outside of the Kaiser. The swell-dressed a.s.sa.s.sin with the ladies, which writes such beautiful figures and knows offhand how much is thirty-three times eighty, is fast joinin' the list of non-essential industrials. They got a machine now which can count better than him, and don't try to make no date with the stenographer, either! He thinks his boss is a b.o.o.b, because said boss is a little bit in doubt as to what day of the week Napoleon joined the army, and he wonders how in heaven's name a guy as stupid as that ever got as far as he did. The answer to that one is easy. While _he_ was memorizin' the fact that A plus C equals X, his _boss_ was figurin' how to hire a brainy guy like him to count his dough!

The wife and I are about to set sail for the movies one night, when our French maid from the Bronx admits a interruption by the name of Alex.

"Well," he says, kidnappin' my goat by treatin' himself to one of my pet cigars, "I have run across another feller which I am on the verge of makin' a success. I've studied his case carefully and all he needs is to be set on the right track to bust all speed records."

"Where did you meet this second-story man?" I says.

"He ain't no burglar," says Alex; "he's some kind of a bookkeeper, and he's got one of the sweetest little girls in love with him you ever seen!"

"I thought you was married," I says.

"Now," says Alex, snubbin' me as usual, "I want to bring him up here to dinner to-morrow night and have you meet him as he is at present. In a short time later I'll bring him back again, and if he hasn't made himself a success, I'll buy you all the best dinner you ever eat!"

"Listen!" I says. "As Hoover says, 'Food will win the war--don't eat it!' Don't be invitin' no more guys up here to dinner. It's tough enough to have to feed _you_ three or four times a week, without you ringin' in these guys which acts like I win them steaks and chops in a raffle. Now I'm goin' to the movies. They's a five-reeler down at the corner called 'She Give Her Soul!' and they ain't no man gonna keep me from seein' that to-night."

"Come along with us, Alex," chimes in the wife. "A couple of my girl friends which used to be in the Winter Garden with me is in this picture and I'm crazy to see them!"

"Hmph!" snorts Alex. "Anybody is crazy which pays money to look at them fool movin' pictures. If I had my way, they'd all be stopped and--"

"Lillian Dish is in this one," b.u.t.ts in the wife. "Have you seen her lately?"

"No!" says Alex, jumpin' up. "By mackerel, I haven't! Hurry up, we'll be late--you people is never in time for anything! Lillian Dish, hey?

Say! Did you see her in 'What's a Wife?' She was great! Why I--"

I dragged the both of them out.

Promptly at seven the next night Alex comes up with his new-found friend. I let forth a groan and told the maid to lay a couple more plates, but to slice everything as thin as possible without cuttin' her hands. The stranger was a tall, slim bird which wouldn't have been bad-looking if he hadn't been so serious. He acted like it was a felony to smile, and got my name wrong the first four times he repeated it.

Well, after the sound of clas.h.i.+n' knives and forks had died away, the wife dolls all up and goes over to visit the hero which wed Alex; and us strong men repairs to the parlor, where the cigars clink merrily and the like.

The stranger's name turned out to be S. Jared Rushton, and after a while I figured the "S" stood for "Silly." This guy knowed more about figures than the stage manager at the Follies. He was a hound for numbers, dates and etc. He had a better memory than a loan shark, and a encyclopedia would look stupid alongside of him. No matter what the subject was, this guy knowed more about it than the bird which wrote it and would b.u.t.t in with the figures to prove it. Fin'ly, when I struck a match and he tells me they is 9,765,543 of them used in New York every fiscal year, I went out into the kitchen for air!

[Ill.u.s.tration: I struck a match and he tells me they is 9,765,543 of them used in New York every fiscal year.]

At first it was kinda interestin' and entertainin' to get the inside dope on _everything_ at practically no cost, but they is such a thing as bein' _too_ clever; and when it become impossible to speak of anything on earth from bankin' to beer, without this bird b.u.t.tin' in with all the figures on it, I got enough! I tried to yawn him into goin' home, and he notices I got two b.u.m teeth. That furnished him with a scenario for tellin' me that every year 490,517 people is treated by dentists in New York alone, and I says I can't help it and he mustn't of got a wink or sleep the night he counted 'em.

"Oh," he says, "it's very simple. I carry all those figures in my head."

"Why not?" I says. "They's plenty of room there!"

He looked kinda peeved; but before he could come back at me, Alex takes things in hand.

"Jared," he says, "you are certainly a educated citizen. With all them interestin' facts and figures in your head you must be very valuable to the firm you work for, hey?"

Jared throws out what chest he had with him.

"Well," he says, "I saved the Hamilton Construction Company just $6,547.98 last year by cutting down the excessive use of lead pencils and blotters alone!"

"That's fine!" says Alex. "No doubt they give you a handsome bonus for that, hey?"

"Of course," says Jared. "They raised my salary to thirty-five dollars a week. I was only getting thirty-two and a half."

"You saved them six thousand last year and they raised you about a hundred and thirty, eh?" says Alex. "Now, listen! Why couldn't you have made that six thousand for _yourself_ just as easy?"

"Why--I--why--" stammers Jared. "I have no chance to make anything but my salary. I'm simply working there, and--"

"And you always will be, if you don't get wise to yourself!" b.u.t.ts in Alex. "Your boss--"

"My boss, eh?" sneers Jared. "Say, he hasn't got the brains of a gnat!

He'd be absolutely up in the air if I wasn't at his elbow with data and estimates on everything. He doesn't know anything, and--"

"No, I guess not!" b.u.t.ts in Alex, with a odd grin. "He don't know anything--only how to make money! Say, listen! If this boss of yours is such a b.o.o.b, what must _you_ be? You're _workin'_ for him, ain't you? Why should he have any brains, when he can rent yours for thirty-five dollars a week? Now, listen to me, son. You know a little about everything on earth, with the slight exception of yourself! The figures that should interest you more than anything else is these: For every dollar _you_ make, your b.o.o.b boss is makin' a thousand. Ever figure them statistics along with the other stuff?"

Jared registers embarra.s.sment. "Look here!" he says. "I really don't see the reason of all this. I consider myself quite successful. I may not be making a million a week, but I'm always sure of my job, and that's quite a lot!"

"You're always sure of your job, hey?" bawls Alex. "That's the slogan of the quitter! 'I'm gettin' my little old salary fifty-two weeks a year, and that's good enough for me.' That's the motto of the loser."

With that he jumps up and sticks his face so close to Jared I thought he was gonna bite him or the like. "What about the future?" he hollers. "You must have brains, or you couldn't of collected that ma.s.s of junk in your dome. You got a million dollars' worth of salable stuff from the top of your collar to the crown of your derby and you're peddlin' it away for thirty-five a week. I'll bet right now you could produce a scheme for gettin' a quarter that would be unbeatable, legitimate, and successful. But if you was asked to dope out a scheme for gettin' twenty-five thousand dollars, the size of the figures alone would knock that thinker of yours cold! You can't think that big.

Your mind's all cluttered up with little things. It's a junk pile.

The same concentration and perseverance on some one _big_ thing would put you over--and if you don't believe it, ask your b.o.o.b boss, which undoubtedly did just that and is now keepin' you!"

"That's all rot!" remarks Jared. "There's about one chance in a million of getting over in New York. You've got to get in right, and even then it's largely a matter of luck! If I was ever asked, I'd tell every young man to keep away from New York. The town's too big! It swallows you up and you're buried there till--"

Zam!!! Alex bounces outa his chair and shakes his finger under Jared's nose.

"That's not true!" he hollers. "Listen to me, young feller! I came here a short time ago with one-tenth of the ability that you got. New York looked as cold and hard to me as it does to any rube that slinks in from the outlands, crazy with the desire to capture it. But instead of drivin' me back to the dear old farm, the tough conditions here _attracted_ me. That is, takin' for granted your statement that they are tough, which I don't believe. I know that a man with the genuine goods can deliver them here at top price quicker than any other place on earth."

"But wait!" interrupts Jared, seemin' to catch some of Alex's pep.

"Your case was exceptional. You must admit--"

"I don't admit nothin'!" roars Alex. "Suppose your argument is true.

Let's say the chances for success here _are_ slim. All right, fine!

That's what made _me_ stick! Your own argument makes New York _the_ place to make good in. If there's satisfaction in winnin' over one man or a thousand, think of a hard-won square victory over six millions!

Why, boy, the very quality of the compet.i.tion here keeps a man on his toes and, if he makes good _here_, he's _done_ somethin'!"

Well, believe me, when Alex wound up that speech they was so much pep in the room I felt like goin' out and tellin' Rockefeller I'd forgot more about the oil game than he ever knew! Jared looks kinda dazed and Alex never gives him a chance to get set.

"How about--ah--Miss Evans?" he says; "have you thought about her?"

"See here!" busts out Jared. "We won't discuss Mab--er--Miss Evans."