Evening star. [volume], September 17, 1916, Image 27

About Evening star. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1854-1972

Image provided by: Library of Congress, Washington, DC

                
Breaking Loose
By GEORGE WESTON
Illustrations by II. Fish
1AM about to lull of it crisis lliat eamo
to a mail I know. His name was Paul
Manion, and, up to a certain point,
you know him as well as I do.
IIowe\ or that may bo, tho crisis that came
to my hero is moro common than you may
think, and moro men have either broken
their hearts or founded thoir fortunes
upon it than you or I will ever know.
Paul was a good-looking young Amer
ican, about twenty-five years old, of a
typo that is often seen in the photograph
er's show-case?thin, clean-shaved, seri
ous, with the crest of a white handkerchief
billowing out of a dark breast-pocket.
Like thousands of other young Americans,
lie had been through high school, but
hadn't been able to go to college. At
eighteen he hud started work, partly to
support himself and partly to support his
family. Having too much education to
learn a trade and not enough to follow
a profession, Paul did what practically
every one else does in circumstances simi
lar to his. He joined the great army of
clerks.
Now, in order to understand more
clearly what follows, it is necessary that
you -should realize what a clerk really
is. So let us describe the genus as briefly
as possible, and all those who don't agree
are hereby invited to write a letter and
point out any mistakes.
A clerk, then, is a man who is ex
pected to live and dress "like a
gentleman" on wages that a hod-car
rier would laugh at. His three It's
arc Regularity, Respectability, and
Repression, lie must be pleasant
when nothing pleases him, cheerful
when nothing cheers him, and have '
a constant smile on tap when he'd '
rather use his foot. A clerk's idea of
heaven is an independent income of
S10 a week and a little farm where he
could raise his own vegetables and
keep a few chickens. 1 lis idea of hades
is to lose his job. He has two suits
of clothes a year, two clean collars a
week, keeps in a closet tho silk hat ^
ho wore the day he was married, and
is always deeply enough in debt so
ho can easily stay awake from mid
night to daybreak whenever tho boss
has been unusually sharp the day be
fore. llis golden hope is that some
day he may be taken into the firm.
Such was Paul Manion in the
twenty-fifth year of his ugl?-assistant
office manager of the fsailor Supply
Company; that is to say, ho kept the
books, attended to the routine cor
respondence, and wore a neat cuff
at the bottom of each of his trousor legs.
On the strength of his golden hope he
had married a girl with straightforward
blue eyes, who could play "The Shower of
Stars" in a way to touch your heart. She
was a thorough girl, was Margaret, as you
will presently see.
p.VUL and Margaret lived in the suburbs
because of thoir two children. Little
Margaret hud just turned three, and on
tho <iav when my story opens young Paul
was celebrating his second birthday.
"He's going to make a clever man," said
Paul, Sr., after the immemorial manner of
fathers. "Just look at his forehead! 1
tell you one thing, Margaret: that boy's
going to college when he grows up. I
never had the chance myself, but the Lit
tlo Wonder's going to have it, or some
body's got to tell me the reason why!"
At this a vague look of uncertainty
came into Margaret's eyes a look that
"'Hal, Paul, is it true?what he said?' 'Is what true?' groaned Paul."
bad privately appeared there for nearly
two years, or ever si not' Paul had expected
another raise aijd hadn't, got it.
"We'll have to save a little money every
year," she said, speaking almost under her
breath. "If it's only a dollar a week,
Paul, it'll amount to a lot by the time he's
eighteen."
And now (this being my last remark on
the side) 1 must tell you something, or
rather hint at something, which will help
to explain the extraordinary part of my
story. Following the example of Klisa
beth of old, Margaret had prayed for a
son before little Paul was born, and had
always added iui a sort of P. S. to tho
good Lord who made us all: "And please,
please, please let him be bright!" Pursu
ing tho samo idea, she bad confined her
reading to the best literature, and her
piano-playing to the best music.
loiter Paul, Jr., was born; and you can
imagine the emotion that swept through
Margaret's heart when she learned it was
a boy; and you can imagine how she felt
when she saw he was one of those sol
emnly observing babies who seem to be
taking notes of everything they see.
"We'll have to save a little every year,"
she said now, speaking almost under her
breath. "If it's only a dollar a week, it'll
amount to a lot by the time he's eighteen."
"Hang it all," said Paul, "I ought to be
getting a raise. It's three years now since
I had the last. Guess I'll have to strike
Old Nails for another five."
l_I E said this in a jaunty manner, as if
it would be the simplest thing in the
world to march up to E. M. Nailor, Esq.,
president of the N'ailor Supply Company,
seize him by his beard, and shake another
five dollars a week out of him. But in
wardly Paul didn't feel jaunty at all.
For he owed the doctor twenty-seven
dollars, and the grocery man thirty-five,
and the coal man forty-two, to say no
thing of a cloud of smaller debts which
had the habit of haunting his pillow at
night like a flock of melancholy crows.
"Yes," he said, affecting such a jaunty
smile that it almost made his face ache,
"I'll have to strike Old Nails?and strike
him good and hard!"
"I would!" cried Margaret heartily.
"I will!" said Paul with a loud noise.
For the moment he performed that in
teresting psychological feat which is some
times vulgarly expressed as "kidding him
self"; but a few' minutes later he began
to wonder what would happen if Old
Nails bounced him instead of giving him
a raise.
"All the same," he thought that night,
"I've got to get more money somehow,
or the Little Wonder won't be able to go
to college any more than I could."
CO next morning he dressed and shaved
with particular care, meanwhile re
hearsing fragmentary phrases with which
to open fire on Old Nails. At half past
four that afternoon he drew a very long
breath and picked up a pile of letters.
Having thus armed himself, he
pushed open the little door marked
"Private" which led into the presi
dent's office.
Ten minutes later he came out,
! slow-footed, heavy-hearted, the dark
flush of defeat on his cheeks, look
ing like a prisoner who has tried to
escape to the green fields beyond,
but is sent back to his cell.
"But, Paul," protested Margaret
that night, "is it true?what he
k said?"
L "Is what true?" groaned Paul.
h "Could he get another man to do
? your work for twelve dollars a
? week? When he's paying you
twenty?"
"The woods are certainly full of
clerks," acknowledged Paul, with
groan number two. "Of course he'd
have to break a new man in for a
few weeks. But, hang it all, that
isn't the point, Margaret. Old
Nailor's worth half a million if he's
worth a cent; and after all these
years I've been there?why, Mar
garet, he isn't human!"
"But, Paul dear, I don't think
Mr. Nailor's so much to blame.
Do you? Honestly, I don't. Now
take me, for instance. No matter
how rich we were, I wouldn't give
twenty cents a pound for anything
I could get for twelve. Would you?"
"Hang it all, Margaret," protested
Paul, "you talk as though you were taking
his part!"
"It does sound so, doesn't it?" Margaret
thoughtfully replied. "But I'm sure I
didn't mean to. I was only trying to un
derstand his point of view."
"That's easy! He thinks he's got me:
that's his point of view! Remember read
ing the other night about the old Romans
and their galley slaves? Well, that's what
it is. He's one of those old Romans, and
I'm one of his galley slaves."
"Oh, Paul, not Listen, dear. If you
were really and truly a slave, wouldn't
you fight to break loose?"
"You bet your life I would!"
"Of course you would! And that'a
what you'll have to do, Paul. If you
feel you're a slave at Nailor's, you'll have
to break loose and get somewhere else."
"Oh, sure!" cried Paul, with a laugh
that wasn't infectious. "But if I throw