II
He walked through the February city, where trucks flung
up a spattering of slush and the sky was dark above dark
brick cornices. He came back miserable. He, who respected
the law, had broken it by concealing the Federal crime of
interception of the mails. But he could not see Graff go to
jail and his wife suffer. Worse, he had to discharge Graff
and this was a part of office routine which he feared. He
liked people so much, he so much wanted them to like him
that he could not bear insulting them.
Miss McGoun dashed in to whisper, with the excitement of
an approaching scene, "He's here!''
"Mr. Graff? Ask him to come in.''
He tried to make himself heavy and calm in his chair, and
to keep his eyes expressionless. Graff stalked in—a man of
thirty-five, dapper, eye-glassed, with a foppish mustache.
"Want me?'' said Graff.
"Yes. Sit down.''
Graff continued to stand, grunting, "I suppose that old nut
Varney has been in to see you. Let me explain about him.
He's a regular tightwad, and he sticks out for every cent, and
he practically lied to me about his ability to pay the rent—
I found that out just after we signed up. And then another
fellow comes along with a better offer for the house, and I
felt it was my duty to the firm to get rid of Varney, and I
was so worried about it I skun up there and got back the lease.
Honest, Mr. Babbitt, I didn't intend to pull anything crooked.
I just wanted the firm to have all the commis—''
"Wait now, Stan. This may all be true, but I've been
having a lot of complaints about you. Now I don't s'pose
you ever mean to do wrong, and I think if you just get a
good lesson that'll jog you up a little, you'll turn out a first-class
realtor yet. But I don't see how I can keep you on.''
Graff leaned against the filing-cabinet, his hands in his
pockets, and laughed. "So I'm fired! Well, old Vision and
Ethics, I'm tickled to death! But I don't want you to think
you can get away with any holier-than-thou stuff. Sure I've
pulled some raw stuff—a little of it—but how could I help it,
in this office?''
"Now, by God, young man—''
"Tut, tut! Keep the naughty temper down, and don't
holler, because everybody in the outside office will hear you.
They're probably listening right now. Babbitt, old dear,
you're crooked in the first place and a damn skinflint in the
second. If you paid me a decent salary I wouldn't have to
steal pennies off a blind man to keep my wife from starving.
Us married just five months, and her the nicest girl living,
and you keeping us flat broke all the time, you damned old
thief, so you can put money away for your saphead of a son
and your wishywashy fool of a daughter! Wait, now! You'll
by God take it, or I'll bellow so the whole office will hear it!
And crooked— Say, if I told the prosecuting attorney what
I know about this last Street Traction option steal, both you
and me would go to jail, along with some nice, clean, pious,
high-up traction guns!''
"Well, Stan, looks like we were coming down to cases. That
deal— There was nothing crooked about it. The only way
you can get progress is for the broad-gauged men to get things
done; and they got to be rewarded—''
"Oh, for Pete's sake, don't get virtuous on me! As I gather
it, I'm fired. All right. It's a good thing for me. And if I
catch you knocking me to any other firm, I'll squeal all I know
about you and Henry T. and the dirty little lickspittle deals
that you corporals of industry pull off for the bigger and
brainier crooks, and you'll get chased out of town. And me
—you're right, Babbitt, I've been going crooked, but now I'm
going straight, and the first step will be to get a job in some
office where the boss doesn't talk about Ideals. Bad luck, old
dear, and you can stick your job up the sewer!''
Babbitt sat for a long time, alternately raging, "I'll have
him arrested,'' and yearning "I wonder— No, I've never done
anything that wasn't necessary to keep the Wheels of Progress
moving.''
Next day he hired in Graff's place Fritz Weilinger, the salesman
of his most injurious rival, the East Side Homes and Development
Company, and thus at once annoyed his competitor
and acquired an excellent man. Young Fritz was a curly-headed,
merry, tennis-playing youngster. He made customers
welcome to the office. Babbitt thought of him as a son, and
in him had much comfort.
