 | After Death — What |  |
1. Part I
As Spalding — superannuated, possibly, but jaunty still — trotted nimbly down the aisle between the rows of desks, glances of welcome, murmurs of surprise, greeted him. He had become a stranger; the office force had not seen him for full two years. He nodded right and left, chuckled, as was his wont, and here and there stretched out a hand. Plainly he was glad to greet the Interstate Company once again, and that concern returned the compliment.
There were exceptions. Here and there a thirty-dollar-a-week man eyed the former manager with sour and savage glance. One of these turned to his neighbor.
"Cocky as ever, ain't he?" he queried.
His neighbor was a new man.
"Who is he?"
"A has-been so far as we're concerned — was fired months ago; but look at him! Red necktie-swell gray suit-gaiters! Boy, when do we get the chance at some real money? Look at Spalding! Retired — rich and retired. All he's got to do is to draw a check."
Quite unconscious of these remarks and of the envious glances bestowed upon him, Spalding, the former manager of the Interstate Company, entered the private office of Ephraim T. Ogilvie.
Ogilvie was a man of fifty — lean, healthy, well set up. His hair was grizzled, his mustache just turning gray. He was well dressed, but not so scrupulously neat as Spalding. He strode forward and held out his hand — a bit shamefacedly, perhaps. Spalding retreated before him. Ogilvie was worried.
"No hard feelings, Mr. Spalding?" he exclaimed.
Spalding vigorously shook his head.
"I just wanted to shut the door — I want to talk to you."
He closed the door, and came back and took a seat. Despite his red tie, his gaiters, his natty suit of clothes, all his cockiness forsook him. Of a sudden he seemed old — very old. He leaned forward on his cane and touched Ogilvie upon the arm.
"Eph," he began, "it's almost four o'clock. I left the house at eight o'clock this morning; and when I left I told Mrs. Spalding — I told Sally that I'd bring home forty dollars with me. I — I can't go home without it!" His lower lip trembled. "Eph," he cried, "honest to goodness, I haven't got a dollar in the world. I don't know what to do!"
Ogilvie, as if the other man had struck him, sprang from his seat and paced the floor.
"Good Lord!" he groaned.
Quite as suddenly he came back to his seat. He tossed a sheet of paper to his visitor.
"Mr. Spalding," he returned, "I don't have to ask you to believe me. I — I never lied to you in my life."
"I know you didn't, Eph," returned the elder man.
"My bank balance — there it is," said Ogilvie. "Look at it! It's less than ten dollars — see for yourself. Less than ten dollars at the present moment." He held up his hand at the other man's look of surprise. "Wait! I know what you're going to say — that I am getting twenty-five thousand a year. Don't I know it? And don't I know that I've overdrawn my salary account to the tune of five thousand? And don't I know that I don't own a dollar's worth of stock — not a bond or mortgage, not an inch of real estate? Look here!" He tossed another paper toward his visitor. "The premium on my life-insurance policy became due yesterday. I can't pay it — I daren't draw another cent from the office till the middle of next month. All that I've got between myself and starvation is my ability — and my life."
Spalding had been watching him — wondering. He knew that Ogilvie had told the truth. He wiped his forehead.
"Great guns, Eph!" said Spalding. I thought all you had to do was to draw a check!"
He had unconsciously echoed the exact words of the supernumerary in the outer office; but in reality the phrase was his own — one with which the office had become familiar during Spalding's incumbency as manager.
"All you've got to do is to draw a check!"
"Mr. Spalding," went on Ogilvie, "if ever one man felt grateful to another, my gratitude is due to you. You — you brought me up in this plant; you taught me all I know. I know the business well, too. I couldn't help their putting me in your place."
The old man held up his hand.
"No offense — no offense, Eph," he protested. "It had to come — it was inevitable. And I'd rather it had been you than — well, Grierson, for instance. There was only one thing that hurt. They used to pay me fifteen thousand, and they jacked you up to twenty-five. Why didn't they pay me twenty-five?" he went on savagely. "If they had, I wouldn't have been bumming around now for a measly forty dollars!"
Ogilvie paced the floor again.
"Yes, you would, Mr. Spalding," he returned. "There's just the point. They pay me ten thousand more than they paid you — and I'm flat broke. What's the reason? Do we have to spend all we make? Does the Interstate ask me to cut a wide swath? Is there an implied suggestion that I ought to do it? Or do I merely want to do it? Or do I drift into it? What does it mean? Why, look here, Mr. Spalding," he went on, seating himself again and drawing his chair up close to the other man's. "When I was a boy, there were men who earned five thousand a year, year in and year out. Those men were considered rich. They lived on half their earnings and salted down the other half — and they died rich. Why can't we do it, Mr. Spalding? You, with ten thousand — fifteen thousand a year, for years; I, with twenty-five. What's the trouble, Mr. Spalding? That's what I want to know."
Spalding hopelessly shook his head.
"We belong to the new school, I suppose," he returned. "Live and let live — eat, drink, and be merry, for to-morrow — "
The younger man interrupted him. "Ah!" exclaimed Ogilvie. "That's what bothers me. When I'm dead — when my life and my ability no longer earn thousands of dollars — what's going to become of my family? If I left them a hundred thousand dollars — which I can't — they couldn't live on the income of it, at the rate we're going now. That's what bothers me. After death — what? That's
Spalding had regained his spirits.
"Godfrey!" he exclaimed. "I thought I was pretty badly off, but — "
"We're all in the same boat," said Ogilvie. "Come, I'll drive you to your house; and you tell Mrs. Spalding just how the matter stands."
| After Death — What | |