"Um-hm.I read it.I don't know much about such things, but they tell me it is pretty good.""Thank you, sir."
"Eh? Oh, you're welcome."
That was all.Perhaps considering its source it was a good deal, but Albert was not of the age where such considerations are likely to be made.
Helen's praise was warm and enthusiastic."I knew you could do it if you only would," she declared."And oh, I'm SO glad you did!
Now you must keep on trying."
That bit of advice was quite superfluous.Young Speranza having sampled the sublime intoxication of seeing himself in print, was not ready to sober off yet a while.He continued to bombard the Item with verses.They were invariably accepted, but when he sent to a New York magazine a poem which he considered a gem, the promptness with which it was returned staggered his conceit and was in that respect a good thing for him.
However, he kept on trying.Helen would not have permitted him to give up even if he had wished.She was quite as much interested in his literary aspirations as he was himself and her encouragement was a great help to him.After months of repeated trial and repeated rejection he opened an envelope bearing the name of a fairly well-known periodical to find therein a kindly note stating that his poem, "Sea Spaces" had been accepted.And a week later came a check for ten dollars.That was a day of days.Incidentally it was the day of a trial balance in the office and the assistant bookkeeper's additions and multiplications contained no less than four ghastly errors.
The next afternoon there was an interview in the back office.
Captain Zelotes and his grandson were the participants.The subject discussed was "Business versus Poetry," and there was a marked difference of opinion.Albert had proclaimed his triumph at home, of course, had exhibited his check, had been the recipient of hugs and praises from his grandmother and had listened to paeans and hallelujahs from Mrs.Ellis.When he hurried around to the parsonage after supper, Helen had been excited and delighted at the good news.Albert had been patted on the back quite as much as was good for a young man whose bump of self-esteem was not inclined toward under-development.When he entered the private office of Z.
Snow and Co.in answer to his grandfather's summons, he did so light-heartedly, triumphantly, with self-approval written large upon him.
But though he came like a conquering hero, he was not received like one.Captain Zelotes sat at his desk, the copy of the Boston morning paper which he had been reading sticking out of the waste basket into which it had been savagely jammed a half hour before.
The news had not been to the captain's liking.These were the September days of 1914; the German Kaiser was marching forward "mit Gott" through Belgium, and it began to look as if he could not be stopped short of Paris.Consequently, Captain Zelotes, his sympathies from the first with England and the Allies, was not happy in his newspaper reading.
Albert entered, head erect and eyes shining.If Gertie Kendrick could have seen him then she would have fallen down and worshiped.
His grandfather looked at him in silence for a moment, tapping his desk with the stump of a pencil.Albert, too, was silent; he was already thinking of another poem with which to dazzle the world, and his head was among the rosy clouds.
"Sit down, Al," said Captain Zelotes shortly.
Albert reluctantly descended to earth and took the battered armchair standing beside the desk.The captain tapped with his pencil upon the figure-covered sheet of paper before him.Then he said:
"Al, you've been here three years come next December, ain't you?""Why--yes, sir, I believe I have."
"Um-hm, you have.And for the heft of that time you've been in this office.""Yes, sir."
"Yes.And Labe Keeler and I have been doin' our best to make a business man out of you.You understand we have, don't you?"Albert looked puzzled and a little uneasy.Into his roseate dreams was just beginning to filter the idea that his grandfather's tone and manner were peculiar.
"Why, yes, sir, of course I understand it," he replied.
"Well, I asked you because I wasn't quite sure whether you did or not.Can you guess what this is I've got on my desk here?"He tapped the figure-covered sheet of paper once more.Before Albert could speak the captain answered his own question.
"I'll tell you what it is," he went on."It's one of the latest samples of your smartness as a business man.I presume likely you know that Laban worked here in this office until three o'clock this mornin', didn't you?"Albert did not know it.Mr.Keeler had told him nothing of the sort.
"Why, no," he replied."Did he? What for?""Ye-es, he did.And what for? Why, just to find out what was the matter with his trial balance, that's all.When one of Labe's trial balances starts out for snug harbor and ends up on a reef with six foot of water in her hold, naturally Labe wants to get her afloat and pumped dry as quick as possible.He ain't used to it, for one thing, and it makes him nervous."Albert's uneasiness grew.When his grandfather's speech became sarcastic and nautical, the young man had usually found that there was trouble coming for somebody.
"I--I'm sorry Laban had to stay so late," he stammered."I should have been glad to stay and help him, but he didn't ask me.""No-o.Well, it may possibly be that he cal'lated he was carryin'
