Life — December 7, 1911 — page 69: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

HERE are fires that slumber in every man. The private hell of Thomas Green blazed up, as if an officious devil had stirred the pit, when he read a pencil entry in a little note- book : “3.4.09 Sold Trustworthy Thomas 4,000 Dextras at 1/—f The entry was in the crabbed hand of his employer, generally known as Retail Harrison, because no gain was too small for his net. Mr. Retail Harrison had set old Green to tidy his private papers, be- cause he held that no other clerk was fool enough to be trusted. He kept the slow-witted, gray-bearded, kindly old man for this very foolishness. He called him Trustworthy Thomas. He credited him with two other virtues. “He has,” he once told an intimate, “the gift of believableness—I suppose it's his white beard—and the mind of a phonograph. I tell him what to say to people, and he says it. They believe it from him, and they wouldn't believe it from me! See!” “TI see that they would not believe you,” the intimate had answered; and Retail Harrison had chuckled at the praise. Nobody ever believed him, ex- cept Trustworthy Thomas. His be- lief vanished at the sight of the pen- cil entry. On the fourth of May, 1909, Thomas had invested a recent small legacy—the only wealth of his life— with the advice and assistance of his employer. He had bought 4,000 Dex- tras at 1/. They were no longer quo- ted, but a speculative broker had of- fered him £10 for the lot. He had been moved by Thomas's evident trouble nd was relieved when his offer was refused. In short, Retail Harrison had got rid of some rubbish of his own and netted his old clerk’s £200. It happened that Trustworthy Thomas wanted the money just now. He was a widower with one child, and the one child was ill and the doctors said that the only hope was residence in a dry climate abroad. Thomas had never been able to save much and the girl's illness had already exhausted his meager savings—and more. He sat with the notebook open in *LIPE* Trustworthy Thomas front of him and stared and stared and stared. Presently he took from a well-worn pocketbook a well-worn photograph of a pretty, delicate young girl. He kissed it. You will die, my dear,” he said, “unles: " He repeated the word several times, s if he dared not finish the thought. Unless— This is the story of the “unless” —the exception that Trustworthy Thomas found to his rule of con- due! The next morning he asked for five minutes of his employ valuable time, and his employer gave the minutes. He cultivated a reputation for kindliness with Thomas, so that ‘Thomas might pass it on. You do not know him as I do,” Thomas would say. “A kind man, a most considerate man. I have been with him for seventeen years and I know.” Also Thomas's belief in his benevo- lence amused him and he expected five minutes’ enteriainment. “Well?” he asked _indulgently, “what can I do for you, Thomas?” Thomas rested a skinny hand on the desk and looked down at the hand. “A little while ago, sir, with a deprecating cough, legacy.” “You lucky do; said Harrison. He rubbed his fat hands and smiled he said, “IT had a his over-fed, creasy smile. “J never get legacies.” “Tt was," Thomas continued, matter of two hundred pounds.” “Two hundred pounds is a lot of money, Thomas,” his employer re- marked, winking to himself. “A lot of money!” “You were good enough to advis me how to invest it. In fact you were so very kind as to instruct your own broker to arrange the investment for me, if you remember.” Harrison glanced at him sharply, but there was no trace of the smouldering fires on his solemn, old face. “Ah,” he said. tras, wasn’t it? trifle, I understand. “Yes, yes. Sinis- They've gone up 2 It’s rather a hope- ful property, but slow; very slow.” “No, sir,” said Thomas, shaking his head. “It was Dextras, and they've gone down.” Harrison raised his hands. “You must have mixed things up as usual,” he cried. “Really, you are too careless. Dextras are hopeless I've always refused to touch them. If you'd bought Sinistras, as I advised— well, well. We all have our little losses. You should be thankful it wasn’t more.” “Tt was all I had,” Thomas stated gravely, “and—and I need the money very badly, very badly.” “Dear me,” said “ That is unfortunate. blame me, you know.” The inward fires lit up again in Thomas. He started to speak, clenched his hands and stopped himself. To twit his employer with his rascality would only make matters worse. “My daughter is ill,” he said hoarsely. “She is all I have. She is young—just twenty. It is her lungs. The doctor says I ought to send her to Switzerland. Two hundred pounds isn’t much to you, and I thought if you would buy them back—it was your advice, and——” Harrison made a sound like an en- raged bird; one of those big birds that prey. “My advice!” he roared. “I told you Sinistras and you went and mixed up the names, as you always do, you stupid old fool. I have put up with your stupidity and overpaid you, and mendi- his employer. Well, you can’t now you come the whining cant! “Not for myself,” the old man pleaded. “I'd die before I'd ask any- one for a penny. It isn’t me. It's— just a young life! If you heard her cough! She's such a pretty girl, and the only one. Her mother—it’s fifteen years ago she died—and her last words—" “The five minutes are up,” Harri- son snapped. “ There’s the meeting at eleven, and I ” “If you'd give me a hundred for them,” Thomas pleaded desperately. “She's all I have in the world—the only thing I have. . She—she’s too young foe comicbooks.com