The Thinking Machine Collected Stories Part 165

Financially the young man was interested in the company only to the extent of owning twenty-five shares, this being a gift from old Nick and a necessary qualification for an office holder. Beyond this rather meager possession,-meager at least in comparison with the holdings of other officers and stockholders of the company,-young Carroll had only his salary of twenty thousand dollars a year,-nothing else, for he had been exalted to this from a salary of eighteen hundred and a clerk's desk in the general office. Here for six years old Nick Carroll had drilled the business into him, warp and woof; then had come the exaltation.

Thus it came about that a pauper, from the viewpoint of financial circles, directed the affairs of a company whose business ran into millions and tens of millions annually. If young Carroll felt that he needed advice, he did not hesitate to disregard his fellows and go straight to the fountainhead, old Carroll. And when he asked for that advice he regarded it scrupulously, minutely. At other times-in fact, as a general thing-young Carroll sailed on his own course,-took the bit in his teeth and did as he pleased,-leaving accrued profits to inform the various stockholders of his actions. At such times old Nick was wont to rub his skinny hands together and smile.

For months after young Carroll a.s.sumed the reins of government there had been fear of a misstep and consequent wreck in the conservative hearts of officers and stockholders, except in the case of old Carroll; then this apprehension was dissipated, leaving a residue of rankling envy. Not one man in authority would have said it was not for the best that old Nick had thrust this infusion of aggressive young blood into the staid old company; but half a dozen persons at interest could have enumerated a thousand reasons why a youth of thirty should not hold the position of president, when some older man-one of themselves-knew the business better and had been in the office longer

Be that as it may, Charles Duer Carroll, the pauper, was president of the company. When he stepped into that position he brought with him new vigor and virility and vitality and a surly, curt, merciless method which had enabled him to achieve things. This was the young man-this Charles Duer Carroll-who stood on the curb one morning staring, glaring, across the busy street. At last he dropped a half smoked cigar, ground it to shreds on the pavement beneath a vigorous heel, and turning stared up at the building. There was a window of his office in the corner straight above him, and there was work that called. But Carroll wasn't thinking of that particularly; he was thinking of--

He snapped his fingers impatiently and entered the building. An elevator whirled him up to the fourth floor, and he entered the large outer office of the company. The forbidding frown was still on his brow, the steeliness still in his gray eyes. Several clerks nodded respectfully as he entered; but there was no greeting in return, not even a curt time of day. He strode straight across the room to his private office without a glance either to right or left, banging the door behind him.

Over in a corner of the outer office Gordon Swayne, secretary and treasurer, was dictating letters. He glanced round with an expression of annoyance on his face at the sudden noise. "Who did that?" he demanded of his stenographer.

"It was Mr. Carroll, sir."

"Oh!" and he resumed his dictation.

For an hour or more he continued dictating; then a letter which required the attention of President Carroll came to hand and he went into the private office. He came out after a moment and spoke to his stenographer again.

"Did Mr. Carroll go into his office this morning?"

"Yes, sir."

Swayne turned and glanced round the outer office inquiringly. "Did you see him come out?" he inquired.

"No, sir."

That was all. Swayne laid the letter aside for the moment and continued with the other correspondence. From time to time he glanced impatiently at the clock, thence to the door from the hall. At ten minutes past eleven the stenographer returned to her own desk, and with a worried countenance Swayne went over and spoke to a bookkeeper near the door.

"Did you see Mr. Carroll go out?" he asked. "Or do you know where he went?"

"He hasn't gone out, sir," replied the bookkeeper. "I saw him go into his office a couple of hours ago."

Swayne went straight toward the private office with the evident intention of leaving the letter on the president's desk. The door of the room was still closed. He was reaching out his hand to open it, when it was opened from within and Carroll started out. Swayne stared at him a moment in a manner nearly approaching amazement.

"Well, what is it?" demanded Carroll curtly.

"I-er-here's something I wanted to ask you about," Swayne explained haltingly.

Carroll glanced over the extended letter. His brows contracted and he quickly looked up at the clock.

"Did this come in the morning mail?" he demanded impatiently.

"Yes. I knew--"

"You should have called it to my attention two hours ago," said Carroll sharply. "Answer by wire that we'll accept the proposition."

Swayne's face flamed suddenly at the tone and manner. "I tried to call it to your attention two hours ago," he explained; "but you were not in your office, nor were you out here."

"I've been in my office right along," said Carroll sharply, and he glared straight into Swayne's eyes. "Wire immediately that we'll accept the proposition."

The two men stood thus face to face, eyes challenging eyes, for an instant, then simultaneously turned away. Swayne's countenance showed not only anger but bewilderment; whatever Carroll felt was not evident. Perhaps there was more color in his face than was usually there; but it had been that way when he came out of the private office, therefore was not due to any feeling aroused by the scene with Swayne.

That afternoon Carroll caused a neat placard to be placed on the door of his private office. It said briefly:

Do not enter this room without knocking. If Mr. Carroll does not answer a knock, it is to be understood that he is not to be disturbed under any circ.u.mstances.

Swayne read it and wondered, feeling somehow that it was a direct rebuke to him; the dozen or more clerks read it and wondered, and commented upon it varyingly; two office boys read it and added their opinions. On the following day the incident was repeated with slight variations. Swayne saw Carroll enter the front door, pa.s.s through the main office, and go into the private office, closing the door behind him. Half an hour later Swayne spoke to the bookkeeper Black, to whom he had spoken the day before.

"Please hand that to Mr. Carroll in his private office," he directed.

The bookkeeper took the slip of paper which the secretary offered, crossed the office, and rapped on Carroll's door. After a minute he returned to Swayne, who was apparently adding a column of figures.

"Mr. Carroll doesn't answer, sir," explained the bookkeeper.

"You know he's in there, don't you?" asked Swayne blandly.

"I saw him go in a few minutes ago, yes, sir; but I didn't intrude because of the notice on the door."

"Oh, that's of no consequence," exclaimed Swayne impatiently. "This is a matter of importance. Take it into him anyway, whether he answers or not."

Again the bookkeeper went away, and again he returned. "Mr. Carroll wasn't in there, sir," he explained; "and I had to leave the paper on his desk."

"I thought you said you saw him go in?" demanded Swayne.

"I did, sir."

"Well, he must be in there; he hasn't come out," insisted Swayne. "Are you sure he isn't there?"

"Why, positive, yes, sir," replied the bewildered bookkeeper.

Swayne was bending over the high desk intently studying the figures before him. The bookkeeper stood for a little while as if awaiting another order, then resumed his work.

"We'll go in there together and see if he isn't to be found," said Swayne at last in a most matter of fact tone.

"But I just--" the bookkeeper began.

"Never mind, come along," directed Swayne; "and don't talk too loud," he added in a lower tone.

Wonderingly the bookkeeper followed the secretary. Swayne himself rapped on the door. There was no answer, and finally he pushed the door open quietly. Carroll was sitting at his desk going over the morning mail. He apparently was not aware that the door had been opened, and Swayne started to close it as he and the bookkeeper withdrew.

"You were mistaken, Black," Swayne remarked casually.

"Come in, Mr. Swayne, you and Black," called Carroll just as the door was closing.

Swayne warned the bookkeeper to silence with one quick, comprehensive glance, then reopened the door, and they entered the private office, closing the door behind them. Swayne faced his superior calmly, defiantly almost; the bookkeeper twiddled his fingers nervously.

"Since when is it customary for employees here to disobey my orders?" demanded Carroll coldly.

"Mr. Black told me you were not here, and I came to see myself," replied Swayne with a singular emphasis on every word.