Mixed Faces Part 12

Jimmy had forgotten all about Yimville, now that he was expatiating on a pet hobby of his. Evidently, too, Yimville had pa.s.sed from the mind of his companion, who seemed pondering over salesmans.h.i.+p.

"But--but how would it be applicable to power plants?" he demanded.

"I don't know," admitted Jim, "but the principle is the same for chocolates, or power plants or--automobiles. That's what started me off--those Sayers automobiles. I never heard about that car until I saw one in the street. I don't know anything about them. But the one I saw looked so pretty that I talked with the man who owned it, and he was in love with the thing. So, because I never heard of it, and no one else seemed to have done so, it proves that there's something wrong with the Sayers selling organization. They haven't handled their capital right, because every dollar invested in advertising is a dollar in the value of the plant--in that intangible a.s.set called 'goodwill,' without which neither a house nor a man can succeed."

"Young man," said his companion, "you are in the wrong line. You ought to be selling advertising s.p.a.ce. I told you I was in power plants but--I'm in some other things as well. Did you ever solicit advertising contracts for any first cla.s.s advertising firm?"

"I never did," admitted Jimmy, "But I have given some advice about advertising that has paid the purchasers. And I've pondered over sales organization for years. I tell you--it's a science! If ever I get a chance to test these theories of mine--I'll----" He paused as if ashamed of his serious enthusiasm, and as usual, derided them--"I'll probably fail!"

"Why deride yourself?" queried the man, regarding Jim with grave and interested eyes. "If sales organization is a hobby of yours, why not ride it? Evidently you've thought about it somewhat. What is wrong with the average sales organization? Where does it fail? What improvements can you suggest in prevalent methods? Have you thought of anything new and original to improve them? If so, I'd like to hear about it, because I'm one of those who are never too old to learn."

Jimmy accepted and launched into his argument with all the vim of an enthusiast discussing a subject to which he had given thought.

"Have you got one of your personal cards with you? Hope you don't think I'm impertinent," said the man, after Jimmy had run down.

Jimmy laughed and gave him the card and while he wondered what was coming next, his companion carefully slipped it into his pocketbook.

"If ever you decide to get out of chocolates," he said, thoughtfully, "you might call on me--or--let's see! Here!" He took another card from his pocket just as the train came to a stop and the porter came hurrying in and shouted, "Sorry, sah! Done forgot to call you sooner. Corinth!"

Both Jim and his fellow traveler jumped to their feet and hastened out.

Jimmy saw that the card was that of "Mr. Charles W. Martin, Suites 105-7-9-11 Z, Flat Iron Bldg., New York. Specialist in everything pertaining to power plants."

Out on the platform Martin asked, "Where do you stop here in Corinth, Mr. Gollop?"

"At the City Hotel," said Jimmy. "Good sample rooms there. Good grub.

Good beds."

"I think I'll go there, too," said Martin, and together they entered the hotel bus and were driven away.

As usual Jimmy was welcomed by his first name, and informed that there was some mail there for him. When he looked around from its perusal Martin had disappeared and he did not meet him again until he was seated in a corner of the restaurant alone, when a voice behind him said, "Hope you don't mind if I join you, Mr. Gollop," and looked up to see his traveling companion.

"Not at all, Mr. Martin," he replied. "Always glad to have good company.

I'm a sociable sort of cuss myself. I detest traveling alone, eating alone, or loafing alone. I suppose I'm gregarious."

A troubled, thoughtful shadow chased itself over the elder man's face, as he said, with a half-sigh, "I understand. It's not good for a man to be alone. And the older he becomes, the more he feels lonesomeness, and the more he wants--home!"

The word was the magic one for Jimmy. Somehow that word always moved him and brought out his great undercurrent.

"Why, do you know," he said, leaning across the table with s.h.i.+ning eyes, "if I didn't have a home to go to, always, after I've made my round, I'd be like a horse that had been robbed of his stall? I live for it! I work for it! I look forward to it all the time! But you see, I'm different than most men. Luckier, I think, because my mother's there!

And if I didn't have a thing in the world but her, I'd be rich. And if I had everything else but her, I'd be poor! I'm mighty proud of my home and my mother. I shall be leaving here for home to-morrow afternoon,"

continued Jimmy. "After I've hustled around and seen about a dozen customers. Being a drummer and having a craze for home, are two pretty tough propositions to combine. But--what would home be without chocolates? Why, do you know, I don't think I'd have been able to have a home at all without 'em! By chocolates Maw and I live or die. Funny, isn't it, that if there was an earthquake that wiped a spot off the maps and hurt me when I read about it, I'd keep going on just about the same; but if everybody stopped eating chocolates, I'd be wiped off the map, and I reckon the world would be going on just the same? Sometimes I think every man's world is the smallest thing there is because it's bounded only by his own happiness or tragedy. He's just one of billions, but if his pet dog dies, he's astonished because the universe isn't covered with gloom and probably he's the only one that's sorry about the dog, or that even knows the dog has croaked. Maybe somebody else hears about it and is glad--the chap that the dog bit the week before he went to dog-heaven. But--anyhow--I'm bound for home to-morrow.

Back to Baltimore, as the song goes."

"Baltimore?" said Martin. "That's a coincidence! I go to Baltimore myself to-morrow. Struthers people. Know them? Make tools of precision."

"Everybody in Baltimore knows of them," declared Jim with full civic pride.

"I shall take the two-thirty train," said Martin. "Maybe we shall travel together."

"That's the one I take," said Jim. "Match you to see who engages berths for both of us."

"I'll gladly engage one for you without matching," declared Martin, a proffer which Jim immediately accepted.

They lounged together that evening, and the more Jimmy knew of Martin, the better he liked him. There was something homely and sane about the man that appealed to him. For a time he kept subconsciously questioning why he maintained a peculiar feeling that this was not the first time they had met; yet this sense of unrest was dissipated by the respect he had formed for him, quite unaccountably. He was, indeed, surprised with himself for his liking when he realized how satisfactory it was to have Martin sharing his journey on the following day. In his perpetual journeyings he had met many men who were congenial, men of the goodfellow type, but here was a man who had but little of the customary "goodfellow" attributes and habits, and who yet won his regard. There was the disparity of ages, the contrast of taciturnity with free expression, and a large lack of mutual experience; but somehow all these barriers were not supervened to the detriment of their fellows.h.i.+p. Jim felt as if he were with an acquaintance--most friendly too--of years standing, long before they arrived at Baltimore.

"Perhaps you can recommend me to a good hotel," said Martin, as they neared their destination. "I've never stopped in Baltimore. In fact, I'm a total stranger there."

"Why stop at a hotel at all?" suggested Jimmy, generously. "Why not come out and put up with me? My mother's the finest there is! We're pretty plain people, but it ought to beat being in a hotel. I'll have three days home this time, and I'll show you down to Struthers' place, and--by jingoes!--you shall be introduced to big Bill, my pet tree, in his winter clothes, and if I can't make you believe in Maryland hospitality, it won't be my fault."

Martin accepted as directly as he appeared to decide everything. And the beauty of it was that Mrs. Gollop, who shared her son's hospitable nature, accepted and made welcome the guest that Jimmy brought home as if she were thoroughly accustomed to her son's unconventional methods.

"Does he always bring strangers home like this?" asked Martin, with a faint smile, on the second day of his visit after Jim's mother had been eloquently expatiating on Jim's idiosyncrasies and virtues during the latter's temporary absence.

"You never can tell what Jimmy will do," she replied with a laugh, and then thoughtfully stared through her window into the street. "But I am always certain that he will do the honest, decent, and generous action.

He laughs his way through the world, but in the laugh is never malice nor cruelty. His sole failing is that he cannot resist a joke. He has always been so. His sense of the ridiculous is absurdly out of proportion to his serious side. I used to feel hopeless for his future because he laughed so much; but now I know the difference. One may still laugh and be loyal in all things. He has no false ideas or unattainable ambitions. He has no false pride. He believes in doing his best in all things. He is sorry for those who are unfortunate, and unenvious of those who have succeeded. He is sincere, and he is una.s.suming, a good friend, and a tolerant enemy. His tastes are simple, his pleasures homely."

She stopped, flushed and, added, "But I boast too much! Yet I can't help it because--well--because there has never been such a son as mine, and I'm not ashamed to feel proud of him!"

But Mr. Martin was now looking out of the window, and, Mr. Martin did not smile.

CHAPTER X

At the end of three days, Mr. Martin, professing much grat.i.tude and pleasure for the hospitality shown him, departed for the South. At the end of four days, Mr. Gollop, making the excuse of urgent business, entrained for New York. Not that Mr. Gollop, having regard for the _expressio falsi_ as compared with the _suppressio veri_, was strictly a prevaricator or that he told the exact truth, because he had slipped four whole days up his sleeve for his own entertainment; four whole days in which he had not the slightest intention of visiting his firm; four whole days that he intended to devote to art research, and exploration--exploration of a wilderness known as MacDougall Alley. So accurately did he time his movements that he invaded MacDougall Alley at just eleven a.m., which he considered a proper hour to find an aspiring artist at work while the light was most perfect and amenable. He was not disappointed, which he regarded as proof of ac.u.men; but he was surprised by his surroundings. No bare-walled studio, this, but a rather luxurious place. With a real rug on the floor, and real chairs to sit upon, and a cosy seat, and electric lights instead of bare boards, benches, charcoal brazier and tallow dips stuck in the necks of bottles blown for better contents.

"See here! What troubles you, Bill Jones? Have I done anything you didn't like?" demanded Mary Allen, as she extricated her thumb from the hole of a palette on which oil paints proved that she had forsaken for the moment her love of water colors.

"Why--why--I don't understand!" exclaimed Jimmy, helplessly.

"Don't understand? I thought you promised to write?"

"I did," admitted Jimmy; "but, you see, I was so busy and there were so many people to talk to in my most seductive manner, and there were so many things to be done, including people, that I clean overlooked it! I did! I confess. But--I'm going to be here now at least a week," he added hopefully, and not without insinuation.

"Hope you enjoy your visit," she said, and added rather maliciously, "I am entirely engrossed in my work--this week."

He stared at her with a face as frankly dejected as that of a hurt boy; then, his ever-present bouyancy rea.s.serting itself, queried, "That's good. By the way, do you ever use models?"

"Of course," she replied.

"Well, I've got nothing to do this week," he replied enthusiastically.

"I'll sit for you as a study in Disappointment, Flat-busted, or Return from the Races. The t.i.tle doesn't matter, because I'll be such an excellent study for any sort of man whose hopes have all been knocked flatter than a pancake."

"I know you can be gloomy enough when you wish to be," she said, relenting a trifle; "but you're the first man I ever had promise to write me a letter that I admitted I should welcome, and then had the impudence to forget me. The one thing a woman can't forget is to be forgotten."

Jimmy felt decidedly perturbed by this statement. He wondered what she would say if he boldly admitted that he had in reality forgotten her very name and where she came from, and then followed it with a confession that since the first day he had met her in New York some months ago, he had made amends by thinking of her continuously throughout his spare time. But he did not dare. He feared banishment, and that, he concluded, desperately, would be worse than death.

Something of his mental distress must have been observable, for the girl suddenly relented, smiled a trifle and then said, "Well, perhaps I can indulge myself--not you, understand?--by going somewhere."