menu_book Chapter 14

Book 2, Chapter 2, Sections 1-4 of Bread. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Read by Wild Shimmering Path. Bread by Charles G. Norris. Book 2, Chapter 2, Sections 1-4.

It was some three months after the publishing house had been established in its new offices that Jeanette had the card of Martin Devlin brought to her. It was embossed and heavily engraved with a small outline of the earth's two hemispheres in one corner, and bisecting these in tiny capitals the words, The Gibbs Engraving Company. Mr. Corey was out, Jeanette told the boy to inform the caller. In a minute or two, the messenger returned to say that the gentleman would

like to speak to Mr. Corey's secretary. But Jeanette had no time to waste on solicitors of engraving work, and sent word that she was occupied. The boy reappeared presently with another of Mr. Devlin's cards, on the back of which was penciled, Dear Miss Sturgis, I'd be grateful for two minutes' interview. Have a message from an old friend of yours, M. Devlin. Jeanette frowned in distaste and looked up at the boy, annoyed. She was extremely busy,

typing a speech for Mr. Corey which he was to read that night at a publisher's banquet at the Waldorf. It was twenty minutes past four. She expected him to return at any minute. Tell the gentleman to come again, will you, Jimmy? I'm really too busy to see him today. The boy went out, and she returned to her work, her fingers flying. The responsibility of molding public opinion, went her notes, rests perhaps with our press,

but to whom do the discriminating readers of the nation in confidence turn for the formation of their taste in literature, their acquaintance with the arts, the dissemination of those inspiring idealistic thoughts and precepts of the fathers of our great, she estimated there were another three pages of it. The door of her office opened and a young man of square build with broad shoulders and a grin on his face filled the aperture. Beg pardon, Miss Sturgis, he began. I hope you don't

think I'm butting in. He had a strong, handsome face, big flashing teeth, black hair, and black eyebrows. Jeanette looked at him, bewildered. She had never seen this man before. She did not know what he was doing in her office, nor what he wanted. I'm Martin Devlin, he announced, advancing into the room. At once she froze, her breast rose on a quick, angry intake, and her eyes assumed a cold, level stare. I hope you're not going to be sore at me, he smiled down at her in easy good

humor. Mr. Corey's not in, said the girl. She was staggered by this individual's effrontery. Well, that's too bad, but I really called to have a few minutes' chat with you, he returned nonchalantly. We have a friend of yours down at our office, Miss Alexander. Beatrice Alexander. Remember her? She says a lot of nice things about you. Oh, Jeanette elevated her eyebrows and surveyed the speaker's head and feet.

I'm afraid you're sore at me, he said. He laughed straight into her cold eyes, showing his big teeth. Jeanette straightened herself and frowned. She felt her anger rising, er, you, uh, she began, deliberately clearing her throat with a little annoyed cough.

I think you've made a mistake. Mr. Corey is not in. As you see, I am busy. Good day. She looked down at her notes and swung her chair around to her machine.

whistled Mr. Devlin. He took a step nearer, put his hand on her desk, bent down to catch a glimpse of her face, and said with a pleading note in his voice, and with that same flashing smile, Ah, please don't be sore at me, Miss Sturgis. The man's sudden nearness brought Jeanette up rigidly in her seat. Her eyes blazed a moment, but there was something in this person's manner and in the ingratiating quality of his smile that made her hesitate. Her first thought had

been to call the porter or one of the men outside, and have him summarily put out. Instead, she said in her most frigid tone, Really, Mr. Devlin, you presume too far. You see that I am busy, and I've told you that Mr. Corey is not in. Well, that's all right. But what do you want me to tell Miss Alexander? She'll be wanting to know if I delivered her message. Miss Alexander, as I remember her, is a very lovely girl. You can tell her that I've not forgotten her, and that I am sorry that

that in her office there are not more mannerly gentlemen. Devlin threw back his head and roared. His laugh was extraordinary. I say, Miss Sturgis, he began, please don't be sore at me. I didn't know I'd find a girl like you in here. Miss Alexander said you were awfully nice, and I thought maybe you'd be doing me a favor one of these days. I took a chance on getting in to see you the way I did. Don't blame the kid. What kid? The office boy. I slipped him a quarter and told

him to tell you I was an old friend of yours and wanted to give you a surprise. Upon my word. Well, you see, we've all got to make our living. You, me, and the office boy. There are ways of doing it, said Jeanette acidly. I think they're all legitimate. What, bribing office boys? Well, I didn't bribe him exactly. I deceived him. He laughed again. He was Irish, the girl noted, and presumably considered he had a great deal of Irish charm. At any rate, I got in to see you.

Much good it's done you. I have hopes for the future. I wouldn't cherish them. Ah, well now, mister, just don't be cruel. I'm not in the least interested. Won't you tell me who's doing Corey's engraving? I will not. I can find out easily enough, and I think I can interest him.

I think you can't. Won't you make an appointment for me to see him? Certainly not. There's other ways I can meet him. You're at liberty to find them.

Ah, you're awfully mean. Why don't you give a fellow a chance for his living? You don't deserve it. Because I gave the boy a quarter to show me which was your office? Yes. And because you're so... so...

Fresh. Go on, you were going to say it. Evidently you are aware of it. A fellow hasn't a chance to think anything else. Well, you'll have to excuse me. I'm really very busy. Can I come again when you've a little more time to spare?

I am always busy. Can I phone? I can't bother with phone messages. Mr. Devlin for a moment was routed. Ah, gosh, he said in disgust.

Jeanette was not to be won. She nodded to him and began to type briskly the keys of her machine humming. The man stood uncertainly a moment more, shifting from one foot to the other. Then he swung himself disconsolately toward the door and closed it slowly after him. Almost immediately he opened it again and thrust in his head.

I'm coming back again, just the same. He bawled. Jeanette did not look around, and the door clicked shut. The next time he called, she was taking dictation from Mr. Corey and was unaware he had come. When she finished with her employer and picked up the sheaf of letters he had given her, she passed through the connecting door between the two offices and found Devlin waiting in her room.

Really? she stopped short and frowned in quick annoyance. Well, here I am again, he said blandly. And here's where you go out! She walked towards the door that led to the outer office and flung it open. Devlin's face altered and a slow color began to mount his dark cheeks.

Aw! Say, he said in hurt tones. The smile was gone, for the moment his face was as serious as her own. Jeanette did not move. Devlin picked up his hat and gloves.

My God! he exclaimed fervently. Your heart is nails! As he went out, she suddenly felt sorry for him. But that was not the last of him. His card appeared the next afternoon.

Mr. Corey was again away from the office. I'm not into this person, she said to Jimmy, and if he bribes you to show him here, I'll go straight to Mr. Kipps and have you fired. The next day he telephoned.

She hung up the receiver and told the girl at the switchboard to find out who wanted her before she put through any more calls. The day following brought a letter from him. but as soon as she discovered his signature, she tore it up and threw it in the waste paper basket. Two minutes later, she carefully recovered its ragged squares and pieced them together.

My dear Miss Sturgis, it read, you must overlook my boorish methods. I'll not bother you again, but I beg you will not hold it against me if I try to make your acquaintance in some more acceptable manner. Yours with good wishes, Martin Devlin. He wrote a vigorous hand, strong, distinct, individual. Jeanette considered the letter a moment, then uttered a contemptuous, scooped the fragments into her palm and returned them to the receptacle for trash.

Toward the end of the week, she had a telephone call from Beatrice Alexander. She had not seen the girl for nearly four years, but remembered how exceptionally kind she had been to her that first day she went to work, and thought it would be pleasant to meet her again and talk over old times. They arranged to have luncheon together. They met at the Hotel St. Denis. Jeanette always went there whenever there was sufficient excuse. She loved the atmosphere

of the old place. Her luncheon was invariably the same, hot chocolate with whipped cream and a club sandwich. It cost just fifty cents. Beatrice Alexander had changed but little during the years Jeanette had not seen her, except that now she wore glasses. A little gold chain dangled from the tip of one lens and hooked itself by means of a gold loop over an ear. It made her look schoolmarmy, but she had the same sweet face, the same soft dove-like eyes, and the whispering voice.

And you never married Mr. Beardsley, she commented. I heard you were engaged, and he certainly was awfully in love with you. Jeanette explained about her sister, and how happy the two were in their little Bronx flat. Her companion exclaimed about the baby. She had had two or three places since the old publishing house suspended its selling campaign of the history. She had been in the business office of the Fifth Avenue Hotel Company until it closed its doors. Now the Gibbs

Engraving Company employed her. She'd been there about a year and liked it all right, but the constant smell of the strong acids made her a little sick sometimes. She and Jeanette fell presently to discussing Martin Devlin. Oh, he's all right, Beatrice Alexander said. He came there about the same time I did. He's an awful flirt, I guess, and he gets round a good deal. I don't know much about him, except that he's always pleasant and agreeable. Never anything but

terribly nice to me. Everybody likes him. He's one of our best solicitors. I heard from one of the men in your composing room, who is a kind of cousin of mine, that you were with the Corey company and were Mr. Corey's private secretary, and one day I happened to hear Mr. Devlin talking to Mr. Gibbs. Mr. Gibbs and his brother own the Gibbs engraving company, and he said something about how he wished he could land your account, but he didn't know a soul he could approach.

And then I mentioned I knew you. That was all there was to it, only he said you treated him something awful. Jeanette rehearsed the interview. He struck me as a very fresh young man, she concluded. Oh, Mr. Devlin's all right, Beatrice Alexander said again. He doesn't mean any harm. He's Irish, you know. He was born here and all that, and he just wants to be friendly with everyone. I suppose he was kind of hurt because you were so short with him. I most certainly was,

Jeanette said grimly. Well, he's been begging and begging me to call you up. He wanted to take us both out to lunch, but I wouldn't agree to that. I told him I'd see you about it first. I wouldn't consider it, Jeanette said indignantly. The idea. What's the matter with him? I imagine, Beatrice Alexander said shyly. He likes your style. Well, I don't like his. The impertinence. They finished their lunch and wandered into Broadway. It was Easter week,

and the chimes of Grace Church were ringing out a hymn. Let's not lose touch with each other again, said Beatrice Alexander at parting. I'll phone you soon, and next time you'll have to have luncheon with me. I always go to Wanamakers. They have such lovely music up there, and the food's splendid. Jeanette had forgotten Mr. Devlin's existence, until one day, as she was typing busily at her desk, she suddenly recognized his loud, infectious, and unmistakable laugh in the adjoining office.

Mr. Corey had come in from lunch some ten minutes before, and had brought a man with him. She had heard their feet, their voices, and the clap of the closing door as they entered. Now the laugh startled her. She paused, her fingers suspended above the keys of her typewriter, and listened. It was Mr. Devlin. There was no mistaking him. She twisted her lips in a wry smile. He and Mr. Corey were evidently getting on. She knew she would be called. When the buzzer summoned her,

she picked up her notebook and pencils, straightened her shoulders in characteristic fashion, and went in. Devlin rose to his feet as she entered, but she did not glance at him. Her attention was Mr. Corey's. How do you do? How's Miss Sturgis? Devlin was all good-natured friendliness, showing his big teeth as he grinned at her. She turned her eyes toward him gravely, gazed at him with calm deliberation, and briefly inclined her head. Oh, you two know each other?

Friends, eh? asked Mr. Corey, looking up. Well, we're trying to be, laughed Devlin. Jeanette made no comment. She gazed expectantly at her chief. The Gibbs Engraving Company, said Mr. Corey in his brusque business-like voice, wants to do our engraving. I'm going to give them a three-months trial. I'd like to have you take a memorandum of what they've quoted us. Mr. Gibbs is to confirm this by letter.

Now you said five cents per square inch on line cuts with a minimum of fifty cents. Jeanette scribbled down the figures. Three color work, a dollar a square inch, supplied Devlin. Oh, I thought you said you'd give us a flat rate on our color work. On the magazine covers, yes, but I can't do that on general color work. Well, that's all right, the discussion continued. Presently, the girl had all the details. Give me a memorandum of that, Corey said,

and send a carbon to Mr. Kipps. He turned to the young man. We'll talk it over and let you know just as soon as we hear from you. Devlin rose. The men shook hands as Jeanette passed into her own room. She heard them saying goodbye. Their voices continued murmuring, but she did not listen. Suddenly Mr. Corey opened her door. Mr. Devlin wants to speak to you a minute, Miss Sturgis. He nodded to his companion, said, Well, goodbye. Hope we can get together on this,

and shook hands once more and left Devlin confronting her. Please, let me say just one word, he said quickly. I met Mr. Corey at the Kuan Club the other day and made a date for lunch. I'm after his business, all right, and I think I've got it cinched. I don't want you to continue to be sore at me if my outfit and yours are going to do business together.

I'm sorry if I got off on the wrong foot. Please accept my apology, and let's be friends. I don't think there is any occasion, began Jeanette icily. Ah, shucks, he said, interrupting her. I'm doing the best I can to square myself. I didn't mean to annoy you. I didn't care at first what you thought of me as long as I got in to see Mr. Corey. I confess I thought maybe I could

jolly you into arranging a date for me to see him. No, wait a minute, he urged as the girl frowned. Hear me out. You see, I'm being honest about it. I'm telling you frankly what I thought at first, but that was before I even saw you. I had no idea you were the kind of girl you are. It isn't usual to find a person like you in an office. Oh, you think I'm jollying you. I swear I'm not. I just want to ask you to forgive me if I offended you and be friends. There was something

unusually ingratiating about this man. Jeanette hesitated, and Devlin continued. He pleaded very earnestly. It was impossible not to believe his sincerity. Jeanette shrugged her shoulders when he paused for a moment. Her hands were automatically arranging the articles on her desk. Well, she conceded slowly, what do you want? For you to say you'll forgive a blundering Irish booby and shake hands with him. He wrung a dry smile from her at that. She held out her hand. Oh,

very well. It's easier to be friends with you than have you here interfering with my getting at my work. That's fine now. He held her fingers a moment, his whole face beaming. You've a kind heart, Miss Sturgis, and I shan't forget it. He took himself away with a radiant smile upon his face. End of Book Two, Chapter Two, Sections One through Four