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Updated: June 1, 2025
"Why this question of a job." "A job?" An almost imperceptible breeze blew across Mr. Macy's expression. "You see, Mr. Macy," continued Dalyrimple, "I feel I'm wasting time. I want to get started at something. I had several chances about a month ago but they all seem to have gone " "Let's see," interrupted Mr. Macy. "What were they?"
"If you've got a drag with old Macy, maybe he'll raise you," was Charley's disheartening reply. "But he didn't raise ME till I'd been here nearly two years." "I've got to live," said Dalyrimple simply. "I could get more pay as a laborer on the railroad but, Golly, I want to feel I'm where there's a chance to get ahead." Charles shook his head sceptically and Mr.
Macy's answer next day was equally unsatisfactory. Dalyrimple had gone to the office just before closing time. "Mr. Macy, I'd like to speak to you." "Why yes." The unhumorous smile appeared. The voice vas faintly resentful. "I want to speak to you in regard to more salary." Mr. Macy nodded. "Well," he said doubtfully, "I don't know exactly what you're doing. I'll speak to Mr. Hanson."
He sprang to his feet with clinched hands in a sort of triumph. "Well, Bryan," said Mr. Macy stepping through the portieres. The two older men smiled their half-smiles at him. "Well Bryan," said Mr. Macy again. Dalyrimple smiled also. "How do, Mr. Macy?" He wondered if some telepathy between them had made this new appreciation possible some invisible realization. . . . Mr. Macy held out his hand.
When Dalyrimple kept his imagination at white heat he managed to glorify his own attitude, his emancipation from petty scruples and remorses but let him once allow his thought to rove unarmored, great unexpected horrors and depressions would overtake him. Then for reassurance he had to go back to think out the whole thing over again.
"Those things," answered Mr. Fraser, "are mechanical. Linotype is a resuscitator of reputations. Wait till you see the HERALD, beginning next week that is if you're with us that is," and his voice hardened slightly, "if you haven't got too many ideas yourself about how things ought to be run." "No," said Dalyrimple, looking him frankly in the eye. "You'll have to give me a lot of advice at first."
Two days later he again appeared in the office with the result of a count that had been asked for by Mr. Hesse, the bookkeeper. Mr. Hesse was engaged and Dalyrimple, waiting, began idly fingering in a ledger on the stenographer's desk. Half unconsciously he turned a page he caught sight of his name it was a salary list: Dalyrimple Demming Donahoe Everett His eyes stopped
Dalyrimple, I've seen too many young men who promised brilliantly go to pieces, fail through want of steadiness, too many high-power ideas, and not enough willingness to work. So I waited. I wanted to see what you'd do. I wanted to see if you'd go to work, and if you'd stick to what you started." Dalyrimple felt a glow settle over him.
"Very well. I'll take care of your reputation then. Just keep yourself on the right side of the fence." Dalyrimple started at this repetition of a phrase he had thought of so much lately. There was a sudden ring at the door-bell. "That's Macy now," observed Fraser, rising. "I'll go let him in. The servants have gone to bed." He left Dalyrimple there in a dream.
Macy. Dalyrimple felt like an errant schoolboy. Unpleasant facts came to his knowledge.
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