Where the Blue Begins

  CHAPTER SIX

  "For students of the troubled heart Cities are perfect works of art."

  There is a city so tall that even the sky above her seems to have liftedin a cautious remove, inconceivably far. There is a city so proud, somad, so beautiful and young, that even heaven has retreated, lest herplacid purity be too nearly tempted by that brave tragic spell. In thecity which is maddest of all, Gissing had come to search for sanity. Inthe city so strangely beautiful that she has made even poets silent, hehad come to find a voice. In the city of glorious ostent and vanity, hehad come to look for humility and peace.

  All cities are mad: but the madness is gallant. All cities arebeautiful: but the beauty is grim. Who shall tell me the truth aboutthis one? Tragic? Even so, because wherever ambitions, vanities, andfollies are multiplied by millionfold contact, calamity is there. Nobleand beautiful? Aye, for even folly may have the majesty of magnitude.Hasty, cruel, shallow? Agreed, but where in this terrene orb will youfind it otherwise? I know all that can be said against her; and yet inher great library of streets, vast and various as Shakespeare, is beautyenough for a lifetime. O poets, why have you been so faint? Because sheseems cynical and crass, she cries with trumpet-call to the mind of thedreamer; because she is riant and mad, she speaks to the grave sanity ofthe poet.

  So, in a mood perhaps too consciously lofty, Gissing was meditating.It was rather impudent of him to accuse the city of being mad, for hehimself, in his glee over freedom regained, was not conspicuously sane.He scoured the town in high spirits, peering into shop-windows, ridingon top of busses, going to the Zoo, taking the rickety old steamer tothe Statue of Liberty, drinking afternoon tea at the Ritz, and all thatsort of thing. The first three nights in town he slept in one of thelittle traffic-towers that perch on stilts up above Fifth Avenue. Asa matter of fact, it was that one near St. Patrick's Cathedral. He hadridden up the Avenue in a taxi, intending to go to the Plaza (just fora bit of splurge after his domestic confinement). As the cab went by, hesaw the traffic-tower, dark and empty, and thought what a pleasant placeto sleep. So he asked the driver to let him out at the Cathedral, andafter being sure that he was not observed, walked back to the littleturret, climbed up the ladder, and made himself at home. He liked itso well that he returned there the two following nights; but he didn'tsleep much, for he could not resist the fun of startling night-hawktaxis by suddenly flashing the red, green, and yellow lights at them,and seeing them stop in bewilderment. But after three nights hethought it best to leave. It would have been awkward if the police haddiscovered him.

  It was time to settle down and begin work. He had an uncle who was headof an important business far down-town; but Gissing, with the quixotryof youth, was determined to make his own start in the great world ofcommerce. He found a room on the top floor of a quiet brownstone housein the West Seventies. It was not large, and he had to go down a flightfor his bath; the gas burner over the bed whistled; the dust was ratherstartling after the clean country; but it was cheap, and his sense ofadventure more than compensated. Mrs. Purp, the landlady, pleased himgreatly. She was very maternal, and urged him not to bolt his meals inarmchair lunches. She put an ashtray in his room.

  Gissing sent Mrs. Spaniel a postcard with a picture of the PennsylvaniaStation. On it he wrote Arrived safely. Hard at work. Love to thechildren. Then he went to look for a job.

  His ideas about business were very vague. All he knew was that he wishedto be very wealthy and influential as soon as possible. He could havehad much sound advice from his uncle, who was a member of the UnionKennel and quite a prominent dog-about-town. But Gissing had thesecretive pride of inexperience. Moreover, he did not quite know whatto say about his establishment in the country. That houseful of childrenwould need some explaining.

  Those were days of brilliant heat; clear, golden, dry. The societycolumns in the papers assured him that everyone was out of town; but theAvenue seemed plentifully crowded with beautiful, superb creatures.Far down the gentle slopes of that glimmering roadway he could seethe rolling stream of limousines, dazzles of sunlight caught on theirpolished flanks. A faint blue haze of gasoline fumes hung low in thebright warm air. This is the street where even the most passive arepricked by the strange lure of carnal dominion. Nothing less than a jobon the Avenue itself would suit his mood, he felt.

  Fortune and audacity united (as they always do) to concede his desire.He was in the beautiful department store of Beagle and Company, one ofthe most splendid of its kind, looking at some sand-coloured spats.In an aisle near by he heard a commotion--nothing vulgar, but still anevident stir, with repressed yelps and a genteel, horrified bustle. Hehastened to the spot, and through the crowd saw someone lying on thefloor. An extremely beautiful sales-damsel, charmingly clad in blackcrepe de chien, was supporting the victim's head, vainly fanning him.Wealthy dowagers were whining in distress. Then an ambulance clangedup to a side door, and a stretcher was brought in. "What is it?" saidGissing to a female at the silk-stocking counter.

  "One of the floorwalkers--died of heat prostration," she said, lookingvery much upset.

  "Poor fellow," said Gissing. "You never know what will happen next, doyou?" He walked away, shaking his head.

  He asked the elevator attendant to direct him to the offices of thefirm. On the seventh floor, down a quiet corridor behind the bedroomsuites, a rosewood fence barred his way. A secretary faced himinquiringly.

  "I wish to see Mr. Beagle."

  "Mr. Beagle senior or Mr. Beagle junior?"

  Youth cleaves to youth, said Gissing to himself. "Mr. Beagle junior," hestated firmly.

  "Have you an appointment?"

  "Yes," he said.

  She took his ward, disappeared, and returned. "This way, please," shesaid.

  Mr. Beagle senior must be very old indeed, he thought; for junior wasdistinctly grizzled. In fact (so rapidly does the mind run), Mr. Beaglesenior must be near the age of retirement. Very likely (he said tohimself) that will soon occur; there will be a general stepping-up amongmembers of the firm, and that will be my chance. I wonder how much theypay a junior partner?

  He almost uttered this question, as Mr. Beagle junior looked at him soinquiringly. But he caught himself in time.

  "I beg your pardon for intruding," said Gissing, "but I am the newfloorwalker."

  "You are very kind," said Mr. Beagle junior, "but we do not need a newfloorwalker."

  "I beg your pardon again," said Gissing, "but you are not au courantwith the affairs of the store. One has just died, right by thesilk-stocking counter. Very bad for business."

  At this moment the telephone rang, and Mr. Beagle seized it. Helistened, sharply examining his caller meanwhile.

  "You are right," he said, as he put down the receiver. "Well, sir, haveyou had any experience?"

  "Not exactly of that sort," said Gissing; "but I think I understand therequirements. The tone of the store--"

  "I will ask you to be here at four-thirty this afternoon," said Mr.Beagle. "We have a particular routine in regard to candidates forthat position. You will readily perceive that it is a post of someimportance. The floorwalker is our point of social contact withpatrons."

  Gissing negligently dusted his shoes with a handkerchief.

  "Pray do not apologize," he said kindly. "I am willing to congratulatewith you on your good fortune. It was mere hazard that I was in thestore. To-day, of course, business will be poor. But to-morrow, I thinkyou will find--"

  "At four-thirty," said Mr. Beagle, a little puzzled.

  That day Gissing went without lunch. First he explored the wholebuilding from top to bottom, until he knew the location of everydepartment, and had the store directory firmly memorized. With almostproprietary tenderness he studied the shining goods and trinkets; notedapprovingly the clerks who seemed to him specially prompt and obligingto customers; scowled a little at any sign of boredom or inattention.He heard the soft sigh of the pneumatic tubes as they received moneyand blew it to some distant coffer: this money, he t
hought, was alreadypartly his. That square-cut creature whom he presently discernedfollowing him was undoubtedly the store detective: he smiled to thinkwhat a pleasant anecdote this would be when he was admitted to juniorpartnership. Then he went, finally, to the special Masculine Shop on thefifth floor, where he bought a silk hat, a cutaway coat and waistcoat,and trousers of pearly stripe. He did not forget patent leather shoes,nor white spats. He refused--the little white linen margins which theclerk wished to affix to the V of his waistcoat. That, he felt, was theultra touch which would spoil all. The just less than perfection, howperfect it is!

  It was getting late. He hurried to Penn Station where he hired one ofthose little dressing booths, and put on his regalia. His tweeds, in aneat package, he checked at the parcel counter. Then he returned to thestore for the important interview.

  He had expected a formal talk with the two Messrs. Beagle, perhapstouching on such matters as duties, hours, salary, and so on. To hissurprise he was ushered by the secretary into a charming Louis XVI salonfarther down the private corridor. There were several ladies: one waspouring tea. Mr. Beagle junior came forward. The vice-president (suchwas Mr. Beagle junior's rank, Gissing had learned by the sign on hisdoor) still wore his business garb of the morning. Gissing immediatelyfelt himself to have the advantage. But what a pleasant idea, hethought, for the members of the firm to have tea together everyafternoon. He handed his hat, gloves, and stick to the secretary.

  "Very kind of you to come," said Mr. Beagle. "Let me present you to mywife."

  Mrs. Beagle, at the tea-urn, received him graciously.

  "Cream or lemon?" she said. "Two lumps?"

  This is really delightful, Gissing thought. Only on Fifth Avenue couldthis kind of thing happen. He looked down the hostess from his superiorheight, and smiled charmingly.

  "Do you permit three?" he said. "A little weakness of mine." As a matterof fact, he hated tea so sweet; but he felt it was strategic to fixhimself in Mrs. Beagle's mind as a polished eccentric.

  "You must have a meringue," she said. "Ah, Mrs. Pomeranian has them.Mrs. Pomeranian, let me present Mr. Gissing."

  Mrs. Pomeranian, small and plump and tightly corseted, offered themeringues, while Mrs. Beagle pressed upon him a plate with a smalldoily, embroidered with the arms of the store, and its motto jemaintiendrai--referring, no doubt, to its prices. Mr. Beagle thenintroduced him to several more ladies in rapid succession. Gissingpassed along the line, bowing slightly but with courteous interest toeach. To each one he raised his eyebrows and permitted himself a smallsignificant smile, as though to convey that this was a moment he hadlong been anticipating. How different, he thought, was this life ofenigmatic gaiety from the suburban drudgery of recent months. If onlyMrs. Spaniel could see him now! He was about to utilize a brief pause bysipping his tea, when a white-headed patriarch suddenly appeared besidehim.

  "Mr. Gissing," said the vice-president, "this is my father, Mr. Beaglesenior."

  Gissing, by quick work, shuffled the teacup into his left paw, and themeringue plate into the crook of his elbow, so he was ready for the oldgentleman's salutation. Mr. Beagle senior was indeed very old: his whitehair hung over his eyes, he spoke with growling severity. Gissing'smanner to the old merchant was one of respectful reassurance: heattempted to make an impression that would console: to impart--of coursewithout saying so--the thought that though the head of the firm couldnot last much longer, yet he would leave his great traffic in capablecare.

  "Where will I find an aluminum cooking pot?" growled the elder Beagleunexpectedly.

  "In the Bargain Basement," said Gissing promptly.

  "He'll do!" cried the president.

  To his surprise, on looking round, Gissing saw that all the ladies hadvanished. Beagle junior was grinning at him.

  "You have the job, Mr. Gissing," he said. "You will pardon the harmlessmasquerade--we always try out a floorwalker in that way. My fatherthinks that if he can handle a teacup and a meringue while beingintroduced to ladies, he can manage anything on the main aisledownstairs. Mrs. Pomeranian, our millinery buyer, said she had neverseen it better done, and she mixes with some of the swellest people inParis."

  "Nine to six, with half an hour off for lunch," said the senior partner,and left the room.

  Gissing calmly swallowed his tea, and ate the meringue. He would haveenjoyed another, but the capable secretary had already removed them. Hepoured himself a second cup of tea. Mr. Beagle junior showed signs ofeagerness to leave, but Gissing detained him.

  "One moment," he said suavely. "There is a little matter that we havenot discussed. The question of salary."

  Mr. Beagle looked thoughtfully out of the window.

  "Thirty dollars a week," he said.

  After all, Gissing thought, it will only take four weeks to pay for whatI have spent on clothes.