Amory entered unsteadily.
“ ‘Morning, Mr. Barlow.” Mr. Barlow brought his glasses to the inspection and set his mouth slightly ajar that he might better listen.
“Well, Mr. Blaine.
We haven’t seen you for several days.”
“No,” said Amory. “I’m quitting.”
“Well—well—this is—”
“I don’t like it here.”
“I’m sorry.
I thought our relations had been quite—ah—pleasant.
You seemed to be a hard worker—a little inclined perhaps to write fancy copy—”
“I just got tired of it,” interrupted Amory rudely. “It didn’t matter a damn to me whether Harebells’ flour was any better than any one else’s.
In fact, I never ate any of it.
So I got tired of telling people about it—oh, I know I’ve been drinking—”
Mr. Barlow’s face steeled by several ingots of expression.
“You asked for a position—”
Amory waved him to silence.
“And I think I was rottenly underpaid.
Thirty-five dollars a week—less than a good carpenter.”
“You had just started.
You’d never worked before,” said Mr. Barlow coolly.
“But it took about ten thousand dollars to educate me where I could write your darned stuff for you.
Anyway, as far as length of service goes, you’ve got stenographers here you’ve paid fifteen a week for five years.”
“I’m not going to argue with you, sir,” said Mr. Barlow rising.
“Neither am I.
I just wanted to tell you I’m quitting.”
They stood for a moment looking at each other impassively and then Amory turned and left the office.
A Little Lull
Four days after that he returned at last to the apartment.
Tom was engaged on a book review for The New Democracy on the staff of which he was employed.
They regarded each other for a moment in silence.
“Well?”
“Well?”
“Good Lord, Amory, where’d you get the black eye—and the jaw?”
Amory laughed.
“That’s a mere nothing.”
He peeled off his coat and bared his shoulders.
“Look here!”
Tom emitted a low whistle.
“What hit you?”
Amory laughed again.
“Oh, a lot of people.
I got beaten up.
Fact.” He slowly replaced his shirt. “It was bound to come sooner or later and I wouldn’t have missed it for anything.”
“Who was it?”
“Well, there were some waiters and a couple of sailors and a few stray pedestrians, I guess.
It’s the strangest feeling.
You ought to get beaten up just for the experience of it.
You fall down after a while and everybody sort of slashes in at you before you hit the ground—then they kick you.”
Tom lighted a cigarette.
“I spent a day chasing you all over town, Amory. But you always kept a little ahead of me.