Later some half dozen letters for his uncle having been put in the key-box, Ratterer called Clyde’s attention to them. “If you want to run in on him again, here’s your chance. Take those up to him. He’s in his room, I think.” And Clyde, after some hesitation, had finally taken the letters and gone to his uncle’s suite once more.
His uncle was writing at the time and merely called: “Come!” Then Clyde, entering and smiling rather enigmatically, observed: “Here’s some mail for you, Mr. Griffiths.”
“Thank you very much, my son,” replied his uncle and proceeded to finger his vest pocket for change. but Clyde, seizing this opportunity, exclaimed: “Oh, no, I don’t want anything for that.” And then before his uncle could say anything more, although he proceeded to hold out some silver to him, he added: “I believe I’m related to you, Mr. Griffiths. You’re Mr. Samuel Griffiths of the Griffiths Collar Company of Lycurgus, aren’t you?”
“Yes, I have a little something to do with it, I believe. Who are you?” returned his uncle, looking at him sharply.
“My name’s Clyde Griffiths. My father, Asa Griffiths, is your brother, I believe.”
At the mention of this particular brother, who, to the knowledge of all the members of this family, was distinctly not a success materially, the face of Samuel Griffiths clouded the least trifle. For the mention of Asa brought rather unpleasingly before him the stocky and decidedly not well-groomed figure of his younger brother, whom he had not seen in so many years. His most recent distinct picture of him was as a young man of about Clyde’s age about his father’s house near Bertwick, Vermont. But how different! Clyde’s father was then short, fat and poorly knit mentally as well as physically – oleaginous and a bit mushy, as it were. His chin was not firm, his eyes a pale watery blue, and his hair frizzled. Whereas this son of his was neat, alert, good-looking and seemingly well-mannered and intelligent, as most bell-hops were inclined to be as he noted. And he liked him.
However, Samuel Griffiths, who along with his elder brother Allen had inherited the bulk of his father’s moderate property, and this because of Joseph Griffiths’ prejudice against his youngest son, had always felt that perhaps an injustice had been done Asa. For Asa, not having proved very practical or intelligent, his father had first attempted to drive and then later ignore him, and finally had turned him out at about Clyde’s age, and had afterward left the bulk of his property, some thirty thousand dollars, to these two elder brothers, share and share alike – willing Asa but a petty thousand.
It was this thought in connection with this younger brother that now caused him to stare at Clyde rather curiously. For Clyde, as he could see, was in no way like the younger brother who had been harried from his father’s home so many years before. Rather he was more like his own son, Gilbert, whom, as he now saw he resembled. Also in spite of all of Clyde’s fears he was obviously impressed by the fact that he should have any kind of place in this interesting club. For to Samuel Griffiths, who was more than less confined to the limited activities and environment of Lycurgus, the character and standing of this particular club was to be respected. And those young men who served the guests of such an institution as this, were, in the main, possessed of efficient and unobtrusive manners. Therefore to see Clyde standing before him in his neat gray and black uniform and with the air of one whose social manners at least were excellent, caused him to think favorably of him.
“You don’t tell me!” he exclaimed interestedly. “So you’re Asa’s son. I do declare! Well, now, this is a surprise. You see I haven’t seen or heard from your father in at least – well, say, twenty-five or six years, anyhow. The last time I did hear from him he was living in Grand Rapids, Michigan, I think, or here. He isn’t here now, I presume.”
“Oh, no, sir,” replied Clyde, who was glad to be able to say this. “The family live in Denver. I’m here all alone.”
“Your father and mother are living, I presume.”
“Yes, sir. They’re both alive.”
“Still connected with religious work, is he – your father?”
“Well, yes, sir,” answered Clyde, a little dubiously, for he was still convinced that the form of religious work his father essayed was of all forms the poorest and most inconsequential socially. “Only the church he has now,” he went on, “has a lodging house connected with it. About forty rooms, I believe. He and my mother run that and the mission too.”
“Oh, I see.”
He was so anxious to make a better impression on his uncle than the situation seemed to warrant that he was quite willing to exaggerate a little.
“Well, I’m glad they’re doing so well,” continued Samuel Griffiths, rather impressed with the trim and vigorous appearance of Clyde. “You like this kind of work, I suppose?”
“Well, not exactly. No, Mr. Griffiths, I don’t,” replied Clyde quickly, alive at once to the possibilities of this query. “It pays well enough. But I don’t like the way you have to make the money you get here. It isn’t my idea of a salary at all. But I got in this because I didn’t have a chance to study any particular work or get in with some company where there was a real chance to work up and make something of myself. My mother wanted me to write you once and ask whether there was any chance in your company for me to begin and work up, but I was afraid maybe that you might not like that exactly, and so I never did.”
He paused, smiling, and yet with an inquiring look in his eye.
His uncle looked solemnly at him for a moment, pleased by his looks and his general manner of approach in this instance, and then replied: “Well, that is very interesting. You should have written, if you wanted to – ” Then, as was his custom in all matters, he cautiously paused. Clyde noted that he was hesitating to encourage him.
“I don’t suppose there is anything in your company that you would let me do?” he ventured boldly, after a moment.
Samuel Griffiths merely stared at him thoughtfully. He liked and he did not like this direct request. However, Clyde appeared at least a very adaptable person for the purpose. He seemed bright and ambitious – so much like his own son, and he might readily fit into some department as head or assistant under his son, once he had acquired a knowledge of the various manufacturing processes. At any rate he might let him try it. There could be no real harm in that. Besides, there was his younger brother, to whom, perhaps, both he and his older brother Allen owed some form of obligation, if not exactly restitution.
“Well,” he said, after a moment, “that is something I would have to think over a little. I wouldn’t be able to say, offhand, whether there is or not. We wouldn’t be able to pay you as much as you make here to begin with,” he warned.
“Oh, that’s all right,” exclaimed Clyde, who was far more fascinated by the thought of connecting himself with his uncle than anything else. “I wouldn’t expect very much until I was able to earn it, of course.”
“Besides, it might be that you would find that you didn’t like the collar business once you got into it, or we might find we didn’t like you. Not every one is suited to it by a long way.”
“Well, all you’d have to do then would be to discharge me,” assured Clyde. “I’ve always thought I would be, though, ever since I heard of you and your big company.”
This last remark pleased Samuel Griffiths. Plainly he and his achievements had stood in the nature of an ideal to this youth.
“Very well,” he said. “I won’t be able to give any more time to this now. But I’ll be here for a day or two more, anyhow, and I’ll think it over. It may be that I will be able to do something for you. I can’t say now.” And he turned quite abruptly to his letters.
And Clyde, feeling that he had made as good an impression as could be expected under the circumstances and that something might come of it, thanked him profusely and beat a hasty retreat.
The next day, having thought