“What's your name, young man?” he asked, leaning back in his wooden chair.
“Cowperwood.”
“So you work for Waterman & Company? You want to make a record[25], no doubt. That's why you came to me?”
Cowperwood merely smiled.
“Well, I'll take your flour. I need it.”
Cowperwood hurried out. He went direct to a firm of brokers in Walnut Street, with whom his firm dealt. Then he returned to the office.
“Well,” said Henry Waterman, when he reported, “you did that quick. You sold old Genderman two hundred barrels direct, did you? That's doing pretty well. He isn't on our books, is he?”
“No, sir.”
“I thought not. Well, if you can do that sort of work you won't be on the books long.”
Soon Frank became a familiar figure in the commission district and on the Produce Exchange, soliciting new customers and breaking gluts. Indeed the Watermans were astonished at his facilities. He had an uncanny faculty for making friends and being introduced into new realms. New life began to flow through the old channels of the Waterman company. Their customers were satisfied. George was for sending him out into the rural districts to drum up trade[26], and this was eventually done.
Near Christmas-time Henry said to George:
“We'll have to make Cowperwood a present. He hasn't any salary. How about five hundred dollars?”
“I guess he's worth it. He's certainly done everything we've expected, and more. He's cut out for this business.”
“What does he say about it? Do you ever hear him say whether he's satisfied?”
“Oh, he likes it pretty much, I guess.”
“Well, that fellow has the real knack for this business.”
So the night before Christmas, as Cowperwood was looking over some way-bills[27] and certificates, George Waterman came to his desk.
“My brother and I have been especially pleased with the way you have handled the work here during the past six months. We wanted to make some acknowledgment, and we thought about five hundred dollars. From January we'll give you a regular salary of thirty dollars a week.”
“I'm certainly much obliged to you,” said Frank. “I didn't expect that much. I've learned much here.”
“Oh, don't mention it. We know you've earned it. You can stay with us as long as you like. We're glad to have you with us.”
Cowperwood smiled his hearty, genial smile. He was feeling very comfortable under this evidence of approval.
On the way home that evening he was thinking about that business. He knew he wasn't going to stay there long, even in spite of this gift and promise of salary. They were grateful, of course; butwhy shouldn't they be? He was efficient, he knew that.
After dinner that evening, Frank told his father of the gift of five hundred dollars and the promised salary.
“That's splendid,” said his father. “You're doing better than I thought. I suppose you'll stay there.”
“No, I won't. I think I'll quit sometime next year.”
“Why?”
“Well, it isn't exactly what I want to do. It's all right, but I'd rather try my hand[28] at brokerage, I think. That appeals to me.”
“Don't you think you are doing them an injustice not to tell them?”
“Not at all. They need me.”
He straightened his tie and adjusted his coat.
“Have you told your mother?”
“No. I'm going to do it now.”
He went out into the dining-room, where his mother was, and slipping his arms around her little body, said:
“What do you think, Mammy?”
“Well, what?” she asked, looking affectionately into his eyes.
“I got five hundred dollars tonight, and I get thirty a week next year. What do you want for Christmas?”
“You don t say![29] Isn't that nice! Isn't that fine! They must like you.”
“What do you want for Christmas?”
“Nothing. I don't want anything. I have my children.”
He smiled.
“All right. Then nothing it is.”
But she knew he would buy her something.
He went out, pausing at the door to grab playfully at his sister's waist, and saying that he'd be back about midnight, hurried to Marjorie's house, because he had promised to take her to a show.
“Anything you want for Christmas this year, Margy?” he asked, after kissing her. “I got five hundred tonight.”
She was an innocent little thing, only fifteen, no guile, no shrewdness.
“Oh, you needn't get me anything.”
“Needn't I?” he asked, squeezing her waist and kissing her mouth again.
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