The Wingham Advance-Times, 1939-12-21, Page 10THE WINGHAM ADVANCE-TIMES
“Jan!" a girl was shrieking. “Gee,
Jan, you’re late! Paul has been hav
ing kittens all over the place!”
The young man. withdrew his head
and walked thoughtfully back to his
car. Jan! What a name for a girl.
And what a girl!
Chapter II s
Molly, the telephone operator, was
in full possession of the facts,, and she
lost no time in relaying them to Jan.
There was what Paul had said when,
watch in hand, he had observed that
Jan was ten minutes late. There were
; the increasingly- fluent comments he
had made as the mintues ticked on,
as the quarter past- the hour arrived
and Jan didn’t; there was, at twenty
minutes past, his final explosion and
the subsequent transactions over the
telephone ■— of which Molly was also
cognizant — which resulted in the
hiring of a new magazine counter’girl,
“You wouldn’t have thought he
could get one right in the middle of
Thanksgiving afternoon, would you?”
finished Molly sympathetically.
“Is she here yet?” was all Jan could
think of by way of reply. 4
“No,” said Molly, “but lie’s paying
Elsa, that pretty waitress, to take care
of the counter till the new girl comes.
She’ll be here in half an hour. A
tough kid, if you ask me. I took a
dislike to her voice the minute I
heard it on the phone.”
“Well,” Jan .rose from the single
chair the locker room afforded, “I
suppose I’ll have to go and take my
medicine.”
She walked slowly toward the man
ager’s office and down the two little
steps that led to the door in a remote
corner of the main lobby. Her fingers
had just touched the kijob when the
door ooened suddenly from the other
side. For the second time within the
hour she was thrown off balance, but
this time she did not actually fall.
She simply careened against- Paul
Harris, , who had just wrenched the
door open — all his movements were
as brisk as machine gun fire — and
knocked the carnation from his but
tonhole.“Oh!” said Jan, “excuse me.” She
stooped to pick up the flower just as
Paul made the same gesture. Their
heads clicked. “Oh!” said Jan again.
Paul straightened, stepped grandly
aside and waved his hand for Jan to
enter. She edged past him cautiously,
and went to stand, beside his desk
while he retrieved his carnation, blew
• upon it to revive its freshness, and re
stored it to his lapel. Then he turned
to Jan, pleasure in the task before him
shining in his pale eyes.
“Well, well,” he began with what
the intended for a smile, “so, we’re
here at last, are we? Such a bother,
isn’t it, to come down to work every,
day. And quite,impossible to get here
on time. Yes, yes, yes,” as Jan at
tempted to speak, “I know just how
it is. First one thing and .then anoth
er, and before you know it, you’re
just a teeny bit late.”
“Understand, Miss Payson, I don’t
mind, personally. But I’m here to see
that the rules of the house are obey
ed. And if I can’t get one person to
obey them, there’s always someone
else who will.”
“You’re firing me, aren’t,you?” Jan.
interrupted, her bitterlv tried temper
slipping its leash. “Then why don’t
you say so?” Her voice broke and
she stopped suddenly, tears smarting
against her eyelids. Why did she al
ways have to cry when she was ang
ry?
“Very well, then, here it is in two
« words; you’re fired,” said Paul, ob-
viouslv enioying her misery. “Stop at
the cashier’s window for your monev.”
Pie turned toward his desk and Jan,
white now and trembling, stood a mo
ment, wondering if there wasn’t somd
appeal she could make, some explan
ation that would cause him to give
her another chance.
“Mr. Harris,” she began.
He picked up the telephone, asked
for a number, glanced over the mouth
piece as he waited. “That will be all,
Miss Payson,” he said, “good after
noon.’*
Jan went out mechanically, stopped'
at the cashier’s cage and with shaking
fingers signed the slip which released
the hotel from further obligation as
to Wages, carefully put the meager
amount of cash in the zippered inside
section ,pf her hand bag. Jobless
again! And she looked so long before
she’d found this job! But then Dora
hadn’t needed so many things and
they had had enough for rent. Now
the few dollars in her pocketbook
could scarcely placate their landlady
£yen fof a day* VTeU, somehow she
must try to keep the news from Dora
for a little while — perhaps some
thing would turn up.
Paul Harris absently tapped a pen
cil on his glass-topped desk and gaz
ed out at the rain that was now com
ing down in torrents. Holidays were
always* a dreary business, even at the
Devon Arms. Employees disliked
coming to work and they showed it—,
were even sometimes downright im
pudent, like thdt girl he had just fired.
Pretty little thing she was. But Paul'
had learned long ago that there was
no place for sentiment in his business.
He still remembered his first job,
What a greenhorn he had been!
Working till all hours. Then that last
night when Helen was in the hospital
and he had wanted to be with her —
that night the owner had insisted that
he stay on.’ He had stayed, too, but
he had never seen Helen alive again.
If only he had Fad the training
then that he had now, and the salary
— what he could have done for plel-
en! But how useless’- it was to worry
over the past! The noint was that
now he knew how to be more insult
ing than the customers on occasion,
to harass, and intimidate those under
him, until any hotel owner counted
himself lucky to have “Paul Harris -
Manager” on his stationery.’’ .
Paul threw the pencil down, and,
rising pulled his morning coat into
its usual meticulous, creaseless fit. It
was generally profitable to walk
around the hotel at odd hours. Kept
the help on their toes.
As he walked down the corridor the
magazine stand was directly at the
end of the vista. His step quickened
as be caught sight of the blond Elsa
talking to a dark-haired girl who was
looking over the stock. He advanced
swiftly and Elsa turned red as'she
glanced up and saw him standing be
fore the booth.
“I was just explaining to — ’ to
Miss —” ■ .
“Fay ■ Elkins,” the girl supplied
crisply.
Paul looked her over in stony sil
ence and she returned his stare^ with
bold black eyes. She was not the type
he decided instantly, for the Devon
Arms. Needed plenty of,toning down.
Bad voice, for one thing,, and too
much lipstick on an over-wide mouth.
The patrons of an exclusive hotel like
this were ant to be finicky about those
who served them — they like unob
trusive types. And this was not- the
time to risk offending the clientele.
-In fact, Paul had been trying to think
of some way to attract more custom
ers to the place. Now he merely
nodded toward Elsa*.and she slipped
thankfully back toward the kitchen.
"You’ve done this work before,
Miss Elkins?” he demanded,
“Oh, yes.” The girl, with an in
gratiating smile, leaned comfortably
over the counter and prepared to
make a conquest. “I’ve been in some
of the best hotels in America, I guess.
Of course .the last job I had wasn’t
so p-ood—” '
“I see.” Paul’s curt tone cut across
the girl’s ryords and brought her to
an upright position. “Well, you un
derstand that this is a very good po
sition and we expect our emnlovees
to observe certain standards of dress
and behaviour. Sec me in the morn-
inp- at einht o’clock.”
He had the satisfaction of seeing
her affected manner disappear before
the stinging rebuke in his voice and
he knew that for a moment the girl
was on the verge of walking out on
him. But the next minute her glance
dropped and she said sulkily, “Okay,
I get it.”
Paul turned, satisfied with himself,
j.U§,t. in .time to see a tall, lanky fig
ure advance on (Molly, the telephone
operator. In his hand he carried a
chauffeur’s cap and Paul, without
seeming to, watched his progress to
the switchboard and the lengthy con
versation that followed. After a few
minutes, however, when the man re
mained, Paul moved toward,the rais
ed platform where the switchboard
was placed. Any chauffeur ought to .
get his instructions more quickly than
that.
He was altnost upon him before,a
certain familiarity in the arrogant tilt
of the long narrow head made him
walk more slowly. He changed his
direction slightly, so that as he ap
proached be could see the strongly
etched profile of the man who was
hanging on Molly’s every word.
Chapter III
In the space" of two steps Paul’s
manner was transformed from the
domineering one he used with the
help to the dignified, courteous man
ner he employed toward well-paying
guests. This was none other than
William Anthony Deverest — darling
of society and hoped-for prey of ev
ery romantic debutante. His patron
age of the Devon Arms had been res
ponsible for more than one coming
out party in its grand ballroom, or the
larger roof garden. If anything was
wrong, it must be set right at once.
Paul’s quiet, catlike tread did not
herald his coming, and the young man
swung around abruptly at Paul’s
smooth question: “Is there anything
I can do, sir?”
“He was looking for Jan Payson,
Mr, Harris, and I was just telling him
—" put in Molly.
“That Miss Payson is, no longer
with us,” Paul finished quietly. “Miss
Elkins is taking her place and will be
glad, I am sure, to carry out any com
mission—”
“But she said she worked here!”
“Yes — ah — yes. She did. At the
magazine counter.”
“Was she fired?” Deverest demand
ed, and his tone was so brusque that
Paul tactfully evaded a direct answer.
“She was late,” Paul’s lips thinned
to a disapproving line.
Bill Deverest grinned boyishly and
ran a hand through his ■"’already far
from smooth hair. “Yes, I know,” he
said. “I guess I was Responsible for
that, in a way.”
The manager’s eyes widened slight
ly, but he gave no other indicatiori
that thesh words had started a new
train of thought in his quick brain.
I was one thing for a clerk to be late,
but it was another for a valued cus
tomer to admit that he had been the
cause of h»r tardiness. Molly’s ex
pression became so open-mouthed at
the young ‘man’s declaration that
Paul thought it better to edge Dever
est gently away from the switchboard.
“Miss Payson has been promoted
— ah — that is,” he said carefully,
“she will work during the evenings,
starting tomorrow.”
“Oh! There was disappointment in
Tony Deverest’s monosyllable. “Say
do you promote people by making
them work harder hours?”
• “No,” Paul said hastily, “of course
not, Mr. Deverest. Miss Payson will
— will only work for a few hours at
night; She — she’s to be in the new
floor show,” he added with a sudden
burst of inspiration. “We have a very
popular roof garden, you know, Mr.
Deverest, and we are planning some
specialties for the holiday season.
You will be interested in seeing our
new show, I know.”
“What? Oh yes, of course.”
Tony Deverest was suddenly con
scious that the pale eyes looking at
■him so earnestly were a little too
bland for comfort. He realized that
his innocent intention of taking Miss
Payson- to dinner by way of apology
for the day’s mishap, was being in
terpreted in a more serious light by
her immediate employer. Panic grip
ped him. From early boyhood he had
been trained to avoid publicity. He
realized from bitter experience that
even his simplest, gesture could be
misconstrued by the press to have a
deeper meaning. He flushed now un
der Paul’s veiled scrutiny and inward
ly blamed himself for not giving his
invitation, or trying to give it, in a
less public manner.
“I just wanted to make sure Miss
Payson was all right,” he stammered.
“I mean, I just wanted to see her for
a moment—”
“Of course.” Paul’s manner was
diplomacy itself. “We are always
glad to see vou here, Mr., Deverest. I
am sorry Miss Payson is not in, but
she’ll be here the next time you
come." he promised.
“Well—’’ Tony Deverest turned the
chauffeur’s- cap in his hands as if he
had never seen it before. “My man’s
day off,” he explained to Harris. “I’m
chanffeuring myself around town.
Well',’ see Vou again.”
He felt that this was not a grace
ful exit but it was the best he"could
do. and anyway it took him out of
sight of the hotel managers knowing
smile. He’d never go back there
again!
Paul Harris recognized opportunity
when it whirled through the ornate
doors of the Devon Arms and he now
proceeded to seize it. He consulted
the round-eyed Molly whose expert
manipulation of the switchboard in
terfered not at all with her interest in
the hfe .rwoufid her.
■ “Jan Payson’s telephone number?
Sure, she had one somewhere. Wait
a minute. One moment, madam, I’m
ringing your number, sir. Jan didn’t
have a telephone e»f her pyrp, but •**
No, Madam, they haven’t answered
yet, Here it is, It's Jan’s landlady’s
telephone. Ring Mrs. Mallord, But-,
terfield — Here's your party, sir.
Shall I ring the landlady and ask her
to call Jan, Mr. Harris?”
“No,” Paul Harris decided hastily.
“Let it go,”
He retreated to his office to con
sider. A telegram? No, a note. He’d
send one of the bellboys with it. With
the employee’s directory open before
him, he observed that Jan lived fair
ly close by. He’d go himself!
Nevdr ope to put off the thing that
needed doing, Paul noted- with ap
proval that the rain had. stopped and,
pausing only long enough to get his
hat and overcoat, he was off down
the street. It did not occur to him
until he was nearing the number Mol
ly had written on a small slip of pap
er that his clothes would be noticeable
in the neighbourhood where he was
going, Paul had lived in an atmos
phere of luxury so' long that he had
conveniently forgotten that such
streets as the one he now turned into
still existed. For a minute he thought
of going back, but then, remembering
Deverest’s interest in the girl and the
value of his patronage," he walked
firmly on.
The street had a depressing and
watchful stillness about it that could
be felt even when the children’s shrill
screams broke the silence. Because it
was a holiday the dilapidated stores*
were closed, in most cases obviously,
with a rusty padlock. The dirt in
crusted windows with their shabby
displays of stale bread or wilted veg
etables looked even more uninviting than usual. But no number of closed
doors could smother the odors that
emanated from them on every side.
The stench of discarded fish over
whelmed him. as he passed a row’ of
garbage cans outside of what was
called a “Cape Cod” restaurant.
A group of boys on the corner were
dressed in a weird conglomeration of
their fathers’ cast off clothes, plus
feathers from their mothers’ hats.
Their faces were blacked with burnt
cork,.their noses reddened, and a few
bad pasted frayed twine to their chins
to simulate beards. Thanksgiving
masquerade! Paul averted his eyes
hastily and hoped that they would let
him pass unnoticed. But at that mo
ment the tallest boy caught sight, of
his smooth derby and his gleaming
white crepe scarf. He was evidently
too* shocked for words, but the other
boys waited for no command from
their leader. As one they turned and
raced across the street, their hands
outstretched, their voices whining in
supplication.
“Give us a penny, Mister.”
“Don’t pay no attention to him,
Mister, give it to me.
“No, it’s my turn . . They all
crowded in front of him.
“Can’t you make it a nickel, Mis
ter?”
Paul shook his head and, still not
looking at the ragged urchins, he con
tinued determinedly on his way. The
disappointed mutterings behind him
were, he knew, directed at his “stingi
ness” and were unfavorable in the ex
treme. But luckily the house he was
looking for, with its broken brown
stone steps and rusted railings, was
just across the way. Paul breathed a
sigh of relief and stepped off the
curb. The next minute he heard a
whir and something whizzed by his
head and took his derby with it. The
hat rolled ahead of him in drunken
circles and finally came to rest in a
puddle of dirty water near the oppos
ite curb. Paul did not heed the howls
of glee that came from raucous
throats to tell him where the missle
came from. He did not pause, but
let the hat lid* where it was and took
the brownstone steps two at a time?
It was some satisfaction to hear
one of the boys say in a hoarse voice,
“Chee, Jack! He’s goin’ in your
house. Now you’ll ketch it!”
Chapter IV
Jan looked at Dora and Dora look
ed at. Jan. The sick girl’s fingers
were lightly smoothing the pale blue
satin of the chaise loUnge oh which
She lay. Jan was sitting precariously
on the edge of a deep wing chair be
side a tiny fireplace tiled in pale blue.
“I still can’t believe it,” she said to
Dora.
", “But, darling, it was only a ques
tion of tipie-before Somebody realiz
ed how good you are. I’ve always
told you, that you have an awfully
pretty voice and that you really dance
very well.”
“But a place in their new floor
show! A.pd right ^ter he’d just fired