Page:Harper's New Monthly Magazine - v108.djvu/199

Rh "I wonder," said Fulke Jarvis to himself again.

The next morning, at breakfast, Mr. Jarvis senior was enabled to supplement his toast and egg with a mild sensation.

"Why, of course, Fulke," he said, in gentle perplexity. "I'll give you a letter to Garrabrant, and he'll do anything he can for you. But at your age, and with—er—your inexperience in practical affairs—it's the bottom rung, you know. You're over thirty, ain't you? I never could remember. Just as you say, though; I'm sure Garrabrant will do anything he can."

Mr. Garrabrant, president of the Midland railway system, received the son of his old friend cordially, but he hesitated a little when the nature of the requested service was finally broached.

"Willing to do anything, eh!" He smiled, although not unkindly. "I've heard that remark before, Mr. Jarvis—no offence, of course, but I have heard it before."

He considered a moment. "You let me think this over for a day or two, and I'll write you. You won't stop and take luncheon at the Transportation Club? Well, remember me to your father. Good day."

At the end of the week, Fulke Jarvis received a curtly worded letter from the passenger department of the Midland, informing him that he had been appointed a local ticket-agent, and assigned to duty at the main metropolitan station, reporting at eight o'clock on Monday morning.

It had been a month and more since Fulke Jarvis had taken up his work in the local passenger department at the Midland station. Ten hours a day, and a salary that barely ran into double figures. Yet he actually liked the feeling of being busy at something useful; his fellow clerks were disposed to be agreeable, and he had quickly mastered the not overly profound intricacies of his position. The one disturbing reflection lay in the fact that most of the nice suburban towns in the metropolitan district, and all but one of the big country clubs, are situated on the Midland lines. It was inevitable that sooner or later he must stand face to face with some of his former intimates—the people that one knows. Yet, after all, the reality was not so dreadful; he might have spared himself the most disagreeable of his anticipations if he had but known.

There were indeed many familiar faces in the unending throng that filed past his particular window. But these people, with whom he had been so closely associated in the old days, were not in the least degree deficient in the ordinary decencies of life. There had been some mildly speculative interest over his course of action when first it became known, but the gossip soon died away. As everybody knew, the Jarvises had always been nice people, and if Fulke chose to earn his own living in preference to playing "Little Brother to the Rich," so much the more credit to him; it was quickly passed around that it was the thing to patronize Fulke's wicket in the ticket-office, and to be a little more than civil to him personally. The women who had been accustomed to call him by his first name continued to do so, even putting an emphasis upon the familiarity. And of course the men were decent enough without being obliged to take any particular thought about it.

This was all very well, and at first it cheered and encouraged him mightily. Then he came to realize that these amenities were simply the small change with which good-breeding provides itself to dole out to the socially impoverished. The match-woman on the sidewalk received her coppers, and for Fulke Jarvis behind his window there was an equivalent in the gracious nod or the "How goes it to-day, old chap?"—a full discharge, surely, of all claims on friendship. It was charity in either case, and once out of sight, it was out of mind—equally so for Fulke Jarvis and the beggar at the door. These people had been kind to him in the only way of which they knew, but he was no longer of their world, and so they passed on. "Good chap, Fulke Jarvis! we really ought to have him up to dinner some night. But I suppose he has to work all hours. I'll ask him about it next time I see him."

So it went, and then one day an actual event happened. Eve Hasbrouck stopped