THE UNCOLLECTED TALES OF 1926-1934 (38 Short Stories in One Edition). F. Scott FitzgeraldЧитать онлайн книгу.
all their lives. He had appeared in McComas’ office the year before bearing an introductory letter from a friend.
He got the position. For a long while neither he nor his employer, nor anyone in the office, was quite sure what the position was. McComas at that time was interested in exporting, in real estate developments and, as a venture, in the possibilities of carrying the chain store idea into new fields.
Van Camp wrote advertising, investigated properties and accomplished such vague duties as might come under the phrase, “We’ll get Van Camp to do that.” He gave the effect always of putting much more clamor and energy into a thing than it required and there were those who, because he was somewhat flashy and often wasted himself like an unemployed dynamo, called him a bluff and pronounced that he was usually wrong.
“What’s the matter with you young fellows?” Henry McComas said to him one day. “You seem to think business is some sort of trick game, discovered about 1910, that nobody ever heard of before. You can’t even look at a proposition unless you put it into this new language of your own. What do you mean you want to ‘sell’ me this proposition? Do you want to suggest it—or are you asking money for it?”
“Just a figure of speech, Mr. McComas.”
“Well, don’t fool yourself that it’s anything else. Business sense is just common sense with your personal resources behind it—nothing more.”
“I’ve heard Mr. Codman say that,” agreed Max Van Camp meekly.
“He’s probably right. See here—” he looked keenly at Van Camp; “how would you like a little competition with that same gentleman? I’ll put up a bonus of five hundred dollars on who comes in ahead.”
“I’d like nothing better, Mr. McComas.”
“All right. Now listen. We’ve got retail hardware stores in every city of over a thousand population in Ohio and Indiana. Some fellow named McTeague is horning in on the idea—he’s taken the towns of twenty thousand and now he’s got a chain as long as mine. I want to fight him in the towns of that size. Codman’s gone to Ohio. Suppose you take Indiana. Stay six weeks. Go to every town of over twenty thousand in the state and buy up the best hardware stores in sight.”
“Suppose I can only get the second-best?”
“Do what you can. There isn’t any time to waste because McTeague’s got a good start on us. Think you can leave tonight?”
He gave some further instructions while Van Camp fidgeted impatiently. His mind had grasped what was required of him and he wanted to get away. He wanted to ask Honoria McComas one more question, the same one, before it was time to go.
He received the same answer because Honoria knew she was going to marry Russel Codman, just as soon as he asked her to. Sometimes when she was alone with Codman she would shiver with excitement, feeling that now surely the time had come at last—in a moment the words would flow romantically from his lips. What the words would be she didn’t know, couldn’t imagine, but they would be thrilling and extraordinary, not like the spontaneous appeals of Max Van Camp which she knew by heart.
She waited excitedly for Russel Codman’s return from the West. This time, unless he spoke, she would speak herself. Perhaps he didn’t want her after all, perhaps there was someone else. In that case she would marry Max Van Camp and make him miserable by letting him see that he was getting only the remnants of a blighted life.
Then before she knew it the six weeks were up and Russel Codman came back to New York. He reported to her father that he was going to see her that night. In her excitement Honoria found excuses for being near the front door. The bell rang finally and a maid stepped past her and admitted a visitor into the hall.
“Max,” she cried.
He came toward her and she saw that his face was tired and white.
“Will you marry me?” he demanded without preliminaries.
She sighed.
“How many times, Max?”
“I’ve lost count,” he said cheerfully. “But I haven’t even begun. Do I understand that you refuse?”
“Yes, I’m sorry.”
“Waiting for Codman?”
She grew annoyed.
“That’s not your affair.”
“Where’s your father?”
She pointed, not deigning to reply.
Max entered the library where McComas rose to meet him.
“Well?” inquired the older man. “How did you make out?”
“How did Codman make out?” demanded Van Camp.
“Codman did well. He bought about eighteen stores—in several cases the very stores McTeague was after.”
“I knew he would,” said Van Camp.
“I hope you did the same.”
“No,” said Van Camp unhappily. “I failed.”
“What happened?” McComas slouched his big body reflectively back in his chair and waited.
“I saw it was no use,” said Van Camp after a moment. “I don’t know what sort of places Codman picked up in Ohio but if it was anything like Indiana they weren’t worth buying. These towns of twenty thousand haven’t got three good hardware stores. They’ve got one man who won’t sell out on account of the local wholesaler; then mere’s one man that McTeague’s got, and after that only little places on the corner. Anything else you’ll have to build up yourself. I saw right away that it wasn’t worth while.” He broke off. “How many places did Codman buy?”
“Eighteen or nineteen.”
“I bought three.”
McComas looked at him impatiently.
“How did you spend your time?” he asked. “Take you two weeks apiece to get them?”
“Took me two days,” said Van Camp gloomily. “Then I had an idea.”
“What was that?” McComas’ voice was ironical.
“Well—McTeague had all the good stores.”
“Yes.”
“So I thought the best thing was to buy McTeague’s company over his head.”
“What?”
“Buy his company over his head,” and Van Camp added with seeming irrelevance, “you see, I heard that he’d had a big quarrel with his uncle who owned fifteen per cent of the stock.”
“Yes,” McComas was leaning forward now—the sarcasm gone from his face.
“McTeague only owned twenty-five per cent and the storekeepers themselves owned forty. So if I could bring round the uncle we’d have a majority. First I convinced the uncle that his money would be safer with McTeague as a branch manager in our organization—”
“Wait a minute—wait a minute,” said McComas. “You go too fast for me. You say the uncle had fifteen per cent—how’d you get the other forty?”
“From the owners. I told them the uncle had lost faith in McTeague and I offered them better terms. I had all their proxies on condition that they would be voted in a majority only.”
“Yes,” said McComas eagerly. Then he hesitated. “But it didn’t work, you say. What was the matter with it? Not sound?”
“Oh, it was a sound scheme all right.”
“Sound schemes always work.”
“This one didn’t.”
“Why