Evening Republican, Volume 15, Number 3, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 4 January 1911 — Firing Jones [ARTICLE+ILLUSTRATION]

Firing Jones

By JOANNA SINGLE

(Copyright, 1910, by Associated Literary • Press.)

When Jones had been' steadily making good for two years in the circulation department of the Daily - Scintillator, he suddenly began, In the elegant language of the new boss, to slump. The new boss, by sheer merit, had suddenly risen from obscurity to his present position, and lie knew not Jones, his worthy business past, nor his troubles. His one Idea was to get the work done property, promptly, plentifully. He wanted subscriptions, and carried no superfluous sentiment about with 'him. So, after Jones had for several weeks been slumping, the boss summoned him to the desk. “What’s the trouble, Jones? The circulation is crawling back on us. The Tribune’s sworn statement in their lying paper last night gave me the backache. You haven’t brought a fresh idea into this business for a month —and what ails your soliciting? Sickr Jones was so obviously a clean sort that the boss knew he was not dissipating. The young fellow hesitated a moment before replying, while the older man eyed him with keen tadiiness. . “No, I’m not sick. And I’m not shirking. I seem to work harder than ever with less results. Perhaps it's the heat—everybody else is hot, too, and the town seems willing to let the paper die. I'm sorry.” Now, it was the idea of the boss that being fired occasionally was good for any man. Perhaps Jones was too sure of his job, having lately • been promised a raise. “Well, Jones, I’ll give you another week to get a brace on. If you don’t deliver the goods by next Monday— I’ll have to get a man who will. That’s all.’’ The boy—he was hardly more — went out on the street. He was not even angry—he was merely ashamed in a dull way. Last year—last month —he would have raged. But then the boss could not last year have found fault with his work. The thought stung. What was the matter? All forenoon he worked, but with small success. He knew that his once confident smile was becoming apologetic. Where he had demanded a hearing, he now pleaded for one. It was like fear. He hated to realise that he was afraid. He was discouraged, and the day’s work summed up between “fair” and “middling." And he knew the “Middlin’ Man’’ did not last long in the business department —or any department—of the Dally Scintillator. The interview with the boss was on Monday. Tuesday passed, and Wednesday, and still Jones made small headway with his work. ‘ He wondered if he could be homesick for the home that he never had? An older sister, dead since his sixteenth year, had brought him up. For the rest,' he had worked his way through business college, and then had struck out to the city for himself. The brother-in-law had married again. Jones bad no home but the room he paid for in a boarding house. Thinking about it now, he was glad he had just paid his rent a month in advance, for he began to be sure he would be fired. He sat alone in his room a hot June evening, miserable, despondent. Then he went down to the porch and talked a little to the landlady. She called him “Mr. Jones.” The office said “Jones.” No one knew his first name, or would have used it if they had. The other fellows would v have gone cheerfully out with “the gang,” get gloriously intoxicated, and then have slept it off. Jones was not that sort—-he was decent in the basic things. He had wt, special moral objections formulated against vioe. But it did not appeal to him —good taste is often the best protection. Saturday morning he set his teeth and made a last try. Things went better, but the day was sultry. Everybody was wilted and mad and refused to be solicited. He hated eolng it So at noon his time had been spent in vain, and he wandered disconsolately into Scotty’s for a counter lunch. He slouched hla hat down over his eyes as he ordered, and then, his eye catching the eye of a girl beside him, he straightened and took off the hat—she was in the advertising department. He turned and spoke to her about the heat, and about the poor quality of - the food they were about to have, but which

was as “good here as anywhere, if you're not a millionaire.” He turned to look at her and noted with a start that she was white about the lips and red about the eyes, which somehow did not disguise the fact that she was very, very pretty. Her pallor made her simply pathetic, but her deep gray eyes were kind—sometiling motherly shone from them, though she could not have been more than eighteen. She said nothing about her dw n troubles. “How does your work go these •days?” she asked as she bit Into a sandwich full of what the newspaper folk called “alleged ham.” "Rotten,” he answered succinctly. “How about you?” He had not expected a simple business question to bring tears_ta a girl’s eyes, but that’s what happened to Jones, and made him Inwardly curse . himself for a blundering donkey who ought to be kicked, He had never had a girl friend and he turned eyes of wistful apology on this fair-haired, slender little thing bravely trying to smile past the tears while she took a gulp of coffee before she tried to answer. “Worse than rotten,” she said, whimsically. “I’m fired.” He had not been angry about himself but he was about her. “But you do fine work —they all say so in the office. You don’t deserve it," he said angrily. She hastened to explain. "It's only that I’m the newest at the office, and there is too much help for ther'dHir summer months. They want me again in September. They Just told me—and I don’t know where to get another place—it's dull everywhere now;” He nodded comprehendingly. His own troubles dwindled. “Can you do anything but stenography? Say, why can’t you go home?” The boy somehow had a wistful idea that all the world save himself had a home somewhere. But this was even worse than his first question. The white line about the girl’s lips was worse than the threat of tears. "I —have no home,” she said shortly. “But all I can do besides typewrite is—cook and do housework. But I don’t see how I dan go into somebody’s kitchen. I’m not—so very strong, you see. But I suppose something will happen—it always doeß.’* She smiled and slid off the stool. "I’ll be late if I don’t hurry” She was nodding him goodby when he followed her, took the check from her reluctant hand, and paid it with his own. Then he walked back to the office with her. It was Saturday afternoon, offices taking the half-day off, every soul who could get out of town going, and the rest viciously cross because they couldn’t. Nobody cared whether the circulation increased or not—save the boss, the rival papers—and Jones. To do him Justice, he worked like a Turk, but he accomplished little. At five he returned to the office for his check, and though the boss was not there, he knew it was likely to be his last $25 from that source. He would be fired Monday. He set his teeth. Just as he came out, Fannie was leaving, too, and a certain gay boldness came over him. He wsb only twenty-one, and he had $25 in his pocket, and his rent paid a month- But he had never in his life had a good time. He had no vices, no debts —but he had never had a girl. He followed the girl and overtook her. < She did not shrink from him as she would have from some of the men—his face was kind and good—and lonely. He surprised himself in what he said. “Won’t you go to supper with me and then out to the park? There’s a good bill on, and it will do us both good. I’m nearly crazy with being alone. Will you?” The girl hesitated a moment and then consented. ‘Tve only $8 between myself—and —I don’t know what," she said. “Unless I get the housekeeping position. But if I have to do that, I will at least have a good time tonight and forget about it until it has to come.” Youth Is a blessed, despairing tragic, happy thing. These two ate In a good little ease. They took a summer car to the park; they laughed at tne traditional fun of the vaudeville per formance. Finally, rather late, they walked back to her bleak, hot boarding house. And when the girl said good night, she had promised to give him her Bunday afternoon and evening. That Sunday—well, the boy and girl freed themselves of the ingrowing loneliness that had been feeding upon them. Each told the other his past, his present When he left her that night they were engaged. The next morning Jones went to the office as usual, and since the bobs was absent for they moment, he went to work as usual. At noon he took the girt to lunch, and they went to the courthouse and had a long talk. Then she went back to her bparding place—and he went to work again—this time with a will, with light In his eye, and love in his smile. "He loved the world, and the world, always responsive, felt and answered it Everybody be 'approached subscribed tor the ’ paper. Courage rode so high in his beast L— ; a

that be wept back to the office with the spoils of the day. He had forgotten the boss. \ But the boss remembered. He saw Jones and called him to the desk. f*Tou’re fired," he said briefly. Jones’ anger and his courage rose. “I won’t be fired,” he said firmly hut respecfully, at the same time turning over his signed orders. *Tve taken a brace—this is today’s work , —more than Rye done hi two weeks. And besides—J’m going to be married tonight—and I simply can’t be fired.. Give me another week, won’t Vou?" The boss growled. Impudence of the right sort always pleased him. And could there be greater Impudence than a youngster, as good as fired, taking a wife to himself, and refusing to go? He asked who the girl was. v “Miss Morris. She's got to be taken care of—even in the dull summer months —and the contract to do it looks good to me. I’ve got the license here.” The boss Podded. Then he nodded again; then he spoke slowly. “The matter with most fellows,” he remarked dryly, "Is either too much calico or too little. I see you’ve had too little. Do you suppose you two can live on twenty-five a week?” Jones rather thought he could. ■When he had Seen decent about it to the boss he ran to Fannie with his news—breathlessly, boyishly. "Oh, Alfred,” she said, “oh, Alfle!” She put her arms about his neck; He was no longer Just “Jones!’ —ho was called by his name.