Part 14 (1/2)
”The old man's got 'em again!”
And he was left well alone, for the good reason that he was unapproachable. He seemed not to listen to spoken words, nor to pay any attention to the world about him. The men, however, appreciated these spells, for, as a rule, something came of them--they bore good practical fruit, the sure test of all sanity.
The day finally wore away, to every one's relief. Joe took a last look around at all the familiar scene, shut his desk, handed over the keys to Marty (who could not speak because he was half-choked), sang out, ”See you later, boys!” heard for the last time the sharp ring of the door-bell and the slam of the door, and hurried away. Then at last night came, and with night the last supper (as already announced) of Joe Blaine and His Men.
By Monday there would be painted an addition on that door, namely:
MARTIN BRIGGS SUCCESSOR TO
The supper was held in the large hall, upstairs, of Pfaff's, on East Eighty-sixth Street. The large table was a dream of green and white, of silver and gla.s.s, and the men hung about awkwardly silent in their Sunday best. Then Joe cried:
”Start the presses!”
There came a good laugh then to break the icy air, and they sat down and were served by flying waiters, who in this instance had the odd distinction of appearing to be the ”upper cla.s.ses” serving the ”lower”--a distinction, up to date, not over-eagerly coveted by society.
For the waiters wore the conventional dress of ”gentlemen” and the diners were in plain and common clothes.
At first the diners were in a bit of a funk, but Pfaff's excellent meats and cool, sparkling wines soon set free in each a scintillant human spirit, and the banquet took on almost an air of gaiety.
Finally there came the coffee and the ice-cream in forms, and Martin Briggs rose. There was a stamping of feet, a clanking of knives on gla.s.ses, a cry of ”Hear! Hear!”
Martin Briggs knew it by heart and launched it with the aid of two swallows of water. His voice boomed big.
”Fellow-workers, friends, and the Old Man!”
This produced tumults of applause.
”We are met to-night on a solemn occasion. Ties are to be severed, friends parted. Such is life. Mr. Blaine--” (Cries from the far end of the table, ”Say, Joe! say, Joe!”) ”Mr. Joe has been our friend, through all these long years. He has been our friend, our boss, our co-worker.
Never did he spare himself; often he spared us. He had created an important business, a profitable business, a business which has brought a good living to every one of us. It is not for us to talk of the catastrophe--this is not the occasion for that. Enough to say that to-night Mr. Joe leaves that business. Others must carry it on. My sentiment is that these others must continue in the same spirit of Mr.
Joe. That's my sentiment.” (Roars of applause, stamping of feet, but one voice heard in talk with a neighbor, ”Say, I guess his wife wrote that, Bill.”) ”So I propose a toast. To Mr. Joe, now and forever!”
They rose, they clanked gla.s.ses, they drank. Then they sat down and felt that something was wrong. Marty surely had missed fire.
Whereupon John Rann, blus.h.i.+ng, rose to his feet, and began to stammer:
”Say, fellers, do you mind if I put in a word?” (Cries: ”Not a bit!”
”Soak it him, Johnny.”) ”Well, I want to say,” his voice rose, ”Joe Blaine is _it_.” (Applause, laughter, stamping.) ”He's jest one of us.”
(Cries: ”You bet!” ”You've hit it, Johnny!” ”Give us more!”) ”He's a friend.” (Cries: ”That's the dope!”) ”He never did a mean thing in his life.” (One loud cry: ”Couldn't if he wanted to!”) ”Say,” (Cries: ”Go ahead!” ”n.o.body 'll stop yer!” ”Give him h.e.l.l!” Laughter.) ”We fellers never appreciated this here Joe Blaine, did we?” (Cries: ”Gosh no!”) ”But we do _now_!” (Uproarious and prolonged applause.) ”Say, fellers, he's been like a regular father to us kids.” (A strange silence.) ”He's been--Oh, h.e.l.l!” (Speaker wipes his eyes with a red handkerchief.
Strange silence prolonged. Then one voice: ”Tell him to his face, John.
'Bout time he knew.”) ”Joe Blaine” (speaker faces Mr. Blaine, and tries not to choke), ”if any one tries to say that you had anything to do with the fire--he's a _d.a.m.ned liar_!”
A thrill charged the men; they became pale; they gazed on Joe, who looked as white as linen; and suddenly they burst forth in a wildness, a shouting, a stamping, a cry of: ”Mr. Joe! Mr. Joe! Mr. Joe!”
Joe arose; he leaned a little forward; he trembled visibly, his rising hand shaking so that he dropped it. Then at last he spoke:
”Yes--John is my friend. And you--are my friends. Yes. But--you're wrong. I _was_ to blame.” He paused. ”I _was_ to blame. Here, to-night, I want to say this: Those girls, those comrades of ours--all that went to waste with them--well,” his voice broke, ”I'm going to try to make good for them....”