None But Lucifer

Chapter III

Quite smugly, he inspected himself in the slop-joint mirror. His ugly stubble had grown long enough to become nicely tangled. His drawn face had lost its feverish flush, and was now clammy and defeated-looking. But the condition of his suit and overcoat gave him the most satisfaction. Anybody could see that he had slept in them.

He ate a twenty-cent breakfast, which, he thought, made him feel needlessly fit. Instead of taking the subway a block away, he walked, at a swift pace that he knew he could not maintain, to three stations uptown.

He was pleased when his undue strength left him, and he had to grab the rail, going down the subway stairs, to keep from stumbling.

At Fiftieth Street he got off. The penny in his pocket caused him some anxiety. It would be melodramatic to spend it on gum, he thought. Being down to one penny looked better than making himself completely broke. He kept it.

As he walked over to Madison Avenue, the hopelessly depressed manner that he had been so diligently cultivating slid off like a striptease's gown. He entered a magnificent office building. Nobody stopped him when he resolutely stepped into an elevator. People in places like that were more refined; they merely edged away, taking very small breaths from the opposite direction. He stared around with unabashed interest and gave his floor number in a loud, determined voice.

In the corridor, he stopped at the door marked:

BANNER ADVERTISING CO., INC.

Eugene F. Banner, Pres.

There was nothing timid in his manner. He held the doorknob for a few seconds, thinking, as any salesman would do. Then he went in.

He entered a large and efficient-looking reception room. It was laid out rather like the Sixth Avenue employment agencies, excepting the lack of dirt, smoke, and stench.

The girl at the switchboard looked up with polite interest. It amused Hale — the way her expression froze without actually changing.

"Yes?" she asked distantly.

"I want to see Mr. Banner," he replied firmly.

"Have you an appointment?"

Hale had reached the railing. He opened the gate and walked toward the president's office. "I don't need one."

The girl lost her calm. She jumped up and shrieked, horrified: "You can't go in there!"

"If I can't," Hale said without halting, "Mr. Banner will tell me." And he opened Banner's door and walked in. Nobody stopped him. Nobody knew how. Such things simply don't happen, wherefore there is no traditional course of action in such cases.

The president's office was something to command respect. It was large and light and quiet and tasteful, but above all it was dignified, like Mr. Banner. His gray hair was only a fringe around his massive head, and his rather soft body was no longer lean. But his pince-nez were set precisely on a sharp, straight nose that grew from pink, clean cheeks, and he sat very straight in his chair, reading copy.

He must have heard the door, for he stirred. A moment later he evened the edges of pages with ponderous care and raised his head politely.

Mr. Banner's nerves were delicate instruments. When he saw Hale standing determinedly before his desk, he jumped up, sending his chair over with a frightful crash.

Objectively, Hale watched the president's antics. Banner had cleverly placed himself in such a position that he could, almost without possibility of hindrance, reach the telephone, push his secretary's buzzer, or race around the desk toward the door.

"What do you want?" he demanded.

Hale maintained his dominating position. "I want a job here," he said bluntly, "until I can marry your daughter Gloria."

Until he realized that he was exposing his surprise, Mr. Banner goggled at him. Then he pulled himself together.

"Gloria takes care of her own affairs," he said restrainedly. "I try not to interfere."

It didn't fool Hale. He knew he was being humored. "That isn't the important thing," he said. "I don't know Gloria. I've only seen her picture in the papers. But just the same, I think I'll marry her. She's not bad-looking — quite pretty, in fact. I'll work here until I get to know her better."

Mr. Banner stared fixedly at Hale's face and clothes. He knew that most shabby people become self-conscious and malleable when attention is called to their appearance.

"Naturally," Hale went on undaunted, "I don't want to make a permanent thing of it. Work at its best grows boring. But with Gloria's private means I imagine we can struggle along. You won't live much more than ten or twenty years. Then I'll take over your income. That should be about half a million a year. It'll do."

Banner wagged his head slowly, as with pure wonderment. "I can't do anything about Gloria," he said finally. "What she does is her own affair."

Hale was reasonable. "I'll take care of that. I suppose the job is all you can handle. Well, let's start on that as a —"

"Look here!" said Banner brusquely, coming around the desk. "You don't convince me for a second. I'm not an imbecile, you know."

Hale controlled his expression and stood his ground.

"Give you credit for originality," Banner snapped. "An advertising man respects that. Only, you're not convincing. Next time, hide the intelligence behind a better mask than a couple of days' beard, and don't talk literately. Understand?"

Hale didn't understand, but he didn't say so. Banner went on: "I need a slogan for White Elephant Blended Rye." He snatched a layout from the desk and held it up before Hale. "I've got a blurb, but I need a slogan. Give me one — quick, now!"

Hale, for the first time, backed up a step. But then he recognized his enemy's hand, and stopped. His bluff was being called. He said desperately: "You'll drink White Elephant Blended Rye and like it."

Banner ran a finger over the layout. "You'll drink White Elephant Blended Rye," he traced over the cut, and beneath it: "and like it. Not strong enough; won't pull. And like it! That's better. Pretty good." Banner motioned Hale to one of the big leather chairs and sat himself down in the other. "I was just about resigning myself to this bunch of junk when you came in. I've got a bunch of cluck writers who are dried out, stale, can't get a fresh idea."

Hale stared at the papers. He made it a point to say the first thing that popped into his mind; short, jerky orders to the consumers.

Banner shuffled the pages together again, this time not with ponderous care. He bounced the edges on the desk, straightening them the way a big poker winner evens a pack of cards. He got up and buzzed for his secretary.

"Hale," he said with humorous disapproval, "I knew you were a phony the minute after you walked into my office. Bums don't stand up for their rights when they look as lousy as you do. They shuffle and whine. That was your mistake. But I'll say this: You're damned clever. You challenged me to see through your disguise, and I like challenges. There probably isn't a better judge of men than I am. Tell you how I knew you weren't a real bum: the soles of your shoes weren't worn through!"

Hale grinned unashamedly, and his grin flattered Banner, who, of course, hadn't had a chance to see the soles of Hale's shoes until he had told Hale to sit down. Banner went on: "I really can't do anything about my daughter. But I will give you a job. Fifty a week. That's just a starter."

Still grinning, Hale shook his head. "I want a hundred thousand a year."

Banner choked, but came up laughing between coughs. "I must say, when it comes to plain, unvarnished gall, you've got me beaten. Thought I was pretty good. I'll make it five thousand a year. That's final."

"A hundred thousand."

Hale's set grin began to irk Banner. "You're serious, aren't you? Well, get it out of your mind. I can stand crust, but you're talking like a lunatic. Ten thousand."

Hale opened his mouth. What he intended to say was not very clear, but at that instant a man entered.

"Mason," said Banner curtly, "this is Hale."

"How do you do, Mr. Hale," replied Mason uncertainly. He made a couple of imperceptible motions with his right hand, as if unable to decide whether to offer it.

"I've just hired Hale," Banner continued. "Give him a fifty-dollar advance on his salary. Take him around to my barber and my tailor, and give him the works. Get him a steam bath and a rubdown at my club. And you, Hale. Take the day off. Get yourself an apartment you won't be ashamed of, and be at work at ten tomorrow. No, come back here before closing, say at four. That's all."

Hale put his battered hat on jauntily. "You're a shrewd, hard man, Mr. Banner. I'll get the better of you yet."

"Just try it," replied Banner confidently. "You'll be the first."

Without seeming too obviously distant, but contriving to look as if they were accidentally going the same way. Mason steered Hale out of the office.