Merton of the Movies | Page 7

confusion but in
black despair of ever finding another clerk one half as efficient as
Merton Gill.
The afternoon wore to closing time in a flurry of trade, during which, as
Merton continued to behave sanely, the apprehension of his employer
in a measure subsided. The last customer had departed from the
emporium. The dummies were brought inside. The dust curtains were
hung along the shelves of dry goods. There remained for Merton only
the task of delivering a few groceries. He gathered these and took them
out to the wagon in front. Then he changed from his store coat to his
street coat and donned a rakish plush hat.
Amos was also changing from his store coat to his street coat and
donning his frayed straw hat.
"See if you can't keep from actin' crazy while you make them
deliveries," said Amos, not uncordially, as he lighted a choice cigar
from the box which he kept hidden under a counter.
Merton wished to reply: "See here, Mr. Gashwiler, I've stood this abuse
long enough! The time has come to say a few words to you--" But
aloud he merely responded, "Yes, sir!"
The circumstance that he also had a cigar from the same box, hidden
not so well as Amos thought, may have subdued his resentment. He
would light the cigar after the first turn in the road had carried him
beyond the eagle eye of its owner.
The delivery wagon outside was drawn by an elderly horse devoid of
ambition or ideals. His head was sunk in dejection. He was gray at the

temples, and slouched in the shafts in a loafing attitude, one forefoot
negligently crossed in front of the other. He aroused himself reluctantly
and with apparent difficulty when Merton Gill seized the reins and
called in commanding tones, "Get on there, you old skate!" The
equipage moved off under the gaze of Amos, who was locking the
doors of his establishment.
Turning the first corner into a dusty side street, Merton dropped the
reins and lighted the filched cigar. Other Gashwiler property was sacred
to him. From all the emporium's choice stock he would have abstracted
not so much as a pin; but the Gashwiler cigars, said to be "The World's
Best 10c Smoke," with the picture of a dissipated clubman in evening
dress on the box cover, were different, in that they were pointedly
hidden from Merton. He cared little for cigars, but this was a challenge;
the old boy couldn't get away with anything like that. If he didn't want
his cigars touched let him leave the box out in the open like a man.
Merton drew upon the lighted trophy, moistened and pasted back the
wrapper that had broken when the end was bitten off, and took from the
bottom of the delivery wagon the remains of a buggy whip that had
been worn to half its length. With this he now tickled the bony ridges
of the horse. Blows meant nothing to Dexter, but he could still be
tickled into brief spurts of activity. He trotted with swaying head,
sending up an effective dust screen between the wagon and a still
possibly observing Gashwiler.
His deliveries made, Merton again tickled the horse to a frantic pace
which continued until they neared the alley on which fronted the
Gashwiler barn; there the speed was moderated to a mild amble, for
Gashwiler believed his horse should be driven with tenderness, and his
equally watchful wife believed it would run away if given the chance.
Merton drove into the barnyard, unhitched the horse, watered it at the
half of a barrel before the iron pump, and led it into the barn, where he
removed the harness. The old horse sighed noisily and shook himself
with relief as the bridle was removed and a halter slipped over his
venerable brow.
Ascertaining that the barnyard was vacant, Merton immediately became

attentive to his charge. Throughout the late drive his attitude had been
one of mild but contemptuous abuse. More than once he had uttered the
words "old skate" in tones of earnest conviction, and with the worn end
of the whip he had cruelly tickled the still absurdly sensitive sides. Had
beating availed he would with no compunction have beaten the
drooping wreck. But now, all at once, he was curiously tender. He
patted the shoulder softly, put both arms around the bony neck, and
pressed his face against the face of Dexter. A moment he stood thus,
then spoke in a tear-choked voice:
"Good-by, old pal--the best, the truest pal a man ever had. You and me
has seen some tough times, old pard; but you've allus brought me
through without a scratch; allus brought me through." There was a sob
in the speaker's voice, but he