The Brown Study | Page 2

CALLER--ONE OF MANY
A caller had just come stumbling in out of the November murk, half
blind with weariness and unhappiness and general discouragement.
Brown had welcomed him heartily.
"It's nothing in particular," growled the other man, presently, "and it's

everything. I'm down and out."
"Lost your job?"
"No, but I'm going to lose it."
"How do you know?"
"Every thing points that way."
"What, for instance?"
"Oh--I can't tell you, so you'd understand."
"Am I so thick-headed?" Brown asked the question seriously. His eyes,
keen, yet full of sympathetic interest, rested inquiringly upon his
caller's face.
"It's in the air, that's all I can say. I wouldn't be surprised to be fired any
minute--after eight years' service. And--it's got on my nerves so I can't
do decent work, even to keep up my own self-respect till I do go. And
what I'm to do afterward--"
Brown was silent, looking into the fire. His caller shifted in his chair;
he had shifted already a dozen times since he sat down. His nervous
hands gripped the worn arms of the rocker restlessly, unclosing only to
take fresh hold, until the knuckles shone white.
"There's the wife," said Brown presently.
The caller groaned aloud in his unhappiness.
"And the kiddies."
"God! Yes."
"I meant to mention Him," said Brown, in a quietly matter-of-fact way.
"I'm glad you thought of Him. He's in this situation, too."
The caller's brow grew black. "That's one thing I came to say to you:
I'm through with all that. No use to give me any of it. I don't believe in
it--that's all."
Brown considered him, apparently not in the least shocked. The caller's
clothes were very nearly shabby, certainly ill-kept. His shoes had not
been blackened that day. He needed a hair-cut. His sensitive, thin face
was sallow, and there were dark circles under his moody eyes.
Brown got up and went out by a door which opened beside the
chimney-piece into the room behind, which was his kitchen. He stirred
about there for some time, then he invited Jennings out. There were
crisply fried bacon and eggs, and toast and steaming coffee ready for
the two men--Brown's cookery.
They sat down, and Brown bowed his head.

His companion did not bow his but he dropped his eyes, letting his
glance rest upon the bacon.
"_Lord_" said Brown simply, "_we ask Thy blessing on this food. Give
us food for our souls, as well. We need it. Amen_."
Then he looked up at the caller. "Pitch in, Jennings," said he, and set
the example.
For a man who professed to have had his supper Jennings did pretty
well.
When the meal was over Brown sent Jennings back to the fireside
while he himself washed the dishes. When he rejoined his visitor
Jennings looked up with a sombre face.
"Life's just what that card a fellow tacked up in the office one day says
it is:--'_one damned thing after another_,'" he asserted grimly. "There's
no use trying to see any good in it all."
Brown looked up quickly. Into his eyes leaped a sudden look of
understanding, and of more than understanding--anger with something,
or some one. But his voice was quiet.
"So somebody's put that card up in your office, too. I wonder how
many of them there are tacked up in offices all over the country."
"A good many, I guess."
"I suppose every time you look up at it, it convinces you all over
again," remarked Brown. He picked up the poker, and leaning forward
began to stir the fire.
"I don't need convincing. I know it--I've experienced it. God!--I've had
reason to."
"If you don't believe in Him"--Brown was poking vigorously
now--"why bring Him into the conversation?"
Jennings laughed--a short, ugly laugh. "That sounds like you, always
putting a fellow in a corner. I use the word, I suppose, to--"
"To give force to what you say? It does it, in a way. But it's not the way
you use it when you address Him, is it?"
"I don't address Him." Jennings's tone was defiant.
Brown continued lightly to poke the fire. "About that card," said he.
"I've often wondered just how many poor chaps it's been responsible
for putting down and out."
Jennings stared. "Oh, it's just a joke. I laughed the first time I saw it."
"And the second time?"

"I don't remember. The fellows were all laughing over it when it first
came out."
"It was a clever thing, a tremendously clever thing, for a man to think
of saying. There's so much humour in it. To a man who happened to be
already feeling that way, one can see just how it would cheer him up,
give him courage, brace him to take a fresh hold."
Jennings grunted. "Oh, well; if you're