The Complete Works of James Whitcomb Riley, vol 10 | Page 4

a raw day," I said, by way of gratuitous excuse for offering it. "Yes," he said, smilingly motioning the temptation aside; "it is a raw day; but you're rather young in years to be doctoring the weather--at least you'd better change the treatment--they'll all be raw days for you after a while!" I confess that I even felt an inward pity for the man as I laughingly drained his health and returned the flask to my valise. But when I asked him, ten minutes later, the nature of the business in which he was engaged, and he handed me, in response and without comment, the card of a wholesale liquor house, with his own name in crimson letters struck diagonally across the surface, I winked naively to myself and thought "Ah-ha!" And as if reading my very musings, he said: "Why, certainly, I carry a full line of samples; but, my dear young friend, don't imagine for a minute that I refuse your brand on that account. You can rest assured that I have nothing better in my cases. Whisky is whisky wherever it is found, and there is no 'best' whisky--not in all the world!"
Truly, I thought, this is an odd source for the emanation of temperance sentiments--then said aloud: "And yet you engage in a business you dislike! Traffic in an article that you yourself condemn! Do I understand you?"
"Might there not be such a thing," he said quietly, "as inheriting a business--the same as inheriting an appetite? However, one advances by gradations: I shall SELL no more. This is my last trip on the road in that capacity: I am coming in now to take charge of the firm's books. Would be glad to have you call on me any time you're in the city. Good-by." And, as he swung off the slowly moving train, now entering the city, and I stood watching him from the open door of the caboose as he rapidly walked down a suburban street, I was positive his gait was anything but steady--that the step--the figure--the whole air of the man was that of one then laboring under the effects of partial intoxication.
I have always liked peculiar people; no matter where I met them, no matter who they were; if once impressed with an eccentricity of character which I have reason to believe purely unaffected, I never quite forget the person, name or place of our first meeting, or where the interesting party may be found again. And so it was in the customary order of things that, during hasty visits to the city, I often called on the eccentric Mr. Clark, and, as he had promised on our first acquaintance, he seemed always glad to see and welcome me in his new office. The more I knew of him the more I liked him, but I think I never fully understood him. No one seemed to know him quite so well as that.
Once I had a little private talk regarding him with the senior partner of the firm for which he worked. Mr. Clark, just prior to my call, had gone to lunch-- would be back in half an hour. Would I wait there in the office until his return? Certainly. And the chatty senior entertained me:--Queer fellow--Mr. Clark!--as his father was before him. Used to be a member of the firm--his father; in fact, founded the business--made a fortune at it--failed, for an unfortunate reason, and went "up the flume." Paid every dollar that he owed, however, sacrificing the very home that sheltered his wife and children-- but never rallied. He had quite a family, then? Oh, yes; had a family--not a large one, but a bright one--only they all seemed more or less unfortunate. The father was unfortunate--very; and died so, leaving his wife and two boys--the older son much like the father--splendid business capacities, but lacked will--couldn't resist some things --even weaker than the father in that regard, and died at half his age.
But the younger brother--our Mr. Clark-- remained, and he was sterling--"straight goods" in all respects. Lived with his mother--was her sole support. A proud woman, Mrs. Clark-- a proud woman, with a broken spirit--withdrawn entirely from the world, and had been so for years and years. The Clarks, as had been mentioned, were all peculiar--even the younger Mr. Clark, our friend, I had doubtless noticed was an odd genius, but he had stamina--something solid about him, for all his eccentricities--could be relied on. Had been with the house there since a boy of twelve--took him for the father's sake; had never missed a day's time in any line of work that ever had been given in his charge--was weakly-looking, too. Had worked his way from the cellar up--from the least pay to the highest--had saved