The False Gods | Page 4

eyes and looked at him. To the first glance they
were dusky eyes, deep and fathomless, changing swiftly to the
blue-black of the northern skies on a clear winter night, and flashing
out sharp points of light, like star-rays. He knew that in that glance he
had been weighed, gauged and classed, and, though he was used to
questioning Governors and Senators quite unabashed and unafraid, he
found himself standing awkward and ill-at-ease in the presence of this
woman.
Had she addressed him in Greek or Egyptian, he would have accepted it
as a matter of course. But when she did speak it was in the soft, clear
tones of a well-bred Englishwoman, and what she said was
commonplace enough.
"I suppose you've called to see about the place?" she asked.
"Ye-es," stammered Simpkins, but with wit enough to know that he had
come at an opportune moment. If there were a place, decidedly he had
called to see about it.
"Who sent you?" she continued, and he understood that he was not
there in answer to a want advertisement.

"Professor Blackburn." And he presented his letter and went on, with a
return of his glibness: "You see, I've been working my way through
Harvard--preparing for the ministry--Congregationalist. Found I'd have
to stop and go to work regularly for a while before I could finish. So
I've come over here, where I can attend the night classes at Columbia at
the same time. And as I'm interested in Egyptology, and had heard a
good deal about your collection, I got that letter to you. Thought you
might know some one in the building who wanted a man, as work in a
place like this would be right in my line. Of course, if you're looking
for any one, I'd like to apply for the place." And he paused expectantly.
"I see. You want to be a Dissenting minister, and you're working for
your education. Very creditable of you, I'm sure. And you're a stranger
in New York, you say?"
"Utter," returned Simpkins.
Mrs. Athelstone proceeded to question him at some length about his
qualifications. When he had satisfied her that he was competent to
attend to the easy, clerical work of the office and to care for the more
valuable articles in the hall, things which she did not care to leave to
the regular cleaners, she concluded:
"I'm disposed to give you a trial, Mr. Simpkins, but I want you to
understand that under no circumstances are you to talk about me or
your work outside the office. I've been so hunted and harried by
reporters----" And her voice broke. "What I want above all else is a
clerk that I can trust."
The assurance which Simpkins gave in reply came harder than all the
lies he had told that morning, and, some way, none of them had slipped
out so smoothly as usual. He was a fairly truthful and tender-hearted
man outside his work, but in it he had accustomed himself to regard
men and women in a purely impersonal way, and their troubles and
scandals simply as material. To his mind, nothing was worth while
unless it had a news value; and nothing was sacred that had. But he was
uneasily conscious now that he was doing a deliberately brutal thing,
and for the first time he felt that regard for a subject's feelings which is

so fatal to success in certain branches of the new journalism. But he
repressed the troublesome instinct, and when Mrs. Athelstone
dismissed him a few minutes later, it was with the understanding that
he should report the next morning, ready for work.
He stopped for a moment in the ante-chamber on the way out; for the
bright light blinded him, and there were red dots before his eyes. He
felt a little subdued, not at all like the self-confident man who had
passed through the oaken door ten minutes before. But nothing could
long repress the exuberant Simpkins, and as he started down the
stairway to the street he was exclaiming to himself:
"Did you butt in, Simp., old boy, or were you pushed?"
[Illustration]

[Illustration]

III
At nine o'clock the next morning Simpkins presented himself at the
Society's office, and a few minutes later he found himself in the
fascinating presence of Mrs. Athelstone. He soon grasped the details of
his simple duties, and then, like a lean, awkward mastiff, padded along
at her heels while she moved about the hall and pointed out the things
which would be under his care.
"If I were equal to it, I should look after these myself," she explained.
"Careless hands would soon ruin this case." And she touched the gilt
mummy beside her writing-table affectionately. "She was a queen,
Nefruari, daughter of