The She Boss | Page 9

"What do you follow?" Hiram used the new expression almost
unconsciously.
"I'm a promoter and capitalist."
"A promoter and capitalist," Hiram repeated vaguely.
"Yep. At present, though, I ain't workin' at the capitalist end. But I'm
always a promoter."

Hiram was growing uncomfortable. He had been warming toward this
genial stranger; now he felt he was being ridiculed. He kept silent and
looked out the window.
The other nonchalantly resumed his paper as if the conversation were
over.
But Hiram did not wish it to end here. Despite the stranger's fantastic
statement, there was that in his bearing which told Hiram he meant
what he said, and that, furthermore, it was with him a matter of
indifference whether any one believed him or not. He wished the two
tramps would leave. He felt that then he could talk to the other man
with less reserve.
As he sat there silently thinking, this wish was granted. A third
unkempt individual thrust his head in at the door and remarked, "Hey,
youse!"
The cribbage players looked up.
In explanation the man in the door held up a quarter between a
calloused forefinger and thumb.
A broad grin broke on the face of one of the players as he scraped back
his chair and rose. "Cheese, Thumbscrew, where'd youse glom it?" he
gasped ecstatically.
"Never mind w'ere I glommed it, Scully," was the retort. "De point is,
are youse guys in on helpin' me lick up a growler?"
The other tramp had risen, and spoke for both as he strode toward the
door. "Lead us to it, Thumbscrew," he swaggered portentously; "lead
us to it, ol'-timer!" And the door slammed behind the three.
Hiram glanced back at the man behind the newspaper. He had not so
much as slanted a look toward the door.
Hiram's chance had come. After a silent minute he essayed:

"But I didn't come to the city to leave it right away and go to drivin'
mules. I came here to get a start."
The other politely lowered his paper. "What're you doin'--breakin' loose
from home to make yer fortune?" he asked.
Hiram nodded and smiled.
The man surveyed him for the first time from head to foot. "Been a
farmer up in Mendocino?" he queried.
"Sorta," Hiram admitted. Then in a low voice: "To tell the truth, this is
my first time in a city. I got in last night. I've never been out o'
Mendocino County but once before."
A few wrinkles of puzzlement came between the other's brows. "How
old are you?"
"Twenty-six," was Hiram's meek confession.
The stranger studied, a whimsical smile twisting his lips, a far-away
look in the slate-blue eyes. With a little jerk he emerged from reverie
and asked:
"And what d'ye expect to take up here in Frisco?"
Hiram scraped his chair still closer. "I don't know," he acknowledged.
"To tell the truth, I'm pretty green. I don't know anybody here and don't
know where to begin."
"Don't say green," corrected the other. "That's obsolete. Say raw, or that
you're a hick, or a come-on. Well, what d'ye want to follow?"
"I thought if I could get into some big man's office and work up, I
might reach----"
The other man raised his hand protestingly and his face assumed a sick
expression.

"Forget it! Forget it!" he cried. "Say, that's the biggest mistake a fella
like you could make. Your feet are too big for an office. Say, take this
from me: An office man is always an office man. He knows the
figgers--nothing else. The fella out on the works is the lad that knows
the fundamentals of the job. Take this railroad-construction business,
for instance: When the contractor wants a new general superintendent
he don't make him out of an office man. He goes out on the job and
gets him. You get offices outa your head, and get out and learn
something." He was thoughtful a minute, then finished with the
question: "How long are you on cash?"
"I haven't got much," Hiram confessed--"sixty some dollars."
"M'm-m," the other said musingly. Then, after another thoughtful pause:
"Say, I suppose you're a little shy about bracin' these employment men,
ain't you?"
Hiram nodded.
"Then I'll tell you what I'll do: You go to work and dig up my fee, and
I'll go down to southern California with you on the jerkline job. I been
wantin' to get outa Frisco for a week, but couldn't raise the price.
Anywhere'll suit me, where there's a chance o' makin' a little stake.
That's what you wanta do--go to work and make a stake. Then look
about for something you c'n float for yourself. There's nothin' in
working for somebody else. Work for yourself if it's only running a
peanut stand. Southern California'll do. What d'ye