Page:Harper's New Monthly Magazine - v109.djvu/1047

The Personal Equation

BY FREDERICK TREVOR HILL

THE senior partner of Ballister and Beck was prejudiced against Creighton from the start. The proposed salesman not only wore gloves and a stylish scarf, but his trousers were carefully creased down the middle. There were other reasons for Mr. Ballister's unfavorable impressions, but they were covered by the general accusation that the applicant dressed too well. The junior partner did not attempt to combat his associate's prejudice, but there was a position open, and his friend Creighton wanted work and wanted it badly.

"Suppose you continue to handle the sellers without gloves and let Creighton wait on the buyers with them," he suggested, smilingly.

"But the man's had no experience," his associate objected.

Mr. Beck admitted this.

"But he used to play a mighty good game of poker," he added, reflectively.

"A gambler, eh?" sniffed Mr. Ballister, "I thought as much. A drinker, too, I suppose?"

"Not at all. He neither drinks nor smokes, and the very sight of a tobacco-chewer makes him sick. No—he's a clean fellow all the way through, and I think we ought to give him a chance."

The junior partner wisely refrained from pushing his protégé's claims further for the time being, and about a week later Mr. Ballister consented that Creighton be taken on trial.

The clerical force of Ballister and Beck took its cue from the head of the house in the matter of personal attire, and the newcomer looked like a fashion-plate among his fellow clerks. Even Mr. Beck, the best-dressed man in the house, felt shabby and untidy beside his immaculate subordinate. Not only were his clothes superior in cut, workmanship, and material, but Creighton's way of wearing them was distinctive and distinguished, and he always looked as clean and comfortable as though he had just emerged from his bath and the hands of a valet.

Mr. Beck, covertly studying the man in his new surroundings, silently confessed that his partner was probably right, and that Creighton was too nice, too delicate—too fastidious for practical purposes. He spoke almost timidly of him to Air. Ballister on the morning of his arrival, suggesting that he be assigned to some easy duty until he had learned the ropes.

"Not a bit of it!" growled the old gentleman. "Give him the hardest thing we have. If he's no good he'll quit right away and we won't have wasted time in teaching him. If he's worth anything he'll stick

He was too nice—too delicate

it out and the rest 'll come easy. Start him on Coulson."

"Coulson!" exclaimed the junior. "We might as well discharge him at once. We never had a salesman whom Coulson couldn't shave to the bleeding-point. He'd simply eat up a tenderfoot like Creighton, and take a good big bite out of us in the bargain."

"Not if you limit the price. Let your man tackle the job, anyway, if he's going to tuck his tail between his legs, the sooner