Middle West -- Fiction; Real estate developers -- Fiction; Suburbs -- Fiction
Agreeing with this, Sam swore heartily, then he added, “Them old
hardshells! The worst about ’em is they got their business training when
everything was on the small scale, and they don’t know what a liberal
policy means. You take that old Shelby, for instance, he was raised on
such a stingy scale he thinks everybody’s a gambler that borrows a
nickel on a million-dollar bond! He’s got one foot in the grave and he’s
so shrunk it takes two people to see him, but, by golly, he wants to get
his hands on everything! They’re a tough bunch, Dan, and I’m glad you
got away from ’em alive. Because you still _are_ alive. Anyhow you’re
_that_ much!”
Dan shook his head. “Just barely, I guess. If it had been that Broadwood
hard luck by itself, I’d have pulled out o’ the hole. If that hadn’t
come just at the same time our sales smashed with the Four——”
“That’s exactly the way bad things do come, though,” Sam interrupted,
and went on to expound the philosophy of misfortune. “They come
together, because that’s what makes ’em bad. It’s the comin’ together of
bad things that makes all the trouble there is. If they’d come one at a
time a person wouldn’t mind ’em so much. The angle I look at it, if a
person goes along all right for a good while it’s only because a whole
lot of bad things are holdin’ off on him. That makes ’em bound to come
together when they do come. It never rains but it pours, Dan, as it
were. That’s why, when such things happen, we got to put up the best
umbrella a feller can lay his hands on.”
Dan did not seem to have heard him. “I _could_ stand havin’ to sign over
the Four to ’em, Sam,” he said. “I’d like to have kept it in my hands,
but I could _stand_ havin’ ’em take it. But when I think I had to sit
here and sign over _Ornaby_——” Suddenly he uttered a broken sound,
like a groan; and his whole face became corrugated with a distortion
that took more than a moment to conquer. “Why, I’ve just given my life’s
blood to Ornaby, and now——”
“Now?” Sam said testily. “Well, what’s the matter with now? Didn’t we
force ’em to agree to turn you over some stock in it when they get the
organization made? You ain’t out of Ornaby, are you? Not entirely, by no
means!”
“It’s not mine,” Dan said. “It’s not mine any longer. Nothin’s mine any
longer!”
His friend affected an angry impatience. “Don’t sit there and talk like
that to a person that knows something! If you’d had to make the kind of
assignment you _might_ had to, you’d be where it would be pretty hard
for you to come back. Ain’t you goin’ to try to come back?”
“Don’t you worry about that,” Dan said. “I’m just as sure to come back
as I am to go out of that door!” He laughed rather shakily, as he rose
to go. “Why, a few years from now—less’n that!—why, by this time next
_year_ if I don’t get Ornaby back I’ll make a new Ornaby—I’ll find it
somewhere, and this town won’t take long to grow out to it, the way it’s
started now. Don’t you ever worry about my comin’ back!”
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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