The Leather Duke

“Ixnay, ixnay,” retorted Nancy Miller. “You were asking hypothetical questions and I was giving you hypothetical answers. I never said I’d go out with you, unemployed or working. My fiancé wouldn’t like it... These are the men, Mr. Johnson...”

Chapter Two

Johnny whirled. An elevator door nearby had opened and Johnson, the factory foreman, was coming toward them. He was a greying man of about fifty. He wore a tan linen smock. He stopped a few feet from Johnny and Sam and sized them up before speaking. Then he asked: “Which one of you boys came in first?”

“We came in together,” Johnny replied quickly.

“The girl tell you what this job pays?”

“Thirty-two dollars a week.”

“That’s right. Time and a half for overtime.” He made a clucking sound with his mouth. “I dunno, help ain’t what it used to be. You fellows need jobs badly?”

“We must, if we’re willing to work for thirty-two dollars a week.”

Johnson grunted. “That’s just it. You want a job because you need it, but will you work a couple of weeks until something better comes along?”

Sam began to bob his head and Johnny himself almost fell into the trap. But he caught himself in time. “No, Mr. Johnson, we’d work right along. And we’re not afraid of hard work. Sam used to be a wrestler one time. He can lift a barrel of leather with one hand. The job don’t come too hard for Sam. Work all day and never get tired.”

Judas, Sam’s tortured eyes said to Johnny.

Johnson regarded Johnny steadily. “Sounds like you’re trying to sell your friend for the job.”

“No,” Johnny replied. “I need the job as badly as Sam does, but we’ve been friends for years and we understand one another. Sometimes he gets the job, sometimes I do. There’re things he can do better than I. If the job requires brawn and perseverance—”

“It doesn’t,” said Johnson. “You can sit all day long. It’s sorting counters. Softest job in the place.” He frowned. “As a matter of fact, the less imagination you’ve got the better you are for this job. That’s why I think I’ll take” — he looked suddenly at Sam Cragg — “you!”

Sam took a quick step back, the color draining from his face. “Me?”

“Yes. What’s your name, besides Sam?”

“Cragg,” Sam said, hoarsely. “Sam Cragg.”

“Good. Well, Sam, you can start right away...”

The girl at the switchboard suddenly called: “Mr. Johnson, Mr. Kessler wants to talk to you.” She extended a telephone to Johnson.

Johnson took the telephone. “Yes, Karl, what is it?... What...? All right, it’s just as well. He’s been nothing but a troublemaker, anyway.” He slammed the receiver back on the hook, returned the phone to the girl, then whirled and stabbed a forefinger at Johnny.

“This is your lucky day, son! You and your friend don’t have to split up, after all. One of my sorters just quit. That means there’re two jobs open. I’m hiring you both. Come along...!”

Johnny reeled as if he had been struck by an invisible fist, but a happy, rejuvenated Sam caught his elbow and helped him into the near-by elevator. Johnson followed them into the cubicle, closed the door and pulled a rope. The elevator shuddered, wheezed and began to groan its way slowly upwards.

Johnson surveyed his new employees. “Drifters,” he said, “that’s all working men are today. Go from job to job. Do as little work as possible. Always looking for an easier job and more pay. Social security, bah! Worst thing that ever hit this country. Me, I’ve never had but one job in my life. I started here when I was thirteen years old. Thirty-nine years and I’ve been a foreman since I was twenty-six. I’ve worked hard all my life and the company’s treated me fine. I get two weeks vacation every year — with pay!”

The elevator stopped at the fifth floor and Johnson opened the corrugated iron door. “Well, here we are. I boss this whole floor. Ninety-two men — I mean, I mean sixty-four men and twenty-eight girls and women. Right through this row of barrels...”

Wooden barrels, one on top of the other to the height of four and almost reaching the concrete ceiling, were straight ahead of the elevator. Johnny was about to start between two rows, when a man entered at the far side and Johnny stood aside for him to come through, as the aisle wasn’t wide enough for two people to pass.

The man was a hulking, beetle-browed man of about thirty. He carried a small package under his arm and wore a coat and hat. His face was set in a heavy scowl.

He came through the aisle, saw Johnson and spat on the floor. “The hell with you, Johnson, the hell with you and your job.”

“All right, Carmella,” Johnson said, calmly. “Pick up your pay, down in the office. I’m glad to get rid of you.”

“And don’t think I ain’t glad to get the hell outta here,” snarled Carmella, stepping into the elevator. He started to close the door, but held it open a few inches to deliver a parting shot. “And the hell with the Dook, too.” He slammed the door shut.

Johnson shook his head. “Bad man. Shouldn’t ever hired him in the first place.”

“Is that the fellow whose job I’m taking?” Johnny asked.