21
Samh 10.29.1342 15:00
It was a cold bright morning, when a tall, finely developed young man was seen moving industriously from one shop to another. He was plainly dressed in a black suit that matched his straight glossy black hair, which was pulled into a neat ponytail and secured with a leather band. His clothing was smart but far from rich. His accent made it known he was a foreigner—perhaps a Swienzean. He walked with an expression of fresh hope and unshaken courage, following as his guide a memoranda upon a slip of paper.
Geodor had already investigated three of the other brokerage houses on his list. This would be a real test of his skills at disguise. He was shown into Lieutenant Gillfillian’s main office and told to wait until that gentleman would have the leisure to attend to him. A peculiar but almost imperceptible smile played about his mouth as he brushed back a stray black strand of hair from his noble brow, folded his arms across his ample chest, and gazed with an air of genuine independence upon the scene before him.
Lieutenant Gillfillian was in a side office with a glass wall that allowed him to observe all his workers and vice versa. He occupied an immense old-fashioned arm chair. Before him was a table covered with green baize, upon which were a multitude of papers, some tied in bundles with red tape, others lying loose and half open about him.
Shortly, he rose from his upholstered throne and came out of the office. In front of Geodor, he engaged with two men in an animated discussion. The men both had sharp, lean visages, bent forms, overhanging brows, and the small, flashing, brilliant eyes of those who have built up their own fortunes. For these two, the habit of bargaining was so strong that it had become a part of their existence. Geodor listened and discovered the lieutenant was in the process of cutting their wages.
“A fine beginning," he said to himself, as he closely scrutinized the hard countenance of the man lopping off ten thousand-notes from the well-earned, but often incompetent salaries of those whose daily toil had placed the millionaire lieutenant upon his giddy height.
“Is there no justice on Samh?” Geodor continued quietly to himself. “That he who labors should exist upon a meagre pittance, and he who plans and bids that labor to be performed should roll in wealth and luxury, teaching his family to despise the humble instruments of that wealth?”
Geodor looked with touching sympathy upon the pale face, slight half-developed figure of a young man who occupied a stool and desk in a distant corner of the room. While he watched, the man never rested from his weary task except to occasionally give utterance to a subdued cough and place his hand for a moment upon his side. He had become a machine to watch stocks and make quick sales or purchases. His spirits, health, and life were oozing out with every click of a button. But all these considerations for his health were quite out of place in a brokerage.
Finally, the sharp eyes of Lieutenant Gillfillian rested upon Geodor
“What is your business here? Come on, and be brief as possible about it!” he demanded.
"1 seek employment as a broker or accountant," replied the Geodor. “My name is Geodor De Montfort."
“Ah! That is quite fortunate for you, Mr. Diatter," said Lieutenant Gillfillian, addressing the distant broker. “If this applicant proves worthy of the situation, you can be released to take care of yourself.”
Geodor saw that the young broker was deeply agitated. He turned partly round in his chair, a troubled, morbid flush glowed upon his cheek. A large, pearly tear rested in the corner of one eye.
"It will be of no use now,” the broker replied. “I would rather remain as long as I can, sir.”
As he uttered these words, an expression of suppressed internal anguish passed over his pale features, but he only pressed his thin hand upon his side a little longer than usual and patiently waited.
“You grow miserly, Diatter. I must not allow it. If we can find another broker as faithful as you have been in Mr. De Montfort, I must discharge you for you really ought to do something for yourself.”
There was no reply. The young man bowed as if he well knew the ineffectiveness of arguing. After closing his eyes with his hand for a moment to hide his emotion, he proceeded with his work.
“So. You look trusty," said the lieutenant after a long and very close scrutiny of Geodor’s countenance, during which his full, clear eye neither flinched nor cowed beneath the lieutenant’s searching glance. “What can you tell me about yourself, and where do you reside? I will need your references, too. We never hire anyone without the best of those.”
“I am a comparative stranger in this city, having been here but a few months," replied the applicant in his rich, manly voice. “I reside in my own villa on Orton Street. As to references, I have only one, and that is from Viscount Elwynalam." Here he pulled a sealed envelope from a small black engraved-leather wallet.
“From Viscount Elwynalam! Have you ever been employed in his service?” the lieutenant asked.
"He knew me in Swienzea, sir," Geodor replied, avoiding the question. Even in disguise, he did his best to stick with the truth. It was easier to keep everything straight that way. “He considers me worthy of the position that I desire.”
The terms were discussed, and it was agreed that Geodor would be accepted on trial for a few days. The lieutenant sent him to Diatter ostensibly to learn the duties of his office.
After a few necessary directions from Diatter, Geodor said, “I understand perfectly. Now, tell me when and where I may hold a little private conversation with you as soon as possible?”
“I will be off the clock in ten minutes,” replied the broker, looking at a large silver watch that was some relic of antiquity. “If you choose to wait, here are the last papers with which you may amuse yourself. I must not stop my work any longer.”
Geodor took the papers and helped himself to a chair since no one had offered one to him. But instead of reading the work before him, he watched each motion of the sick man with a constantly increasing interest, wondering why he was against being dismissed.
Once Diatter had finished his work, he examined one by one each article in the old service room desk. the heavy books with their coarse leather bindings, the messages, the papers, the viewscreen. For him, each seemed to have some memory of joy or pain connected with it. It was evident that he was parting with old friends, valued not so much for themselves as for the remembrances connected with them. He must have sat there for years—the desk and its appendages were a part of his being. He sighed as he gazed upon them for the last time.
"Come,” said De Montfort at last, “it is time for you to go, and I have much to say to you.”
The young man started, unaccustomed to having anyone speak to him so kindly.
“Diatter," called the lieutenant, taking out an immense wallet, “come for your salary before you go. It is not the regular payday, but I will make an exception in your case. You have been a faithful brokerage clerk."
After counting a roll of bills twice, he handed them to him.
“Count them, sir, and see if all is right," said the lieutenant somewhat sternly as Diatter was putting them in his pocket.
The broker tremblingly laid one bill after another upon the table. While he did this, the Lieutenant repeatedly opened and shut his wallet as if tempted to add a gift to the salary. Geodor noted that his lips moved nervously in the struggle between benevolence and avarice, but at last, he shut his wallet firmly and put it away.
“Nonsense. I have paid his due," the lieutenant said under his breath before turning to Diatter. “Take care of yourself and your money, too, young man. It may be a long time before you earn so much again."
After some stiff bows, the two left the lieutenant to his business. Geodor pondered that Lieutenant Gillfillian might in all probability have had a heart once, but it had been divided into shares and distributed among stocks, interest money, importation and exportation bills, and the rise and fall of merchants, insurance companies, bank dividends, and every other possible investment that took his fancy till none of it remained for charity.
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