The Genius (52 page)

It was the policy of this house to select young men and to
select from among all the available candidates just the one
particular one to suit the fancy of the owner and who had a record
of successful effort behind him. Now Eugene was not any more an
advertising manager by experience than he was an art director, but
having worked for Summerfield for nearly two years he had come to
know a great deal about advertising, and the public thought he knew
a great deal more. He knew by now just how Summerfield had his
business organized. He knew how he specialized his forces, giving
this line to one and that line to another. He had been able to
learn by sitting in conferences and consultations what it was that
advertisers wanted, how they wanted their goods displayed, what
they wanted said. He had learned that novelty, force and beauty
were the keynotes and he had to work these elements out under the
most galling fire so often that he knew how it ought to be done. He
knew also about commissions, rebates, long-time contracts, and so
forth. He had fancied more than once that he might run a little
advertising business of his own to great profit if he only could
find an honest and capable business manager or partner. Since this
person was not forthcoming, he was content to bide his time.

But the Kalvin Publishing Company of Philadelphia had heard of
him. In his search for a man, Obadiah Kalvin, the founder of the
company, had examined many individuals through agents in Chicago,
in St. Louis, in Baltimore, Boston, and New York, but he had not
yet made up his mind. He was slow in his decisions, and always
flattered himself that once he made a selection he was sure of a
good result. He had not heard of Eugene until toward the end of his
search, but one day in the Union Club in Philadelphia, when he was
talking to a big advertising agent with whom he did considerable
business, the latter said:

"I hear you are looking for an advertising manager for your
weekly."

"I am," he said.

"I heard of a man the other day who might suit you. He's with
the Summerfield Company in New York. They've been getting up some
very striking ads of late, as you may have noticed."

"I think I have seen some of them," replied Kalvin.

"I'm not sure of the man's name—Witla, or Gitla, or some such
thing as that; but, anyhow, he's over there, and they say he's
pretty good. Just what he is in the house I don't know. You might
look him up."

"Thanks; I will," replied Kalvin. He was really quite grateful,
for he was not quite satisfied with any of those he had seen or
heard of. He was an old man, extremely sensitive to ability,
wanting to combine force with refinement if he could; he was a good
Christian, and was running Christian, or rather their happy
correlatives, decidedly conservative publications. When he went
back to his office he consulted with his business partner, a man
named Fredericks, who held but a minor share in the company, and
asked him if he couldn't find out something about this promising
individual. Fredericks did so. He called up Cookman, in New York,
who was delighted to injure his old employee, Summerfield, to the
extent of taking away his best man if he could. He told Fredericks
that he thought Eugene was very capable, probably the most capable
young man in the field, and in all likelihood the man he was
looking for—a hustler.

"I thought once of hiring him myself here not long ago," he told
Fredericks. "He has ideas, you can see that."

The next thing was a private letter from Mr. Fredericks to Mr.
Witla asking if by any chance he could come over to Philadelphia
the following Saturday afternoon, indicating that there was a
business proposition of considerable importance which he wished to
lay before him.

From the paper on which it was written Eugene could see that
there was something important in the wind, and laid the matter
before Angela. The latter's eyes glistened.

"I'd certainly go if I were you," she advised. "He might want to
make you business manager or art director or something. You can be
sure they don't intend to offer you less than you're getting now,
and Mr. Summerfield certainly has not treated you very well,
anyhow. You've worked like a slave for him, and he's never kept his
agreement to raise your salary as much as he said he would. It may
mean our having to leave New York; but that doesn't make any
difference for a while. You don't intend to stay in this field,
anyhow. You only want to stay long enough to get a good sound
income of your own."

Angela's longing for Eugene's art career was nevertheless being
slightly stilled these days by the presence and dangled lure of
money. It was a great thing to be able to go downtown and buy
dresses and hats to suit the seasons. It was a fine thing to be
taken by Eugene Saturday afternoons and Sundays in season to
Atlantic City, to Spring Lake, and Shelter Island.

"I think I will go over," he said; and he wrote Mr. Fredericks a
favorable reply.

The latter met him at the central station in Philadelphia with
his auto and took him out to his country place in the Haverford
district. On the way he talked of everything but business—the state
of the weather, the condition of the territory through which they
were traveling, the day's news, the nature and interest of Eugene's
present work. When they were in the Fredericks house, where they
arrived in time for dinner, and while they were getting ready for
it, Mr. Obadiah Kalvin dropped in—ostensibly to see his partner,
but really to look at Eugene without committing himself. He was
introduced to Eugene, and shook hands with him cordially. During
the meal he talked with Eugene a little, though not on business,
and Eugene wondered why he had been called. He suspected, knowing
as he did that Kalvin was the president of the company, that the
latter was there to look at him. After dinner Mr. Kalvin left, and
Eugene noted that Mr. Fredericks was then quite ready to talk with
him.

"The thing that I wanted you to come over and see me about is in
regard to our weekly and the advertising department. We have a
great paper over here, as you know," he said. "We are intending to
do much more with it in the future than we have in the past even.
Mr. Kalvin is anxious to get just the man to take charge of the
advertising department. We have been looking for someone for quite
a little while. Several people have suggested your name, and I'm
rather inclined to think that Mr. Kalvin would be pleased to see
you take it. His visit here today was purely accidental, but it was
fortunate. He had a chance to look at you, so that if I should
propose your name he will know just who you are. I think you would
find this company a fine background for your efforts. We have no
penny-wise-and-pound-foolish policy over here. We know that any
successful thing is made by the men behind it, and we are willing
to pay good money for good men. I don't know what you are getting
where you are, and I don't care very much. If you are interested I
should like to talk to Mr. Kalvin about you, and if he is
interested I should like to bring you two together for a final
conference. The salary will be made right, you needn't worry about
that. Mr. Kalvin isn't a small man. If he likes a man—and I think
he might like you—he'll offer you what he thinks you're worth and
you can take it or leave it. I never heard anyone complain about
the salary he offered."

Eugene listened with extreme self-gratulation. He was thrilling
from head to toe. This was the message he had been expecting to
hear for so long. He was getting five thousand now, he had been
offered six thousand. Mr. Kalvin could do no less than offer him
seven or eight—possibly ten. He could easily ask seven thousand
five hundred.

"I must say," he said innocently, "the proposition sounds
attractive to me. It's a different kind of thing—somewhat—from what
I have been doing, but I think I could handle it successfully. Of
course, the salary will determine the whole thing. I'm not at all
badly placed where I am. I've just got comfortably settled in New
York, and I'm not anxious to move. But I would not be opposed to
coming. I have no contract with Mr. Summerfield. He has never been
willing to give me one."

"Well, we are not keen upon contracts ourselves," said Mr.
Fredericks. "It's not a very strong reed to lean upon, anyhow, as
you know. Still a contract might be arranged if you wish it.
Supposing we talk a little further to Mr. Kalvin today. He doesn't
live so far from here," and with Eugene's consent he went to the
phone.

The latter had supposed that the conversation with Mr. Kalvin
was something which would necessarily have to take place at some
future date; but from the conversation then and there held over the
phone it appeared not. Mr. Fredericks explained elaborately over
the phone—as though it was necessary—that he had been about the
work of finding an advertising manager for some time, as Mr. Kalvin
knew, and that he had some difficulty in finding the right man.

"I have been talking to Mr. Witla, whom you met here today, and
he is interested in what I have been telling him about the
Weekly
. He strikes me from my talk with him here as being
possibly the man you are looking for. I thought that you might like
to talk with him further."

Mr. Kalvin evidently signified his assent, for the machine was
called out and they traveled to his house, perhaps a mile away. On
the way Eugene's mind was busy with the possibilities of the
future. It was all so nebulous, this talk of a connection with the
famous Kalvin Publishing Company; but at the same time it was so
significant, so potential. Could it be possible that he was going
to leave Summerfield, after all, and under such advantageous
circumstances? It seemed like a dream.

Mr. Kalvin met them in the library of his house, which stood in
a spacious lawn and which save for the lights in the library was
quite dark and apparently lonely. And here their conversation was
continued. He was a quiet man—small, gray-haired, searching in his
gaze. He had, as Eugene noted, little hands and feet, and appeared
as still and composed as a pool in dull weather. He said slowly and
quietly that he was glad that Eugene and Mr. Fredericks had had a
talk. He had heard a little something of Eugene in the past; not
much. He wanted to know what Eugene thought of current advertising
policies, what he thought of certain new developments in
advertising method, and so on, at some length.

"So you think you might like to come with us," he observed drily
toward the end, as though Eugene had proposed coming.

"I don't think I would object to coming under certain
conditions," he replied.

"And what are those conditions?"

"Well, I would rather hear what you have to suggest, Mr. Kalvin.
I really am not sure that I want to leave where I am. I'm doing
pretty well as it is."

"Well, you seem a rather likely young man to me," said Mr.
Kalvin. "You have certain qualities which I think I need. I'll say
eight thousand for this year, and if everything is satisfactory one
year from this time I'll make it ten. After that we'll let the
future take care of itself."

"Eight thousand! Ten next year!" thought Eugene. The title of
advertising manager of a great publication! This was certainly a
step forward!

"Well, that isn't so bad," he said, after a moment's apparent
reflection. "I'd be willing to take that, I think."

"I thought you would," said Mr. Kalvin, with a dry smile. "Well,
you and Mr. Fredericks can arrange the rest of the details. Let me
wish you good luck," and he extended his hand cordially.

Eugene took it.

It did not seem as he rode back in the machine with Mr.
Fredericks to the latter's house—for he was invited to stay for the
night—that it could really be true. Eight thousand a year! Was he
eventually going to become a great business man instead of an
artist? He could scarcely flatter himself that this was true, but
the drift was strange. Eight thousand this year! Ten the next if he
made good; twelve, fifteen, eighteen—— He had heard of such
salaries in the advertising field alone, and how much more would
his investments bring him. He foresaw an apartment on Riverside
Drive in New York, a house in the country perhaps, for he fancied
he would not always want to live in the city. An automobile of his
own, perhaps; a grand piano for Angela; Sheraton or Chippendale
furniture; friends, fame—what artist's career could compare to
this? Did any artist he knew enjoy what he was enjoying now, even?
Why should he worry about being an artist? Did they ever get
anywhere? Would the approval of posterity let him ride in an
automobile now? He smiled as he recalled Dula's talk about class
superiority—the distinction of being an artist, even though poor.
Poverty be hanged! Posterity could go to the devil! He wanted to
live now—not in the approval of posterity.

The best positions are not always free from the most disturbing
difficulties, for great responsibility goes with great opportunity;
but Eugene went gaily to this new task, for he knew that it could
not possibly be much more difficult than the one he was leaving.
Truly, Summerfield had been a terrible man to work for. He had done
his best by petty nagging, insisting on endless variations, the
most frank and brutal criticism, to break down Eugene's
imperturbable good nature and make him feel that he could not
reasonably hope to handle the situation without Summerfield's
co-operation and assistance. But he had only been able, by so
doing, to bring out Eugene's better resources. His self-reliance,
coolness under fire, ability to work long and ardently even when
his heart was scarcely in it, were all strengthened and
developed.

"Well, luck to you, Witla," he said, when Eugene informed him
one morning that he was going to leave and wished to give him
notice.

"You needn't take me into consideration. I don't want you to
stay if you're going to go. The quicker the better. These long
drawn-out agonies over leaving don't interest me. There's nothing
in that. Clinch the job today if you want it. I'll find
someone."

Eugene resented his indifference, but he only smiled a cordial
smile in reply. "I'll stay a little while if you want me to—one or
two weeks—I don't want to tie up your work in any way."

"Oh, no, no! You won't tie up my work. On your way, and good
luck!"

"The little devil!" thought Eugene; but he shook hands and said
he was sorry. Summerfield grinned imperturbably. He wound up his
affairs quickly and got out. "Thank God," he said the day he left,
"I'm out of that hell hole!" But he came to realize afterward that
Summerfield had rendered him a great service. He had forced him to
do his best and utmost, which no one had ever done before. It had
told in his character, his spiritual make-up, his very appearance.
He was no longer timid and nervous, but rather bold and
determined-looking. He had lost that fear of very little things,
for he had been sailing through stormy seas. Little storms did
not—could never again—really frighten him. He had learned to fight.
That was the one great thing Summerfield had done for him.

In the offices of the Kalvin Company it was radically different.
Here was comparative peace and quiet. Kalvin had not fought his way
up by clubbing little people through little difficulties, but had
devoted himself to thinking out a few big things, and letting them
because of their very bigness and newness make their own way and
his. He believed in big men, honest men—the biggest and most honest
he could find. He saw something in Eugene, a tendency toward
perfection perhaps which attracted him.

The formalities of this new arrangement were soon concluded, and
Eugene came into his new and beautiful offices, heralded by the
word recently passed about that he was a most charming man. He was
greeted by the editor, Townsend Miller, in the most cordial manner.
He was met by his assembled staff in the most friendly spirit. It
quite took Eugene's breath away to realize that he was the
responsible head of some fifteen capable advertising men here in
Philadelphia alone, to say nothing of eight more in a branch office
in Chicago and traveling canvassers in the different parts of the
country—the far West, the South, the Southwest, the Canadian
Northwest. His material surroundings were much more imposing than
they had been with the Summerfield Company. The idea of all these
men was to follow up business, to lay interesting propositions
before successful merchants and manufacturers who had not yet tried
the columns of the
North American Weekly
, to make
contracts which should be mutually advantageous to the advertiser
and the
Weekly
, and to gain and retain good-will according
to the results rendered. It was no very difficult task in
connection with the
North American Weekly
to do this,
because owing to a novel and appealing editorial policy it was
already in possession of a circulation of five hundred thousand a
week, and was rapidly gaining more. It was not difficult, as Eugene
soon found, to show advertisers in most cases that this was a
proposition in which worth-while results could be obtained. What
with Eugene's fertility in suggesting new methods of advertising,
his suaveness of approach and geniality in laying before the most
recalcitrant his very desirable schemes, his ability to get ideas
and suggestions out of his men in conference, he was really in no
danger of not being able to hold his own, and indeed was destined
to make a rather remarkable showing.

Eugene and Angela settled into what might have been deemed a
fixed attitude of comfort and refinement. Without much
inconvenience to himself and with little friction among those
about, he had succeeded in reorganizing his staff along lines which
were eminently satisfactory to himself. Some men who were formerly
with the Summerfield Company were now with him. He had brought them
because he found he could inculcate in them the spirit of
sympathetic relationship and good understanding such as Kalvin
desired. He was not making the progress which Summerfield was
making with really less means at his command, but then, on the
other hand, this was a rich company which did not ask or expect any
such struggle as that which Summerfield had been and was still
compelled to make for himself. The business ethics of this company
were high. It believed in clean methods, good salaries, honest
service. Kalvin liked him, and he had one memorable conversation
with Eugene some time after he came there—almost a year—which stuck
in his memory and did him much good. Kalvin saw clearly wherein
both his strength and his weakness lay, and once said to
Fredericks, his business manager: "The one thing I like about that
man is his readiness with ideas. He always has one, and he's the
most willing man to try I ever knew. He has imagination. He needs
to be steadied in the direction of sober thought, so that he
doesn't promise more than he can fulfil. Outside this I see nothing
the matter with him."

Fredericks agreed. He liked Eugene also. He did as much as he
could to make things smooth, but of course Eugene's task was
personal and to be worked out by him solely. Kalvin said to him
when it became necessary to raise his salary:

"I've watched your work for a year now and I'm going to keep my
word and raise your salary. You're a good man. You have many
excellent qualities which I want and need in the man who sits at
that desk; but you have also some failings. I don't want you to get
offended. A man in my position is always like a father who sits at
the head of a family, and my lieutenants are like my sons. I have
to take an interest in them because they take an interest in me.
Now you've done your work well—very well, but you are subject to
one fault which may sometime lead into trouble. You're a little too
enthusiastic. I don't think you stop to think enough. You have a
lot of ideas. They swarm in your head like bees, and sometimes you
let them all out at once and they buzz around you and confuse you
and everyone else connected with you. You would really be a better
man if you had, not less ideas—I wouldn't say that—but better
control of them. You want to do too many things at once. Go slow.
Take your time. You have lots of time. You're young yet. Think! If
you're in doubt, come down and consult with me. I'm older in this
business than you are, and I'll help you all I can."

Eugene smiled and said: "I think that's true."

"It is true," said Kalvin; "and now I want to speak of another
thing which is a little more of a personal matter, and I don't want
you to take offence, for I'm saying it for your benefit. If I'm any
judge of men, and I flatter myself sometimes that I am, you're a
man whose greatest weakness lies—and, mind you, I have no actual
evidence to go upon, not one scrap—your greatest weakness lies
perhaps not so much in the direction of women as in a love of
luxury generally, of which women might become, and usually are, a
very conspicuous part."

Eugene flushed the least bit nervously and resentfully, for he
thought he had conducted himself in the most circumspect manner
here—in fact, everywhere since the days he had begun to put the
Riverwood incident behind him.

"Now I suppose you wonder why I say that. Well, I raised two
boys, both dead now, and one was just a little like you. You have
so much imagination that it runs not only to ideas in business, but
ideas in dress and comfort and friends and entertainment. Be
careful of the kind of people you get in with. Stick to the
conservative element. It may be hard for you, but it's best for
you, materially speaking. You're the kind of man, if my
observations and intuitions are correct, who is apt to be carried
away by his ideals of anything—beauty, women, show. Now I have no
ascetic objections to women, but to you they are dangerous, as yet.
At bottom, I don't think you have the making of a real cold
business man in you, but you're a splendid lieutenant. I'll tell
you frankly I don't think a better man than you has ever sat, or
could sit, in that chair. You are very exceptional, but your very
ability makes you an uncertain quantity. You're just on the
threshold of your career. This additional two thousand dollars is
going to open up new opportunities to you. Keep cool. Keep out of
the hands of clever people. Don't let subtle women come near.
You're married, and for your sake I hope you love your wife. If you
don't, pretend to, and stay within the bounds of convention. Don't
let any scandal ever attach to you. If you do it will be absolutely
fatal so far as I am concerned. I have had to part with a number of
excellent men in my time because a little money turned their heads
and they went wild over some one woman, or many women. Don't you be
that way. I like you. I'd like to see you get along. Be cold if you
can. Be careful. Think. That's the best advice I can give you, and
I wish you luck."

He waved him a dismissal, and Eugene rose. He wondered how this
man had seen so clearly into his character. It was the truth, and
he knew it was. His inmost thoughts and feelings were evidently
written where this man could see them. Fittingly was he president
of a great company. He could read men.

He went back into his office and decided to take this lesson to
heart. He must keep cool and sane always. "I guess I've had enough
experience to know that, though, by now," he said and dismissed the
idea from his mind.

For this year and the year following, when his salary was raised
to twelve thousand, Eugene flourished prodigiously. He and Miller
became better friends than ever. Miller had advertising ideas which
were of value to Eugene. Eugene had art and editorial ideas which
were of value to Miller. They were together a great deal at social
functions, and were sometimes hailed by their companions as the
"Kalvin Kids," and the "Limelight Twins." Eugene learned to play
golf with Miller, though he was a slow student and never good, and
also tennis. He and Mrs. Miller, Angela and Townsend, frequently
made a set on their own court or over at Miller's. They automobiled
and rode a great deal. Eugene met some charming women, particularly
young ones, at dances, of which he had become very fond, and at
dinners and receptions. They and the Millers were invited to a
great many affairs, but by degrees it became apparent to him, as it
did to Miller and Mrs. Miller, that his presence was much more
desired by a certain type of smart woman than was that of his
wife.

"Oh, he is so clever!" was an observation which might have been
heard in various quarters. Frequently the compliment stopped there
and nothing was said of Angela, or later on it would come up that
she was not quite so nice. Not that she was not charming and worthy
and all that, "But you know, my dear, she isn't quite so available.
You can't use her as you can some women."

It was at this time that Angela first conceived the notion
seriously that a child might have a sobering effect on Eugene. She
had, in spite of the fact that for some time now they had been well
able to support one or more, and in spite also of the fact that
Eugene's various emotional lapses indicated that he needed a
sobering weight of some kind, steadily objected in her mind to the
idea of subjecting herself to this ordeal. To tell the truth, aside
from the care and worry which always, owing to her early experience
with her sister's children, had been associated in her mind with
the presence of them, she was decidedly afraid of the result. She
had heard her mother say that most girls in their infancy showed
very clearly whether they were to be good healthy mothers or
not—whether they were to have children—and her recollection was
that her mother had once said that she would not have any children.
She half believed it to be impossible in her case, though she had
never told this to Eugene, and she had guarded herself jealously
against the chance of having any.

Now, however, after watching Eugene all these years, seeing the
drift of his present mood, feeling the influence of prosperity on
him, she wished sincerely that she might have one, without great
danger or discomfort to herself, in order that she might influence
and control him. He might learn to love it. The sense of
responsibility involved would have its effect. People would look to
him to conduct himself soberly under these circumstances, and he
probably would—he was so subject to public opinion now. She thought
of this a long time, wondering, for fear and annoyance were quite
strong influences with her, and she did nothing immediately. She
listened to various women who talked with her from time to time
about the child question, and decided that perhaps it was very
wrong not to have children—at least one or two; that it was very
likely possible that she could have one, if she wanted to. A Mrs.
Sanifore who called on her quite frequently in Philadelphia—she met
her at the Millers'—told her that she was sure she could have one
even if she was past the usual age for first babies; for she had
known so many women who had.