Финансист / The Financier. Теодор Драйзер

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ like that fellow,” Henry Waterman confided to his brother the moment Frank had gone. “He's clean, brisk, and alive.”

      “Yes,” said George, a much leaner and slightly taller man. “Yes, he's a nice young man. It's a wonder his father doesn't take him in his bank.”

      “Well, he may not be able to,” said his brother. “He's only the cashier there.”

      “That's right.”

      “Well, we'll give him a trial. I bet anything he makes good.”

      Something told him the boy would do well.

      Chapter IV

      The appearance of Frank Cowperwood at this time was prepossessing and satisfactory. He was about five feet ten inches tall. His head was large, shapely, his eyes were inscrutable. You could tell nothing by his eyes. He walked with a light, confident, springy step. He saw people richer than himself, but he hoped to be rich. His family was respected, his father well placed. He owed no man anything.

      He turned out to be the most efficient clerk that the house of Waterman & Co. had ever known. They put him on the books at first as assistant bookkeeper, and in two weeks George said: “Why don't we make Cowperwood head bookkeeper?”

      “All right, make the transfer, George, but he won't be a bookkeeper long, though.”

      The books of Messrs. Waterman & Co were child's play to Frank. He went through them with an ease and rapidity which surprised his erstwhile superior, Mr. Sampson.

      “Why, that fellow,” Sampson told another clerk on the first day he had seen Cowperwood work, “he's too brisk. He s going to make a bad break.[23] I know that kind. Wait a little bit.”

      But the bad break Mr. Sampson anticipated did not materialize. In less than a week Cowperwood knew the financial condition of the Messrs. Waterman very well. He knew how their accounts were distributed; from what section they drew the most business; who sent poor produce and good. Bookkeeping did not interest him much. He knew he would not do this long.

      The Watermans, Henry and George, were greatly pleased with the way he handled their accounts. There was a sense of security in his very presence. He soon began to call George's attention to the condition of certain accounts, making suggestions as to their possible liquidation or discontinuance.

      One morning, when bills indicated a probable glut of flour and a shortage of grain, the elder Waterman called him into his office and said:

      “Frank, I wish you would see what you can do with this condition that confronts us. By tomorrow we're going to be overcrowded with flour. We can't be paying storage charges. We're short on grain. Maybe you could trade out the flour to some of those brokers and get me enough grain to fill the orders.”

      “I'd like to try,” said his employee.

      Frank knew from his books where the various commission-houses were. He knew the local merchants and the various commission-merchants. This was the thing he liked to do. It was pleasant to be out in the air again. He objected to desk work and pen work and poring over books. As he said in later years, his brain was his office. He hurried to the principal commission-merchants, offering his surplus. Did they want to buy for immediate delivery six hundred barrels of prime flour? He would offer it at nine dollars straight, in the barrel. They did not. He offered it in fractions, and some agreed to take one portion, and some another. In about an hour he had one lot of two hundred barrels, which he decided to offer to a famous operator named Genderman[24] with whom his firm did no business. The latter, a big man with curly gray hair and little eyes looked at Cowperwood curiously when he came in.

      “What's your name, young man?” he asked, leaning back in his wooden chair.

      “Cowperwood.”

      “So you work for Waterman & Company? You want to make a record[25], no doubt. That's why you came to me?”

      Cowperwood merely smiled.

      “Well, I'll take your flour. I need it.”

      Cowperwood hurried out. He went direct to a firm of brokers in Walnut Street, with whom his firm dealt. Then he returned to the office.

      “Well,” said Henry Waterman, when he reported, “you did that quick. You sold old Genderman two hundred barrels direct, did you? That's doing pretty well. He isn't on our books, is he?”

      “No, sir.”

      “I thought not. Well, if you can do that sort of work you won't be on the books long.”

      Soon Frank became a familiar figure in the commission district and on the Produce Exchange, soliciting new customers and breaking gluts. Indeed the Watermans were astonished at his facilities. He had an uncanny faculty for making friends and being introduced into new realms. New life began to flow through the old channels of the Waterman company. Their customers were satisfied. George was for sending him out into the rural districts to drum up trade[26], and this was eventually done.

      Near Christmas-time Henry said to George:

      “We'll have to make Cowperwood a present. He hasn't any salary. How about five hundred dollars?”

      “I guess he's worth it. He's certainly done everything we've expected, and more. He's cut out for this business.”

      “What does he say about it? Do you ever hear him say whether he's satisfied?”

      “Oh, he likes it pretty much, I guess.”

      “Well, that fellow has the real knack for this business.”

      So the night before Christmas, as Cowperwood was looking over some way-bills[27] and certificates, George Waterman came to his desk.

      “My brother and I have been especially pleased with the way you have handled the work here during the past six months. We wanted to make some acknowledgment, and we thought about five hundred dollars. From January we'll give you a regular salary of thirty dollars a week.”

      “I'm certainly much obliged to you,” said Frank. “I didn't expect that much. I've learned much here.”

      “Oh, don't mention it. We know you've earned it. You can stay with us as long as you like. We're glad to have you with us.”

      Cowperwood smiled his hearty, genial smile. He was feeling very comfortable under this evidence of approval.

      On the way home that evening he was thinking about that business. He knew he wasn't going to stay there long, even in spite of this gift and promise of salary. They were grateful, of course; butwhy shouldn't they be? He was efficient, he knew that.

      After dinner that evening, Frank told his father of the gift of five hundred dollars and the promised salary.

      “That's splendid,” said his father. “You're doing better than I thought. I suppose you'll stay there.”

      “No, I won't. I think I'll quit СКАЧАТЬ