PAGE 4
"Run To Seed"
by
II.
On the following Friday the President of one of the great railway lines which cross Virginia was in his office when the door opened after a gentle knock and some one entered. (The offices of presidents of railroads had not then become the secret and mysterious sanctums which they have since become.) The President was busily engaged with two or three of the Directors, wealthy capitalists from the North, who had come down on important business. He was very much engrossed; and he did not look up immediately. When he did so he saw standing inside the door a queer figure,–long, slim, angular,–a man who looked like a boy, or a boy who looked like a man–red-headed, freckled-faced, bashful,–in a coat too tight even for his thin figure, breeches too short for his long legs; his hat was old and brown; his shirt was clean.
“Well, what do you want?” The President was busy.
It was Jim. His face twitched several times before any sound came:
“–I-w-w-w want t-t-t-to ge-get a place.”
“This is not the place to get it. I have no place for you.”
The President turned back to his friends. At the end of ten minutes, seeing one of his visitors look toward the door, he stopped in the middle of a sentence and glanced around.
The figure was still there–motionless. The President thought he had been out and come back. He had not.
“Well?” His key was high.
“———I-I-w-w-want to-to get a place.”
“I told you I had no place for you. Go to the Superintendent.”
“——I i’ve b-b-b-been to him.”
“Well, what did he say?”
“S-s-s-says he ain’t got any place.”
“Well, I haven’t any. Go to Mr. Blake.”
“——Iv’e b-been to him.
“Well, go to–to–” The President was looking for a paper. It occupied his mind.
He did not think any further of Jim. But Jim was there.
“–Go-go where?”
“Oh, I don’t know–go anywhere–go out of here.”
Jim’s face worked. He turned and went slowly out. As he reached the door he said:
“Go-go-good-evening g-gentlemen.”
The President’s heart relented: “Go to the Superintendent,” he called.
Next day he was engaged with his Directors when the door opened and the same apparition stepped within–tall, slim, red-haired, with his little tight coat, short trousers, and clean shirt.
The President frowned.
“Well, what is it?”
“– –I-I-I w-w-w-went to-to the S-S-Superintendent.”
“Well, what about it?”
“Y-y-you told me to-to go-go to him. H-e-e ain’t got any place.” The Directors smiled. One of them leaned back in his chair, took out a cigar and prepared to cut the end.
“Well, I can’t help it. I haven’t anything for you. I told you that yesterday. You must not come here bothering me; get out.”
Jim stood perfectly still–perfectly motionless. He looked as if he had been there always–would be there always. The Director with the cigar, having cut it, took out a gold match-box, and opened it slowly, looking at Jim with an amused smile. The President frowned and opened his mouth to order him out. He changed his mind.
“What is your name?”
“J-J-James Upton.”
“Where from?”
Jim told him.
“Whose son are you?”
“C-C-C-Captain J-J-James Upton’s.”
“What! You don’t look much like him!”
Jim shuffled one foot. One corner of his mouth twitched up curiously. It might have been a smile. He looked straight at the blank wall before him.
“You are not much like your mother either–I used to know her as a girl. How’s that?”
Jim shuffled the other foot a little.
“R-r-run to seed, I reckon.”
The President was a farmer–prided himself on it. The reply pleased him. He touched a bell. A clerk entered.
“Ask Mr. Wake to come here.”
“Can you carry a barrel of flour?” he asked Jim.
“I-I’ll get it there,” said Jim. He leaned a little forward. His eyes opened.
“Or a sack of salt? They are right heavy.”
“I-I-I’ll get it there,” said Jim. His form straightened.
Mr. Wake appeared.
“Write Mr. Day to give this man a place as brakeman.”
“Yes, sir. Come this way.” This to Jim.
Jim electrified them all by suddenly bursting out crying.
The tension had given way. He walked up to the wall and leaned his head against it with his face on his arm, shaking from head to foot, sobbing aloud.