Which We Did by Gregory Clark

Author:Gregory Clark
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Reginald Saunders

"Emery A. Perkinsniff, att'y at law."

Jim stood and stared at it long. I shook his hand silently.

Then we went back to the office.

"Now," I finally warned him. "Don't breathe a word of this to a living soul. Don't even mention it to your family. If you do, they'll have it all spent before you get it."

"I won't," promised Jim.

I put on my double-breasted suit the next morning. Jim had on his new blue suit when he arrived at the office.

"What time is it?" he asked.

"Ten after nine," I said. "Now, my dear boy, you just forget all about it and go ahead with your work, as if nothing had happened. It will be my job to keep track of the time. I'll be your second. I'll be like your equerry. At ten-fifteen, I'll come and warn you, and we can start to get ready."

At ten o'clock, I arrived in Jim's office and got his coat down and brushed it for him. I brushed his hat.

"Jimmie," I said, "you don't suppose it might be inadvisable for me to accompany you?"

"Why?" he asked.

"Well, an old chap like that," I explained. "He may be a little doddering. He might ask who I am. Maybe he has heard of me, too."

"Come along," said Jim.

We walked down the southerly streets to the old building where Mr. Perkinsniff's office is. We walked with dignity. We had that pleasant but indifferent expression on our faces that we have often seen on the bankers and big financial men of the city.

I opened the old door for Jimmie. I waved him up the worn staircase.

We rapped on the door labelled "Emery A. Perkinsniff, att'y at law."

No answer.

I rapped more loudly.

"Maybe," I said, "the old boy is hard of hearing."

So I turned the doorknob and we walked in.

* * * * *

It was a curious old office. Its one window looked out on a brick wall, one of those brick walls where the gray mortar is squashed out by the bricks. An infirm roll-top desk and a table were piled high with dusty papers, bundles of documents tied with blue tape.

The walls were covered with framed Bible texts and a large sign: STRICTLY NO SMOKING.

"Put out your cigarette," said Jimmie to me.

"I don't like those framed texts," I said. "There is something about them."

"Douse your cigarette," commanded Jim.

I looked around and, seeing no ash-trays, I ground out the end of it on the edge of the waste basket and tossed it in.

We stood waiting.

"HE SEETH ALL THINGS," said the largest text. It was framed in oak.

Jim sat down carefully on a rickety chair.

"What's the time?" asked Jim, licking his dry lips.

"Eleven exactly," I said.

We sat listening.

But in that ghostly old room, with its dull window and its blank vista of brick wall, not even ghosts stirred. I saw on the table, amidst the high heaps of dusty and yellow documents, a basket containing empty medicine bottles. On the window sill sat one golosh. One of those spike files on top of the roll-top desk had a newspaper clipping on it.

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