His wife thought silently that now, after he had eaten and was beginning on his pie, with a second cigar in prospect, perhaps she might get to the question she had really wanted to ask all along. “Did you see that young Crawford at Jordan Marsh’s?” she asked.
“Yes,” said Jerome.
And Nell knew that for some reason it was all off. “Won’t he do?” she said in disappointment. “You do need a store superintendent so awfully if you’re going to be away on buying trips.”
“Well, it’s better to wait and get the right person than rush in and take somebody who’d gum the whole works. Oh, nothing wrong with Crawford. He’s a comer. But the more I talked with him the surer I was that he wouldn’t fit. Nobody like him would fit into the organization the way we want it. That corking slogan of yours says it all—‘The Homelike Store.’ Well, no smooth, big-city proposition like Crawford could be homelike, not in a thousand years. He wouldn’t want to be. He wouldn’t see the point. He’d be too smart for the town. He wouldn’t go to church. He’d play golf on Sundays. He wouldn’t belong to any of the societies or clubs. He’d drive a snappy runabout and beat it off to the city. The long and the short of it is that he’d be bored by the town and show it.”
Nell saw all that. She nodded her head. She tried to imagine him at a church supper in the basement of the First Congo Church—and gave it up.
“Worse than that, it came to me,” said Jerome, “that any man with pep enough for the job would have too much pep. He’d want to look forward to being taken into the business. And I don’t want any partner but you. This is our store! But leave that alone. He wouldn’t know how to handle the girls. He’d be used to flip, knowing, East-side tenement-house kids. How would he get along with our small-town American high-school graduates who’re as good as anybody and know it? He might try to get gay with them—you haven’t forgotten Ritchie at Burnham’s? None of that for our store. We’ve got little girls of our own—and besides in a little place like this scandal gets round so quick and people take it so personally.”
“But you’ve got to have somebody. There are some pretty keen business women,” suggested his wife. “Why not try one of them—they give more value for the same salary. They stick to their work and don’t make trouble. Mostly they have tact enough not to antagonize the customers. Don’t you think the business could afford one of the really good ones?”
“It can afford pretty much any salary for the right party. Nothing’s too good for our store, Nell! Yes, I’d rather have a woman any day. I’ve thought about one or two of the best I know. They’re good, good as the best—wear the right sort of quiet clothes, don’t make a noise, always on the job, and they’d never make a row about not being taken into the firm. Yes, I like the idea of a woman for store manager—but—well—none of the ones I can think of are exactly right. They don’t quite stand for the idea I’ve got for the business, don’t make the personal friendly appeal. You know how they are—quiet enough and efficient enough, but they’ve got the big-town label plastered all over them, with their smart clothes and their permanent waves and their voices going up and down the scale. Half our customers would be afraid of them. And you hate people you are afraid of. I suppose a woman like that would do, but I’d rather wait a while to see if better material doesn’t come along. I want somebody the customers would think of as one of themselves.”
“Yes, of course that would be better,” acquiesced Nell. “But you have to take what you can get. Are you sure there’s nobody in the store?”
“I’ve been over the selling force with a fine-toothed comb. There’s nobody there who can go higher than floor manager. Miss Flynn, the head of the Cloak-and-Suits, is the nearest. She’s a wise old bird, with lots of experience. But she plays favorites with her girls, picks on certain ones for no special reason and protects others, no matter what they do. That’s the Irish of it. More temperament!”
“I suppose, anyhow, it’s always better policy to get an outsider. It means less friction. But it does seem as though we ought to be able to find someone in this town, someone who’s respected and liked by the people here.”
“If we could, she’d draw all the women into the store after her, as though they were her sisters and her cousins, especially if it was somebody known as a good buyer already. There are always some such in any community. We’d want a woman old enough to take care of herself but young enough to have all her physical stamina left, a nice woman, a first-rater, who could learn and grow into the job. Isn’t it exasperating how, when you have a grand opening like that for just the right person, you can’t lay your hand on her!”
“I could do it myself,” said Nell, “even although all my training has been in the ad department. I know I could.”
“You could walk away with it, Nell. But we need you for the advertising, and besides that job would take you away from home all the time. And of course somebody has to be here for the children.”
“No, I’d never consent to leave the children,” said Nell. “I didn’t really mean it. I was just thinking
