Page:The Dial (Volume 68).djvu/363

The clerk stopped grinding at the point of his pencil, and holding it up to the light he said, "You've got me. See Mr. Sullivan."

Albert Bean paused, but then realizing he would receive no more information, he reached for his hat and moved towards the door.

"Good day, sir," he said without looking up.

When he reached Tremont Street from the City Hall, the wind was more violent than ever, and grasping him by the scruff of the neck it whirled him along the street like an old hat. It pushed and shoved him so impetuously that he had to lean backwards and pound along on his heels. He felt as helpless as he had felt when he was run out of a Dover Street saloon by a bouncer for falling asleep.

He rushed along, flying past stores, past people, past policemen. He flew over cross streets, continuing in his mad, unpremeditated haste until he came in sight of the corner Mr. Sullivan lurked in his shed of mystery.

The wind howled and whlrled him over towards the shed. In a final violent burst it flung him towards it and slammed him up against the door. Albert Bean turned the knob and was precipitated within.

But his apocalyptic entrance did not seem to astound a large man who was leaning back in a dilapidated desk chair reading a newspaper. This large man merely glanced over the top of his paper, and through the greasy spectacles askew on his red nose he complacently watched Albert Bean struggling to close the door. With a supreme effort Albert banged the door shut, and turned around panting and embarrassed.

"Well, general, it's a windy day, ain't it," said the large man.

"Yes, it is," Albert Bean answered, removing his hat, "and do I speak with Mr. Sullivan?"

"You do," replied Mr. Sullivan, spitting into a cracked china spittoon to his right.

The room was warm and fetid with a small, smoking kerosene stove.

"I have a card here for you. They gave it to me up at City Hall."

Mr. Sullivan took the card in his soggy leather hand.

"So you want a job?"

"Yes."

"Been out of work?"