Broken to the Plow (Paperback) | Released: 19 Sep 2007

CHAPTER I four o clock in the afternoon Fred A Starratt remembered that he had been com missioned by his wife to bring home oyster cocktails for dinner. Of course, it went without saying that he was expected to attend to the cigars. That meant he must touch old Wetherbee for money. Five dollars would do the trick, but, while he was about it, he decided that he might as well ask for twenty-five. There were bound to be other de mands before the first of the month, and the hard- fisted cashier of Ford, Wetherbee Co. seemed to grow more and more crusty over drafts against the salary account. If one caughthim in a goodhumor it was all right. Usually a risque story was the safest road to geniality. Starratt raked his brains for a new one, to no purpose. Every moment of delay added greater certainty to the conviction that he was in for a disagreeable encounter. At four o clock Wetherbee always began to balance his cash for the day and he was particularly vicious at any interruptions during this precise performance. What in th tvofld had possessed Helen to give this absurd dinner party to two people Starratt had never met At least she might have put the thing off until pay day, when money was more plentiful. How did othersmanage Starratt asked himself. Because therewas a small minority in the officewho received their full month s salary without a break during the entire year. Take young Brauer, for instance. He got a little over a hundred a month and yet he never seemed short. He dressed well, too or neatly, to be nearer the truth therewas no great style to his make-up. Of course, Brauer was not married, but Starratt could never remember a time, even before he took the plunge into matri mony, when he was not going through the motions of smoothing old Wetherbee into a good-humored acceptance of an I O U tag. Starratt did not think himself extravagant, and it always had puzzled him to observehow free some of his salaried friends were with their coin. Only that morning his wife had reflected his own mood with exag gerated petulancy when she had said quotIm sure I don tknowwhere all themoney goes We don t spend it on cafes, and we haven t a car, and goodness knows I only buy what I have to when it comes down to clothes.quot What she had to He thought over the phrase not with any desire to put Helen in the pillory, but merely to uncover, if possible, economic ills. the source of their In days gone by, when his mother was alive, he had heard almost the same remark leveled at his father quotWell, I suppose some people could save on our income. But we ve got to be decent we can t go about in ragsquot He knew from long experience just the sort his mother had meant by the term quotsome people.quot Brauer was a case in point. Mrs. Starratt always spoke of such as he with lofty tolerance. Oh, of course, foreigners always get on They re accustomed to live that wayquot Fred Starratt had not altogether accepted his mother s philosophy that everybody lacking the grace of an Anglo-Saxon or Scotch name was a foreigner. There were times when he was given to wonder vaguely why the gift of quotgetting onquot had been given to quotforeignersquot and denied him. Once in a while he rebelled against the implied gentility which had been wished on him. Were rags necessary to achieve economy Granting the premises, in moments of rare revolt he became hospitable to any contingency that would free him fromthe ever-present humiliation of an empty purse...