|| A Canadian Short Story ||
In the dingy office of A. Slivowitz & Co., manufacturers of dyes, things were humming. Every clerk was bent over his desk, hard and cheerfully at work, and there was a general air of bustle and efficiency.
That was because A. Slivowitz stood in the doorway of his private office looking on.
The portly head of the firm watched the scene for a few minutes. Then, catching the eye of his young but efficient private secretary, he beckoned him with an air of mystery to the inner sanctum.
The secretary, who was sharp of eye and alert of manner, rose at once and followed.
His employer sank thoughtfully into his swivel chair and motioned to the secretary to shut the door and take a seat. Then for a minute or so he was silent, playing with his massive gold watch chain and studying the young man through puckered lids. But if the secretary was bothered, he did not show it.
“Mr. Sloane,” began Slivowitz, at length, in his heavy voice, “you been with the firm now how long—six or five months, ain’t it?”
“Nearly six,” the dapper young man confirmed briskly.
“You’re a smart feller, Mr. Sloane,” his employer continued, examining the huge diamond on his left hand. “Already you picked it up a lot about dyeing. A fine dyer you should make. Now, Mr. Sloane, I’m going to fire you.”
The secretary’s eyebrows went up a trifle, but otherwise he showed no great emotion. Perhaps a certain playfulness in the big man’s tone reassured him.
“My business is good,” Slivowitz went on, with a fat chuckle. “I’m a business man, Mr. Sloane, first and last, and I grow by careful strategies. We are the best in dyes right now.”
The secretary agreed, “Thanks to your royal purple, Mr. Slivowitz. You’ve about won the market.”
“None of our competitors can touch it, that purple” agreed the boss, with much satisfaction. “But”—and he became confidential—“between me and you strictly, there is one firm, Domestic Dye Works, they got a mauve dye shade. I’m worried about it”
He hitched his chair closer and said to the secretary, “I’m going to fire you,” he repeated, with a wink. “I want you should go by the Domestic Dye Works and get a job. Find out about the formula for their mauve—you understand me—and come back with it, and you get back your job and a hundred or seventy-five dollars.”
Sloane was surprised, he stared at his employer, his face going red and pale again; then he rose to his feet.
“Sorry, Mr. Slivowitz, but I can’t consider it,” he said.
“Oh, come now, Mr. Sloane!” protested the dyer, with a laugh, leaning back in his chair. “These are business strategies, Mr. Sloane. Take it from me, Mr. Sloane, you don’t have anything to worry about! It is survival of the fittest!”
The boss continued, “You have to attack the other guy before he attacks!”
“That may be——” hesitated the secretary, as he moved toward the door.
But Slivowitz wasn’t going to give up. He said, “ Don’t be a coward! You needn’t to be scared they’ll find it out where you come from and fire you, neither, Mr. Sloane,” he added, more quietly and with a cunning expression. “I got brains, I have. A little thing like recommends to a smart man like me——” The match broke.
Sloane paused with his hand on the doorknob. “Mr. Slivowitz——” he began again. “Of course,” interrupted his employer, “I could make it—well, a hundred fifteen, Mr. Sloane. But, believe me, not a cent more, posi-tive-ly.”
The secretary shook his head decidedly.
“WHAT?” roared Slivowitz. “You mean to tell me you ain’t going to do it? All right; you’re fired anyhow, you understand me.”
Then with an evil glitter in his eyes, “And if you don’t bring by me that formula, you get fired from the Domestic Dye Works; and I’ll make sure you don’t get a job at all! Now, you take your choice.” He finished his threat a lit his cigarette.
Sloane smiled. “Quite impossible,” he said. “I was going to resign in a day or two, anyway.”
“Eh?” exclaimed the head of the firm, his jaw dropping and his florid face paling a little.
“Yes. You see—you’ll know it sooner or later—the Domestic Dye Works sent me here to learn the formula for your royal purple.”
And the door slammed shut behind A. Slivowitz’s private secretary.
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