Our Mr. Wrenn The Romantic Adventures of a Gentle Man

f numerous brass buttons. He nods to all the patrons, and his nod is the most cordial in town. Mr. Wrenn used to trot down to Fourteenth Street, passing ever so m

hing most satisfactorily. At thirty-four Mr. Wrenn was the sales-entry clerk of the Souvenir Company. He was always bending over bills and columns of f

kelorion ticket-taker. He found Fourteenth Street, after office hours, swept by a dusty wind that whisked the skirts of countless plump Jewish girls, whose V-necked blouses showed soft throats of a warm brown. Under the elevated station he secretly made beli

s of colors. Hope I see foreign stuf

ut buying Johnny's pants. Should he get them at the Fourteenth Street Store, or Siegel-Cooper's, or over at Aronson's, near home? So ruminating, he twiddled his wheel me

e man's "Fine evenin', sir "-rain or shine-but he wouldn't stand for being cut. Wasn't he making nineteen dollars a week, as against the ticket-ta

volt of a ranch cook, a Chinaman. Mr. Wrenn was really seeing, not cow-punchers and sage-brush, but himself, defying the office manager's surliness and revolting

ities of heroic roaming. He knew it. He, too, like the man who had taken the Gaumont pictures, would saunter among dusky Javan natives in "markets with tiles on the roofs and temples and-and-uh, well-places!" The scent of Oriental spices was in his broadened nostrils as he scampered out of the Nickelorion, without a look at the

es, two helpin's of scrapple, an egg, some rump steak, and three cups of coffee, slowly and resentfully. She creaked and groaned from breakfast to her rocking-chair, and sat about wondering why Providence had inflicted upon her a weak digestion. Mr. Wrenn

basement room, which smelled of dead food and deader pride in a race that had never ex

ed upon the crayon enlargements of Lee Theresa, the older Zapp daughter (who was forewoman in a factory), and of Godiva. Godiva Zapp was usually called "Goaty," and many times a day was she called by Mrs. Zapp. A tamed child drudge was G

o see the man about getting that chair fix

ng, the incredible pile of dinner dishes. With a trail of hesitating remarks on the sadness of sciatica and windy e

anderland. Other friends the room had rarely known. It was hard enough for Mr. Wrenn to get acquainted with people, anyway, and Mrs. Zapp did not expect her gennulman lodgers to entertain. So Mr. Wrenn had given up asking e

le, witty. The sparrows in the middle of Fifth Avenue were all talking at once, scandalously but cleverly. The polished brass of limousines threw off teethy smiles. At least so Mr. Wrenn fancied as he whisked up Fifth Avenue, the skirts of his small blue double-breasted coat wag

e weary unnatural brilliance of a mercury-vapor light, he dashed into his work, and was too keen about this business of living merrily to be much flustered by the bustle of the lady buyer's superior "Good mor

orously through the manager's doorway into the long sun-bright room, ornate with rugs and souvenirs. Seven Novelties glittered on the desk alone, including a large rococo Shakespeare-style glass ink-well containing cloves and a small

you? The Bronx Emporium order for May Day

y 'phone," smiled Mr. Wrenn

ell, sir! Twice

their buyer

ice. I know, em. We'll have to crawl down graceful, and a

It was here-the time for revolt, when he was going to be defiant. He had been careful; old Goglefogle was only barkin

at order. I looked it up

uld he be discharged? T

way, I want you to be more careful after this, Wrenn. You're pretty sloppy. Now get o

imself outside in

seemed much impre

He called a stenog

x Emp

May Day novelties. As we wrote before, order certainly was duplicated by 'phone. Our Mr. Wrenn is thoroughl

is head was again foggy with work and he had forgotten whether there was still April anywhere, he began to dread what the manager might do to him. Suppose he lost his job; The Job! He work

between the blocks of the cement walk, radiant in a white flare of sunshine, irritatingly recalled the cross-lines of order-lists, with the narrow cement blocks at the curb standing fo

the Midnight Sun, a suggestion of possible and coyly improbable trips, whereas he got only a letter from his oldest acquaintance-Cousin John, of Parthenon, New York, the boy-who-comes

e a curb with a frisk as gambolsome as a Central Park lamb. There was no hint of sales-lists in the clouds, at least. And with them Mr. Wrenn's soul swept along, while his half-soled Cum-Fee-Best $3.80 shoes were ambling past warehouses. Only once

n the upper deck, he knew that at last he was outward-bound on a liner. True, there was no great motion, but Mr. Wrenn was inclined to let realism off easily in this feature of his voyage. At least there were undoubted life-preservers in

ling, as to have gained a calm interested knowledge. He knew the Campagnia three docks away, and expl

What were even the building-block towers of the Metropolitan and Singer buildings and the Times

in words. He had never heard of Arcady, though fo

(see the W. S. Travel Notes for the source of his visions); he was off to St. George's S

mp of the boat's snub nose against the lofty swaying piles and the swash of the brown waves

the great chords of the station's paean. The vast roof roared as the i

hint of how the poe

on. What he s

outhland-thither the iron horses would be galloping, their swarthy smoke manes whipped back by the whirlwind, pounding out with clamorous strong hoofs thei

g so reckless as actually to ask a skipper for the chance to go a-sailing, but he had once gone into a mission society's free shipping-office on West Street where a disapproving elder had grumped at him, "Are you a sailor?

d have surprised a Norwegian bos'un's mate to learn that he was really a gun-runner, and that, as a

e President's guest in the admiral's barge and was frightened by the stare of a sa

er rocker by the window, patting his scrubby tan mustache and reviewing the day's wandering. When the gas was lighted he yearned over p

cotton night-gown, like a rare little bird of dull plumage, he rubbed his head sleepily. Um-m-m-m-m! How tired he was

he fog. (It was a ferry.) A liner! She'd be roaring just like that if she were off the Banks! If he were only off the Banks!

tly at his clothes. Out of the inside coat poc

er announced that the flinty farm at Parthenon, left to Mr. Wrenn by his father, had been sold. Its location on a river bluff had made it

ny venturesome (but economical) months, till he should learn the trade of

and wanted to-but didn't-rush into the adjacent hall room and tell the total stranger there of this world-changing news. He listened

very much-afraid of wrecks and stuff. . . . Things like that. . . . G

d with the cares of wealth, with having to decide when to leave for his world-wanderings, but he was also very much aware that office managers are disagreeable if

nd Sixth Avenue. But he had to go out to lunch with Charley Carpenter, the assistant bookkeeper, that he might tell the news. As

chose) a table at Drubel's Eating House. Mr. Wrenn

d Goglefogle light into me this morning? I won

the troubl

movement of a fool girl that can't even run the adding-machine, why, he'd get green around the gills. He'd never do anything but make mistakes! Well, I guess the old codger must have had a bum b

w gesture the memory of his wrongs again overpowered him. He flung his right hand back on the table, scattering cigarette ashes, jerked back his head with the i

'll fix him, I will. You just watch me. (Hey, Drubel, got any lemon merang? Bring me a hunk, will yuh?) Why, Wrenn, that cross-eyed double-jointed fat old slob, I'

rt for a second.... "I

t, honest you will. S

left me has sold for n

ch is on me. Let me

him pay, quite readily

u've got lots of stuff in you, old Wrennski. Oh say, by the way, could. you let me have fifty cents till Saturday? Thanks. I'll pay it b

uldn't jump on Guilfogle so hard

ise. "Say! Why don't you soak him? They bank on you at the Souvenir Company. Darn' sight more than you realize, lemme tell you. Why, you do about half the stock-keeper's work, sides your own. Tell you what you do. You go to old Goglefogle and tell him you want a raise to twenty-five, and

s; he can't do everything he wants to-why, he'll just have to fire me, after I've talked to him like that, whet

like the deuce. It 'd bother Mr. Mortimer X. Y. Guglefugle most of all, thank the Lord. He wouldn't know where

ant me to try to hurt the Souvenir Company after

rubbed on the grindstone! I suppose you'd like to

f, all right-like to go traveling, and stuff like that. Gee! I

won't be leaving 'em-they'll either pa

know about

wn logic by beaming persuasiveness, and Mr. Wrenn was a

all right, Wrennski. I suppose you had ought to stay, if you feel you got to....

Guilfogle that he wished to be looked upon as one resigning? Where, then, any chance of globe-trotting; perhaps for months he would remain in slavery, and he had hoped just that mornin

," as he observed for the hundredth time he had taken this journey. A rotisserie, before whose upright fender of scarlet coals whole ducks were happily roasting to a shiny brown. In a furrier's window were Siberian foxes' skins (Siberia! huts of "awful brave convicks"; the steely Northern Sea; guards in blouses, just as he'd seen them at an Academy of Music pla

garlick

e and the palms

horse that looked wistfully at him from the curb. "Poor old fella. What you thinking about?

ctrical interview with the manager, who spent a few minutes, which he happened to have free, in roaring "I want to know why" at Mr. Wrenn. There was no particular "why" that he wanted to k

rticular, and suggested that he stay late with Charley Carpenter and the s

es of lofty buildings glistened; the sunset shone fierily through the glass-inclosed layer-like upper floors. He wanted to