“Oh—no, no!” said the poor woman, two slow tears beginning to course down her worn cheeks. “What’s it all about, anyway? Couldn’t you ask me about it?”
“Why, yes, maybe I could. Do you know about your house? Your husband owns it, doesn’t he?”
“Yes,” gasped the woman. “That is, he do an’ he don’t. You see, we got a mortgage on it.”
“Yes, exactly. That’s what I’ve come about. Did you know that the interest is overdue and must be paid or the mortgage will have to be foreclosed?”
“Yes, I know, but we can’t pay it yet. My man was ta get paid last night. He was gonta have money enough to pay you half, he said, and mebbe a little more, but he never cum home all night last night. I expect he stopped at the tavern for a drink, and that finished him. He didn’t cum home till five o’clock this morning an’ he tumbled right inta bed with his boots on, an’ that’s whar he is now. An’ I looked in his pants pockets and everywhere else, an’ he hasn’t got a red cent left. That’s the way he gets when he goes to the tavern first before he cums home. But mebbe next month ef I go ta meet him at the fac’try I can get him home okay, an’ I’ll do a bit of washin’ here an’ there, and then we can pay.”
Paige’s face grew troubled. Was this what he was in for? Hounding poor people for money they didn’t have?
He looked down into the worried, pleading eyes of the desperate woman and wondered what he ought to do.
“Well, now, I wonder what we can do,” he said. “Suppose I come in and sit down a little while and let’s talk it over.”
He called to the taxi man to wait a little longer, and he went in and sat down.
“Now, you know, my good woman,” he started.
Then she began to weep and plead with him to be kind and wait till she could get the money. She said they had put all they had in this house since they got married, and now they would lose it all if the mortgage was foreclosed. And just when she had thought he was going to get a better job and they would be able to pay up real quick.
Paige studied her shifty eyes and her poor, troubled face and wished there were something he could do. He was in no position to be burdened with a decision like this, and the last thing Mr. Chalmers had said to him the night before had been to warn him not to get “soft” and give in to any amount of pleading. But wasn’t there some other way out of this situation?
“I wonder,” he said, looking at the woman almost hopefully, after a quick survey of the bare little room, “I wonder if there isn’t somebody you could borrow the money from? Haven’t you any friends or relatives you could borrow from? Or your bank? Wouldn’t they lend you enough to cover this? You know I’m only employed by the company. I have no authority to allow you to pay later. Your contract says the money has to be paid on the date.”
“I know,” she mourned, “but my neighbors told me they didn’t think any man would be so hardhearted as to mind a few days’ delay. Can’t you see your way clear to being a little kind to a poor woman who has worked hard to get a home for her old age?”
“I’m sorry. I wish it were in my power to do something about this. But say, haven’t you got something you could sell, that you could get along without? That would solve your problem.”
The woman shook her head despairingly.
“I had a half-dozen silver spoons when I was married, and I tried to sell them, but they told me they was only plated, and they didn’t bring much. Besides, they’re gone. O’ course there’s my little Mary’s piana, but I’d hate ta part with that, she loved it so much, and she’s dead now. It’s the last thing I’ve got that belonged ta her.”
“Would you know of anybody who would buy it if you were willing to sell it?”
“Yes, there’s a man lives at the end of the block wanted it once, but I wouldn’t sell it.”
“Well, now, I’ll tell you what you might do. I’ll be willing to come back again this afternoon and get your money if you can succeed in getting it somehow, and then we won’t have to foreclose the mortgage.”
“Oh,” groaned the woman, “that’s awful good of you. I’ll go out an’ try my best. What time’ll you be back?”
“I think about one o’clock,” said Paige, glancing at his watch. “But you mustn’t keep me waiting, for I have a train to catch, and I couldn’t wait. I’d simply have to put the papers in the lawyer’s hands and let it go through, and they would put you right out, perhaps. If I were you, I’d wake your husband up now. Put cold water on his face. That will bring him to, and tell him this is imperative. Do you want me to go up and try to wake him?”
The woman looked terribly frightened.
“Oh, no,” she said, half frantically. “He wouldn’t be any good until he gets his sleep out. I know, for I’ve tried it before. I’ll go out and try to sell the piana.”
Paige finally had to be satisfied with that, though when he returned to the taxi he had to own that he hadn’t much hope the inadequate little scared woman would accomplish much.
So he went on to his next stopping place.
It was a long distance, quite to the other side of the city, and when he reached there, he found his man was out working on the road, so it took some time to find him and get a chance to talk with him. But when he accomplished that, he found a new situation there. First the frightened man claimed that he had already paid a month ahead and this next one was not due yet. Paige showed him the records in the book and made him read over the contract, but when he found that the man couldn’t read very well, he read it over to him carefully, explaining it to him as he read, and even then the man was befuddled.
“Me no can pay now,” he said sadly. “Bimeby I pay. Wife sick. Baby die. Big doctor bill. Undertaker. Six months, then mebbe pay little. Mebbe pay half.”
Paige gave the man a troubled look.
“Is there nobody you can borrow from?”
“Me? Borry? Naw, nobody mind me.”
“How much have you paid in for this house already?”
“Me pay four hundred a’ready!” said the man. “Me got five hundred more yet ta pay.”
“But don’t you understand? If you don’t pay this interest on time, they have to foreclose on the mortgage. You signed your name to this agreement in the first place. You must have known it would be foreclosed if you didn’t pay.”
“Well, me no can pay now,” said the poor man, with another shrug and a sigh.
Paige looked at the man in despair. He would not understand, or else he could not. He looked around among the workmen who were just finishing their noonday meal and closing up their dinner pails. Only one man seemed at all interested in what was going on or noted the distress in the other man’s eyes. But this one deposited his dinner pail under a tree and came striding over.
“Wha’s a mattah, Pete?”
Paige’s client looked up with another shrug and a torrent of a tongue unknown to Paige. He watched the two men for an instant and then was surprised to hear the other laboring man say, “Das a’right, Pete. I got some money. I lend. How mooch?”
Pete lifted an astonished face.
“How mooch?” the other man urged.
“Too mooch!” Pete said, with a shake of his head. “Long time I no could pay.”
“How mooch?”
“Dwenty-five intrest, dirty-one principal. Too mooch, too mooch,” said Pete sadly.
“Dat’s okay, Pete. I go get.” The man walked over to the boss, said a few words, and swung away on his bicycle.
“I be ri’ back, Pete, two, tree meenits,” he called back.
Paige waited. He could not well do anything else with that sorrowful, desperate man watching his generous fellow-workman pedal away. Pete watched his friend out of sight, and then with a sigh and a shake of his head, he picked up his shovel and went on working as if nothing was going on and there was no great matter hanging in the offing.
In less than five minutes the bicycle came rolling back. With a businesslike look on his rough face, the man parked his wheels against a tree
and strode over to Pete, producing a roll of bills, which he carefully counted out to the amazed man.
Then Pete laid down his shovel and straightened up. Proudly he walked over to Paige, saying, quite as if this had not been a public transaction, “Now I pay. You give me re-seet?”
“Oh, yes,” Paige said with a smile and carefully wrote the receipt.
A little while later, with a lighter heart and the necessary money, he walked up the highway to where he had seen a bus plying its way back and forth. He smiled to himself as he remembered the smile on Pete’s face as he thanked his fellow-workman, and somehow he couldn’t help feeling that the generous workman would stand high in contrast with Harris Chalmers, and yet was that fair? Harris Chalmers did not know Pete; his fellow-workman did. Then for the first time, it occurred to him to wonder if he would be commended by his boss for having helped this man to pay what he owed. For in his briefcase he carried three foreclosure papers that he had been expected to serve on three men. And he hadn’t as yet served any. Then he put the thought sharply away from his mind as unworthy. That would definitely mean that Mr. Chalmers was crafty. In fact, after the two experiences of the morning, he had a strong feeling that the business in which he was employed was not one he liked. Well, it wasn’t his business, of course, and he wasn’t responsible. But still he knew one thing: never again would he consent to be sent out on a mission of this sort.
The next person he was to see was several miles away from Boston, and he had also promised to go back to the poor lady who was trying to sell her “pianna” in order to pay her interest. He would have to go back that way. It was almost the time he had set to be back, and there was no telling how long the transaction would take, even if she had succeeded in selling the piano. So he had better take the third commission tomorrow. Besides, there were several other people he must see, some messages from Mr. Chalmers to give to men in their Boston offices, and one or two personal things he wanted to do, now that he was in this neighborhood.
He stopped only for a brief lunch when he reached the city again and then took a taxi to the brick house once more.
But the little house gave no response, though he knocked several times. At last he gave one final, long pounding on the door, and a tousled head was poked out of the window over him, and an angry voice demanded to know what he wanted and what business he had to make such an infernal racket on the door of a private house.
Paige decided this was the husband who had spent the night drinking and the daytime in sleeping it off, and he looked up at the man.
“Are you Mr. Patrick Reamer?” he asked.
“Yeah, that’s my name. What’s it to you?” was the surly reply.
“Why, I’ve been sent from the Harris Chalmers Company to contact you about your house. Do you know that you are behind in your payments?”
“Sure I know,” snarled the man, “but I’m gonta pay in time.”
“But you know you have to pay on time, not in time. You understood when you signed the contract that there was to be no delay in payments, and now you are several days behind even the thirty days the law allows, and you know, don’t you, that it means there will have to be a foreclosure on the mortgage if you run behind?”
“Yeah, they told me that, but I couldn’t pay if I didn’t have the money, could I? But I gotta job, and I’ll have the money in time.”
“I’m sorry,” said Paige, writhing at the thought of what he knew he must say. “I was sent here to tell you that your mortgage is being foreclosed and you must get out at once.”
“Okay! I don’t like the old house anyway,” said the man. “But I want my money back. I already paid a coupla hundred dollars on this.”
“I’m sorry,” said Paige, “but your contract says that you must get out and be foreclosed if a payment is missed. I’ll have to put this in the hands of the law, so it will be better for you if you move right out and don’t make any further trouble.”
“Aw, that’s all baloney. I know a fella had the same kinda contract I hev, and he let his payments go a lot more’n I have, and they didn’t put him out. I’ll take my chances with the law.”
“Did you know that your wife has gone somewhere to try to sell your piano so she can pay the money today before the time is up?”
“Piana? Well that’s a good one! We never had no piana. We haven’t got a thing in this house we could sell if we wanted to, and if we did, nobody would buy it, so you can go your way and tell that Mr. Chalmers if I get the money I’ll pay as soon as I can. And he can whistle for it till he gets it. I’ll take my chances with the law, and I don’t get out unless I get back the money I already spent on this here shanty.”
So, with no further words Paige turned and went on his way, sorry for the man, and yet indignant.
Chapter 9
Paige arrived in the suburban town where his third client lived about half past one the next day. He had been given to understand that this was the most important case of all three, as it involved a larger sum of money and was several days overdue beyond the thirty days the law allowed. It was definitely to be foreclosed. The man who held the mortgage had replied to none of their notices, and it was now long enough overdue to allow for no protest. On his way out, Paige had gone carefully over the notes Mr. Chalmers had given him, and practically knew them by heart. He felt fairly calm over the thought of what was before him. The two cases of the day before had somewhat taken away his dread, though he reiterated to himself that he would never willingly accept a commission like this one again. It might be necessary on some occasions, perhaps, but he would never feel that it was right to take it for granted that everyone who didn’t come to time on the minute was a crook and had to be dealt with severely. Perhaps there was a right and wrong to it, but he couldn’t see it that way, not at least with as little ceremony and human feeling as these cases seemed to be receiving from Harris Chalmers. But he would be exceedingly glad when this last item was completed and he was free to return home.
He took a taxi at the station and gave the man’s address.
“You know where Mr. T. J. Washburn lives?” he asked the taxi driver.
“Oh, yes sir,” the driver assured him and started off down the street slowly. Paige observed that it was a pretty town and they were turning toward a pleasant neighborhood. Perhaps this wasn’t going to be even as easy as those two cases of yesterday. The people on the street seemed fairly well-to-do, and people who had been prosperous did not usually take kindly to losing what they had.
They turned another corner and drew up slowly in front of a commodious brick house, painted white. There seemed to be a number of other cars parked on the street, and the whole effect was very pleasant, which rather served to heighten Paige’s reluctance for the immediate duty before him.
“Is this the house?” he asked the driver. “Are you sure?”
“Oh, yes sir, I’ve knowed Mr. Washburn a good many years.”
Paige got out and paid his driver, still feeling uncertain. The driver went away, and Paige turned to go up the front walk and then halted again. The front door was standing wide open, and there seemed to be flowers around the porch, a mass of them. Could it be they were having a party? If so, it was certainly an inopportune time for him to arrive with his unpleasant message. But—it couldn’t be a party at this time of day. Why it was scarcely two o’clock yet!
A quiet, elderly woman and a little boy were coming into the gate behind him, and to make sure, he turned and asked the woman, “Is this the Washburn house?”
“Oh, yes,” she answered gravely. She was very plainly dressed, perhaps a servant in the family, or a plain old relative. But reassured, he went quickly forward and mounted the steps, glancing about for a doorbell. But before he found any, a young man in a frock coat came forward and greeted him pleasantly. Could this then be a wedding he was barging in on, and was this a bridegroom or a best man? How terrible that joy and tragedy could so easily mingle in a world that seemed so bright with sunshine! He w
as embarrassed and hardly knew how to act, but he must do something.
“I beg your pardon,” he said hesitatingly. “Have I come to the right place? I want to see Mr. Washburn.”
“Yes?” said the young man. “Right in here.” He motioned toward a wide doorway a little beyond the front entrance.
So Paige stepped into a large room and suddenly was confronted by the sight of a coffin, in which lay an elderly man with white hair and a beautiful arrangement of lovely flowers banked about him.
Startled, he stood still and was about to leave. It was not a wedding but a funeral he had come to! But he could not back out, because there were a number of other people coming in behind him. They filled the doorway, and his friendly escort back of them was signaling to him and pointing to the coffin. He could not stop and say that he had not known where he was coming. It would create a scene. He would have to go on and act as if he had come here with intention. Eventually, there would be opportunity to go, or at least to talk with somebody and find out who was now responsible for the man’s estate, if he had any.
So Paige quickly adjusted himself to the situation and went forward to stand and look at the dead face, and while he stood there he could not help but think how but for a few days’ happenings he might have faced this man and brought sorrow and disappointment to him. Of course, it was all right to foreclose mortgages if one couldn’t pay them, but wasn’t it right to arrange things so the borrower would have more time given him if he had been unfortunate? Well, this was no time to consider a question such as that, and again he told himself it wasn’t his business anyway. But somehow, as he stood and looked down at that dead face, his own heart was searched as it had not been since he was a little boy. Even deeper than it had been when he was across the ocean, about to meet the enemy.
It seemed to him that the man who lay there was a good man. He had the marks of right living written in his face. And he was probably now in the presence of God. He looked like one of God’s children. And God Himself was there beside that coffin, he felt, looking at him as if He were challenging his presence there with one of His saints.
Where Two Ways Met Page 11
