"Maxwell Grant - The Shadow - 162 - Chicago Crime" - читать интересную книгу автора (Grant Maxwell)

"I have been watching the traffic on Michigan Boulevard," wheezed Cruke,
in a slow tone. "Thousands of persons going to and fro about their business.
Hundreds more beyond" - he pointed to bathers disporting in the surf - "whose
thoughts are those of pleasure."
He dropped his arm, let his head lean farther back. His eyes seemed to
reflect a glimmer from the outside scene.
"All who have health," declared Cruke, solemnly, "should be happy. But
some are not. You are one of those unfortunate persons, Mr. Waylon; at least,
so Mr. Soville tells me."
 "I guess Chet is right," returned Herb, sheepishly. "But after meeting
you, Mr. Cruke, I suppose I ought to forget what's bothering me. In a way,
it's
trivial -"
"Nothing is trivial," interposed Cruke. He shook his head by keeping it
levered on the chair back. "The smallest things can destroy happiness, in some
instances; whereas, real anguish can often be forgotten."
Herb said nothing. He felt that Cruke was certainly demonstrating the
final point that he had made. During that silence, Cruke's eyes kept steadily
on Herb. The gaze was kindly; then:
"Your trouble," declared Cruke, "is largely financial."
"That's about it," admitted Herb. "If - well, if -"
Herb hesitated. His pride kept him from saying more. Cruke understood,
and
picked up the statement.
"If you had a job," wheezed the invalid, "your troubles would be ended."
"Just about," agreed Herb. Then he added hastily: "But I'm not asking you
to -"
"Whatever I do," interposed Cruke, "is a matter of my own inclination.
Mr.
Soville tells me that you drive a car. Very well, having seen you, I can
recommend you to a friend of mine, Mr. Arthur Reether, who needs a chauffeur.
"The situation is an excellent one. Mr. Reether is willing to pay a
salary
of fifty dollars a week, because he feels that a competent chauffeur should be
well paid."


HERB'S moroseness vanished. His eyes gleamed happily at the offer. Chet
had talked about some sort of a job that Cruke could arrange, but Herb had
never expected a windfall like this.
Fifty dollars a week!
After months of unemployment, during which his cash reserve had steadily
dwindled, this was like happening upon a fortune.
Herb stammered thanks. They were incoherent, because through his mind was
running the thought that Joan Gramley would be pleased. She wanted Herb to
have
a job, because she felt that he did not amount to much without one.
And Herb, despite his grumbles to the contrary, had felt the same way
about it.
Chet ended Herb's stammered thanks with a nudge. He conducted his