Sloan Wilson - Man in the Gray Flannel Suit

“Was it suicide?”

“I don’t know. He left no notes. When we looked into things, we found he had recently taken out some life insurance that had a suicide clause in it. The insurance company paid. We also found that his losses had been worse than we knew. Four fifths of your grandmother’s estate was gone.”

Sims paused. “In 1928, I managed to build up the estate a good deal, and we were lucky enough to get out before the crash,” he continued. “I must admit, though, that I never could get your grandmother to live on a budget — she always felt that she was entitled to a certain standard of living, and that she would maintain it as long as she had a cent. I don’t know what she would have done if she had been forced to sell that house — I’m glad I never had to find out.”

“Thanks for telling me all this,” Tom said. “I don’t know why, but I feel a lot better knowing.”

“Your father’s death was a great shock to your grandmother,” Sims said. “She was determined never to tell you about it. And she never wanted any member of her family to have anything to do with her money after that, either. That’s understandable, of course, but she carried it to extremes. She never wanted you to meet me — she was afraid I’d tell you about your father. I think she’d be angry if she knew I was telling you now.”

“She gave me your name,” Tom said.

“She knew you finally had to know. Anyway, there’s nothing for you to be ashamed of. He was a fine man.”

Sims wheeled his chair to a cupboard near his desk and took out a bottle of sherry. Tom noticed that his hand shook as he poured it into two glasses. Suddenly the older man looked up and smiled.

“You see,” he said, “I understand your father. The war hit me too. Not only my legs — my hands.”

“It almost happened to me,” Tom said.

“You were in the last one?”

“Not Korea. The one before that.”

“But you came out all right.”

“I wasn’t in sustained action,” Tom said. “We didn’t have trench warfare. I don’t think I could have taken that. I was usually thrown in for a few days and then taken out.”

“I remember now,” Sims said. “I know what you were in. It scares hell out of me just to think of it.”

The sherry tasted good. When they had finished it, Sims said, “I’ve prepared a dossier on the whole estate — a complete history of it, in fact. I’ll have it typed up and mailed to you. It may take several months to get the will through the probate court. If you need cash in the meantime, I can arrange for a bank to give you a loan on the securities.”

“I may need cash,” Tom said. “I’m broke. And until the house is sold, things are going to be tough.”

“Don’t sell it too fast,” Sims said. “Your grandmother has twenty-three acres of the best land in South Bay. It ought to be worth something.”

THAT NIGHT when he got home to Westport, Tom found a letter from United Broadcasting. “We’re sorry to have taken so long before getting in touch with you,” it said, “but Mr. Hopkins has been on an extended trip to the West Coast, and it has not been until now that we have been in a position to discuss final arrangements with you. Mr. Hopkins enjoyed meeting you, and if you would care to drop into my office Friday at 11 A.M., I hope we can work something out.” The letter was signed by Ogden.

“It’s good news, isn’t it?” Betsy asked.

“I guess so.”

“You don’t sound very excited.”

“I’m confused,” Tom said. “I don’t see how we can do everything we’re supposed to do.”

He had already told Betsy about his conversation with Sims. They both sat thinking about the necessity to make some sort of decision about old Edward, and how to sell the big house most advantageously, and how to keep it up meanwhile, and how at the same time to start a new job.

“The trouble is,” Tom said, “I have no idea what we’re going to net on the estate, and it may be months before we know. That old house is pretty much a white elephant, I’m sure, but until we sell it we won’t have any idea whether we’re going to end up in the hole, or with quite a lot.”

“You worry about United Broadcasting,” Betsy said. “I’m feeling pretty well now. I don’t need Mrs. Manter any more, and I’ll make all the arrangements about your grandmother’s house. Don’t worry about it for the next month. I’ve already talked to Edward and told him we wanted him to stay on for another month, until we know what arrangements can be made. He’s going to live there as a caretaker.”

“You’re already spoken to him?”

“He telephoned here for instructions.”

Tom sighed. “The funeral’s tomorrow,” he said, “and the next day, I’ll see Ogden and make some kind of decision there. After that I’ll worry about Grandmother’s house.”

The day after the funeral when Tom went into the United0 Broadcasting building, he did not think at all about the familiar-appearing elevator operator until he saw the man standing outside his elevator, smoking a cigarette. Instinctively wishing to avoid him, Tom quickly walked into another elevator. When he got to Ogden’s outer office, a secretary told him he might have to wait quite a long while, because someone from out of town had come in unexpectedly to see Ogden. Tom sat in a comfortable leather chair. His thoughts kept returning to the elevator operator. It was ridiculous to be preoccupied with such a matter, he told himself; what possible meaning could it have? Still, it was maddening not to be able to place the man’s face and that deep, familiar voice. With an effort Tom forced himself to think about his coming interview with Ogden.

“Have you made up your mind whether you want to work with us?” Ogden asked when Tom finally got in to see him.

“I don’t really know enough details to make a decision,” Tom said. “We haven’t discussed salary.”

“We discussed it, but I guess we didn’t reach an agreement,” Ogden said casually. “I understand your salary at the Schanenhauser Foundation has been seven thousand a year. We are prepared to offer you eight.”

Tom hesitated. It didn’t seem feasible for him to bargain with United Broadcasting, but it also didn’t seem possible that Hopkins would worry about two thousand dollars more a year if he really wanted him. “I’ve had a long talk with Dick Haver,” Tom said finally, “and I understand my prospects are fairly good at the foundation. ”

“We don’t believe in starting people at high salaries,” Ogden said. “If new employees prove themselves here, their compensation is adjusted accordingly.”

Tom visualized himself going back to Dick Haver and saying he had decided not to go to United Broadcasting. Dick would probably let him wait a long while for a raise after that. Still, if Hopkins really wanted him, now was the time to hold out.

“I’m sorry,” Tom said. “There is always a certain amount of risk in starting a new position, and I feel I should be compensated for it. I want ten thousand a year.”

“We wouldn’t feel justified in giving you that,” Ogden said easily. “We don’t like to quibble about these things, for we feel that if a man really wants to work for United Broadcasting, it isn’t necessary. Nevertheless, we might stretch a point and give you nine thousand. I’m afraid we couldn’t do more than that now.”

If I still held out, I might be able to get more, Tom thought, but he dreaded the possibility of another week’s indecision while Ogden and the others conferred. “All right,” he said. “I’m very pleased to accept the position. I feel it will be a great privilege to work for Mr. Hopkins.”

“Fine!” Ogden said. “We’re delighted to have you. Can you start in a week?”