Sloan Wilson - Man in the Gray Flannel Suit

“I won’t even have to talk to Fritz,” Bernstein said. Six years before he had successfully represented a man bringing suit against Fritz for padding bills. He thanked Julius again and continued on his way down Main Street. That clears up one thing, he thought — Schultz is dishonest. A piece of knowledge like that was a lot more help to Bernstein than the legal reviews that came to his office each month.

Bernstein strolled around the town, chatting casually with shopkeepers, the manager of the movie theater, the keepers of taverns, the man who sold tickets at the railroad station, and many others. Within two hours he had accumulated a fairly complete dossier on Schultz. Five shopkeepers had reported that Schultz had tried to get them to pad bills. These five all had good reputations, and Schultz had not traded with them regularly. He had done most of his purchasing at stores whose proprietors Bernstein suspected, some because of rumors he had heard, others because of their record. All this was perhaps less strange, Bernstein thought, than the fact that virtually no one could remember ever having seen Schultz spend money on himself, or buy any entertainment. In the thirty years Schultz had lived in the house on the top of the hill, the taxi company had rarely been called to bring him to town. He had never been seen in the movies or taverns and had not taken regular trips on the train. What had he done on his days off? Perhaps he’s a miser, Bernstein thought; perhaps he did nothing but save money. One couldn’t refuse to allow a man to inherit a house simply because he had padded bills and saved money, but Bernstein felt he was beginning to see the tortuous road to justice more clearly.

IT WAS a little after ten o’clock in the morning. “Mrs. Hopkins is on the wire, Mr. Hopkins,” Miss MacDonald said. “Will you take the call now?”

“Of course!” Hopkins said. “Put her through.”

“Ralph?” Helen’s voice broke in.

“Hello, dear,” he said. “What can I do for you?”

“Ralph, can you come out here? I want to talk to you.”

“Sure,” he said. “Sure! I have some appointments, but I can break them. What time do you want me to be there?”

“Try to get here for lunch. This is important, Ralph. It’s about Susan.”

“Susan? What’s the matter with her?”

“She just told me she refuses to go to college. I’m worried about her, Ralph. I’ll talk to you about it when I see you.”

“I’ll come right out,” he said.

After telephoning Tom to postpone their luncheon date, Hopkins had his chauffeur drive him to South Bay. As the car turned into his driveway, he tried not to look at the enormous low house, with one wing extending over the edge of the artificial harbor. His wife had had it built, had directed the architect herself, and Hopkins did not like the place — he detested anything which seemed to be made mostly for show. He had never complained about the house, however, and did not intend to.

A butler let Hopkins in, and a maid took his hat — that was another thing which bothered him about the house: there were always too many servants hanging around. He walked through the enormous living room, the entire east side of which was made of glass, to the library. Helen was sitting there alone. She was a short woman who had grown rather stout, but her face retained its delicate shape. Her graying brown hair was carefully arranged in a style a little too youthful for her, and she wore a severe black cocktail dress which had been designed for a much slimmer figure. She got up a little nervously when Hopkins came into the room. She hadn’t seen him for more than a month.

“Hello, dear,” he said. “You’re looking grand!” He kissed her lightly.

“Thanks for coming,” she said. “I’ve been terribly worried.”

“Sit down,” he said. “Let’s have a drink. Do you have any liquor in here?”

“Just pull the bell cord.”

He pulled it, and a moment later a maid who had never seen Hopkins before came in. She was extremely nervous. “You rang, sir?” she asked. “Did you ring?”

“Yes,” Hopkins replied. “Scotch on the rocks, please.”

“I’ll have a Manhattan,” Helen said.

The maid withdrew.

“Is Susan here?” Hopkins asked.

“No — she’s at some party out on Long Island. That’s what I want to talk to you about, Ralph. She’s at parties all the time.”

“That’s natural,” Hopkins said easily. “She’s young. I don’t see anything to worry about.”

“Well, I do!” Helen paused as the maid came in to set up a stand for a tray of drinks.

“After this, please try to have a closet or something in here with some liquor in it,” Hopkins said to her. “I like to mix my own drinks.”

“All right,” Helen said. “Anna, please see about that in the morning.”

“Yes, Madam,” the maid said, passed the drinks, and withdrew.

“I don’t think you understand the situation,” Helen said. “Have you ever thought about it?”

“About what?”

“About Susan! About the problems she’s going to have.”

“It doesn’t seem to me that she’s in very difficult circumstances,” Hopkins said dryly. “When I was her age. ”

“You haven’t thought about it, then,” Helen interrupted. “It’s time you did. What do you think is going to happen to her?”

“Happen to her?” Hopkins said. “Nothing, I hope. I hope she marries and has a nice family.”

“What chance do you think she has for that?”

“Not bad, I’d say. She’s pretty, and she won’t be exactly a pauper.”

“No, she won’t be a pauper,” Helen said. “I’m glad you’ve thought about it at least that much!”

“What do you mean by that?”

“To put it bluntly, your little daughter is probably going to be one of the richest young women in the country, and we haven’t done anything at all to prepare her for it. And if she keeps on the way she’s started, she’s going to get into a lot of trouble.”

“I think you’re exaggerating,” he said. “Money is no reason why she has to get into trouble.”

“What do you think would happen if you and I died tomorrow?”

“Susan would inherit a lot of money, but she wouldn’t have to worry about it. My lawyers would take care of all that.”

“For the rest of her life?”

“If she wanted.”

“You’re awfully willing to write her off as an incompetent,” Helen said. “The fact is that sooner or later the child’s going to have tremendous responsibilities, and she has enormous temptations right now. It’s our job to help her handle them.”

“It’s too early for that,” Hopkins said. “Wait till she gets older. Then I’ll see that she learns something about investments and all the rest of it.”

“It’s not investments I’m worried about!” Helen said. “Don’t you see what a difference that money makes for her already? For one thing, everything she does gets in the newspapers! ‘Miss Susan Hopkins seen at the Stork Club last night.’ My God, any little joke she makes gets in the gossip columns. Don’t you read the papers?”

“Not the gossip columns.”

“Well, try them! You’ll learn a lot about your daughter. At the age of eighteen, she’s a celebrity!”

“That’s inevitable,” he said. “She’ll learn to take it in her stride.”

“And the men she goes out with!” Helen said. “They’re not just nice healthy schoolboys — you should see them. A man called for her here the other night who’s older than I am!”

“Who?”

“Byron Holgate, his name is. He drives a ridiculous-looking automobile, he’s had two wives, and he sails in ocean races.”

“I know Holgate,” Hopkins said. “He’s a fool. What’s she running around with him for?”