The Wapshot Chronicle - John Cheever [57]
The hunger pains of a young man are excruciating and when Coverly went to bed on Wednesday night he was doubled up with pain. On Thursday morning he had nothing to eat at all and spent the last of his money having his pants pressed. He walked to his cousin’s office and told the girl he had an appointment. She was cheerful and polite and asked him to sit down and wait. He waited for an hour. He was so hungry by this time that it was nearly impossible for him to sit up straight. Then the receptionist told him that no one in Mr. Brewer’s office knew about his appointment but that if he would return late in the afternoon she might be able to help him. He dozed on a park bench until four and returned to the office and while the receptionist’s manner remained cheerful her refusal this time was final. Mr. Brewer was out of town. From there Coverly went to Cousin Mildred’s apartment house but the doorman stopped him and telephoned upstairs and was told that Mrs. Brewer couldn’t see anyone; she was just leaving to keep an engagement. Coverly went outside the building and waited and in a few minutes Cousin Mildred came out and Coverly went up to her. “Oh yes, yes,” she said, when he told her what had happened. “Yes, of course. I thought Harry’s office must have told you. It’s something about your emotional picture. They think you’re unemployable. I’m so sorry but there’s nothing I can do about it, is there? Of course your grandfather was second crop.” She unfastened her purse and took out a bill and handed it to Coverly and got into a taxi and drove away. Coverly wandered over to the park.
It was dark then and he was tired, lost and despairing—no one in the city knew his name—and where was his home—the shawls from India and the crows winging their way up the river valley like businessmen with brief cases, off to catch a bus? This was on the Mall, the lights of the city burning through the trees and dimly lighting the air with the colors of reflected fire, and he saw the statues ranged along the broad walk like the tombs of kings—Columbus, Sir Walter Scott, Burns, Halleck and Morse—and he took from these dark shapes a faint comfort and hope. It was not their minds or their works he adored but the kindliness and warmth they must have possessed when they lived and so lonely and so bitter was he then that he would take those brasses and stones for company. Sir Walter Scott would be his friend, his Moses and Leander.
Then he got some supper—this friend of Sir Walter Scott—and in the morning went to work as a stock clerk for Warburton’s Department Store.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Moses’ work in Washington was highly secret—so secret that it can’t be discussed here. He was put to work the day after he arrived—a reflection perhaps of Mr. Boynton’s indebtedness to Honora or a recognition of Moses’ suitability, for with his plain and handsome face and his descendance from a man who had been offered a decoration by General Washington, he fitted into the scene well enough. He was not smooth