U.S.A_ - John Dos Passos [432]
-287-"Wel , that's service," Farrel said and put his foot on the starter of his puttycolored Lincoln towncar. The motor purred silkily.
Taki put the suitcase in back and Charley hopped in beside Farrel . " Taki thinks we lack culture," said Charley, laughing. Farrel winked.
It was pleasant sitting slumped in the seat beside Far-rel 's wel dressed figure behind the big softpurring motor, letting a little drowsiness come over him as they drove down broad straight boulevards with here and there a con-struction job that gave them a whiff of new bricks and raw firboards and fresh cement as they passed. A smel of early spring came off the fields and backlots on a raw wind that had little streaks of swampy warmth in it.
"Here's our little shanty," said Farrel and swerved into a curving graded driveway and jammed on the brakes at the end of a long greystone house with narrow pointed windows and gothic pinnacles like a cathedral. They got out and Charley fol owed him across a terrace down an avenue of boxtrees in pots and through a frenchwindow into a bil iardroom with a heavilycarved ceiling. "This is my playroom," said Farrel . "After al a man's got to have someplace to play. . . . Here's a bathroom you can
change in. I'l be back for you in ten minutes." It was a big bathroom al in jadegreen with a couch, an easychair, a floorlamp, and a set of chestweights and indianclubs in the corner. Charley stripped and took a hot shower and changed his clothes. He was just putting on his bestlooking striped tie when Farrel cal ed through the door. "Everything O.K.?""Check," said Charley as he came out. "I feel like a mil ion dol ars." Farrel looked him in the eye in a funny way and laughed. "Why not?" he said. The office was in an unfinished officebuilding in a ring of unfinished officebuildings round Grand Circus Park. "You won't mind if I run you through the publicity department
-288-first, Charley," said Farrel . " Eddy Sawyer's a great boy. Then we'l al get together in my office and have some food."
"Check," said Charley.
"Say, Eddy, here's your birdman," shouted Farrel , pushing Charley into a big bright office with orange hang-ings. "Mr. Sawyer, meet Mr. Anderson . . . the Charley Anderson, our new consulting engineer. . . . Give us a buzz when you've put him through a course of sprouts." Farrel hurried off leaving Charley alone with a smal yel owfaced man with a large towhead who had the talk and manners of a highschool boy with the cigarette habit. Eddy Sawyer gave Charley's hand a tremendous squeeze, asked him how he liked the new offices, explained that orange stood for optimism, asked him if he ever got air-sick, explained that he did terribly, wasn't it the damnedest luck seeing the business he was in, brought out from under his desk a bottle of whiskey. "I bet J. Y. didn't give you a drink. . . . That man lives on air, a regular salamander." Charley said he would take a smal shot and Eddy
Sawyer produced two glasses that already had the ice in them and a siphon. "Say when." Charley took a gulp, then Eddy leaned back in his swivelchair having drained off his drink and said, "Now, Mr. Anderson, if you don't mind let's have the old lifehistory, or whatever part of it is fit to print. . . . Mind you, we won't use anything right away but we like to have the dope so that we can sort of feed it out as occasion demands." Charley blushed. "Wel ," he said, "there's not very much to tel ."
"Thataboy," said Eddy Sawyer, pouring out two more and putting away the whiskeybottle.
"That's how al the best stories begin." He pressed a buzzer and a curlyhaired stenographer with a pretty pink dol face came in and sat down with her notebook at the other side of the desk. While he was fumbling through his story, Charley
-289-kept repeating to himself in the back of his head, "Now, bo, don't make an ass of yourself the first day." Before they were through Farrel stuck his head in the door and said to come along, the crowd was waiting.
"Wel , did you get al fixed up? . . . Charley, I want you to meet our salesmanager . . . Joe Stone, Charley Anderson. And Mr. Frank and Mr. O'Brien, our battery of legal talent, and Mr. Bledsoe, he's in charge of output