The morning air was sharp, and as she turned to face the wind she felt so weak and unsteady that she wondered if she should ever get as far as Union Square; but by walking very slowly, and standing still now and then when she could do so without being noticed, she found herself at last before the jeweller's great glass doors.
It was still so early that there were no purchasers in the shop, and she felt herself the centre of innumerable unemployed eyes as she moved forward between long lines of show-cases glittering with diamonds and silver.
She was glancing about in the hope of finding the clock-department without having to approach one of the impressive gentlemen who paced the empty aisles, when she attracted the attention of one of the most impressive of the number.
The formidable benevolence with which he enquired what he could do for her made her almost despair of explaining herself; but she finally disentangled from a flurry of wrong beginnings the request to be shown to the clock-department.
The gentleman considered her thoughtfully. "May I ask what style of clock you are looking for? Would it be for a wedding-present, or--?"
The irony of the allusion filled Ann Eliza's veins with sudden strength. "I don't want to buy a clock at all. I want to see the head of the department.""Mr. Loomis?" His stare still weighed her--then he seemed to brush aside the problem she presented as beneath his notice. "Oh, certainly. Take the elevator to the second floor. Next aisle to the left." He waved her down the endless perspective of show-cases.
Ann Eliza followed the line of his lordly gesture, and a swift ascent brought her to a great hall full of the buzzing and booming of thousands of clocks. Whichever way she looked, clocks stretched away from her in glittering interminable vistas: clocks of all sizes and voices, from the bell-throated giant of the hallway to the chirping dressing-table toy; tall clocks of mahogany and brass with cathedral chimes; clocks of bronze, glass, porcelain, of every possible size, voice and configuration; and between their serried ranks, along the polished floor of the aisles, moved the languid forms of other gentlemanly floor-walkers, waiting for their duties to begin.
One of them soon approached, and Ann Eliza repeated her request. He received it affably.
"Mr. Loomis? Go right down to the office at the other end."He pointed to a kind of box of ground glass and highly polished panelling.
As she thanked him he turned to one of his companions and said something in which she caught the name of Mr. Loomis, and which was received with an appreciative chuckle. She suspected herself of being the object of the pleasantry, and straightened her thin shoulders under her mantle.
The door of the office stood open, and within sat a gray-bearded man at a desk. He looked up kindly, and again she asked for Mr. Loomis.
"I'm Mr. Loomis. What can I do for you?"
He was much less portentous than the others, though she guessed him to be above them in authority; and encouraged by his tone she seated herself on the edge of the chair he waved her to.
"I hope you'll excuse my troubling you, sir. I came to ask if you could tell me anything about Mr. Herman Ramy. He was employed here in the clock-department two or three years ago."Mr. Loomis showed no recognition of the name.
"Ramy? When was he discharged?"
"I don't har'ly know. He was very sick, and when he got well his place had been filled. He married my sister last October and they went to St. Louis, I ain't had any news of them for over two months, and she's my only sister, and I'm most crazy worrying about her.""I see." Mr. Loomis reflected. "In what capacity was Ramy employed here?" he asked after a moment.
"He--he told us that he was one of the heads of the clock-department," Ann Eliza stammered, overswept by a sudden doubt.
"That was probably a slight exaggeration. But I can tell you about him by referring to our books. The name again?""Ramy--Herman Ramy."
There ensued a long silence, broken only by the flutter of leaves as Mr. Loomis turned over his ledgers. Presently he looked up, keeping his finger between the pages.
"Here it is--Herman Ramy. He was one of our ordinary workmen, and left us three years and a half ago last June.""On account of sickness?" Ann Eliza faltered.
Mr. Loomis appeared to hesitate; then he said: "I see no mention of sickness." Ann Eliza felt his compassionate eyes on her again. "Perhaps I'd better tell you the truth. He was discharged for drug-taking. A capable workman, but we couldn't keep him straight. I'm sorry to have to tell you this, but it seems fairer, since you say you're anxious about your sister."The polished sides of the office vanished from Ann Eliza's sight, and the cackle of the innumerable clocks came to her like the yell of waves in a storm. She tried to speak but could not;tried to get to her feet, but the floor was gone.
"I'm very sorry," Mr. Loomis repeated, closing the ledger. "Iremember the man perfectly now. He used to disappear every now and then, and turn up again in a state that made him useless for days."As she listened, Ann Eliza recalled the day when she had come on Mr. Ramy sitting in abject dejection behind his counter. She saw again the blurred unrecognizing eyes he had raised to her, the layer of dust over everything in the shop, and the green bronze clock in the window representing a Newfoundland dog with his paw on a book. She stood up slowly.
"Thank you. I'm sorry to have troubled you.""It was no trouble. You say Ramy married your sister last October?""Yes, sir; and they went to St. Louis right afterward. Idon't know how to find her. I thought maybe somebody here might know about him.""Well, possibly some of the workmen might. Leave me your name and I'll send you word if I get on his track."He handed her a pencil, and she wrote down her address; then she walked away blindly between the clocks.
