Burned Bridges by Bertrand W. Sinclair (bearly read books txt) 📕

     Aren't You About Due For A Vacation? Why Don't You Take A Run Up

     Here? I'd Enjoy A Chin-Fest. The Fishing's Good,  Too--And We Are

     Long On Rather Striking Scenery. Do Come Up For A Week,  When You

     Can Get Off. Meantime,  By-By.

     Tommy

Thompson Laid Down The Letter And Stared Out Over The Roof-Tops. He

Couldn't Afford To Be A Philanthropist. A Rather Sweeping Idea Had

Flashed Into His Mind As He Read That Missive. His Horizon Was

Continually Expanding. Money,  Beyond Cavil,  Was The Key To Many Doors,  A

Necessity If A Man's Eyes Were Fixed Upon Much That Was Desirable. If He

Could Make Money Selling Machines For Groya Motors Inc.,  Why Not For

Himself? Why Not?

The Answer Seemed Too Obvious For Argument. The New Car Which Had Taken

Final Form In Fred Henderson's Drafting Room And In The Groya Shop Was

Long Past The Experimental Stage. All It Required Was Financing And John

P. Henderson Had Attended Efficiently To That. There Was A Plant Rising

Swiftly Across The Bay,  A Modern Plant With Railway Service,  Big Yards,

And A Testing Track,  In Which Six Months Hence Would Begin An Estimated

Annual Production Of Ten Thousand Cars A Year. John P. Had Remarked Once

To His Son That For The Henderson Family To Design,  Produce,  Manufacture

And Market Successfully A Car They Could Be Proud Of Would Be The Summit

Of His Ambition. And The New Car Was Named The Summit.

It Was A Good Car,  A Quality Car In Everything But Sheer Bulk. Thompson

Knew That. He Knew,  Too,  That People Were Buying Motor Cars On

Performance,  Not Poundage,  Now. He Knew Too That He Could Sell

Summits--If He Could Get Territory In Which To Make Sales.

He Had Thought About This Before. He Knew That In The Groya Files Lay

Dealers' Contracts Covering The Cream Of California,  Oregon And

Washington. These Dealers Would Handle Summits. There Had Not Seemed An

Opening Wide Enough To Justify Plans. But Now Tommy's Letter Focused His

Vision Upon A Specific Point.

If He Could Get That Vancouver Territory! Vancouver Housed A Hundred

Thousand People. A Vancouver Agency For The Summit,  With A Live Man At

The Helm,  Would Run To Big Figures.

No,  He Decided,  He Would Not Hastily Grasp His Fountain Pen And Say To

Tommy Ashe,  "Jump In And Contract For Territory And Allotment,  Old Boy.

The Summit Is The Goods." Not Until He Had Looked Over The Ground

Himself.

He Had Two Weeks' Vacation Due When It Pleased Him. And It Pleased Him

To Ask John P. As Soon As He Reached The Office That Very Morning If It

Was Convenient To The Firm To Do Without Him For The Ensuing Fortnight.

Thompson Went To Vancouver To Spy Out The Land. He Made No Confidants.

He Went About The Terminal City With His Mouth Shut And His Ears And

Eyes Open. What He Saw And Heard Soon Convinced Him That Like The

Israelites Of Old He Stood Upon The Border Of A Land Which--For His

Business Purpose--Flowed With Milk And Honey. It Was Easy To Weave Air

Castles. He Could Visualize A Future For Himself In Vancouver That

Loomed Big--If He Could But Make The Proper Arrangements At The Other

End; That Is To Say,  With Mr. John P. Henderson,  President Of The Summit

Motors Corporation. Thompson Had Faith Enough In Himself To Believe He

Could Make Such An Arrangement,  Daring As It Seemed When He Got Down To

Actual Figures.

It Gave Him A Curious Sense Of Relief To Find Tommy Ashe Flirting With

The Petit Six People,  Apparently Forgetful Of The Summit Specifications.

Thompson Hadn't Quite Taken As His Gospel The Sound Business Ethic That

You Must Look Out For Number One First,  Last And Always. If Tommy Had

Broached The Subject Personally,  If He Had Shown Anxiety To Acquire

Selling Rights In The Summit,  Thompson Would Have Felt Impelled By Sheer

Loyalty Of Friendship To Help Tommy Secure The Agency. That Would Have

Been Quixotic,  Of Course. Nevertheless,  He Would Have Done It,  Because

Not To Do It Would Have Seemed Like Taking A Mean Advantage. As It Was--

For The Rest He Warmed To The Sheer Beauty Of The Spot. Vancouver

Spreads Largely Over Rolling Hills And Little Peninsular Juttings Into

The Sea. From Its Eminences There Sweep Unequalled Views Over The Gulf

Of Georgia And Northwestward Along Towering Mountain Ranges Upon Whose

Lower Slopes The Firs And Cedars Marshal Themselves In Green Battalions.

From His Hotel Window He Would Gaze In Contented Abstraction Over The

Tidal Surges Through The First Narrows And The Tall Masts Of Shipping In

A Spacious Harbor,  Landlocked And Secure,  Stretching Away Like A Great

Blue Lagoon With Motor Craft And Ferries And Squat Tugs For Waterfowl.

Thompson Loved The Forest As A Man Loves Pleasant,  Familiar Things,  And

Next To The Woods His Affection Turned To The Sea. Here,  At His Hand,

Were Both In All Their Primal Grandeur. He Was Very Sure He Would Like

Vancouver.

Whether The Fact That He Encountered The Carrs Before He Was Three Days

In Town,  Had Dinner At Their Home,  And Took Sophie Once To Luncheon At

The Granada Grill,  Had Anything To Do With This Conclusion Deponent

Sayeth Not. To Be Sure He Learned With The First Frank Gleam In Sophie's

Gray Eyes That She Still Held For Him That Mysterious Pulse-Quickening

Lure,  That For Him Her Presence Was Sufficient To Stir A Glow No Other

Woman Had Ever Succeeded In Kindling Ever So Briefly. But He Had

Acquired Poise,  Confidence,  A Self-Mastery Not To Be Disputed. He Said

To Himself That He Could Stand The Gaff Now. He Could Face Facts. And

He Said To Himself Further,  A Little Wistfully,  That Sophie Carr Was

Worth All The Pangs She Had Ever Given Him--More.

He Could Detect No Change In Her. That Was One Of The Queer,  Personal

Characteristics She Possessed--That She Could Pass Beyond His Ken For

Months,  For Years He Almost Believed,  And When He Met Her Again She

Would Be The Same,  Voice,  Manner,  Little Tricks Of Speech And Gesture

Unchanged. Meeting Sophie After That Year Was Like Meeting Her After A

Week. Barring The Clothes And The Surroundings That Spoke Of Ample Means

Tastefully Expended,  The General Background Of Her Home And Associates,

She Seemed To Him Unchanged. Yet When He Reflected,  He Was Not So Sure

Of This. Sophie Was Gracious,  Friendly,  Frankly Interested When He

Talked Of Himself. When Their Talk Ran Upon Impersonal Things The Old

Nimbleness Of Mind Functioned. But Under These Superficialities He Could

Only Guess,  After All,  What The Essential Woman Of Her Was Now. He Could

Not Say If She Were Still The Queer,  Self-Disciplined Mixture Of Cold

Logic And Primitive Passion The Sophie Carr Of Lone Moose Had Revealed

To Him. He Was Not Sure If He Desired To Explore In That Direction. The

Old Scars Remained. He Shrank From Acquiring New Ones,  Yet Perforce Let

His Thought Dwell Upon Her With Reviving Concentration. After All,  He

Said To Himself,  It Was On The Knees Of The Gods.

At Any Rate He Was Not To Be Deterred From His Project. He Had Served

His Apprenticeship In The Game. He Was Eager To Try His Own Wings In A

Flight Of His Own Choosing.

Since He Had Evolved A Definite Plan Of Going About That,  He Entered

Decisively Upon The First Step. Upon Reaching San Francisco He Bearded

John P. Henderson In His Mahogany Den And Outlined A Scheme Which Made

That Worthy Gentleman's Eyes Widen. He Heard Thompson To An End,

However,  With A Growing Twinkle In Those Same,  Shrewd,  Worldly-Wise

Orbs,  And At The Finish Thumped A Plump Fist On His Desk With A Force

That Made The Pen-Rack Jingle.

"Damned If I Don't Go You," He Exclaimed. "I Said In The Beginning You'd

Make A Salesman,  And You've Made Good. You'll Make Good In This. If You

Don't It Isn't For Lack Of Vision--And Nerve."

"Nerve," He Chuckled Over The Word. "You Know It Isn't Good Business For

Me. I'll Be Losing A Valuable Man Off My Staff,  And I'll Be Taking

Longer Chances Than It Has Ever Been My Policy To Take. Your Only Real

Asset Is--Yourself. That Isn't A Negotiable Security."

"Not Exactly," Thompson Returned. "Still In Your Business You Are

Compelled--Every Big Business Is Compelled--To Place Implicit Trust In

Certain Men. From A Commercial Point Of View This Move Of Mine Should

Prove Even More Profitable To You Than If I Remain On Your Staff As A

Salesman--Provided Your Estimate Of Me,  And My Own Estimate Of Myself,

Is Approximately Correct. You Must Have An Outlet For Your Product. I

Will Still Be Making Money For You. In Addition I Shall Be Developing A

Market That Will,  Perhaps Before So Very Long,  Absorb A Tremendous

Number Of Cars."

"Oh,  There's No Argument. I'm Committed To The Enterprise," Henderson

Declared. "I Believe In _You_,  Thompson. Otherwise I Couldn't See Your

Proposition With A Microscope. Well,  I'll Embody The Various Points In A

Contract. Come In This Afternoon And Sign Up."

As Easily As That. Thompson Went Down The Half-Flight Of Stairs Still A

Trifle Incredible Over The Ease With Which He Had Accomplished A Stroke

That Meant--Oh,  Well,  To His Sanguine Vision There Was No Limit.

He Felt Pretty Much As He Had Felt When He Sold His First Groya To An

Apparently Hopeless Prospect,  Elated,  A Little Astonished At His

Success,  Brimful Of Confidence To Cope With The Next Problem.

The Ego In Him Clamored To Be About This Bigger Business. But That Was

Not Possible. He Came Back To Earth Presently With The Recollection That

The Summits Would Not Be Ready For Distribution Before Late October--And

For The Next Five Months The More Groyas He Sold The Better Position He

Would Be In When He Went On His Own.

So When He Finally Had In His Hands A Dealer's Contract Covering The

Province Of British Columbia He Put The Matter Out