The Player on the Other Side Read Online Free PDF Page A

oblige a lady. In case I find somebody to pass it to —’
    But Emily York was already on her way out. The black-jowled one put in his head and cooed anxiously, ‘Boss, you want I should —?’
    â€˜ Get out! ’ said the short heavy man with venom.
    The door slammed shut.
    Slowly the acne said, ‘That fishy-eyed son of a bitch York.’
    â€˜Get on the phone! That old bag’s got a slice of the same income Percy’s got. Any time he can’t settle his bills the lien goes on the principal. This is the Yorks of York Square, stupid.’
    â€˜Heavy sugar,’ mourned the short thin man.
    â€˜You’ll find out how heavy if they hit you with it! Start phoning, will you?’
    Meanwhile, Emily York was turning briskly into a cathedral-like establishment not far away, the famous name of which was lettered in heavy bronze castings prominently small in the windows; the floor of which was pelted in cilia like the interior of a royal digestive tract; and whose price tags more often than not included the word ‘The’: Forty Dollars The Pair and Four Hundred Dollars The Set .
    The place smelled male, not the metal-and-soap maleness of a locker room nor the malt-and-sawdust maleness of an old-time corner saloon, but the leather-and-oiled-wood maleness of a city club, as finished and self-consistent as the ash of a fine cigar. At sight of the skirted figure stalking him, the sole visible attendant took refuge behind a showcase; surely a giraffe, were it a male one, would have startled him less.
    Emily York marched up to him, demanded and got the manager and without preamble stated, ‘Mr. Percival York buys his clothes here. He charges them. If he continues to charge, his income will fall short of his obligations. If he ceases to charge, he may be able to cover his current account. It is easy to see how both your store and Mr. York can benefit.’ After that she fully identified herself, explained the matter all over again and departed, leaving the costly cavern in hushed consternation and the very carpet-pile puzzled as to the disposal of her spoor.
    Next on her list (she had a list) was a quite different kind and manner of establishment — a liquor store every bit as discriminating as the second car of a subway local. She identified the manager only because he had, on his wrinkled gray cotton jacket, the word in scarlet script over the pocket. He was a sparse-haired man with one frank cataract and wet lips displaying dark brown teeth.
    Miss York asked to open an account, and when she was bluntly told that state law forbade it she demanded to know why Percival York was so honored. She quoted to the brown-toothed manager the exact balance due, pointed publicly at his framed license and promised him faithfully that the delivery to Percival York, for anything other than cash, of anything in stock down to and including cooking sherry would mean that both his store and he would learn something about locks. As a parting shot she suggested a revision, in his invoices to her drinking cousin, of special prices he had been charging. (It was a shot in the dark that cut nearly forty per cent off Percival’s next bill, a fact Percival himself was never to appreciate.)
    Having thus obeyed, with all her heart and to the best of her belief, the ancient edict that charity should begin at home, Miss Emily York boarded a crosstown bus and went to her regular work at the settlement house.

4
    Maneuvering
    He had written:
    Dear Walt:
    You are the one.
    Are there men anywhere, in any walk of life, who are as controlled as you are, as dignified?
    Yes, a few. Some, born to the purple, have their high code inborn. Some rise to the top openly by their own worth. And some, perhaps the worthiest of all, remain bound by their honor and their sacred duty.
    These are the trodden, but not downtrodden. These are the lowly, but never the low.
    The true measure of the size of a man is his anger. Does