Why Did the Young Clerk Swear?

All was silent in the little gent’s furnishing store. A lonely clerk with a blonde moustache and a red necktie raised a languid hand to his brow and brushed back a dangling lock. He yawned and gazed gloomily at the blurred panes of the windows.

Without, the wind and rain came swirling round the brick buildings and went sweeping over the streets. A horse-car rumbled stolidly by. In the mud on the pavements, a few pedestrians struggled with excited umbrellas.

“The deuce!” remarked the clerk. “I’d give ten dollars if somebody would come in and buy something, if ‘twere only cotton socks.”

He waited amid the shadows of the grey afternoon. No customers came. He heaved a long sigh and sat down on a high stool. From beneath a stack of unlaundried shirts he drew a French novel with a picture on the cover. He yawned again, glanced lazily toward the street, and settled himself as comfortable as the gods would let him upon the high stool.

He opened the book and began to read. Soon it could have been noticed that his blonde moustache took on a curl of enthusiasm, and the refractory locks on his brow showed symptoms of soft agitation.

“Silvere did not see the young girl for some days,” read the clerk. “He was miserable. He seemed always to inhale that subtle perfume from her hair. At night he saw her eyes in the stars.

“His dreams were troubled. He watched the house. Heloise did not appear. One day he met Vibert. Vibert wore a black frock-coat. There were wine-stains on the right breast. His collar was soiled. He had not shaved.

“Silvere burst into tears. ‘I love her! I love her! I shall die!’ Vibert laughed scornfully. His necktie was second-hand. Idiotic, this boy in love. Fool! Simpleton! But at last he pitied him. She goes to the music-teacher’s every morning. Silly Silvere embraced him.

“The next day Silvere waited at the street corner. A vendor was selling chestnuts. Two gamins were fighting in an alley. A woman was scrubbing some steps. This great Paris throbbed with life.

“Heloise came. She did not perceive Silvere. She passed with a happy smile on her face. She looked fresh, fair, innocent. Silvere felt himself swooning. ‘Ah, my God!’

“She crossed the street. The young man received a shock that sent the warm blood to his brain. It had been raining. There was mud. With one slender hand Heloise lifted her skirts. Silvere leaning forward, saw her—”

A young man in a wet mackintosh came into the little gent’s furnishing store.

“Ah, beg pardon,” said he to the clerk, “but do you have an agency for a steam laundry here? I have been patronising a Chinaman down th’ avenue for some time, but he—what? No? You have none here? Well, why don’t you start one, anyhow? It’d be a good thing in this neighbourhood. I live just round the corner, and it’d be a great thing for me. I know lots of people who would—what? Oh, you don’t? Oh!”