The Washington times. [volume] (Washington [D.C.]) 1902-1939, 1934-09-11
A Timid Fellow

you are saying, Mr.. Gleason"
he stammered. give I've
worked for this hotel almost 80
years. And now you tell me that
you want to fire me?"
The manager folded his arms
and regarded the other man.
Henry Winters was a frail,
timid soul. He was over so and,
If he were fired now. it would
be very difficult for him to find
another job. Gleason suddenly
adopted a more kindly attitude.
TITS not that I want to fire
you, Henry" he said. "It's
simply that I must do my duty
to myself and my employers.
And the one thing I cannot
tolerate is disloyalty."
But" interrupted Henry,
"'I@"
The manager waved a hand.
LET me finish, please, and
then will give you your OPP
portunity. Ever since I arrived
here some 10 years ago to take
over the managership of this
hotel, you and have been very
friendly. Having worked here
for some 20 years before I ar.
rived, you were great help to
me.
"You assisted me in numerous
ways, and you pointed out
several flaws that I remedied
Immediately. You were only a
clerk in point of service, but to
me you were an invaluable aid.
Am correct?"
Henry Winters nodded.
II think so, sir. And it's
good Of you to say So"
That's all right, Henry" he
said. Justice where justice is
due" He paused and sighed.
But now what has happened?"
he went on dramatically. I'll
tell you what has happened.
You have suddenly become a
different man.
THE facts are very simple:
Each day, at the same hour,
someone came to you while you
were on the switchboard and
put through call to Chicago.
The telephone company has
supplied me with. time sheets,
and each call went through
while you were doing your
hours relief duty at the phone
board.
Nov we both know, Henry,
that the hotel cannot pay for
these calls without some sort Of
logical explanation. I strongly
suspect that the person who
made the calls is an employee
of this organization. And it's
UP to you to supply the name
of the individual.
BE sensible, Henry. This is
no time to be heroic in your
protection of a fellow-worker.
This is a time for you to protect
yourself. will fire the en-
ploye, you will retain your job
and nothing more will be said
about the matter.
Nov will you be senSible?"
Henry Winters bit his lip
rervously. The cold sweat was
standing out on his brow. This
Job meant so very, very much
to him.
mr.. winters" he said slowly,
81 have already admitted that
It was someone who was con-
nected with the hotel who made
the calls. But my heart tells
me it wouldn't be fair to give
you the name of the person.
II just can't do it."
Needs the Job
Cant you overlook things
iust this once, Mr.. Gleason?
Maybe, if you didn't take out
too much every week, I could
pay for those calls myself. And
then, after year or so, every
thing would be cleared up and
His voice trailed off as the
manager closed drawer with a
gesture Of finality.
Nothing doing, winters" he
snapped. II can tolerate many
things-but I will not permit
disloyality. You will not tell me
the truth, and now have no
choice in the matter. Since you
cannot be decent to a man who
who was always your friend, I
think it's best that you go.
Henry Winters arose slowly.
He seemed stunned.
"All right, Mr.. Gleason. All
right-if you say so. And all I
can say is I'm sorry-and thank
you for everything. Will you
will you shake hands with me?"
The manager was writing
something on a pad. He didn't
look up.
1T isn't necessary, Winters"
he said abruptly. "Unfaithful-
ness calls for no handshakings."
Henry Winters dropped his
hand and shuffled from the
office.
At home a few hours later,
Henry broke the news to his
wife. He told her the entire
story. And as he spoke, ne
cried unaShamed.
ut happened so suddenly that
it seems like a dream. Thirty