The guardian., 1941-05-03
The Urge
By JOHN HAMLIN
Mcclure Syndicate-wNU service.)

Ian Berry'S eyes. He had shaped
cardboard to fit the inner sole of his
shoe ON other mornings; but yester-
day he had walked a hole in the
thin sole of his second shoe. Two
pieces of cardboard were needed
now.
No money for a new pair, only a
five-dollar bill remaining from his
last commission check-enough to
eat on till he made another saIe-if
ever. But he'd worked through his
best list of prospects. Few had
bought-nobody else wanted the set
of books he was offering.
Awful, book agents lot.
"Oh, what's the use!" Dan Berry
jammed the cardboard into place
and worked his foot into the shoe.
"A ditch digger's more independ-
ent, makes better money"
But he couldn't dig bitches,
couldn't get any kind of a job. No
place open for gray-headed man,
with lines in his face and tired eyes.
No use trying, no use striking out
this morning.
Thank the Lord, nobody looked to
him for support, friends avoided him
of late. Nobody cared what hap
pened-he didn't, either.
His landlady had gone out for
the day. No trick to fasten down
the window, tack blanket over the
door of his hall room, turn on the
gas in the heater.
Dan Berry carefully tied the laces
OF his worn shoes, stood up and
WINGED. The cardboard hurt the bot
tom of his feet-wel, What of it?
He limped across to his unmade
bed, picked up heavy blanket. It
would cover the door completely.
Halfway to the door, the z-zing
of a bell sounded. The blanket
dropped from his nerveless fingers.
Again the bell sent its metallic
peal echoing through the house.
How often he had rung door bells,
waited eXpectantly, hopefully; rung
the second time, less expectantly;
the third time all hope vanished. A
wretched feeling - he preferred a
curt dismissal to an unanswered
door bell.
Berry hastily picked up the blan-
ket, tossed it upon the bed and for
got to limp in hurrying to the front
door. From the hallway he saw
the head and shoulders of a man
through the glass of the door The
shoulders dropped YEARLY, gray
hair showed above the collar; the
hat was i'll fitting.
When the knob turned in Berry's
grasp, the man wheeled. .,.
Berry caught sight of the briefcase
the man was carrying. An agent!
Here's where he could pay off a
hundred scores, enact the role of a
dominant householder-heap insults
upon this Fostering peddler.
Directly he noted the; man
Strengthening his shoulders;, smil-
ing off the lines of detection, fore
ing a spark of interest in tired, blue
eyes. 'f2Iju''
Good morning!" "'''3'
Berry's acute ear caught the i'm
dertone of hopelessness in that
meant-to-be-merry greeting; more
than that, it was like an echo of
his own voice when he was inwardly
praying that here, at last, was some
body who'd sign on the dotted line.
Then, while still in this strange
mental swirl, Berry suddenly be-
came conscious of familiar words,
phrases that he had learned by
heart, repeated time and again,
mostly under just such odds as this
himself standing outside the door,
trying to melt cold resistance.
Curiosity swept away all antag-
onism. He was interested to learn
how this agent put over his selling
talk.
Come inl" Berry flung the door
wide.
The mans face lighted up in a
way that brought damnable lump
into Berry's throat. "Sit down." he
gruffed.
The man opened his briefcase to
the accompaniment of the stereo-
typed sales talk. Berry sat down
beside the agent, scanning the famil-
lar pages of the prospectus. He ex-
claimed over the fine illustrations,
asked intelligent questions-heard
the man clear up to the psychologi-
cal point where he produced sam
Piles of bindings, took out fountain
pen and pushed the contract invit-
ingly towards him.
Five dollars down is all that's
required. The books will be shipped
to you Immediately. The balance
paid in 20 monthly installments.
Berry took the fountain pen, rolled
it between his fingers tentatively.
He pressed down the nib, saw that
the ink was ready to flow, then stole
a glance at the agent
He was bending far forward, the
tired lines had vanished, his eyes
glinting with an hypnotic expression.
Dan Berry lifted the pen from the
paper, without signing and the man
slumped, aging 20 years instantly.
That struck home. Dan Berry un-
derstood. He signed on the dotted
line, arose and walked down to his