Tom’s first course was to accept these slurs in silence.  His face often flushed, when he saw the smiles on the countenances of the other clerks, excited by some cutting witticism of Zeigler at the expense of himself.  His tormentor accepted the silence as proof of the timidity or rather cowardice of the new employee, and rattled off his insults faster than ever.  While kindness as a rule will disarm a foe, there are some ingrates so constituted that it moves them the other way.  When Tom replied gently to Zeigler, and asked him privately why he annoyed him without cause, the fellow sneered the more at him.  He took pains to indulge in profanity and obscenity before Tom, and received the full reward he sought when he saw how much his course grieved him.

Finally Tom struck the remedy.  It was simple.  He showed perfect indifference toward his persecutor.  When Zeigler made a cutting remark, he acted as if he did not hear him.  He continued his conversation with another; and though his enemy repeated his words, they did not seem to enter the ears of Tom.  Even when Zeigler put a question direct to him, it was ignored.

It then became the turn of Zeigler to flush at the general smile that went round.  At last he had been rebuffed.

One afternoon, when there was little custom in the store, Tom entered one of the rear rooms, where were Zeigler and two other clerks.  The fellow’s heart rankled at the snubbing he had received, and he was plotting some way of “getting even” with the sanctimonious fellow, who would never swear or indulge in a coarse word.

“This is just the place for a wrestling match,” remarked Zeigler.  “Gordon, I will go you.”

There was no ignoring this challenge.  Tom was a wonderfully fine wrestler, but none present knew it.  He affected to be timid.

“You are bigger than I, and it would hardly be fair,” replied Tom, surveying the bulky form of his challenger.

“O pshaw! you are as heavy as I; besides, I will let you down easy.”

“Try him, Gordon,” whispered one of the clerks.

“If you will promise not to throw me too hard,” said Tom doubtfully, “I will take one turn with you.”

“Of course I won’t hurt you,” grinned Zeigler, eager for the chance to humiliate the fellow whom he despised.

All saw his purpose, and none more plainly than Tom himself.

The two doffed their coats and vests, and took their station in the middle of the room, with their arms interlocked.  Tom pretended an awkwardness which deceived the others, and convinced Zeigler, to use a common expression, he had a “cinch” in this little affair.

They struggled for a minute, and then, with the suddenness seemingly of a flash of lightning, Zeigler’s heels shot toward the ceiling, and he came down on his back with a crash that shook the windows.

“I thought you knew something about wrestling,” remarked Tom, standing erect, and looking down on him with a smile, “but you don’t know anything at all.”