—Ralph Waldo Emerson Society and Solitude, 1870 17 THE NEWS OF Sean’s loss of employment was a shock, even though it was not entirely unexpected. Hilda had been giving some thought to the possibility. After she had sympathized with Sean, and Patrick had offered him a drink (which he refused), Hilda asked, “Can you go back to work for Birdsell’s?” “First thing I thought of,” he replied despondently. “They’re not hirin’ now.” “What about Oliver’s, then? Or Studebaker’s?” “Haven’t tried them. Don’t know much about plows or wagons.” Hilda could have shaken him. “You didn’t know anything about bicycles until you went to work for Black’s! You know how to use your hands. You can learn. I will talk to—” She came to a stop. Clement Studebaker, co-founder and first president of Studebaker’s, had been a kind man who would almost certainly have hired Sean if Hilda asked him to. But Mr. Clem was dead. His son, Colonel George, took no active part in the company.
