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diff --git a/old/1602.txt b/old/1602.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..04aeaa6 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/1602.txt @@ -0,0 +1,7014 @@ +Project Gutenberg's Dawn O'Hara, The Girl Who Laughed, by Edna Ferber + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Dawn O'Hara, The Girl Who Laughed + +Author: Edna Ferber + +Posting Date: October 1, 2008 [EBook #1602] +Release Date: January, 1999 +Last Updated: July 29, 2016 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK DAWN O'HARA, THE GIRL WHO LAUGHED *** + + + + +Produced by An Anonymous Volunteer + + + + + +DAWN O'HARA + +THE GIRL WHO LAUGHED + +By Edna Ferber + + + + + TO MY DEAR MOTHER + WHO FREQUENTLY INTERRUPTS + AND TO + MY SISTER FANNIE + WHO SAYS "SH-SH-SH!" OUTSIDE MY DOOR + + + + +CONTENTS + + + I THE SMASH-UP + II MOSTLY EGGS + III GOOD As NEW + IV DAWN DEVELOPS A HEIMWEH + V THE ABSURD BECOMES SERIOUS + VI STEEPED IN GERMAN + VII BLACKIE'S PHILOSOPHY + VIII KAFFEE AND KAFFEEKUCHEN + IX THE LADY FROM VIENNA + X A TRAGEDY OF GOWNS + XI VON GERHARD SPEAKS + XII BENNIE THE CONSOLER + XIII THE TEST + XIV BENNIE AND THE CHARMING OLD MAID + XV FAREWELL TO KNAPFS' + XVI JUNE MOONLIGHT, AND A NEW BOARDING HOUSE + XVII THE SHADOW OF TERROR + XVIII PETER ORME + XIX A TURN OF THE WHEEL + XX BLACKIE'S VACATION COMES + XXI HAPPINESS + + + + +DAWN O'HARA + + + + +CHAPTER I. THE SMASH-UP + + +There are a number of things that are pleasanter than being sick in a +New York boarding-house when one's nearest dearest is a married sister +up in far-away Michigan. + +Some one must have been very kind, for there were doctors, and a +blue-and-white striped nurse, and bottles and things. There was even +a vase of perky carnations--scarlet ones. I discovered that they had a +trick of nodding their heads, saucily. The discovery did not appear to +surprise me. + +"Howdy-do!" said I aloud to the fattest and reddest carnation that +overtopped all the rest. "How in the world did you get in here?" + +The striped nurse (I hadn't noticed her before) rose from some corner +and came swiftly over to my bedside, taking my wrist between her +fingers. + +"I'm very well, thank you," she said, smiling, "and I came in at the +door, of course." + +"I wasn't talking to you," I snapped, crossly, "I was speaking to the +carnations; particularly to that elderly one at the top--the fat one who +keeps bowing and wagging his head at me." + +"Oh, yes," answered the striped nurse, politely, "of course. That one is +very lively, isn't he? But suppose we take them out for a little while +now." + +She picked up the vase and carried it into the corridor, and the +carnations nodded their heads more vigorously than ever over her +shoulder. + +I heard her call softly to some one. The some one answered with a sharp +little cry that sounded like, "Conscious!" + +The next moment my own sister Norah came quietly into the room, and +knelt at the side of my bed and took me in her arms. It did not seem +at all surprising that she should be there, patting me with reassuring +little love pats, murmuring over me with her lips against my check, +calling me a hundred half-forgotten pet names that I had not heard for +years. But then, nothing seemed to surprise me that surprising day. Not +even the sight of a great, red-haired, red-faced, scrubbed looking man +who strolled into the room just as Norah was in the midst of denouncing +newspapers in general, and my newspaper in particular, and calling the +city editor a slave-driver and a beast. The big, red-haired man stood +regarding us tolerantly. + +"Better, eh?" said he, not as one who asks a question, but as though +in confirmation of a thought. Then he too took my wrist between his +fingers. His touch was very firm and cool. After that he pulled down my +eyelids and said, "H'm." Then he patted my cheek smartly once or twice. +"You'll do," he pronounced. He picked up a sheet of paper from the table +and looked it over, keen-eyed. There followed a clinking of bottles and +glasses, a few low-spoken words to the nurse, and then, as she left the +room the big red-haired man seated himself heavily in the chair near the +bedside and rested his great hands on his fat knees. He stared down at +me in much the same way that a huge mastiff looks at a terrier. Finally +his glance rested on my limp left hand. + +"Married, h'm?" + +For a moment the word would not come. I could hear Norah catch her +breath quickly. Then--"Yes," answered I. + +"Husband living?" I could see suspicion dawning in his cold gray eye. + +Again the catch in Norah's throat and a little half warning, half +supplicating gesture. And again, "Yes," said I. + +The dawn of suspicion burst into full glow. + +"Where is he?" growled the red-haired doctor. "At a time like this?" + +I shut my eyes for a moment, too sick at heart to resent his manner. +I could feel, more than see, that Sis was signaling him frantically. I +moistened my lips and answered him, bitterly. + +"He is in the Starkweather Hospital for the insane." + +When the red-haired man spoke again the growl was quite gone from his +voice. + +"And your home is--where?" + +"Nowhere," I replied meekly, from my pillow. But at that Sis put her +hand out quickly, as though she had been struck, and said: + +"My home is her home." + +"Well then, take her there," he ordered, frowning, "and keep her there +as long as you can. Newspaper reporting, h'm? In New York? That's a +devil of a job for a woman. And a husband who... Well, you'll have to +take a six months' course in loafing, young woman. And at the end of +that time, if you are still determined to work, can't you pick out +something easier--like taking in scrubbing, for instance?" + +I managed a feeble smile, wishing that he would go away quickly, so that +I might sleep. He seemed to divine my thoughts, for he disappeared +into the corridor, taking Norah with him. Their voices, low-pitched and +carefully guarded, could be heard as they conversed outside my door. + +Norah was telling him the whole miserable business. I wished, savagely, +that she would let me tell it, if it must be told. How could she paint +the fascination of the man who was my husband? She had never known the +charm of him as I had known it in those few brief months before our +marriage. She had never felt the caress of his voice, or the magnetism +of his strange, smoldering eyes glowing across the smoke-dimmed city +room as I had felt them fixed on me. No one had ever known what he +had meant to the girl of twenty, with her brain full of unspoken +dreams--dreams which were all to become glorious realities in that +wonder-place, New York. + +How he had fired my country-girl imagination! He had been the most +brilliant writer on the big, brilliant sheet--and the most dissolute. +How my heart had pounded on that first lonely day when this Wonder-Being +looked up from his desk, saw me, and strolled over to where I sat before +my typewriter! He smiled down at me, companionably. I'm quite sure that +my mouth must have been wide open with surprise. He had been smoking a +cigarette an expensive-looking, gold-tipped one. Now he removed it from +between his lips with that hand that always shook a little, and dropped +it to the floor, crushing it lightly with the toe of his boot. He threw +back his handsome head and sent out the last mouthful of smoke in a +thin, lazy spiral. I remember thinking what a pity it was that he should +have crushed that costly-looking cigarette, just for me. + +"My name's Orme," he said, gravely. "Peter Orme. And if yours isn't +Shaughnessy or Burke at least, then I'm no judge of what black hair and +gray eyes stand for." + +"Then you're not," retorted I, laughing up at him, "for it happens to be +O'Hara--Dawn O'Hara, if ye plaze." + +He picked up a trifle that lay on my desk--a pencil, perhaps, or a bit +of paper--and toyed with it, absently, as though I had not spoken. +I thought he had not heard, and I was conscious of feeling a bit +embarrassed, and very young. Suddenly he raised his smoldering eyes to +mine, and I saw that they had taken on a deeper glow. His white, even +teeth showed in a half smile. + +"Dawn O'Hara," said he, slowly, and the name had never sounded in the +least like music before, "Dawn O'Hara. It sounds like a rose--a pink +blush rose that is deeper pink at its heart, and very sweet." + +He picked up the trifle with which he had been toying and eyed it +intently for a moment, as though his whole mind were absorbed in it. +Then he put it down, turned, and walked slowly away. I sat staring after +him like a little simpleton, puzzled, bewildered, stunned. That had been +the beginning of it all. + +He had what we Irish call "a way wid him." I wonder now why I did not go +mad with the joy, and the pain, and the uncertainty of it all. Never was +a girl so dazzled, so humbled, so worshiped, so neglected, so courted. +He was a creature of a thousand moods to torture one. What guise would +he wear to-day? Would he be gay, or dour, or sullen, or teasing or +passionate, or cold, or tender or scintillating? I know that my hands +were always cold, and my cheeks were always hot, those days. + +He wrote like a modern Demosthenes, with all political New York to +quiver under his philippics. The managing editor used to send him out +on wonderful assignments, and they used to hold the paper for his stuff +when it was late. Sometimes he would be gone for days at a time, and +when he returned the men would look at him with a sort of admiring awe. +And the city editor would glance up from beneath his green eye-shade and +call out: + +"Say, Orme, for a man who has just wired in about a million dollars' +worth of stuff seems to me you don't look very crisp and jaunty." + +"Haven't slept for a week," Peter Orme would growl, and then he +would brush past the men who were crowded around him, and turn in +my direction. And the old hot-and-cold, happy, frightened, laughing, +sobbing sensation would have me by the throat again. + +Well, we were married. Love cast a glamour over his very vices. His love +of drink? A weakness which I would transform into strength. His white +hot flashes of uncontrollable temper? Surely they would die down at +my cool, tender touch. His fits of abstraction and irritability? Mere +evidences of the genius within. Oh, my worshiping soul was always alert +with an excuse. + +And so we were married. He had quite tired of me in less than a year, +and the hand that had always shaken a little shook a great deal now, +and the fits of abstraction and temper could be counted upon to appear +oftener than any other moods. I used to laugh, sometimes, when I was +alone, at the bitter humor of it all. It was like a Duchess novel come +to life. + +His work began to show slipshod in spots. They talked to him about it +and he laughed at them. Then, one day, he left them in the ditch on the +big story of the McManus indictment, and the whole town scooped him, and +the managing editor told him that he must go. His lapses had become too +frequent. They would have to replace him with a man not so brilliant, +perhaps, but more reliable. + +I daren't think of his face as it looked when he came home to the little +apartment and told me. The smoldering eyes were flaming now. His lips +were flecked with a sort of foam. I stared at him in horror. He strode +over to me, clasped his fingers about my throat and shook me as a dog +shakes a mouse. + +"Why don't you cry, eh?" he snarled. "Why don't you cry!" + +And then I did cry out at what I saw in his eyes. I wrenched myself +free, fled to my room, and locked the door and stood against it with +my hand pressed over my heart until I heard the outer door slam and the +echo of his footsteps die away. + +Divorce! That was my only salvation. No, that would be cowardly now. I +would wait until he was on his feet again, and then I would demand my +old free life back once more. This existence that was dragging me into +the gutter--this was not life! Life was a glorious, beautiful thing, and +I would have it yet. I laid my plans, feverishly, and waited. He did +not come back that night, or the next, or the next, or the next. In +desperation I went to see the men at the office. No, they had not seen +him. Was there anything that they could do? they asked. I smiled, and +thanked them, and said, oh, Peter was so absent-minded! No doubt he had +misdirected his letters, or something of the sort. And then I went back +to the flat to resume the horrible waiting. + +One week later he turned up at the old office which had cast him off. He +sat down at his former desk and began to write, breathlessly, as he +used to in the days when all the big stories fell to him. One of the +men reporters strolled up to him and touched him on the shoulder, +man-fashion. Peter Orme raised his head and stared at him, and the man +sprang back in terror. The smoldering eyes had burned down to an ash. +Peter Orme was quite bereft of all reason. They took him away that +night, and I kept telling myself that it wasn't true; that it was all +a nasty dream, and I would wake up pretty soon, and laugh about it, and +tell it at the breakfast table. + +Well, one does not seek a divorce from a husband who is insane. The busy +men on the great paper were very kind. They would take me back on the +staff. Did I think that I still could write those amusing little human +interest stories? Funny ones, you know, with a punch in 'em. + +Oh, plenty of good stories left in me yet, I assured them. They must +remember that I was only twenty-one, after all, and at twenty-one one +does not lose the sense of humor. + +And so I went back to my old desk, and wrote bright, chatty letters home +to Norah, and ground out very funny stories with a punch in 'em, that +the husband in the insane asylum might be kept in comforts. With both +hands I hung on like grim death to that saving sense of humor, resolved +to make something of that miserable mess which was my life--to make +something of it yet. And now-- + +At this point in my musings there was an end of the low-voiced +conversation in the hall. Sis tiptoed in and looked her disapproval at +finding me sleepless. + +"Dawn, old girlie, this will never do. Shut your eyes now, like a good +child, and go to sleep. Guess what that great brute of a doctor said! +I may take you home with me next week! Dawn dear, you will come, won't +you? You must! This is killing you. Don't make me go away leaving you +here. I couldn't stand it." + +She leaned over my pillow and closed my eyelids gently with her sweet, +cool fingers. "You are coming home with me, and you shall sleep and eat, +and sleep and eat, until you are as lively as the Widow Malone, ohone, +and twice as fat. Home, Dawnie dear, where we'll forget all about New +York. Home, with me." + +I reached up uncertainly, and brought her hand down to my lips and a +great peace descended upon my sick soul. "Home--with you," I said, like +a child, and fell asleep. + + + + +CHAPTER II. MOSTLY EGGS + + +Oh, but it was clean, and sweet, and wonderfully still, that +rose-and-white room at Norah's! No street cars to tear at one's nerves +with grinding brakes and clanging bells; no tramping of restless feet +on the concrete all through the long, noisy hours; no shrieking midnight +joy-riders; not one of the hundred sounds which make night hideous +in the city. What bliss to lie there, hour after hour, in a delicious +half-waking, half-sleeping, wholly exquisite stupor, only rousing myself +to swallow egg-nogg No. 426, and then to flop back again on the big, +cool pillow! + +New York, with its lights, its clangor, its millions, was only a +far-away, jumbled nightmare. The office, with its clacking typewriters, +its insistent, nerve-racking telephone bells, its systematic rush, its +smoke-dimmed city room, was but an ugly part of the dream. + +Back to that inferno of haste and scramble and clatter? Never! Never! I +resolved, drowsily. And dropped off to sleep again. + +And the sheets. Oh, those sheets of Norah's! Why, they were white, +instead of gray! And they actually smelled of flowers. For that matter, +there were rosebuds on the silken coverlet. It took me a week to get +chummy with that rosebud-and-down quilt. I had to explain carefully +to Norah that after a half-dozen years of sleeping under doubtful +boarding-house blankets one does not so soon get rid of a shuddering +disgust for coverings which are haunted by the ghosts of a hundred +unknown sleepers. Those years had taught me to draw up the sheet +with scrupulous care, to turn it down, and smooth it over, so that no +contaminating and woolly blanket should touch my skin. The habit +stuck even after Norah had tucked me in between her fragrant sheets. +Automatically my hands groped about, arranging the old protecting +barrier. + +"What's the matter, Fuss-fuss?" inquired Norah, looking on. "That down +quilt won't bite you; what an old maid you are!" + +"Don't like blankets next to my face," I elucidated, sleepily, "never +can tell who slept under 'em last--" + +"You cat!" exclaimed Norah, making a little rush at me. "If you weren't +supposed to be ill I'd shake you! Comparing my darling rosebud quilt to +your miserable gray blankets! Just for that I'll make you eat an extra +pair of eggs." + +There never was a sister like Norah. But then, who ever heard of a +brother-in-law like Max? No woman--not even a frazzled-out newspaper +woman--could receive the love and care that they gave me, and fail to +flourish under it. They had been Dad and Mother to me since the day when +Norah had tucked me under her arm and carried me away from New York. Sis +was an angel; a comforting, twentieth-century angel, with white apron +strings for wings, and a tempting tray in her hands in place of the hymn +books and palm leaves that the picture-book angels carry. She coaxed the +inevitable eggs and beef into more tempting forms than Mrs. Rorer ever +guessed at. She could disguise those two plain, nourishing articles of +diet so effectually that neither hen nor cow would have suspected either +of having once been part of her anatomy. Once I ate halfway through a +melting, fluffy, peach-bedecked plate of something before I discovered +that it was only another egg in disguise. + +"Feel like eating a great big dinner to-day, Kidlet?" Norah would ask in +the morning as she stood at my bedside (with a glass of egg-something in +her hand, of course). + +"Eat!"--horror and disgust shuddering through my voice--"Eat! Ugh! +Don't s-s-speak of it to me. And for pity's sake tell Frieda to shut +the kitchen door when you go down, will you? I can smell something like +ugh!--like pot roast, with gravy!" And I would turn my face to the wall. + +Three hours later I would hear Sis coming softly up the stairs, +accompanied by a tinkling of china and glass. I would face her, all +protest. + +"Didn't I tell you, Sis, that I couldn't eat a mouthful? Not a +mouthf--um-m-m-m! How perfectly scrumptious that looks! What's that +affair in the lettuce leaf? Oh, can't I begin on that divine-looking +pinky stuff in the tall glass? H'm? Oh, please!" + +"I thought--" Norah would begin; and then she would snigger softly. + +"Oh, well, that was hours ago," I would explain, loftily. "Perhaps I +could manage a bite or two now." + +Whereupon I would demolish everything except the china and doilies. + +It was at this point on the road to recovery, just halfway between +illness and health, that Norah and Max brought the great and +unsmiling Von Gerhard on the scene. It appeared that even New York was +respectfully aware of Von Gerhard, the nerve specialist, in spite of the +fact that he lived in Milwaukee. The idea of bringing him up to look at +me occurred to Max quite suddenly. I think it was on the evening that I +burst into tears when Max entered the room wearing a squeaky shoe. The +Weeping Walrus was a self-contained and tranquil creature compared to me +at that time. The sight of a fly on the wall was enough to make me burst +into a passion of sobs. + +"I know the boy to steady those shaky nerves of yours, Dawn," said Max, +after I had made a shamefaced apology for my hysterical weeping, "I'm +going to have Von Gerhard up here to look at you. He can run up Sunday, +eh, Norah?" + +"Who's Von Gerhard?" I inquired, out of the depths of my ignorance. +"Anyway, I won't have him. I'll bet he wears a Vandyke and spectacles." + +"Von Gerhard!" exclaimed Norah, indignantly. "You ought to be thankful +to have him look at you, even if he wears goggles and a flowing beard. +Why, even that red-haired New York doctor of yours cringed and looked +impressed when I told him that Von Gerhard was a friend of my husband's, +and that they had been comrades at Heidelberg. I must have mentioned him +dozens of times in my letters." + +"Never." + +"Queer," commented Max, "he runs up here every now and then to spend a +quiet Sunday with Norah and me and the Spalpeens. Says it rests him. The +kids swarm all over him, and tear him limb from limb. It doesn't look +restful, but he says it's great. I think he came here from Berlin just +after you left for New York, Dawn. Milwaukee fits him as if it had been +made for him." + +"But you're not going to drag this wonderful being up here just for me!" +I protested, aghast. + +Max pointed an accusing finger at me from the doorway. "Aren't you what +the bromides call a bundle of nerves? And isn't Von Gerhard's specialty +untying just those knots? I'll write to him to-night." + +And he did. And Von Gerhard came. The Spalpeens watched for him, their +noses flattened against the window-pane, for it was raining. As he came +up the path they burst out of the door to meet him. From my bedroom +window I saw him come prancing up the walk like a boy, with the two +children clinging to his coat-tails, all three quite unmindful of the +rain, and yelling like Comanches. + + +Ten minutes later he had donned his professional dignity, entered +my room, and beheld me in all my limp and pea-green beauty. I noted +approvingly that he had to stoop a bit as he entered the low doorway, +and that the Vandyke of my prophecy was missing. + +He took my hand in his own steady, reassuring clasp. Then he +began to talk. Half an hour sped away while we discussed New +York--books--music--theatres--everything and anything but Dawn O'Hara. +I learned later that as we chatted he was getting his story, bit by bit, +from every twitch of the eyelids, from every gesture of the hands that +had grown too thin to wear the hateful ring; from every motion of the +lips; from the color of my nails; from each convulsive muscle; from +every shadow, and wrinkle and curve and line of my face. + +Suddenly he asked: "Are you making the proper effort to get well? You +try to conquer those jumping nerfs, yes?" + +I glared at him. "Try! I do everything. I'd eat woolly worms if I +thought they might benefit me. If ever a girl has minded her big sister +and her doctor, that girl is I. I've eaten everything from pate de foie +gras to raw beef, and I've drunk everything from blood to champagne." + +"Eggs?" queried Von Gerhard, as though making a happy suggestion. + +"Eggs!" I snorted. "Eggs! Thousands of 'em! Eggs hard and soft boiled, +poached and fried, scrambled and shirred, eggs in beer and egg-noggs, +egg lemonades and egg orangeades, eggs in wine and eggs in milk, and +eggs au naturel. I've lapped up iron-and-wine, and whole rivers of milk, +and I've devoured rare porterhouse and roast beef day after day for +weeks. So! Eggs!" + +"Mein Himmel!" ejaculated he, fervently, "And you still live!" A +suspicion of a smile dawned in his eyes. I wondered if he ever laughed. +I would experiment. + +"Don't breathe it to a soul," I whispered, tragically, "but eggs, and +eggs alone, are turning my love for my sister into bitterest hate. She +stalks me the whole day long, forcing egg mixtures down my unwilling +throat. She bullies me. I daren't put out my hand suddenly without +knocking over liquid refreshment in some form, but certainly with an egg +lurking in its depths. I am so expert that I can tell an egg orangeade +from an egg lemonade at a distance of twenty yards, with my left hand +tied behind me, and one eye shut, and my feet in a sack." + +"You can laugh, eh? Well, that iss good," commented the grave and +unsmiling one. + +"Sure," answered I, made more flippant by his solemnity. "Surely I can +laugh. For what else was my father Irish? Dad used to say that a sense +of humor was like a shillaly--an iligent thing to have around handy, +especially when the joke's on you." + +The ghost of a twinkle appeared again in the corners of the German blue +eyes. Some fiend of rudeness seized me. + +"Laugh!" I commanded. + +Dr. Ernst von Gerhard stiffened. "Pardon?" inquired he, as one who is +sure that he has misunderstood. + +"Laugh!" I snapped again. "I'll dare you to do it. I'll double dare you! +You dassen't!" + +But he did. After a moment's bewildered surprise he threw back his +handsome blond head and gave vent to a great, deep infectious roar of +mirth that brought the Spalpeens tumbling up the stairs in defiance of +their mother's strict instructions. + +After that we got along beautifully. He turned out to be quite human, +beneath the outer crust of reserve. He continued his examination only +after bribing the Spalpeens shamefully, so that even their rapacious +demands were satisfied, and they trotted off contentedly. + +There followed a process which reduced me to a giggling heap but which +Von Gerhard carried out ceremoniously. It consisted of certain raps +at my knees, and shins, and elbows, and fingers, and certain commands +to--"look at my finger! Look at the wall! Look at my finger! Look at the +wall!" + +"So!" said Von Gerhard at last, in a tone of finality. I sank my +battered frame into the nearest chair. "This--this newspaper work--it +must cease." He dismissed it with a wave of the hand. + +"Certainly," I said, with elaborate sarcasm. "How should you advise me +to earn my living in the future? In the stories they paint dinner cards, +don't they? or bake angel cakes?" + +"Are you then never serious?" asked Von Gerhard, in disapproval. + +"Never," said I. "An old, worn-out, worked-out newspaper reporter, with +a husband in the mad-house, can't afford to be serious for a minute, +because if she were she'd go mad, too, with the hopelessness of it all." +And I buried my face in my hands. + +The room was very still for a moment. Then the great Von Gerhard came +over, and took my hands gently from my face. "I--I do beg your pardon," +he said. He looked strangely boyish and uncomfortable as he said it. "I +was thinking only of your good. We do that, sometimes, forgetting that +circumstances may make our wishes impossible of execution. So. You will +forgive me?" + +"Forgive you? Yes, indeed," I assured him. And we shook hands, gravely. +"But that doesn't help matters much, after all, does it?" + +"Yes, it helps. For now we understand one another, is it not so? You say +you can only write for a living. Then why not write here at home? Surely +these years of newspaper work have given you a great knowledge of +human nature. Then too, there is your gift of humor. Surely that is a +combination which should make your work acceptable to the magazines. +Never in my life have I seen so many magazines as here in the United +States. But hundreds! Thousands!" + +"Me!" I exploded--"A real writer lady! No more interviews with +actresses! No more slushy Sunday specials! No more teary tales! Oh, my! +When may I begin? To-morrow? You know I brought my typewriter with me. +I've almost forgotten where the letters are on the keyboard." + +"Wait, wait; not so fast! In a month or two, perhaps. But first must +come other things outdoor things. Also housework." + +"Housework!" I echoed, feebly. + +"Naturlich. A little dusting, a little scrubbing, a little sweeping, a +little cooking. The finest kind of indoor exercise. Later you may write +a little--but very little. Run and play out of doors with the children. +When I see you again you will have roses in your cheeks like the German +girls, yes?" + +"Yes," I echoed, meekly, "I wonder how Frieda will like my elephantine +efforts at assisting with the housework. If she gives notice, Norah will +be lost to you." + +But Frieda did not give notice. After I had helped her clean the kitchen +and the pantry I noticed an expression of deepest pity overspreading her +lumpy features. The expression became almost one of agony as she watched +me roll out some noodles for soup, and delve into the sticky mysteries +of a new kind of cake. + +Max says that for a poor working girl who hasn't had time to cultivate +the domestic graces, my cakes are a distinct triumph. Sis sniffs at +that, and mutters something about cups of raisins and nuts and citron +hiding a multitude of batter sins. She never allows the Spalpeens to +eat my cakes, and on my baking days they are usually sent from the table +howling. Norah declares, severely, that she is going to hide the Green +Cook Book. The Green Cook Book is a German one. Norah bought it in +deference to Max's love of German cookery. It is called Aunt Julchen's +cook book, and the author, between hints as to flour and butter, gets +delightfully chummy with her pupil. Her cakes are proud, rich cakes. She +orders grandly: + +"Now throw in the yolks of twelve eggs; one-fourth of a pound +of almonds; two pounds of raisins; a pound of citron; a pound of +orange-peel." + +As if that were not enough, there follow minor instructions as to +trifles like ounces of walnut meats, pounds of confectioner's sugar, and +pints of very rich cream. When cold, to be frosted with an icing made up +of more eggs, more nuts, more cream, more everything. + +The children have appointed themselves official lickers and scrapers of +the spoons and icing pans, also official guides on their auntie's +walks. They regard their Aunt Dawn as a quite ridiculous but altogether +delightful old thing. + +And Norah--bless her! looks up when I come in from a romp with the +Spalpeens and says: "Your cheeks are pink! Actually! And you're losing +a puff there at the back of your ear, and your hat's on crooked. Oh, you +are beginning to look your old self, Dawn dear!" + +At which doubtful compliment I retort, recklessly: "Pooh! What's a puff +more or less, in a worthy cause? And if you think my cheeks are pink +now, just wait until your mighty Von Gerhard comes again. By that time +they shall be so red and bursting that Frieda's, on wash day, will +look anemic by comparison. Say, Norah, how red are German red cheeks, +anyway?" + + + + +CHAPTER III. GOOD AS NEW + +So Spring danced away, and Summer sauntered in. My pillows looked +less and less tempting. The wine of the northern air imparted a cocky +assurance. One blue-and-gold day followed the other, and I spent hours +together out of doors in the sunshine, lying full length on the warm, +sweet ground, to the horror of the entire neighborhood. To be sure, I +was sufficiently discreet to choose the lawn at the rear of the house. +There I drank in the atmosphere, as per doctor's instructions, while the +genial sun warmed the watery blood in my veins and burned the skin off +the end of my nose. + +All my life I had envied the loungers in the parks--those silent, inert +figures that lie under the trees all the long summer day, their shabby +hats over their faces, their hands clasped above their heads, legs +sprawled in uncouth comfort, while the sun dapples down between the +leaves and, like a good fairy godmother, touches their frayed and +wrinkled garments with flickering figures of golden splendor, while they +sleep. They always seemed so blissfully care-free and at ease--those +sprawling men figures--and I, to whom such simple joys were forbidden, +being a woman, had envied them. + +Now I was reveling in that very joy, stretched prone upon the ground, +blinking sleepily up at the sun and the cobalt sky, feeling my very +hair grow, and health returning in warm, electric waves. I even dared +to cross one leg over the other and to swing the pendant member with +nonchalant air, first taking a cautious survey of the neighboring back +windows to see if any one peeked. Doubtless they did, behind those +ruffled curtains, but I grew splendidly indifferent. + +Even the crawling things--and there were myriads of them--added to +the enjoyment of my ease. With my ear so close to the ground the grass +seemed fairly to buzz with them. Everywhere there were crazily busy +ants, and I, patently a sluggard and therefore one of those for whom the +ancient warning was intended, considered them lazily. How they plunged +about, weaving in and out, rushing here and there, helter-skelter, like +bargain-hunting women darting wildly from counter to counter! + +"O, foolish, foolish antics!" I chided them, "stop wearing yourselves +out this way. Don't you know that the game isn't worth the candle, and +that you'll give yourselves nervous jim-jams and then you'll have to go +home to be patched up? Look at me! I'm a horrible example." + +But they only bustled on, heedless of my advice, and showed their +contempt by crawling over me as I lay there like a lady Gulliver. + +Oh, I played what they call a heavy thinking part. It was not only the +ants that came in for lectures. I preached sternly to myself. + +"Well, Dawn old girl, you've made a beautiful mess of it. A smashed-up +wreck at twenty-eight! And what have you to show for it? Nothing! You're +a useless pulp, like a lemon that has been squeezed dry. Von Gerhard was +right. There must be no more newspaper work for you, me girl. Not if you +can keep away from the fascination of it, which I don't think you can." + +Then I would fall to thinking of those years of newspapering--of the +thrills of them, and the ills of them. It had been exhilarating, and +educating, but scarcely remunerative. Mother had never approved. Dad +had chuckled and said that it was a curse descended upon me from the +terrible old Kitty O'Hara, the only old maid in the history of the +O'Haras, and famed in her day for a caustic tongue and a venomed +pen. Dad and Mother--what a pair of children they had been! The very +dissimilarity of their natures had been a bond between them. Dad, +light-hearted, whimsical, care-free, improvident; Mother, gravely sweet, +anxious-browed, trying to teach economy to the handsome Irish husband +who, descendant of a long and royal line of spendthrift ancestors, would +have none of it. + +It was Dad who had insisted that they name me Dawn. Dawn O'Hara! His +sense of humor must have been sleeping. "You were such a rosy, pinky, +soft baby thing," Mother had once told me, "that you looked just like +the first flush of light at sunrise. That is why your father insisted on +calling you Dawn." + +Poor Dad! How could he know that at twenty-eight I would be a yellow +wreck of a newspaper reporter--with a wrinkle between my eyes. If he +could see me now he would say: + +"Sure, you look like the dawn yet, me girl but a Pittsburgh dawn." + +At that, Mother, if she were here, would pat my check where the hollow +place is, and murmur: "Never mind, Dawnie dearie, Mother thinks you are +beautiful just the same." Of such blessed stuff are mothers made. + +At this stage of the memory game I would bury my face in the warm grass +and thank my God for having taken Mother before Peter Orme came into my +life. And then I would fall asleep there on the soft, sweet grass, with +my head snuggled in my arms, and the ants wriggling, unchided, into my +ears. + +On the last of these sylvan occasions I awoke, not with a graceful +start, like the story-book ladies, but with a grunt. Sis was digging +me in the ribs with her toe. I looked up to see her standing over me, +a foaming tumbler of something in her hand. I felt that it was eggy and +eyed it disgustedly. + +"Get up," said she, "you lazy scribbler, and drink this." + +I sat up, eyeing her severely and picking grass and ants out of my hair. + +"D' you mean to tell me that you woke me out of that babe-like slumber +to make me drink that goo? What is it, anyway? I'll bet it's another +egg-nogg." + +"Egg-nogg it is; and swallow it right away, because there are guests to +see you." + +I emerged from the first dip into the yellow mixture and fixed on her as +stern and terrible a look at any one can whose mouth is encircled by a +mustache of yellow foam. + +"Guests!" I roared, "not for me! Don't you dare to say that they came to +see me!" + +"Did too," insists Norah, with firmness, "they came especially to see +you. Asked for you, right from the jump." + +I finished the egg-nogg in four gulps, returned the empty tumbler with +an air of decision, and sank upon the grass. + +"Tell 'em I rave. Tell 'em that I'm unconscious, and that for weeks I +have recognized no one, not even my dear sister. Say that in my present +nerve-shattered condition I--" + +"That wouldn't satisfy them," Norah calmly interrupts, "they know +you're crazy because they saw you out here from their second story back +windows. That's why they came. So you may as well get up and face them. +I promised them I'd bring you in. You can't go on forever refusing to +see people, and you know the Whalens are--" + +"Whalens!" I gasped. "How many of them? Not--not the entire fiendish +three?" + +"All three. I left them champing with impatience." + +The Whalens live just around the corner. The Whalens are omniscient. +They have a system of news gathering which would make the efforts of a +New York daily appear antiquated. They know that Jenny Laffin feeds the +family on soup meat and oat-meal when Mr. Laffin is on the road; they +know that Mrs. Pearson only shakes out her rugs once in four weeks; they +can tell you the number of times a week that Sam Dempster comes home +drunk; they know that the Merkles never have cream with their coffee +because little Lizzie Merkle goes to the creamery every day with just +one pail and three cents; they gloat over the knowledge that Professor +Grimes, who is a married man, is sweet on Gertie Ashe, who teaches +second reader in his school; they can tell you where Mrs. Black got her +seal coat, and her husband only earning two thousand a year; they know +who is going to run for mayor, and how long poor Angela Sims has to +live, and what Guy Donnelly said to Min when he asked her to marry him. + +The three Whalens--mother and daughters--hunt in a group. They send +meaning glances to one another across the room, and at parties they get +together and exchange bulletins in a corner. On passing the Whalen house +one is uncomfortably aware of shadowy forms lurking in the windows, and +of parlor curtains that are agitated for no apparent cause. + +Therefore it was with a groan that I rose and prepared to follow Norah +into the house. Something in my eye caused her to turn at the very door. +"Don't you dare!" she hissed; then, banishing the warning scowl from +her face, and assuming a near-smile, she entered the room and I followed +miserably at her heels. + +The Whalens rose and came forward effusively; Mrs. Whalen, plump, dark, +voluble; Sally, lean, swarthy, vindictive; Flossie, pudgy, powdered, +over-dressed. They eyed me hungrily. I felt that they were searching my +features for signs of incipient insanity. + +"Dear, DEAR girl!" bubbled the billowy Flossie, kissing the end of my +nose and fastening her eye on my ringless left hand. + +Sally contented herself with a limp and fishy handshake. She and I were +sworn enemies in our school-girl days, and a baleful gleam still lurked +in Sally's eye. Mrs. Whalen bestowed on me a motherly hug that enveloped +me in an atmosphere of liquid face-wash, strong perfumery and fried +lard. Mrs. Whalen is a famous cook. Said she: + +"We've been thinking of calling ever since you were brought home, but +dear me! you've been looking so poorly I just said to the girls, wait +till the poor thing feels more like seeing her old friends. Tell me, how +are you feeling now?" + +The three sat forward in their chairs in attitudes of tense waiting. + +I resolved that if err I must it should be on the side of safety. I +turned to sister Norah. + +"How am I feeling anyway, Norah?" I guardedly inquired. + +Norah's face was a study. "Why Dawn dear," she said, sugar-sweet, "no +doubt you know better than I. But I'm sure that you are wonderfully +improved--almost your old self, in fact. Don't you think she looks +splendid, Mrs. Whalen?" + +The three Whalens tore their gaze from my blank countenance to exchange +a series of meaning looks. + +"I suppose," purred Mrs. Whalen, "that your awful trouble was the real +cause of your--a-a-a-sickness, worrying about it and grieving as you +must have." + +She pronounces it with a capital T, and I know she means Peter. I hate +her for it. + +"Trouble!" I chirped. "Trouble never troubles me. I just worked too +hard, that's all, and acquired an awful 'tired.' All work and no play +makes Jill a nervous wreck, you know." + +At that the elephantine Flossie wagged a playful finger at me. "Oh, now, +you can't make us believe that, just because we're from the country! +We know all about you gay New Yorkers, with your Bohemian ways and your +midnight studio suppers, and your cigarettes, and cocktails and high +jinks!" + +Memory painted a swift mental picture of Dawn O'Hara as she used to +tumble into bed after a whirlwind day at the office, too dog-tired to +give her hair even one half of the prescribed one hundred strokes of the +brush. But in turn I shook a reproving forefinger at Flossie. + +"You've been reading some naughty society novel! One of those +millionaire-divorce-actress-automobile novels. Dear, dear! Shall I ever +forget the first New York actress I ever met; or what she said!" + +I felt, more than saw, a warning movement from Sis. But the three +Whalens had hitched forward in their chairs. + +"What did she say?" gurgled Flossie. "Was it something real reezk?" + +"Well, it was at a late supper--a studio supper given in her honor," I +confessed. + +"Yes-s-s-s," hissed the Whalens. + +"And this actress--she was one of those musical comedy actresses, you +know; I remember her part called for a good deal of kicking about in a +short Dutch costume--came in rather late, after the performance. She was +wearing a regal-looking fur-edged evening wrap, and she still wore all +her make-up"--out of the corner of my eye I saw Sis sink back with an +air of resignation--"and she threw open the door and said-- + +"Yes-s-s-s!" hissed the Whalens again, wetting their lips. + +"--said: 'Folks, I just had a wire from mother, up in Maine. The boy has +the croup. I'm scared green. I hate to spoil the party, but don't ask me +to stay. I want to go home to the flat and blubber. I didn't even +stop to take my make-up off. My God! If anything should happen to the +boy!--Well, have a good time without me. Jim's waiting outside.'" A +silence. + +Then--"Who was Jim?" asked Flossie, hopefully. + +"Jim was her husband, of course. He was in the same company." + +Another silence. + +"Is that all?" demanded Sally from the corner in which she had been +glowering. + +"All! You unnatural girl! Isn't one husband enough?" + +Mrs. Whalen smiled an uncertain, wavering smile. There passed among the +three a series of cabalistic signs. They rose simultaneously. + +"How quaint you are!" exclaimed Mrs. Whalen, "and so amusing! Come +girls, we mustn't tire Miss--ah--Mrs.--er--" with another meaning look at +my bare left hand. + +"My husband's name is still Orme," I prompted, quite, quite pleasantly. + +"Oh, certainly. I'm so forgetful. And one reads such queer things in +the newspapers nowa-days. Divorces, and separations, and soul-mates and +things." There was a note of gentle insinuation in her voice. + +Norah stepped firmly into the fray. "Yes, doesn't one? What a comfort it +must be to you to know that your dear girls are safe at home with you, +and no doubt will be secure, for years to come, from the buffeting winds +of matrimony." + +There was a tinge of purple in Mrs. Whalen's face as she moved toward +the door, gathering her brood about her. "Now that dear Dawn is almost +normal again I shall send my little girlies over real often. She must +find it very dull here after her--ah--life in New York." + +"Not at all," I said, hurriedly, "not at all. You see I'm--I'm writing a +book. My entire day is occupied." + +"A book!" screeched the three. "How interesting! What is it? When will +it be published?" + +I avoided Norah's baleful eye as I answered their questions and +performed the final adieux. + +As the door closed, Norah and I faced each other, glaring. + +"Hussies!" hissed Norah. Whereupon it struck us funny and we fell, a +shrieking heap, into the nearest chair. Finally Sis dabbed at her eyes +with her handkerchief, drew a long breath, and asked, with elaborate +sarcasm, why I hadn't made it a play instead of a book, while I was +about it. + +"But I mean it," I declared. "I've had enough of loafing. Max must +unpack my typewriter to-night. I'm homesick for a look at the keys. And +to-morrow I'm to be installed in the cubbyhole off the dining-room and I +defy any one to enter it on peril of their lives. If you value the lives +of your offspring, warn them away from that door. Von Gerhard said that +there was writing in my system, and by the Great Horn Spoon and the +Beard of the Prophet, I'll have it out! Besides, I need the money. Norah +dear, how does one set about writing a book? It seems like such a large +order." + + + + +CHAPTER IV. DAWN DEVELOPS A HEIMWEH + +It's hard trying to develop into a real Writer Lady in the bosom of +one's family, especially when the family refuses to take one seriously. +Seven years of newspaper grind have taught me the fallacy of trying to +write by the inspiration method. But there is such a thing as a train of +thought, and mine is constantly being derailed, and wrecked and pitched +about. + +Scarcely am I settled in my cubby-hole, typewriter before me, the +working plan of a story buzzing about in my brain, when I hear my name +called in muffled tones, as though the speaker were laboring with a +mouthful of hairpins. I pay no attention. I have just given my heroine +a pair of calm gray eyes, shaded with black lashes and hair to match. A +voice floats down from the upstairs regions. + +"Dawn! Oh, Dawn! Just run and rescue the cucumbers out of the top of the +ice-box, will you? The iceman's coming, and he'll squash 'em." + +A parting jab at my heroine's hair and eyes, and I'm off to save the +cucumbers. + +Back at my typewriter once more. Shall I make my heroine petite +or grande? I decide that stateliness and Gibsonesque height should +accompany the calm gray eyes. I rattle away happily, the plot unfolding +itself in some mysterious way. Sis opens the door a little and peers in. +She is dressed for the street. + +"Dawn dear, I'm going to the dressmaker's. Frieda's upstairs cleaning +the bathroom, so take a little squint at the roast now and then, will +you? See that it doesn't burn, and that there's plenty of gravy. Oh, and +Dawn--tell the milkman we want an extra half-pint of cream to-day. The +tickets are on the kitchen shelf, back of the clock. I'll be back in an +hour." + +"Mhmph," I reply. + +Sis shuts the door, but opens it again almost immediately. + +"Don't let the Infants bother you. But if Frieda's upstairs and they +come to you for something to eat, don't let them have any cookies before +dinner. If they're really hungry they'll eat bread and butter." + +I promise, dreamily, my last typewritten sentence still running through +my head. The gravy seems to have got into the heroine's calm gray eyes. +What heroine could remain calm-eyed when her creator's mind is filled +with roast beef? A half-hour elapses before I get back on the track. +Then appears the hero--a tall blond youth, fair to behold. I make him +two yards high, and endow him with a pair of clothing-advertisement +shoulders. + +There assails my nostrils a fearful smell of scorching. The roast! A +wild rush into the kitchen. I fling open the oven door. The roast is +mahogany-colored, and gravyless. It takes fifteen minutes of the most +desperate first-aid-to-the-injured measures before the roast is revived. + +Back to the writing. It has lost its charm. The gray-eyed heroine is a +stick; she moves like an Indian lady outside a cigar shop. The hero is +a milk-and-water sissy, without a vital spark in him. What's the use of +trying to write, anyway? Nobody wants my stuff. Good for nothing except +dubbing on a newspaper! + +Rap! Rap! Rappity-rap-rap! Bing! Milk! + +I dash into the kitchen. No milk! No milkman! I fly to the door. He is +disappearing around the corner of the house. + +"Hi! Mr. Milkman! Say, Mr. Milkman!" with frantic beckonings. + +He turns. He lifts up his voice. "The screen door was locked so I left +youse yer milk on top of the ice-box on the back porch. Thought like the +hired girl was upstairs an' I could git the tickets to-morra." + +I explain about the cream, adding that it is wanted for short-cake. The +explanation does not seem to cheer him. He appears to be a very gloomy +and reserved milkman. I fancy that he is in the habit of indulging in a +little airy persiflage with Frieda o' mornings, and he finds me a poor +substitute for her red-cheeked comeliness. + +The milk safely stowed away in the ice-box, I have another look at the +roast. I am dipping up spoonfuls of brown gravy and pouring them over +the surface of the roast in approved basting style, when there is a +rush, a scramble, and two hard bodies precipitate themselves upon my +legs so suddenly that for a moment my head pitches forward into the +oven. I withdraw my head from the oven, hastily. The basting spoon is +immersed in the bottom of the pan. I turn, indignant. The Spalpeens look +up at me with innocent eyes. + +"You little divils, what do you mean by shoving your old aunt into the +oven! It's cannibals you are!" + +The idea pleases them. They release my legs and execute a savage war +dance around me. The Spalpeens are firm in the belief that I was brought +to their home for their sole amusement, and they refuse to take me +seriously. The Spalpeens themselves are two of the finest examples +of real humor that ever were perpetrated upon parents. Sheila is the +first-born. Norah decided that she should be an Irish beauty, and +bestowed upon her a name that reeks of the bogs. Whereupon Sheila, at +the age of six, is as flaxen-haired and blue-eyed and stolid a little +German madchen as ever fooled her parents, and she is a feminine +reproduction of her German Dad. Two years later came a sturdy boy, and +they named him Hans, in a flaunt of defiance. Hans is black-haired, +gray-eyed and Irish as Killarny. + +"We're awful hungry," announces Sheila. + +"Can't you wait until dinner time? Such a grand dinner!" + +Sheila and Hans roll their eyes to convey to me that, were they to wait +until dinner for sustenance we should find but their lifeless forms. + +"Well then, Auntie will get a nice piece of bread and butter for each of +you." + +"Don't want bread an' butty!" shrieks Hans. "Want tooky!" + +"Cooky!" echoes Sheila, pounding on the kitchen table with the rescued +basting spoon. + +"You can't have cookies before dinner. They're bad for your insides." + +"Can too," disputes Hans. "Fwieda dives us tookies. Want tooky!" +wailingly. + +"Please, ple-e-e-ease, Auntie Dawnie dearie," wheedles Sheila, wriggling +her soft little fingers in my hand. + +"But Mother never lets you have cookies before dinner," I retort +severely. "She knows they are bad for you." + +"Pooh, she does too! She always says, 'No, not a cooky!' And then we beg +and screech, and then she says, 'Oh, for pity's sake, Frieda, give 'em +a cooky and send 'em out. One cooky can't kill 'em.'" Sheila's imitation +is delicious. + +Hans catches the word screech and takes it as his cue. He begins a +series of ear-piercing wails. Sheila surveys him with pride and then +takes the wail up in a minor key. Their teamwork is marvelous. I fly +to the cooky jar and extract two round and sugary confections. I thrust +them into the pink, eager palms. The wails cease. Solemnly they place +one cooky atop the other, measuring the circlets with grave eyes. + +"Mine's a weeny bit bigger'n yours this time," decides Sheila, and holds +her cooky heroically while Hans takes a just and lawful bite out of his +sister's larger share. + +"The blessed little angels!" I say to myself, melting. "The dear, +unselfish little sweeties!" and give each of them another cooky. + +Back to my typewriter. But the words flatly refuse to come now. I make +six false starts, bite all my best finger-nails, screw my hair into a +wilderness of cork-screws and give it up. No doubt a real Lady Writer +could write on, unruffled and unhearing, while the iceman squashed the +cucumbers, and the roast burned to a frazzle, and the Spalpeens perished +of hunger. Possessed of the real spark of genius, trivialities like +milkmen and cucumbers could not dim its glow. Perhaps all successful +Lady Writers with real live sparks have cooks and scullery maids, and +need not worry about basting, and gravy, and milkmen. + +This book writing is all very well for those who have a large faith in +the future and an equally large bank account. But my future will have to +be hand-carved, and my bank account has always been an all too small pay +envelope at the end of each week. It will be months before the book +is shaped and finished. And my pocketbook is empty. Last week Max sent +money for the care of Peter. He and Norah think that I do not know. + +Von Gerhard was here in August. I told him that all my firm resolutions +to forsake newspaperdom forever were slipping away, one by one. + +"I have heard of the fascination of the newspaper office," he said, in +his understanding way. "I believe you have a heimweh for it, not?" + +"Heimweh! That's the word," I had agreed. "After you have been a +newspaper writer for seven years--and loved it--you will be a newspaper +writer, at heart and by instinct at least, until you die. There's no +getting away from it. It's in the blood. Newspaper men have been known +to inherit fortunes, to enter politics, to write books and become +famous, to degenerate into press agents and become infamous, to blossom +into personages, to sink into nonentities, but their news-nose remained +a part of them, and the inky, smoky, stuffy smell of a newspaper office +was ever sweet in their nostrils." + +But, "Not yet," Von Gerhard had said, "It unless you want to have again +this miserable business of the sick nerfs. Wait yet a few months." + +And so I have waited, saying nothing to Norah and Max. But I want to be +in the midst of things. I miss the sensation of having my fingers at the +pulse of the big old world. I'm lonely for the noise and the rush and +the hard work; for a glimpse of the busy local room just before press +time, when the lights are swimming in a smoky haze, and the big presses +downstairs are thundering their warning to hurry, and the men are +breezing in from their runs with the grist of news that will be ground +finer and finer as it passes through the mill of copy-readers' and +editors' hands. I want to be there in the thick of the confusion that +is, after all, so orderly. I want to be there when the telephone bells +are zinging, and the typewriters are snapping, and the messenger boys +are shuffling in and out, and the office kids are scuffling in a corner, +and the big city editor, collar off, sleeves rolled up from his great +arms, hair bristling wildly above his green eye-shade, is swearing +gently and smoking cigarette after cigarette, lighting each fresh one at +the dying glow of the last. I would give a year of my life to hear him +say: + +"I don't mind tellin' you, Beatrice Fairfax, that that was a darn good +story you got on the Millhaupt divorce. The other fellows haven't a word +that isn't re-hash." + +All of which is most unwomanly; for is not marriage woman's highest +aim, and home her true sphere? Haven't I tried both? I ought to know. I +merely have been miscast in this life's drama. My part should have been +that of one who makes her way alone. Peter, with his thin, cruel lips, +and his shaking hands, and his haggard face and his smoldering eyes, is +a shadow forever blotting out the sunny places in my path. I was meant +to be an old maid, like the terrible old Kitty O'Hara. Not one of the +tatting-and-tea kind, but an impressive, bustling old girl, with a +double chin. The sharp-tongued Kitty O'Hara used to say that being an +old maid was a great deal like death by drowning--a really delightful +sensation when you ceased struggling. + +Norah has pleaded with me to be more like other women of my age, and +for her sake I've tried. She has led me about to bridge parties and tea +fights, and I have tried to act as though I were enjoying it all, but I +knew that I wasn't getting on a bit. I have come to the conclusion that +one year of newspapering counts for two years of ordinary, existence, +and that while I'm twenty-eight in the family Bible I'm fully forty +inside. When one day may bring under one's pen a priest, a pauper, +a prostitute, a philanthropist, each with a story to tell, and each +requiring to be bullied, or cajoled, or bribed, or threatened, or +tricked into telling it; then the end of that day's work finds one +looking out at the world with eyes that are very tired and as old as the +world itself. + +I'm spoiled for sewing bees and church sociables and afternoon bridges. +A hunger for the city is upon me. The long, lazy summer days have +slipped by. There is an autumn tang in the air. The breeze has a touch +that is sharp. + +Winter in a little northern town! I should go mad. But winter in the +city! The streets at dusk on a frosty evening; the shop windows arranged +by artist hands for the beauty-loving eyes of women; the rows of lights +like jewels strung on an invisible chain; the glitter of brass +and enamel as the endless procession of motors flashes past; the +smartly-gowned women; the keen-eyed, nervous men; the shrill note of the +crossing policeman's whistle; every smoke-grimed wall and pillar taking +on a mysterious shadowy beauty in the purple dusk, every unsightly blot +obscured by the kindly night. But best of all, the fascination of +the People I'd Like to Know. They pop up now and then in the shifting +crowds, and are gone the next moment, leaving behind them a vague +regret. Sometimes I call them the People I'd Like to Know and sometimes +I call them the People I Know I'd Like, but it means much the same. +Their faces flash by in the crowd, and are gone, but I recognize them +instantly as belonging to my beloved circle of unknown friends. + +Once it was a girl opposite me in a car--a girl with a wide, humorous +mouth, and tragic eyes, and a hole in her shoe. Once it was a big, +homely, red-headed giant of a man with an engineering magazine sticking +out of his coat pocket. He was standing at a book counter reading +Dickens like a schoolboy and laughing in all the right places, I +know, because I peaked over his shoulder to see. Another time it was +a sprightly little, grizzled old woman, staring into a dazzling shop +window in which was displayed a wonderful collection of fashionably +impossible hats and gowns. She was dressed all in rusty black, was the +little old lady, and she had a quaint cast in her left eye that gave +her the oddest, most sporting look. The cast was working overtime as +she gazed at the gowns, and the ridiculous old sprigs on her rusty black +bonnet trembled with her silent mirth. She looked like one of those +clever, epigrammatic, dowdy old duchesses that one reads about in +English novels. I'm sure she had cardamon seeds in her shabby bag, and +a carriage with a crest on it waiting for her just around the corner. I +ached to slip my hand through her arm and ask her what she thought of +it all. I know that her reply would have been exquisitely witty and +audacious, and I did so long to hear her say it. + +No doubt some good angel tugs at my common sense, restraining me from +doing these things that I am tempted to do. Of course it would be +madness for a woman to address unknown red-headed men with the look of +an engineer about them and a book of Dickens in their hands; or perky +old women with nutcracker faces; or girls with wide humorous mouths. Oh, +it couldn't be done, I suppose. They would clap me in a padded cell in +no time if I were to say: + +"Mister Red-headed Man, I'm so glad your heart is young enough for +Dickens. I love him too--enough to read him standing at a book counter +in a busy shop. And do you know, I like the squareness of your jaw, and +the way your eyes crinkle up when you laugh; and as for your being an +engineer--why one of the very first men I ever loved was the engineer in +'Soldiers of Fortune.'" + +I wonder what the girl in the car would have said if I had crossed over +to her, and put my hand on her arm and spoken, thus: + +"Girl with the wide, humorous mouth, and the tragic eyes, and the hole +in your shoe, I think you must be an awfully good sort. I'll wager you +paint, or write, or act, or do something clever like that for a living. +But from that hole in your shoe which you have inked so carefully, +although it persists in showing white at the seams, I fancy you are +stumbling over a rather stony bit of Life's road just now. And from +the look in your eyes, girl, I'm afraid the stones have cut and bruised +rather cruelly. But when I look at your smiling, humorous mouth I know +that you are trying to laugh at the hurts. I think that this morning, +when you inked your shoe for the dozenth time, you hesitated between +tears and laughter, and the laugh won, thank God! Please keep right +on laughing, and don't you dare stop for a minute! Because pretty soon +you'll come to a smooth easy place, and then won't you be glad that you +didn't give up to lie down by the roadside, weary of your hurts?" + +Oh, it would never do. Never. And yet no charm possessed by the people I +know and like can compare with the fascination of those People I'd Like +to Know, and Know I Would Like. + +Here at home with Norah there are no faces in the crowds. There are no +crowds. When you turn the corner at Main street you are quite sure that +you will see the same people in the same places. You know that Mamie +Hayes will be flapping her duster just outside the door of the jewelry +store where she clerks. She gazes up and down Main street as she flaps +the cloth, her bright eyes keeping a sharp watch for stray traveling +men that may chance to be passing. You know that there will be the same +lounging group of white-faced, vacant-eyed youths outside the pool-room. +Dr. Briggs's patient runabout will be standing at his office doorway. +Outside his butcher shop Assemblyman Schenck will be holding forth on +the subject of county politics to a group of red-faced, badly dressed, +prosperous looking farmers and townsmen, and as he talks the circle +of brown tobacco juice which surrounds the group closes in upon them, +nearer and nearer. And there, in a roomy chair in a corner of the public +library reference room, facing the big front window, you will see Old +Man Randall. His white hair forms a halo above his pitiful drink-marred +face. He was to have been a great lawyer, was Old Man Randall. But on +the road to fame he met Drink, and she grasped his arm, and led him down +by-ways, and into crooked lanes, and finally into ditches, and he never +arrived at his goal. There in that library window nook it is cool in +summer, and warm in winter. So he sits and dreams, holding an open +volume, unread, on his knees. Some times he writes, hunched up in his +corner, feverishly scribbling at ridiculous plays, short stories, and +novels which later he will insist on reading to the tittering schoolboys +and girls who come into the library to do their courting and reference +work. Presently, when it grows dusk, Old Man Randall will put away his +book, throw his coat over his shoulders, sleeves dangling, flowing white +locks sweeping the frayed velvet collar. He will march out with his +soldierly tread, humming a bit of a tune, down the street and into +Vandermeister's saloon, where he will beg a drink and a lunch, and some +man will give it to him for the sake of what Old Man Randall might have +been. + +All these things you know. And knowing them, what is left for the +imagination? How can one dream dreams about people when one knows +how much they pay their hired girl, and what they have for dinner on +Wednesdays? + + + + +CHAPTER V. THE ABSURD BECOMES SERIOUS + +I can understand the emotions of a broken-down war horse that is hitched +to a vegetable wagon. I am going to Milwaukee to work! It is a thing to +make the gods hold their sides and roll down from their mountain peaks +with laughter. After New York--Milwaukee! + +Of course Von Gerhard is to blame. But I think even he sees the humor +of it. It happened in this way, on a day when I was indulging in a +particularly greenery-yallery fit of gloom. Norah rushed into my room. +I think I was mooning over some old papers, or letters, or ribbons, or +some such truck in the charming, knife-turning way that women have when +they are blue. + +"Out wid yez!" cried Norah. "On with your hat and coat! I've just had +a wire from Ernst von Gerhard. He's coming, and you look like an +under-done dill pickle. You aren't half as blooming as when he was here +in August, and this is October. Get out and walk until your cheeks are +so red that Von Gerhard will refuse to believe that this fiery-faced +puffing, bouncing creature is the green and limp thing that huddled in a +chair a few months ago. Out ye go!" + +And out I went. Hatless, I strode countrywards, leaving paved streets +and concrete walks far behind. There were drifts of fallen leaves all +about, and I scuffled through them drearily, trying to feel gloomy, and +old, and useless, and failing because of the tang in the air, and +the red-and-gold wonder of the frost-kissed leaves, and the regular +pump-pump of good red blood that was coursing through my body as per +Norah's request. + +In a field at the edge of the town, just where city and country begin to +have a bowing acquaintance, the college boys were at football practice. +Their scarlet sweaters made gay patches of color against the dull +gray-brown of the autumn grass. + +"Seven-eighteen-two-four!" called a voice. There followed a scuffle, a +creaking of leather on leather, a thud. I watched them, a bit enviously, +walking backwards until a twist in the road hid them from view. That +same twist transformed my path into a real country road--a brown, dusty, +monotonous Michigan country road that went severely about its business, +never once stopping to flirt with the blushing autumn woodland at its +left, or to dally with the dimpling ravine at its right. + +"Now if that were an English country road," thought I, "a sociably +inclined, happy-go-lucky, out-for-pleasure English country road, one +might expect something of it. On an English country road this would +be the psychological moment for the appearance of a blond god, in gray +tweed. What a delightful time of it Richard Le Gallienne's hero had on +his quest! He could not stroll down the most innocent looking lane, he +might not loiter along the most out-of-the-way path, he never ambled +over the barest piece of country road, that he did not come face to +face with some witty and lovely woman creature, also in search of things +unconventional, and able to quote charming lines from Chaucer to him." + +Ah, but that was England, and this is America. I realize it sadly as I +step out of the road to allow a yellow milk wagon to rattle past. The +red letters on the yellow milk cart inform the reader that it is +the property of August Schimmelpfennig, of Hickory Grove. The +Schimmelpfennig eye may be seen staring down upon me from the bit of +glass in the rear as the cart rattles ahead, doubtless being suspicious +of hatless young women wandering along country roads at dusk, alone. +There was that in the staring eye to which I took exception. It wore +an expression which made me feel sure that the mouth below it was all +a-grin, if I could but have seen it. It was bad enough to be stared +at by the fishy Schimmelpfennig eye, but to be grinned at by the +Schimmelpfennig mouth!--I resented it. In order to show my resentment I +turned my back on the Schimmelpfennig cart and pretended to look up the +road which I had just traveled. + +I pretended to look up the road, and then I did look in earnest. +No wonder the Schimmelpfennig eye and mouth had worn the leering +expression. The blond god in gray tweed was swinging along toward me! I +knew that he was blond because he wore no hat and the last rays of the +October sun were making a little halo effect about his head. I knew +that his gray clothes were tweed because every well regulated hero on a +country road wears tweed. It's almost a religion with them. He was not +near enough to make a glance at his features possible. I turned +around and continued my walk. The yellow cart, with its impudent +Schimmelpfennig leer, was disappearing in a cloud of dust. Shades of +the "Duchess" and Bertha M. Clay! How does one greet a blond god in gray +tweed on a country road, when one has him! + +The blond god solved the problem for me. + +"Hi!" he called. I did not turn. There was a moment's silence. Then +there came a shrill, insistent whistle, of the kind that is made by +placing four fingers between the teeth. It is a favorite with the +gallery gods. I would not have believed that gray tweed gods stooped to +it. + +"Hi!" called the voice again, very near now. "Lieber Gott! Never have I +seen so proud a young woman!" + +I whirled about to face Von Gerhard; a strangely boyish and +unprofessional looking Von Gerhard. + +"Young man," I said severely, "have you been a-follerin' of me?" + +"For miles," groaned he, as we shook hands. "You walk like a grenadier. +I am sent by the charming Norah to tell you that you are to come home +to mix the salad dressing, for there is company for supper. I am the +company." + +I was still a bit dazed. "But how did you know which road to take? And +when--" + +"Wunderbar, nicht wahr?" laughed Von Gerhard. "But really quite simple. +I come in on an earlier train than I had expected, chat a moment with +sister Norah, inquire after the health of my patient, and am told that +she is running away from a horde of blue devils!--quote your charming +sister--that have swarmed about her all day. What direction did her +flight take? I ask. Sister Norah shrugs her shoulders and presumes that +it is the road which shows the reddest and yellowest autumn colors. That +road will be your road. So!" + +"Pooh! How simple! That is the second disappointment you have given me +to-day." + +"But how is that possible? The first has not had time to happen." + +"The first was yourself," I replied, rudely. + +"I had been longing for an adventure. And when I saw you 'way up the +road, such an unusual figure for our Michigan country roads, I forgot +that I was a disappointed old grass widder with a history, and I grew +young again, and my heart jumped up into my throat, and I sez to mesilf, +sez I: 'Enter the hero!' And it was only you." + +Von Gerhard stared a moment, a curious look on his face. Then he +laughed one of those rare laughs of his, and I joined him because I was +strangely young, light, and happy to be alive. + +"You walk and enjoy walking, yes?" asked Von Gerhard, scanning my face. +"Your cheeks they are like--well, as unlike the cheeks of the German +girls as Diana's are unlike a dairy maid's. And the nerfs? They no +longer jump, eh?" + +"Oh, they jump, but not with weariness. They jump to get into action +again. From a life of too much excitement I have gone to the other +extreme. I shall be dead of ennui in another six months." + +"Ennui?" mused he, "and you are--how is it?--twenty-eight years, yes? +H'm!" + +There was a world of exasperation in the last exclamation. + +"I am a thousand years old," it made me exclaim, "a million!" + +"I will prove to you that you are sixteen," declared Von Gerhard, +calmly. + +We had come to a fork in the road. At the right the narrower road ran +between two rows of great maples that made an arch of golden splendor. +The frost had kissed them into a gorgeous radiance. + +"Sunshine Avenue," announced Von Gerhard. "It beckons us away from home, +and supper and salad dressing and duty, but who knows what we shall find +at the end of it!" + +"Let's explore," I suggested. "It is splendidly golden enough to be +enchanted." + +We entered the yellow canopied pathway. + +"Let us pretend this is Germany, yes?" pleaded Von Gerhard. "This golden +pathway will end in a neat little glass-roofed restaurant, with +tables and chairs outside, and comfortable German papas and mammas and +pig-tailed children sitting at the tables, drinking coffee or beer. +There will be stout waiters, and a red-faced host. And we will seat +ourselves at one of the tables, and I will wave my hand, and one of the +stout waiters will come flying. 'Will you have coffee, _Fraulein_, or +beer?' It sounds prosaic, but it is very, very good, as you will see. +Pathways in Germany always end in coffee and Kuchen and waiters in white +aprons." + +But, "Oh, no!" I exclaimed, for his mood was infectious. "This is +France. Please! The golden pathway will end in a picturesque little +French farm, with a dairy. And in the doorway of the farmhouse there +will be a red-skirted peasant woman, with a white cap! and a baby on her +arm! and sabots! Oh, surely she will wear sabots!" + +"Most certainly she will wear sabots," Von Gerhard said, heatedly, "and +blue knitted stockings. And the baby's name is Mimi!" + +We had taken hands and were skipping down the pathway now, like two +excited children. + +"Let's run," I suggested. And run we did, like two mad creatures, until +we rounded a gentle curve and brought up, panting, within a foot of a +decrepit rail fence. The rail fence enclosed a stubbly, lumpy field. The +field was inhabited by an inquiring cow. Von Gerhard and I stood quite +still, hand in hand, gazing at the cow. Then we turned slowly and looked +at each other. + +"This pathway of glorified maples ends in a cow," I said, solemnly. At +which we both shrieked with mirth, leaning on the decrepit fence and +mopping our eyes with our handkerchiefs. + +"Did I not say you were sixteen?" taunted Von Gerhard. We were getting +surprisingly well acquainted. + +"Such a scolding as we shall get! It will be quite dark before we are +home. Norah will be tearing her hair." + +It was a true prophecy. As we stampeded up the steps the door was flung +open, disclosing a tragic figure. + +"Such a steak!" wailed Norah, "and it has been done for hours and hours, +and now it looks like a piece of fried ear. Where have you two driveling +idiots been? And mushrooms too." + +"She means that the ruined steak was further enhanced by mushrooms," I +explained in response to Von Gerhard's bewildered look. We marched into +the house, trying not to appear like sneak thieves. Max, pipe in mouth, +surveyed us blandly. + +"Fine color you've got, Dawn," he remarked. + +"There is such a thing as overdoing this health business," snapped +Norah, with a great deal of acidity for her. "I didn't tell you to make +them purple, you know." + +Max turned to Von Gerhard. "Now what does she mean by that do you +suppose, eh Ernst?" + +"Softly, brother, softly!" whispered Von Gerhard. "When women exchange +remarks that apparently are simple, and yet that you, a man, cannot +understand, then know there is a woman's war going on, and step softly, +and hold your peace. Aber ruhig!" + +Calm was restored with the appearance of the steak, which was found +to have survived the period of waiting, and to be incredibly juicy and +tender. Presently we were all settled once more in the great beamed +living room, Sis at the piano, the two men smoking their after-dinner +cigars with that idiotic expression of contentment which always adorns +the masculine face on such occasions. + +I looked at them--at those three who had done so much for my happiness +and well being, and something within me said: "Now! Speak now!" Norah +was playing very softly, so that the Spalpeens upstairs might not be +disturbed. I took a long breath and made the plunge. + +"Norah, if you'll continue the slow music, I'll be much obliged. 'The +time has come, the Walrus said, to talk of many things.'" + +"Don't be absurd," said Norah, over her shoulder, and went on playing. + +"I never was more serious in my life, good folkses all. I've got to be. +This butterfly existence has gone on long enough. Norah, and Max, and +Mr. Doctor Man, I am going away." + +Norah's hands crashed down on the piano keys with a jangling discord. +She swung about to face me. + +"Not New York again, Dawn! Not New York!" + +"I am afraid so," I answered. + +Max--bless his great, brotherly heart--rose and came over to me and put +a hand on my shoulder. + +"Don't you like it here, girlie? Want to be hauled home on a shutter +again, do you? You know that as long as we have a home, you have one. We +need you here." + +But I shook my head. From his chair at the other side of the room I +could feel Von Gerhard's gaze fixed upon us. He had said nothing. + +"Need me! No one needs me. Don't worry; I'm not going to become maudlin +about it. But I don't belong here, and you know, it. I have my work to +do. Norah is the best sister that a woman ever had. And Max, you're +an angel brother-in-law. But how can I stay on here and keep my +self-respect?" I took Max's big hand in mine and gathered courage from +it. + +"But you have been working," wailed Norah, "every morning. And I thought +the book was coming on beautifully. And I'm sure it will be a wonderful +book, Dawn dear. You are so clever." + +"Oh, the book--it is too uncertain. Perhaps it will go, but perhaps it +won't. And then--what? It will be months before the book is properly +polished off. And then I may peddle it around for more months. No; I +can't afford to trifle with uncertainties. Every newspaper man or woman +writes a book. It's like having the measles. There is not a newspaper +man living who does not believe, in his heart, that if he could only +take a month or two away from the telegraph desk or the police run, he +could write the book of the year, not to speak of the great American +Play. Why, just look at me! I've only been writing seriously for a few +weeks, and already the best magazines in the country are refusing my +manuscripts daily." + +"Don't joke," said Norah, coming over to me, "I can't stand it." + +"Why not? Much better than weeping, isn't it? And anyway, I'm no subject +for tears any more. Dr. von Gerhard will tell you how well and strong I +am. Won't you, Herr Doktor?" + +"Well," said Von Gerhard, in his careful, deliberate English, "since you +ask me, I should say that you might last about one year, in New York." + +"There! What did I tell you!" cried Norah. + +"What utter blither!" I scoffed, turning to glare at Von Gerhard. + +"Gently," warned Max. "Such disrespect to the man who pulled you back +from the edge of the yawning grave only six months ago!" + +"Yawning fiddlesticks!" snapped I, elegantly. "There was nothing wrong +with me except that I wanted to be fussed over. And I have been. And +I've loved it. But it must stop now." I rose and walked over to the +table and faced Von Gerhard, sitting there in the depths of a great +chair. "You do not seem to realize that I am not free to come and go, +and work and play, and laugh and live like other women. There is my +living to make. And there is--Peter Orme. Do you think that I could stay +on here like this? Oh, I know that Max is not a poor man. But he is +not a rich man, either. And there are the children to be educated, and +besides, Max married Norah O'Hara, not the whole O'Hara tribe. I want to +go to work. I am not a free woman, but when I am working, I forget, and +am almost happy. I tell you I must be well again! I will be well! I am +well!" + +At the end of which dramatic period I spoiled the whole effect by bowing +my head on the table and giving way to a fit of weeping such as I had +not had since the days of my illness. + +"Looks like it," said Max, at which I decided to laugh, and the +situation was saved. + +It was then that Von Gerhard proposed the thing that set us staring at +him in amused wonder. He came over and stood looking down at us, his +hands outspread upon the big library table, his body bent forward in an +attitude of eager intentness. I remember thinking what wonderful hands +they were, true indexes of the man's character; broad, white, surgeonly +hands; the fingers almost square at the tips. They were hands as +different from those slender, nervous, unsteady, womanly hands of Peter +Orme as any hands could be, I thought. They were hands made for work +that called for delicate strength, if such a paradox could be; hands to +cling to; to gain courage from; hands that spelled power and reserve. I +looked at them, fascinated, as I often had done before, and thought that +I never had seen such SANE hands. + +"You have done me the honor to include me in this little family +conclave," began Ernst von Gerhard. "I am going to take advantage of +your trust. I shall give you some advice--a thing I usually keep for +unpleasant professional occasions. Do not go back to New York." + +"But I know New York. And New York--the newspaper part of it--knows me. +Where else can I go?" + +"You have your book to finish. You could never finish it there, is it +not so?" + +I'm afraid I shrugged my shoulders. It was all so much harder than I had +expected. What did they want me to do? I asked myself, bitterly. + +Von Gerhard went on. "Why not go where the newspaper work will not be so +nerve-racking? where you still might find time for this other work that +is dear to you, and that may bring its reward in time." He reached out +and took my hand, into his great, steady clasp. "Come to the happy, +healthy, German town called Milwaukee, yes? Ach, you may laugh. But +newspaper work is newspaper work the world over, because men and women +are just men and women the world over. But there you could live sanely, +and work not too hard, and there would be spare hours for the book that +is near your heart. And I--I will speak of you to Norberg, of the Post. +And on Sundays, if you are good, I may take you along the marvelous lake +drives in my little red runabout, yes? Aber wunderbar, those drives are! +So." + +Then--"Milwaukee!" shrieked Max and Norah and I, together. "After New +York--Milwaukee!" + +"Laugh," said Von Gerhard, quite composedly. "I give you until to-morrow +morning to stop laughing. At the end of that time it will not seem quite +so amusing. No joke is so funny after one has contemplated it for twelve +hours." + +The voice of Norah, the temptress, sounded close to my ear. "Dawn dear, +just think how many million miles nearer you would be to Max, and me, +and home." + +"Oh, you have all gone mad! The thing is impossible. I shan't go back to +a country sheet in my old age. I suppose that in two more years I shall +be editing a mothers' column on an agricultural weekly." + +"Norberg would be delighted to get you," mused Von Gerhard, "and it +would be day work instead of night work." + +"And you would send me a weekly bulletin on Dawn's health, wouldn't you, +Ernst?" pleaded Norah. "And you'd teach her to drink beer and she shall +grow so fat that the Spalpeens won't know their auntie." + +At last--"How much do they pay?" I asked, in desperation. And the thing +that had appeared so absurd at first began to take on the shape of +reality. + +Von Gerhard did speak to Norberg of the Post. And I am to go to +Milwaukee next week. The skeleton of the book manuscript is stowed +safely away in the bottom of my trunk and Norah has filled in the +remaining space with sundry flannels, and hot water bags and medicine +flasks, so that I feel like a schoolgirl on her way to boarding-school, +instead of like a seasoned old newspaper woman with a capital PAST and a +shaky future. I wish that I were chummier with the Irish saints. I need +them now. + + + + +CHAPTER VI. STEEPED IN GERMAN + +I am living at a little private hotel just across from the court house +square with its scarlet geraniums and its pretty fountain. The house +is filled with German civil engineers, mechanical engineers, and +Herr Professors from the German academy. On Sunday mornings we have +Pfannkuchen with currant jelly, and the Herr Professors come down to +breakfast in fearful flappy German slippers. I'm the only creature +in the place that isn't just over from Germany. Even the dog is a +dachshund. It is so unbelievable that every day or two I go down to +Wisconsin Street and gaze at the stars and stripes floating from the +government building, in order to convince myself that this is America. +It needs only a Kaiser or so, and a bit of Unter den Linden to be quite +complete. + +The little private hotel is kept by Herr and Frau Knapf. After one has +seen them, one quite understands why the place is steeped in a German +atmosphere up to its eyebrows. + +I never would have found it myself. It was Doctor von Gerhard who had +suggested Knapf's, and who had paved the way for my coming here. + +"You will find it quite unlike anything you have ever tried before," +he warned me. "Very German it is, and very, very clean, and most +inexpensive. Also I think you will find material there--how is it you +call it?--copy, yes? Well, there should be copy in plenty; and types! +But you shall see." + +From the moment I rang the Knapf doorbell I saw. The dapper, cheerful +Herr Knapf, wearing a disappointed Kaiser Wilhelm mustache, opened the +door. I scarcely had begun to make my wishes known when he interrupted +with a large wave of the hand, and an elaborate German bow. + +"Ach yes! You would be the lady of whom the Herr Doktor has spoken. +Gewiss! Frau Orme, not? But so a young lady I did not expect to see. A +room we have saved for you--aber wunderhubsch! It makes me much pleasure +to show. Folgen Sie mir, bitte." + +"You--you speak English?" I faltered, with visions of my evenings spent +in expressing myself in the sign language. + +"Englisch? But yes. Here in Milwaukee it gives aber mostly German. And +then too, I have been only twenty years in this country. And always in +Milwaukee. Here is it gemutlich--and mostly it gives German." + +I tried not to look frightened, and followed him up to the "but +wonderfully beautiful" room. To my joy I found it high-ceilinged, airy, +and huge, with a great vault of a clothes closet bristling with hooks, +and boasting an unbelievable number of shelves. My trunk was swallowed +up in it. Never in all my boarding-house experience have I seen such a +room, or such a closet. The closet must have been built for a bride's +trousseau in the days of hoop-skirts and scuttle bonnets. There was a +separate and distinct hook for each and every one of my most obscure +garments. I tried to spread them out. I used two hooks to every +petticoat, and three for my kimono, and when I had finished there were +rows of hooks to spare. Tiers of shelves yawned for hat-boxes which I +possessed not. Bluebeard's wives could have held a family reunion +in that closet and invited all of Solomon's spouses. Finally, in +desperation, I gathered all my poor garments together and hung them in a +sociable bunch on the hooks nearest the door. How I should have loved +to have shown that closet to a select circle of New York boarding-house +landladies! + +After wrestling in vain with the forest of hooks, I turned my attention +to my room. I yanked a towel thing off the center table and replaced +it with a scarf that Peter had picked up in the Orient. I set up my +typewriter in a corner near a window and dug a gay cushion or two and a +chafing-dish out of my trunk. I distributed photographs of Norah and Max +and the Spalpeens separately, in couples, and in groups. Then I bounced +up and down in a huge yellow brocade chair and found it unbelievably +soft and comfortable. Of course, I reflected, after the big veranda, +and the apple tree at Norah's, and the leather-cushioned comfort of her +library, and the charming tones of her Oriental rugs and hangings-- + +"Oh, stop your carping, Dawn!" I told myself. "You can't expect charming +tones, and Oriental do-dads and apple trees in a German boarding-house. +Anyhow there's running water in the room. For general utility purposes +that's better than a pink prayer rug." + +There was a time when I thought that it was the luxuries that made life +worth living. That was in the old Bohemian days. + +"Necessities!" I used to laugh, "Pooh! Who cares about the necessities! +What if the dishpan does leak? It is the luxuries that count." + +Bohemia and luxuries! Half a dozen lean boarding-house years have +steered me safely past that. After such a course in common sense you +don't stand back and examine the pictures of a pink Moses in a nest of +purple bullrushes, or complain because the bureau does not harmonize +with the wall paper. Neither do you criticize the blue and saffron roses +that form the rug pattern. 'Deedy not! Instead you warily punch the +mattress to see if it is rock-stuffed, and you snoop into the clothes +closet; you inquire the distance to the nearest bath room, and whether +the payments are weekly or monthly, and if there is a baby in the room +next door. Oh, there's nothing like living in a boarding-house for +cultivating the materialistic side. + +But I was to find that here at Knapf's things were quite different. Not +only was Ernst von Gerhard right in saying that it was "very German, +and very, very clean;" he recognized good copy when he saw it. Types! I +never dreamed that such faces existed outside of the old German woodcuts +that one sees illustrating time-yellowed books. + +I had thought myself hardened to strange boarding-house dining rooms, +with their batteries of cold, critical women's eyes. I had learned +to walk unruffled in the face of the most carping, suspicious and the +fishiest of these batteries. Therefore on my first day at Knapf's I +went down to dinner in the evening, quite composed and secure in the +knowledge that my collar was clean and that there was no flaw to find in +the fit of my skirt in the back. + +As I opened the door of my room I heard sounds as of a violent +altercation in progress downstairs. I leaned over the balusters and +listened. The sounds rose and fell and swelled and boomed. They were +German sounds that started in the throat, gutturally, and spluttered +their way up. They were sounds such as I had not heard since the night +I was sent to cover a Socialist meeting in New York. I tip-toed down the +stairs, although I might have fallen down and landed with a thud without +having been heard. The din came from the direction of the dining room. +Well, come what might, I would not falter. After all, it could not +be worse than that awful time when I had helped cover the teamsters' +strike. I peered into the dining room. + +The thunder of conversation went on as before. But there was no +bloodshed. Nothing but men and women sitting at small tables, eating +and talking. When I say eating and talking I do not mean that those acts +were carried on separately. Not at all. The eating and the talking went +on simultaneously, neither interrupting the other. A fork full of food +and a mouthful of ten-syllabled German words met, wrestled, and passed +one another, unscathed. I stood in the doorway, fascinated, until +Herr Knapf spied me, took a nimble skip in my direction, twisted the +discouraged mustaches into temporary sprightliness, and waved me toward +a table in the center of the room. + +Then a frightful thing happened. When I think of it now I turn cold. +The battery was not that of women's eyes, but of men's. And conversation +ceased! The uproar and the booming of vowels was hushed. The silence was +appalling. I looked up in horror to find that what seemed to be millions +of staring blue eyes were fixed on me. The stillness was so thick that +you could cut it with a knife. Such men! Immediately I dubbed them +the aborigines, and prayed that I might find adjectives with which to +describe their foreheads. + +It appeared that the aborigines were especially favored in that they +were all placed at one long, untidy table at the head of the room. +The rest of us sat at small tables. Later I learned that they were +all engineers. At meals they discuss engineering problems in the most +awe-inspiring German. After supper they smoke impossible German pipes +and dozens of cigarettes. They have bulging, knobby foreheads and +bristling pompadours, and some of the rawest of them wear wild-looking +beards, and thick spectacles, and cravats and trousers that Lew Fields +never even dreamed of. They are all graduates of high-sounding foreign +universities and are horribly learned and brilliant, but they are the +worst mannered lot I ever saw. + +In the silence that followed my entrance a red-cheeked maid approached +me and asked what I would have for supper. Supper? I asked. Was not +dinner served in the evening? The aborigines nudged each other and +sniggered like fiendish little school-boys. + +The red-cheeked maid looked at me pityingly. Dinner was served in the +middle of the day, naturlich. For supper there was Wienerschnitzel, and +kalter Aufschnitt, also Kartoffel Salat, and fresh Kaffeekuchen. + +The room hung breathless on my decision. I wrestled with a horrible +desire to shriek and run. Instead I managed to mumble an order. The +aborigines turned to one another inquiringly. + +"Was hat sie gesagt?" they asked. "What did she say?" Whereupon they +fell to discussing my hair and teeth and eyes and complexion in German +as crammed with adjectives as was the rye bread over which I was choking +with caraway. The entire table watched me with wide-eyed, unabashed +interest while I ate, and I advanced by quick stages from red-faced +confusion to purple mirth. It appeared that my presence was the +ground for a heavy German joke in connection with the youngest of the +aborigines. He was a very plump and greasy looking aborigine with a +doll-like rosiness of cheek and a scared and bristling pompadour and +very small pig-eyes. The other aborigines clapped him on the back and +roared: + +"Ai Fritz! Jetzt brauchst du nicht zu weinen! Deine Lena war aber nicht +so huebsch, eh?" + +Later I learned that Fritz was the newest arrival and that since coming +to this country he had been rather low in spirits in consequence of a +certain flaxen-haired Lena whom he had left behind in the fatherland. + +An examination of the dining room and its other occupants served to keep +my mind off the hateful long table. The dining room was a double one, +the floor carpetless and clean. There was a little platform at one +end with hardy-looking plants in pots near the windows. The wall was +ornamented with very German pictures of very plump, bare-armed German +girls being chucked under the chin by very dashing, mustachioed German +lieutenants. It was all very bare, and strange and foreign to my eyes, +and yet there was something bright and comfortable about it. I felt +that I was going to like it, aborigines and all. The men drink beer with +their supper and read the Staats-Zeitung and the Germania and foreign +papers that I never heard of. It is uncanny, in these United States. But +it is going to be bully for my German. + +After my first letter home Norah wrote frantically, demanding to know +if I was the only woman in the house. I calmed her fears by assuring +her that, while the men were interesting and ugly with the fascinating +ugliness of a bulldog, the women were crushed looking and uninteresting +and wore hopeless hats. I have written Norah and Max reams about this +household, from the aborigines to Minna, who tidies my room and serves +my meals, and admires my clothes. Minna is related to Frau Knapf, whom +I have never seen. Minna is inordinately fond of dress, and her remarks +anent my own garments are apt to be a trifle disconcerting, especially +when she intersperses her recital of dinner dishes with admiring +adjectives directed at my blouse or hat. Thus: + +"Wir haben roast beef, und spareribs mit Sauerkraut, und schicken--ach, +wie schon, Frau Orme! Aber ganz prachtvoll!" Her eyes and hands are +raised toward heaven. + +"What's prachtful?" I ask, startled. "The chicken?" + +"Nein; your waist. Selbst gemacht?" + +I am even becoming hardened to the manners of the aborigines. It used to +fuss me to death to meet one of them in the halls. They always stopped +short, brought heels together with a click, bent stiffly from the waist, +and thundered: "Nabben', Fraulein!" + +I have learned to take the salutation quite calmly, and even the +wildest, most spectacled and knobby-browed aborigine cannot startle me. +Nonchalantly I reply, "Nabben'," and wish that Norah could but see me in +the act. + +When I told Ernst von Gerhard about them, he laughed a little and +shrugged his shoulders and said: + +"Na, you should not look so young, and so pretty, and so unmarried. In +Germany a married woman brushes her hair quite smoothly back, and pins +it in a hard knob. And she knows nothing of such bewildering collars +and fluffy frilled things in the front of the blouse. How do you call +them--jabots?" + +Von Gerhard has not behaved at all nicely. I did not see him until two +weeks after my arrival in Milwaukee, although he telephoned twice to ask +if there was anything that he could do to make me comfortable. + +"Yes," I had answered the last time that I heard his voice over the +telephone. "It would be a whole heap of comfort to me just to see you. +You are the nearest thing to Norah that there is in this whole German +town, and goodness knows you're far from Irish." + +He came. The weather had turned suddenly cold and he was wearing a +fur-lined coat with a collar of fur. He looked most amazingly handsome +and blond and splendidly healthy. The clasp of his hands was just as big +and sure as ever. + +"You have no idea how glad I am to see you," I told him. "If you had, +you would have been here days ago. Aren't you rather ill-mannered and +neglectful, considering that you are responsible for my being here?" + +"I did not know whether you, a married woman, would care to have me +here," he said, in his composed way. "In a place like this people are +not always kind enough to take the trouble to understand. And I would +not have them raise their eyebrows at you, not for--" + +"Married!" I laughed, some imp of willfulness seizing me, "I'm not +married. What mockery to say that I am married simply because I must +write madam before my name! I am not married, and I shall talk to whom I +please." + +And then Von Gerhard did a surprising thing. He took two great steps +over to my chair, and grasped my hands and pulled me to my feet. I +stared up at him like a silly creature. His face was suffused with a +dull red, and his eyes were unbelievably blue and bright. He had my +hands in his great grip, but his voice was very quiet and contained. + +"You are married," he said. "Never forget that for a moment. You are +bound, hard and fast and tight. And you are for no man. You are married +as much as though that poor creature in the mad house were here working +for you, instead of the case being reversed as it is. So." + +"What do you mean!" I cried, wrenching myself away indignantly. "What +right have you to talk to me like this? You know what my life has been, +and how I have tried to smile with my lips and stay young in my heart! I +thought you understood. Norah thought so too, and Max--" + +"I do understand. I understand so well that I would not have you talk as +you did a moment ago. And I said what I said not so much for your sake, +as for mine. For see, I too must remember that you write madam before +your name. And sometimes it is hard for me to remember." + +"Oh," I said, like a simpleton, and stood staring after him as he +quietly gathered up his hat and gloves and left me standing there. + + + + +CHAPTER VII. BLACKIE'S PHILOSOPHY + +I did not write Norah about Von Gerhard. After all, I told myself, there +was nothing to write. And so I was the first to break the solemn pact +that we had made. + +"You will write everything, won't you, Dawn dear?" Norah had pleaded, +with tears in her pretty eyes. "Promise me. We've been nearer to each +other in these last few months than we have been since we were girls. +And I've loved it so. Please don't do as you did during those miserable +years in New York, when you were fighting your troubles alone and we +knew nothing of it. You wrote only the happy things. Promise me you'll +write the unhappy ones too--though the saints forbid that there should +be any to write! And Dawn, don't you dare to forget your heavy underwear +in November. Those lake breezes!--Well, some one has to tell you, and I +can't leave those to Von Gerhard. He has promised to act as monitor over +your health." + +And so I promised. I crammed my letters with descriptions of the Knapf +household. I assured her that I was putting on so much weight that the +skirts which formerly hung about me in limp, dejected folds now refused +to meet in the back, and all the hooks and eyes were making faces at +each other. My cheeks, I told her, looked as if I were wearing plumpers, +and I was beginning to waddle and puff as I walked. + +Norah made frantic answer: + +"For mercy's sake child, be careful or you'll be FAT!" + +To which I replied: "Don't care if I am. Rather be hunky and healthy +than skinny and sick. Have tried both." + +It is impossible to avoid becoming round-cheeked when one is working on +a paper that allows one to shut one's desk and amble comfortably home +for dinner at least five days in the week. Everybody is at least plump +in this comfortable, gemutlich town, where everybody placidly locks his +shop or office and goes home at noon to dine heavily on soup and meat +and vegetables and pudding, washed down by the inevitable beer and +followed by forty winks on the dining room sofa with the German Zeitung +spread comfortably over the head as protection against the flies. + +There is a fascination about the bright little city. There is about it +something quaint and foreign, as though a cross-section of the old world +had been dumped bodily into the lap of Wisconsin. It does not seem at +all strange to hear German spoken everywhere--in the streets, in the +shops, in the theaters, in the street cars. One day I chanced upon a +sign hung above the doorway of a little German bakery over on the north +side. There were Hornchen and Kaffeekuchen in the windows, and a brood +of flaxen-haired and sticky children in the back of the shop. I stopped, +open-mouthed, to stare at the worn sign tacked over the door. + +"Hier wird Englisch gesprochen," it announced. + +I blinked. Then I read it again. I shut my eyes, and opened them again +suddenly. The fat German letters spoke their message as before--"English +spoken here." + +On reaching the office I told Norberg, the city editor, about my +find. He was not impressed. Norberg never is impressed. He is the most +soul-satisfying and theatrical city editor that I have ever met. He +is fat, and unbelievably nimble, and keen-eyed, and untiring. He says, +"Hell!" when things go wrong; he smokes innumerable cigarettes, inhaling +the fumes and sending out the thin wraith of smoke with little explosive +sounds between tongue and lips; he wears blue shirts, and no collar to +speak of, and his trousers are kept in place only by a miracle and an +inefficient looking leather belt. + +When he refused to see the story in the little German bakery sign I +began to argue. + +"But man alive, this is America! I think I know a story when I see it. +Suppose you were traveling in Germany, and should come across a sign +over a shop, saying: 'Hier wird Deutsch gesprochen.' Wouldn't you think +you were dreaming?" + +Norberg waved an explanatory hand. "This isn't America. This is +Milwaukee. After you've lived here a year or so you'll understand what +I mean. If we should run a story of that sign, with a two-column cut, +Milwaukee wouldn't even see the joke." + +But it was not necessary that I live in Milwaukee a year or so in order +to understand its peculiarities, for I had a personal conductor and +efficient guide in the new friend that had come into my life with the +first day of my work on the Post. Surely no woman ever had a stronger +friend than little "Blackie" Griffith, sporting editor of the Milwaukee +Post. We became friends, not step by step, but in one gigantic leap such +as sometimes triumphs over the gap between acquaintance and liking. + +I never shall forget my first glimpse of him. He strolled into the city +room from his little domicile across the hall. A shabby, disreputable, +out-at-elbows office coat was worn over his ultra-smart street clothes, +and he was puffing at a freakish little pipe in the shape of a miniature +automobile. He eyed me a moment from the doorway, a fantastic, elfin +little figure. I thought that I had never seen so strange and so ugly a +face as that of this little brown Welshman with his lank, black hair and +his deep-set, uncanny black eyes. Suddenly he trotted over to me with +a quick little step. In the doorway he had looked forty. Now a smile +illumined the many lines of his dark countenance, and in some miraculous +way he looked twenty. + +"Are you the New York importation?" he, asked, his great black eyes +searching my face. + +"I'm what's left of it," I replied, meekly. + +"I understand you've been in for repairs. Must of met up with somethin' +on the road. They say the goin' is full of bumps in N' York." + +"Bumps!" I laughed, "it's uphill every bit of the road, and yet you've +got to go full speed to get anywhere. But I'm running easily again, +thank you." + +He waved away a cloud of pipe-smoke, and knowingly squinted through the +haze. "We don't speed up much here. And they ain't no hill climbin' t' +speak of. But say, if you ever should hit a nasty place on the route, +toot your siren for me and I'll come. I'm a regular little human garage +when it comes to patchin' up those aggravatin' screws that need oilin'. +And, say, don't let Norberg bully you. My name's Blackie. I'm goin' t' +like you. Come on over t' my sanctum once in a while and I'll show you +my scrapbook and let you play with the office revolver." + +And so it happened that I had not been in Milwaukee a month before +Blackie and I were friends. + +Norah was horrified. My letters were full of him. I told her that she +might get a more complete mental picture of him if she knew that he +wore the pinkest shirts, and the purplest neckties, and the blackest and +whitest of black-and-white checked vests that ever aroused the envy +of an office boy, and beneath them all, the gentlest of hearts. And +therefore one loves him. There is a sort of spell about the illiterate +little slangy, brown Welshman. He is the presiding genius of the place. +The office boys adore him. The Old Man takes his advice in selecting +a new motor car; the managing editor arranges his lunch hour to suit +Blackie's and they go off to the Press club together, arm in arm. It is +Blackie who lends a sympathetic ear to the society editor's tale of +woe. He hires and fires the office boys; boldly he criticizes the +news editor's makeup; he receives delegations of tan-coated, red-faced +prizefighting-looking persons; he gently explains to the photographer +why that last batch of cuts make their subjects look as if afflicted +with the German measles; he arbitrates any row that the newspaper may +have with such dignitaries as the mayor or the chief of police; he +manages boxing shows; he skims about in a smart little roadster; he +edits the best sporting page in the city; and at four o'clock of an +afternoon he likes to send around the corner for a chunk of devil's food +cake with butter filling from the Woman's Exchange. Blackie never went +to school to speak of. He doesn't know was from were. But he can "see" +a story quicker, and farther and clearer than any newspaper man I ever +knew--excepting Peter Orme. + +There is a legend about to the effect that one day the managing editor, +who is Scotch and without a sense of humor, ordered that Blackie should +henceforth be addressed by his surname of Griffith, as being a more +dignified appellation for the use of fellow reporters, hangers-on, copy +kids, office boys and others about the big building. + +The day after the order was issued the managing editor summoned a +freckled youth and thrust a sheaf of galley proofs into his hand. + +"Take those to Mr. Griffith," he ordered without looking up. + +"T' who?" + +"To Mr. Griffith," said the managing editor, laboriously, and scowling a +bit. + +The boy took three unwilling steps toward the door. Then he turned a +puzzled face toward the managing editor. + +"Say, honest, I ain't never heard of dat guy. He must be a new one. +W'ere'll I find him?" + +"Oh, damn! Take those proofs to Blackie!" roared the managing editor. +And thus ended Blackie's enforced flight into the realms of dignity. + +All these things, and more, I wrote to the scandalized Norah. I informed +her that he wore more diamond rings and scarf pins and watch fobs than a +railroad conductor, and that his checked top-coat shrieked to Heaven. + +There came back a letter in which every third word was underlined, and +which ended by asking what the morals of such a man could be. + +Then I tried to make Blackie more real to Norah who, in all her +sheltered life, had never come in contact with a man like this. + +"... As for his morals--or what you would consider his morals, Sis--they +probably are a deep crimson; but I'll swear there is no yellow streak. +I never have heard anything more pathetic than his story. Blackie sold +papers on a down-town corner when he was a baby six years old. Then he +got a job as office boy here, and he used to sharpen pencils, and run +errands, and carry copy. After office hours he took care of some horses +in an alley barn near by, and after that work was done he was employed +about the pressroom of one of the old German newspaper offices. +Sometimes he would be too weary to crawl home after working half the +night, and so he would fall asleep, a worn, tragic little figure, on a +pile of old papers and sacks in a warm corner near the presses. He was +the head of a household, and every penny counted. And all the time he +was watching things, and learning. Nothing escaped those keen black +eyes. He used to help the photographer when there was a pile of plates +to develop, and presently he knew more about photography than the man +himself. So they made him staff photographer. In some marvelous way +he knew more ball players, and fighters and horsemen than the sporting +editor. He had a nose for news that was nothing short of wonderful. He +never went out of the office without coming back with a story. They used +to use him in the sporting department when a rush was on. Then he became +one of the sporting staff; then assistant sporting editor; then sporting +editor. He knows this paper from the basement up. He could operate a +linotype or act as managing editor with equal ease. + +"No, I'm afraid that Blackie hasn't had much time for morals. But, Norah +dear, I wish that you could hear him when he talks about his mother. He +may follow doubtful paths, and associate with questionable people, and +wear restless clothes, but I wouldn't exchange his friendship for that +of a dozen of your ordinary so-called good men. All these years of work +and suffering have made an old man of little Blackie, although he is +young in years. But they haven't spoiled his heart any. He is able to +distinguish between sham and truth because he has been obliged to do +it ever since he was a child selling papers on the corner. But he still +clings to the office that gave him his start, although he makes more +money in a single week outside the office than his salary would amount +to in half a year. He says that this is a job that does not interfere +with his work." + +Such is Blackie. Surely the oddest friend a woman ever had. He possesses +a genius for friendship, and a wonderful understanding of suffering, +born of those years of hardship and privation. Each learned the other's +story, bit by bit, in a series of confidences exchanged during that +peaceful, beatific period that follows just after the last edition has +gone down. Blackie's little cubby-hole of an office is always blue +with smoke, and cluttered with a thousand odds and ends--photographs, +souvenirs, boxing-gloves, a litter of pipes and tobacco, a wardrobe of +dust-covered discarded coats and hats, and Blackie in the midst of it +all, sunk in the depths of his swivel chair, and looking like an amiable +brown gnome, or a cheerful little joss-house god come to life. There is +in him an uncanny wisdom which only the streets can teach. He is one +of those born newspaper men who could not live out of sight of the +ticker-tape, and the copy-hook and the proof-sheet. + +"Y' see, girl, it's like this here," Blackie explained one day. "W're +all workin' for some good reason. A few of us are workin' for the glory +of it, and most of us are workin' t' eat, and lots of us are pluggin' +an' savin' in the hopes that some day we'll have money enough to get +back at some people we know; but there is some few workin' for the pure +love of the work--and I guess I'm one of them fools. Y' see, I started +in at this game when I was such a little runt that now it's a ingrowing +habit, though it is comfortin' t' know you got a place where you c'n +always come in out of the rain, and where you c'n have your mail sent." + +"This newspaper work is a curse," I remarked. "Show me a clever +newspaper man and I'll show you a failure. There is nothing in it but +the glory--and little of that. We contrive and scheme and run about all +day getting a story. And then we write it at fever heat, searching our +souls for words that are cleancut and virile. And then we turn it in, +and what is it? What have we to show for our day's work? An ephemeral +thing, lacking the first breath of life; a thing that is dead before +it is born. Why, any cub reporter, if he were to put into some other +profession the same amount of nerve, and tact, and ingenuity and +finesse, and stick-to-it-iveness that he expends in prying a single +story out of some unwilling victim, could retire with a fortune in no +time." + +Blackie blew down the stem of his pipe, preparatory to re-filling the +bowl. There was a quizzical light in his black eyes. The little heap of +burned matches at his elbow was growing to kindling wood proportions. It +was common knowledge that Blackie's trick of lighting pipe or cigarette +and then forgetting to puff at it caused his bill for matches to exceed +his tobacco expense account. + +"You talk," chuckled Blackie, "like you meant it. But sa-a-ay, girl, +it's a lonesome game, this retirin' with a fortune. I've noticed that +them guys who retire with a barrel of money usually dies at the end of +the first year, of a kind of a lingerin' homesickness. You c'n see +their pictures in th' papers, with a pathetic story of how they was +just beginnin' t' enjoy life when along comes the grim reaper an' claims +'em." + +Blackie slid down in his chair and blew a column of smoke ceilingward. + +"I knew a guy once--newspaper man, too--who retired with a fortune. +He used to do the city hall for us. Well, he got in soft with the new +administration before election, and made quite a pile in stocks that was +tipped off to him by his political friends. His wife was crazy for +him to quit the newspaper game. He done it. An' say, that guy kept on +gettin' richer and richer till even his wife was almost satisfied. But +sa-a-ay, girl, was that chap lonesome! One day he come up here looking +like a dog that's run off with the steak. He was just dyin' for a kind +word, an' he sniffed the smell of the ink and the hot metal like it was +June roses. He kind of wanders over to his old desk and slumps down in +the chair, and tips it back, and puts his feet on the desk, with his hat +tipped back, and a bum stogie in his mouth. And along came a kid with +a bunch of papers wet from the presses and sticks one in his hand, +and--well, girl, that fellow, he just wriggled he was so happy. You know +as well as I do that every man on a morning paper spends his day off +hanging around the office wishin' that a mob or a fire or somethin' big +would tear lose so he could get back into the game. I guess I told you +about the time Von Gerhard sent me abroad, didn't I?" + +"Von Gerhard!" I repeated, startled. "Do you know him?" + +"Well, he ain't braggin' about it none," Blackie admitted. "Von Gerhard, +he told me I had about five years or so t' live, about two, three years +ago. He don't approve of me. Pried into my private life, old Von Gerhard +did, somethin' scand'lous. I had sort of went to pieces about that time, +and I went t' him to be patched up. He thumps me fore 'an' aft, firing +a volley of questions, lookin' up the roof of m' mouth, and squintin' +at m' finger nails an' teeth like I was a prize horse for sale. Then he +sits still, lookin' at me for about half a minute, till I begin t' feel +uncomfortable. Then he says, slow: 'Young man, how old are you?' + +"'O, twenty-eight or so,' I says, airy. + +"'My Gawd!' said he. 'You've crammed twice those years into your life, +and you'll have to pay for it. Now you listen t' me. You got t' quit +workin', an' smokin', and get away from this. Take a ocean voyage,' he +says, 'an' try to get four hours sleep a night, anyway.' + +"Well say, mother she was scared green. So I tucked her under m' arm, +and we hit it up across the ocean. Went t' Germany, knowin' that it +would feel homelike there, an' we took in all the swell baden, and +chased up the Jungfrau--sa-a-ay, that's a classy little mountain, that +Jungfrau. Mother, she had some swell time I guess. She never set down +except for meals, and she wrote picture postals like mad. But sa-a-ay, +girl, was I lonesome! Maybe that trip done me good. Anyway, I'm livin' +yet. I stuck it out for four months, an' that ain't so rotten for a guy +who just grew up on printer's ink ever since he was old enough to hold +a bunch of papers under his arm. Well, one day mother an' me was sittin' +out on one of them veranda cafes they run to over there, w'en somebody +hits me a crack on the shoulder, an' there stands old Ryan who used +t' do A. P. here. He was foreign correspondent for some big New York +syndicate papers over there. + +"'Well if it ain't Blackie!' he says. 'What in Sam Hill are you doing +out of your own cell when Milwaukee's just got four more games t' win +the pennant?' + +"Sa-a-a-ay, girl, w'en I got through huggin' him around the neck an' +buyin' him drinks I knew it was me for the big ship. 'Mother,' I says, +'if you got anybody on your mind that you neglected t' send picture +postals to, now's' your last chance. 'F I got to die I'm going out with +m' scissors in one mitt, and m' trusty paste-pot by m' side!' An' we +hits it up for old Milwaukee. I ain't been away since, except w'en I +was out with the ball team, sending in sportin' extry dope for the pink +sheet. The last time I was in at Baumbach's in comes Von Gerhard an'--" + +"Who are Baumbach's?" I interrupted. + +Blackie regarded me pityingly. "You ain't never been to Baumbach's? +Why girl, if you don't know Baumbach's, you ain't never been properly +introduced to Milwaukee. No wonder you ain't hep to the ways of this +little community. There ain't what the s'ciety editor would call the +proper ontong cordyal between you and the natives if you haven't had +coffee at Baumbach's. It ain't hardly legal t' live in Milwaukee all +this time without ever having been inside of B--" + +"Stop! If you do not tell me at once just where this wonderful place +may be found, and what one does when one finds it, and how I happened to +miss it, and why it is so necessary to the proper understanding of the +city--" + +"I'll tell you what I'll do," said Blackie, grinning, "I'll romp you +over there to-morrow afternoon at four o'clock. Ach Himmel! What will +that for a grand time be, no?" + +"Blackie, you're a dear to be so polite to an old married cratur' like +me. Did you notice--that is, does Ernst von Gerhard drop in often at +Baumbach's?" + + + + +CHAPTER VIII. KAFFEE AND KAFFEEKUCHEN + +I have visited Baumbach's. I have heard Milwaukee drinking its afternoon +Kaffee. + +O Baumbach's, with your deliciously crumbling butter cookies and your +kaffee kuchen, and your thick cream, and your thicker waitresses and +your cockroaches, and your dinginess and your dowdy German ladies and +your black, black Kaffee, where in this country is there another like +you! + +Blackie, true to his promise, had hailed me from the doorway on the +afternoon of the following day. In the rush of the day's work I had +quite forgotten about Blackie and Baumbach's. + +"Come, Kindchen!" he called. "Get your bonnet on. We will by Baumbach's +go, no?" + +Ruefully I gazed at the grimy cuffs of my blouse, and felt of my +dishevelled hair. "Oh, I'm afraid I can't go. I look so mussy. Haven't +had time to brush up." + +"Brush up!" scoffed Blackie, "the only thing about you that will need +brushin' up is your German. I was goin' t' warn you to rumple up your +hair a little so you wouldn't feel overdressed w'en you got there. Come +on, girl." + +And so I came. And oh, I'm so glad I came! + +I must have passed it a dozen times without once noticing it--just a +dingy little black shop nestling between two taller buildings, almost +within the shadow of the city hall. Over the sidewalk swung a shabby +black sign with gilt letters that spelled, "Franz Baumbach." + +Blackie waved an introductory hand in the direction of the sign. "There +he is. That's all you'll ever see of him." + +"Dead?" asked I, regretfully, as we entered the narrow doorway. + +"No; down in the basement baking Kaffeekuchen." + +Two tiny show-windows faced the street--such queer, old-fashioned +windows in these days of plate glass. At the back they were quite +open to the shop, and in one of them reposed a huge, white, immovable +structure--a majestic, heavy, nutty, surely indigestible birthday cake. +Around its edge were flutings and scrolls of white icing, and on its +broad breast reposed cherries, and stout butterflies of jelly, and +cunning traceries of colored sugar. It was quite the dressiest cake I +had ever beheld. Surely no human hand could be wanton enough to guide +a knife through all that magnificence. But in the center of all +this splendor was an inscription in heavy white letters of icing: +"Charlottens Geburtstag." + +Reluctantly I tore my gaze from this imposing example of the German +confectioner's art, for Blackie was tugging impatiently at my sleeve. + +"But Blackie," I marveled, "do you honestly suppose that that structure +is intended for some Charlotte's birthday?" + +"In Milwaukee," explained Blackie, "w'en you got a birthday you got t' +have a geburtstag cake, with your name on it, and all the cousins and +aunts and members of the North Side Frauen Turner Verein Gesellchaft, in +for the day. It ain't considered decent if you don't. Are you ready to +fight your way into the main tent?" + +It was holiday time, and the single narrow aisle of the front shop was +crowded. It was not easy to elbow one's way through the packed little +space. Men and women were ordering recklessly of the cakes of every +description that were heaped in cases and on shelves. + +Cakes! What a pale; dry name to apply to those crumbling, melting, +indigestible German confections! Blackie grinned with enjoyment while I +gazed. There were cakes the like of which I had never seen and of which +I did not even know the names. There were little round cup cakes made of +almond paste that melts in the mouth; there were Schnecken glazed with +a delicious candied brown sugar; there were Bismarcks composed of layer +upon layer of flaky crust inlaid with an oozy custard that evades the +eager consumer at the first bite, and that slides down one's collar +when chased with a pursuing tongue. There were Pfeffernusse; there, +were Lebkuchen; there were cheese-kuchen; plum-kuchen, peach-kuchen, +Apfelkuchen, the juicy fruit stuck thickly into the crust, the whole +dusted over with powdered sugar. There were Torten, and Hornchen, and +butter cookies. + +Blackie touched my arm, and I tore my gaze from a cherry-studded +Schaumtorte that was being reverently packed for delivery. + +"My, what a greedy girl! Now get your mind all made up. This is your +chance. You know you're supposed t' take a slant at th' things an' make +up your mind w'at you want before you go back w'ere th' tables are. +Don't fumble this thing. When Olga or Minna comes waddlin' up t' you +an' says: 'Nu, Fraulein?' you gotta tell her whether your heart says +plum-kuchen oder Nusstorte, or both, see? Just like that. Now make up +your mind. I'd hate t' have you blunder. Have you decided?" + +"Decided! How can I?" I moaned, watching a black-haired, black-eyed +Alsatian girl behind the counter as she rolled a piece of white paper +into a cone and dipped a spoonful of whipped cream from a great brown +bowl heaped high with the snowy stuff. She filled the paper cone, +inserted the point of it into one end of a hollow pastry horn, and +gently squeezed. Presto! A cream-filled Hornchen! + +"Oh, Blackie!" I gasped. "Come on. I want to go in and eat." + +As we elbowed our way to the rear room separated from the front shop +only by a flimsy wooden partition, I expected I know not what. + +But surely this was not Blackie's much-vaunted Baumbach's! This long, +narrow, dingy room, with its bare floor and its iron-legged tables whose +bare marble tops were yellow with age and use! I said nothing as we +seated ourselves. Blackie was watching me out of the tail of his eye. +My glance wandered about the shabby, smoke-filled room, and slowly and +surely the charm of that fusty, dingy little cafe came upon me. + +A huge stove glowed red in one corner. On the wall behind the stove +was suspended a wooden rack, black with age, its compartments holding +German, Austrian and Hungarian newspapers. Against the opposite wall +stood an ancient walnut mirror, and above it hung a colored print +of Bismarck, helmeted, uniformed, and fiercely mustached. The clumsy +iron-legged tables stood in two solemn rows down the length of the +narrow room. Three or four stout, blond girls plodded back and forth, +from tables to front shop, bearing trays of cakes and steaming cups of +coffee. There was a rumble and clatter of German. Every one seemed to +know every one else. A game of chess was in progress at one table, and +between moves each contestant would refresh himself with a long-drawn, +sibilant mouthful of coffee. There was nothing about the place or its +occupants to remind one of America. This dim, smoky, cake-scented cafe +was Germany. + +"Time!" said Blackie. "Here comes Rosie to take our order. You can take +your choice of coffee or chocolate. That's as fancy as they get here." + +An expansive blond girl paused at our table smiling a broad welcome at +Blackie. + +"Wie geht's, Roschen?" he greeted her. Roschen's smile became still more +pervasive, so that her blue eyes disappeared in creases of good humor. +She wiped the marble table top with a large and careless gesture that +precipitated stray crumbs into our laps. "Gut!" murmured she, coyly, and +leaned one hand on a portly hip in an attitude of waiting. + +"Coffee?" asked Blackie, turning to me. I nodded. + +"Zweimal Kaffee?" beamed Roschen, grasping the idea. + +"Now's your time to speak up," urged Blackie. "Go ahead an' order all +the cream gefillte things that looked good to you out in front." + +But I leaned forward, lowering my voice discreetly. "Blackie, before I +plunge in too recklessly, tell me, are their prices very--" + +"Sa-a-ay, child, you just can't spend half a dollar here if you try. +The flossiest kind of thing they got is only ten cents a order. They'll +smother you in whipped cream f'r a quarter. You c'n come in here an' eat +an' eat an' put away piles of cakes till you feel like a combination +of Little Jack Horner an' old Doc Johnson. An' w'en you're all through, +they hand yuh your check, an', say--it says forty-five cents. You can't +beat it, so wade right in an' spoil your complexion." + +With enthusiasm I turned upon the patient Rosie. "O, bring me some of +those cunning little round things with the cream on 'em, you know--two +of those, eh Blackie? And a couple of those with the flaky crust and +the custard between, and a slice of that fluffy-looking cake and some of +those funny cocked-hat shaped cookies--" + +But a pall of bewilderment was slowly settling over Rosie's erstwhile +smiling face. Her plump shoulders went up in a helpless shrug, and she +turned her round blue eyes appealingly to Blackie. + +"Was meint sie alles?" she asked. + +So I began all over again, with the assistance of Blackie. We went +into minute detail. We made elaborate gestures. We drew pictures of our +desired goodies on the marble-topped table, using a soft-lead pencil. +Rosie's countenance wore a distracted look. In desperation I was about +to accompany her to the crowded shop, there to point out my chosen +dainties when suddenly, as they would put it here, a light went her +over. + +"Ach, yes-s-s-s! Sie wollten vielleicht abgeruhrter Gugelhopf haben, und +auch Schaumtorte, und Bismarcks, und Hornchen mit cream gefullt, nicht?" + +"Certainly," I murmured, quite crushed. Roschen waddled merrily off to +the shop. + +Blackie was rolling a cigarette. He ran his funny little red tongue +along the edge of the paper and glanced up at me in glee. "Don't +bother about me," he generously observed. "Just set still and let the +atmosphere soak in." + +But already I was lost in contemplation of a red-faced, pompadoured +German who was drinking coffee and reading the Fliegende Blatter at a +table just across the way. There were counterparts of my aborigines +at Knapf's--thick spectacled engineers with high foreheads--actors and +actresses from the German stock company--reporters from the English +and German newspapers--business men with comfortable German +consciences--long-haired musicians--dapper young lawyers--a giggling +group of college girls and boys--a couple of smartly dressed women +nibbling appreciatively at slices of Nusstorte--low-voiced lovers whose +coffee cups stood untouched at their elbows, while no fragrant cloud of +steam rose to indicate that there was warmth within. Their glances grow +warmer as the neglected Kaffee grows colder. The color comes and goes in +the girl's face and I watch it, a bit enviously, marveling that the old +story still should be so new. + +At a large square table near the doorway a group of eight men were +absorbed in an animated political discussion, accompanied by much waving +of arms, and thundering of gutturals. It appeared to be a table of +importance, for the high-backed bench that ran along one side was +upholstered in worn red velvet, and every newcomer paused a moment to +nod or to say a word in greeting. It was not of American politics that +they talked, but of the politics of Austria and Hungary. Finally the +argument resolved itself into a duel of words between a handsome, +red-faced German whose rosy skin seemed to take on a deeper tone in +contrast to the whiteness of his hair and mustache, and a swarthy young +fellow whose thick spectacles and heavy mane of black hair gave him the +look of a caricature out of an illustrated German weekly. The red-faced +man argued loudly, with much rapping of bare knuckles on the table +top. But the dark man spoke seldom, and softly, with a little twisted +half-smile on his lips; and whenever he spoke the red-faced man grew +redder, and there came a huge laugh from the others who sat listening. + +"Say, wouldn't it curdle your English?" Blackie laughed. + +Solemnly I turned to him. "Blackie Griffith, these people do not even +realize that there is anything unusual about this." + +"Sure not; that's the beauty of it. They don't need to make no +artificial atmosphere for this place; it just grows wild, like +dandelions. Everybody comes here for their coffee because their aunts +an' uncles and Grossmutters and Grosspapas used t' come, and come +yet, if they're livin'! An', after all, what is it but a little German +bakery?" + +"But O, wise Herr Baumbach down in the kitchen! O, subtle Frau Baumbach +back of the desk!" said I. "Others may fit their shops with mirrors, +and cut-glass chandeliers and Oriental rugs and mahogany, but you sit +serenely by, and you smile, and you change nothing. You let the brown +walls grow dimmer with age; you see the marble-topped tables turning +yellow; you leave bare your wooden floor, and you smile, and smile, and +smile." + +"Fine!" applauded Blackie. "You're on. And here comes Rosie." + +Rosie, the radiant, placed on the table cups and saucers of an +unbelievable thickness. She set them down on the marble surface with a +crash as one who knows well that no mere marble or granite could shatter +the solidity of those stout earthenware receptacles. Napkins there were +none. I was to learn that fingers were rid of any clinging remnants of +cream or crumb by the simple expedient of licking them. + +Blackie emptied his pitcher of cream into his cup of black, black +coffee, sugared it, stirred, tasted, and then, with a wicked gleam in +his black eyes he lifted the heavy cup to his lips and took a long, +gurgling mouthful. + +"Blackie," I hissed, "if you do that again I shall refuse to speak to +you!" + +"Do what?" demanded he, all injured innocence. + +"Snuffle up your coffee like that." + +"Why, girl, that's th' proper way t' drink coffee here. Listen t' +everybody else." And while I glared he wrapped his hand lovingly about +his cup, holding the spoon imprisoned between first and second fingers, +and took another sibilant mouthful. "Any more of your back talk and I'll +drink it out of m' saucer an' blow on it like the hefty party over there +in the earrings is doin'. Calm yerself an' try a Bismarck." + +I picked up one of the flaky confections and eyed it in despair. There +were no plates except that on which the cakes reposed. + +"How does one eat them?" I inquired. + +"Yuh don't really eat 'em. The motion is more like inhalin'. T' eat +'em successful you really ought t' get into a bath-tub half-filled with +water, because as soon's you bite in at one end w'y the custard stuff +slides out at the other, an' no human mouth c'n be two places at oncet. +Shut your eyes girl, an' just wade in." + +I waded. In silence I took a deep delicious bite, nimbly chased the coy +filling around a corner with my tongue, devoured every bit down to the +last crumb and licked the stickiness off my fingers. Then I investigated +the interior of the next cake. + +"I'm coming here every day," I announced. + +"Better not. Ruin your complexion and turn all your lines into bumps. +Look at the dame with the earrings. I've been keepin' count an' I've +seen her eat three Schnecken, two cream puffs, a Nusshornchen and a +slice of Torte with two cups of coffee. Ain't she a horrible example! +And yet she's got th' nerve t' wear a princess gown!" + +"I don't care," I replied, recklessly, my voice choked with whipped +cream and butteriness. "I can just feel myself getting greasy. Haven't I +done beautifully for a new hand? Now tell me about some of these people. +Who is the funny little man in the checked suit with the black braid +trimming, and the green cravat, and the white spats, and the tan hat and +the eyeglasses?" + +"Ain't them th' dizzy habiliments?" A note of envy crept into Blackie's +voice. "His name is Hugo Luders. Used t' be a reporter on the Germania, +but he's reformed and gone into advertisin', where there's real money. +Some say he wears them clo'es on a bet, and some say his taste in dress +is a curse descended upon him from Joseph, the guy with the fancy coat, +but I think he wears 'em because he fancies 'em. He's been coming here +ever' afternoon for twelve years, has a cup of coffee, game of chess, +and a pow-wow with a bunch of cronies. If Baumbach's ever decide +to paint the front of their shop or put in cut glass fixtures and +handpainted china, Hugo Luders would serve an injunction on 'em. Next!" + +"Who's the woman with the leathery complexion and the belt to match, and +the untidy hair and the big feet? I like her face. And why does she sit +at a table with all those strange-looking men? And who are all the men? +And who is the fur-lined grand opera tenor just coming in--Oh!" + +Blackie glanced over his shoulder just as the tall man in the doorway +turned his face toward us. "That? Why, girl, that's Von Gerhard, the man +who gives me one more year t' live. Look at everybody kowtowing to him. +He don't favor Baumbach's often. Too busy patching up the nervous wrecks +that are washed up on his shores." + +The tall figure in the doorway was glancing from table to table, nodding +here and there to an acquaintance. His eyes traveled the length of the +room. Now they were nearing us. I felt a sudden, inexplicable tightening +at heart and throat, as though fingers were clutching there. Then +his eyes met mine, and I felt the blood rushing to my face as he came +swiftly over to our table and took my hand in his. + +"So you have discovered Baumbach's," he said. "May I have my coffee and +cigar here with you?" + +"Blackie here is responsible for my being initiated into the sticky +mysteries of Baumbach's. I never should have discovered it if he had not +offered to act as personal conductor. You know one another, I believe?" + +The two men shook hands across the table. There was something forced +and graceless about the act. Blackie eyed Von Gerhard through a misty +curtain of cigarette smoke. Von Gerhard gazed at Blackie through +narrowed lids as he lighted his cigar. "I'm th' gink you killed off two +or three years back," Blackie explained. + +"I remember you perfectly," Von Gerhard returned, courteously. "I +rejoice to see that I was mistaken." + +"Well," drawled Blackie, a wicked gleam in his black eyes, "I'm +some rejoiced m'self, old top. Angel wings and a white kimono, worn +bare-footy, would go some rotten with my Spanish style of beauty, what? +Didn't know that you and m'dame friend here was acquainted. Known each +other long?" + +I felt myself flushing again. + +"I knew Dr. von Gerhard back home. I've scarcely seen him since I +have been here. Famous specialists can't be bothered with middle-aged +relatives of their college friends, can they, Herr Doktor?" + +And now it was Von Gerhard's face that flushed a deep and painful +crimson. He looked at me, in silence, and I felt very little, and +insignificant, and much like an impudent child who has stuck out its +tongue at its elders. Silent men always affect talkative women in that +way. + +"You know that what you say is not true," he said, slowly. + +"Well, we won't quibble. We--we were just about to leave, weren't we +Blackie?" + +"Just," said Blackie, rising. "Sorry t' see you drinkin' Baumbach's +coffee, Doc. It ain't fair t' your patients." + +"Quite right," replied Von Gerhard; and rose with us. "I shall not drink +it. I shall walk home with Mrs. Orme instead, if she will allow me. That +will be more stimulating than coffee, and twice as dangerous, perhaps, +but--" + +"You know how I hate that sort of thing," I said, coldly, as we passed +from the warmth of the little front shop where the plump girls were +still filling pasteboard boxes with holiday cakes, to the brisk chill of +the winter street. The little black-and-gilt sign swung and creaked in +the wind. Whimsically, and with the memory of that last cream-filled +cake fresh in my mind, I saluted the letters that spelled "Franz +Baumbach." + +Blackie chuckled impishly. "Just the same, try a pinch of soda +bicarb'nate when you get home, Dawn," he advised. "Well, I'm off to the +factory again. Got t' make up for time wasted on m' lady friend. Auf +wiedersehen!" + +And the little figure in the checked top-coat trotted off. + +"But he called you--Dawn," broke from Von Gerhard. + +"Mhum," I agreed. "My name's Dawn." + +"Surely not to him. You have known him but a few weeks. I would not have +presumed--" + +"Blackie never presumes," I laughed. "Blackie's just--Blackie. Imagine +taking offense at him! He knows every one by their given name, from Jo, +the boss of the pressroom, to the Chief, who imports his office coats +from London. Besides, Blackie and I are newspaper men. And people don't +scrape and bow in a newspaper office--especially when they're fond of +one another. You wouldn't understand." + +As I looked at Von Gerhard in the light of the street lamp I saw a +tense, drawn look about the little group of muscles which show when the +teeth are set hard. When he spoke those muscles had relaxed but little. + +"One man does not talk ill of another. But this is different. I want to +ask you--do you know what manner of man this--this Blackie is? I ask +you because I would have you safe and sheltered always from such as +he--because I--" + +"Safe! From Blackie? Now listen. There never was a safer, saner, truer, +more generous friend. Oh, I know what his life has been. But what else +could it have been, beginning as he did? I have no wish to reform him. +I tried my hand at reforming one man, and made a glorious mess of it. So +I'll just take Blackie as he is, if you please--slang, wickedness, pink +shirt, red necktie, diamond rings and all. If there's any bad in him, +we all know it, for it's right down on the table, face up. You're just +angry because he called you Doc." + +"Small one," said Von Gerhard, in his quaint German idiom, "we will not +quarrel, you and I. If I have been neglectful it was because edged +tools were never a chosen plaything of mine. Perhaps your little Blackie +realizes that he need have no fear of such things, for the Great Fear is +upon him." + +"The Great Fear! You mean!--" + +"I mean that there are too many fine little lines radiating from the +corners of the sunken eyes, and that his hand-clasp leaves a moisture +in the palm. Ach! you may laugh. Come, we will change the subject to +something more cheerful, yes? Tell me, how grows the book?" + +"By inches. After working all day on a bulletin paper whose city editor +is constantly shouting: 'Boil it now, fellows! Keep it down! We're +crowded!' it is too much of a wrench to find myself seated calmly before +my own typewriter at night, privileged to write one hundred thousand +words if I choose. I can't get over the habit of crowding the story all +into the first paragraph. Whenever I flower into a descriptive passage +I glance nervously over my shoulder, expecting to find Norberg stationed +behind me, scissors and blue pencil in hand. Consequently the book, +thus far, sounds very much like a police reporter's story of a fire four +minutes before the paper is due to go to press." + +Von Gerhard's face was unsmiling. "So," he said, slowly. "You burn the +candle at both ends. All day you write, is it not so? And at night you +come home to write still more? Ach, Kindchen!--Na, we shall change all +that. We will be better comrades, we two, yes? You remember that gay +little walk of last autumn, when we explored the Michigan country lane +at dusk? I shall be your Sunday Schatz, and there shall be more rambles +like that one, to bring the roses into your cheeks. We shall be +good Kameraden, as you and this little Griffith are--what is it they +say--good fellows? That is it--good fellows, yes? So, shall we shake +hands on it?" + +But I snatched my hand away. "I don't want to be a good fellow," I +cried. "I'm tired of being a good fellow. I've been a good fellow for +years and years, while every other married woman in the world has been +happy in her own home, bringing up her babies. When I am old I want some +sons to worry me, too, and to stay awake nights for, and some daughters +to keep me young, and to prevent me from doing my hair in a knob and +wearing bonnets! I hate good-fellow women, and so do you, and so does +every one else! I--I--" + +"Dawn!" cried Von Gerhard. But I ran up the steps and into the house and +slammed the door behind me, leaving him standing there. + + + + +CHAPTER IX. THE LADY FROM VIENNA + + +Two more aborigines have appeared. One of them is a lady aborigine. They +made their entrance at supper and I forgot to eat, watching them. The +new-comers are from Vienna. He is an expert engineer and she is a woman +of noble birth, with a history. Their combined appearance is calculated +to strike terror to the heart. He is daringly ugly, with a chin that +curves in under his lip and then out in a peak, like pictures of Punch. +She wore a gray gown of a style I never had seen before and never expect +to see again. It was fastened with huge black buttons all the way down +the breathlessly tight front, and the upper part was composed of that +pre-historic garment known as a basque. She curved in where she should +have curved out, and she bulged where she should have had "lines." About +her neck was suspended a string of cannon-ball beads that clanked as she +walked. On her forehead rested a sparse fringe. + +"Mein Himmel!" thought I. "Am I dreaming? This isn't Wisconsin. This is +Nurnberg, or Strassburg, with a dash of Heidelberg and Berlin thrown in. +Dawn, old girl, it's going to be more instructive than a Cook's tour." + +That turned out to be the truest prophecy I ever made. + +The first surprising thing that the new-comers did was to seat +themselves at the long table with the other aborigines, the lady +aborigine being the only woman among the twelve men. It was plain that +they had known one another previous to this meeting, for they became +very good friends at once, and the men grew heavily humorous about there +being thirteen at table. + +At that the lady aborigine began to laugh. Straightway I forgot the +outlandish gown, forgot the cannon-ball beads, forgot the sparse fringe, +forgave the absence of "lines." Such a voice! A lilting, melodious +thing. She broke into a torrent of speech, with bewildering gestures, +and I saw that her hands were exquisitely formed and as expressive as +her voice. Her German was the musical tongue of the Viennese, possessing +none of the gutturals and sputterings. When she crowned it with the gay +little trilling laugh my views on the language underwent a lightning +change. It seemed the most natural thing in the world to see her open +the flat, silver case that dangled at the end of the cannon-ball chain, +take out a cigarette, light it, and smoke it there in that little German +dining room. She wore the most gracefully nonchalant air imaginable as +she blew little rings and wreaths, and laughed and chatted brightly with +her husband and the other men. Occasionally she broke into French, her +accent as charmingly perfect as it had been in her native tongue. +There was a moment of breathless staring on the part of the respectable +middle-class Frauen at the other tables. Then they shrugged their +shoulders and plunged into their meal again. There was a certain little +high-born air of assurance about that cigarette-smoking that no amount +of staring could ruffle. + +Watching the new aborigines grew to be a sort of game. The lady +aborigine of the golden voice, and the ugly husband of the peaked chin +had a strange fascination for me. I scrambled downstairs at meal time in +order not to miss them, and I dawdled over the meal so that I need +not leave before they. I discovered that when the lady aborigine was +animated, her face was that of a young woman, possessing a certain +high-bred charm, but that when in repose the face of the lady aborigine +was that of a very old and tired woman indeed. Also that her husband +bullied her, and that when he did that she looked at him worshipingly. + +Then one evening, a week or so after the appearance of the new +aborigines, there came a clumping at my door. I was seated at my +typewriter and the book was balkier than usual, and I wished that the +clumper at the door would go away. + +"Come!" I called, ungraciously enough. Then, on second thought: +"Herein!" + +The knob turned slowly, and the door opened just enough to admit the top +of a head crowned with a tight, moist German knob of hair. I searched my +memory to recognize the knob, failed utterly and said again, this time +with mingled curiosity and hospitality: + +"Won't you come in?" + +The apparently bodiless head thrust itself forward a bit, disclosing an +apologetically smiling face, with high check bones that glistened with +friendliness and scrubbing. + +"Nabben', Fraulein," said the head. + +"Nabben'," I replied, more mystified than ever. "Howdy do! Is there +anything--" + +The head thrust itself forward still more, showing a pair of plump +shoulders as its support. Then the plump shoulders heaved into the room, +disclosing a stout, starched gingham body. + +"Ich bin Frau Knapf," announced the beaming vision. + +Now up to this time Frau Knapf had maintained a Mrs. Harris-like +mysteriousness. I had heard rumors of her, and I had partaken of certain +crispy dishes of German extraction, reported to have come from her deft +hands, but I had not even caught a glimpse of her skirts whisking around +a corner. + +Therefore: "Frau Knapf!" I repeated. "Nonsense! There ain't no sich +person--that is, I'm glad to see you. Won't you come in and sit down?" + +"Ach, no!" smiled the substantial Frau Knapf, clinging tightly to the +door knob. "I got no time. It gives much to do to-night yet. Kuchen +dough I must set, und ich weiss nicht was. I got no time." + +Bustling, red-cheeked Frau Knapf! This was why I had never had a glimpse +of her. Always, she got no time. For while Herr Knapf, dapper and +genial, welcomed new-comers, chatted with the diners, poured a glass of +foaming Doppel-brau for Herr Weber or, dexterously carved fowl for +the aborigines' table, Frau Knapf was making the wheels go round. +I discovered that it was she who bakes the melting, golden German +Pfannkuchen on Sunday mornings; she it is who fries the crisp and +hissing Wienerschnitzel; she it is who prepares the plump ducklings, and +the thick gravies, and the steaming lentil soup and the rosy sausages +nestling coyly in their bed of sauerkraut. All the week Frau Knapf bakes +and broils and stews, her rosy cheeks taking on a twinkling crimson from +the fire over which she bends. But on Sunday night Frau Knapf sheds her +huge apron and rolls down the sleeves from her plump arms. On Sunday +evening she leaves pots and pans and cooking, and is a transformed Frau +Knapf. Then does she don a bright blue silk waist and a velvet coat +that is dripping with jet, and a black bonnet on which are perched +palpitating birds and weary-looking plumes. Then she and Herr Knapf +walk comfortably down to the Pabst theater to see the German play by the +German stock company. They applaud their favorite stout, blond, German +comedienne as she romps through the acts of a sprightly German comedy, +and after the play they go to their favorite Wein-stube around the +corner. There they have sardellen and cheese sandwiches and a great deal +of beer, and for one charmed evening Frau Knapf forgets all about the +insides of geese and the thickening for gravies, and is happy. + +Many of these things Frau Knapf herself told me, standing there by the +door with the Kuchen heavy on her mind. Some of them I got from Ernst +von Gerhard when I told him about my visitor and her errand. The errand +was not disclosed until Frau Knapf had caught me casting a despairing +glance at my last typewritten page. + +"Ach, see! you got no time for talking to, ain't it?" she apologized. + +"Heaps of time," I politely assured her, "don't hurry. But why not have +a chair and be comfortable?" + +Frau Knapf was not to be deceived. "I go in a minute. But first it is +something I like to ask you. You know maybe Frau Nirlanger?" + +I shook my head. + +"But sure you must know. From Vienna she is, with such a voice like a +bird." + +"And the beads, and the gray gown, and the fringe, and the cigarettes?" + +"And the oogly husband," finished Frau Knapf, nodding. + +"Oogly," I agreed, "isn't the name for it. And so she is Frau Nirlanger? +I thought there would be a Von at the very least." + +Whereupon my visitor deserted the doorknob, took half a dozen stealthy +steps in my direction and lowered her voice to a hissing whisper of +confidence. + +"It is more as a Von. I will tell you. Today comes Frau Nirlanger by +me and she says: 'Frau Knapf, I wish to buy clothes, aber echt +Amerikanische. Myself, I do not know what is modish, and I cannot go +alone to buy.'" + +"That's a grand idea," said I, recalling the gray basque and the +cannon-ball beads. + +"Ja, sure it is," agreed Frau Knapf. "Soo-o-o, she asks me was it some +lady who would come with her by the stores to help a hat and suit and +dresses to buy. Stylish she likes they should be, and echt Amerikanisch. +So-o-o-o, I say to her, I would go myself with you, only so awful +stylish I ain't, and anyway I got no time. But a lady I know who is got +such stylish clothes!" Frau Knapf raised admiring hands and eyes toward +heaven. "Such a nice lady she is, and stylish, like anything! And her +name is Frau Orme." + +"Oh, really, Frau Knapf--" I murmured in blushing confusion. + +"Sure, it is so," insisted Frau Knapf, coming a step nearer, and sinking +her, voice one hiss lower. "You shouldn't say I said it, but Frau +Nirlanger likes she should look young for her husband. He is much +younger as she is--aber much. Anyhow ten years. Frau Nirlanger does not +tell me this, but from other people I have found out." Frau Knapf shook +her head mysteriously a great many times. "But maybe you ain't got such +an interest in Frau Nirlanger, yes?" + +"Interest! I'm eaten up with curiosity. You shan't leave this room alive +until you've told me!" + +Frau Knapf shook with silent mirth. "Now you make jokings, ain't? Well, +I tell you. In Vienna, Frau Nirlanger was a widow, from a family aber +hoch edel--very high born. From the court her family is, and friends +from the Emperor, und alles. Sure! Frau Nirlanger, she is different from +the rest. Books she likes, und meetings, und all such komisch things. +And what you think!" + +"I don't know," I gasped, hanging on her words, "what DO I think?" + +"She meets this here Konrad Nirlanger, and falls with him in love. Und +her family is mad! But schrecklich mad! Forty years old she is, and +from a noble family, and Konrad Nirlanger is only a student from a +university, and he comes from the Volk. Sehr gebildet he is, but not +high born. So-o-o-o-o, she runs with him away and is married." + +Shamelessly I drank it all in. "You don't mean it! Well, then what +happened? She ran away with him--with that chin! and then what?" + +Frau Knapf was enjoying it as much as I. She drew a long breath, felt of +the knob of hair, and plunged once more into the story. + +"Like a story-book it is, nicht? Well, Frau Nirlanger, she has already a +boy who is ten years old, and a fine sum of money that her first husband +left her. Aber when she runs with this poor kerl away from her family, +and her first husband's family is so schrecklich mad that they try by +law to take from her her boy and her money, because she has her highborn +family disgraced, you see? For a year they fight in the courts, and then +it stands that her money Frau Nirlanger can keep, but her boy she cannot +have. He will be taken by her highborn family and educated, and he must +forget all about his mamma. To cry it is, ain't it? Das arme Kind! Well, +she can stand it no longer to live where her boy is, and not to see him. +So-o-o-o, Konrad Nirlanger he gets a chance to come by Amerika where +there is a big engineering plant here in Milwaukee, and she begs her +husband he should come, because this boy she loves very much--Oh, she +loves her young husband too, but different, yes?" + +"Oh, yes," I agreed, remembering the gay little trilling laugh, and the +face that was so young when animated, and so old and worn in repose. +"Oh, yes. Quite, quite different." + +Frau Knapf smoothed her spotless skirt and shook her head slowly and +sadly. "So-o-o-o, by Amerika they come. And Konrad Nirlanger he is maybe +a little cross and so, because for a year they have been in the courts, +and it might have been the money they would lose, and for money Konrad +Nirlanger cares--well, you shall see. But Frau Nirlanger must not mourn +and cry. She must laugh and sing, and be gay for her husband. But Frau +Nirlanger has no grand clothes, for first she runs away with Konrad +Nirlanger, and then her money is tied in the law. Now she has again her +money, and she must be young--but young!" + +With a gesture that expressed a world of pathos and futility Frau Knapf +flung out her arms. "He must not see that she looks different as the +ladies in this country. So Frau Nirlanger wants she should buy here in +the stores new dresses--echt Amerikanische. All new and beautiful things +she would have, because she must look young, ain't it? And perhaps her +boy will remember her when he is a fine young man, if she is yet young +when he grows up, you see? And too, there is the young husband. First, +she gives up her old life, and her friends and her family for this man, +and then she must do all things to keep him. Men, they are but children, +after all," spake the wise Frau Knapf in conclusion. "They war and cry +and plead for that which they would have, and when they have won, then +see! They are amused for a moment, and the new toy is thrown aside." + +"Poor, plain, vivacious, fascinating little Frau Nirlanger!" I said. "I +wonder just how much of pain and heartache that little musical laugh of +hers conceals?" + +"Ja, that is so," mused Frau Knapf. "Her eyes look like eyes that have +wept much, not? And so you will be so kind and go maybe to select the so +beautiful clothes?" + +"Clothes?" I repeated, remembering the original errand. "But dear lady! +How, does one select clothes for a woman of forty who would not weary +her husband? That is a task for a French modiste, a wizard, and a fairy +godmother all rolled into one." + +"But you will do it, yes?" urged Frau Knapf. + +"I'll do it," I agreed, a bit ruefully, "if only to see the face of the +oogly husband when his bride is properly corseted and shod." + +Whereupon Frau Knapf, in a panic, remembered the unset Kuchen dough and +rushed away, with her hand on her lips and her eyes big with secrecy. +And I sat staring at the last typewritten page stuck in my typewriter +and I found that the little letters on the white page were swimming in a +dim purple haze. + + + + +CHAPTER X. A TRAGEDY OF GOWNS + +From husbands in general, and from oogly German husbands in particular +may Hymen defend me! Never again will I attempt to select "echt +Amerikanische" clothes for a woman who must not weary her young husband. +But how was I to know that the harmless little shopping expedition +would resolve itself into a domestic tragedy, with Herr Nirlanger as the +villain, Frau Nirlanger as the persecuted heroine, and I as--what is it +in tragedy that corresponds to the innocent bystander in real life? That +would be my role. + +The purchasing of the clothes was a real joy. Next to buying pretty +things for myself there is nothing I like better than choosing them for +some one else. And when that some one else happens to be a fascinating +little foreigner who coos over the silken stuffs in a delightful mixture +of German and English; and especially when that some one else must be +made to look so charming that she will astonish her oogly husband, then +does the selecting of those pretty things cease to be a task, and become +an art. + +It was to be a complete surprise to Herr Nirlanger. He was to know +nothing of it until everything was finished and Frau Nirlanger, dressed +in the prettiest of the pretty Amerikanisch gowns, was ready to astound +him when he should come home from the office of the vast plant where he +solved engineering problems. + +"From my own money I buy all this," Frau Nirlanger confided to me, with +a gay little laugh of excitement, as we started out. "From Vienna it +comes. Always I have given it at once to my husband, as a wife should. +Yesterday it came, but I said nothing, and when my husband said to me, +'Anna, did not the money come as usual to-day? It is time,' I told a +little lie--but a little one, is it not? Very amusing it was. Almost I +did laugh. Na, he will not be cross when he see how his wife like the +Amerikanische ladies will look. He admires very much the ladies of +Amerika. Many times he has said so." + +("I'll wager he has--the great, ugly boor!" I thought, in parenthesis.) +"We'll show him!" I said, aloud. "He won't know you. Such a lot of +beautiful clothes as we can buy with all this money. Oh, dear Frau +Nirlanger, it's going to be slathers of fun! I feel as excited about it +as though it were a trousseau we were buying." + +"So it is," she replied, a little shadow of sadness falling across +the brightness of her face. "I had no proper clothes when we were +married--but nothing! You know perhaps my story. In America, everyone +knows everything. It is wonderful. When I ran away to marry Konrad +Nirlanger I had only the dress which I wore; even that I borrowed from +one of the upper servants, on a pretext, so that no one should recognize +me. Ach Gott! I need not have worried. So! You see, it will be after all +a trousseau." + +Why, oh, why should a woman with her graceful carriage and pretty +vivacity have been cursed with such an ill-assorted lot of features! +Especially when certain boorish young husbands have expressed an +admiration for pink-and-white effects in femininity. + +"Never mind, Mr. Husband, I'll show yez!" I resolved as the elevator +left us at the floor where waxen ladies in shining glass cases smiled +amiably all the day. + +There must be no violent pinks or blues. Brown was too old. She was not +young enough for black. Violet was too trying. And so the gowns began to +strew tables and chairs and racks, and still I shook my head, and Frau +Nirlanger looked despairing, and the be-puffed and real Irish-crocheted +saleswoman began to develop a baleful gleam about the eyes. + +And then we found it! It was a case of love at first sight. The +unimaginative would have called it gray. The thoughtless would have +pronounced it pink. It was neither, and both; a soft, rosily-gray +mixture of the two, like the sky that one sometimes sees at winter +twilight, the pink of the sunset veiled by the gray of the snow clouds. +It was of a supple, shining cloth, simple in cut, graceful in lines. + +"There! We've found it. Let's pray that it will not require too much +altering." + +But when it had been slipped over her head we groaned at the inadequacy +of her old-fashioned stays. There followed a flying visit to the +department where hips were whisked out of sight in a jiffy, and where +lines miraculously took the place of curves. Then came the gown +once more, over the new stays this time. The effect was magical. +The Irish-crocheted saleswoman and I clasped hands and fell back in +attitudes of admiration. Frau Nirlanger turned this way and that before +the long mirror and chattered like a pleased child. Her adjectives grew +into words of six syllables. She cooed over the soft-shining stuff in +little broken exclamations in French and German. + +Then came a straight and simple street suit of blue cloth, a lingerie +gown of white, hats, shoes and even a couple of limp satin petticoats. +The day was gone before we could finish. + +I bullied them into promising the pinky-gray gown for the next +afternoon. + +"Sooch funs!" giggled Frau Nirlanger, "and how it makes one tired. +So kind you were, to take this trouble for me. Me, I could never have +warred with that Fraulein who served us--so haughty she was, nicht? But +it is good again pretty clothes to have. Pretty gowns I lofe--you also, +not?" + +"Indeed I do lofe 'em. But my money comes to me in a yellow pay +envelope, and it is spent before it reaches me, as a rule. It doesn't +leave much of a margin for general recklessness." + +A tiny sigh came from Frau Nirlanger. "There will be little to give to +Konrad this time. So much money they cost, those clothes! But Konrad, he +will not care when he sees the so beautiful dresses, is it not so?" + +"Care!" I cried with a great deal of bravado, although a tiny inner +voice spake in doubt. "Certainly not. How could he?" + +Next day the boxes came, and we smuggled them into my room. The +unwrapping of the tissue paper folds was a ceremony. We reveled in the +very crackle of it. I had scuttled home from the office as early as +decency would permit, in order to have plenty of time for the dressing. +It must be quite finished before Herr Nirlanger should arrive. Frau +Nirlanger had purchased three tickets for the German theater, also as a +surprise, and I was to accompany the happily surprised husband and the +proud little wife of the new Amerikanische clothes. + +I coaxed her to let me do things to her hair. Usually she wore a stiff +and ugly coiffure that could only be described as a chignon. I do not +recollect ever having seen a chignon, but I know that it must look like +that. I was thankful for my Irish deftness of fingers as I stepped back +to view the result of my labors. The new arrangement of the hair gave +her features a new softness and dignity. + +We came to the lacing of the stays, with their exaggerated length. +"Aber!" exclaimed Frau Nirlanger, not daring to laugh because of the +strange snugness. "Ach!" and again, "Aber to laugh it is!" + +We had decided the prettiest of the new gowns must do honor to the +occasion. "This shade is called ashes of roses," I explained, as I +slipped it over her head. + +"Ashes of roses!" she echoed. "How pretty, yes? But a little sad too, is +it not so? Like rosy hopes that have been withered. Ach, what a foolish +talk! So, now you will fasten it please. A real trick it is to button +such a dress--so sly they are, those fastenings." + +When all the sly fastenings were secure I stood at gaze. + +"Nose is shiny," I announced, searching in a drawer for chamois and +powder. + +Frau Nirlanger raised an objecting hand. "But Konrad does not approve of +such things. He has said so. He has--" + +"You tell your Konrad that a chamois skin isn't half as objectionable +as a shiny one. Come here and let me dust this over your nose and chin, +while I breathe a prayer of thanks that I have no overzealous husband +near to forbid me the use of a bit of powder. There! If I sez it mesilf +as shouldn't, yez ar-r-re a credit t' me, me darlint." + +"You are satisfied. There is not one small thing awry? Ach, how we shall +laugh at Konrad's face." + +"Satisfied! I'd kiss you if I weren't afraid that I should muss you +up. You're not the same woman. You look like a girl! And so pretty! +Now skedaddle into your own rooms, but don't you dare to sit down for a +moment. I'm going down to get Frau Knapf before your husband arrives." + +"But is there then time?" inquired Frau Nirlanger. "He should be here +now." + +"I'll bring her up in a jiffy, just for one peep. She won't know you! +Her face will be a treat! Don't touch your hair--it's quite perfect. And +f'r Jawn's sake! Don't twist around to look at yourself in the back +or something will burst, I know it will. I'll be back in a minute. Now +run!" + +The slender, graceful figure disappeared with a gay little laugh, and I +flew downstairs for Frau Knapf. She was discovered with a spoon in one +hand and a spluttering saucepan in the other. I detached her from +them, clasped her big, capable red hands and dragged her up the stairs, +explaining as I went. + +"Now don't fuss about that supper! Let 'em wait. You must see her before +Herr Nirlanger comes home. He's due any minute. She looks like a girl. +So young! And actually pretty! And her figure--divine! Funny what a +difference a decent pair of corsets, and a gown, and some puffs will +make, h'm?" + +Frau Knapf was panting as I pulled her after me in swift eagerness. +Between puffs she brought out exclamations of surprise and unbelief such +as: "Unmoglich! (Puff! Puff!) Aber--wunderbar! (Puff! Puff!)" + +We stopped before Frau Nirlanger's door. I struck a dramatic pose. +"Prepare!" I cried grandly, and threw open the door with a bang. + +Crouched against the wall at a far corner of the room was Frau +Nirlanger. Her hands were clasped over her breast and her eyes were +dilated as though she had been running. In the center of the room stood +Konrad Nirlanger, and on his oogly face was the very oogliest look that +I have ever seen on a man. He glanced at us as we stood transfixed +in the doorway, and laughed a short, sneering laugh that was like a +stinging blow on the cheek. + +"So!" he said; and I would not have believed that men really said "So!" +in that way outside of a melodrama. "So! You are in the little surprise, +yes? You carry your meddling outside of your newspaper work, eh? I leave +behind me an old wife in the morning and in the evening, presto! I find +a young bride. Wonderful!--but wonderful!" He laughed an unmusical and +mirthless laugh. + +"But--don't you like it?" I asked, like a simpleton. + +Frau Nirlanger seemed to shrink before our very eyes, so that the pretty +gown hung in limp folds about her. + +I stared, fascinated, at Konrad Nirlanger's cruel face with its little +eyes that were too close together and its chin that curved in below the +mouth and out again so grotesquely. + +"Like it?" sneered Konrad Nirlanger. "For a young girl, yes. But how +useless, this belated trousseau. What a waste of good money! For see, +a young wife I do not want. Young women one can have in plenty, always. +But I have an old woman married, and for an old woman the gowns need be +few--eh, Frau Orme? And you too, Frau Knapf?" + +Frau Knapf, crimson and staring, was dumb. There came a little shivering +moan from the figure crouched in the corner, and Frau Nirlanger, her +face queerly withered and ashen, crumpled slowly in a little heap on the +floor and buried her shamed head in her arms. + +Konrad Nirlanger turned to his wife, the black look on his face growing +blacker. + +"Come, get up Anna," he ordered, in German. "These heroics become not a +woman of your years. And too, you must not ruin the so costly gown that +will be returned to-morrow." + +Frau Nirlanger's white face was lifted from the shelter of her arms. +The stricken look was still upon it, but there was no cowering in her +attitude now. Slowly she rose to her feet. I had not realized that she +was so tall. + +"The gown does not go back," she said. + +"So?" he snarled, with a savage note in his voice. "Now hear me. There +shall be no more buying of gowns and fripperies. You hear? It is for +the wife to come to the husband for the money; not for her to waste it +wantonly on gowns, like a creature of the streets. You," his voice was +an insult, "you, with your wrinkles and your faded eyes in a gown of--" +he turned inquiringly toward me--"How does one call it, that color, Frau +Orme?" + +There came a blur of tears to my eyes. "It is called ashes of roses," I +answered. "Ashes of roses." + +Konrad Nirlanger threw back his head and laughed a laugh as stinging as +a whip-lash. "Ashes of roses! So? It is well named. For my dear wife +it is poetically fit, is it not so? For see, her roses are but withered +ashes, eh Anna?" + +Deliberately and in silence Anna Nirlanger walked to the mirror and +stood there, gazing at the woman in the glass. There was something +dreadful and portentous about the calm and studied deliberation with +which she critically viewed that reflection. She lifted her arms slowly +and patted into place the locks that had become disarranged, turning her +head from side to side to study the effect. Then she took from a drawer +the bit of chamois skin that I had given her, and passed it lightly over +her eyelids and cheeks, humming softly to herself the while. No music +ever sounded so uncanny to my ears. The woman before the mirror looked +at the woman in the mirror with a long, steady, measuring look. Then, +slowly and deliberately, the long graceful folds of her lovely gown +trailing behind her, she walked over to where her frowning husband +stood. So might a queen have walked, head held high, gaze steady. She +stopped within half a foot of him, her eyes level with his. For a long +half-minute they stood thus, the faded blue eyes of the wife gazing into +the sullen black eyes of the husband, and his were the first to drop, +for all the noble blood in Anna Nirlanger's veins, and all her long +line of gently bred ancestors were coming to her aid in dealing with her +middle-class husband. + +"You forget," she said, very slowly and distinctly. "If this were +Austria, instead of Amerika, you would not forget. In Austria people of +your class do not speak in this manner to those of my caste." + +"Unsinn!" laughed Konrad Nirlanger. "This is Amerika." + +"Yes," said Anna Nirlanger, "this is Amerika. And in Amerika all things +are different. I see now that my people knew of what they spoke when +they called me mad to think of wedding a clod of the people, such as +you." + +For a moment I thought that he was going to strike her. I think he would +have, if she had flinched. But she did not. Her head was held high, and +her eyes did not waver. + +"I married you for love. It is most comical, is it not? With you +I thought I should find peace, and happiness and a re-birth of the +intellect that was being smothered in the splendor and artificiality +and the restrictions of my life there. Well, I was wrong. But wrong. +Now hear me!" Her voice was tense with passion. "There will be gowns--as +many and as rich as I choose. You have said many times that the ladies +of Amerika you admire. And see! I shall be also one of those so-admired +ladies. My money shall go for gowns! For hats! For trifles of lace and +velvet and fur! You shall learn that it is not a peasant woman whom you +have married. This is Amerika, the land of the free, my husband. And +see! Who is more of Amerika than I? Who?" + +She laughed a high little laugh and came over to me, taking my hands in +her own. + +"Dear girl, you must run quickly and dress. For this evening we go to +the theater. Oh, but you must. There shall be no unpleasantness, that I +promise. My husband accompanies us--with joy. Is it not so, Konrad? With +joy? So!" + +Wildly I longed to decline, but I dared not. So I only nodded, for fear +of the great lump in my throat, and taking Frau Knapf's hand I turned +and fled with her. Frau Knapf was muttering: + +"Du Hund! Du unverschamter Hund du!" in good Billingsgate German, and +wiping her eyes with her apron. And I dressed with trembling fingers +because I dared not otherwise face the brave little Austrian, the plucky +little aborigine who, with the donning of the new Amerikanische gown had +acquired some real Amerikanisch nerve. + + + + +CHAPTER XI. VON GERHARD SPEAKS + +Of Von Gerhard I had not had a glimpse since that evening of my +hysterical outburst. On Christmas day there had come a box of roses so +huge that I could not find vases enough to hold its contents, although +I pressed into service everything from Mason jars from the kitchen to +hand-painted atrocities from the parlor. After I had given posies to +Frau Nirlanger, and fastened a rose in Frau Knapf's hard knob of hair, +where it bobbed in ludicrous discomfort, I still had enough to fill the +washbowl. My room looked like a grand opera star's boudoir when she is +expecting the newspaper reporters. I reveled in the glowing fragrance +of the blossoms and felt very eastern and luxurious and popular. It had +been a busy, happy, work-filled week, in which I had had to snatch odd +moments for the selecting of certain wonderful toys for the Spalpeens. +There had been dolls and doll-clothes and a marvelous miniature kitchen +for the practical and stolid Sheila, and ingenious bits of mechanism +that did unbelievable things when wound up, for the clever, imaginative +Hans. I was not to have the joy of seeing their wide-eyed delight, but +I knew that there would follow certain laboriously scrawled letters, +filled with topsy-turvy capitals and crazily leaning words of thanks to +the doting old auntie who had been such good fun the summer before. + +Boarding-house Christmases had become an old story. I had learned to +accept them, even to those obscure and foreign parts of turkey which +are seen only on boarding-house plates, and which would be recognized +nowhere else as belonging to that stately bird. + +Christmas at Knapf's had been a happy surprise; a day of hearty good +cheer and kindness. There had even been a Christmas tree, hung with +stodgy German angels and Pfeffernuesse and pink-frosted cakes. I found +myself the bewildered recipient of gifts from everyone--from the Knapfs, +and the aborigines and even from one of the crushed-looking wives. +The aborigine whom they called Fritz had presented me with a huge and +imposing Lebkuchen, reposing in a box with frilled border, ornamented +with quaint little red-and-green German figures in sugar, and labeled +Nurnberg in stout letters, for it had come all the way from that +kuchen-famous city. The Lebkuchen I placed on my mantel shelf as +befitted so magnificent a work of art. It was quite too elaborate and +imposing to be sent the way of ordinary food, although it had a certain +tantalizingly spicy scent that tempted one to break off a corner here +and there. + +On the afternoon of Christmas day I sat down to thank Dr. von Gerhard +for the flowers as prettily as might be. Also I asked his pardon, a +thing not hard to do with the perfume of his roses filling the room. + +"For you," I wrote, "who are so wise in the ways of those tricky things +called nerves, must know that it was only a mild hysteria that made me +say those most unladylike things. I have written Norah all about it. +She has replied, advising me to stick to the good-fellow role but not to +dress the part. So when next you see me I shall be a perfectly safe and +sane comrade in petticoats. And I promise you--no more outbursts." + +So it happened that on the afternoon of New Year's day Von Gerhard and +I gravely wished one another many happy and impossible things for the +coming year, looking fairly and squarely into each other's eyes as we +did so. + +"So," said Von Gerhard, as one who is satisfied. "The nerfs are steady +to-day. What do you say to a brisk walk along the lake shore to put us +in a New Year frame of mind, and then a supper down-town somewhere, with +a toast to Max and Norah?" + +"You've saved my life! Sit down here in the parlor and gaze at the +crepe-paper oranges while I powder my nose and get into some street +clothes. I have such a story to tell you! It has made me quite contented +with my lot." + +The story was that of the Nirlangers; and as we struggled against a +brisk lake breeze I told it, and partly because of the breeze, and +partly because of the story, there were tears in my eyes when I had +finished. Von Gerhard stared at me, aghast. + +"But you are--crying!" he marveled, watching a tear slide down my nose. + +"I'm not," I retorted. "Anyway I know it. I think I may blubber if I +choose to, mayn't I, as well as other women?" + +"Blubber?" repeated Von Gerhard, he of the careful and cautious English. +"But most certainly, if you wish. I had thought that newspaper women did +not indulge in the luxury of tears." + +"They don't--often. Haven't the time. If a woman reporter were to burst +into tears every time she saw something to weep over she'd be going +about with a red nose and puffy eyelids half the time. Scarcely a day +passes that does not bring her face to face with human suffering in some +form. Not only must she see these things, but she must write of them +so that those who read can also see them. And just because she does +not wail and tear her hair and faint she popularly is supposed to be a +flinty, cigarette-smoking creature who rampages up and down the land, +seeking whom she may rend with her pen and gazing, dry-eyed, upon scenes +of horrid bloodshed." + +"And yet the little domestic tragedy of the Nirlangers can bring tears +to your eyes?" + +"Oh, that was quite different. The case of the Nirlangers had nothing to +do with Dawn O'Hara, newspaper reporter. It was just plain Dawn O'Hara, +woman, who witnessed that little tragedy. Mein Himmel! Are all German +husbands like that?" + +"Not all. I have a very good friend named Max--" + +"O, Max! Max is an angel husband. Fancy Max and Norah waxing tragic on +the subject of a gown! Now you--" + +"I? Come, you are sworn to good-fellowship. As one comrade to another, +tell me, what sort of husband do you think I should make, eh? The +boorish Nirlanger sort, or the charming Max variety. Come, tell me--you +who always have seemed so--so damnably able to take care of yourself." +His eyes were twinkling in the maddening way they had. + +I looked out across the lake to where a line of white-caps was piling up +formidably only to break in futile wrath against the solid wall of the +shore. And there came over me an equally futile wrath; that savage, +unreasoning instinct in women which prompts them to hurt those whom they +love. + +"Oh, you!" I began, with Von Gerhard's amused eyes laughing down upon +me. "I should say that you would be more in the Nirlanger style, in your +large, immovable, Germansure way. Not that you would stoop to wrangle +about money or gowns, but that you would control those things. Your +wife will be a placid, blond, rather plump German Fraulein, of excellent +family and no imagination. Men of your type always select negative +wives. Twenty years ago she would have run to bring you your Zeitung and +your slippers. She would be that kind, if Zeitung-and-slipper husbands +still were in existence. You will be fond of her, in a patronizing sort +of way, and she will never know the difference between that and being +loved, not having a great deal of imagination, as I have said before. +And you will go on becoming more and more famous, and she will grow +plumper and more placid, and less and less understanding of what those +komisch medical journals have to say so often about her husband who is +always discovering things. And you will live happily ever after--" + +A hand gripped my shoulder. I looked up, startled, into two blue eyes +blazing down into mine. Von Gerhard's face was a painful red. I think +that the hand on my shoulder even shook me a little, there on that bleak +and deserted lake drive. I tried to wrench my shoulder free with a jerk. + +"You are hurting me!" I cried. + +A quiver of pain passed over the face that I had thought so calmly +unemotional. "You talk of hurts! You, who set out deliberately and +maliciously to make me suffer! How dare you then talk to me like this! +You stab with a hundred knives--you, who know how I--" + +"I'm sorry," I put in, contritely. "Please don't be so dreadful about +it. After all, you asked me, didn't you? Perhaps I've hurt your vanity. +There, I didn't mean that, either. Oh, dear, let's talk about something +impersonal. We get along wretchedly of late." + +The angry red ebbed away from Von Gerhard's face. The blaze of wrath in +his eyes gave way to a deeper, brighter light that held me fascinated, +and there came to his lips a smile of rare sweetness. The hand that had +grasped my shoulder slipped down, down, until it met my hand and gripped +it. + +"Na, 's ist schon recht, Kindchen. Those that we most care for we would +hurt always. When I have told you of my love for you, although already +you know it, then you will tell me. Hush! Do not deny this thing. There +shall be no more lies between us. There shall be only the truth, and no +more about plump, blonde German wives who run with Zeitung and slippers. +After all, it is no secret. Three months ago I told Norah. It was not +news to her. But she trusted me." + +I felt my face to be as white and as tense as his own. "Norah--knows!" + +"It is better to speak these things. Then there need be no shifting of +the eyes, no evasive words, no tricks, no subterfuge." + +We had faced about and were retracing our steps, past the rows of +peculiarly home-like houses that line Milwaukee's magnificent lake +shore. Windows were hung with holiday scarlet and holly, and here and +there a face was visible at a window, looking out at the man and woman +walking swiftly along the wind-swept heights that rose far above the +lake. + +A wretched revolt seized me as I gazed at the substantial comfort of +those normal, happy homes. + +"Why did you tell me! What good can that do? At least we were +make-believe friends before. Suppose I were to tell you that I care, +then what." + +"I do not ask you to tell me," Von Gerhard replied, quietly. + +"You need not. You know. You knew long, long ago. You know I love the +big quietness of you, and your sureness, and the German way you have of +twisting your sentences about, and the steady grip of your great firm +hands, and the rareness of your laugh, and the simplicity of you. Why +I love the very cleanliness of your ruddy skin, and the way your hair +grows away from your forehead, and your walk, and your voice and--Oh, +what is the use of it all?" + +"Just this, Dawn. The light of day sweetens all things. We have dragged +this thing out into the sunlight, where, if it grows, it will grow +sanely and healthily. It was but an ugly, distorted, unsightly thing, +sending out pale unhealthy shoots in the dark, unwholesome cellars of +our inner consciences. Norah's knowing was the cleanest, sweetest thing +about it." + +"How wonderfully you understand her, and how right you are! Her knowing +seems to make it as it should be, doesn't it? I am braver already, for +the knowledge of it. It shall make no difference between us?" + +"There is no difference, Dawn," said he. + +"No. It is only in the story-books that they sigh, and groan and utter +silly nonsense. We are not like that. Perhaps, after a bit, you will +meet some one you care for greatly--not plump, or blond, or German, +perhaps, but still--" + +"Doch you are flippant?" + +"I must say those things to keep the tears back. You would not have me +wailing here in the street. Tell me just one thing, and there shall be +no more fluttering breaths and languishing looks. Tell me, when did you +begin to care?" + +We had reached Knapfs' door-step. The short winter day was already +drawing to its close. In the half-light Von Gerhard's eyes glowed +luminous. + +"Since the day I first met you at Norah's," he said, simply. + +I stared at him, aghast, my ever-present sense of humor struggling to +the surface. "Not--not on that day when you came into the room where I +sat in the chair by the window, with a flowered quilt humped about my +shoulders! And a fever-sore twisting my mouth! And my complexion the +color of cheese, and my hair plastered back from my forehead, and my +eyes like boiled onions!" + +"Thank God for your gift of laughter," Von Gerhard said, and took my +hand in his for one brief moment before he turned and walked away. + +Quite prosaically I opened the big front door at Knapfs' to find Herr +Knapf standing in the hallway with his: + +"Nabben', Frau Orme." + +And there was the sane and soothing scent of Wienerschnitzel and +spluttering things in the air. And I ran upstairs to my room and turned +on all the lights and looked at the starry-eyed creature in the mirror. +Then I took the biggest, newest photograph of Norah from the mantel and +looked at her for a long, long minute, while she looked back at me in +her brave true way. + +"Thank you, dear," I said to her. "Thank you. Would you think me stagey +and silly if I were to kiss you, just once, on your beautiful trusting +eyes?" + +A telephone bell tinkled downstairs and Herr Knapf stationed himself at +the foot of the stairs and roared my name. + +When I had picked up the receiver: "This is Ernst," said the voice at +the other end of the wire. "I have just remembered that I had asked you +down-town for supper." + +"I would rather thank God fasting," I replied, very softly, and hung the +receiver on its hook. + + + + +CHAPTER XII. BENNIE THE CONSOLER + +In a corner of Frau Nirlanger's bedroom, sheltered from draughts and +glaring light, is a little wooden bed, painted blue and ornamented with +stout red roses that are faded by time and much abuse. Every evening at +eight o'clock three anxious-browed women hold low-spoken conclave about +the quaint old bed, while its occupant sleeps and smiles as he sleeps, +and clasps to his breast a chewed-looking woolly dog. For a new joy has +come to the sad little Frau Nirlanger, and I, quite by accident, was the +cause of bringing it to her. The queer little blue bed, with its faded +roses, was brought down from the attic by Frau Knapf, for she is one of +the three foster mothers of the small occupant of the bed. The occupant +of the bed is named Bennie, and a corporation formed for the purpose +of bringing him up in the way he should go is composed of: Dawn +O'Hara Orme, President and Distracted Guardian; Mrs. Konrad Nirlanger, +Cuddler-in-chief and Authority on the Subject of Bennie's Bed-time; Mr. +Blackie Griffith, Good Angel, General Cut-up and Monitor off'n Bennie's +Neckties and Toys; Dr. Ernst von Gerhard, Chief Medical Adviser, and +Sweller of the Exchequer, with the Privilege of Selecting All Candies. +Members of the corporation meet with great frequency evenings and +Sundays, much to the detriment of a certain Book-in-the-making with +which Dawn O'Hara Orme was wont to struggle o' evenings. + +Bennie had been one of those little tragedies that find their way into +juvenile court. Bennie's story was common enough, but Bennie himself had +been different. Ten minutes after his first appearance in the court room +everyone, from the big, bald judge to the newest probation officer, had +fallen in love with him. Somehow, you wanted to smooth the hair from +his forehead, tip his pale little face upward, and very gently kiss his +smooth, white brow. Which alone was enough to distinguish Bennie, for +Juvenile court children, as a rule, are distinctly not kissable. + +Bennie's mother was accused of being unfit to care for her boy, and +Bennie was temporarily installed in the Detention Home. There the +superintendent and his plump and kindly wife had fallen head over heels +in love with him, and had dressed him in a smart little Norfolk suit +and a frivolous plaid silk tie. There were delays in the case, and +postponement after postponement, so that Bennie appeared in the court +room every Tuesday for four weeks. The reporters, and the probation +officers and policemen became very chummy with Bennie, and showered him +with bright new pennies and certain wonderful candies. Superintendent +Arnett of the Detention Home was as proud of the boy as though he were +his own. And when Bennie would look shyly and questioningly into +his face for permission to accept the proffered offerings, the big +superintendent would chuckle delightedly. Bennie had a strangely mobile +face for such a baby, and the whitest, smoothest brow I have ever seen. + +The comedy and tears and misery and laughter of the big, white-walled +court room were too much for Bennie. He would gaze about with puzzled +blue eyes; then, giving up the situation as something too vast for his +comprehension, he would fall to drawing curly-cues on a bit of paper +with a great yellow pencil presented him by one of the newspaper men. + +Every Tuesday the rows of benches were packed with a motley crowd of +Poles, Russians, Slavs, Italians, Greeks, Lithuanians--a crowd made +up of fathers, mothers, sisters, brothers, aunts, uncles, neighbors, +friends, and enemies of the boys and girls whose fate was in the hands +of the big man seated in the revolving chair up in front. But Bennie's +mother was not of this crowd; this pitiful, ludicrous crowd filling the +great room with the stifling, rancid odor of the poor. Nor was Bennie. +He sat, clear-eyed and unsmiling, in the depths of a great chair on the +court side of the railing and gravely received the attentions of the +lawyers, and reporters and court room attaches who had grown fond of the +grave little figure. + +Then, on the fifth Tuesday, Bennie's mother appeared. How she had come +to be that child's mother God only knows--or perhaps He had had nothing +to do with it. She was terribly sober and frightened. Her face +was swollen and bruised, and beneath one eye there was a puffy +green-and-blue swelling. Her sordid story was common enough as the +probation officer told it. The woman had been living in one wretched +room with the boy. Her husband had deserted her. There was no food, and +little furniture. The queer feature of it, said the probation officer, +was that the woman managed to keep the boy fairly neat and clean, +regardless of her own condition, and he generally had food of some sort, +although the mother sometimes went without food for days. Through the +squalor and misery and degradation of her own life Bennie had somehow +been kept unsullied, a thing apart. + +"H'm!" said judge Wheeling, and looked at Bennie. Bennie was standing +beside his mother. He was very quiet, and his eyes were smiling up into +those of the battered creature who was fighting for him. "I guess we'll +have to take you out of this," the judge decided, abruptly. "That boy is +too good to go to waste." + +The sodden, dazed woman before him did not immediately get the full +meaning of his words. She still stood there, swaying a bit, and staring +unintelligently at the judge. Then, quite suddenly, she realized it. +She took a quick step forward. Her hand went up to her breast, to her +throat, to her lips, with an odd, stifled gesture. + +"You ain't going to take him away! From me! No, you wouldn't do +that, would you? Not for--not for always! You wouldn't do that--you +wouldn't--" + +Judge Wheeling waved her away. But the woman dropped to her knees. + +"Judge, give me a chance! I'll stop drinking. Only don't take him away +from me! Don't, judge, don't! He's all I've got in the world. Give me a +chance. Three months! Six months! A year!" + +"Get up!" ordered judge Wheeling, gruffly, "and stop that! It won't do +you a bit of good." + +And then a wonderful thing happened. The woman rose to her feet. A +new and strange dignity had come into her battered face. The lines +of suffering and vice were erased as by magic, and she seemed to grow +taller, younger, almost beautiful. When she spoke again it was slowly +and distinctly, her words quite free from the blur of the barroom and +street vernacular. + +"I tell you you must give me a chance. You cannot take a child from a +mother in this way. I tell you, if you will only help me I can crawl +back up the road that I've traveled. I was not always like this. There +was another life, before--before--Oh, since then there have been years +of blackness, and hunger, and cold and--worse! But I never dragged the +boy into it. Look at him!" + +Our eyes traveled from the woman's transfigured face to that of the boy. +We could trace a wonderful likeness where before we had seen none. But +the woman went on in her steady, even tone. + +"I can't talk as I should, because my brain isn't clear. It's the drink. +When you drink, you forget. But you must help me. I can't do it alone. +I can remember how to live straight, just as I can remember how to talk +straight. Let me show you that I'm not all bad. Give me a chance. +Take the boy and then give him back to me when you are satisfied. I'll +try--God only knows how I'll try. Only don't take him away forever, +Judge! Don't do that!" + +Judge Wheeling ran an uncomfortable finger around his collar's edge. + +"Any friends living here?" + +"No! No!" + +"Sure about that?" + +"Quite sure." + +"Now see here; I'm going to give you your chance. I shall take this boy +away from you for a year. In that time you will stop drinking and become +a decent, self-supporting woman. You will be given in charge of one of +these probation officers. She will find work for you, and a good home, +and she'll stand by you, and you must report to her. If she is satisfied +with you at the end of the year, the boy goes back to you." + +"She will be satisfied," the woman said, simply. She stooped and taking +Bennie's face between her hands kissed him once. Then she stepped aside +and stood quite still, looking after the little figure that passed out +of the court room with his hand in that of a big, kindly police officer. +She looked until the big door had opened and closed upon them. + +Then--well, it was just another newspaper story. It made a good one. +That evening I told Frau Nirlanger about it, and she wept, softly, and +murmured: "Ach, das arme baby! Like my little Oscar he is, without a +mother." I told Ernst about him too, and Blackie, because I could not +get his grave little face out of my mind. I wondered if those who had +charge of him now would take the time to bathe the little body, and +brush the soft hair until it shone, and tie the gay plaid silk tie as +lovingly as "Daddy" Arnett of the Detention Home had done. + +Then it was that I, quite unwittingly, stepped into Bennie's life. + +There was an anniversary, or a change in the board of directors, or a +new coat of paint or something of the kind in one of the orphan homes, +and the story fell to me. I found the orphan home to be typical of its +kind--a big, dreary, prison-like structure. The woman at the door did +not in the least care to let me in. She was a fish-mouthed woman with +a hard eye, and as I told my errand her mouth grew fishier and the +eye harder. Finally she led me down a long, dark, airless stretch of +corridor and departed in search of the matron, leaving me seated in +the unfriendly reception room, with its straight-backed chairs placed +stonily against the walls, beneath rows of red and blue and yellow +religious pictures. + +Just as I was wondering why it seemed impossible to be holy and cheerful +at the same time, there came a pad-padding down the corridor. The next +moment the matron stood in the doorway. She was a mountainous, red-faced +woman, with warts on her nose. + +"Good-afternoon," I said, sweetly. ("Ugh! What a brute!") I thought. +Then I began to explain my errand once more. Criticism of the Home? No +indeed, I assured her. At last, convinced of my disinterestedness she +reluctantly guided me about the big, gloomy building. There were endless +flights of shiny stairs, and endless stuffy, airless rooms, until we +came to a door which she flung open, disclosing the nursery. It seemed +to me that there were a hundred babies--babies at every stage of +development, of all sizes, and ages and types. They glanced up at the +opening of the door, and then a dreadful thing happened. + +Every child that was able to walk or creep scuttled into the farthest +corners and remained quite, quite still with a wide-eyed expression of +fear and apprehension on every face. + +For a moment my heart stood still. I turned to look at the woman by my +side. Her thin lips were compressed into a straight, hard line. She +said a word to a nurse standing near, and began to walk about, eying the +children sharply. She put out a hand to pat the head of one red-haired +mite in a soiled pinafore; but before her hand could descend I saw the +child dodge and the tiny hand flew up to the head, as though in defense. + +"They are afraid of her!" my sick heart told me. "Those babies are +afraid of her! What does she do to them? I can't stand this. I'm going." + +I mumbled a hurried "Thank you," to the fat matron as I turned to leave +the big, bare room. At the head of the stairs there was a great, black +door. I stopped before it--God knows why!--and pointed toward it. + +"What is in that room?" I asked. Since then I have wondered many times +at the unseen power that prompted me to put the question. + +The stout matron bustled on, rattling her keys as she walked. + +"That--oh, that's where we keep the incorrigibles." + +"May I see them?" I asked, again prompted by that inner voice. + +"There is only one." She grudgingly unlocked the door, using one of the +great keys that swung from her waist. The heavy, black door swung open. +I stepped into the bare room, lighted dimly by one small window. In the +farthest corner crouched something that stirred and glanced up at our +entrance. It peered at us with an ugly look of terror and defiance, and +I stared back at it, in the dim light. During one dreadful, breathless +second I remained staring, while my heart stood still. Then--"Bennie!" I +cried. And stumbled toward him. "Bennie--boy!" + +The little unkempt figure, in its soiled knickerbocker suit, the sunny +hair all uncared for, the gay plaid tie draggled and limp, rushed into +my arms with a crazy, inarticulate cry. + +Down on my knees on the bare floor I held him close--close! and his arms +were about my neck as though they never should unclasp. + +"Take me away! Take me away!" His wet cheek was pressed against my own +streaming one. "I want my mother! I want Daddy Arnett! Take me away!" + +I wiped his cheeks with my notebook or something, picked him up in my +arms, and started for the door. I had quite forgotten the fat matron. + +"What are you doing?" she asked, blocking the doorway with her huge +bulk. + +"I'm going to take him back with me. Please let me! I'll take care of +him until the year is up. He shan't bother you any more." + +"That is impossible," she said, coldly. "He has been sent here by the +court, for a year, and he must stay here. Besides, he is a stubborn, +uncontrollable child." + +"Uncontrollable! He's nothing of the kind! Why don't you treat him as a +child should be treated, instead of like a little animal? You don't know +him! Why, he's the most lovable--! And he's only a baby! Can't you see +that? A baby!" + +She only stared her dislike, her little pig eyes grown smaller and more +glittering. + +"You great--big--thing!" I shrieked at her, like an infuriated child. +With the tears streaming down my cheeks I unclasped Bennie's cold hands +from about my neck. He clung to me, frantically, until I had to push him +away and run. + +The woman swung the door shut, and locked it. But for all its thickness +I could hear Bennie's helpless fists pounding on its panels as I +stumbled down the stairs, and Bennie's voice came faintly to my ears, +muffled by the heavy door, as he shrieked to me to take him away to his +mother, and to Daddy Arnett. + +I blubbered all the way back in the car, until everyone stared, but I +didn't care. When I reached the office I made straight for Blackie's +smoke-filled sanctum. When my tale was ended he let me cry all over +his desk, with my head buried in a heap of galley-proofs and my tears +watering his paste-pot. He sat calmly by, smoking. Finally he began +gently to philosophize. "Now girl, he's prob'ly better off there than he +ever was at home with his mother soused all the time. Maybe he give that +warty matron friend of yours all kinds of trouble, yellin' for his ma." + +I raised my head from the desk. "Oh, you can talk! You didn't see +him. What do you care! But if you could have seen him, crouched +there--alone--like a little animal! He was so sweet--and +lovable--and--and--he hadn't been decently washed for weeks--and his +arms clung to me--I can feel his hands about my neck!--" + +I buried my head in the papers again. Blackie went on smoking. There was +no sound in the little room except the purr-purring of Blackie's pipe. +Then: + +"I done a favor for Wheeling once," mused he. + +I glanced up, quickly. "Oh, Blackie, do you think--" + +"No, I don't. But then again, you can't never tell. That was four or +five years ago, and the mem'ry of past favors grows dim fast. Still, if +you're through waterin' the top of my desk, why I'd like t' set down and +do a little real brisk talkin' over the phone. You're excused." + +Quite humbly I crept away, with hope in my heart. + +To this day I do not know what secret string the resourceful Blackie +pulled. But the next afternoon I found a hastily scrawled note tucked +into the roll of my typewriter. It sent me scuttling across the hall to +the sporting editor's smoke-filled room. And there on a chair beside the +desk, surrounded by scrap-books, lead pencils, paste-pot and odds and +ends of newspaper office paraphernalia, sat Bennie. His hair was parted +very smoothly on one side, and under his dimpled chin bristled a very +new and extremely lively green-and-red plaid silk tie. + +The next instant I had swept aside papers, brushes, pencils, books, and +Bennie was gathered close in my arms. Blackie, with a strange glow in +his deep-set black eyes regarded us with an assumed disgust. + +"Wimmin is all alike. Ain't it th' truth? I used t' think you was +different. But shucks! It ain't so. Got t' turn on the weeps the minute +you're tickled or mad. Why say, I ain't goin' t' have you comin' in here +an' dampenin' up the whole place every little while! It's unhealthy for +me, sittin' here in the wet." + +"Oh, shut up, Blackie," I said, happily. "How in the world did you do +it?" + +"Never you mind. The question is, what you goin' t' do with him, now +you've got him? Goin' t' have a French bunny for him, or fetch him up +by hand? Wheeling appointed a probation skirt to look after the crowd of +us, and we got t' toe the mark." + +"Glory be!" I ejaculated. "I don't know what I shall do with him. I +shall have to bring him down with me every morning, and perhaps you can +make a sporting editor out of him." + +"Nix. Not with that forehead. He's a high-brow. We'll make him dramatic +critic. In the meantime, I'll be little fairy godmother, an' if you'll +get on your bonnet I'll stake you and the young 'un to strawberry +shortcake an' chocolate ice cream." + +So it happened that a wondering Frau Knapf and a sympathetic Frau +Nirlanger were called in for consultation an hour later. Bennie was +ensconced in my room, very wide-eyed and wondering, but quite content. +With the entrance of Frau Nirlanger the consultation was somewhat +disturbed. She made a quick rush at him and gathered him in her hungry +arms. + +"Du baby du!" she cried. "Du Kleiner! And she was down on her knees, +and somehow her figure had melted into delicious mother-curves, with +Bennie's head just fitting into that most gracious one between her +shoulder and breast. She cooed to him in a babble of French and German +and English, calling him her lee-tel Oscar. Bennie seemed miraculously +to understand. Perhaps he was becoming accustomed to having strange +ladies snatch him to their breasts. + +"So," said Frau Nirlanger, looking up at us. "Is he not sweet? He shall +be my lee-tel boy, nicht? For one small year he shall be my own boy. +Ach, I am but lonely all the long day here in this strange land. You +will let me care for him, nicht? And Konrad, he will be very angry, but +that shall make no bit of difference. Eh, Oscar?" + +And so the thing was settled, and an hour later three anxious-browed +women were debating the weighty question of eggs or bread-and-milk for +Bennie's supper. Frau Nirlanger was for soft-boiled eggs as being none +too heavy after orphan asylum fare; I was for bread-and-milk, that being +the prescribed supper dish for all the orphans and waifs that I had ever +read about, from "The Wide, Wide World" to "Helen's Babies," and back +again. Frau Knapf was for both eggs and bread-and-milk with a dash +of meat and potatoes thrown in for good measure, and a slice or so of +Kuchen on the side. We compromised on one egg, one glass of milk, and +a slice of lavishly buttered bread, and jelly. It was a clean, sweet, +sleepy-eyed Bennie that we tucked between the sheets. We three women +stood looking down at him as he lay there in the quaint old blue-painted +bed that had once held the plump little Knapfs. + +"You think anyway he had enough supper? mused the anxious-browed Frau +Knapf. + +"To school he will have to go, yes?" murmured Frau Nirlanger, +regretfully. + +I tucked in the covers at one side of the bed, not that they needed +tucking, but because it was such a comfortable, satisfying thing to do. + +"Just at this minute," I said, as I tucked, "I'd rather be a newspaper +reporter than anything else in the world. As a profession 'tis so +broadenin', an' at the same time, so chancey." + + + + +CHAPTER XIII. THE TEST + + +Some day the marriageable age for women will be advanced from twenty to +thirty, and the old maid line will be changed from thirty to forty. When +that time comes there will be surprisingly few divorces. The husband of +whom we dream at twenty is not at all the type of man who attracts us at +thirty. The man I married at twenty was a brilliant, morbid, handsome, +abnormal creature with magnificent eyes and very white teeth and no +particular appetite at mealtime. The man whom I could care for at thirty +would be the normal, safe and substantial sort who would come in at six +o'clock, kiss me once, sniff the air twice and say: "Mm! What's that +smells so good, old girl? I'm as hungry as a bear. Trot it out. Where +are the kids?" + +These are dangerous things to think upon. So dangerous and disturbing to +the peace of mind that I have decided not to see Ernst von Gerhard for a +week or two. I find that seeing him is apt to make me forget Peter Orme; +to forget that my duty begins with a capital D; to forget that I am +dangerously near the thirty year old mark; to forget Norah, and Max, and +the Spalpeens, and the world, and everything but the happiness of being +near him, watching his eyes say one thing while his lips say another. + +At such times I am apt to work myself up into rather a savage frame of +mind, and to shut myself in my room evenings, paying no heed to Frau +Nirlanger's timid knocking, or Bennie's good-night message. I uncover my +typewriter and set to work at the thing which may or may not be a +book, and am extremely wretched and gloomy and pessimistic, after this +fashion: + +"He probably wouldn't care anything about you if you were free. It is +just a case of the fruit that is out of reach being the most desirable. +Men don't marry frumpy, snuffy old things of thirty, or thereabouts. Men +aren't marrying now-a-days, anyway. Certainly not for love. They marry +for position, or power, or money, when they do marry. Think of all +the glorious creatures he meets every day--women whose hair, and +finger-nails and teeth and skin are a religion; women whose clothes are +a fine art; women who are free to care only for themselves; to rest, +to enjoy, to hear delightful music, and read charming books, and eat +delicious food. He doesn't really care about you, with your rumpled +blouses, and your shabby gloves and shoes, and your somewhat doubtful +linen collars. The last time you saw him you were just coming home from +the office after a dickens of a day, and there was a smudge on the end +of your nose, and he told you of it, laughing. But you didn't laugh. You +rubbed it off, furiously, and you wanted to cry. Cry! You, Dawn O'Hara! +Begorra! 'Tis losin' your sense av humor you're after doin'! Get to +work." + +After which I would fall upon the book in a furious, futile fashion, +writing many incoherent, irrelevant paragraphs which I knew would be +cast aside as worthless on the sane and reasoning to-morrow. + +Oh, it had been easy enough to talk of love in a lofty, superior +impersonal way that New Year's day. Just the luxury of speaking of it at +all, after those weeks of repression, sufficed. But it is not so easy to +be impersonal and lofty when the touch of a coat sleeve against your arm +sends little prickling, tingling shivers racing madly through thousands +of too taut nerves. It is not so easy to force the mind and tongue into +safe, sane channels when they are forever threatening to rush together +in an overwhelming torrent that will carry misery and destruction in its +wake. Invariably we talk with feverish earnestness about the book; about +my work at the office; about Ernst's profession, with its wonderful +growth; about Norah, and Max and the Spalpeens, and the home; about the +latest news; about the weather; about Peter Orme--and then silence. + +At our last meeting things took a new and startling turn. So startling, +so full of temptation and happiness-that-must-not-be, that I resolved to +forbid myself the pain and joy of being, near him until I could be quite +sure that my grip on Dawn O'Hara was firm, unshakable and lasting. + +Von Gerhard sports a motor-car, a rakish little craft, built long and +low, with racing lines, and a green complexion, and a nose that cuts +through the air like the prow of a swift boat through water. Von Gerhard +had promised me a spin in it on the first mild day. Sunday turned out to +be unexpectedly lamblike, as only a March day can be, with real sunshine +that warmed the end of one's nose instead of laughing as it tweaked it, +as the lying February sunshine had done. + +"But warmly you must dress yourself," Von Gerhard warned me, "with no +gauzy blouses or sleeveless gowns. The air cuts like a knife, but it +feels good against the face. And a little road-house I know, where one +is served great steaming plates of hot oyster stew. How will that be for +a lark, yes?" + +And so I had swathed myself in wrappings until I could scarcely clamber +into the panting little car, and we had darted off along the smooth lake +drives, while the wind whipped the scarlet into our cheeks, even while +it brought the tears to our eyes. There was no chance for conversation, +even if Von Gerhard had been in talkative mood, which he was not. He +seemed more taciturn than usual, seated there at the wheel, looking +straight ahead at the ribbon of road, his eyes narrowed down to +mere keen blue slits. I realized, without alarm, that he was driving +furiously and lawlessly, and I did not care. Von Gerhard was that sort +of man. One could sit quite calmly beside him while he pulled at the +reins of a pair of runaway horses, knowing that he would conquer them in +the end. + +Just when my face began to feel as stiff and glazed as a mummy's, we +swung off the roadway and up to the entrance of the road-house that was +to revive us with things hot and soupy. + +"Another minute," I said, through stiff lips, as I extricated myself +from my swathings, "and I should have been what Mr. Mantalini described +as a demnition body. For pity's sake, tell 'em the soup can't be too hot +nor too steaming for your lady friend. I've had enough fresh air to last +me the remainder of my life. May I timidly venture to suggest that a +cheese sandwich follow the oyster stew? I am famished, and this place +looks as though it might make a speciality of cheese sandwiches." + +"By all means a cheese sandwich. Und was noch? That fresh air it has +given you an appetite, nicht wahr?" But there was no sign of a smile +on his face, nor was the kindly twinkle of amusement to be seen in his +eyes--that twinkle that I had learned to look for. + +"Smile for the lady," I mockingly begged when we had been served. +"You've been owlish all the afternoon. Here, try a cheese sandwich. Now, +why do you suppose that this mustard tastes so much better than the kind +one gets at home?" + +Von Gerhard had been smoking a cigarette, the first that I had ever seen +in his fingers. Now he tossed it into the fireplace that yawned black +and empty at one side of the room. He swept aside the plates and glasses +that stood before him, leaned his arms on the table and deliberately +stared at me. + +"I sail for Europe in June, to be gone a year--probably more," he said. + +"Sail!" I echoed, idiotically; and began blindly to dab clots of mustard +on that ridiculous sandwich. + +"I go to study and work with Gluck. It is the opportunity of a lifetime. +Gluck is to the world of medicine what Edison is to the world of +electricity. He is a wizard, a man inspired. You should see him--a +little, bent, grizzled, shabby old man who looks at you, and sees you +not. It is a wonderful opportunity, a--" + +The mustard and the sandwich and the table and Von Gerhard's face were +very indistinct and uncertain to my eyes, but I managed to say: "So +glad--congratulate you--very happy--no doubt fortunate--" + +Two strong hands grasped my wrists. "Drop that absurd mustard spoon +and sandwich. Na, I did not mean to frighten you, Dawn. How your hands +tremble. So, look at me. You would like Vienna, Kindchen. You would +like the gayety, and the brightness of it, and the music, and the pretty +women, and the incomparable gowns. Your sense of humor would discern the +hollowness beneath all the pomp and ceremony and rigid lines of caste, +and military glory; and your writer's instinct would revel in the +splendor, and color and romance and intrigue." + +I shrugged my shoulders in assumed indifference. "Can't you convey all +this to me without grasping my wrists like a villain in a melodrama? +Besides, it isn't very generous or thoughtful of you to tell me all +this, knowing that it is not for me. Vienna for you, and Milwaukee and +cheese sandwiches for me. Please pass the mustard." + +But the hold on my wrists grew firmer. Von Gerhard's eyes were steady as +they gazed into mine. "Dawn, Vienna, and the whole world is waiting for +you, if you will but take it. Vienna--and happiness--with me--" + +I wrenched my wrists free with a dreadful effort and rose, sick, +bewildered, stunned. My world--my refuge of truth, and honor, and safety +and sanity that had lain in Ernst von Gerhard's great, steady hands, was +slipping away from me. I think the horror that I felt within must +have leaped to my eyes, for in an instant Von Gerhard was beside me, +steadying me with his clear blue eyes. He did not touch the tips of my +fingers as he stood there very near me. From the look of pain on his +face I knew that I had misunderstood, somehow. + +"Kleine, I see that you know me not," he said, in German, and the saying +it was as tender as is a mother when she reproves a child that she +loves. "This fight against the world, those years of unhappiness and +misery, they have made you suspicious and lacking in trust, is it not +so? You do not yet know the perfect love that casts out all doubt. Dawn, +I ask you in the name of all that is reasoning, and for the sake of your +happiness and mine, to divorce this man Peter Orme--this man who for +almost ten years has not been your husband--who never can be your +husband. I ask you to do something which will bring suffering to no one, +and which will mean happiness to many. Let me make you happy--you were +born to be happy--you who can laugh like a girl in spite of your woman's +sorrows--" + +But I sank into a chair and hid my face in my hands so that I might be +spared the beauty and the tenderness of his eyes. I tried to think +of all the sane and commonplace things in life. Somewhere in my inner +consciousness a cool little voice was saying, over and over again: + +"Now, Dawn, careful! You've come to the crossroads at last. Right or +left? Choose! Now, Dawn, careful!" and the rest of it all over again. + +When I lifted my face from my hands at last it was to meet the +tenderness of Von Gerhard's gaze with scarcely a tremor. + +"You ought to know," I said, very slowly and evenly, "that a divorce, +under these circumstances, is almost impossible, even if I wished to do +what you suggest. There are certain state laws--" + +An exclamation of impatience broke from him. "Laws! In some states, yes. +In others, no. It is a mere technicality--a trifle! There is about it a +bit of that which you call red tape. It amounts to nothing--to that!" He +snapped his fingers. "A few months' residence in another state, perhaps. +These American laws, they are made to break." + +"Yes; you are quite right," I said, and I knew in my heart that the +cool, insistent little voice within had not spoken in vain. "But +there are other laws--laws of honor and decency, and right living and +conscience--that cannot be broken with such ease. I cannot marry you. I +have a husband." + +"You can call that unfortunate wretch your husband! He does not know +that he has a wife. He will not know that he has lost a wife. Come, +Dawn--small one--be not so foolish. You do not know how happy I will +make you. You have never seen me except when I was tortured with doubts +and fears. You do not know what our life will be together. There shall +be everything to make you forget--everything that thought and love and +money can give you. The man there in the barred room--" + +At that I took his dear hands in mine and held them close as I miserably +tried to make him hear what that small, still voice had told me. + +"There! That is it! If he were free, if he were able to stand before +men that his actions might be judged fairly and justly, I should not +hesitate for one single, precious moment. If he could fight for his +rights, or relinquish them, as he saw fit, then this thing would not +be so monstrous. But, Ernst, can't you see? He is there, alone, in that +dreadful place, quite helpless, quite incapable, quite at our mercy. I +should as soon think of hurting a little child, or snatching the pennies +from a blind man's cup. The thing is inhuman! It is monstrous! No state +laws, no red tape can dissolve such a union." + +"You still care for him!" + +"Ernst!" + +His face was very white with the pallor of repressed emotion, and his +eyes were like the blue flame that one sees flashing above a bed of +white-hot coals. + +"You do care for him still. But yes! You can stand there, quite +cool--but quite--and tell me that you would not hurt him, not for your +happiness, not for mine. But me you can hurt again and again, without +one twinge of regret." + +There was silence for a moment in the little bare dining-room--a +miserable silence on my part, a bitter one for Ernst. Then Von Gerhard +seated himself again at the table opposite and smiled one of the rare +smiles that illumined his face with such sweetness. + +"Come, Dawn, almost we are quarreling--we who were to have been so +matter-of-fact and sensible. Let us make an end of this question. You +will think of what I have said, will you not? Perhaps I was too abrupt, +too brutal. Ach, Dawn, you know not how I--Very well, I will not." + +With both hands I was clinging to my courage and praying for strength to +endure this until I should be alone in my room again. + +"As for that poor creature who is bereft of reason, he shall lack no +care, no attention. The burden you have borne so long I shall take now +upon my shoulders." + +He seemed so confident, so sure. I could bear it no longer. "Ernst, +if you have any pity, any love for me, stop! I tell you I can never do +this. Why do you make it so terribly hard for me! So pitilessly hard! +You always have been so strong, so sure, such a staff of courage." + +"I say again, and again, and again, you do not care." + +It was then that I took my last vestige of strength and courage together +and going over to him, put my two hands on his great shoulders, looking +up into his drawn face as I spoke. + +"Ernst, look at me! You never can know how much I care. I care so +much that I could not bear to have the shadow of wrong fall upon our +happiness. There can be no lasting happiness upon a foundation of +shameful deceit. I should hate myself, and you would grow to hate me. It +always is so. Dear one, I care so much that I have the strength to do +as I would do if I had to face my mother, and Norah tonight. I don't ask +you to understand. Men are not made to understand these things; not even +a man such as you, who are so beautifully understanding. I only ask that +you believe in me--and think of me sometimes--I shall feel it, and be +helped. Will you take me home now, Dr. von Gerhard?" + +The ride home was made in silence. The wind was colder, sharper. I was +chilled, miserable, sick. Von Gerhard's face was quite expressionless +as he guided the little car over the smooth road. When we had stopped +before my door, still without a word, I thought that he was going to +leave me with that barrier of silence unbroken. But as I stepped stiffly +to the curbing his hands closed about mine with the old steady grip. I +looked up quickly, to find a smile in the corners of the tired eyes. + +"You--you will let me see you--sometimes?" + +But wisdom came to my aid. "Not now. It is better that we go our +separate ways for a few weeks, until our work has served to adjust the +balance that has been disturbed. At the end of that time I shall write +you, and from that time until you sail in June we shall be just good +comrades again. And once in Vienna--who knows?--you may meet the plump +blond Fraulein, of excellent family--" + +"And no particular imagination--" + +And then we both laughed, a bit hysterically, because laughter is, after +all, akin to tears. And the little green car shot off with a whir as I +turned to enter my new world of loneliness. + + + + +CHAPTER XIV. BENNIE AND THE CHARMING OLD MAID + +There followed a blessed week of work--a "human warious" week, +with something piquant lurking at every turn. A week so busy, so +kaleidoscopic in its quick succession of events that my own troubles and +grievances were pushed into a neglected corner of my mind and made to +languish there, unfed by tears or sighs. + +News comes in cycles. There are weeks when a city editor tears his +hair in vain as he bellows for a first-page story. There follow days so +bristling with real, live copy that perfectly good stuff which, in the +ordinary course of events might be used to grace the front sheet, is +sandwiched away between the marine intelligence and the Elgin butter +reports. + +Such a week was this. I interviewed everything from a red-handed +murderer to an incubator baby. The town seemed to be running over with +celebrities. Norberg, the city editor, adores celebrities. He never +allows one to escape uninterviewed. On Friday there fell to my lot a +world-famous prima donna, an infamous prize-fighter, and a charming old +maid. Norberg cared not whether the celebrity in question was noted +for a magnificent high C, or a left half-scissors hook, so long as the +interview was dished up hot and juicy, with plenty of quotation marks, +a liberal sprinkling of adjectives and adverbs, and a cut of the victim +gracing the top of the column. + +It was long past the lunch hour when the prima donna and the +prize-fighter, properly embellished, were snapped on the copy hook. The +prima donna had chattered in French; the prize-fighter had jabbered in +slang; but the charming old maid, who spoke Milwaukee English, was to +make better copy than a whole chorus of prima donnas, or a ring full of +fighters. Copy! It was such wonderful stuff that I couldn't use it. + +It was with the charming old maid in mind that Norberg summoned me. + +"Another special story for you," he cheerfully announced. + +No answering cheer appeared upon my lunchless features. "A prize-fighter +at ten-thirty, and a prima donna at twelve. What's the next choice +morsel? An aeronaut with another successful airship? or a cash girl who +has inherited a million?" + +Norberg's plump cheeks dimpled. "Neither. This time it is a nice German +old maid." + +"Eloped with the coachman, no doubt?" + +"I said a nice old maid. And she hasn't done anything yet. You are to +find out how she'll feel when she does it." + +"Charmingly lucid," commented I, made savage by the pangs of hunger. + +Norberg proceeded to outline the story with characteristic vigor, a +cigarette waggling from the corner of his mouth. + +"Name and address on this slip. Take a Greenfield car. Nice old maid +has lived in nice old cottage all her life. Grandfather built it himself +about a hundred years ago. Whole family was born in it, and married +in it, and died in it, see? It's crammed full of spinning-wheels and +mahogany and stuff that'll make your eyes stick out. See? Well, there's +no one left now but the nice old maid, all alone. She had a sister who +ran away with a scamp some years ago. Nice old maid has never heard of +her since, but she leaves the gate ajar or the latch-string open, or a +lamp in the window, or something, so that if ever she wanders back to +the old home she'll know she's welcome, see?" + +"Sounds like a moving picture play," I remarked. + +"Wait a minute. Here's the point. The city wants to build a branch +library or something on her property, and the nice old party is so +pinched for money that she'll have to take their offer. So the time has +come when she'll have to leave that old cottage, with its romance, and +its memories, and its lamp in the window, and go to live in a cheap +little flat, see? Where the old four-poster will choke up the bedroom--" + +"And the parlor will be done in red and green," I put in, eagerly, "and +where there will be an ingrowing sideboard in the dining-room that won't +fit in with the quaint old dinner-set at all, and a kitchenette just +off that, in which the great iron pots and kettles that used to hold the +family dinners will be monstrously out of place--" + +"You're on," said Norberg. + +Half an hour later I stood before the cottage, set primly in the +center of a great lot that extended for half a square on all sides. A +winter-sodden, bare enough sight it was in the gray of that March day. +But it was not long before Alma Pflugel, standing in the midst of it, +the March winds flapping her neat skirts about her ankles, filled it +with a blaze of color. As she talked, a row of stately hollyhocks, pink, +and scarlet, and saffron, reared their heads against the cottage sides. +The chill March air became sweet with the scent of heliotrope, and Sweet +William, and pansies, and bridal wreath. The naked twigs of the rose +bushes flowered into wondrous bloom so that they bent to the ground +with their weight of crimson and yellow glory. The bare brick paths were +overrun with the green of growing things. Gray mounds of dirt grew vivid +with the fire of poppies. Even the rain-soaked wood of the pea-frames +miraculously was hidden in a hedge of green, over which ran riot the +butterfly beauty of the lavender, and pink, and cerise blossoms. Oh, she +did marvelous things that dull March day, did plain German Alma Pflugel! +And still more marvelous were the things that were to come. + +But of these things we knew nothing as the door was opened and Alma +Pflugel and I gazed curiously at one another. Surprise was writ large on +her honest face as I disclosed my errand. It was plain that the ways of +newspaper reporters were foreign to the life of this plain German woman, +but she bade me enter with a sweet graciousness of manner. + +Wondering, but silent, she led the way down the dim narrow hallway to +the sitting-room beyond. And there I saw that Norberg had known whereof +he spoke. + +A stout, red-faced stove glowed cheerfully in one corner of the +room. Back of the stove a sleepy cat opened one indolent eye, yawned +shamelessly, and rose to investigate, as is the way of cats. The windows +were aglow with the sturdy potted plants that flower-loving German +women coax into bloom. The low-ceilinged room twinkled and shone as the +polished surfaces of tables and chairs reflected the rosy glow from the +plethoric stove. I sank into the depths of a huge rocker that must have +been built for Grosspapa Pflugel's generous curves. Alma Pflugel, in a +chair opposite, politely waited for this new process of interviewing +to begin, but relaxed in the embrace of that great armchair I suddenly +realized that I was very tired and hungry, and talk-weary, and that +here; was a great peace. The prima donna, with her French, and her +paint, and her pearls, and the prizefighter with his slang, and his +cauliflower ear, and his diamonds, seemed creatures of another planet. +My eyes closed. A delicious sensation of warmth and drowsy contentment +stole over me. + +"Do listen to the purring of that cat!" I murmured. "Oh, newspapers have +no place in this. This is peace and rest." + +Alma Pflugel leaned forward in her chair. "You--you like it?" + +"Like it! This is home. I feel as though my mother were here in this +room, seated in one of those deep chairs, with a bit of sewing in her +hand; so near that I could touch her cheek with my fingers." + +Alma Pflugel rose from her chair and came over to me. She timidly placed +her hand on my arm. "Ah, I am so glad you are like that. You do not +laugh at the low ceilings, and the sunken floors, and the old-fashioned +rooms. You do not raise your eyes in horror and say: 'No conveniences! +And why don't you try striped wall paper? It would make those dreadful +ceilings seem higher.' How nice you are to understand like that!" + +My hand crept over to cover her own that lay on my arm. "Indeed, indeed +I do understand," I whispered. Which, as the veriest cub reporter can +testify, is no way to begin an interview. + +A hundred happy memories filled the little low room as Alma Pflugel +showed me her treasures. The cat purred in great content, and the stove +cast a rosy glow over the scene as the simple woman told the story of +each precious relic, from the battered candle-dipper on the shelf, to +the great mahogany folding table, and sewing stand, and carved bed. Then +there was the old horn lantern that Jacob Pflugel had used a century +before, and in one corner of the sitting-room stood Grossmutter +Pflugel's spinning-wheel. Behind cupboard doors were ranged the +carefully preserved blue-and-white china dishes, and on the shelf below +stood the clumsy earthen set that Grosspapa Pflugel himself had modeled +for his young bride in those days of long ago. In the linen chest there +still lay, in neat, fragrant folds, piles of the linen that had been +spun on that time-yellowed spinning-wheel. And because of the tragedy in +the honest face bent over these dear treasures, and because she tried so +bravely to hide her tears, I knew in my heart that this could never be a +newspaper story. + +"So," said Alma Pflugel at last, and rose and walked slowly to the +window and stood looking out at the wind-swept garden. That window, with +its many tiny panes, once had looked out across a wilderness, with an +Indian camp not far away. Grossmutter Pflugel had sat at that window +many a bitter winter night, with her baby in her arms, watching and +waiting for the young husband who was urging his ox-team across the ice +of Lake Michigan in the teeth of a raging blizzard. + +The little, low-ceilinged room was very still. I looked at Alma Pflugel +standing there at the window in her neat blue gown, and something about +the face and figure--or was it the pose of the sorrowful head?--seemed +strangely familiar. Somewhere in my mind the resemblance haunted me. +Resemblance to--what? Whom? + +"Would you like to see my garden?" asked Alma Pflugel, turning from the +window. For a moment I stared in wonderment. But the honest, kindly face +was unsmiling. "These things that I have shown you, I can take with me +when I--go. But there," and she pointed out over the bare, wind-swept +lot, "there is something that I cannot take. My flowers! You see that +mound over there, covered so snug and warm with burlap and sacking? +There my tulips and hyacinths sleep. In a few weeks, when the covering +is whisked off--ah, you shall see! Then one can be quite sure that the +spring is here. Who can look at a great bed of red and pink and lavender +and yellow tulips and hyacinths, and doubt it? Come." + +With a quick gesture she threw a shawl over her head, and beckoned me. +Together we stepped out into the chill of the raw March afternoon. She +stood a moment, silent, gazing over the sodden earth. Then she flitted +swiftly down the narrow path, and halted before a queer little structure +of brick, covered with the skeleton of a creeping vine. Stooping, Alma +Pflugel pulled open the rusty iron door and smiled up at me. + +"This was my grandmother's oven. All her bread she baked in this little +brick stove. Black bread it was, with a great thick crust, and a bitter +taste. But it was sweet, too. I have never tasted any so good. I like +to think of Grossmutter, when she was a bride, baking her first batch +of bread in this oven that Grossvater built for her. And because the old +oven was so very difficult to manage, and because she was such a young +thing--only sixteen!--I like to think that her first loaves were perhaps +not so successful, and that Grosspapa joked about them, and that the +little bride wept, so that the young husband had to kiss away the +tears." + +She shut the rusty, sagging door very slowly and gently. "No doubt the +workmen who will come to prepare the ground for the new library will +laugh and joke among themselves when they see the oven, and they will +kick it with their heels, and wonder what the old brick mound could have +been." + +There was a little twisted smile on her face as she rose--a smile that +brought a hot mist of tears to my eyes. There was tragedy itself in that +spare, homely figure standing there in the garden, the wind twining her +skirts about her. + +"You should but see the children peering over the fence to see my +flowers in the summer," she said. The blue eyes wore a wistful, far-away +look. "All the children know my garden. It blooms from April to October. +There I have my sweet peas; and here my roses--thousands of them! Some +are as red as a drop of blood, and some as white as a bridal wreath. +When they are blossoming it makes the heart ache, it is so beautiful." + +She had quite forgotten me now. For her the garden was all abloom once +more. It was as though the Spirit of the Flowers had touched the naked +twigs with fairy fingers, waking them into glowing life for her who +never again was to shower her love and care upon them. + +"These are my poppies. Did you ever come out in the morning to find +a hundred poppy faces smiling at you, and swaying and glistening and +rippling in the breeze? There they are, scarlet and pink, side by side +as only God can place them. And near the poppies I planted my pansies, +because each is a lesson to the other. I call my pansies little children +with happy faces. See how this great purple one winks his yellow eye, +and laughs!" + +Her gray shawl had slipped back from her face and lay about her +shoulders, and the wind had tossed her hair into a soft fluff about her +head. + +"We used to come out here in the early morning, my little Schwester and +I, to see which rose had unfolded its petals overnight, or whether this +great peony that had held its white head so high only yesterday, was +humbled to the ground in a heap of ragged leaves. Oh, in the morning she +loved it best. And so every summer I have made the garden bloom again, +so that when she comes back she will see flowers greet her. + +"All the way up the path to the door she will walk in an aisle of +fragrance, and when she turns the handle of the old door she will find +it unlocked, summer and winter, day and night, so that she has only to +turn the knob and enter." + +She stopped, abruptly. The light died out of her face. She glanced at +me, half defiantly, half timidly, as one who is not quite sure of what +she has said. At that I went over to her, and took her work-worn hands +in mine, and smiled down into the faded blue eyes grown dim with tears +and watching. + +"Perhaps--who knows?--the little sister may come yet. I feel it. She +will walk up the little path, and try the handle of the door, and it +will turn beneath her fingers, and she will enter." + +With my arm about her we walked down the path toward the old-fashioned +arbor, bare now except for the tendrils that twined about the lattice. +The arbor was fitted with a wooden floor, and there were rustic chairs, +and a table. I could picture the sisters sitting there with their sewing +during the long, peaceful summer afternoons. Alma Pflugel would be +wearing one of her neat gingham gowns, very starched and stiff, with +perhaps a snowy apron edged with a border of heavy crochet done by the +wrinkled fingers of Grossmutter Pflugel. On the rustic table there would +be a bowl of flowers, and a pot of delicious Kaffee, and a plate of +German Kaffeekuchen, and through the leafy doorway the scent of the +wonderful garden would come stealing. + +I thought of the cheap little flat, with the ugly sideboard, and the bit +of weedy yard in the rear, and the alley beyond that, and the red and +green wall paper in the parlor. The next moment, to my horror, Alma +Pflugel had dropped to her knees before the table in the damp little +arbor, her face in her hands, her spare shoulders shaking. + +"Ich kann's nicht thun!" she moaned. "Ich kann nicht! Ach, kleine +Schwester, wo bist du denn! Nachts und Morgens bete ich, aber doch +kommst du nicht." + +A great dry sob shook her. Her hand went to her breast, to her throat, +to her lips, with an odd, stifled gesture. + +"Do that again!" I cried, and shook Alma Pflugel sharply by the +shoulder. "Do that again!" + +Her startled blue eyes looked into mine. "What do you mean?" she asked. + +"That--that gesture. I've seen it--somewhere--that trick of pressing the +hand to the breast, to the throat, to the lips--Oh!" + +Suddenly I knew. I lifted the drooping head and rumpled its neat braids, +and laughed down into the startled face. + +"She's here!" I shouted, and started a dance of triumph on the shaky +floor of the old arbor. "I know her. From the moment I saw you the +resemblance haunted me." And then as Alma Pflugel continued to stare, +while the stunned bewilderment grew in her eyes, "Why, I have one-fourth +interest in your own nephew this very minute. And his name is Bennie!" + +Whereupon Alma Pflugel fainted quietly away in the chilly little grape +arbor, with her head on my shoulder. + +I called myself savage names as I chafed her hands and did all the +foolish, futile things that distracted humans think of at such times, +wondering, meanwhile, if I had been quite mad to discern a resemblance +between this simple, clear-eyed gentle German woman, and the battered, +ragged, swaying figure that had stood at the judge's bench. + +Suddenly Alma Pflugel opened her eyes. Recognition dawned in them +slowly. Then, with a jerk, she sat upright, her trembling hands clinging +to me. + +"Where is she? Take me to her. Ach, you are sure--sure?" + +"Lordy, I hope so! Come, you must let me help you into the house. And +where is the nearest telephone? Never mind; I'll find one." + +When I had succeeded in finding the nearest drug store I spent a wild +ten minutes telephoning the surprised little probation officer, then +Frau Nirlanger, and finally Blackie, for no particular reason. I +shrieked my story over the wire in disconnected, incoherent sentences. +Then I rushed back to the little cottage where Alma Pflugel and I waited +with what patience we could summon. + +Blackie was the first to arrive. He required few explanations. That +is one of the nicest things about Blackie. He understands by leaps and +bounds, while others crawl to comprehension. But when Frau Nirlanger +came, with Bennie in tow, there were tears, and exclamations, followed +by a little stricken silence on the part of Frau Nirlanger when she saw +Bennie snatched to the breast of this weeping woman. So it was that in +the midst of the confusion we did not hear the approach of the probation +officer and her charge. They came up the path to the door, and there the +little sister turned the knob, and it yielded under her fingers, and the +old door swung open; and so she entered the house quite as Alma Pflugel +had planned she should, except that the roses were not blooming along +the edge of the sunken brick walk. + +She entered the room in silence, and no one could have recognized in +this pretty, fragile creature the pitiful wreck of the juvenile court. +And when Alma Pflugel saw the face of the little sister--the poor, +marred, stricken face--her own face became terrible in its agony. She +put Bennie down very gently, rose, and took the shaking little figure in +her strong arms, and held it as though never to let it go again. There +were little broken words of love and pity. She called her "Lammchen" and +"little one," and so Frau Nirlanger and Blackie and I stole away, after +a whispered consultation with the little probation officer. + +Blackie had come in his red runabout, and now he tucked us into it, +feigning a deep disgust. + +"I'd like to know where I enter into this little drayma," he growled. +"Ain't I got nothin' t' do but run around town unitin' long lost sisters +an' orphans!" + +"Now, Blackie, you know you would never have forgiven me if I had left +you out of this. Besides, you must hustle around and see that they need +not move out of that dear little cottage. Now don't say a word! You'll +never have a greater chance to act the fairy godmother." + +Frau Nirlanger's hand sought mine and I squeezed it in silent sympathy. +Poor little Frau Nirlanger, the happiness of another had brought her +only sorrow. And she had kissed Bennie good-by with the knowledge that +the little blue-painted bed, with its faded red roses, would again stand +empty in the gloom of the Knapf attic. + +Norberg glanced up quickly as I entered the city room. "Get something +good on that south side story?" he asked. + +"Why, no," I answered. "You were mistaken about that. The--the nice old +maid is not going to move, after all." + + + + +CHAPTER XV. FAREWELL TO KNAPFS + +Consternation has corrugated the brows of the aborigines. Consternation +twice confounded had added a wrinkle or two to my collection. We are +homeless. That is, we are Knapfless--we, to whom the Knapfs spelled +home. + +Herr Knapf, mustache aquiver, and Frau Knapf, cheek bones glistening, +broke the news to us one evening just a week after the exciting day +which so changed Bennie's life. "Es thut uns sehr, sehr leid," Herr +Knapf had begun. And before he had finished, protesting German groans +mingled with voluble German explanations. The aborigines were stricken +down. They clapped pudgy fists to knobby foreheads; they smote their +breasts, and made wild gestures with their arms. If my protests were +less frenzied than theirs, it was only because my knowledge of German +stops at words of six syllables. + +Out of the chaos of ejaculations and interrogation the reason for our +expulsion at last was made clear. The little German hotel had not been +remunerative. Our host and hostess were too hospitable and too polite to +state the true reason for this state of affairs. Perhaps rents were +too high. Perhaps, thought I, Frau Knapf had been too liberal with the +butter in the stewed chicken. Perhaps there had been too many golden +Pfannkuchen with real eggs and milk stirred into them, and with +toothsome little islands of ruddy currant jelly on top. Perhaps there +had been too much honest, nourishing food, and not enough boarding-house +victuals. At any rate, the enterprise would have to be abandoned. + +It was then that the bare, bright little dining room, with its queer +prints of chin-chucking lieutenants, and its queerer faces, and its +German cookery became very dear to me. I had grown to like Frau Knapf, +of the shining cheek bones, and Herr Knapf, of the heavy geniality. A +close bond of friendship had sprung up between Frau Nirlanger and me. I +would miss her friendly visits, and her pretty ways, and her +sparkling conversation. She and I had held many kimonoed pow-wows, and +sometimes--not often--she had given me wonderful glimpses of that which +she had left--of Vienna, the opera, the court, the life which had +been hers. She talked marvelously well, for she had all the charm +and vivacity of the true Viennese. Even the aborigines, bristling +pompadours, thick spectacles, terrifying manner, and all, became as dear +as old friends, now that I knew I must lose them. + +The great, high-ceilinged room upstairs had taken on the look of home. +The Blue-beard closet no longer appalled me. The very purpleness of the +purple roses in the rug had grown beautiful in my eyes because they were +part of that little domain which spelled peace and comfort and kindness. +How could I live without the stout yellow brocade armchair! Its +plethoric curves were balm for my tired bones. Its great lap admitted +of sitting with knees crossed, Turk-fashion. Its cushioned back stopped +just at the point where the head found needed support. Its pudgy arms +offered rest for tired elbows; its yielding bosom was made for tired +backs. Given the padded comfort of that stout old chair--a friendly, +time-tried book between my fingers--a dish of ruddy apples twinkling in +the fire-light; my mundane soul snuggled in content. And then, too, the +book-in-the-making had grown in that room. It had developed from a weak, +wobbling uncertainty into a lusty full-blooded thing that grew and grew +until it promised soon to become mansize. + +Now all this was to be changed. And I knew that I would miss the easy +German atmosphere of the place; the kindness they had shown me; the +chattering, admiring Minna; the taffy-colored dachshund; the aborigines +with their ill-smelling pipes and flappy slippers; the Wienerschnitzel; +the crushed-looking wives and the masterful German husbands; the very +darns in the table-cloths and the very nicks in the china. + +We had a last family gathering in token of our appreciation of Herr and +Frau Knapf. And because I had not seen him for almost three weeks; and +because the time for his going was drawing so sickeningly near; and +because I was quite sure that I had myself in hand; and because he +knew the Knapfs, and was fond of them; and because-well, I invited Von +Gerhard. He came, and I found myself dangerously glad to see him, so +that I made my greeting as airy and frivolous as possible. Perhaps I +overdid the airy business, for Von Gerhard looked at me for a long, +silent minute, until the nonsense I had been chattering died on my lips, +and I found myself staring up at him like a child that is apprehensive +of being scolded for some naughtiness. + +"Not so much chatter, small one," he said, unsmilingly. "This pretense, +it is not necessary between you and me. So. You are ein bischen blasz, +nicht? A little pale? You have not been ill, Dawn?" + +"Ill? Never felt more chipper in my life," I made flippant answer, "and +I adore these people who are forever telling one how unusually thin, or +pale, or scrawny one is looking." + +"Na, they are not to be satisfied, these women! If I were to tell you +how lovely you look to me to-night you would draw yourself up with chill +dignity and remind me that I am not privileged to say these things to +you. So I discreetly mention that you are looking, interestingly pale, +taking care to keep all tenderness out of my tones, and still you are +not pleased." He shrugged despairing shoulders. + +"Can't you strike a happy medium between rudeness and tenderness? After +all, I haven't had a glimpse of your blond beauty for three weeks. And +while I don't ask you to whisper sweet nothings, still, after twenty-one +days--" + +"You have been lonely? If only I thought that those weeks have been as +wearisome to you--" + +"Not lonely exactly," I hurriedly interrupted, "but sort of wishing that +some one would pat me on the head and tell me that I was a good +doggie. You know what I mean. It is so easy to become accustomed to +thoughtfulness and devotion, and so dreadfully hard to be happy without +it, once one has had it. This has been a sort of training for what I may +expect when Vienna has swallowed you up." + +"You are still obstinate? These three weeks have not changed you? Ach, +Dawn! Kindchen!--" + +But I knew that these were thin spots marked "Danger!" in our +conversational pond. So, "Come," said I. "I have two new aborigines +for you to meet. They are the very shiniest and wildest of all our +shiny-faced and wild aborigines. And you should see their trousers and +neckties! If you dare to come back from Vienna wearing trousers like +these!--" + +"And is the party in honor of these new aborigines?" laughed Von +Gerhard. "You did not explain in your note. Merely you asked me to come, +knowing that I cared not if it were a lawn fete or a ball, so long as I +might again be with you." + +We were on our way to the dining room, where the festivities were to be +held. I stopped and turned a look of surprise upon him. + +"Don't you know that the Knapfs are leaving? Did I neglect to mention +that this is a farewell party for Herr and Frau Knapf? We are losing our +home, and we have just one week in which to find another." + +"But where will you go? And why did you not tell me this before?" + +"I haven't an idea where I shall lay my poor old head. In the lap of the +gods, probably, for I don't know how I shall find the time to interview +landladies and pack my belongings in seven short days. The book will +have to suffer for it. Just when it was getting along so beautifully, +too." + +There was a dangerous tenderness in Von Gerhard's eyes as he said: +"Again you are a wanderer, eh--small one? That you, with your love of +beautiful things, and your fastidiousness, should have to live in this +way--in these boarding-houses, alone, with not even the comforts that +should be yours. Ach, Kindchen, you were not made for that. You were +intended for the home, with a husband, and kinder, and all that is truly +worth while." + +I swallowed a lump in my throat as I shrugged my shoulders. "Pooh! Any +woman can have a husband and babies," I retorted, wickedly. "But mighty +few women can write a book. It's a special curse." + +"And you prefer this life--this existence, to the things that I +offer you! You would endure these hardships rather than give up the +nonsensical views which you entertain toward your--" + +"Please. We were not to talk of that. I am enduring no hardships. +Since I have lived in this pretty town I have become a worshiper of the +goddess Gemutlichkeit. Perhaps I shan't find another home as dear to my +heart as this has been, but at least I shan't have to sleep on a park +bench, and any one can tell you that park benches have long been the +favored resting place of genius. There is Frau Nirlanger beckoning us. +Now do stop scowling, and smile for the lady. I know you will get on +beautifully with the aborigines." + +He did get on with them so beautifully that in less than half an hour +they were swapping stories of Germany, of Austria, of the universities, +of student life. Frau Knapf served a late supper, at which some one +led in singing Auld Lang Syne, although the sounds emanating from the +aborigines' end of the table sounded suspiciously like Die Wacht am +Rhein. Following that the aborigines rose en masse and roared out their +German university songs, banging their glasses on the table when they +came to the chorus until we all caught the spirit of it and banged our +glasses like rathskeller veterans. Then the red-faced and amorous Fritz, +he of the absent Lena, announced his intention of entertaining the +company. Made bold by an injudicious mixture of Herr Knapf's excellent +beer, and a wonderful punch which Von Gerhard had concocted, Fritz +mounted his chair, placed his plump hand over the spot where he supposed +his heart to be, fastened his watery blue eyes upon my surprised and +blushing countenance, and sang "Weh! Dass Wir Scheiden Mussen!" in an +astonishingly beautiful barytone. I dared not look at Von Gerhard, for +I knew that he was purple with suppressed mirth, so I stared stonily +at the sardine sandwich and dill pickle on my plate, and felt myself +growing hot and hysterical, and cold and tearful by turns. + +At the end of the last verse I rose hastily and brought from their +hiding-place the gifts which we of Knapfs' had purchased as remembrances +for Herr and Frau Knapf. I had been delegated to make the presentation +speech, so I grasped in one hand the too elaborate pipe that was to make +Herr Knapf unhappy, and the too fashionable silk umbrella that was to +appall Frau Knapf, and ascended the little platform at the end of the +dining room, and began to speak in what I fondly thought to be fluent +and highsounding German. Immediately the aborigines went off into +paroxysms of laughter. They threw back their heads and roared, and +slapped their thighs, and spluttered. It appeared that they thought I +was making a humorous speech. At that discovery I cast dignity aside +and continued my speech in the language of a German vaudeville comedian, +with a dash of Weber and Field here and there. With the presentation of +the silk umbrella Frau Knapf burst into tears, groped about helplessly +for her apron, realized that it was missing from its accustomed place, +and wiped her tears upon her cherished blue silk sleeve in the utter +abandon of her sorrow. We drank to the future health and prosperity of +our tearful host and hostess, and some one suggested drei mal drei, +to which we responded in a manner to make the chin-chucking lieutenant +tremble in his frame on the wall. + +When it was all over Frau Nirlanger beckoned me, and she, Dr. von +Gerhard and I stole out into the hall and stood at the foot of the +stairway, discussing our plans for the future, and trying to smile as we +talked of this plan and that. Frau Nirlanger, in the pretty white gown, +was looking haggard and distrait. The oogly husband was still in the +dining room, finishing the beer and punch, of which he had already taken +too much. + +"A tiny apartment we have taken," said Frau Nirlanger, softly. "It is +better so. Then I shall have a little housework, a little cooking, a +little marketing to keep me busy and perhaps happy." Her hand closed +over mine. "But that shall us not separate," she pleaded. "Without you +to make me sometimes laugh what should I then do? You will bring her +often to our little apartment, not?" she went on, turning appealingly to +Von Gerhard. + +"As often as Mrs. Orme will allow me," he answered. + +"Ach, yes. So lonely I shall be. You do not know what she has been to +me, this Dawn. She is brave for two. Always laughing she is, and merry, +nicht wahr? Meine kleine Soldatin, I call her. + +"Soldatin, eh?" mused Von Gerhard. "Our little soldier. She is well +named. And her battles she fights alone. But quite alone." His eyes, as +they looked down on me from his great height had that in them which sent +the blood rushing and tingling to my finger-tips. I brought my hand to +my head in stiff military salute. + +"Inspection satisfactory, sir?" + +He laughed a rueful little laugh. "Eminently. Aber ganz befriedigend." + +He was very tall, and straight and good to look at as he stood there in +the hall with the light from the newel-post illuminating his features +and emphasizing his blondness. Frau Nirlanger's face wore a drawn little +look of pain as she gazed at him, and from him to the figure of her +husband who had just emerged from the dining room, and was making +unsteady progress toward us. Herr Nirlanger's face was flushed and his +damp, dark hair was awry so that one lock straggled limply down over +his forehead. As he approached he surveyed us with a surly frown that +changed slowly into a leering grin. He lurched over and placed a hand +familiarly on my shoulder. + +"We mus' part," he announced, dramatically. "O, weh! The bes' of frien's +m'z part. Well, g'by, li'l interfering Teufel. F'give you, though, +b'cause you're such a pretty li'l Teufel." He raised one hand as though +to pat my check and because of the horror which I saw on the face of the +woman beside me I tried to smile, and did not shrink from him. But with +a quick movement Von Gerhard clutched the swaying figure and turned it +so that it faced the stairs. + +"Come Nirlanger! Time for hard-working men like you and me to be in bed. +Mrs. Orme must not nod over her desk to-morrow, either. So good-night. +Schlafen Sie wohl." + +Konrad Nirlanger turned a scowling face over his shoulder. Then he +forgot what he was scowling for, and smiled a leering smile. + +"Pretty good frien's, you an' the li'l Teufel, yes? Guess we'll have to +watch you, huh, Anna? We'll watch 'em, won't we?" + +He began to climb the stairs laboriously, with Frau Nirlanger's light +figure flitting just ahead of him. At the bend in the stairway she +turned and looked down on us a moment, her eyes very bright and big. She +pressed her fingers to her lips and wafted a little kiss toward us with +a gesture indescribably graceful and pathetic. She viewed her husband's +laborious progress, not daring to offer help. Then the turn in the stair +hid her from sight. + +In the dim quiet of the little hallway Von Gerhard held out his +hands--those deft, manual hands--those steady, sure, surgeonly +hands--hands to cling to, to steady oneself by, and because I needed +them most just then, and because I longed with my whole soul to place +both my weary hands in those strong capable ones and to bring those +dear, cool, sane fingers up to my burning cheeks, I put one foot on +the first stair and held out two chilly fingertips. "Good-night, Herr +Doktor," I said, "and thank you, not only for myself, but for her. I +have felt what she feels to-night. It is not a pleasant thing to be +ashamed of one's husband." + +Von Gerhard's two hands closed over that one of mine. "Dawn, you will +let me help you to find comfortable quarters? You cannot tramp about +from place to place all the week. Let us get a list of addresses, and +then, with the machine, we can drive from one to the other in an hour. +It will at least save you time and strength." + +"Go boarding-house hunting in a stunning green automobile!" I exclaimed. +From my vantage point on the steps I could look down on him, and there +came over me a great longing to run my fingers gently through that crisp +blond hair, and to bring his head down close against my breast for one +exquisite moment. So--"Landladies and oitermobiles!" I laughed. "Never! +Don't you know that if they got one glimpse, through the front parlor +windows, of me stepping grand-like out of your green motor car, they +would promptly over-charge me for any room in the house? I shall go +room-hunting in my oldest hat, with one finger sticking out of my +glove." + +Von Gerhard shrugged despairing shoulders. + +"Na, of what use is it to plead with you. Sometimes I wonder if, after +all, you are not merely amusing yourself. Getting copy, perhaps, for the +book, or a new experience to add to your already varied store." + +Abruptly I turned to hide my pain, and began to ascend the stairs. With +a bound Von Gerhard was beside me, his face drawn and contrite. + +"Forgive me, Dawn! I know that you are wisest. It is only that I become +a little mad, I think, when I see you battling alone like this, among +strangers, and know that I have not the right to help you. I knew not +what I was saying. Come, raise your eyes and smile, like the little +Soldatin that you are. So. Now I am forgiven, yes?" + +I smiled cheerily enough into his blue eyes. "Quite forgiven. And now +you must run along. This is scandalously late. The aborigines will +be along saying 'Morgen!' instead of 'Nabben'!' if we stay here much +longer. Good-night." + +"You will give me your new address as soon as you have found a +satisfactory home?" + +"Never fear! I probably shall be pestering you with telephone calls, +urging you to have pity upon me in my loneliness. Now goodnight again. +I'm as full of farewells as a Bernhardt." And to end it I ran up the +stairs. At the bend, just where Frau Nirlanger had turned, I too stopped +and looked over my shoulder. Von Gerhard was standing as I had left him, +looking up at me. And like Frau Nirlanger, I wafted a little kiss in his +direction, before I allowed the bend in the stairs to cut off my view. +But Von Gerhard did not signify by look or word that he had seen it, as +he stood looking up at me, one strong white hand resting on the broad +baluster. + + + + +CHAPTER XVI. JUNE MOONLIGHT, AND A NEW BOARDINGHOUSE + +There was a week in which to scurry about for a new home. The days +scampered by, tripping over one another in their haste. My sleeping +hours were haunted by nightmares of landladies and impossible +boarding-house bedrooms. Columns of "To Let, Furnished or Unfurnished" +ads filed, advanced, and retreated before my dizzy eyes. My time +after office hours was spent in climbing dim stairways, interviewing +unenthusiastic females in kimonos, and peering into ugly bedrooms +papered with sprawly and impossible patterns and filled with the odors +of dead-and-gone dinners. I found one room less impossible than the +rest, only to be told that the preference was to be given to a man who +had "looked" the day before. + +"I d'ruther take gents only," explained the ample person who carried the +keys to the mansion. "Gents goes early in the morning and comes in late +at night, and that's all you ever see of 'em, half the time. I've tried +ladies, an' they get me wild, always yellin' for hot water to wash their +hair, or pastin' handkerchiefs up on the mirr'r or wantin' to butt into +the kitchen to press this or that. I'll let you know if the gent don't +take it, but I got an idea he will." + +He did. At any rate, no voice summoned me to that haven for gents only. +There were other landladies--landladies fat and German; landladies lean +and Irish; landladies loquacious (regardless of nationality); landladies +reserved; landladies husbandless, wedded, widowed, divorced, and +willing; landladies slatternly; landladies prim; and all hinting of past +estates wherein there had been much grandeur. + +At last, when despair gripped me, and I had horrid visions of my trunk, +hat-box and typewriter reposing on the sidewalk while I, homeless, sat +perched in the midst of them, I chanced upon a room which commanded a +glorious view of the lake. True, it was too expensive for my slim purse; +true, the owner of it was sour of feature; true, the room itself was +cavernous and unfriendly and cold-looking, but the view of the great, +blue lake triumphed over all these, although a cautious inner voice +warned me that that lake view would cover a multitude of sins. I +remembered, later, how she of the sour visage had dilated upon the +subject of the sunrise over the water. I told her at the time that while +I was passionately fond of sunrises myself, still I should like them +just as well did they not occur so early in the morning. Whereupon she +of the vinegar countenance had sniffed. I loathe landladies who sniff. + +My trunk and trusty typewriter were sent on to my new home at noon, +unchaperoned, for I had no time to spare at that hour of the day. Later +I followed them, laden with umbrella, boxes, brown-paper parcels, and +other unfashionable moving-day paraphernalia. I bumped and banged my way +up the two flights of stairs that led to my lake view and my bed, and +my heart went down as my feet went up. By the time the cavernous +bedroom was gained I felt decidedly quivery-mouthed, so that I dumped my +belongings on the floor in a heap and went to the window to gaze on the +lake until my spirits should rise. But it was a gray day, and the lake +looked large, and wet and unsociable. You couldn't get chummy with it. +I turned to my great barn of a room. You couldn't get chummy with that, +either. I began to unpack, with furious energy. In vain I turned every +gas jet blazing high. They only cast dim shadows in the murky vastness +of that awful chamber. A whole Fourth of July fireworks display, Roman +candles, sky-rockets, pin-wheels, set pieces and all, could not have +made that room take on a festive air. + +As I unpacked I thought of my cosy room at Knapfs', and as I thought +I took my head out of my trunk and sank down on the floor with a satin +blouse in one hand, and a walking boot in the other, and wanted to +bellow with loneliness. There came to me dear visions of the friendly +old yellow brocade chair, and the lamplight, and the fireplace, and +Frau Nirlanger, and the Pfannkuchen. I thought of the aborigines. In my +homesick mind their bumpy faces became things of transcendent beauty. I +could have put my head on their combined shoulders and wept down their +blue satin neckties. In my memory of Frau Knapf it seemed to me that I +could discern a dim, misty halo hovering above her tightly wadded hair. +My soul went out to her as I recalled the shining cheek-bones, and the +apron, and the chickens stewed in butter. I would have given a year out +of my life to have heard that good-natured, "Nabben'." One aborigine +had been wont to emphasize his after-dinner arguments with a toothpick +brandished fiercely between thumb and finger. The brandisher had +always annoyed me. Now I thought of him with tenderness in my heart and +reproached myself for my fastidiousness. I should have wept if I had +not had a walking boot in one hand, and a satin blouse in the other. A +walking boot is but a cold comfort. And my thriftiness denied my tears +the soiling of the blouse. So I sat up on my knees and finished the +unpacking. + +Just before dinner time I donned a becoming gown to chirk up my courage, +groped my way down the long, dim stairs, and telephoned to Von Gerhard. +It seemed to me that just to hear his voice would instill in me new +courage and hope. I gave the number, and waited. + +"Dr. von Gerhard?" repeated a woman's voice at the other end of the +wire. "He is very busy. Will you leave your name?" + +"No," I snapped. "I'll hold the wire. Tell him that Mrs. Orme is waiting +to speak to him." + +"I'll see." The voice was grudging. + +Another wait; then--"Dawn!" came his voice in glad surprise. + +"Hello!" I cried, hysterically. "Hello! Oh, talk! Say something nice, +for pity's sake! I'm sorry that I've taken you away from whatever you +were doing, but I couldn't help it. Just talk please! I'm dying of +loneliness." + +"Child, are you ill?" Von Gerhard's voice was so satisfyingly +solicitous. "Is anything wrong? Your voice is trembling. I can hear it +quite plainly. What has happened? Has Norah written--" + +"Norah? No. There was nothing in her letter to upset me. It is only the +strangeness of this place. I shall be all right in a day or so." + +"The new home--it is satisfactory? You have found what you wanted? Your +room is comfortable?" + +"It's--it's a large room," I faltered. "And there's a--a large view of +the lake, too." + +There was a smothered sound at the other end of the wire. Then--"I +want you to meet me down-town at seven o'clock. We will have dinner +together," Von Gerhard said, "I cannot have you moping up there all +alone all evening." + +"I can't come." + +"Why?" + +"Because I want to so very much. And anyway, I'm much more cheerful now. +I am going in to dinner. And after dinner I shall get acquainted with +my room. There are six corners and all the space under the bed that I +haven't explored yet." + +"Dawn!" + +"Yes?" + +"If you were free to-night, would you marry me? If you knew that the +next month would find you mistress of yourself would you--" + +"Ernst!" + +"Yes?" + +"If the gates of Heaven were opened wide to you, and they had 'Welcome!' +done in diamonds over the door, and all the loveliest angel ladies +grouped about the doorway to receive you, and just beyond you could +see awaiting you all that was beautiful, and most exquisite, and most +desirable, would you enter?" + +And then I hung up the receiver and went in to dinner. I went in to +dinner, but not to dine. Oh, shades of those who have suffered in +boarding-houses--that dining room! It must have been patterned after +the dining room at Dotheboys' hall. It was bare, and cheerless, and +fearfully undressed looking. The diners were seated at two long, +unsociable, boarding-housey tables that ran the length of the room, and +all the women folks came down to dine with white wool shawls wrapped +snugly about their susceptible black silk shoulders. The general effect +was that of an Old People's Home. I found seat after seat at table was +filled, and myself the youngest thing present. I felt so criminally +young that I wondered they did not strap me in a high chair and ram +bread and milk down my throat. Now and then the door would open to +admit another snuffly, ancient, and be-shawled member of the company. I +learned that Mrs. Schwartz, on my right, did not care mooch for shteak +for breakfast, aber a leedle l'mb ch'p she likes. Also that the elderly +party on my left and the elderly party on my right resented being +separated by my person. Conversation between E. P. on right, and E. P. +on left scintillated across my soup, thus: + +"How you feel this evening Mis' Maurer, h'm?" + +"Don't ask me." + +"No wonder you got rheumatism. My room was like a ice-house all day. +Yours too?" + +"I don't complain any more. Much good it does. Barley soup again? In my +own home I never ate it, and here I pay my good money and get four time +a week barley soup. Are those fresh cucumbers? M-m-m-m. They haven't +stood long enough. Look at Mis' Miller. She feels good this evening. She +should feel good. Twenty-five cents she won at bridge. I never seen how +that woman is got luck." + +I choked, gasped, and fled. + +Back in my own mausoleum once more I put things in order, dragged my +typewriter stand into the least murky corner under the bravest gas jet +and rescued my tottering reason by turning out a long letter to Norah. +That finished, my spirits rose. I dived into the bottom of my trunk for +the loose sheets of the book-in-the-making, glanced over the last three +or four, discovered that they did not sound so maudlin as I had feared, +and straightway forgot my gloomy surroundings in the fascination of +weaving the tale. + +In the midst of my fine frenzy there came a knock at the door. In the +hall stood the anemic little serving maid who had attended me at dinner. +She was almost eclipsed by a huge green pasteboard box. + +"You're Mis' Orme, ain't you? This here's for you." + +The little white-cheeked maid hovered at the threshold while I lifted +the box cover and revealed the perfection of the American beauty buds +that lay there, all dewy and fragrant. The eyes of the little maid were +wide with wonder as she gazed, and because I had known flower-hunger I +separated two stately blossoms from the glowing cluster and held them +out to her. + +"For me!" she gasped, and brought her lips down to them, gently. +Then--"There's a high green jar downstairs you can have to stick your +flowers in. You ain't got nothin' big enough in here, except your water +pitcher. An' putting these grand flowers in a water pitcher--why, it'd +be like wearing a silk dress over a flannel petticoat, wouldn't it?" + +When the anemic little boarding-house slavey with the beauty-loving soul +had fetched the green jar, I placed the shining stems in it with gentle +fingers. At the bottom of the box I found a card that read: "For it is +impossible to live in a room with red roses and still be traurig." + +How well he knew! And how truly impossible to be sad when red roses are +glowing for one, and filling the air with their fragrance! + +The interruption was fatal to book-writing. My thoughts were a chaos +of red roses, and anemic little maids with glowing eyes, and thoughtful +young doctors with a marvelous understanding of feminine moods. So +I turned out all the lights, undressed by moonlight, and, throwing a +kimono about me, carried my jar of roses to the window and sat down +beside them so that their exquisite scent caressed me. + +The moonlight had put a spell of white magic upon the lake. It was a +light-flooded world that lay below my window. Summer, finger on lip, +had stolen in upon the heels of spring. Dim, shadowy figures dotted the +benches of the park across the way. Just beyond lay the silver lake, a +dazzling bar of moonlight on its breast. Motors rushed along the roadway +with a roar and a whir and were gone, leaving a trail of laughter behind +them. From the open window of the room below came the slip-slap of +cards on the polished table surface, and the low buzz of occasional +conversation as the players held postmortems. Under the street light +the popcorn vender's cart made a blot on the mystic beauty of the scene +below. But the perfume of my red roses came to me, and their velvet +caressed my check, and beyond the noise and lights of the street lay +that glorious lake with the bar of moonlight on its soft breast. I gazed +and forgave the sour-faced landlady her dining room; forgave the elderly +parties their shawls and barley soup; forgot for a moment my weary +thoughts of Peter Orme; forgot everything except that it was June, and +moonlight and good to be alive. + +All the changes and events of that strange, eventful year came crowding +to my mind as I crouched there at the window. Four new friends, tried +and true! I conned them over joyously in my heart. What a strange +contrast they made! Blackie, of the elastic morals, and the still more +elastic heart; Frau Nirlanger, of the smiling lips and the lilting voice +and the tragic eyes--she who had stooped from a great height to pluck +the flower of love blooming below, only to find a worthless weed +sullying her hand; Alma Pflugel, with the unquenchable light of +gratefulness in her honest face; Von Gerhard, ready to act as buffer +between myself and the world, tender as a woman, gravely thoughtful, +with the light of devotion glowing in his steady eyes. + +"Here's richness," said I, like the fat boy in Pickwick Papers. And I +thanked God for the new energy which had sent me to this lovely city by +the lake. I thanked Him that I had not been content to remain a burden +to Max and Norah, growing sour and crabbed with the years. Those years +of work and buffeting had made of me a broader, finer, truer type +of womanhood--had caused me to forget my own little tragedy in +contemplating the great human comedy. And so I made a little prayer +there in the moon-flooded room. + +"O dear Lord," I prayed, and I did not mean that it should sound +irreverent. "O dear Lord, don't bother about my ambitions! Just let me +remain strong and well enough to do the work that is my portion from day +to day. Keep me faithful to my standards of right and wrong. Let +this new and wonderful love which has come into my life be a staff of +strength and comfort instead of a burden of weariness. Let me not +grow careless and slangy as the years go by. Let me keep my hair and +complexion and teeth, and deliver me from wearing soiled blouses and +doing my hair in a knob. Amen." + +I felt quite cheerful after that--so cheerful that the strange bumps in +the new bed did not bother me as unfamiliar beds usually did. The roses +I put to sleep in their jar of green, keeping one to hold against my +cheek as I slipped into dreamland. I thought drowsily, just before sleep +claimed me: + +"To-morrow, after office hours, I'll tuck up my skirt, and wrap my head +in a towel and have a housecleaning bee. I'll move the bed where the +wash-stand is now, and I'll make the chiffonnier swap places with the +couch. One feels on friendlier terms with furniture that one has shoved +about a little. How brilliant the moonlight is! The room is flooded with +it. Those roses--sweet!--sweet!--" + +When I awoke it was morning. During the days that followed I looked back +gratefully upon that night, with its moonlight, and its roses, and its +great peace. + + + + +CHAPTER XVII. THE SHADOW OF TERROR + +Two days before the date set for Von Gerhard's departure the book was +finished, typed, re-read, packed, and sent away. Half an hour after +it was gone all its most glaring faults seemed to marshall themselves +before my mind's eye. Whole paragraphs, that had read quite reasonably +before, now loomed ludicrous in perspective. I longed to snatch it back; +to tidy it here, to take it in there, to smooth certain rough places +neglected in my haste. For almost a year I had lived with this thing, +so close that its faults and its virtues had become indistinguishable to +me. Day and night, for many months, it had been in my mind. Of late some +instinct had prompted me to finish it. I had worked at it far into the +night, until I marveled that the ancient occupants of the surrounding +rooms did not enter a combined protest against the clack-clacking of my +typewriter keys. And now that it was gone I wondered, dully, if I could +feel Von Gerhard's departure more keenly. + +No one knew of the existence of the book except Norah, Von Gerhard, +Blackie and me. Blackie had a way of inquiring after its progress in +hushed tones of mock awe. Also he delighted in getting down on hands and +knees and guiding a yard-stick carefully about my desk with a view +to having a fence built around it, bearing an inscription which would +inform admiring tourists that here was the desk at which the brilliant +author had been wont to sit when grinding out heart-throb stories for +the humble Post. He took an impish delight in my struggles with my hero +and heroine, and his inquiries after the health of both were of such a +nature as to make any earnest writer person rise in wrath and slay him. +I had seen little of Blackie of late. My spare hours had been devoted +to the work in hand. On the day after the book was sent away I was +conscious of a little shock as I strolled into Blackie's sanctum and +took my accustomed seat beside his big desk. There was an oddly pinched +look about Blackie's nostrils and lips, I thought. And the deep-set +black eyes appeared deeper and blacker than ever in his thin little +face. + +A week of unseasonable weather had come upon the city. June was going +out in a wave of torrid heat such as August might have boasted. The day +had seemed endless and intolerably close. I was feeling very limp and +languid. Perhaps, thought I, it was the heat which had wilted Blackie's +debonair spirits. + +"It has been a long time since we've had a talk-talk, Blackie. I've +missed you. Also you look just a wee bit green around the edges. I'm +thinking a vacation wouldn't hurt you." + +Blackie's lean brown forefinger caressed the bowl of his favorite pipe. +His eyes, that had been gazing out across the roofs beyond his +window, came back to me, and there was in them a curious and quizzical +expression as of one who is inwardly amused. + +"I've been thinkin' about a vacation. None of your measly little two +weeks' affairs, with one week on salary, and th' other without. I ain't +goin' t' take my vacation for a while--not till fall, p'raps, or maybe +winter. But w'en I do take it, sa-a-ay, girl, it's goin' t' be a real +one." + +"But why wait so long?" I asked. "You need it now. Who ever heard of +putting off a vacation until winter!" + +"Well, I dunno," mused Blackie. "I just made my arrangements for that +time, and I hate t' muss 'em up. You'll say, w'en the time comes, that +my plans are reasonable." + +There was a sharp ring from the telephone at Blackie's elbow. He +answered it, then thrust the receiver into my hand. "For you," he said. + +It was Von Gerhard's voice that came to me. "I have something to tell +you," he said. "Something most important. If I call for you at six we +can drive out to the bay for supper, yes? I must talk to you." + +"You have saved my life," I called back. "It has been a beast of a day. +You may talk as much and as importantly as you like, so long as I am +kept cool." + +"That was Von Gerhard," said I to Blackie, and tried not to look +uncomfortable. + +"Mm," grunted Blackie, pulling at his pipe. "Thoughtful, ain't he?" + +I turned at the door. "He--he's going away day after to-morrow, +Blackie," I explained, although no explanation had been asked for, "to +Vienna. He expects to stay a year--or two--or three--" + +Blackie looked up quickly. "Goin' away, is he? Well, maybe it's best, +all around, girl. I see his name's been mentioned in all the medical +papers, and the big magazines, and all that, lately. Gettin' t' be a big +bug, Von Gerhard is. Sorry he's goin', though. I was plannin' t' consult +him just before I go on my--vacation. But some other guy'll do. He don't +approve of me, Von Gerhard don't." + +For some reason which I could never explain I went back into the room +and held out both my hands to Blackie. His nervous brown fingers closed +over them. "That doesn't make one bit of difference to us, does it, +Blackie?" I said, gravely. "We're--we're not caring so long as we +approve of one another, are we?" + +"Not a bit, girl," smiled Blackie, "not a bit." + +When the green car stopped before the Old Folks' Home I was in seraphic +mood. I had bathed, donned clean linen and a Dutch-necked gown. The +result was most soul-satisfying. My spirits rose unaccountably. Even the +sight of Von Gerhard, looking troubled and distrait, did not quiet them. +We darted away, out along the lake front, past the toll gate, to the bay +road stretching its flawless length along the water's side. It was alive +with swift-moving motor cars swarming like twentieth-century pilgrims +toward the mecca of cool breezes and comfort. There were proud +limousines; comfortable family cars; trim little roadsters; noisy +runabouts. Not a hoof-beat was to be heard. It was as though the +horseless age had indeed descended upon the world. There was only a hum, +a rush, a roar, as car after car swept on. + +Summer homes nestled among the trees near the lake. Through the branches +one caught occasional gleams of silvery water. The rush of cool air +fanned my hot forehead, tousled my hair, slid down between my collar and +the back of my neck, and I was grandly content. + +"Even though you are going to sail away, and even though you have the +grumps, and refuse to talk, and scowl like a jabberwock, this is an +extremely nice world. You can't spoil it." + +"Behute!" Von Gerhard's tone was solemn. + +"Would you be faintly interested in knowing that the book is finished?" + +"So? That is well. You were wearing yourself thin over it. It was then +quickly perfected." + +"Perfected!" I groaned. "I turn cold when I think of it. The last +chapters got away from me completely. They lacked the punch." + +Von Gerhard considered that a moment, as I wickedly had intended that he +should. Then--"The punch? What is that then--the punch?" + +Obligingly I elucidated. "A book may be written in flawless style, with +a plot, and a climax, and a lot of little side surprises. But if it +lacks that peculiar and convincing quality poetically known as the +punch, it might as well never have been written. It can never be a +six-best-seller, neither will it live as a classic. You will never see +it advertised on the book review page of the Saturday papers, nor +will the man across the aisle in the street car be so absorbed in its +contents that he will be taken past his corner." + +Von Gerhard looked troubled. "But the literary value? Does that not +enter--" + +"I don't aim to contribute to the literary uplift," I assured him. +"All my life I have cherished two ambitions. One of them is to write +a successful book, and the other to learn to whistle through my +teeth--this way, you know, as the gallery gods do it. I am almost +despairing of the whistle, but I still have hopes of the book." + +Whereupon Von Gerhard, after a moment's stiff surprise, gave vent to one +of his heartwarming roars. + +"Thanks," said I. "Now tell me the important news." + +His face grew serious in an instant. "Not yet, Dawn. Later. Let us hear +more about the book. Not so flippant, however, small one. The time is +past when you can deceive me with your nonsense." + +"Surely you would not have me take myself seriously! That's another debt +I owe my Irish forefathers. They could laugh--bless 'em!--in the very +teeth of a potato crop failure. And let me tell you, that takes some +sense of humor. The book is my potato crop. If it fails it will mean +that I must keep on drudging, with a knot or two taken in my belt. But +I'll squeeze a smile out of the corner of my mouth, somehow. And if it +succeeds! Oh, Ernst, if it succeeds!" + +"Then, Kindchen?" + +"Then it means that I may have a little thin layer of jam on my bread +and butter. It won't mean money--at least, I don't think it will. A +first book never does. But it will mean a future. It will mean that I +will have something solid to stand on. It will be a real beginning--a +breathing spell--time in which to accomplish something really worth +while--independence--freedom from this tread-mill--" + +"Stop!" cried Von Gerhard, sharply. Then, as I stared in surprise--"I +do ask your pardon. I was again rude, nicht wahr? But in me there is a +queer vein of German superstition that disapproves of air castles. Sich +einbilden, we call it." + +The lights of the bay pavilion twinkled just ahead. The green car poked +its nose up the path between rows of empty machines. At last it drew up, +panting, before a vacant space between an imposing, scarlet touring car +and a smart, cream-colored runabout. We left it there and walked up the +light-flooded path. + +Inside the great, barn-like structure that did duty as pavilion glasses +clinked, chairs scraped on the wooden floor; a burst of music followed +a sharp fusillade of applause. Through the open doorway could be seen a +company of Tyrolese singers in picturesque costumes of scarlet and green +and black. The scene was very noisy, and very bright, and very German. + +"Not in there, eh?" said Von Gerhard, as though divining my wish. "It is +too brightly lighted, and too noisy. We will find a table out here under +the trees, where the music is softened by the distance, and our eyes are +not offended by the ugliness of the singers. But inexcusably ugly they +are, these Tyrolese women." + +We found a table within the glow of the pavilion's lights, but still +so near the lake that we could hear the water lapping the shore. A +cadaverous, sandy-haired waiter brought things to eat, and we made brave +efforts to appear hungry and hearty, but my high spirits were ebbing +fast, and Von Gerhard was frankly distraught. One of the women singers +appeared suddenly in the doorway of the pavilion, then stole down the +steps, and disappeared in the shadow of the trees beyond our table. +The voices of the singers ceased abruptly. There was a moment's hushed +silence. Then, from the shadow of the trees came a woman's voice, clear, +strong, flexible, flooding the night with the bird-like trill of the +mountain yodel. The sound rose and fell, and swelled and soared. A +silence. Then, in a great burst of melody the chorus of voices within +the pavilion answered the call. Again a silence. Again the wonder of the +woman's voice flooded the stillness, ending in a note higher, clearer, +sweeter than any that had gone before. Then the little Tyrolese, her +moment of glory ended, sped into the light of the noisy pavilion again. + +When I turned to Von Gerhard my eyes were wet. "I shall have that to +remember, when you are gone." + +Von Gerhard beckoned the hovering waiter. "Take these things away. And +you need not return." He placed something in the man's palm--something +that caused a sudden whisking away of empty dishes, and many obsequious +bows. + +Von Gerhard's face was turned away from me, toward the beauty of the +lake and sky. Now, as the last flirt of the waiter's apron vanished +around the corner he turned his head slowly, and I saw that in his eyes +which made me catch my breath with apprehension. + +"What is it?" I cried. "Norah? Max? The children?" + +He shook his head. "They are well, so far, as I know. I--perhaps first +I should tell you--although this is not the thing which I have to say to +you--" + +"Yes?" I urged him on, impatiently. I had never seen him like this. + +"I do not sail this week. I shall not be with Gluck in Vienna this year. +I shall stay here." + +"Here! Why? Surely--" + +"Because I shall be needed here, Dawn. Because I cannot leave you now. +You will need--some one--a friend--" + +I stared at him with eyes that were wide with terror, waiting for I knew +not what. + +"Need--some one--for--what?" I stammered. "Why should you--" + +In the kindly shadow of the trees Von Gerhard's hands took my icy ones, +and held them in a close clasp of encouragement. + +"Norah is coming to be with you--" + +"Norah! Why? Tell me at once! At once!" + +"Because Peter Orme has been sent home--cured," said he. + +The lights of the pavilion fell away, and advanced, and swung about in a +great sickening circle. I shut my eyes. The lights still swung before my +eyes. Von Gerhard leaned toward me with a word of alarm. I clung to his +hands with all my strength. + +"No!" I said, and the savage voice was not my own. "No! No! No! It +isn't true! It isn't--Oh, it's some joke, isn't it? Tell me, it's--it's +something funny, isn't it? And after a bit we'll laugh--we'll laugh--of +course--see! I am smiling already--" + +"Dawn--dear one--it is true. God knows I wish that I could be happy to +know it. The hospital authorities pronounce him cured. He has been quite +sane for weeks." + +"You knew it--how long?" + +"You know that Max has attended to all communications from the doctors +there. A few weeks ago they wrote that Orme had shown evidences of +recovery. He spoke of you, of the people he had known in New York, of +his work on the paper, all quite rationally and calmly. But they must +first be sure. Max went to New York a week ago. Peter was gone. The +hospital authorities were frightened and apologetic. Peter had walked +away quite coolly one day. He had gone into the city, borrowed money of +some old newspaper cronies, and vanished. He may be there still. He may +be--" + +"Here! Ernst! Take me home! O God; I can't do it! I can't! I ought to +be happy, but I'm not. I ought to be thankful, but I'm not, I'm not! The +horror of having him there was great enough, but it was nothing compared +to the horror of having him here. I used to dream that he was well +again, and that he was searching for me, and the dreadful realness of it +used to waken me, and I would find myself shivering with terror. Once +I dreamed that I looked up from my desk to find him standing in the +doorway, smiling that mirthless smile of his, and I heard him say, in +his mocking way: 'Hello, Dawn my love; looking wonderfully well. Grass +widowhood agrees with you, eh?'" + +"Dawn, you must not laugh like that. Come, we will go. You are +shivering! Don't, dear, don't. See, you have Norah, and Max, and me to +help you. We will put him on his feet. Physically he is not what he +should be. I can do much for him." + +"You!" I cried, and the humor of it was too exquisite for laughter. + +"For that I gave up Vienna," said Von Gerhard, simply. "You, too, must +do your share." + +"My share! I have done my share. He was in the gutter, and he was +dragging me with him. When his insanity came upon him I thanked God for +it, and struggled up again. Even Norah never knew what that struggle +was. Whatever I am, I am in spite of him. I tell you I could hug my +widow's weeds. Ten years ago he showed me how horrible and unclean a +thing can be made of this beautiful life. I was a despairing, cowering +girl of twenty then--I am a woman now, happy in her work, her friends; +growing broader and saner in thought, quicker to appreciate the finer +things in life. And now--what?" + +They were dashing off a rollicking folk-song indoors. When it was +finished there came a burst of laughter and the sharp spat of applauding +hands, and shouts of approbation. The sounds seemed seared upon my +brain. I rose and ran down the path toward the waiting machine. There +in the darkness I buried my shamed face in my hands and prayed for the +tears that would not come. + +It seemed hours before I heard Von Gerhard's firm, quick tread upon the +gravel path. He moved about the machine, adjusting this and that, then +took his place at the wheel without a word. We glided out upon the +smooth white road. All the loveliness of the night seemed to have +vanished. Only the ugly, distorted shadows remained. The terror of +uncertainty gripped me. I could not endure the sight of Von Gerhard's +stern, set face. I grasped his arm suddenly so that the machine veered +and darted across the road. With a mighty wrench Von Gerhard righted it. +He stopped the machine at the road-side. + +"Careful, Kindchen," he said, gravely. + +"Ernst," I said, and my breath came quickly, chokingly, as though I had +been running fast, "Ernst, I can't do it. I'm not big enough. I can't. +I hate him, I tell you, I hate him! My life is my own. I've made it +what it is, in the face of a hundred temptations; in spite of a hundred +pitfalls. I can't lay it down again for Peter Orme to trample. Ernst, if +you love me, take me away now. To Vienna--anywhere--only don't ask me to +take up my life with him again. I can't--I can't--" + +"Love you?" repeated Ernst, slowly, "yes. Too well--" + +"Too well--" + +"Yes, too well for that, Gott sei dank, small one. Too well for that." + + + + +CHAPTER XVIII. PETER ORME + +A man's figure rose from the shadows of the porch and came forward to +meet us as we swung up to the curbing. I stifled a scream in my throat. +As I shrank back into the seat I heard the quick intake of Von Gerhard's +breath as he leaned forward to peer into the darkness. A sick dread came +upon me. + +"Sa-a-ay, girl," drawled the man's voice, with a familiar little +cackling laugh in it, "sa-a-ay, girl, the policeman on th' beat's got me +spotted for a suspicious character. I been hoofin' it up an' down this +block like a distracted mamma waitin' for her daughter t' come home from +a boat ride." + +"Blackie! It's only you!" + +"Thanks, flatterer," simpered Blackie, coming to the edge of the walk as +I stepped from the automobile. "Was you expectin' the landlady?" + +"I don't know just whom I expected. I--I'm nervous, I think, and you +startled me. Dr. Von Gerhard was taken back for a moment, weren't you, +Doctor?" + +Von Gerhard laughed ruefully. "Frankly, yes. It is not early. And +visitors at this hour--" + +"What in the world is it, Blackie?" I put in. "Don't tell me that +Norberg has been seized with one of his fiendish inspirations at this +time of night." + +Blackie struck a match and held it for an instant so that the flare +of it illuminated his face as he lighted his cigarette. There was no +laughter in the deep-set black eyes. + +"What is it Blackie?" I asked again. The horror of what Von Gerhard had +told me made the prospect of any lesser trial a welcome relief. + +"I got t' talk to you for a minute. P'raps Von Gerhard 'd better hear +it, too. I telephoned you an hour ago. Tried to get you out to the bay. +Waited here ever since. Got a parlor, or somethin', where a guy can +talk?" + +I led the way indoors. The first floor seemed deserted. The bare, +unfriendly boarding-house parlor was unoccupied, and one dim gas jet did +duty as illumination. + +"Bring in the set pieces," muttered Blackie, as he turned two more gas +jets flaring high. "This parlor just yells for a funeral." + +Von Gerhard was frowning. "Mrs. Orme is not well," he began. "She has +had a shock--some startling news concerning--" + +"Her husband?" inquired Blackie, coolly. I started up with a cry. "How +could you know?" + +A look of relief came into Blackie's face. "That helps a little. Now +listen, kid. An' w'en I get through, remember I'm there with the little +helpin' mitt. Have a cigarette, Doc?" + +"No," said Von Gerhard, shortly. + +Blackie's strange black eyes were fastened on my face, and I saw an +expression of pity in their depths as he began to talk. + +"I was up at the Press Club to-night. Dropped in for a minute or two, +like I always do on the rounds. The place sounded kind of still when I +come up the steps, and I wondered where all the boys was. Looked into +the billiard room--nothin' doin'. Poked my head in at the writin' +room--same. Ambled into the readin' room--empty. Well, I steered for the +dining room, an' there was the bunch. An' just as I come in they give a +roar, and I started to investigate. Up against the fireplace, with one +hand in his pocket, and the other hanging careless like on the mantel, +stood a man--stranger t' me. He was talkin' kind of low, and quick, +bitin' off his words like a Englishman. An' the boys, they was starin' +with their eyes, an' their mouths, and forgettin' t' smoke, an' lettin' +their pipes an' cigars go dead in their hands, while he talked. Talk! +Sa-a-ay, girl, that guy, he could talk the leads right out of a ruled, +locked form. I didn't catch his name. Tall, thin, unearthly lookin' +chap, with the whitest teeth you ever saw, an' eyes--well, his eyes was +somethin' like a lighted pipe with a little fine ash over the red, just +waitin' for a sudden pull t' make it glow." + +"Peter!" I moaned, and buried my face in my hands. Von Gerhard put a +quick hand on my arm. But I shook it off. "I'm not going to faint," I +said, through set teeth. "I'm not going to do anything silly. I want to +think. I want to... Go on, Blackie." + +"Just a minute," interrupted Von Gerhard. "Does he know where Mrs. Orme +is living?" + +"I'm coming t' that," returned Blackie, tranquilly. "Though for Dawn's +sake I'll say right here he don't know. I told him later, that she was +takin' a vacation up at her folks' in Michigan." + +"Thank God!" I breathed. + +"Wore a New York Press Club button, this guy did. I asked one of the +boys standin' on the outer edge of the circle what the fellow's name +was, but he only says: 'Shut up Black! An' listen. He's seen every darn +thing in the world.' Well, I listened. He wasn't braggin'. He wasn't +talkin' big. He was just talkin'. Seems like he'd been war correspondent +in the Boer war, and the Spanish-American, an' Gawd knows where. He +spoke low, not usin' any big words, either, an' I thought his eyes +looked somethin' like those of the Black Cat up on the mantel just over +his head--you know what I mean, when the electric lights is turned +on in-inside{sic} the ugly thing. Well, every time he showed signs of +stoppin', one of the boys would up with a question, and start him goin' +again. He knew everybody, an' everything, an' everywhere. All of +a sudden one of the boys points to the Roosevelt signature on the +wall--the one he scrawled up there along with all the other celebrities +first time he was entertained by the Press Club boys. Well this guy, he +looked at the name for a minute. 'Roosevelt?' he says, slow. 'Oh, yes. +Seems t' me I've heard of him.' Well, at that the boys yelled. Thought +it was a good joke, seein' that Ted had been smeared all over the first +page of everything for years. But kid, I seen th' look in that man's +eyes when he said it, and he wasn't jokin', girl. An' it came t' me, all +of a sudden, that all the things he'd been talkin' about had happened +almost ten years back. After he'd made that break about Roosevelt he +kind of shut up, and strolled over to the piano and began t' play. You +know that bum old piano, with half a dozen dead keys, and no tune?" + +I looked up for a moment. "He could make you think that it was a concert +grand, couldn't he? He hasn't forgotten even that?" + +"Forgotten? Girl, I don't know what his accomplishments was when you +knew him, but if he was any more fascinatin' than he is now, then I'm +glad I didn't know him. He could charm the pay envelope away from a +reporter that was Saturday broke. Somethin' seemed t' urge me t' go up +t' him an' say: 'Have a game of billiards?' + +"'Don't care if I do,' says he, and swung his long legs off the piano +stool and we made for the billiard room, with the whole gang after us. +Sa-a-ay, girl, I'm a modest violet, I am, but I don't mind mentionin' +that the general opinion up at the club is that I'm a little wizard with +the cue. Well, w'en he got through with me I looked like little sister +when big brother is tryin' t' teach her how to hold the cue in her +fingers. He just sent them balls wherever he thought they'd look pretty. +I bet if he'd held up his thumb and finger an' said, 'jump through +this!' them balls would of jumped." + +Von Gerhard took a couple of quick steps in Blackie's direction. His +eyes were blue steel. + +"Is this then necessary?" he asked. "All this leads to what? Has not +Mrs. Orme suffered enough, that she should undergo this idle chatter? +It is sufficient that she knows this--this man is here. It is a time for +action, not for words." + +"Action's comin' later, Doc," drawled Blackie, looking impish. +"Monologuin' ain't my specialty. I gener'ly let the other gink talk. You +never can learn nothin' by talkin'. But I got somethin' t' say t' Dawn +here. Now, in case you're bored the least bit, w'y don't hesitate one +minnit t'--" + +"Na, you are quite right, and I was hasty," said Von Gerhard, and his +eyes, with the kindly gleam in them, smiled down upon the little man. +"It is only that both you and I are over-anxious to be of assistance to +this unhappy lady. Well, we shall see. You talked with this man at the +Press Club?" + +"He talked. I listened." + +"That would be Peter's way," I said, bitterly. "How he used to love to +hold forth, and how I grew to long for blessed silence--for fewer words, +and more of that reserve which means strength!" + +"All this time," continued Blackie, "I didn't know his name. When we'd +finished our game of billiards he hung up his cue, and then he turned +around like lightning, and faced the boys that were standing around with +their hands in their pockets. He had a odd little smile on his face--a +smile with no fun it, if you know what I mean. Guess you do, maybe, if +you've seen it. + +"'Boys,' says he, smilin' that twisted kind of smile, 'boys, I'm lookin' +for a job. I'm not much of a talker, an' I'm only a amateur at music, +and my game of billiards is ragged. But there's one thing I can do, +fellows, from abc up to xyz, and that's write. I can write, boys, in a +way to make your pet little political scribe sound like a high school +paper. I don't promise to stick. As soon as I get on my feet again I'm +going back to New York. But not just yet. Meanwhile, I'm going to the +highest bidder.' + +"Well, you know since Merkle left us we haven't had a day when we wasn't +scooped on some political guff. 'I guess we can use you--some place,' I +says, tryin' not t' look too anxious. If your ideas on salary can take a +slump be tween New York and Milwaukee. Our salaries around here is more +what is elegantly known as a stipend. What's your name, Bo?' + +"'Name?' says he, smiling again, 'Maybe it'll be familiar t' you. That +is, it will if my wife is usin' it. Orme's my name--Peter Orme. Know a +lady of that name? Good.' + +"I hadn't said I did, but those eyes of his had seen the look on my +face. + +"'Friends in New York told me she was here,' he says. 'Where is she now? +Got her address?' he says. + +"'She expectin' you?' I asked. + +"'N-not exactly,' he says, with that crooked grin. + +"'Thought not,' I answered, before I knew what I was sayin'. 'She's up +north with her folks on a vacation.' + +"'The devil she is!' he says. 'Well, in that case can you let me have +ten until Monday?'" + +Blackie came over to me as I sat cowering in my chair. He patted my +shoulder with one lean brown hand. "Now kid, you dig, see? Beat it. Go +home for a week. I'll fix it up with Norberg. No tellin' what a guy like +that's goin' t' do. Send your brother-in-law down here if you want to +make it a family affair, and between us, we'll see this thing through." + +I looked up at Von Gerhard. He was nodding approval. It all seemed so +easy, so temptingly easy. To run away! Not to face him until I was +safe in the shelter of Norah's arms! I stood up, resolve lending me new +strength and courage. + +"I am going. I know it isn't brave, but I can't be brave any longer. I'm +too tired--too old--" + +I grasped the hand of each of those men who had stood by me so staunchly +in the year that was past. The words of thanks that I had on my lips +ended in dry, helpless sobs. And because Blackie and Von Gerhard looked +so pathetically concerned and so unhappy in my unhappiness my sobs +changed to hysterical laughter, in which the two men joined, after one +moment's bewildered staring. + +So it was that we did not hear the front door slam, or the sound of +footsteps in the hall. Our overstrained nerves found relief in laughter, +so that Peter Orme, a lean, ominous figure in the doorway looked in upon +a merry scene. + +I was the first to see him. And at the sight of the emaciated figure, +with its hollow cheeks and its sunken eyes all terror and hatred left +me, and I felt only a great pity for this wreck of manhood. Slowly I +went up to him there in the doorway. + +"Well, Peter?" I said. + +"Well, Dawn old girl," said he "you're looking wonderfully fit. Grass +widowhood seems to agree with you, eh?" + +And I knew then that my dread dream had come true. + +Peter advanced into the room with his old easy grace of manner. His eyes +glowed as he looked at Blackie. Then he laughed, showing his even, white +teeth. "Why, you little liar!" he said, in his crisp, clear English. +"I've a notion to thwack you. What d' you mean by telling me my wife's +gone? You're not sweet on her yourself, eh?" + +Von Gerhard stifled an exclamation, and Orme turned quickly in his +direction. "Who are you?" he asked. "Still another admirer? Jolly +time you were having when I interrupted." He stared at Von Gerhard +deliberately and coolly. A little frown of dislike came into his face. +"You're a doctor, aren't you? I knew it. I can tell by the hands, and +the eyes, and the skin, and the smell. Lived with 'em for ten years, +damn them! Dawn, tell these fellows they're excused, will you? And by +the way, you don't seem very happy to see me?" + +I went up to him then, and laid my hand on his arm. "Peter, you don't +understand. These two gentlemen have been all that is kind to me. I am +happy to know that you are well again. Surely you do not expect me to be +joyful at seeing you. All that pretense was left out of our lives long +before your--illness. It hasn't been all roses for me since then, Peter. +I've worked until I wanted to die with weariness. You know what this +newspaper game is for a woman. It doesn't grow easier as she grows older +and tireder." + +"Oh, cut out the melodrama, Dawn," sneered Peter. "Have either of you +fellows the makin's about you? Thanks. I'm famished for a smoke." + +The worrying words of ten years ago rose automatically to my lips. +"Aren't you smoking too much, Peter?" The tone was that of a harassed +wife. + +Peter stared. Then he laughed his short, mirthless little laugh. "By +Jove! Dawn, I believe you're as much my wife now as you were ten years +ago. I always said, you know, that you would have become a first-class +nagger if you hadn't had such a keen sense of humor. That saved you." He +turned his mocking eyes to Von Gerhard. "Doesn't it beat the devil, how +these good women stick to a man, once they're married! There's a certain +dog-like devotion about it that's touching." + +There was a dreadful little silence. For the first time in my knowledge +of him I saw a hot, painful red dyeing Blackie's sallow face. His eyes +had a menace in their depths. Then, very quietly, Von Gerhard stepped +forward and stopped directly before me. + +"Dawn," he said, very softly and gently, "I retract my statement of an +hour ago. If you will give me another chance to do as you asked me, I +shall thank God for it all my life. There is no degradation in that. To +live with this man--that is degradation. And I say you shall not suffer +it." + +I looked up into his face, and it had never seemed so dear to me. "The +time for that is past," I said, my tone as calm and even as his own. "A +man like you cannot burden himself with a derelict like me--mast gone, +sails gone, water-logged, drifting. Five years from now you'll thank +me for what I am saying now. My place is with this other wreck--tossed +about by wind and weather until we both go down together." There came a +sharp, insistent ring at the door-bell. No answering sound came from the +regions above stairs. The ringing sounded again, louder than before. + +"I'll be the Buttons," said Blackie, and disappeared into the hallway. + +"Oh, yes, I've heard about you," came to our ears a moment later, in a +high, clear voice--a dear, beloved voice that sent me flying to the door +in an agony of hope. + +"Norah!" I cried, "Norah! Norah! Norah!" And as her blessed arms closed +about me the tears that had been denied me before came in a torrent of +joy. + +"There, there!" murmured she, patting my shoulder with those comforting +mother-pats. "What's all this about? And why didn't somebody meet me? I +telegraphed. You didn't get it? Well, I forgive you. Howdy-do, Peter? +I suppose you are Peter. I hope you haven't been acting devilish again. +That seems to be your specialty. Now don't smile that Mephistophelian +smile at me. It doesn't frighten me. Von Gerhard, take him down to his +hotel. I'm dying for my kimono and bed. And this child is trembling +like a race-horse. Now run along, all of you. Things that look +greenery-yallery at night always turn pink in the morning. Great +Heavens! There's somebody calling down from the second-floor landing. +It sounds like a landlady. Run, Dawn, and tell her your perfectly +respectable sister has come. Peter! Von Gerhard! Mr. Blackie! Shoo!" + + + + +CHAPTER XIX. A TURN OF THE WHEEL + + +"You who were ever alert to befriend a man You who were ever the first +to defend a man, You who had always the money to lend a man Down on his +luck and hard up for a V, Sure you'll be playing a harp in beatitude +(And a quare sight you will be in that attitude) Some day, where +gratitude seems but a platitude, You'll find your latitude." + +From my desk I could see Peter standing in the doorway of the news +editor's room. I shut my eyes for a moment. Then I opened them again, +quickly. No, it was not a dream. He was there, a slender, graceful, +hateful figure, with the inevitable cigarette in his unsteady +fingers--the expensive-looking, gold-tipped cigarette of the old days. +Peter was Peter. Ten years had made little difference. There were queer +little hollow places in his cheeks, and under the jaw-bone, and at the +base of the head, and a flabby, parchment-like appearance about the +skin. That was all that made him different from the Peter of the old +days. + +The thing had adjusted itself, as Norah had said it would. The situation +that had filled me with loathing and terror the night of Peter's return +had been transformed into quite a matter-of-fact and commonplace affair +under Norah's deft management. And now I was back in harness again, and +Peter was turning out brilliant political stuff at spasmodic intervals. +He was not capable of any sustained effort. He never would be again; +that was plain. He was growing restless and dissatisfied. He spoke +of New York as though it were Valhalla. He said that he hadn't seen a +pretty girl since he left Forty-second street. He laughed at Milwaukee's +quaint German atmosphere. He sneered at our journalistic methods, and +called the newspapers "country sheets," and was forever talking of the +World, and the Herald, and the Sun, until the men at the Press Club +fought shy of him. Norah had found quiet and comfortable quarters +for Peter in a boarding-house near the lake, and just a square or two +distant from my own boarding-house. He hated it cordially, as only the +luxury-loving can hate a boarding-house, and threatened to leave daily. + +"Let's go back to the big town, Dawn, old girl," he would say. "We're +buried alive in this overgrown Dutch village. I came here in the first +place on your account. Now it's up to you to get me out of it. Think of +what New York means! Think of what I've been! And I can write as well as +ever." + +But I always shook my head. "We would not last a month in New York, +Peter. New York has hurried on and left us behind. We're just two pieces +of discard. We'll have to be content where we are." + +"Content! In this silly hole! You must be mad!" Then, with one of his +unaccountable changes of tone and topic, "Dawn, let me have some +money. I'm strapped. If I had the time I'd get out some magazine stuff. +Anything to get a little extra coin. Tell me, how does that little +sport you call Blackie happen to have so much ready cash? I've never yet +struck him for a loan that he hasn't obliged me. I think he's sweet on +you, perhaps, and thinks he's doing you a sort of second-hand favor." + +At times such as these all the old spirit that I had thought dead within +me would rise up in revolt against this creature who was taking, from +me my pride, my sense of honor, my friends. I never saw Von Gerhard now. +Peter had refused outright to go to him for treatment, saying that he +wasn't going to be poisoned by any cursed doctor, particularly not by +one who had wanted to run away with his wife before his very eyes. + +Sometimes I wondered how long this could go on. I thought of the old +days with the Nirlangers; of Alma Pflugel's rose-encircled cottage; +of Bennie; of the Knapfs; of the good-natured, uncouth aborigines, +and their many kindnesses. I saw these dear people rarely now. Frau +Nirlanger's resignation to her unhappiness only made me rebel more +keenly against my own. + +If only Peter could become well and strong again, I told myself, +bitterly. If it were not for those blue shadows under his eyes, and the +shrunken muscles, and the withered skin, I could leave him to live +his life as he saw fit. But he was as dependent as a child, and as +capricious. What was the end to be? I asked myself. Where was it all +leading me? + +And then, in a fearful and wonderful manner, my question was answered. + +There came to my desk one day an envelope bearing the letter-head of +the publishing house to which I had sent my story. I balanced it for a +moment in my fingers, woman-fashion, wondering, hoping, surmising. + +"Of course they can't want it," I told myself, in preparation for any +disappointment that was in store for me. "They're sending it back. This +is the letter that will tell me so." + +And then I opened it. The words jumped out at me from the typewritten +page. I crushed the paper in my hands, and rushed into Blackie's little +office as I had been used to doing in the old days. He was at his desk, +pipe in mouth. I shook his shoulder and flourished the letter wildly, +and did a crazy little dance about his chair. + +"They want it! They like it! Not only that, they want another, as soon +as I can get it out. Think of it!" + +Blackie removed his pipe from between his teeth and wiped his lips with +the back of his hand. "I'm thinkin'," he said. "Anything t' oblige +you. When you're through shovin' that paper into my face would you mind +explainin' who wants what?" + +"Oh, you're so stupid! So slow! Can't you see that I've written a real +live book, and had it accepted, and that I am going to write another if +I have to run away from a whole regiment of husbands to do it properly? +Blackie, can't you see what it means! Oh, Blackie, I know I'm maudlin +in my joy, but forgive me. It's been so long since I've had the taste of +it." + +"Well, take a good chew while you got th'chance an' don't count too high +on this first book business. I knew a guy who wrote a book once, an' he +planned to take a trip to Europe on it, and build a house when he got +home, and maybe a yacht or so, if he wasn't too rushed. Sa-a-ay, +girl, w'en he got through gettin' those royalties for that book they'd +dwindled down to fresh wall paper for the dinin'-room, and a new gas +stove for his wife, an' not enough left over to take a trolley trip to +Oshkosh on. Don't count too high." + +"I'm not counting at all, Blackie, and you can't discourage me." + +"Don't want to. But I'd hate to see you come down with a thud." Suddenly +he sat up and a grin overspread his thin face. "Tell you what we'll do, +girlie. We'll celebrate. Maybe it'll be the last time. Let's pretend +this is six months ago, and everything's serene. You get your bonnet. +I'll get the machine. It's too hot to work, anyway. We'll take a spin +out to somewhere that's cool, and we'll order cold things to eat, and +cold things to drink, and you can talk about yourself till you're tired. +You'll have to take it out on somebody, an' it might as well be me." + +Five minutes later, with my hat in my hand, I turned to find Peter at my +elbow. + +"Want to talk to you," he said, frowning. + +"Sorry, Peter, but I can't stop. Won't it do later?" + +"No. Got an assignment? I'll go with you." + +"N-not exactly, Peter. The truth is, Blackie has taken pity on me and +has promised to take me out for a spin, just to cool off. It has been so +insufferably hot." + +Peter turned away. "Count me in on that," he said, over his shoulder. + +"But I can't, Peter," I cried. "It isn't my party. And anyway--" + +Peter turned around, and there was an ugly glow in his eyes and an ugly +look on his face, and a little red ridge that I had not noticed before +seemed to burn itself across his forehead. "And anyway, you don't want +me, eh? Well, I'm going. I'm not going to have my wife chasing all over +the country with strange men. Remember, you're not the giddy grass widdy +you used to be. You can take me, or stay at home, understand?" + +His voice was high-pitched and quavering. Something in his manner struck +a vague terror to my heart. "Why, Peter, if you care that much I shall +be glad to have you go. So will Blackie, I am sure. Come, we'll go down +now. He'll be waiting for us." + +Blackie's keen, clever mind grasped the situation as soon as he saw us +together. His dark face was illumined by one of his rare smiles. "Coming +with us, Orme? Do you good. Pile into the tonneau, you two, and hang on +to your hair. I'm going to smash the law." + +Peter sauntered up to the steering-wheel. "Let me drive," he said. "I'm +not bad at it." + +"Nix with the artless amateur," returned Blackie. "This ain't no +demonstration car. I drive my own little wagon when I go riding, and I +intend to until I take my last ride, feet first." + +Peter muttered something surly and climbed into the front seat next to +Blackie, leaving me to occupy the tonneau in solitary state. + +Peter began to ask questions--dozens of them, which Blackie answered, +patiently and fully. I could not hear all that they said, but I saw +that Peter was urging Blackie to greater speed, and that Blackie was +explaining that he must first leave the crowded streets behind. Suddenly +Peter made a gesture in the direction of the wheel, and said something +in a high, sharp voice. Blackie's answer was quick and decidedly in +the negative. The next instant Peter Orme rose in his place and leaning +forward and upward, grasped the wheel that was in Blackie's hands. The +car swerved sickeningly. I noticed, dully, that Blackie did not go white +as novelists say men do in moments of horror. A dull red flush crept to +the very base of his neck. With a twist of his frail body he tried to +throw off Peter's hands. I remember leaning over the back of the seat +and trying to pull Peter back as I realized that it was a madman with +whom we were dealing. Nothing seemed real. It was ridiculously like the +things one sees in the moving picture theaters. I felt no fear. + +"Sit down, Orme!" Blackie yelled. "You'll ditch us! Dawn! God!--" + +We shot down a little hill. Two wheels were lifted from the ground. The +machine was poised in the air for a second before it crashed into the +ditch and turned over completely, throwing me clear, but burying Blackie +and Peter under its weight of steel and wood and whirring wheels. + +I remember rising from the ground, and sinking back again and rising +once more to run forward to where the car lay in the ditch, and tugging +at that great frame of steel with crazy, futile fingers. Then I ran +screaming down the road toward a man who was tranquilly working in a +field nearby. + + + + +CHAPTER XX. BLACKIE'S VACATION COMES + +The shabby blue office coat hangs on the hook in the little sporting +room where Blackie placed it. No one dreams of moving it. There it +dangles, out at elbows, disreputable, its pockets burned from many a hot +pipe thrust carelessly into them, its cuffs frayed, its lapels bearing +the marks of cigarette, paste-pot and pen. + +It is that faded old garment, more than anything else, which makes +us fail to realize that its owner will never again slip into its +comfortable folds. We cannot believe that a lifeless rag like that can +triumph over the man of flesh and blood and nerves and sympathies. With +what contempt do we look upon those garments during our lifetime! And +how they live on, defying time, long, long after we have been gathered +to our last rest. + +In some miraculous manner Blackie had lived on for two days after that +ghastly ride. Peter had been killed instantly, the doctors said. They +gave no hope for Blackie. My escape with but a few ridiculous bruises +and scratches was due, they said, to the fact that I had sat in the +tonneau. I heard them all, in a stupor of horror and grief, and wondered +what plan Fate had in store for me, that I alone should have been +spared. Norah and Max came, and took things in charge, and I saw Von +Gerhard, but all three appeared dim and shadowy, like figures in a mist. +When I closed my eyes I could see Peter's tense figure bending over +Blackie at the wheel, and heard his labored breathing as he struggled in +his mad fury, and felt again the helpless horror that had come to me as +we swerved off the road and into the ditch below, with Blackie, rigid +and desperate, still clinging to the wheel. I lived it all over and +over in my mind. In the midst of the blackness I heard a sentence that +cleared the fog from my mind, and caused me to raise myself from my +pillows. + +Some one--Norah, I think--had said that Blackie was conscious, and that +he was asking for some of the men at the office, and for me. For me! I +rose and dressed, in spite of Norah's protests. I was quite well, I told +them. I must see him. I shook them off with trembling fingers and when +they saw that I was quite determined they gave in, and Von Gerhard +telephoned to the hospital to learn the hour at which I might meet the +others who were to see Blackie for a brief moment. + +I met them in the stiff little waiting room of he hospital--Norberg, +Deming, Schmidt, Holt--men who had known him from the time when they +had yelled, "Heh, boy!" at him when they wanted their pencils sharpened. +Awkwardly we followed the fleet-footed nurse who glided ahead of us +down the wide hospital corridors, past doorways through which we caught +glimpses of white beds that were no whiter than the faces that lay on +the pillows. We came at last into a very still and bright little room +where Blackie lay. + +Had years passed over his head since I saw him last? The face that tried +to smile at us from the pillow was strangely wizened and old. It was as +though a withering blight had touched it. Only the eyes were the same. +They glowed in the sunken face, beneath the shock of black hair, with a +startling luster and brilliancy. + +I do not know what pain he suffered. I do not know what magic medicine +gave him the strength to smile at us, dying as he was even then. + +"Well, what do you know about little Paul Dombey?" he piped in a high, +thin voice. The shock of relief was too much. We giggled hysterically, +then stopped short and looked at each other, like scared and naughty +children. + +"Sa-a-ay, boys and girls, cut out the heavy thinking parts. Don't make +me do all the social stunts. What's the news? What kind of a rotten +cotton sportin' sheet is that dub Callahan gettin' out? Who won +to-day--Cubs or Pirates? Norberg, you goat, who pinned that purple tie +on you?" + +He was so like the Blackie we had always known that we were at our ease +immediately. The sun shone in at the window, and some one laughed a +little laugh somewhere down the corridor, and Deming, who is Irish, +plunged into a droll description of a brand-new office boy who had +arrived that day. + +"S'elp me, Black, the kid wears spectacles and a Norfolk suit, and +low-cut shoes with bows on 'em. On the square he does. Looks like one of +those Boston infants you see in the comic papers. I don't believe he's +real. We're saving him until you get back, if the kids in the alley +don't chew him up before that time." + +An almost imperceptible shade passed over Blackie's face. He closed his +eyes for a moment. Without their light his countenance was ashen, and +awful. + +A nurse in stripes and cap appeared in the doorway. She looked keenly at +the little figure in the bed. Then she turned to us. + +"You must go now," she said. "You were just to see him for a minute or +two, you know." + +Blackie summoned the wan ghost of a smile to his lips. "Guess you guys +ain't got th' stimulatin' effect that a bunch of live wires ought to +have. Say, Norberg, tell that fathead, Callahan, if he don't keep the +third drawer t' the right in my desk locked, th' office kids'll swipe +all the roller rink passes surest thing you know." + +"I'll--tell him, Black," stammered Norberg, and turned away. + +They said good-by, awkwardly enough. Not one of them that did not owe +him an unpayable debt of gratitude. Not one that had not the memory of +some secret kindness stored away in his heart. It was Blackie who had +furnished the money that had sent Deming's sick wife west. It had +been Blackie who had rescued Schmidt time and again when drink got a +strangle-hold. Blackie had always said: "Fire Schmidt! Not much! Why, +Schmidt writes better stuff drunk than all the rest of the bunch sober." +And Schmidt would be granted another reprieve by the Powers that Were. + +Suddenly Blackie beckoned the nurse in the doorway. She came swiftly and +bent over him. + +"Gimme two minutes more, that's a good nursie. There's something I want +to say t' this dame. It's de rigger t' hand out last messages, ain't +it?" + +The nurse looked at me, doubtfully. "But you're not to excite yourself." + +"Sa-a-ay, girl, this ain't goin' t' be no scene from East Lynne. Be a +good kid. The rest of the bunch can go." + +And so, when the others had gone, I found myself seated at the side of +his bed, trying to smile down at him. I knew that there must be nothing +to excite him. But the words on my lips would come. + +"Blackie," I said, and I struggled to keep my voice calm and +emotionless, "Blackie, forgive me. It is all my fault--my wretched +fault." + +"Now, cut that," interrupted Blackie. "I thought that was your game. +That's why I said I wanted t' talk t' you. Now, listen. Remember my +tellin' you, a few weeks ago, 'bout that vacation I was plannin'? This +is it, only it's come sooner than I expected, that's all. I seen two +three doctor guys about it. Your friend Von Gerhard was one of 'em. +They didn't tell me t' take no ocean trip this time. Between 'em, they +decided my vacation would come along about November, maybe. Well, I beat +'em to it, that's all. Sa-a-ay, girl, I ain't kickin'. You can't live on +your nerves and expect t' keep goin'. Sooner or later you'll be suein' +those same nerves for non-support. But, kid, ain't it a shame that I +got to go out in a auto smashup, in these days when even a airship exit +don't make a splash on the front page!" + +The nervous brown hand was moving restlessly over the covers. Finally it +met my hand, and held it in a tense little grip. + +"We've been good pals, you and me, ain't we, kid?" + +"Yes, Blackie." + +"Ain't regretted it none?" + +"Regretted it! I am a finer, truer, better woman for having known you, +Blackie." + +He gave a little contented sigh at that, and his eyes closed. When he +opened them the old, whimsical smile wrinkled his face. + +"This is where I get off at. It ain't been no long trip, but sa-a-ay, +girl, I've enjoyed every mile of the road. All kinds of scenery--all +kinds of lan'scape--plain--fancy--uphill--downhill--" + +I leaned forward, fearfully. + +"Not--yet," whispered Blackie. "Say Dawn--in the story +books--they--always--are strong on the--good-by kiss, what?" + +And as the nurse appeared in the doorway again, disapproval on her face, +I stooped and gently pressed my lips to the pain-lined cheek. + + + + +CHAPTER XXI. HAPPINESS + +We laid Peter to rest in that noisy, careless, busy city that he had +loved so well, and I think his cynical lips would have curled in a +bitterly amused smile, and his somber eyes would have flamed into sudden +wrath if he could have seen how utterly and completely New York had +forgotten Peter Orme. He had been buried alive ten years before--and +Newspaper Row has no faith in resurrections. Peter Orme was not even a +memory. Ten years is an age in a city where epochs are counted by hours. + +Now, after two weeks of Norah's loving care, I was back in the pretty +little city by the lake. I had come to say farewell to all those who +had filled my life so completely in that year. My days of newspaper work +were over. The autumn and winter would be spent at Norah's, occupied +with hours of delightful, congenial work, for the second book was to be +written in the quiet peace of my own little Michigan town. Von Gerhard +was to take his deferred trip to Vienna in the spring, and I knew that +I was to go with him. The thought filled my heart with a great flood of +happiness. + +Together Von Gerhard and I had visited Alma Pflugel's cottage, and the +garden was blooming in all its wonder of color and scent as we opened +the little gate and walked up the worn path. We found them in the cool +shade of the arbor, the two women sewing, Bennie playing with the +last wonderful toy that Blackie had given him. They made a serene and +beautiful picture there against the green canopy of the leaves. We spoke +of Frau Nirlanger, and of Blackie, and of the strange snarl of events +which had at last been unwound to knit a close friendship between us. +And when I had kissed them and walked for the last time in many months +up the flower-bordered path, the scarlet and pink, and green and gold of +that wonderful garden swam in a mist before my eyes. + +Frau Nirlanger was next. When we spoke of Vienna she caught her breath +sharply. + +"Vienna!" she repeated, and the longing in her voice was an actual +pain. "Vienna! Gott! Shall I ever see it again? Vienna! My boy is there. +Perhaps--" + +"Perhaps," I said, gently. "Stranger things have happened. Perhaps if +I could see them, and talk to them--if I could tell them--they might be +made to understand. I haven't been a newspaper reporter all these +years without acquiring a golden gift of persuasiveness. Perhaps--who +knows?--we may meet again in Vienna. Stranger things have happened." + +Frau Nirlanger shook her head with a little hopeless sigh. "You do not +know Vienna; you do not know the iron strength of caste, and custom and +stiff-necked pride. I am dead in Vienna. And the dead should rest in +peace." + +It was late in the afternoon when Von Gerhard and I turned the corner +which led to the building that held the Post. I had saved that for the +last. + +"I hope that heaven is not a place of golden streets, and twanging harps +and angel choruses," I said, softly. "Little, nervous, slangy, restless +Blackie, how bored and ill at ease he would be in such a heaven! How +lonely, without his old black pipe, and his checked waistcoats, and +his diamonds, and his sporting extra. Oh, I hope they have all those +comforting, everyday things up there, for Blackie's sake." + +"How you grew to understand him in that short year," mused Von Gerhard. +"I sometimes used to resent the bond between you and this little Blackie +whose name was always on your tongue." + +"Ah, that was because you did not comprehend. It is given to very few +women to know the beauty of a man's real friendship. That was the bond +between Blackie and me. To me he was a comrade, and to him I was a +good-fellow girl--one to whom he could talk without excusing his pipe +or cigarette. Love and love-making were things to bring a kindly, amused +chuckle from Blackie." + +Von Gerhard was silent. Something in his silence held a vague irritation +for me. I extracted a penny from my purse, and placed it in his hand. + +"I was thinking," he said, "that none are so blind as those who will not +see." + +"I don't understand," I said, puzzled. + +"That is well," answered Von Gerhard, as we entered the building. "That +is as it should be." And he would say nothing more. + +The last edition of the paper had been run off for the day. I had +purposely waited until the footfalls of the last departing reporter +should have ceased to echo down the long corridor. The city room was +deserted except for one figure bent over a pile of papers and proofs. +Norberg, the city editor, was the last to leave, as always. His desk +light glowed in the darkness of the big room, and his typewriter alone +awoke the echoes. + +As I stood in the doorway he peered up from beneath his green eye-shade, +and waved a cloud of smoke away with the palm of his hand. + +"That you, Mrs. Orme?" he called out. "Lord, we've missed you! That new +woman can't write an obituary, and her teary tales sound like they were +carved with a cold chisel. When are you coming back?" + +"I'm not coming back," I replied. "I've come to say good-by to you +and--Blackie." + +Norberg looked up quickly. "You feel that way, too? Funny. So do the +rest of us. Sometimes I think we are all half sure that it is only +another of his impish tricks, and that some morning he will pop open the +door of the city room here and call out, 'Hello, slaves! Been keepin' m' +memory green?'" + +I held out my hand to him, gratefully. He took it in his great palm, +and a smile dimpled his plump cheeks. "Going to blossom into a regular +little writer, h'm? Well, they say it's a paying game when you get the +hang of it. And I guess you've got it. But if ever you feel that you +want a real thrill--a touch of the old satisfying newspaper feeling--a +sniff of wet ink--the music of some editorial cussing--why come up here +and I'll give you the hottest assignment on my list, if I have to take +it away from Deming's very notebook." + +When I had thanked him I crossed the hall and tried the door of the +sporting editor's room. Von Gerhard was waiting for me far down at the +other end of the corridor. The door opened and I softly entered and shut +it again. The little room was dim, but in the half-light I could see +that Callahan had changed something--had shoved a desk nearer the +window, or swung the typewriter over to the other side. I resented it. I +glanced up at the corner where the shabby old office coat had been wont +to hang. There it dangled, untouched, just as he had left it. Callahan +had not dared to change that. I tip-toed over to the corner and touched +it gently with my fingers. A light pall of dust had settled over the +worn little garment, but I knew each worn place, each ink-spot, each +scorch or burn from pipe or cigarette. I passed my hands over it +reverently and gently, and then, in the dimness of that quiet little +room I laid my cheek against the rough cloth, so that the scent of the +old black pipe came back to me once more, and a new spot appeared on the +coat sleeve--a damp, salt spot. Blackie would have hated my doing that. +But he was not there to see, and one spot more or less did not matter; +it was such a grimy, disreputable old coat. + +"Dawn!" called Von Gerhard softly, outside the door. "Dawn! Coming, +Kindchen?" + +I gave the little coat a parting pat. "Goodby," I whispered, under my +breath, and turned toward the door. + +"Coming!" I called, aloud. + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's Dawn O'Hara, The Girl Who Laughed, by Edna Ferber + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK DAWN O'HARA, THE GIRL WHO LAUGHED *** + +***** This file should be named 1602.txt or 1602.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/1/6/0/1602/ + +Produced by An Anonymous Volunteer + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. Special rules, +set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to +copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to +protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark. 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