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font-weight:bold; } - -/* page numbers */ -a[title].pagenum { position: absolute; right: 1%; } -a[title].pagenum:after { content: attr(title); color: gray; background-color: inherit; - letter-spacing: 0; text-indent: 0; text-align: right; font-style: normal; - font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; font-size: x-small; - border: 1px solid silver; padding: 1px 4px 1px 4px; - display: inline; } - -div.centerpic { text-align:center; text-indent:0; display:block; } - -@media handheld { - body { margin-left:0; margin-right:0; } - div.frontmatter { max-width:inherit; } - div.backmatter { max-width:inherit; } - div.ads { max-width:inherit; border:0; border-top:1px solid black; } - a.pagenum { display:none; } - a.pagenum:after { display:none; } -} - -@media speech { - div.coverpage { display:block; } - a.pagenum { display:none; } - a.pagenum:after { display:none; } -} - -</style> -</head> - -<body> - - -<pre> - -The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Glebe 1914/03 (Vol. 1, No. 6): Erna -Vitek, by Alfred Kreymborg - -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/license - - -Title: The Glebe 1914/03 (Vol. 1, No. 6): Erna Vitek - -Author: Alfred Kreymborg - -Editor: Man Ray - Alfred Kreymborg - -Release Date: September 5, 2020 [EBook #63125] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE GLEBE 1914/03 (VOL. 1 *** - - - - -Produced by Jens Sadowski and the Online Distributed -Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net. This book was -produced from images made available by the Blue Mountain -Project, Princeton University. - - - - - - -</pre> - - -<div class="centerpic"> -<img src="images/cover.jpg" alt="" /></div> - -<div class="coverpage"> -<p class="journal"> -THE<br /> -GLEBE -</p> - -<p class="issue"> -VOLUME 1<br /> -NUMBER 6 -</p> - -<p class="issue"> -MARCH<br /> -1914 -</p> - -<p class="price"> -SUBSCRIPTION<br /> -Three Dollars Yearly<br /> -THIS ISSUE 50 CENTS -</p> - -<p class="tit"> -ERNA VITEK -</p> - -<p class="aut"> -<span class="line1">By Alfred Kreymborg</span> -</p> - -</div> - -<div class="frontmatter chapter"> -<p class="halftitle"> -ERNA VITEK -</p> - -</div> - -<div class="frontmatter chapter"> -<h1 class="title"> -ERNA VITEK -</h1> - -<p class="aut"> -<span class="line1">BY</span><br /> -<span class="line2">Alfred Kreymborg</span> -</p> - -<div class="centerpic logo"> -<img src="images/logo.jpg" alt="" /></div> - -<p class="pub"> -NEW YORK<br /> -ALBERT AND CHARLES BONI<br /> -96 Fifth Avenue<br /> -1914 -</p> - -</div> - -<div class="frontmatter chapter"> -<p class="cop"> -Copyright, 1914<br /> -by<br /> -Albert and Charles Boni -</p> - -</div> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p class="tit2"> -<a id="page-5" class="pagenum" title="5"></a> -ERNA VITEK -</p> - -</div> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<h2 class="chapter" id="chapter-0-1"> -I -</h2> - -</div> - -<p class="first"> -Three young men, the best of friends, a painter, -Bainbridge Breen, a writer, Eric Nielsen, and a -composer, John Carstairs, were arguing that three-faced -conundrum, morals. Quite an accident had -provoked them to it: a waitress, Erna Vitek. From -picking at her they had launched into axiomizing, -only to come back to her. Her morals were the vital -topic of the evening. Carstairs’ studio provided the -<em>mise en scène</em>. -</p> - -<p> -“Well, we’ve hit a conclusion at last,” said Breen -with an air of comfortable finality. “Carstairs calls -her moral, I say she’s unmoral, and Nielsen that she -may be moral, unmoral or even both.” -</p> - -<p> -“Yes!” -</p> - -<p> -“Now, we’ve all conceded that Erna’s not immoral—at -least she doesn’t lead a life inconsistent -with morality?” -</p> - -<p> -“Yes!” -</p> - -<p> -“Very well then,” Breen concluded contentedly. -“Now let me make a proposition.” -</p> - -<p> -“What kind of a proposition?” Nielsen quizzed -<a id="page-6" class="pagenum" title="6"></a> -in droll tones and looked at Carstairs, who was -frowning. -</p> - -<p> -“There’s very little to it. I can dish it out in a -few words. It’s simply this: that we put Erna to -the test.” -</p> - -<p> -“What do you mean?” was Carstairs’ immediate -challenge. -</p> - -<p> -“Don’t worry!” Breen responded blandly. “I’m -not going to injure the girl.” -</p> - -<p> -“Well, what did you mean—” -</p> - -<p> -“Merely this,” the painter interrupted quietly. “I -don’t believe that any of us know her very well. -She’s only been working at Landsmann’s a few -months. Of course, Carstairs, you’ve taken her out -on one or two occasions, so you’ve had an opportunity -of studying her at closer range.” -</p> - -<p> -“Not of studying her!” -</p> - -<p> -“You don’t study her, certainly. You—er—what -would you call it, Nielsen?” -</p> - -<p> -“Why, John has been burned a little by the divine -flame.” -</p> - -<p> -Carstairs blushed angrily. “If you fellows intend -to be personal—” -</p> - -<p> -“Never mind, John,” Nielsen cut in. “You -must allow us the occasional escape of some of our -surplus wind. Now, let’s drop these bravado poses -and get down to business. I want the rest of the -<a id="page-7" class="pagenum" title="7"></a> -proposition. We know that we’re to put Erna to -the test. Now, Breen, tell us how.” -</p> - -<p> -“There’s nothing to explain. I said, put her to -the test. Let each one, in his own way and for himself, -perhaps, pay her attentions—I don’t mean, -make love to her—but simply, well, let him take her -to the theatre or to supper some evening—she’s free -nights—and find out how close he can get to her—I -don’t mean seduction—but that he penetrate her -character. Let each, in his own way, learn for -himself, and later we’ll compare notes and decide -whether the respected lady has the moral or the unmoral -tendency or even whether she might develop -an—er—” -</p> - -<p> -“See here, Breen!” Carstairs exploded. -</p> - -<p> -“Oh, I’d forgotten that we agreed to throw that -out,” the painter apologized. “You see, I couldn’t -help thinking of that little affair with the young -prize ring gladiator. What was his name? Allen!” -</p> - -<p> -“But that was only a temptation,” Carstairs -fought back. -</p> - -<p> -“Of course, only a temptation. But we have -only her word that it never proved more.” -</p> - -<p> -The composer was ready with a hot retaliation -when Nielsen interposed: “Now don’t let’s revert -to that topic again, Breen. We can never know the -whole story, and it only annoys John to refer to it. -<a id="page-8" class="pagenum" title="8"></a> -We know that Erna was down and out at the time—she’d -just come to Landsmann’s, was unsettled and -that sort of thing—that much we know and that -young Allen followed her there with an offer of -cash. At least, she intimated something like that to -John and said it was a case of being good or bad -then and there. She chose being good. Even if she -had chosen the other, the transaction might have -been an unmoral and not an immoral one, for she -was fond of Allen.” -</p> - -<p> -“But—” -</p> - -<p> -“Now never mind, Breen! We’ve threshed that -out often enough. Erna didn’t flop—in fact, she -showed Mr. Allen the door, hasn’t seen him since -and—” -</p> - -<p> -“But we have only <em>her</em> word for all that stuff.” -</p> - -<p> -“All right. There’s no other to contradict.” -</p> - -<p> -Breen, although silenced, was busy reflecting; -Carstairs’ ire was appeased. Nielsen concluded: -“Let’s take up Breen’s proposition, John, each in -his own way, whatever that may be, and then we’ll -compare notes some day and settle the business. -After all, Erna’s only a waitress; we needn’t spend -more than an ordinary amount of excitement over -her.” -</p> - -<p> -“But she isn’t a waitress. I tell you, she’s a -woman.” -</p> - -<p> -<a id="page-9" class="pagenum" title="9"></a> -“All right, woman let her be,” Nielsen conceded -gracefully. “Now, we don’t want to sit here throwing -words and phrases around all evening. We’ve -been at it too long as it is. Why not put the matter -to a vote and then drop it?” -</p> - -<p> -“Yes.” -</p> - -<p> -“Breen, of course, votes that we put her to the -test. Will you vote that way too?” -</p> - -<p> -Carstairs gave in with an effort. -</p> - -<p> -“Fine!” Nielsen applauded. “I’ll vote ‘yes’ -too.” -</p> - -<p> -“Motion proposed and carried that one Erna -Vitek, employed as waitress at the Café Landsmann—” -</p> - -<p> -“That’ll do, Breen. We’ve had enough of your -eloquence for one evening. You’ve given me a -headache. Besides, I’m sick of this subject. Let’s -start something else.” -</p> - -<p> -Breen laughed his ever-ready, self-satisfied laugh, -and Nielsen, and even Carstairs, joined him. Presently, -the studio slept the sleep of the unperturbed. -Carefully, Breen filled his pipe and began a deliberate -puffing, while Nielsen introduced some new -anecdote in his droll, even-tempered way. Carstairs, -on the other hand, was meditating gloomily: in an -hour or so he would be due at that damnable hole, -the Phoenix Music Hall—where he earned his -<a id="page-10" class="pagenum" title="10"></a> -bread playing accompaniments. A second thought -cheered him not a little. He would still have time -to eat his supper at Landsmann’s. -</p> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<h2 class="chapter" id="chapter-0-2"> -<a id="page-11" class="pagenum" title="11"></a> -II -</h2> - -</div> - -<p class="first"> -“Erna! What is the matter with you? Another -cup of coffee for Mr. Nolan!” -</p> - -<p> -“I know it. I ordered it an hour ago.” -</p> - -<p> -The stocky, middle-aged, stolid-faced German -stared at the handsome sensual girl of twenty, muttered -something, as she returned his critical stare -with a defiant one, and passed out of the kitchen into -the store. -</p> - -<p> -“What is the matter with Erna to-day?” he demanded -of his stocky, middle-aged, stolid-faced -wife, who stood behind the counter waiting on -customers. -</p> - -<p> -“Why?” -</p> - -<p> -“This is the third time she has been <em>schnautzing</em> -me.” -</p> - -<p> -“Oh, she has something on her mind,” was the -woman’s unconcerned reply. -</p> - -<p> -The storekeeper was not satisfied. “That <em>fellow</em> -must be to blame,” he said. -</p> - -<p> -“Who?” -</p> - -<p> -“That Allen! He’s been coming here again.” -</p> - -<p> -“Has he?” the woman returned with the same -unconcern. “Let him come. What do you care?” -</p> - -<p> -<a id="page-12" class="pagenum" title="12"></a> -Erna Vitek was in a morose humor. Her pugnacious -nose seemed more pugnacious than ever, and -even her mouth, usually so soft and yielding, appeared -hard this morning. And her brown eyes, -which could give you gentle glances one day and -repelling ones the next, were filled with ominous -signs. There was a good reason. She had just -overheard the other waitresses exchanging remarks -about her. This would not have been so bad if their -talk had been without foundation. But it was true: -she had been glad to see Jimmy Allen yesterday -noon and evening, when he came in—after an absence -of three months. He had stopped drinking. -He had been living and training in the country, so -that the old color had returned to his face and the -old light to his eyes. He looked stronger than ever, -more energetic and happier. Yes, he was to begin -fighting again—next week—but that had never been -his worst fault. The girls said that she still “liked -him” or that she would “like him again.” This -would not have been so bad if— -</p> - -<p> -Gretchen and Mollie were small, mean, dirty. -They were always gossipping about her. And she -had given them her old dresses, old hats, encouragement, -advice. What a lot of gratitude women felt -toward you! -</p> - -<p> -Her face cleared. A laughing, splendidly built -<a id="page-13" class="pagenum" title="13"></a> -young fellow was making his way through the store, -returning salutations. He stopped in the kitchen -long enough to barter laughing glances with Erna -and passed down the two steps into the dining room: -a small low one containing six tables—Erna’s empire. -There, he received more greetings and one or -two short tributes on his return to the public eye. -The young athlete pulled off his coat and cap and -hung them on the wall. He flung himself into a -chair at an empty table and was soon at his ease. -</p> - -<p> -Erna was a shrewd girl. She did not come to -take his order at once. First, she served another -patron. Then, she cleared away some dishes. -Finally, she came to Jimmy’s table, but with a careless -air. -</p> - -<p> -He gave her a frank look. “How’s the girl?” -was his familiar greeting. -</p> - -<p> -“Pretty fair!” she responded in cool tones. “How -are you?” -</p> - -<p> -“Bully!” -</p> - -<p> -“What do you want?” she went on indifferently. -</p> - -<p> -“Gimme time to breathe!” he protested, and tried -to stare into her face and to take her hand. -</p> - -<p> -“Stop!” she warned him and drew back. -</p> - -<p> -“Why, what the deuce—” -</p> - -<p> -“Customers are waitin’—” she cut him short. -</p> - -<p> -He gave the bill of fare a contemptuous glance. -<a id="page-14" class="pagenum" title="14"></a> -“Bring me a soft boiled egg, toast an’ a glass o’ -milk.” -</p> - -<p> -She looked at him with sudden irritation, but -smiled, turned her back and left the room with -aggravating slowness. -</p> - -<p> -Jimmy appeared angry, but one of the patrons -disturbed his mood with an admiring: “On a diet, -Jimmy?” -</p> - -<p> -“Yes.” -</p> - -<p> -“What night does it come off?” -</p> - -<p> -“Next Tuesday.” -</p> - -<p> -“How do you feel?” -</p> - -<p> -Jimmy expanded his chest, gave himself a solid -punch and answered: “Great! Harder than a -rock!” -</p> - -<p> -“Feel sorry for ‘the Kid.’ How long are you -goin’ to let him stay?” -</p> - -<p> -“Oh, part o’ the second,” was Jimmy’s laughing -assurance. -</p> - -<p> -A sigh of pleasure and envy escaped the patrons. -And they quickly announced their intention to be -present at the joyous butchery. -</p> - -<p> -Erna came back. She pretended to wipe off the -neighboring table. Pretty soon, however, she was -at Jimmy’s side. -</p> - -<p> -“What’s the grouch?” he asked confidentially. -</p> - -<p> -“Nothin’.” -</p> - -<p> -<a id="page-15" class="pagenum" title="15"></a> -“Still sore at me?” -</p> - -<p> -“No.” -</p> - -<p> -“Sore at somebody else?” -</p> - -<p> -“No.” -</p> - -<p> -He looked up at her anxiously, but Erna smiled; -her eyes softened and winked slyly. Jimmy, -who was always willing to laugh, laughed again. -“You’re still the kiddo,” he whispered. -</p> - -<p> -Erna blushed and moved away. -</p> - -<p> -“Erna!” he called. -</p> - -<p> -“Wait a moment!” -</p> - -<p> -She stayed away about two minutes and then returned -with Jimmy’s order, which was overdue. -Three of the patrons, exchanging “so longs!” with -the prize-fighter, went out. Two remained, milkmen, -but they were fast asleep. -</p> - -<p> -Erna set Jimmy’s order before him. He tried to -catch her hand, but she was too quick. An irritable -grunt escaped him. -</p> - -<p> -“What’s the matter?” she taunted him. -</p> - -<p> -“What’s the matter with <em>you</em>?” -</p> - -<p> -“Nothin’.” -</p> - -<p> -But she dropped her glance coquettishly. He -gave her face and figure an admiring look. -</p> - -<p> -“Erna,” he said gently. -</p> - -<p> -She looked at him for a shy instant. -</p> - -<p> -“I say, Erna,” he repeated. -</p> - -<p> -<a id="page-16" class="pagenum" title="16"></a> -“Well?” -</p> - -<p> -“You’re not sore?” -</p> - -<p> -“No.” -</p> - -<p> -“Sure?” -</p> - -<p> -“Yes.” -</p> - -<p> -“You know what I mean?” -</p> - -<p> -“Sure!” -</p> - -<p> -He studied her. “Then why do you treat me -this way—now?” -</p> - -<p> -She tried bold and bashful glances, turned her -head a little and said enigmatically “Just because.” -</p> - -<p> -“Just because what?” -</p> - -<p> -“Just because.” -</p> - -<p> -He shook his head, but his ever-ready laugh came -to his assistance. “Then you’re not sore?” -</p> - -<p> -“No.” -</p> - -<p> -“Sure?” -</p> - -<p> -“Of course.” -</p> - -<p> -“Even though—” -</p> - -<p> -“Yes.” -</p> - -<p> -“Then you like to treat me this way just—” -</p> - -<p> -“Sure.” -</p> - -<p> -“Why?” -</p> - -<p> -“Just because!” she echoed and started to laugh. -</p> - -<p> -He gave her an adoring glance and this time -caught her hand. She tried to pull it away, but his -grip was too powerful. He squeezed her hand. -</p> - -<p> -<a id="page-17" class="pagenum" title="17"></a> -“Don’t, don’t!” she begged in pain. -</p> - -<p> -He let go and smiled. She was not angry. Instead, -she placed her hand on his biceps. He raised -his forearm and imprisoned her hand. “Oo-oo!” -she sighed in happy homage, and her eyes shone. -</p> - -<p> -Once more, he freed her hand. “Well?” -</p> - -<p> -“Terrible!” she whispered. “What’ll happen to -the poor ‘Kid’?” -</p> - -<p> -“Death!” was his jovial rejoinder. -</p> - -<p> -He caught her hand once more. “Don’t, don’t!” -she warned him. He let go as before, but she did -not withdraw it immediately. -</p> - -<p> -His glance grew bolder and bolder, but he hesitated. -He busied himself with his breakfast for a -moment, shaking salt into his egg and stirring it with -a spoon. He looked up and hesitated again. Finally, -he began: “Then it’ll be all right to-night?” -</p> - -<p> -“To-night?” -</p> - -<p> -“Yes. You said you’d tell me to-day.” -</p> - -<p> -“I know.” -</p> - -<p> -“It’ll be all right?” he pleaded. -</p> - -<p> -She eyed him a moment, softened a little and -then gave in: “But where can we go?” -</p> - -<p> -“We can take in a show,” he suggested. -</p> - -<p> -“A show?” -</p> - -<p> -“Yes!” -</p> - -<p> -“Where?” -</p> - -<p> -<a id="page-18" class="pagenum" title="18"></a> -“Oh, Miner’s, the Gran’ or a movie.” -</p> - -<p> -She meditated. -</p> - -<p> -“Hurry up! Here come some customers.” -</p> - -<p> -She turned her head quickly, and then looked -back at him. “All right,” she whispered. -</p> - -<p> -“Where’ll I meet you?” he demanded eagerly. -</p> - -<p> -“At the old corner—eight o’clock!” -</p> - -<p> -He pressed her hand in hurried understanding, as -three young men entered the dining room. They -were Breen, Carstairs and Nielsen. Erna passed -them on her way out with a nervous “good-morning.” -</p> - -<p> -She stayed out some time. Jimmy ate and drank -rapidly, got up, took his check, put on his cap and -coat, and ignoring the newcomers, left the room. -Breen and Nielsen had recognized him with amazement. -They watched him curiously, but not so Carstairs. -He sat there, staring gloomily at the table. -</p> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<h2 class="chapter" id="chapter-0-3"> -<a id="page-19" class="pagenum" title="19"></a> -III -</h2> - -</div> - -<p class="first"> -“Moral or unmoral, but not—” Breen started -and waited for Nielsen to supply the last word. -</p> - -<p> -Nielsen, who understood, shook his head and corrected: -“Moral or unmoral—no more,” and smiled -confidently. -</p> - -<p> -Carstairs looked from Nielsen to Breen and continued -staring at the table. -</p> - -<p> -“How do you account then for the recrudescence -of our young gladiator?” Breen went on. -</p> - -<p> -“And what has that to do with Erna’s life, -present or future?” Nielsen argued amiably. -</p> - -<p> -“If he’s calling again?” -</p> - -<p> -“Let him call! Does that necessarily affect -Erna’s conduct?” -</p> - -<p> -“But <em>hasn’t</em> it affected her conduct? Didn’t you -notice it as we came in?” -</p> - -<p> -“Yes.” -</p> - -<p> -“Well?” -</p> - -<p> -Nielsen wore a thoughtful frown, but smiled mischievously -and declared: “There was nothing <em>im</em>moral, -as far as I could make out.” -</p> - -<p> -Breen was gracious enough to agree: “Perhaps -not.” -</p> - -<p> -<a id="page-20" class="pagenum" title="20"></a> -They were silent. Carstairs watched them -gloomily and then returned to his occupation. Erna -came in, affecting a matter-of-fact air. -</p> - -<p> -Breen and Nielsen pressed her with playful greetings -and compliments. She accepted them as part -of the tribute due her each day, but her stereotyped -expression disappeared, and she was ready to take -up her duties as gracious empress. Even her pugnacious -nose appeared less pugnacious. Having recognized -the young men’s tribute by a favor or two, -she criticized genially: “You’re late this morning.” -</p> - -<p> -“Nielsen overslept himself,” Breen explained. -</p> - -<p> -“Don’t you believe him—he overslept himself,” -Nielsen retorted. -</p> - -<p> -Erna was leaning against their table, her arms -akimbo. The pair received a glance each, as was -their due, and then she studied Carstairs. “Maybe -it was you, Mr. Carstairs?” -</p> - -<p> -He looked up. “Me?” -</p> - -<p> -“Yes—maybe it was you that overslept yourself.” -</p> - -<p> -Carstairs blushed, his friends laughed, and he -denied with a return of good nature: “No. They -were the ones.” -</p> - -<p> -“He’s not awake yet, Erna,” Breen fought back. -</p> - -<p> -“He doesn’t look it,” she seconded. -</p> - -<p> -The young composer blushed again, but did not -<a id="page-21" class="pagenum" title="21"></a> -defend himself this time. Nielsen eyed him with -friendly concern. -</p> - -<p> -“Your orders, gentlemen.” -</p> - -<p> -“What’s your hurry?” Breen complained. -</p> - -<p> -“You don’t suppose I can stand here all day,” -she reminded him. -</p> - -<p> -“But I want to admire you a little,” he protested. -“Who wants to eat in the presence of a—of a—Why, -look at the beautiful red ribbon! Is it a new -one, Erna?” -</p> - -<p> -“Yes,” and instantly, Erna, always susceptible -to praise or flattery, raised her hands to arrange the -ribbon. -</p> - -<p> -“It matches your hair to perfection,” Breen pursued. -“You love color, don’t you?” -</p> - -<p> -“Sure.” -</p> - -<p> -“Red the most?” -</p> - -<p> -“Sure.” -</p> - -<p> -“Blood, blood red?” -</p> - -<p> -“Yes.” -</p> - -<p> -“My favorite color, too!” -</p> - -<p> -“That’ll do,” Nielsen interposed. “Don’t steal -all the crumbs, Breen.” -</p> - -<p> -Erna laughed. -</p> - -<p> -“But they belong to me,” Breen defended himself. -“Color is my line. Red is my color too.” -</p> - -<p> -<a id="page-22" class="pagenum" title="22"></a> -“These grasping conceited painters!” Nielsen -grumbled. -</p> - -<p> -“No,” Erna interceded. “If he likes red, he -likes red.” -</p> - -<p> -“’A second Daniel’,” quoted Breen. “I thank -thee, gracious Lady. Thou and I are of one mind -and desire. By the way, Erna! Did you ever wear -all red?” -</p> - -<p> -“No—oh, yes, two or three years ago.” -</p> - -<p> -“You did? Have you still got the dress?” -</p> - -<p> -“Oh, I’ve outgrown it. I’m—I’m stouter now,” -and she expanded her chest and laughed again. -</p> - -<p> -“But you must find it,” he continued with growing -interest. “You could easily alter it to fit, couldn’t -you? I want you to pose for me. You know you’ve -promised me several times. Wouldn’t you like to? -All in red: red ribbon, red waist, and skirt and even -red slippers, but best of all, red cheeks and red lips!” -</p> - -<p> -Erna’s pleasure-loving scent was aroused. -</p> - -<p> -“Will you, Erna?” -</p> - -<p> -“Sure!” -</p> - -<p> -“When?” -</p> - -<p> -“Oh, not to-day.” -</p> - -<p> -“When then?” -</p> - -<p> -“Not to-morrow.” -</p> - -<p> -“Oh, pshaw—when then?” -</p> - -<p> -“My first afternoon off?” -</p> - -<p> -<a id="page-23" class="pagenum" title="23"></a> -“Fine! When will that be?” -</p> - -<p> -“Next Monday.” -</p> - -<p> -“Good! And you’ll be ready?” -</p> - -<p> -“Yes, if you really want me to. But I won’t be -able—” -</p> - -<p> -“That’s all right,” he interrupted. “Come anyhow! -You’ll be immense just the same. You will -create—” -</p> - -<p> -“Pooh, pooh, and likewise tut, tut!” Nielsen -broke in. “When are we to hear an end to this?” -</p> - -<p> -“He’s jealous,” said Erna. -</p> - -<p> -“Of course,” Nielsen admitted. “To the painter -go all the spoils. No one ever poses for a writer. -It wouldn’t be proper.” -</p> - -<p> -“Why?” she challenged. -</p> - -<p> -Nielsen got up in a hurry. “What?” he demanded -in mock seriousness. -</p> - -<p> -“Order, order!” she said roguishly and looked -away. -</p> - -<p> -“But—” -</p> - -<p> -“Order, order!” Breen echoed. “The lady is -right. We must have order. Besides, we haven’t -ordered.” -</p> - -<p> -Nielsen fell back with a philosophic sigh. “All -is unfair when bad puns make their appearance.” -</p> - -<p> -It did not take the young men long to make their -choice of breakfast. Erna went away. -</p> - -<p> -<a id="page-24" class="pagenum" title="24"></a> -“Come back soon!” pleaded Breen. -</p> - -<p> -“In a wink,” she called back. -</p> - -<p> -Breen started drumming on the table; Nielsen -looked across at him and hummed a pleasant tune. -“You’re a clever individual,” he observed. -</p> - -<p> -“Why?” -</p> - -<p> -“You’re not going to have her pose, old Sly Fox.” -</p> - -<p> -“Certainly not, thou reader of souls.” -</p> - -<p> -“I thought not.” -</p> - -<p> -“But I’m only carrying out our program of last -night. You seem to have forgotten it.” -</p> - -<p> -“No.” -</p> - -<p> -“Then why criticize me for being the first one on -the job? It’ll be up to you and Carstairs too.” -</p> - -<p> -“I know,” Nielsen agreed jovially. -</p> - -<p> -“Count me out!” Carstairs interrupted suddenly. -</p> - -<p> -“The sleeper’s awake,” Breen applauded. “He’s -back from the land of dreams. What news from -Arcadia, Colonel?” -</p> - -<p> -“You can count me out,” Carstairs repeated -stubbornly, and would not look at his friends. -</p> - -<p> -“Why, what’s the matter?” Nielsen interposed -sympathetically, and raised his hand to forewarn -Breen. -</p> - -<p> -“Nothing.” -</p> - -<p> -“Breen’s only been fooling all along!” -</p> - -<p> -“I know.” -</p> - -<p> -<a id="page-25" class="pagenum" title="25"></a> -“Then you’re not angry with him, or me?” -</p> - -<p> -“No.” -</p> - -<p> -“Then what’s the trouble?” -</p> - -<p> -“I don’t like it—I hate it,” the young composer -went on with difficulty. -</p> - -<p> -“What don’t you like?” -</p> - -<p> -“This business!” -</p> - -<p> -“What, this business of testing Erna?” Nielsen -asked gently, and studied him. “John!” The latter -refused to look at him. “It’s all in fun. I thought -you were satisfied with our arrangement? We are -each to study Erna in our own way, then to compare -notes to learn whether—You don’t have to -use Breen’s method. I don’t intend to. You don’t -have to either.” -</p> - -<p> -“I know.” -</p> - -<p> -“Then there ought to be no complaint.” -</p> - -<p> -“Count me out anyhow.” -</p> - -<p> -“Why?” -</p> - -<p> -Breen wanted to poke into the argument, but -Nielsen raised his hand again. -</p> - -<p> -“She’s not a waitress or a—or a working woman—or -a table or a chair,” Carstairs said with obvious -difficulty. -</p> - -<p> -Nielsen understood. He squeezed his neighbor’s -arm and declared with his most soothing tone: “She’s -a woman, of course—as we concluded last night. -<a id="page-26" class="pagenum" title="26"></a> -Breen and I know that. You feel that we do, don’t -you?” -</p> - -<p> -Carstairs, who was in his most sentimental mood, -seemed on the verge of tears. “Yes,” he managed -to agree. -</p> - -<p> -Nielsen broke off the subject at once. “Well, -we’ll talk over the whole business some other time. -You’re not feeling well this morning. It must be -your work at that confounded moving picture hole.” -</p> - -<p> -“Yes,” Carstairs said doubtfully. -</p> - -<p> -“Cheer up!” Breen succeeded in interpolating. -“Forget your troubles in the music world and listen -to that concert over there. That duet recital, I -should say.” -</p> - -<p> -Carstairs smiled. -</p> - -<p> -“Tristan and Isolde are being undone,” Nielsen -added, catching Breen’s cue. “Or Salome and -Jokannan, eh? Away with Wagner and Strauss: -Richard the First and Second—what do you say, -John?” -</p> - -<p> -“Yes.” -</p> - -<p> -The two milkmen, who were sleeping more -soundly than ever, appreciated their listeners’ applause. -They were indulging in a crescendo. -</p> - -<p> -“Silence and listen!” Breen warned so solemnly -that Nielsen, and even Carstairs, laughed. -</p> - -<p> -Breen and Nielsen exchanged nods. They had -<a id="page-27" class="pagenum" title="27"></a> -accomplished their object. Erna came back with -their orders. -</p> - -<p> -“What music have we here?” Breen hailed her. -</p> - -<p> -She set their orders on the table, and arranged -their plates, knives, forks and spoons. “What did -you say?” -</p> - -<p> -“What music is this emanating from yon Orpheus -and his Eurydice?” -</p> - -<p> -“Must be some ragtime,” she suggested. -</p> - -<p> -Breen feigned disappointment. -</p> - -<p> -“It all depends upon one’s taste, you see,” Nielsen -interpreted for him. -</p> - -<p> -And Carstairs laughed again. -</p> - -<p> -Erna eyed him. “Why, he’s awake,” she said. -</p> - -<p> -“Yes,” Breen and Nielsen assured her. -</p> - -<p> -Carstairs raised his head and met her glance for -an instant, and the sudden warmth he felt brought -color to his face. He looked elsewhere, but it was -plainly evident that he was feeling better. -</p> - -<p> -“You’re sure you’re awake now?” she questioned -wantonly. -</p> - -<p> -“Yes, thanks,” he responded gratefully. -</p> - -<p> -The young men started eating. Erna attended -to her remaining duties with them and then went -over to another table and sat down. Presently, she -was occupied folding paper napkins. Breen, with -Nielsen’s assistance, opened a discussion on the newest -<a id="page-28" class="pagenum" title="28"></a> -fad of French painting, examples of which were -being exhibited at a Fifth Avenue gallery. -</p> - -<p> -Carstairs stole cautious glances at Erna. Once -or twice, she raised her eyes and caught his glance -in hers. Both looked away in embarrassment. This -performance was repeated several times. There -seemed to be some shy understanding between them. -</p> - -<p> -About a half hour later, the young men arose and -put on their hats and coats. Erna came over and -gave them their checks. “So long, Erna,” Nielsen -parted cordially. “<em>Au midi</em>,” Breen seconded. -And the pair made their way up the steps and out -of the dining room. -</p> - -<p> -Carstairs had delayed his departure a moment. -He approached Erna nervously and in a hurried -voice, began: “Is it all right for to-night? You -know, you were going to let me know.” -</p> - -<p> -She frowned a little and then returned: “Yes—oh -no, I can’t go out with you to-night.” -</p> - -<p> -His face became tragic. She, possessed by one -of her soft moods, played the sympathetic: “Will -you be off again this week?” -</p> - -<p> -“Yes—Sunday night—from seven to nine,” he -explained in an eager whisper. -</p> - -<p> -“Well?” She waited, smiling. -</p> - -<p> -“Will it be all right then?” he asked, his courage -rising. -</p> - -<p> -<a id="page-29" class="pagenum" title="29"></a> -“Yes.” -</p> - -<p> -“All right—Sunday—seven o’clock,” he whispered, -hurried out—and forgot his check. -</p> - -<p> -She came after him and caught him at the counter, -where he had joined his friends. -</p> - -<p> -“You’ve forgotten your check,” she told him, -with a bright glance. -</p> - -<p> -“Oh, yes, thanks,” he stammered. -</p> - -<p> -Breen and Nielsen stared at him. The trio -passed out into the street. -</p> - -<p> -“Where shall we go?” Breen questioned. -</p> - -<p> -“Let’s bum a while in my room,” Nielsen proposed. -</p> - -<p> -“I can’t,” Carstairs declined. -</p> - -<p> -“Why not, John?” -</p> - -<p> -“I want to work a little,” Carstairs explained. -</p> - -<p> -Breen and Nielsen stared at him again. -</p> - -<p> -Somewhat later, the painter and the writer were -comfortably seated in the latter’s comfortable workshop. -</p> - -<p> -“I guess so, but I hope it isn’t true,” Nielsen was -saying. -</p> - -<p> -“Oh, he’ll get over it. These attachments of his -are never serious nor of long duration. And at best, -she’s only a hardened little thing, a fact he’ll realize -in good season.” -</p> - -<p> -<a id="page-30" class="pagenum" title="30"></a> -“John was always much slower to learn matters -than the rest of us,” Nielsen said dreamily. -</p> - -<p> -“Yes.” -</p> - -<p> -“He’s foolishly sensitive too.” -</p> - -<p> -“And foolishly sentimental,” Breen concluded. -</p> - -<p> -There was a pause. -</p> - -<p> -“And how about your story?” the painter continued. -</p> - -<p> -“By the way, I’m thinking of using Erna as a -model for—” -</p> - -<p> -“Want her to pose for you too, old Sly Fox?” -Breen demanded in revenge. -</p> - -<p> -“Of course, and incidentally to find out—” -</p> - -<p> -“I know,” Breen interrupted, and the pair -laughed in mutual admiration. -</p> - -<p> -In the meanwhile, John Carstairs was busy—working. -He was seated at the small upright piano, -which monopolized a good part of the space in his -small studio. About an hour later, he had finished -improvising and selecting and arranging his material -and now placed a large sheet of music paper against -the piano rack. The staves were blank at present, -but it was certain that the young composer intended -covering them as rapidly as possible. First of all, -however, he wrote the title of the composition at the -head of the page: To Thee. -</p> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<h2 class="chapter" id="chapter-0-4"> -<a id="page-31" class="pagenum" title="31"></a> -IV -</h2> - -</div> - -<p class="first"> -An evening performance was in full swing at the -Phoenix Music Hall, a small but well attended five -and ten cent moving picture and vaudeville establishment -on Eighth Avenue, not far from Landsmann’s. -At present, the moving pictures were doing -a turn, and the auditorium was dark. Music -from a piano, placed close to the stage, was the only -accompaniment, but it was an adequate one. A -young, slender, anaemic individual was seated at -the piano. -</p> - -<p> -At the moment, he was playing a dainty popular -waltz as a descriptive background for a French -comedy scene. Many a laugh rolled toward him. -Then he commenced a two-step, as the screen announced -a change of pictures. The audience -laughed more frequently and with heartier approval, -as an American farce romped by. Again, the -screen announced a change. -</p> - -<p> -An Irish romance was under way. For this class -of sketch, Carstairs was expected to interpolate or -to improvise something “sweet and dreamy.” Therefore, -he took advantage of the opportunity. He -leaned closer to the keyboard, lowered his head and -<a id="page-32" class="pagenum" title="32"></a> -was soon engulfed in what he was rendering—so -much so, that he did not turn to keep in touch with -the pictures, as was his habit. The yearning sentimental -composition had made him captive. -</p> - -<p> -Let others talk against Erna, he would still hold -fast to his faith in her. Breen was a cynic, and -Nielsen too. They flattered themselves that they -knew human nature, but they did not, for they were -lacking in sympathy. He had been foolish to listen -to their prattle concerning Erna. He would not do -so in the future. In fact, he ought to drop their acquaintance -or to avoid their company, at least. He -would do that. Now, he could keep his thought -of her, so pure, to himself—his thought of her, who, -in spite of her fun-loving and prank-playing nature, -was as pure as the purest and whitest of— Yes, he -would keep her pure. And Jimmy Allen, well, he -had come back, but his influence over her was dead, -dead since the day she had shown him the door, as -she had confided to him that time. He could trust -her. She was strong enough and pure enough to -take care of herself. -</p> - -<p> -This was Friday; to-morrow would be Saturday, -and then Sunday, a long, long Sunday, would come -and have to pass before she would be with him. Of -course, he would see her to-morrow morning at breakfast, -but he must be careful to avoid the cynics. -<a id="page-33" class="pagenum" title="33"></a> -Even so, how could he tell her that he had composed -this for her, this, the best of his compositions, thanks -to the circumstance that she had been its inspiration. -Perhaps, it would be better not to tell her; it would -be a bigger surprise if he were to play it for her and -then offer it to her, as one would a flower or some -other symbol. -</p> - -<p> -Would he have the courage to ask her to come to -his studio, so that he might play for her? And if -he had, suppose she should refuse? But she had -accepted an invitation from Breen, and only to pose -for him. Surely, she would not refuse him? And -if she did not, could he actually amuse and hold her -attention by merely playing for her? Why not? -She sang a great deal in the store,—it is true, popular -music, which he hated—but she had not been -educated to anything higher. That did not make -her any the less musical; moreover, she would learn -in time, at his guidance perhaps, since she possessed -so much temperament along with that lovely voice. -Therefore, she would not object should he offer to -play for her. And he would play as he never had -for any one, eventually to lead up to this composition, -that belonged so naturally to her. What -would she say when he would offer it to her as her -own? He must push his courage far enough to ask -her to come to his studio. -</p> - -<p> -<a id="page-34" class="pagenum" title="34"></a> -Carstairs continued playing and dreaming. -</p> - -<p> -The audience was very still now. At one end -of the front row, a young couple were sitting, holding -hands. When the lights were up a while ago, -one might have recognized them as Erna Vitek and -Jimmy Allen. Both were living in the proverbial -seventh heaven. -</p> - -<p> -“Ain’t it lovely?” she was whispering. -</p> - -<p> -“The two boobs in the love story?” -</p> - -<p> -“Not them so much—but the music!” -</p> - -<p> -“Pretty good.” -</p> - -<p> -“Nice an’ dreamy, ain’t it?” -</p> - -<p> -“Yes—sounds as though the guy was playing -for us.” -</p> - -<p> -Erna gave him a reproving nudge, and he -laughed. They listened and watched in silence. -But he grew impatient. “Don’t care for the story, -do you?” -</p> - -<p> -“Sure! What’s the matter with it?” -</p> - -<p> -“Them two boobs gimme a pain.” -</p> - -<p> -“Why?” -</p> - -<p> -“I dunno.” -</p> - -<p> -“They’re true to life?” -</p> - -<p> -“So’s my dead gran’mother.” -</p> - -<p> -She laughed. “What’s wrong with ’em?” -</p> - -<p> -He squeezed her hand as gently as he was able. -“Where do we come in?” -</p> - -<p> -<a id="page-35" class="pagenum" title="35"></a> -“What?” -</p> - -<p> -“Ain’t we true to life?” -</p> - -<p> -She pulled her hand away. -</p> - -<p> -“What’s the matter?” he demanded. -</p> - -<p> -“Nothin’.” -</p> - -<p> -“Gimme your—my hand again!” -</p> - -<p> -“No.” -</p> - -<p> -“Why not?” -</p> - -<p> -“Just because.” -</p> - -<p> -“Sore?” -</p> - -<p> -“No.” -</p> - -<p> -He was silent. -</p> - -<p> -Presently, she commanded: “Jimmy!” -</p> - -<p> -No answer. -</p> - -<p> -“Jimmy!” -</p> - -<p> -Again, no answer. -</p> - -<p> -Her hand slid across his arm and sought his. -</p> - -<p> -“Mad?” -</p> - -<p> -“Mm—no.” -</p> - -<p> -“Sure?” -</p> - -<p> -“Yes.” -</p> - -<p> -“Then why wouldn’t you answer?” -</p> - -<p> -“Just because!” he mimicked her. -</p> - -<p> -She slapped his hand gently, his hand opened and -they clasped again. There was a pause. -</p> - -<p> -“Erna,” he said in bolder tones. -</p> - -<p> -“Not so loud!” she warned him. -</p> - -<p> -<a id="page-36" class="pagenum" title="36"></a> -“Well then—Erna,” he repeated in very low -tones. -</p> - -<p> -“That’s better.” -</p> - -<p> -“How about it?” -</p> - -<p> -“About what?” -</p> - -<p> -“What I asked you ’fore we came here?” -</p> - -<p> -“I asked you not to repeat that,” was her reproach. -</p> - -<p> -“I know, but I can’t help it. Don’t you like it -here?” -</p> - -<p> -“Sure.” -</p> - -<p> -“I mean here, side o’ me—in the dark?” -</p> - -<p> -“Yes.” -</p> - -<p> -“Well—” He hesitated. -</p> - -<p> -“Well?” she mocked him. -</p> - -<p> -“Think o’ how swell it’d be—” -</p> - -<p> -“Be careful, Jimmy!” -</p> - -<p> -“I can’t help it,” he persisted. “Think o’ how -swell it’d be—” -</p> - -<p> -“Jimmy!” she warned him once more. -</p> - -<p> -“Oh shucks!” he returned aloud, and was silent. -There was a longer pause. -</p> - -<p> -“Jimmy!” -</p> - -<p> -No answer. -</p> - -<p> -“Jimmy!” -</p> - -<p> -Again, no answer. -</p> - -<p> -“Jimmy!” -</p> - -<p> -<a id="page-37" class="pagenum" title="37"></a> -A third time, no answer. -</p> - -<p> -She pressed his hand and pushed against his -shoulder, but he would not respond. Erna gave in. -“I’m sorry—forgive me?” -</p> - -<p> -“Mm—” -</p> - -<p> -“Do you forgive me?” -</p> - -<p> -“Yes.” -</p> - -<p> -“You don’t say it very loud.” -</p> - -<p> -“Well, you jumped on me before for talkin’ -loud.” -</p> - -<p> -“You’d wake the audience,” she apologized. -</p> - -<p> -“Well?” he challenged. -</p> - -<p> -“Well what?” she retorted. -</p> - -<p> -“What did you want to say?” -</p> - -<p> -“Nothin’.” -</p> - -<p> -“All right!”—and he was silent. -</p> - -<p> -“Ah yes, Jimmy,” she resigned. -</p> - -<p> -“Well?” -</p> - -<p> -“You can go on with—with your story, but—but -don’t go too far.” -</p> - -<p> -“All right.” -</p> - -<p> -“Promise?” -</p> - -<p> -“Yes.” -</p> - -<p> -“Then go ahead.” -</p> - -<p> -He revolved matters in his blunt mind, and recommenced: -“You remember, I told you ’bout the—the -<a id="page-38" class="pagenum" title="38"></a> -little furnished flat my manager, Nolan, asked -me to move in?” -</p> - -<p> -“Yes?” -</p> - -<p> -“Well, why couldn’t we—just you an’ me—” -</p> - -<p> -“Jimmy!” -</p> - -<p> -“I know, but I can’t help it, Erna. Things is -different now. When I asked you that time—well, -that’s all over now. You an’ I’s forgotten that. So -what’s buried’s buried. An’ times is different now. -You’ve got a job, though it’s a punk one. I’ve got -a little money an’ more to come, an’ I’ve cut drinkin’. -My health’s fine an’ prospects great. After I finish -‘the Kid’ there’ll be Young Walcott—an’ after -Walcott, a bunch o’ others—” -</p> - -<p> -“But Jimmy—” -</p> - -<p> -“Don’t butt in!” he begged seriously. “Now, -I know you hate that job o’ yours—” -</p> - -<p> -“It ain’t all cheese an’ honey,” she confessed. -</p> - -<p> -“No, an’ it never will be. Now, why can’t you -pull up stakes—” -</p> - -<p> -“Jimmy!” -</p> - -<p> -“Don’t butt in!” he begged more seriously. “This -is different than last time. I’m a—a respectable -man now an’ you’re a respectable woman.” -</p> - -<p> -“Always have been,” she cautioned him. -</p> - -<p> -“I know,” he hastened to admit. “What I’ve -been tryin’ to say is: Keep your job a little longer -<a id="page-39" class="pagenum" title="39"></a> -if you want to, till I go on with mine an’ get lots o’ -dough. In the meanwhile—” He stopped. -</p> - -<p> -“Well?” she ventured, but with an ominous inflection. -</p> - -<p> -“I’ll rent the little flat off Nolan, an’ you an’ I -can—” -</p> - -<p> -“Jimmy!” -</p> - -<p> -“But I’m askin’ you to <em>marry</em> me this time,” he -protested. -</p> - -<p> -“I know.” -</p> - -<p> -“Ain’t that different?” -</p> - -<p> -“No.” -</p> - -<p> -“Why not?” -</p> - -<p> -“Because it ain’t.” -</p> - -<p> -“Why not?” -</p> - -<p> -“Because it ain’t.” -</p> - -<p> -“But Erna—” -</p> - -<p> -“Now listen, Jimmy! You promised not to go -too far.” -</p> - -<p> -“Oh shucks!” he broke out. -</p> - -<p> -They were silent. He let go her hand and drew -away a short distance. She removed her hand -rather reluctantly. Once or twice, she pushed -against his shoulder. But he would not respond. -</p> - -<p> -The romantic pictures disappeared, and the music -ceased. The lights were turned on. There was a -sigh throughout the audience. Erna and Jimmy -<a id="page-40" class="pagenum" title="40"></a> -seemed glad of the change as well. A little sooner, -they would have been sorry. -</p> - -<p> -She glanced his way. He was not looking in her -direction. She nudged him. He still refused to -turn his head. “Jimmy,” she whispered tenderly. -</p> - -<p> -He stole a half glance at her. She was smiling -in invitation. He could not help smiling too. -</p> - -<p> -“You all right now?” she ventured. -</p> - -<p> -He turned toward her, and instantly, his ever-ready -laugh dispelled their gloom. -</p> - -<p> -“You all right?” she repeated. -</p> - -<p> -“Yes,” he admitted, and declared: “Some scrap -that!” -</p> - -<p> -“No, it wasn’t,” she reassured him and smiled -with revived mischief. -</p> - -<p> -Their hands fell back to their natural occupation. -</p> - -<p> -“Turn out the lights!” Jimmy commanded in so -loud a tone that most of their neighbors, as well as -Erna, giggled. -</p> - -<p> -A German comedian made his appearance and -offered the usual monologue. No musical accompaniment -was required for this act; therefore, Carstairs -had disappeared under the stage. He had not -seen Erna and Jimmy, nor they him. -</p> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<h2 class="chapter" id="chapter-0-5"> -<a id="page-41" class="pagenum" title="41"></a> -V -</h2> - -</div> - -<p class="first"> -Carstairs was waiting at the street corner rendezvous -early the following Sunday evening. Impatience -had kept him company all day, a long day, -but the impatience he felt now was even keener. He -had been ahead of their appointment by about -twenty minutes, for he was afraid that Erna might be -there first. His vigil was that much the longer and -more trying. What hours it took for minutes to -pass! Suppose she did not come? -</p> - -<p> -The fates, however, were good-humored. He -could see an athletic figure coming along at a -familiar leisurely pace. It was Erna. His joy and -excitement were such that he could scarcely wait -for her to reach him. What made her walk so -slowly? -</p> - -<p> -“Hello,” was her soft cheery greeting. -</p> - -<p> -He had avoided the bakery restaurant all day. -He could hardly return her salutation, the last of -his courage having fled. -</p> - -<p> -“Where—where shall we go?” he questioned. -</p> - -<p> -“Anywhere,” she agreed genially. -</p> - -<p> -Now was his opportunity. He must ask her. Of -course, they could not walk the streets the whole of -<a id="page-42" class="pagenum" title="42"></a> -his two hours’ freedom. Nor could they go to the -theatre so early. Would she sense these arguments? -Moreover, they had been to a restaurant for a little -refreshment and conversation on their two former -outings. She had not enjoyed those visits particularly, -reminding her, as they must have, of her daily -life at Landsmann’s. -</p> - -<p> -“It’s a little bit too cold,” he ventured. -</p> - -<p> -“Not so very,” she returned mischievously, as -they started walking. -</p> - -<p> -He was frightened. “But—” -</p> - -<p> -She was enjoying his embarrassment, but came to -his assistance with: “Well, where <em>shall</em> we go? It’s -up to you. You did the invitin’.” -</p> - -<p> -“I’ve got nearly two hours,” he explained. “Can -you stay out that long?” -</p> - -<p> -“I’m off for the rest o’ the night,” she assured him; -“but I ought to be back under the quilt by ten. I’m -a bit tired.” -</p> - -<p> -“Of course, you are,” he agreed hurriedly—this -was another opportunity—“so we mustn’t do any -walking. Do you—would you like to come—” -</p> - -<p> -“Yes.” -</p> - -<p> -“How would you like to come over to my place?” -</p> - -<p> -It was out. What would she say? -</p> - -<p> -“Will anybody else be there?” -</p> - -<p> -“Oh no!” -</p> - -<p> -<a id="page-43" class="pagenum" title="43"></a> -“It’s over there on Fourteenth Street somewhere, -ain’t it?” -</p> - -<p> -“Yes.” -</p> - -<p> -“I don’t mind,” she said. -</p> - -<p> -Joy and excitement overwhelmed him. He could -not speak. And he had imagined all along that it -would be so difficult to induce her to come. He did -not know what to say. -</p> - -<p> -“Do we cross here?” she suggested. -</p> - -<p> -“Yes,” he said in a low tone. -</p> - -<p> -The need of politeness forced itself upon him. -Timidly, he took her arm and led her across the -street. As a matter of fact, it was she, who was so -much stronger and more daring than he, who had -done the leading. They reached the opposite side, -and walked along in silence. After a minute or so, -they approached an old building. -</p> - -<p> -“Here it is,” he declared nervously and let go her -arm. -</p> - -<p> -They climbed three smelly flights of stairs, followed -a dark hallway and came to a halt. He took -out his keys and opened a door. “Step in,” he -requested. -</p> - -<p> -“You’ve got the light lit,” she announced. -</p> - -<p> -“Yes, I thought it’d be—” -</p> - -<p> -“It’s awful nice here.” -</p> - -<p> -“Do you think so?” he questioned eagerly, greatly -<a id="page-44" class="pagenum" title="44"></a> -encouraged. “But it’s such a small, dingy place.” -</p> - -<p> -“Oh no,” she maintained. “It’s nice an’ cosy.” -</p> - -<p> -Erna walked about, examining articles with her -inquisitive eyes. “So this is your piano?” -</p> - -<p> -“Yes, it’s an old box.” -</p> - -<p> -“No, it’s nice lookin’. An’ whose picture is -that?” -</p> - -<p> -“My mother’s.” -</p> - -<p> -“An’ that one?” -</p> - -<p> -“Oh that—that’s only—” -</p> - -<p> -“An old <em>friend</em>?” she assisted him. -</p> - -<p> -“Yes,” he agreed, and his blushes appeared. -</p> - -<p> -Fortunately, Erna’s back was turned. But she -knew he was blushing, and her face lighted with -pleasure. She examined other articles. -</p> - -<p> -Carstairs asked quickly: “Won’t you take off -your things?” -</p> - -<p> -Slowly, she removed her coat and hat, and fixed -her hair at a small looking glass. “Men use these -things too,” she observed. -</p> - -<p> -“Yes, we do,” he echoed, and put her things on -the couch, where he likewise laid his own. -</p> - -<p> -“Sit down,” he advised. -</p> - -<p> -“Over here?” -</p> - -<p> -“Yes.” -</p> - -<p> -“Oh, this is a nice soft chair.” -</p> - -<p> -Carstairs walked about a while. He was so -<a id="page-45" class="pagenum" title="45"></a> -nervous that he did not know what to do. Nevertheless, -he realized that he must offer to entertain -her. At least, he must say something. -</p> - -<p> -But Erna spoke first. “What makes you walk -around?” -</p> - -<p> -“Oh nothing,” he returned abruptly, looked about -in confusion and finally selected the piano stool, -which, however, was so close to Erna’s chair that his -confusion grew. The girl, herself, had betrayed a -little embarrassment once or twice, but she had conquered -its last sign. This was perhaps possible because -of her enjoyment of Carstairs’ rather pathetic -condition. Erna loved and craved praise or flattery, -and the young composer’s substitute for them was -certainly a decided tribute. -</p> - -<p> -“It’s awful nice here,” she repeated. -</p> - -<p> -“I’m glad you think so,” he responded gratefully, -and glanced toward her, only to look away. -</p> - -<p> -“It’s kind o’ restful too.” -</p> - -<p> -This was an excellent opening. -</p> - -<p> -“You must be very tired,” he declared. -</p> - -<p> -“A little bit.” -</p> - -<p> -“You’ve been working all day?” -</p> - -<p> -“Since six-thirty this morning.” -</p> - -<p> -“Lord, then you must be tired.” -</p> - -<p> -“Not so very much,” she denied with pride. “I -can stand work.” -</p> - -<p> -<a id="page-46" class="pagenum" title="46"></a> -He dared a glance at her strong body and her bold -eyes. How splendid she was! -</p> - -<p> -“But <em>you</em> must be tired,” she continued. -</p> - -<p> -“Yes,—no, only a very little.” -</p> - -<p> -“You’ve been workin’ all day too.” -</p> - -<p> -“At the afternoon performance. I didn’t get -away until six o’clock.” -</p> - -<p> -“An’ you go on to-night?” -</p> - -<p> -“From nine to eleven, yes,” he explained, and -felt ashamed that he was so weary. And she had -been working in that stuffy, unhealthy dining room -and kitchen since half-past six and was as cheerful -as ever. -</p> - -<p> -“You’ll be needin’ a rest now,” she went on. -</p> - -<p> -“Oh no!” he hastily assured her. -</p> - -<p> -“Then will you play for me? I never heard you -play, an’ I’ve heard Mr. Breen an’ Mr. Nielsen talk -so much about you.” -</p> - -<p> -“They are flatterers,” he said, with a self-conscious -laugh. “But if you’d like—if you—would -you really like to have me?” -</p> - -<p> -“Of course.” -</p> - -<p> -This was his next opportunity, but again, his -courage would not assist him. What should he play? -“Do you really feel like listening?” he began once -more. -</p> - -<p> -“Of course—I like music,” she argued. -</p> - -<p> -<a id="page-47" class="pagenum" title="47"></a> -There was nothing else to do. He had better start -playing. And Carstairs turned on the stool. “What -shall I play for you?” -</p> - -<p> -“Anything at all.” -</p> - -<p> -“But wouldn’t you rather—” -</p> - -<p> -“Play somethin’ you like yourself,” she interrupted. -</p> - -<p> -Carstairs hesitated. He had not had the faintest -idea how difficult it would be. Moreover, he could -feel her soft brown eyes resting on him. And he had -been vowing such wonderful deeds of late: that he -would play for her as he never had for any one—that -he would play her composition, which belonged -so naturally to her. Instead, he could scarcely touch -a key. -</p> - -<p> -A spirit of self-condemnation took possession of -him. He must forget himself. She would think him -a fool. Besides, she might learn how much he—No, -she must not learn that. He commenced improvising. -</p> - -<p> -The young composer blundered considerably at -first, but his self-resentment helped him, and his efforts -soon displayed more coherence and warmth. -Should he open his program with “To Thee”? Why -not? Why wait until later? But she might understand. -She might catch its significance and then—But -how could she know that he had written the -<a id="page-48" class="pagenum" title="48"></a> -composition? It might just as easily belong to some -other composer. Yes, he would play it. -</p> - -<p> -“Are you ready?” he asked with attempted -levity. -</p> - -<p> -“Of course, don’t stop!” she encouraged him. -</p> - -<p> -Carstairs played “To Thee”, at first, with timidity -and uncertainty, but by and by with more resolution -and consequent expressiveness as his faith in the composition, -as an expression of himself, returned. -Gradually, too, he realized how appropriate was -the mood that flowed through its measures. -</p> - -<p> -Erna watched him. A greedy little smile played -about the corners of her mouth and her nose twitched -slightly. But the corners straightened and her nose -stopped twitching. -</p> - -<p> -No, he was too soft. His shoulders were so weak -and his hands so small and his face so pale—just -like his nature. He belonged to his mother up there -and to that soft pretty face over there. But he was -a nice, decent fellow. And he was lots of fun, he -was so different from other men. But he was sad. -She loved joy and freedom. He seemed like a mean -little prisoner, and he made her feel soft too. But he -had always been decent toward her. Yes, he belonged -to such as his mother and the pretty face. -Anyhow, he knew how to play the piano.... What -a different time she had had last night! Jimmy was -<a id="page-49" class="pagenum" title="49"></a> -such a big, strong, happy fellow. But even he did -not quite satisfy her. Erna sighed just a little. -</p> - -<p> -She regained immediate control of herself and -stopped studying Carstairs. Instead, she followed -the patterns in the small rug at her feet. Presently, -she gave herself up to the music. It was very pretty. -It sounded familiar too. -</p> - -<p> -Carstairs finished playing. -</p> - -<p> -“I like that,” she said instantly. -</p> - -<p> -“Do you?” he demanded, wheeling toward her. -</p> - -<p> -“Yes, it’s awful nice,” she complimented him. -</p> - -<p> -He brightened perceptibly. “Do you really -think so? Do you really like it?” -</p> - -<p> -“Of course!” -</p> - -<p> -He could not repress his emotion. “Do you—I—what -do you think?” he asked with enthusiasm. -</p> - -<p> -“What?” -</p> - -<p> -“Do you know who wrote that?” -</p> - -<p> -“No.” -</p> - -<p> -“I wrote that,” he broke out, and leaned forward. -</p> - -<p> -“You did?” -</p> - -<p> -“Yes!” -</p> - -<p> -“It’s awful nice,” she repeated. -</p> - -<p> -This was not very strong applause, but it was -more than sufficient for Carstairs, and he grew reckless. -In one moment, he had confessed himself the -<a id="page-50" class="pagenum" title="50"></a> -author of the work, and in the next, such was his -present rashness, he was about to go much farther. -</p> - -<p> -“How would you like—” but he stopped, and -smiled in a happy way. -</p> - -<p> -“What?” she urged him. -</p> - -<p> -“You’re sure you like it?” he repeated. -</p> - -<p> -“Yes.” -</p> - -<p> -“Would you like to have it?” he asked with sudden -boldness. -</p> - -<p> -“What do you mean?” -</p> - -<p> -“Don’t you understand?” he rambled on, and -explained: “Composers, you know, write songs and -piano pieces and orchestral works, and afterward -they often dedicate them to somebody—to one of -their friends or—or one of their relatives. Do you -understand?” -</p> - -<p> -“Yes.” -</p> - -<p> -“That’s what I want to do,” he continued excitedly. -“I wrote the piece—it’s nothing wonderful, -but I—I put myself into it and—and you like it—” -</p> - -<p> -“Yes.” -</p> - -<p> -“So I’d like to give it to you.” -</p> - -<p> -“But I don’t play,” she protested. -</p> - -<p> -“That isn’t the point,” he declared. “I’m dedicating -it to you—that is, your name appears on it: -first, the name of the composition, then my name, as -<a id="page-51" class="pagenum" title="51"></a> -composer, and then ‘to Miss Erna Vitek.’ Do you -see?” -</p> - -<p> -“Oh yes!” -</p> - -<p> -“Do you like the idea?” -</p> - -<p> -“Yes, that’s fine.” -</p> - -<p> -“Great!” he cried. -</p> - -<p> -“But what’s the name o’ the piece?” she requested -quietly. -</p> - -<p> -“Why, I—I gave it a name—but suppose I call -it simply: ‘A Song’?” -</p> - -<p> -“Yes.” -</p> - -<p> -“Sure! That’d be a nice title, wouldn’t it?” -</p> - -<p> -“Yes.” -</p> - -<p> -His emotions threatened to run over. He wanted -to tell her the rest: that, as a matter of fact, she had -been the one to inspire the composition—his inspiration—but, -well, that would be going too far. She -would be learning too much. But this was the happiest -day of his life. He had made a long stride, -even over the evening when, for a few confidential -minutes, she had confided to him those details of her -past relation with Allen. He must compose many -compositions for her. -</p> - -<p> -Carstairs played other music, composition after -composition, many of them his own, but all the while -he waited to hear Erna ask him to repeat her composition. -She did not do so at once, but eventually, -<a id="page-52" class="pagenum" title="52"></a> -bored—to tell the truth—by the incessant flow of -music, she made the request. Overjoyed, he repeated -the work, and every measure lingered, -breathed and swayed with the mood of its creator. -Near the close, Erna succeeded in stifling a yawn. -</p> - -<p> -It was after nine o’clock when Carstairs conducted -her down the three flights. He would receive a -reprimand and fine when he reported at the music -hall. But what did he care? -</p> - -<p> -The young composer did not return to his sanctum -until eleven thirty. He quickly lit the gas. At the -theatre, a thought had come to torment him, as he -had rehearsed the evening’s doings and joys many -times over. He went to the piano and took down -the picture of the girl. Presently, he buried it under -a heap of odds and ends that littered the drawer of -a bureau, and said to himself for at least the fiftieth -time: “What a careless damned fool I am!” -</p> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<h2 class="chapter" id="chapter-0-6"> -<a id="page-53" class="pagenum" title="53"></a> -VI -</h2> - -</div> - -<p class="first"> -It was early the next afternoon. Breen and Nielsen -were arguing in the former’s studio: a large unusually -well furnished and attractively decorated -West Fourteenth Street skylight room. -</p> - -<p> -“Now, you clear out of here!” Breen was commanding. -“She’ll be here right away.” -</p> - -<p> -“Sure she won’t disappoint thee?” Nielsen -mocked pleasantly. -</p> - -<p> -“No, I saw her this morning and this noon for a -moment, and she intends keeping her royal promise.” -</p> - -<p> -“How about the rouge garment?” -</p> - -<p> -“She hasn’t had time to alter it.” -</p> - -<p> -“That won’t make any difference, of course,” -Nielsen ventured in provoking tones. -</p> - -<p> -“Go on! Clear out of here!” Breen repeated. -</p> - -<p> -“You painters!” sang Nielsen, as he backed toward -the door. -</p> - -<p> -“We’re no worse than you fellows are,” Breen -retorted. “Besides, this afternoon is no more and -no less than an experiment in line with the contract -of our triumvirate. Your inning will come, especially -as you are writing a story, for which purpose—” -</p> - -<p> -<a id="page-54" class="pagenum" title="54"></a> -“I know,” Nielsen admitted with cheerful slyness. -“And I really need Erna to help me with it.” -</p> - -<p> -“And Carstairs will have to contribute his share -of the contract, unless he persists in that ‘count me -out’ air of his.” -</p> - -<p> -“Oh, he’ll come around, in his own way,” was -Nielsen’s confident assurance. “I saw him this -morning, by the way—the first time I’ve seen him at -Landsmann’s in several days.” -</p> - -<p> -“How is he?” -</p> - -<p> -“Unusually cheery and affable.” -</p> - -<p> -“He’ll recover from that foolishness.” -</p> - -<p> -“I think so too, but—” -</p> - -<p> -“Now, get out!” Breen commanded a third time. -“You’ll be gossipping here forever.” -</p> - -<p> -Nielsen took hold of the door knob, smiled in an -aggravating manner, opened the door, bowed low -and said in a droll tone: “Moral or unmoral, -but—?” -</p> - -<p> -Breen followed him, but Nielsen escaped, and the -painter slammed the door. His mood changed instantly. -He bustled around the studio, fixing this -and rearranging that object and eventually looked -about with satisfaction. He then approached a looking -glass, readjusted his tie, smoothed his hair with -his hand and otherwise subjected himself to a critical -but self-satisfied examination, which, however, was -<a id="page-55" class="pagenum" title="55"></a> -cut short by a knock at the door. He hurried over -to the door and opened it. “Come in!” he said -cordially and stepped aside for Erna. -</p> - -<p> -She was wearing her best clothes, which were -very attractive on her. Unfortunately, the only red -in the picture was a profusion of ribbons on her black -hat and a neat tie—but fortunately, her red cheeks -and lips were not missing. Altogether, Erna was a -seductive apparition. -</p> - -<p> -Certainly, this was Breen’s opinion too. “How -charming you look, your Ladyship!” he exclaimed. -</p> - -<p> -“Do I?” she retorted, smiling. -</p> - -<p> -“Oh decidedly, decidedly,” and Breen bowed in -anticipation of a pleasant afternoon. Bringing all of -his courtesy to the surface, he helped Erna to remove -her coat. She went over to the looking glass, -laughed, cried: “You’ve got a glass too,” and took -off her hat with careless ease. -</p> - -<p> -“What do you mean?” demanded Breen, standing -behind her and surveying her reflection with open -admiration. -</p> - -<p> -“Nothin’,” she returned rather impudently. -</p> - -<p> -“A lovely girl that!” he added significantly. -</p> - -<p> -“Think so?” she challenged. -</p> - -<p> -“Decidedly,” he repeated. -</p> - -<p> -She shrugged her shoulders a little and smiled at -him in the glass. Breen’s interest grew. He tried -<a id="page-56" class="pagenum" title="56"></a> -to put his hands on her shoulders, by way of confidence, -but Erna turned toward him with a quick -supple movement. Like the accomplished artist she -was, she said nothing, not even by way of reproach, -but laughed again. He eyed her with still franker -admiration. -</p> - -<p> -“Well?” she questioned. -</p> - -<p> -“Oh, I know,” he said, recollecting his rôle, and -went on evasively: “But you’re not wearing your -red dress or very much red?” -</p> - -<p> -“What difference does that make? Maybe you’d -rather have me come some other time?” -</p> - -<p> -“No, no! You stay right here, now that you’ve -come. You’ll do just as well in that costume. The -same Erna Vitek is inside it. But—er—” -</p> - -<p> -“But what?” -</p> - -<p> -“I won’t attempt a color sketch of you in that -dress. There, there, forgive me—it’s very charming, -my dear, but— Perhaps, I’ll just make a pencil -sketch of you to-day. Artists ought to commence -with pencil sketches anyhow, until the characters of -their subjects have had time to properly enter their -blood, so to speak. Which, of course, is all Greek -to you. Do you object, madame?” -</p> - -<p> -“No, do me any way you like,” she consented. -</p> - -<p> -“Oh, if you feel that way about it,” he hinted -audaciously. -</p> - -<p> -<a id="page-57" class="pagenum" title="57"></a> -“Take care!” she warned. -</p> - -<p> -Breen went over to the model throne and pretended -to place the chair for her. He was sorry -that he had had to suggest even a pencil sketch of -her, but he was forced to attempt some part of their -original agreement. What is more, he had practically -cast away all thought of “studying” Erna, -later to make his report before the triumvirate. She -was too interesting and magnetic an individual to be -used for such a childish purpose. “Come over here -and sit down,” he requested calmly. -</p> - -<p> -Giving herself an unexpected air of modesty, she -complied, at the same time adding a prudish touch -by fixing her skirt carefully as she sat down. Breen -was puzzled, but drew up a chair, took a pencil and -sketch book and seated himself. “I’m going ta draw -you at close range,” he apologized. She smiled in -encouragement. -</p> - -<p> -Breen commenced drawing, very carelessly, it is -true. Erna watched him with innocent eyes. “Do -I pose right?” she asked at length. -</p> - -<p> -“Yes,” he assured her. -</p> - -<p> -She was silent. -</p> - -<p> -A little later, she asked: “Do your models have -to keep quiet?” -</p> - -<p> -“Not at all! Chatter away!” -</p> - -<p> -But she preferred to remain silent. To tell the -<a id="page-58" class="pagenum" title="58"></a> -truth, this was not Erna’s first experience as a sitter. -She had posed for two or three other artists in the -past: once as Carmen, another time as a madonna, -and a third time for some allegorical effort concerning -Spring. Breen continued to study her for the -drawing. His mind, however, or that region wherein -its desires lay, was more busy than his pencil. Ten -minutes or so later, he stopped drawing and held the -pad off, squinted one eye at Erna, then at the drawing -and again at Erna. -</p> - -<p> -“Do you like being winked at?” he asked. -</p> - -<p> -“Depends upon who’s doin’ it,” she commented. -</p> - -<p> -“Don’t you like me to do it?” -</p> - -<p> -“I don’t know,” she replied enigmatically. -</p> - -<p> -He got up from his chair and approached her. -</p> - -<p> -“Bring the picture with you!” she requested. -</p> - -<p> -Breen, however, once more tried to put his hands -on her. She pushed back her chair, and in outraged -tones commanded: “Mr. Breen!” -</p> - -<p> -“I beg your pardon,” he said with well assumed -candor, but he was irritated to a considerable degree. -“I merely wanted to change your pose a bit.” -</p> - -<p> -“Well, why didn’t you ask <em>me</em> to do it?” she -complained, her innocent self again. -</p> - -<p> -He returned to his chair without explaining. -</p> - -<p> -“Am I all right now?” she asked. -</p> - -<p> -“Pull your chair forward again.” -</p> - -<p> -<a id="page-59" class="pagenum" title="59"></a> -“So?” -</p> - -<p> -“That’ll do.” -</p> - -<p> -Erna watched him as before, and Breen went on -drawing. But his usually well balanced mind was -ruffled. He tried to construct some other scheme. -Erna had always been quite prone (after all, she -was only a waitress) to permit occasional familiarity -on his part at Landsmann’s. What made her play -the prude away from home? Perhaps she was, at -heart, like the rest of her class, nothing more than a -narrow moralistic thing, and not the unmoral soul -he had constantly given her credit for being. His -disgust was supreme. On the contrary, he mused, -she might only be playing a part. Admitting that -Erna, in society, only held the position of waitress, -still, she was a very shrewd girl. He must try some -other attack, allowing her the credit she deserved. -He had attempted flattery, pleasantry and not a little -boldness. What should be his next step? -</p> - -<p> -Eventually, the young artist tried bribery. Having -finished his work, he presented it to Erna accompanied -by a short but eloquently complimentary -speech. The girl did not neglect to admire the -drawing and to thank him for the present. His act, -apparently, made no stronger impression on her. -Later, he suggested and, with her consent, prepared -and served some tea and biscuits. They were sitting -<a id="page-60" class="pagenum" title="60"></a> -at a small cosy table. About them, the atmosphere -had spread a halo of warmth and intimacy. And -Breen played host and admirer to the best of his -accomplished ability. But Erna refused to respond -any more than she had done earlier. She appeared -grateful; she talked a good deal; and she seemed -completely at ease with Breen and her surroundings. -But she would not respond more than she had done. -Breen’s disgust threatened to reach a climax. -</p> - -<p> -There was a reason for Erna’s conduct. She, in -her greed of heart, playing with Breen, as she had -with Carstairs, the part of a watchful cat, had come -to several conclusions. She disliked the artist’s long, -angular figure, his sharp, shrewd face, and most of -all, his cold, self-sympathetic eyes. And she disliked -him personally even more. Without claiming -any undue powers of discernment for Erna, one -would surely have had to credit her with the possession -of a strong feminine instinct. Her instinct had -resented his attentions, for, behind them all, she had -felt that he, as a gentleman, was shoving her down -where she belonged. She was a waitress, but she -was good looking enough and lots of fun for him—and -much more in prospect. In a word, Breen had -brought out the hard calculating side of her nature, -and she had raised her guard against him. -</p> - -<p> -Furthermore, Erna was in a bad humor when she -<a id="page-61" class="pagenum" title="61"></a> -came to Breen’s studio, her genial conduct notwithstanding. -She had seen Jimmy that noon in the dining -room, but he had spent all of his time talking -fight with the customers. As though the fact that -he was to turn to the ring to-morrow night would -bring the world to an end! She would pay him for -neglecting her. Besides, Mr. Nielsen had been approaching -her. He had been asking her to “pose” -for him too. Did he also want to take advantage -of her? Still, there was something human inside of -him. He had always acted a little differently from -the others. As for Jimmy— -</p> - -<p> -Breen interrupted her reflection. He reached -across the table and tried to touch her hand. Erna’s -face flushed with anger, and her hand came down -upon his with a loud slap. Just as quickly, she recollected -herself. “Excuse me!” she asked sullenly. -</p> - -<p> -Breen, however, was through. He arose from his -chair. This had been impudence beyond all impudence. -And the man of success turned his back -upon the waitress. -</p> - -<p> -Erna likewise got up, leaving the sketch on the -table. She did not offer a second apology. Instead, -she drew on her coat, picked up her hat and walked -over to the glass. Her face was crimson. -</p> - -<p> -Breen was quite sorry. He came behind Erna -and made several attempts to clear some momentary -<a id="page-62" class="pagenum" title="62"></a> -pangs of conscience. But Erna would not listen. -He moved away, pride clouding his face. -</p> - -<p> -Erna hurried toward the door. Breen followed -her, offering one or two final excuses. But she -refused to answer, and went out. Breen slammed -the door behind her. Presently, he was busy pacing -the studio in a vain endeavor to regain some of his -composure. -</p> - -<p> -Steps were to be heard coming along the hallway. -The door was opened cautiously, and Nielsen’s head -and shoulders appeared. And his caressing voice -questioned: “Well, your Highness, what is your -decision? Moral, unmoral or—?” -</p> - -<p> -Breen faced about, swore a strong oath and commanded: -“Get out of here!” -</p> - -<p> -“But, dear Bainbridge—” -</p> - -<p> -“Get out, you spy!” Breen continued angrily, and -went toward the door. -</p> - -<p> -“But I want to know your decision.” -</p> - -<p> -“Moral, moral, a million times moral—she has -degenerated—in fact, she hasn’t even degenerated. -I wouldn’t do her the honor of saying so. She’s always -been a narrow, conventional, contemptible little -thing. Is that enough, you ass? She’s a—” -</p> - -<p> -“Enough, noble Sire!” Nielsen interrupted with a -mysterious air. “Thou hast spoken. Enough!” -<a id="page-63" class="pagenum" title="63"></a> -Luckily, his head and shoulders disappeared just in -time. -</p> - -<p> -Breen slammed the door. -</p> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<h2 class="chapter" id="chapter-0-7"> -<a id="page-64" class="pagenum" title="64"></a> -VII -</h2> - -</div> - -<p class="first"> -Wednesday morning was a particularly noisy -morning in the rear dining room of Landsmann’s. -Jimmy Allen was the hero. On the night before, he -had knocked out his opponent toward the close of -the first round. Some of his admirers had met at -Landsmann’s to discuss and celebrate the event, and -one who had been present was supplying the others -with the details. -</p> - -<p> -“An’ toward the end o’ the round,” he was describing, -“Jimmy ducked under the poor ‘Kid’s’ -flabby guard an’ caught ’im an awful soak in the -guts, an’ as ‘the Kid’ doubled up, Jimmy swung the -finisher—it was a terror!—right on the point o’ -the jaw. ‘The Kid’ hit the mat deader than a door -nail. An’ they carried ’im away, a smashed hope -inside o’ three minutes.” -</p> - -<p> -The listeners clamored for more, and one of them -queried: “But I thought ‘the Kid’ was such a clever -sidestepper?” -</p> - -<p> -“He is, but he couldn’t sidestep Jimmy. Jimmy’s -a terror in the ring. He’s a good-natured feller outside, -but the sight of another feller in front of ’im -kind o’ riles ’is blood. He can’t rest till he’s battered -<a id="page-65" class="pagenum" title="65"></a> -the guy away, an’ let ’im see a little blood, -like ‘the Kid’s’ mouth bleedin’, an’ it’s all off ’cept -the count, for Jimmy goes wild. He got to ‘the Kid’ -by constant borein’ in. Half a dozen fierce body -taps weakened the poor guy, then a couple o’ face -smashers, an’ then the finish. Oh, it was awful.” -</p> - -<p> -The listeners sighed with awe. “An’ Jimmy?” -requested the interlocutor. -</p> - -<p> -“Oh, he got a scratch or two. But he was ’is -smilin’ self soon’s it was over.” -</p> - -<p> -Standing near the doorway, listening to every -word with feverish interest, was Erna. Her eyes -shone, and her heart beat with joyous pride. -</p> - -<p> -Landsmann suddenly called to her from the -kitchen: “Erna, your order is here.” She did not -heed him, but waited for more details. Again, the -storekeeper called to her, but once more, she refused -to heed him. The man appeared in the doorway, -his face red with vexation. “Erna! Do you hear -me?” -</p> - -<p> -“Yes, yes,” she retorted petulantly, and hurried -past him. He followed close behind her, and as she -turned, gave her a stupid but indignant stare. Erna -returned his stare with interest, and Landsmann, -beaten as he had been so often, retreated to the store, -there to seek muttered consultation with his wife. -</p> - -<p> -Erna was about to take up her order, when she -<a id="page-66" class="pagenum" title="66"></a> -came upon a remarkable sight. She stopped, stared -and, stimulated by a desire to emulate, tiptoed forward, -her strong white teeth showing in the joy of -anticipation. On the bottom of the kitchen sink, a -goodly sized rat was drinking. -</p> - -<p> -The girl continued to sneak forward without making -a sound. Suddenly, her hand darted out and -seized the rat by the neck; at the same time, she -turned on the water from the large faucet. With a -strong grip, she held the squirming, squeaking animal -under the stream. -</p> - -<p> -Gretchen screamed and ran out into the store. -“<em>Was ist los?</em>” demanded the storekeeper. Gretchen -told her story in a frightened whisper. Mrs. -Landsmann and Molly screamed; several customers -arose and, led by Landsmann, who waddled forward, -came into the kitchen. Landsmann stopped -short at a respectful distance from Erna, eyed her -furiously and shouted imprecations. She paid no -attention to him, but continued her pleasant task, her -face alight with animal joy and brutality. The rat’s -life was soon extinguished, due, perhaps, more to -Erna’s fingers than the water. Proudly holding it -out by the tail for display, she dropped the body -into a pail under the sink. -</p> - -<p> -The storekeeper approached her, followed by the -customers. The latter profferred congratulations, -<a id="page-67" class="pagenum" title="67"></a> -but not so Herr Landsmann. He grabbed some -table refuse and dumping it into the pail, piled some -old newspapers on top, all the while averting his -face as much as possible. He then turned upon -Erna, but she stood her ground, defying him, and the -storekeeper was forced to resort to still stronger imprecation. -Erna grew impudent in the knowledge of -her righteousness, and Landsmann had to retreat -once more, but this time with threatening gestures -and for an even angrier consultation with his wife. -The other waitresses refused to return to the kitchen, -but went over to assist Landsmann. -</p> - -<p> -The customers, who had been joined by others -from the rear dining room, refused to leave the -kitchen, each one wishing to pay Erna homage by -compliment or by taking her arm. Jimmy Allen -was forgotten. At first, the girl, conscious of the -sensation she had created so accidentally,—killing -rats was not entirely new to her—faced her worshippers -with an exultant smile. Soon, she tired of their -praise, and more so of their physical attentions, -a repetition of their usual conduct toward her. Furthermore, -the storekeeper’s attitude rankled deeper -and deeper, until anger controlled her. Therefore, -she pushed her way through the gathering, ordered -all back to their tables, a command they obeyed under -<a id="page-68" class="pagenum" title="68"></a> -protest, and returned to her duties with a decidedly -willful air. If only Jimmy were here! -</p> - -<p> -Within the next hour or so, Herr Landsmann, -backed by his wife’s moral support, came into the -kitchen four times to reprimand Erna. He had even -hunted for other pretexts to scold her. By nine -o’clock, when Erna was almost alone in her small -empire, her resentment had reached a state of revolt. -Why didn’t he bounce her at once? It would be -better. In fact, she would leave of her own free -will. That would be better still. She would be -free. She had a right to be happy. She had always -been happy. So she would be free, Landsmann, -his wife and the rest of the world notwithstanding. -How she hated and despised them! Let -any one else try to tie her hands! -</p> - -<p> -Another half hour passed, and Erna’s determination -grew. Her whole fighting instinct had been set -astir. As a result, she had treated the few remaining -customers with contemptuous neglect. They were -all of one breed. And they left, one by one, passing -remarks, laughing or trying to banter her. Soon -she was left to herself and surly reflection, as Landsmann, -luckily, had discontinued molesting her—for -the present, at least. However, a newcomer entered -the dining room. But he was the highly welcome -Jimmy Allen. -</p> - -<p> -<a id="page-69" class="pagenum" title="69"></a> -Erna greeted him with joy. She had forgotten -her yesterday’s resentment, in his sudden rise to honor -and in her present need. And Jimmy greeted her -with joy. No other word passed between them. -Instead, Jimmy embraced her with all of his brute -strength. He then tried kissing her, only to have -Erna slip from his grasp. Jimmy’s blood was -aroused. He pursued Erna, cornered her and caught -her with an even stronger embrace than before, -breathing hard with passion. They overturned a -chair, and Jimmy tripped and lost his hold. They -both breathed rapidly, and stood apart, watching -each other. Herr Landsmann looked into the dining -room, scowled and disappeared. -</p> - -<p> -Jimmy again came closer, but Erna shook her -head in warning. She had seen the storekeeper. -Presently, she gave her lover a short nervous account -of her morning’s trial. Jimmy swore a generous -oath and begged her to drop her work at once. -But Erna hesitated. -</p> - -<p> -“Ah, come out o’ this!” he pleaded. -</p> - -<p> -Erna would not answer. -</p> - -<p> -“Come out o’ this, Erna!” he repeated seriously. -“You’re sick o’ this. I’m sick o’ this. Let’s go -away. We’re fixed now—or as good as fixed. The -only job’s the minister’s. Come on, Erna!” -</p> - -<p> -Still, the girl refused to answer, but it was evident -<a id="page-70" class="pagenum" title="70"></a> -that she was weakening—as Jimmy was aware too. -Hurriedly, he recounted his victory of last night, -emphasized the fact that he was stronger than ever, -knew “more about the game,” and outlined the near -future: that he was soon to meet Young Walcott, -whom he would dispose of, and some unknown from -Chicago. He would have quite a little money shortly, -and he could support her “as a decent woman -should be supported.” She would be happy. They -would both be happy. “Come on, Erna!” he concluded. -“Be a sport!” -</p> - -<p> -Erna was in a groggy state. One last stinging -argument would have finished her. She hesitated, as -did Jimmy, who, unfortunately, resorted to stalling. -</p> - -<p> -At length, she said: “Gimme until to-night!” -</p> - -<p> -Now, Jimmy missed entirely: “But I say, Erna. -I got an important date then.” -</p> - -<p> -Her resentment returned at once. She recalled -his neglect of yesterday. “What?” she demanded -jealously. -</p> - -<p> -“I got to see Nolan an’ Walcott an’ his manager -to-night. We got to talk over an’ arrange things. -Besides, Nolan’s givin’ a little spread in my honor -among the boys. Can’t you tell me now? Tell me -now!” -</p> - -<p> -“I said <em>to-night</em>, didn’t I?” she retorted in dangerous -tones. -</p> - -<p> -<a id="page-71" class="pagenum" title="71"></a> -“I know, Erna, but I can’t see you to-night. -Make it to-morrow night, an’ we’ll talk it over, long’s -you won’t say now. Make it to-morrow night! An’ -I’ll spend the whole evenin’ with you.” -</p> - -<p> -Erna had turned her back on him. Jimmy came -closer, but she walked away, while he followed her, -foolishly continuing to apologize and to cajole her. -Unhappily, Jimmy’s suit was interrupted. Another -man came into the dining room: Eric Nielsen. -</p> - -<p> -Glances passed between them. Nielsen went over -to the farthermost corner, took off his hat and coat -and sat down. Jimmy looked at Erna on the sly, -but she paid no attention to him. The young fighter -did not stay for breakfast. He left the room without -another word. And Erna smiled secretly. -</p> - -<p> -Nielsen, always a lover of other’s secrets, had -digested most of the scene. But he was still a diplomat. -Consequently, he said nothing and permitted -Erna to come over for his order. She looked nervous -and uncertain. -</p> - -<p> -“What’s new?” he asked pleasantly. -</p> - -<p> -“Nothin’.” -</p> - -<p> -“Still ham and eggs and the old program?” -</p> - -<p> -She smiled slightly. “Yes!” -</p> - -<p> -He ordered some eggs, toast and a cup of black -coffee and explained: “I need some energy for work -this morning. I feel dopy.” -</p> - -<p> -<a id="page-72" class="pagenum" title="72"></a> -Erna smiled again and went away. She was feeling -a little better. There was always something -soothing in Nielsen and his banter. And she did -not wait in the kitchen for his order, but came back -to his table. Erna rarely acted parts in Nielsen’s -company. -</p> - -<p> -He looked up sympathetically. He wanted to -ask her what was wrong, but knowing her antipathy -for expressed sympathy or soft advances, remained -silent. Herr Landsmann looked in upon them. Erna -flushed with her old resentment, and the storekeeper -frowned and disappeared. Nielsen remarked the exchange. -“That’s it, is it?” he observed gently. -</p> - -<p> -“What?” -</p> - -<p> -“The boss?” -</p> - -<p> -She was thoughtful and then admitted: “Yes.” -</p> - -<p> -“What’s the Dutchman done?” -</p> - -<p> -Slowly, and not without reluctance in the beginning, -she told him the details, he interrupting her -once or twice with encouragement. “Shades of -Norway!” he exclaimed in admiration. “You could -easily play the Rat-wife in ‘Little Eyolf’.” -</p> - -<p> -She looked at him in a puzzled way, but he -laughed and advised her: “Don’t mind me; I’m -cracked. Go on!” -</p> - -<p> -Erna related the rest of the incident. He was -quietly attentive to every detail, and at the conclusion -<a id="page-73" class="pagenum" title="73"></a> -of her recital, broke out cheerfully: “The -trouble with the German is that he’s too slow to catch -even a cockroach. Therefore, he resents speed. So -Landsmann calls you down. And the girls—well, -they’re children, like most females. You’re entirely -too dramatic for their comfort.” -</p> - -<p> -Erna never quite understood Nielsen, but she mellowed -down to some of her old good nature. Nielsen -continued his reassuring nonsense, and gradually, -the rest of her good nature was restored. The young -writer was not slow to notice the change, and he -was glad to have been of service to her. He had -no desire to make any personal use of Erna’s present -mental condition, but nevertheless, he proceeded: -“Erna, you must be tired.” -</p> - -<p> -“Yes?” -</p> - -<p> -“Certainly. You need a little rest—a little diversion. -Let me help you out; there’s a sensible girl. -Will you come over and spend part of the evening -with me?” -</p> - -<p> -His request had not been a bold one; he had -made it seriously, and with no thought of himself. -But Erna gave him a sharp look. He met her glance -with an honest one and pursued: “I don’t want you -to pose for the story, as I asked you yesterday—honestly, -I don’t. I just want to amuse you a little, -<a id="page-74" class="pagenum" title="74"></a> -if I can. You need a bit of a change, even by having -me supply it.” -</p> - -<p> -This was approaching dangerously close to a soft -advance, but Erna did not heed it. She was still -busy trying to read Nielsen, but reading Nielsen was -not so easy as appearances would have led one to -believe. However, she was able to read humanity -behind his lurking smile, and likewise his seriousness -of purpose. “I don’t know,” she said in doubt. -</p> - -<p> -“You’re not afraid?” -</p> - -<p> -“No,” she admitted. -</p> - -<p> -“Come ahead then. We’ll have a quiet little -evening together, or you can tell me some more about -your enemies, German and others. As for posing, -I’ll do the posing, such as standing on my head, for -example.” -</p> - -<p> -Erna had always felt that Nielsen was human. It -now come as a realization. She gave him a final -penetrating glance. He smiled frankly, and she had -to smile as well. “All right,” she resigned. -</p> - -<p> -“You’re a good sport, Erna,” he complimented -her. “But you’re too trusting, I’m afraid.” -</p> - -<p> -“Think so?” -</p> - -<p> -“Yes.” -</p> - -<p> -She looked somewhat doubtful, and then her face -cleared. Nielsen understood. -</p> - -<p> -<a id="page-75" class="pagenum" title="75"></a> -“Your order’s ready, Erna,” came Landsmann’s -voice. -</p> - -<p> -And the girl hurried out. -</p> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<h2 class="chapter" id="chapter-0-8"> -<a id="page-76" class="pagenum" title="76"></a> -VIII -</h2> - -</div> - -<p class="first"> -Erna was in a splendid mood when she called on -Nielsen that evening. In the first place, the young -Norwegian-American had earned her gratitude. -Secondly, and what is perhaps more important, -Jimmy Allen had come into Landsmann’s both for the -noon and the evening meal and had paid her humble -devotion. She had agreed to spend to-morrow evening -with him, but principally that she might add -coal to the fire of his impatience by putting off her -answer, which she had not formed as yet but in the -existence of which she had succeeded in leading him -to believe. Thirdly, she had had two more tilts with -Landsmann and was victorious in both. Consequently, -Erna was in high spirit. In addition, her -greedy nature was looking forward to the new sensation -that life might be on the point of offering her in -Nielsen. -</p> - -<p> -It was evident at once that he was likewise in the -best of humor. His greeting of Erna was of the -heartiest cordiality and cheer. And he required only -a minute or two to settle her comfortably on the -couch and to make her feel otherwise at home. She -was not surprised. On the contrary, she entered immediately -<a id="page-77" class="pagenum" title="77"></a> -into the mood of the young writer’s hospitality. -</p> - -<p> -“Well, Rat-wife, how’ve you been?” he commenced. -“I haven’t seen you since this morning.” -</p> - -<p> -“Why do you call me Rat-wife?” -</p> - -<p> -“Because you’re a professional rat catcher.” -</p> - -<p> -“I’ve caught rats before,” she confessed. -</p> - -<p> -“Have you? Great! I always thought you must -have had another vocation in life.” -</p> - -<p> -“But I hate caterpillars, don’t you?” she declared -naïvely. -</p> - -<p> -“By all means,” he agreed. “They give one the -fuzzy-wuzzies, don’t they?” -</p> - -<p> -They both laughed. He drew his chair closer to -the couch and watched her frankly. She watched -him with equal candor. There was honest admiration -in his next remark: “You’re strong, aren’t -you, Erna?” -</p> - -<p> -“Yes.” -</p> - -<p> -“How’d you get that way?” he pursued. -</p> - -<p> -“I must ’a’ been born that way. I guess my father -an’ mother were strong an’ healthy. Any way, I -exercise a great deal—” -</p> - -<p> -“In the store, you mean?” -</p> - -<p> -“No, at night, by the open window, in—” -</p> - -<p> -“Not in the nude?” he ventured. -</p> - -<p> -<a id="page-78" class="pagenum" title="78"></a> -“Not quite, but almost!” she admitted, and they -laughed again. -</p> - -<p> -“But Erna, what made you say you <em>guess</em> your -father and mother were strong? Don’t you know -whether they were? Aren’t they alive?” -</p> - -<p> -She looked at him suddenly, but his straightforward -glance reassured her. She announced quietly: -“I never saw my parents.” -</p> - -<p> -“What?” he broke out. “Then how—but I beg -your pardon, child. I didn’t mean to be inquisitive.” -</p> - -<p> -“You’re not inquisitive,” she returned with unaccustomed -seriousness. “Only—” -</p> - -<p> -“I understand,” he interrupted. “Don’t speak of -it! It’s too painful. Besides, we mustn’t be growing -gloomy.” -</p> - -<p> -Erna was meditative. She had never confided -that part of her life to any one. It might be nice to -unburden some of it. And Mr. Nielsen—he was so—She -glanced at him. -</p> - -<p> -“Please don’t!” he requested. “I’d much rather -you wouldn’t.” -</p> - -<p> -She smiled and said: “It isn’t so sad; it’s just -kind o’ funny.” -</p> - -<p> -“Well, if it’s funny, out with it, but if it isn’t—” -</p> - -<p> -“It’s kind o’ funny that I should be tellin’ at all.” -</p> - -<p> -“To me, you mean?” -</p> - -<p> -“Yes!” -</p> - -<p> -<a id="page-79" class="pagenum" title="79"></a> -“That’s easy. You trust me; that’s the reason,” -he explained jocularly. -</p> - -<p> -“Do I? How do you know?” -</p> - -<p> -“Oh, I’m a wise old know-it-all. Which is certainly -a nice bunch of conceit, isn’t it?” -</p> - -<p> -“No,” she denied good-humoredly. -</p> - -<p> -Without pretense of any sort, and completely at -her ease sitting there on the couch only a yard or two -from him, she gave Nielsen a few points in her -knowledge of past years. Briefly, she laid claim to -having lived nearly all her life with adopted parents, -from whom, thanks to their continued selfishness and -maltreatment, she had run away about a year ago. -These people had once informed her that her father -had married some woman of position in Bohemia, -where Erna was born, and that, having squandered -her money, he had disappeared for good. Her -mother had died in giving birth to her, and her -adopted parents, related to him as cousins, had received -her indirectly through some friends of her -father’s, as well as money, through various mysterious -channels, up to her sixth year. The remittances -stopped suddenly, and she was left a beggar on their -hands, a fact of which they were often careful to remind -her. At the age of twelve or thirteen, Erna -had hunted for and found a situation, and later -others, and had been able to pay some sort of board -<a id="page-80" class="pagenum" title="80"></a> -through the intervening years. But her “parents,” -who had five children of their own, despised her and -maltreated her accordingly, as did the children, -guided by the elders’ precepts. Only her strength -of body and endowed pugnaciousness had saved her -from greater maltreatment. -</p> - -<p> -“And this you call a funny story?” demanded -Nielsen, stopping her. -</p> - -<p> -“There’s nothing so very sad in it,” she declared -stubbornly. -</p> - -<p> -“There isn’t?” -</p> - -<p> -“No.” -</p> - -<p> -His admiration for her developed. Erna certainly -possessed sterling qualities. -</p> - -<p> -“But I haven’t finished,” she interposed. -</p> - -<p> -“Never mind, Erna. I’ve heard enough.” -</p> - -<p> -“You haven’t heard why I quit my ‘parents’.” -</p> - -<p> -“I don’t have to,” he tried to stop her. -</p> - -<p> -“There’s only a little to it.” -</p> - -<p> -“Well?” -</p> - -<p> -“They tried to sell me.” -</p> - -<p> -“What?” -</p> - -<p> -“Just what I said.” -</p> - -<p> -“What do you mean?” -</p> - -<p> -“They tried to sell me to an old admirer o’ mine -in Paterson.” -</p> - -<p> -“You must be crazy, child.” -</p> - -<p> -<a id="page-81" class="pagenum" title="81"></a> -“No more’n you,” she insisted. “The man was -all ready with his money an’—” -</p> - -<p> -“But this is impossible,” he interrupted. -</p> - -<p> -“No, it isn’t. I ought to know. It made me -jump the track.” -</p> - -<p> -“That’s how you ran away?” -</p> - -<p> -“Yes.” -</p> - -<p> -“A year ago?” -</p> - -<p> -“Yes. It was the last straw. They’d tried the -same game twice before. I was through.” -</p> - -<p> -Nielsen eyed her in sympathy. He had not credited -the whole of her story, incoherent and almost -imaginary as some of its details sounded, but the -climax had moved him deeply. He was not as -superficial as his outward demeanor might indicate. -But he was still a diplomat, and knowing Erna’s -nature better than ever now, did not offer her open -sympathy. Instead, he questioned: “So you wandered -around New York looking for jobs?” -</p> - -<p> -“Yes.” -</p> - -<p> -“Till you landed at Landsmann’s?” -</p> - -<p> -“Oh no, I had two other jobs before that.” -</p> - -<p> -“Where?” -</p> - -<p> -“At other bakeries, but I was fired.” -</p> - -<p> -“For—for sassing back?” he asked, smiling. -</p> - -<p> -“Yes, just as I sass old Landsmann.” -</p> - -<p> -<a id="page-82" class="pagenum" title="82"></a> -He grew serious. “Hadn’t you better be careful?” -</p> - -<p> -“How?” -</p> - -<p> -“About angering Landsmann?” -</p> - -<p> -“I can’t help it. I hate him. I hate Germans. -My ‘parents’ were German an’—” -</p> - -<p> -“He may fire you too.” -</p> - -<p> -“I don’t care.” -</p> - -<p> -“But you don’t want to be forced to run about -New York again, do you?” -</p> - -<p> -Erna was about to break out, thinking of Jimmy, -“I won’t have to,” but substituted staring at Nielsen. -He was so fine, so human, so— -</p> - -<p> -“Never mind, Erna! Let’s talk of something -more cheerful.” Suddenly, it was his turn to look -thoughtful. Before he was aware of himself, he -commenced: “Erna!” -</p> - -<p> -“Yes?” -</p> - -<p> -“If you ever need anybody—” -</p> - -<p> -“Yes?” -</p> - -<p> -“I mean in case you should ever lose your job—” -</p> - -<p> -“Yes?” -</p> - -<p> -“Don’t hesitate to come to me for help.” -</p> - -<p> -He had spoken in a more earnest tone than was -his custom. Erna looked quantities of gratitude. -“Do you mean—” -</p> - -<p> -“Yes,” he forestalled her. “I’m a man, Erna, or -<a id="page-83" class="pagenum" title="83"></a> -a part o’ one. I know you’re a good sport, I’ve seen -so much evidence of it. In fact, you’re as good and -probably a better sport than I am”—all this with a -return to banter—“so it’s up to me, if you ever need -assistance.” -</p> - -<p> -Erna was unable to reply. -</p> - -<p> -“Will you?” he requested more quietly. -</p> - -<p> -“Yes,” she agreed, and was silent. -</p> - -<p> -Presently, he came back to the whimsical. “We’re -a funeral party, aren’t we?” -</p> - -<p> -“No.” -</p> - -<p> -“Well, we can start a partnership as funeral directors -to bury the past, can’t we?” -</p> - -<p> -“Sure!” -</p> - -<p> -Nielsen laughed, and she followed his example. -</p> - -<p> -“Erna, I envy you,” he started again. -</p> - -<p> -“Why?” -</p> - -<p> -“Nothing downs you long. You’re such a happy -Indian that you’re able to run your world.” -</p> - -<p> -“Am I?” -</p> - -<p> -“Yes. It takes happy people to run the world, -you know.” -</p> - -<p> -“Does it?” -</p> - -<p> -“Certainly. That’s my humble belief anyhow. -Dost believe in philosophy?” -</p> - -<p> -“No time for it!” she returned. -</p> - -<p> -“You’re right,” he applauded. “It’s only a -<a id="page-84" class="pagenum" title="84"></a> -pastime for lemon natures. Stick to your joy, -Erna!” -</p> - -<p> -Erna was indulging in more abstract matters than -she had ever attempted, for she said: “I can’t help -it, I suppose. I love joy and happy people. An’ -fresh air, strength, freedom.” But it was Nielsen’s -fault, he used such a subtle method of probing her. -</p> - -<p> -“That’ll do, Erna,” he interrupted. “You have -spoken. There is nothing to be added to fresh air, -the breeder of strength, the breeder of freedom. -This ought to be enough philosophy for one day, eh? -We’ll have headaches soon, won’t we?” -</p> - -<p> -“Not me!” she denied, and he laughed and -added: “Then I’ll close the sermon with a little -text, if I may.” -</p> - -<p> -“Go ahead.” -</p> - -<p> -“Whatever happens,” he bantered her; “stick to -your freedom with your last dying breath!” -</p> - -<p> -“Thanks!” -</p> - -<p> -The evening developed even further intimacy. -And Erna soon came to realize that she had discovered -her new sensation. As for Nielsen, he was -spending an unusual evening too. Several times, he -thought of Jimmy Allen and his connection with -Erna. He was a splendid joyous animal like her. -It did not surprise him that he had been restored to -her favor, they were so well mated. And he recalled -<a id="page-85" class="pagenum" title="85"></a> -the short but significant scene he had spoiled -that morning. -</p> - -<p> -Erna, surely, was a rare nature,—hard, perhaps, -selfish and cruel in many ways too, quite a little more -so than others, but her strength of will, self reliance -and her stubborn pursuit of pleasure and excitement—her -life of joy—were irresistible. And she was -only a waitress. But she was far more than that, -an individual, as Carstairs had vaunted that time; -she had lived a life harder to endure than that loaded -upon his educated acquaintances, for example, and -yet, she, lacking their knowledge and so called experience -and wisdom, controlled life; life did not -control her. And Nielsen, who seldom overlooked -dissecting himself along with others, admitted readily -that Erna attracted him powerfully, and not in the -name of the story, which he had forgotten—for the -present, anyhow. -</p> - -<p> -Erna’s mind was making more rapid calculations -than ever before. “Stick to your freedom!” he had -advised her. It was true. She must go on fighting -for that. But what of Jimmy—and marriage? -Marriage, that word with a bad taste, marriage even -with Jimmy would steal a good portion of her freedom. -She must be careful. Besides, her power -over Jimmy was so easy just the same. And Nielsen, -that puzzling human man, disconcerted her. He -<a id="page-86" class="pagenum" title="86"></a> -was different from Jimmy. He was strong physically -too, if not quite as handsome, and he possessed -a strong heart and mind, which Jimmy did not. But -his constant joking—was he really serious? She -never knew just where to find him, he eluded her so. -If she were to marry, she would never see him again, -a prospect her greediness did not like to consider, as -she sat there slyly watching him, clothed in that easy, -cheerful, even-tempered strength of his. -</p> - -<p> -Erna and Nielsen did not leave the latter’s workshop -until close upon midnight. The rest of the time -had passed swiftly and pleasantly. Their parting -was warm to a decided degree. And they made an -appointment for the following Friday evening. -</p> - -<p> -“I’ll be a night owl soon,” she complained. -</p> - -<p> -“Oh no—you’ll always be a Rat-wife,” he corrected. -</p> - -<p> -She pressed the book under her arm—Ibsen’s -“Little Eyolf,” which he had lent her—and -laughed. -</p> - -<p> -“Now, don’t forget my text,” he warned her -gently, as they stood on the dark street corner near -Landsmann’s, their hands clasped in friendly embrace. -</p> - -<p> -“I won’t.” -</p> - -<p> -“And if there’s any real trouble with Landsmann?” -</p> - -<p> -<a id="page-87" class="pagenum" title="87"></a> -“Yes, I will,” she agreed. -</p> - -<p> -He pressed her hand. -</p> - -<p> -“Good-night,” she said. -</p> - -<p> -“Good-night,” he returned. -</p> - -<p> -And they separated. But they both looked back -twice and waved their hands—in the old fashioned -way. -</p> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<h2 class="chapter" id="chapter-0-9"> -<a id="page-88" class="pagenum" title="88"></a> -IX -</h2> - -</div> - -<p class="first"> -“An order of mocha tart, Erna!” -</p> - -<p> -It was Bainbridge Breen who had spoken. The -girl left the dining room with a cheery: “All right!” -The young artist turned to his friends, Carstairs and -Nielsen, who were sitting with him at the rear table: -“Mocha tart is still the prince of Landsmann pastries.” -</p> - -<p> -“You’ve made up with Erna, I see,” Nielsen -ventured quietly. -</p> - -<p> -“Oh, of course! I’m too busy a man to spend -any time harboring animosity. Besides, I guess I’m -sufficiently broad-minded to forgive the girl her indiscretion.” -</p> - -<p> -“And on her side, she’s too light-hearted to hold -animosity,” the author supplied. -</p> - -<p> -“I expect so,” Breen agreed generously, and then -challenged: “But how about <em>you</em> and Erna? And -how about your story?” -</p> - -<p> -“Haven’t been able to finish it as yet,” Nielsen -returned somewhat evasively. -</p> - -<p> -“Haven’t had enough opportunity for <em>studying</em> -Erna?” -</p> - -<p> -“No, I’m not quite through.” -</p> - -<p> -<a id="page-89" class="pagenum" title="89"></a> -Breen laughed significantly, and Carstairs flushed. -</p> - -<p> -“Then you haven’t reached your decision as regards -Erna’s morals?” the painter continued. -</p> - -<p> -“Not just yet!” was Nielsen’s response, keyed in -deeper evasiveness. -</p> - -<p> -“You’ll reach my conclusion absolutely,” Breen -closed confidently. “She’s a moral little thing.” -</p> - -<p> -“Of course,” Carstairs interposed indignantly. -</p> - -<p> -“Whoop-la!” cried Breen. “So you’ve come to -<em>your</em> decision, Brother John? How did it happen, -you sly dog?” -</p> - -<p> -“I haven’t come to any decision,” Carstairs denied -wearily. “I told you in the beginning what I -thought of Erna.” -</p> - -<p> -“That’s so,” Breen gave in with a tone of fatherly -wisdom. “But when and where did you find opportunity -to strengthen your belief? You haven’t been -coming here very often of late?” -</p> - -<p> -“That’s my affair,” Carstairs retorted. -</p> - -<p> -He was in a melancholy mood. Erna had been -neglecting him since their evening together. Moreover, -she had treated him with more or less indifference -as well, as though his visits bored her, and had -allowed him no opening for inviting her again. -</p> - -<p> -Nielsen wisely changed the subject: “Been doing -much work lately, John?” -</p> - -<p> -“Yes, I’ve been busy.” -</p> - -<p> -<a id="page-90" class="pagenum" title="90"></a> -“What are you doing?” -</p> - -<p> -“I’ve been writing a little set of piano songs,” he -rejoined. -</p> - -<p> -“Good for you!” Breen applauded. “There’s -nothing like work after all, and we all seem engaged -to that lady at present. She’s the best wife in the -world.” -</p> - -<p> -Nielsen smiled philosophically, but the tired expression -had revisited Carstairs’ face. The trio continued -eating their supper, and the conversation -strayed to other and less personal topics. -</p> - -<p> -That same evening, Erna was to meet Jimmy -Allen. The hero of Landsmann’s was well ahead -of their appointment time, for he was strangely excited. -He had some news to impart to Erna. -</p> - -<p> -She was ten minutes late. He did not call her -attention to the fact, but greeted her boisterously -and began: “Gee, Erna! I got great news for you.” -</p> - -<p> -“Have you?” she replied with well feigned indifference. -</p> - -<p> -“What do you think? Nolan’s offered to let us -have the rooms free for one month.” -</p> - -<p> -“Did he?” -</p> - -<p> -“Sure! What do you think o’ that? Ain’t he -the pippin? Ain’t he the classy guy?” -</p> - -<p> -She did not answer. They were walking slowly. -<a id="page-91" class="pagenum" title="91"></a> -He grabbed her arm. “What’s the matter now?” -he demanded. -</p> - -<p> -“Nothin’.” -</p> - -<p> -“You said you’d made up your mind,” he maintained -anxiously. -</p> - -<p> -“I said: not quite,” she corrected him. -</p> - -<p> -“Oh, but you have, Erna,” he pleaded. “You’ll -join hands with me? You’re sick o’ Landsmann’s. -You—we’re stuck on each other, an’ the minister’s—Well, -wait’ll you see the flat!” he broke off. -“That’ll settle it. Wait’ll you see the <em>flat</em>!” -</p> - -<p> -“Why?” -</p> - -<p> -“I’m takin’ you there,” he informed her eagerly. -</p> - -<p> -“Now?” -</p> - -<p> -“Of course!” he cajoled her. “You’ll come, -won’t you?” and he squeezed her arm. “There’s no -harm in it. You don’t have to like the place? It -don’t hurt to see it?” -</p> - -<p> -“No.” -</p> - -<p> -“Then we’ll go.” -</p> - -<p> -Erna was busy eyeing a millinery show window. -</p> - -<p> -“How about it?” he questioned. -</p> - -<p> -“All right.” -</p> - -<p> -He sighed with relief and satisfaction. -</p> - -<p class="tb"> - -</p> - -<p class="noindent"> -There were two rooms and a bath. The furnishings -were fairly attractive—garish in some respects, -<a id="page-92" class="pagenum" title="92"></a> -but on the whole, adequate. Erna admitted to herself -that they surpassed her expectation, the garish -qualities, no doubt, appealing to her love of life and -violent color. But she made no such admission to -Jimmy. -</p> - -<p> -He was watching her with wide open eyes. Gradually, -his anxiety forsook him and his natural cheerfulness -appeared. “Well?” he asked quietly. -</p> - -<p> -Erna continued reticent. Neither of the rooms -compared with Mr. Nielsen’s, which was so wonderfully -cosy, but she could easily improve them. -Her woman’s housekeeper instinct declared itself; -it would be nice to occupy herself making changes -here and there. And it would be a nice place to -spend a few lazy hours every day, it was such a fine -little apartment. Best of all, it would be her first -home.... Erna studied the large couch for the -first time and hesitated. “Stick to your freedom!” -he had advised her. Marriage? No, marriage -would not be so nice. Still, strong, broad shouldered, -handsome, happy Jimmy was standing right -near her. She glanced his way. -</p> - -<p> -“Well?” he repeated. -</p> - -<p> -Erna looked away. -</p> - -<p> -“What’s the matter?” he asked, and approached -a little. -</p> - -<p> -She did not answer.... That other time matters -<a id="page-93" class="pagenum" title="93"></a> -were different. She had not felt as drawn to him -then as she had since his return. His offer of money -that day—well, it had been an honest one: he -had cared for her, and he had been her best friend -in those days. She must do him that much justice. -And he was offering her much more now. She hated -Landsmann’s more and more. She could not endure -the place many days longer. And this would be her -first home. But suppose she should want to change—as -she had done so often before, due to her hatred -of any steady existence? Her hands would be tied. -Marriage meant loss of freedom. She cared for -Jimmy, yes, but not quite enough. If she were only -given more time for a decision! Perhaps, Mr. Nielsen -would help her to decide. But she would not -ask <em>him</em>. -</p> - -<p> -“What’s the matter?” Jimmy demanded once -more and with returning anxiety. He came closer. -</p> - -<p> -Erna turned toward him. She cast aside the part -she usually played with him, and gave him the first -honest glance he had received from her in several -days. He quickly put his arm about her shoulders. -</p> - -<p> -Erna turned her head away and tried to pull back, -but his other arm found its way about her. “Erna!” -he begged for the last time. -</p> - -<p> -She commenced to struggle. His instincts of battle -were aroused; and his exasperation of nearly two -<a id="page-94" class="pagenum" title="94"></a> -years’ standing seized this opportunity. Heedless -of her cries, he tightened his grip and pressed her -breast against his with brutal strength. There was a -moment of tugging and swaying. Suddenly, Erna -raised her face, and he kissed her mouth with the -same undeniable brutality. The girl no longer struggled. -But he would not let her go. -</p> - -<p> -At length, she tried to break away, but his strength -was much greater than hers. He continued to -weaken her, strong and stubborn though she was, by -more unmerciful kisses and embraces. Erna attempted -to beat his breast with what freedom her -hands were permitted and not succeeding, kicked his -shins. But Jimmy, laughing with joy and suffering -with passion, hugged her with such finality that she -was left powerless. -</p> - -<p> -As usual, that old but simple law of physics, concerning -the continued contact of bodies, was vindicated. -Soon after, it was satisfied. Erna and -Jimmy did not rise from the couch for nearly three -hours. -</p> - -<p> -Erna was tired, but happy. She looked at Jimmy. -He laughed. She laughed too. And then they -laughed together. Suddenly, she became serious. -</p> - -<p> -“What’s the trouble?” he questioned. -</p> - -<p> -Erna looked at him differently now, but her -seriousness soon fled. After all, just as posing for -<a id="page-95" class="pagenum" title="95"></a> -Breen had not been quite new to her, so her present -experience was not quite new. Furthermore, Erna -possessed unlimited gameness. Life had never been -able to throw her for a long fall. Therefore, her -boldness returned. Jimmy laughed as before, and -she joined him once more. -</p> - -<p> -“All right?” he requested. -</p> - -<p> -“Yes!” -</p> - -<p> -He got up. She watched him dress. He was -slow and careless in the performance. But her attention -was absorbed by the muscular play of his -splendid body. -</p> - -<p> -“Well?” he asked smiling. -</p> - -<p> -“Well what?” she challenged. -</p> - -<p> -“What makes you stare?” -</p> - -<p> -“Nothin’!” -</p> - -<p> -“Am I nothin’?” -</p> - -<p> -“Yes!” -</p> - -<p> -He laughed with his usual readiness, and content, -turned his back on her with lazy ease and walked -over to the mirror. Erna frowned slightly. Somehow, -his “I” had put her on her old guard. It -seemed to spell property, as did his care-free satisfaction -with himself. Erna watched him with -glances sharpened by caution. -</p> - -<p> -But it was necessary to dress. She was beginning -<a id="page-96" class="pagenum" title="96"></a> -to feel chilly. Without getting up, she slipped on -her waist, that had been lying nearby on the floor. -</p> - -<p> -Jimmy Allen’s mood had reached a state of hopeless -disregard. He committed a decided blunder. -With cheerful candor, he asked, without troubling -himself to turn around: “Erna! When do we move -in?” -</p> - -<p> -She gave his back an indignant glance. “What -did you say?” -</p> - -<p> -“I said: when do we move in?” -</p> - -<p> -Her instinct was up in arms. Throwing coolness -into her reply, she returned deliberately: “Not -until doomsday.” -</p> - -<p> -He stopped fixing his tie. But he continued: -“You’re gettin’ crazy again.” -</p> - -<p> -“I’m not,” she replied without changing her tone. -“I said: not until doomsday.” -</p> - -<p> -He turned toward her, smiling. But the smile left -his face. “What’s the matter now?” he asked, coming -forward. -</p> - -<p> -“Go on dressin’!” she commanded, his smile having -started her petulance. -</p> - -<p> -He, however, had come over to the couch and now -stood over her, staring at her stupidly. She looked -up at him, animosity in her glance. His vapid expression -deepened. -</p> - -<p> -“Well?” she challenged. -</p> - -<p> -<a id="page-97" class="pagenum" title="97"></a> -“Sore?” he asked humbly. -</p> - -<p> -“No!” -</p> - -<p> -He tried to study her. Gradually, light penetrated -his cloudy understanding: Erna was just like other -women. Luckily, some stroke of intuition prompted -him not to turn away this time. Instead, he put his -hands on her shoulders and said with unaccustomed -seriousness: “Erna! Don’t be sore.” -</p> - -<p> -“I’m not sore,” she resented. -</p> - -<p> -“I know—but—” -</p> - -<p> -“You don’t have to explain,” she cried melodramatically. -Strange to say, Erna seemed ready -to cry. -</p> - -<p> -At a loss, Jimmy tried philosophy: “’Cause life -is Hell to some folks, Erna, we don’t have to imitate -’em, do we?” He could not tell whether she was -listening. “Gimme a chance!” he added more cheerfully. -“Quit the beanery an’ gimme a chance! I -don’t want life to be Hell for you. Gimme the -chance, won’t you?” He waited, but she did not -look up. “You listenin’?” -</p> - -<p> -“Yes,” she said. -</p> - -<p> -“Then quit the beanery, Erna! We can live nice -an’ cosy an’ happy here, can’t we? You like it -here?” -</p> - -<p> -“Yes,” she admitted. -</p> - -<p> -<a id="page-98" class="pagenum" title="98"></a> -“Let’s get the minister then!” he concluded quietly. -</p> - -<p> -She removed his hands from her shoulders. -</p> - -<p> -“Erna!” he repeated. -</p> - -<p> -“Wait a moment,” she cut him short, although -in a milder tone. -</p> - -<p> -“Stick to your freedom!” he had advised her. He -was so human that he understood everything. And -yet, Jimmy—if she were not forced to decide so -soon! -</p> - -<p> -Her strength came back under the influence of this -tonic. A little of her innate cheerfulness revived -as well. She looked up at Jimmy. His puzzled expression -disappeared, and he smiled in encouragement. -She smiled too. -</p> - -<p> -“Got somethin’ to say,” he read. “What is it?” -</p> - -<p> -“Marriage’d be Hell, Jimmy,” she announced -without emotion. -</p> - -<p> -“Why?” he demanded abruptly, but recollecting -himself, stopped. Dimly, he once more realized that -Erna was a woman. And the man’s psychology -assisted him: Nature and his long enduring exasperation -had been satisfied. Why worry his head trying -to understand Erna? Let her take care of herself. -She would outgrow her present mood. He grew -blasé, and repeated quietly: “Why?” -</p> - -<p> -<a id="page-99" class="pagenum" title="99"></a> -“I dunno,” she explained doubtfully. “Just because, -I suppose.” -</p> - -<p> -He sat down beside her, not so much to help her -wrestle with the problem as to encourage her to -speak. She was thoughtful. “I guess I don’t want -to,” she continued, but with increasing doubt. -</p> - -<p> -“You don’t want to marry? Why?” -</p> - -<p> -“I wouldn’t be free,” she declared in an uncertain -way. -</p> - -<p> -“Why not?” he demanded. “You’d be free? -You could do what you want. I wouldn’t stop -you?” -</p> - -<p> -She shook her head. -</p> - -<p> -An idea came to him. “Maybe you’d rather—” -but he stopped, remembering a former experience. -</p> - -<p> -“Go ahead,” she advised him. -</p> - -<p> -“You’ll get sore again,” he protested. -</p> - -<p> -“No, I won’t,” she disagreed, but anticipated him -with: “I know what you were goin’ to say.” -</p> - -<p> -“You do? Well?” -</p> - -<p> -Erna averted her glance. The old thoughts -passed in quick review: Landsmann’s—Mr. Nielsen’s -advice—scraps of the past—home. She could -live with him a little while and then marry him if all -went well. That seemed best for her. -</p> - -<p> -“Wait’ll to-morrow!” he interrupted her. -<a id="page-100" class="pagenum" title="100"></a> -“You’re kind o’ up in the air now. You’ll be surer -to-morrow.” -</p> - -<p> -She nodded absent-mindedly. -</p> - -<p> -“You’ll let me know to-morrow?” -</p> - -<p> -“Yes.” -</p> - -<p> -“Sure?” -</p> - -<p> -“Yes.” -</p> - -<p> -“All right! Forget it! We’ll get it all settled -to-morrow. An’ if you’d still want to have the minister—” -</p> - -<p> -She shook her head negatively. Jimmy appeared -just as well satisfied. He did not understand, but -what was the difference, and what the use of worrying? -“You love me, don’tcher?” -</p> - -<p> -Again, she nodded absent-mindedly. He pushed -her with rough good nature. Presently, he got up, -returned to the mirror and again busied himself -with his tie. Erna likewise continued dressing. She -had reached a decision. And she was cheerful once -more. But she would wait until to-morrow. It -might be better. -</p> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<h2 class="chapter" id="chapter-0-10"> -<a id="page-101" class="pagenum" title="101"></a> -X -</h2> - -</div> - -<p class="first"> -Mollie and Gretchen, the Landsmann waitresses, -were gossipping. It was about eight o’clock, the next -morning. Above the rattle of dishes in the kitchen, -this is what one might have overheard: -</p> - -<p> -“Yes, I saw her with him.” -</p> - -<p> -“So did I a few nights ago.” -</p> - -<p> -“They must go out every night.” -</p> - -<p> -“Of course! She’s out every night since he’s -back. Who else would she go with?” -</p> - -<p> -“It’s just like her.” -</p> - -<p> -“Yes! I always said she’d go back to ’im.” -</p> - -<p> -“It was <em>me</em> said that.” -</p> - -<p> -“Maybe you did, but I said it first. She’s a fine -girl to be workin’ in an honest place like this to be -goin’ out with a common prize-fighter.” -</p> - -<p> -“Not to have any more self-respect!” -</p> - -<p> -“Yes! I always said she’d come to a bad end.” -</p> - -<p> -“Looks that way!” -</p> - -<p> -Their gossipping might have continued indefinitely -had not part of it been heard by an eavesdropper. -She came stealthily into the kitchen and of a sudden, -the waitresses received some resounding slaps. The -pair screamed. -</p> - -<p> -<a id="page-102" class="pagenum" title="102"></a> -Erna called them one or two unquotable names -and tried to continue her attack. But she saw -Landsmann coming into the kitchen and beat a retreat -into the dining room, although not without this -parting shot: “So you’re the kind I’ve been givin’ -dresses to!” -</p> - -<p> -Herr Landsmann was a busy man. Both waitresses -were trying to explain at the same time. And -Mollie was weeping violently. At length, he succeeded -in holding an excited consultation with the -girls, and with him at their head, they marched out -into the store in ragged single file. The trio hurriedly -argued the case before Mrs. Landsmann, who -was standing behind the counter, guarding the cash -register. Pretty soon, Mollie cried: “Here he -comes now!” -</p> - -<p> -Jimmy Allen entered. He greeted the Landsmanns -and the waitresses and then some of his -friends, as he passed the store tables. “How about -Young Walcott?” called one. “Next Wednesday,” -Jimmy returned. “Trainin’ again?” “Yes, -I start to-day.” And the young hero penetrated the -kitchen and stepped down into the dining room. -</p> - -<p> -Erna was in a disordered state. Some of the customers -were endeavoring to pacify her, but she refused -their offers. She spied Jimmy and throwing -<a id="page-103" class="pagenum" title="103"></a> -down all caution, hurried over to him. He soon -heard enough details. -</p> - -<p> -The young man struck a melodramatic pose. -“We’ll clear out o’ this hole,” he exclaimed. She -put her hand on his arm, but he shook it off. “Go -up-stairs an’ pack your things!” -</p> - -<p> -“But Jimmy—” -</p> - -<p> -“Never mind!” he interrupted. “You don’t have -to stay here. If you did, it’d be different. Go up-stairs -an’ pack up!” -</p> - -<p> -She looked at him with momentary dread, but -Jimmy waved his hand toward the doorway. Two -of the customers got up to interfere, but he gave -them threatening glances. Erna moved away and -then stopped in uncertainty. “Go ahead!” he -ordered her. She tried to go, but Landsmann stood -in the doorway. His face was struggling between -anger and dignity. -</p> - -<p> -“Erna!” he commanded. -</p> - -<p> -She stared at him. -</p> - -<p> -“Go right up-stairs and—” -</p> - -<p> -The storekeeper noticed Jimmy’s threatening attitude -and hesitated. “Go on!” that individual encouraged -him. “Got any more to say?” -</p> - -<p> -Evidently, the German had not. -</p> - -<p> -“Then get ’er money ready an’ see there ain’t a -cent short, you lousy Dutchman! I’ll see she gets -<a id="page-104" class="pagenum" title="104"></a> -her <a id="corr-10"></a>deserts. Hurry up, you fat slob, or I’ll help -you!” -</p> - -<p> -Herr Landsmann disappeared and so did Erna. -Jimmy, master of the moment, gave the dining room -denizens a look of contemptuous pride and likewise -went out. -</p> - -<p> -Consternation prevailed. Each patron wanted to -express an opinion, and argument rose high. Only -one of them held his peace: John Carstairs. He sat -aloof, a picture of gloom and stupor. -</p> - -<p class="tb"> - -</p> - -<p class="noindent"> -It was an early hour that evening. Carstairs was -seated at the piano in his small cosy room. The gas -was turned fairly low. Except for intermittent -sounds from the instrument, the room was quiet. -</p> - -<p> -The young man was composing. Vague measures, -desolate of all cheer, followed one another in -funeral tempo. The monotony, unbroken by even -one note of prophecying gladness, was maddening. -But the young man persisted in his lugubrious incantation. -Presently, he got up, turned the gas a little -higher and sat down again. A sheet of music paper -lay in front of him. Only a few measures and the -title—Dirge—had been transcribed. He started -jotting down more notes. -</p> - -<p> -There was a knock at the door. He did not hear -<a id="page-105" class="pagenum" title="105"></a> -it. The knock was repeated. Carstairs struck a -petulant dissonance, arose wearily, went over to the -door and opened it part way. -</p> - -<p> -“Special delivery!” a man announced. -</p> - -<p> -Carstairs signed the slip, the postman went away -and the door was closed. The young composer examined -the handwriting and quickly tore open the -envelope. The note was very short. -</p> - -<p> -He gave way to eager joy. And he breathed a -name twice over: “Elsie!” Nervous animation betrayed -him further. He re-read the note five or six -times, looked about in bewilderment and re-read the -note again. Of a sudden, he hurried over to the -bureau and pulled open the bottom drawer. A litter -of odds and ends was laid bare. With anxious -haste, he threw them all about on the floor. At last, -he came to a picture: the photograph of a pretty girl. -His joy deepened; he held the picture at arm’s -length and gazed a fill of delight. He then arighted -himself, went over to the piano, moved the photograph -of an older woman to one side and placed this -picture near the centre. He was soon occupied -studying the effect, and ultimate satisfaction was his. -</p> - -<p> -He again sat down at the piano, but was unable -to take his glance from the picture. Eventually, he -smiled, gave the picture an <em>au revoir</em> look and again -turned his attention to the keyboard and manuscript. -<a id="page-106" class="pagenum" title="106"></a> -He had decided to finish his composition just the -same. The dirge continued intoning its gloomy -measures, but a note of prophecying gladness appeared. -From time to time, too, the composer stole -shy glances at the photograph. -</p> - -<p class="tb"> - -</p> - -<p class="noindent"> -In a cosy room in a building not far away, a -different scene was taking place. Eric Nielsen and -Erna Vitek were sitting close together on a couch, -chatting confidentially and bantering each other. -</p> - -<p> -Erna had not broken off her appointment with the -young writer even though a sudden change had -come into her life. Luckily, Jimmy was away all -afternoon, training up in Fordham, and, thanks to -his continued absence, she was able to leave their flat -shortly after six o’clock. She would only stay out -an hour or so and, should he return before her, -would tell him that she had to visit Landsmann’s for -some small articles she had left behind. On the way -to Nielsen’s, she bought two or three trifles. Fortunately, -she had found him at home, although she was -two hours beforehand. -</p> - -<p> -He had heard of the morning’s event and was -heartily sorry. But Erna quickly reassured him. Of -course, he did not believe the hazy part of her story,—that -she was “stayin’ with some friends”—but his -<a id="page-107" class="pagenum" title="107"></a> -philosophy was equal to the occasion: what Erna hid -from him was no concern of his. In all, they had -been spending a delightful evening. As a consequence, -Erna was staying much longer than she had -planned. -</p> - -<p> -Nielsen enjoyed her company. She was a splendid -stimulant to his stimulant-craving mental system. -After his recent intercourse with the every-day -woman and the every-day man,—a monotonous gallery -of drab souls—she was a touch of brilliant color. -Her joy, animal spirit and fighting instinct enthralled -him. She stimulated his imagination particularly -and consequently brought him back to his -old interest in his life and work. So he was trebly indebted -to her. -</p> - -<p> -Erna’s greed had developed rapidly, and she had -grown reckless in short order. Nielsen inspired her -complete confidence. He did not take her too seriously, -neither did he take her too lightly. This was -just what she had craved so long. As a result, at -the height of her confidence and his bantering comment, -she allowed him to sit next to her, and they -developed their further intimacy. For the present, -she had forgotten Jimmy. He was physical and did -not inspire her as Nielsen’s human temperament did -so easily and so quietly. Moreover, her Vitek blood -had been excited. -</p> - -<p> -<a id="page-108" class="pagenum" title="108"></a> -Therefore, it was inside a natural sequence of happenings -that Nielsen’s arm stole about Erna’s waist -and that she submitted to the liberty. To tell the -truth, Nielsen was decidedly under the influence of -the wine in her nature and she under that in his. -</p> - -<p> -“Isn’t this wicked?” he questioned pleasantly. -</p> - -<p> -“No,” she denied. -</p> - -<p> -“But it’s growing darker,” he protested. -</p> - -<p> -“So much the better!” she retorted. -</p> - -<p> -And they both laughed. -</p> - -<p> -“This is rat time,” he warned her. -</p> - -<p> -“I don’t care,” she vaunted. -</p> - -<p> -And they laughed again. -</p> - -<p> -Erna did not leave the Nielsen workshop until -well after nine o’clock. -</p> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<h2 class="chapter" id="chapter-0-11"> -<a id="page-109" class="pagenum" title="109"></a> -XI -</h2> - -</div> - -<p class="first"> -It was the following Monday noon. Breen and -Nielsen were seated at the last table in Landsmann’s -rear dining room, eating and gossipping. -“Gretchen!” called the former. -</p> - -<p> -Erna’s successor came forward. -</p> - -<p> -“Bring me a mocha tart, please.” -</p> - -<p> -“Yes, sir”—and the girl walked away. -</p> - -<p> -“So you think you’ll be able to finish your story?” -Breen questioned. -</p> - -<p> -“I think so,” was Nielsen’s thoughtful response. -“I’ve found the missing link.” -</p> - -<p> -“But is any story ever finished?” Breen protested. -“Can’t you always find room for additional -installments?” -</p> - -<p> -Not being in an argumentative mood, Nielsen -quietly accepted his friend’s criticism. Soon, they -were both meditative. Gretchen brought the mocha -tart and went away. Hers was a peace-loving temperament, -in distinct contrast to Erna’s, an opinion -Breen expressed. Nielsen again accepted his -criticism. -</p> - -<p> -“After all,” the artist added comfortably: -<a id="page-110" class="pagenum" title="110"></a> -“Erna was quite a study. I confess, she fooled -me.” -</p> - -<p> -“How so?” -</p> - -<p> -“By running off with that young gladiator.” -</p> - -<p> -“Then you think she’s living with him?” -</p> - -<p> -“Of course. What other conclusion should I -come to?” -</p> - -<p> -Nielsen did not answer. At length he said: -“Then you’re ready to alter your decision of the -other day?” -</p> - -<p> -“That she’s a moral little thing?” Breen replied. -</p> - -<p> -“Yes, to some extent,” he declared generously. -“Her last act does change my first consideration a -bit. But I still refuse to credit her with being <em>un</em>moral.” -</p> - -<p> -“Which means that you believe her <em>im</em>moral?” -Nielsen ventured in a droll tone. -</p> - -<p> -“I suppose so.” -</p> - -<p> -“Explain yourself!” -</p> - -<p> -“She’s accepted a life contrary to Society’s code -or her own code—if she was ever unconventional -enough to have one, which I doubt.” -</p> - -<p> -Nielsen smiled. “If what you say is true, we’re -all of us more or less immoral.” -</p> - -<p> -“Why so?” -</p> - -<p> -“Because every one barters his soul some time during -his existence, and some of us are doing so all the -<a id="page-111" class="pagenum" title="111"></a> -time. At heart, you know, we’re most of us, unmoral, -in appearance, moral, but in action, immoral.” -</p> - -<p> -Breen laughed in amiable derision. “What -scrambled egg philosophy!” he cried. “Where did -you learn it, noble scholar?” -</p> - -<p> -“Nowhere,” Nielsen answered and frowned. -But his ready good nature intervened and he observed -gently: “At any rate, Breen, I disagree with -you regarding Erna.” -</p> - -<p> -“That she’s neither moral nor immoral?” -</p> - -<p> -“She has a little bit of each—like all of us,” the -young author agreed; “but fundamentally she’s unmoral.” -</p> - -<p> -“Bravo! So that will be the end of your story?” -</p> - -<p> -“I don’t know,” Nielsen silenced him and smiled -a second time. -</p> - -<p> -Breen shook his head with a knowing air. After -an interval, he requested: “Will you see her -again?” -</p> - -<p> -“I’m not certain,” Nielsen said without emotion. -“I imagine I will some time. But it won’t be necessary.” -</p> - -<p> -The young men finished their meal. -</p> - -<p> -A little later, Nielsen was alone in his studio. He -was sitting at his small writing desk, looking over -some material that lay in front of him. Presently, -he seemed worried, but only for a moment. No, the -<a id="page-112" class="pagenum" title="112"></a> -point was absolutely clear. Erna had settled it for -him the other evening. At heart, she was unmoral. -The young author commenced writing. -</p> - -<p> -Through some insidious channel, a thought managed -to come between his mind and the manuscript: -would he see her again? Quickly, he beat it down: -it would be unnecessary to see her again; there was -nothing more for him to learn. Still, he had enjoyed -himself the other evening. The physical, so glorious, -so great, had once more penetrated his life. Would -he drive it away? Nielsen stopped writing. -</p> - -<p> -Almost resentfully, he mused: What had he and -the physical to do with each other? The physical -gave him new experience, yes, but it was almost always -experience that he courted and utilized for his -work. He must not expect more; he must continue -to sacrifice everything—thought, emotion, volition—to -work. Nothing else existed; in no other way -could he hope to reach the realm of artist. He must -drive Erna and the other evening’s sensations from -his memory. She had served as his model, no more; -so he must not permit her personality or his own to -interfere again. Furthermore, he must be cautious -on her behalf as well. She was a joyous, healthy -animal. Jimmy Allen was a joyous, healthy animal. -They were mated, and were living together, undoubtedly. -<a id="page-113" class="pagenum" title="113"></a> -The chapter was closed. He must not -desire more. -</p> - -<p> -Nielsen tightened his resolve. In another moment, -he was again busy, writing. -</p> - -<p> -There was a knock at the door. He did not -hear it. The knock was repeated more loudly. He -looked around petulantly, got up, went over to the -door and opened it. “Oh, it’s you,” he said, but not -with cordiality. -</p> - -<p> -Erna came in. -</p> - -<p> -“I was down in the neighborhood,” she apologized. -</p> - -<p> -“You were right to come up,” he reassured her, -sorry to have treated her discourteously. “Take off -your things!” -</p> - -<p> -“But you’re busy,” she protested. -</p> - -<p> -“Not at all. Only a little touch or two I was -working on. They can wait.” -</p> - -<p> -Reluctantly, Erna permitted him to help her remove -her coat. She did not take off her hat. “Sit -down,” he advised her, his regret for his momentary -show of self-interest developing. -</p> - -<p> -She sat down on a chair. He seated himself at -his desk, but faced her. “What’s new?” he asked -pleasantly. -</p> - -<p> -“Nothin’ much,” she returned and glanced at -him. -</p> - -<p> -<a id="page-114" class="pagenum" title="114"></a> -His glance met hers, and he quickly looked elsewhere. -He felt a sharp pain: he had gone too far -the other evening. Erna likewise looked away. -She had seen enough; her instinct knew. There was -an awkward pause. -</p> - -<p> -Nielsen gave her a sidelong glance. What could -he do? This was dreadful. He should not have -gone so far. Erna was staring at the floor. He -could see her pugnacious nose and her determined -mouth and chin, and felt somewhat relieved. Her -case might not be as serious as he feared. She had -tenacious strength of character. But the situation -was very uncomfortable notwithstanding. He should -not have gone so far. It was selfish—whether a -man’s selfishness or an artist’s. Nielsen turned -away. -</p> - -<p> -Again, he glanced in her direction, but she was -still staring at the floor. Luckily, she had Jimmy; -they were living together—at least, he had taken that -much for granted by putting her story and the bakery -scandal side by side. They were suited to each -other. What could or should she have to do with -such a thing as an artist? Perhaps, the novelty in -their short affair had appealed to her. She was a -greedy nature. She craved everything: sun, moon, -stars and all. He himself had only been one of -<a id="page-115" class="pagenum" title="115"></a> -them. This conjecture satisfied him considerably. -And he breathed with returning freedom. -</p> - -<p> -She looked up. He smiled. She smiled too. -And he breathed still more freely. -</p> - -<p> -“What have you been doing lately?” he questioned -cheerfully. -</p> - -<p> -“I’ve been busy straightenin’ out,” she replied, and -looked at him. -</p> - -<p> -He moved restlessly. There was a second pause, -but only a short one. -</p> - -<p> -“You’ve been busy too,” she said. -</p> - -<p> -“Oh yes, I—I’ve been working on a story.” -</p> - -<p> -“What kind of a story?” -</p> - -<p> -“Merely a foolish little affair about a foolish little -affair,” he hastened to condemn. -</p> - -<p> -Her glance dropped. His work and her own -lived apart. “I brought back ‘Little Eyolf’.” -</p> - -<p> -“So I saw. Did you like it?” -</p> - -<p> -“Not very much.” -</p> - -<p> -“Why not?” -</p> - -<p> -“It’s too sad,” she explained. “An’ I don’t like -cripples.” -</p> - -<p> -“Of course!” he broke out. “I forgot that you -love only joy and happy people.” -</p> - -<p> -“An’ freedom,” she concluded unconsciously. -</p> - -<p> -“Certainly, and freedom,” he agreed. -</p> - -<p> -He caught a glimpse of her eyes—eyes that could -<a id="page-116" class="pagenum" title="116"></a> -love you to-day and hate you to-morrow—and felt -still more reconciled with circumstances. Erna -craved freedom, and was free. She could take care -of herself. She possessed that rare thing, the life-controlling -temperament. Perhaps, she would not -need even Jimmy Allen. How splendid she was! -Would she hate him to-morrow? It would be a -shame. He had only to raise his hand—and they -could continue. But he must not, it would be so -much better for her. She would be miserable with -him: an artist and not a physical man. She belonged -to Jimmy—and still more, to herself. He must not -interfere, but leave her destiny to destiny. Nielsen -felt almost completely relieved. -</p> - -<p> -“You <em>love</em> your work, don’t you?” Erna announced -with unexpected candor. -</p> - -<p> -Nielsen looked at her with sharpened eyes. She -was glorious. She had emphasized “love” and not -“work.” He could scarcely reply. -</p> - -<p> -“Don’t you?” she repeated. -</p> - -<p> -She was more than glorious. Her own gameness -had fought the problem for her. She required assistance -from no one. -</p> - -<p> -“Yes,” was all he was able to say, his emotions -crowding him. -</p> - -<p> -“Do you write a whole lot?” -</p> - -<p> -“Yes, lots and lots, but it’s all trivial.” -</p> - -<p> -<a id="page-117" class="pagenum" title="117"></a> -“Oh no!” she contradicted him. -</p> - -<p> -“Oh yes!” he mimicked her, and laughed, although -he did not know why. “My writings are as -much like life—” as you are like art, he would have -finished, but hesitated. -</p> - -<p> -“As what?” she assisted him. -</p> - -<p> -“As the catching of butterflies is like the catching -of rats,” he closed with a return to himself. -</p> - -<p> -“Oh, the Rat-wife!” she interpreted. -</p> - -<p> -“Yes.” -</p> - -<p> -“You’re not a rat-wife writer then?” -</p> - -<p> -“No.” -</p> - -<p> -“You’re not a butterfly writer either?” -</p> - -<p> -“Why not?” -</p> - -<p> -“’Cause butterflies come from caterpillars, don’t -they?” -</p> - -<p> -“Yes,” Nielsen admitted and laughed again, although -his emotions were threatening him, as before. -“I forgot about the caterpillars.” -</p> - -<p> -“Yes, I hate ’em,” she reminded him. “They’re -too—too—” -</p> - -<p> -“Fuzzy wuzzy!” he helped her. -</p> - -<p> -“Yes,” she accepted and laughed for the first time, -if not very heartily. -</p> - -<p> -Nielsen studied her with frank admiration. Her -nature was that of a lioness. She looked capable of -pushing over or slipping from under any circumstance. -<a id="page-118" class="pagenum" title="118"></a> -She did not even require one’s sympathy. -And still?—But he resisted the temptation. For -her sake, it would be better not to continue. -</p> - -<p> -“I must be goin’,” she said suddenly. -</p> - -<p> -“Oh no, not yet!” he begged. -</p> - -<p> -“Yes, I must be goin’,” she insisted and got up. -“I got shoppin’ to do.” -</p> - -<p> -“Haven’t you finished decorating?” he inquired, -and got up against his will. -</p> - -<p> -“No,” she returned and smiled. -</p> - -<p> -Nielsen helped her with her coat. He was tempted -to put his arms about her, but resisted. It would -make her departure more difficult. She turned -around. “Is my hat on straight?” -</p> - -<p> -“Oh yes,” he assured her and added, by way of -controlling himself: “<em>Vanitas vanitatum!</em>” -</p> - -<p> -“What’s that?” -</p> - -<p> -“More triviality!” he declared. -</p> - -<p> -Erna started toward the door, but he stopped her -with: “Don’t you want another book to read?” -</p> - -<p> -The temptation was a strong one, but she dodged -it: “No, I’ll be too busy now. Maybe, later on,” -she concluded with a lingering tone. -</p> - -<p> -Nielsen looked away. Erna continued toward the -door, but he hurried after her and opened and held -it open for her. -</p> - -<p> -“Good-bye,” she said. -</p> - -<p> -<a id="page-119" class="pagenum" title="119"></a> -“Oh no, not good-bye, but <em>au revoir</em>!” he quoted -gently. -</p> - -<p> -“That’s a hard word to pronounce.” -</p> - -<p> -“Try it anyhow,” he encouraged her. -</p> - -<p> -“Orrevore!” -</p> - -<p> -“Fine!” he congratulated her, repeated the -phrase, and added: “Come in again soon.” -</p> - -<p> -“Yes,” she agreed. -</p> - -<p> -But she never did. -</p> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<h2 class="chapter" id="chapter-0-12"> -<a id="page-120" class="pagenum" title="120"></a> -XII -</h2> - -</div> - -<p class="first"> -Two months passed. -</p> - -<p> -Erna Vitek was still living with Jimmy Allen. -There was, however, less and less likelihood that -they would ever marry. In fact, the most probable -issue to their affair was that they would separate -again, in the near future and this time for good. -</p> - -<p> -Erna was tired of Jimmy. For some weeks past, -her restless nature had been craving some one else, -or better still, some other mode of living, her present -one having reached a state of unbearable monotony. -She recovered from her experience with Eric Nielsen -only after several weeks of struggle. Even such a -fine tonic as that supplied her so freely by her resource -of blood found the healing of her wound no -ordinary matter, but she had recovered, except for an -occasional memory. Her battle with her craving for -Nielsen did not assist her attachment for Jimmy; on -the contrary, the latter degenerated by contrast. -And Jimmy, himself, was very much to blame as -well. He had changed toward her. -</p> - -<p> -It is no doubt true that possession often breeds -boredom, and boredom, carelessness. Erna, before -possession and after possession, was not the same -<a id="page-121" class="pagenum" title="121"></a> -individual, and Jimmy treated her accordingly. He -was no longer an anxious desire-maddened suitor. -</p> - -<p> -Furthermore, he was softening physically. He -continued training for his schedule of fistic contests -and carried out that schedule; he defeated Young -Walcott, the man from Chicago and another, but -lately, had fought two very poor draws, in the latter -of which he, himself, was on the point of being -knocked out. His manager, the astute Jerry Nolan, -was losing patience with him. He bluntly attributed -his protégé’s decline to the fact that he was “livin’ -with a woman. A man’s got to cut out drink if he -wants to succeed as a athlete, but he’s got to be <em>sure</em> -to cut out women. They sucks his blood an’ -strength.” -</p> - -<p> -Jimmy did not agree with this sentiment. He -continued to live with Erna. What is more, he had -threatened to move out of the Nolan apartment and -“to throw up the sponge”—quit the prize-ring—if -his manager persisted in arguing along these lines. -Although Nolan submitted, he found other grounds -upon which to pick quarrels with Jimmy. The truth -is, the young manager was ambitious, and Jimmy’s -ability to climb the pugilistic ladder reflected credit -upon him. He had always felt and expressed his -faith in his protégé and prophesied that he would -be “mixin’ it with the top notchers” not far hence, -<a id="page-122" class="pagenum" title="122"></a> -a prophecy Jimmy substantiated by defeating “the -Kid,” Young Walcott and the westerner so decisively. -But he was in danger now, as his recent -battles and his late mutiny testified. Should Jimmy -fall from grace a second time, it would be irrevocably. -Therefore, Nolan was using eloquence, persuasion, -threats, anything, to save him. -</p> - -<p> -Many of their quarrels took place in Erna’s -presence. After a while, Jimmy, much to her growing -distaste, formed the habit of bringing Nolan and -“some o’ the boys” to the flat. Custom gradually -trained them to believe that she was nothing more -than part of the furniture, and they accepted her -attentions, due them as Jimmy’s guests, just so. -They stayed well on into the night, amused themselves, -played pranks, broke dishes, quarrelled, made -up—and came again. And more and more, they -looked upon Erna with contempt. On her side, she -hated and despised them. -</p> - -<p> -During the day, Jimmy was usually absent, training -at the Nolan headquarters in Fordham. Erna -saw him for a moment in the morning, when she -prepared his breakfast, and at evening, when she -prepared his supper, not to see him again, as a rule, -until fairly late at night, except when he brought -“the boys.” To be sure, she slept with him and—well, -<a id="page-123" class="pagenum" title="123"></a> -she hated that too. It made her feel herself -some dirty, inferior animal. -</p> - -<p> -Erna’s days were still more monotonous. She -sewed quite a little, attended to details of house -work, which were few, and otherwise, took long -walks or went to an afternoon vaudeville or moving -picture show. As she was accustomed to a day of -constant labor and occupation, she had never known -much idleness; her evenings were spent in resting or -in the search of a little excitement. Moreover, -Erna’s was purely an emotional nature; she did not -possess the intellect or imagination so requisite toward -making idleness useful. Unfortunately, she -had no friends to visit. -</p> - -<p> -At first, Jimmy gave her money in regular installments. -Their house expenses paid, she would have -a sufficient balance with which to indulge herself—with -a new hat, a new dress, a few odds and ends, -or her afternoon amusements. The installments, -however, were more and more irregular and smaller -in amount; last week, none had materialized. The -reason was this: Jimmy had returned to drinking. -And the climax was impending. One night, he -came home late, pretty well drunk. -</p> - -<p> -Erna opened the door. He swayed and then -staggered into the room, a broad leer on his face. -“Howsh—the—girl?” he demanded stupidly. -</p> - -<p> -<a id="page-124" class="pagenum" title="124"></a> -He tried to embrace her, but Erna stepped back, -and he nearly fell. With an effort, he straightened -himself and laughed. “Wha—whash—a—matter?” -</p> - -<p> -Erna’s resentment poured over. “You beast!” -she said in low tones. -</p> - -<p> -“You—what?” He leaned forward to hear -better. -</p> - -<p> -“Beast, I said,” and she pelted him with epithets -and reproaches. -</p> - -<p> -Jimmy made several ludicrous attempts to apologize, -and protested: “I—I’m not—d-drunk; I—I’m -just—ossified.” And he laughed more stupidly -and tried to approach. -</p> - -<p> -“Keep away!” -</p> - -<p> -“Wha—whash—a—matter?” -</p> - -<p> -“Keep away!” -</p> - -<p> -“Wheresh—No—Nolan?” -</p> - -<p> -“Nolan’s in hell, where he belongs,” she cried -angrily, and a second tirade followed, directed this -time at the manager and Jimmy’s friends. -</p> - -<p> -“Be c-c-careful!” he interrupted, but she added -further condemnation. “Be c-c-careful!” he repeated. -“No—Nolan’s a frien’ o’ mine an’ so’s -P-p-piggy Wallace. Be c-c-careful!” -</p> - -<p> -His defence only succeeded in infuriating her. -She concluded with two or three judgments that included -<a id="page-125" class="pagenum" title="125"></a> -the families of those gentlemen. Jimmy’s -good nature stopped. “You ——!” he called her -and stumbled toward her. -</p> - -<p> -Erna retreated, her face aflame. Once more, he -called her —— and fell toward her. She tried to -ward him off, for he had driven her against the -couch. But Jimmy pushed himself forward and -raising his fist, brought it down clumsily upon her -face. Erna slipped and fell upon the couch, her -mouth bleeding. -</p> - -<p> -Furious, she jumped up and attacked Jimmy. -He was in a defenceless condition, and blows rained -upon his shoulders, body and head. He tried to -raise his guard, but it was useless. At length, -swearing incoherently, she struck him full in the -face, and he swayed, mumbled stupidly and toppled -over on the couch, unconscious or asleep—more -likely the latter. Handsome Jimmy was a disgusting -sight. -</p> - -<p> -Erna, still struggling with herself, looked down -at him. He started snoring, a part painful, part -beatific smile wrinkling his face. His legs were -dangling over the side of the couch. She gave them -a kick, lifted them and shoved them onto the couch. -She then turned away and wiped her mouth with her -sleeve. Erna had come to a simple determination. -</p> - -<p> -Without hesitation, she went over to a closet and -<a id="page-126" class="pagenum" title="126"></a> -opened the door. She likewise pulled open the -drawer of a commode. And somewhere, she found -an old suit case and dragged that forth. Her packing -did not last more than twenty minutes. She left -a hat, a dress and some odds and ends behind her. -</p> - -<p class="tb"> - -</p> - -<p class="noindent"> -One pleasant late afternoon about two weeks -later, Eric Nielsen was occupied in writing at his -desk. He was engaged on an essay he had planned -and started some time ago. His pencil was moving -more rapidly than usual. -</p> - -<p> -The door was opened gently and Bainbridge -Breen came in. “Busy?” he inquired. -</p> - -<p> -“Come in! I’ll be through in a second,” Nielsen -returned without looking up. -</p> - -<p> -The painter came forward. The author’s pencil -scribbled a little faster, a period was jotted down, -and he laid aside the pencil, at the same time eyeing -his work and sighing with satisfaction. -</p> - -<p> -“Finished?” -</p> - -<p> -“Oh no, not for some time. I’ve got several -thousand words more,” Nielsen explained. -</p> - -<p> -“How’s it coming on?” -</p> - -<p> -“Splendidly!” was the optimistic rejoinder. “If -I can keep sufficient enthusiasm in my body, I ought -to be able to carry it through perfectly.” -</p> - -<p> -<a id="page-127" class="pagenum" title="127"></a> -“It’ll be your <em>chef-d’oeuvre</em>, I suppose,” Breen -observed with his customary pleasantry. -</p> - -<p> -“I hope so,” Nielsen admitted seriously. “It’s -stronger than anything I’ve done, I feel. It shows -maturity, I think, not only maturity of judgment, but -maturity of execution as well.” -</p> - -<p> -“In other words, Art,” Breen interrupted slyly. -“What more do you ask?” -</p> - -<p> -“Nothing,” confessed Nielsen, and his warm -smile appeared. -</p> - -<p> -“But what’s the matter with the story?” the -painter demanded. -</p> - -<p> -“How do you mean?” the author retorted. -</p> - -<p> -“I thought <em>that</em> had fulfilled your ambition.” -</p> - -<p> -“Not quite, not quite,” Nielsen hastened to deny, -and was thoughtful. “I don’t know just what it -was, but there was something missing in it,” he said -gently, and changing the subject, concluded abruptly: -“I’m sure I have that something in this essay.” -</p> - -<p> -Breen explained himself: “You know what -made me ask about the story?” -</p> - -<p> -“No. What?” -</p> - -<p> -“I had lunch in a small bakery on Sixth Avenue -this noon.” -</p> - -<p> -“Well?” -</p> - -<p> -“Guess whom I saw there?” -</p> - -<p> -<a id="page-128" class="pagenum" title="128"></a> -“Well?” -</p> - -<p> -“Can’t you guess?” -</p> - -<p> -“Out with it!” -</p> - -<p> -“Our old friend: Erna Vitek!” -</p> - -<p> -Nielsen turned and stared at his friend. He was -unable to speak. -</p> - -<p> -“What do you think o’ that?” Breen pursued, -unruffled. -</p> - -<p> -“She must have left Allen.” -</p> - -<p> -“Yes!” -</p> - -<p> -“And is working again?” -</p> - -<p> -“Yes!” -</p> - -<p> -Nielsen stared at the floor now. He seemed unable -to formulate, much less express, an opinion. -“How is she? Changed?” he requested at last. -</p> - -<p> -“Somewhat! She’s quite a little harder and a -bit more quiet—that is the way matters appeared to -me. But her eyes have lost none of their boldness. -And besides, she seems to like it there.” -</p> - -<p> -“She does?” -</p> - -<p> -“Yes, and she’s very popular too.” -</p> - -<p> -“How so?” -</p> - -<p> -“The men are very attentive, it looked to me,” -Breen volunteered significantly. -</p> - -<p> -“And she?” -</p> - -<p> -“She’s still got an eye open. Not as wide open, -<a id="page-129" class="pagenum" title="129"></a> -perhaps, as in the old days, but it isn’t closed, that’s -certain.” -</p> - -<p> -Nielsen was silent, reflecting. -</p> - -<p> -At length, Breen asked: “What do you imagine -will become of her?” -</p> - -<p> -“How?” -</p> - -<p> -“I mean, of her life—what life do you suppose -she’ll lead eventually: this young lady so moral, -unmoral or—” -</p> - -<p> -“I can’t say exactly,” Nielsen, who disliked the -topic, interrupted. -</p> - -<p> -“Think she’ll take to the streets?” -</p> - -<p> -“No, no, not that!” was the vehement denial. -</p> - -<p> -“Why not?” -</p> - -<p> -Again, Nielsen seemed unable to answer, but -he boasted unexpectedly: “She’s too strong. She -has fight in her—and love of freedom.” -</p> - -<p> -“But so have street ladies.” -</p> - -<p> -“Yes, but they don’t carry it through.” -</p> - -<p> -“Why not?” -</p> - -<p> -“I don’t know,” was the stubborn reply. “They -don’t, that’s all.” -</p> - -<p> -“Well, do you? Does Tom, Dick or Harry? -Does Erna?” -</p> - -<p> -“I don’t know. Let’s drop the subject.” -</p> - -<p> -“<em>I</em> wouldn’t be so certain that she does,” Breen -insinuated, still persisting. -</p> - -<p> -<a id="page-130" class="pagenum" title="130"></a> -“Of course, <em>you</em> wouldn’t,” Nielsen condemned, -unable longer to hold back his emotion. “You’re -wisdom itself.” -</p> - -<p> -The young artist decided to shift the topic: -“Heard from Carstairs lately?” -</p> - -<p> -Animation returned to Nielsen. “Yes, I heard -from John last night.” -</p> - -<p> -“Is he still in Indianapolis?” -</p> - -<p> -“Yes, he has a fine position there and seems contented -now.” -</p> - -<p> -“And Elsie Pearson?” -</p> - -<p> -“Oh, that’ll come off, as you said the other day.” -</p> - -<p> -“Marriage?” -</p> - -<p> -“Yes!” -</p> - -<p> -“Good for John! I’m glad he won. He was a -long time waiting.” -</p> - -<p> -Nelsen nodded. He was thoughtful once more. -But he shook off the mood and asked: “What are -you doing, Breen?” -</p> - -<p> -“Getting ready for spring.” -</p> - -<p> -“That’s so—spring’ll be here in a week or two. -Going out to the country as usual?” -</p> - -<p> -“Yes, I’ve gathered a bunch of canvases and -plenty of tubes, etcetera, and off I’ll go.” -</p> - -<p> -“Going to Connecticut again?” -</p> - -<p> -“Yes, that’s the only country for a landscape -painter.” -</p> - -<p> -<a id="page-131" class="pagenum" title="131"></a> -“I suppose so,” Nielsen agreed. -</p> - -<p> -“How about supper?” Breen interposed. -</p> - -<p> -“Why, what time is it?” -</p> - -<p> -“After five o’clock.” -</p> - -<p> -“By Jove—that late? I must be getting dressed -soon.” -</p> - -<p> -“Got an engagement?” -</p> - -<p> -“Yes, I’m going to feed with the Plymptons.” -</p> - -<p> -“Too bad! That means, I’ll have to eat alone. -See you in the morning! So long!” and Breen -moved away. -</p> - -<p> -“Going over to Landsmann’s?” -</p> - -<p> -“Yes. But it’s hopelessly dull there these days. -It’ll give me the incurables to-night.” -</p> - -<p> -“Or a tummy-ache, at least,” Nielsen added -good-humoredly. -</p> - -<p> -“Yes, so long!” -</p> - -<p> -“So long!” -</p> - -<p> -Breen went out quietly and closed the door. -Nielsen studied the door with a blank expression. -But he shook himself and returned to his manuscript. -In a moment, he was absorbed, re-reading. -</p> - -<div class="ads chapter"> -<p class="adh"> -POETRY -</p> - -<p class="ads"> -A MAGAZINE OF VERSE -</p> - -<p class="c"> -Edited by Harriet Monroe, 543 Cass St., Chicago, Ill. -</p> - -<p class="hang"> -POETRY, at the end of its first year, is no longer an experiment -but an assured artistic success, a publication whose -importance is authoritatively recognized, not only in this -country, but in Great Britain and France as well. The -field it has opened up is full of brilliant possibilities, encouraging -the editors to hope for the enthusiastic support -of a discriminating public. -</p> - -<p class="hang"> -POETRY endeavors to present the best verse now being -written in English, quality alone being the test of acceptance. -</p> - -<p class="hang"> -POETRY is an effort to create an organ for the art. While -the ordinary magazines must minister to a large public -little interested in poetry, this magazine appeals to and -will develop a public primarily interested in poetry as -an art, potentially the highest, most complete human expression -of truth and beauty. Thus it offers to poets a -chance to be heard by their own audience, in their own -place, without the limitations imposed by the popular -magazines. And to lovers of poetry it offers each month -a sheaf of new verse in delicate form uninterrupted by -prose articles demanding a different mood. -</p> - -<p class="hang"> -If You Love Good Poetry, Subscribe— -</p> - -<p class="u hang"> -POETRY<br /> -543 Cass Street, Chicago. -</p> - - <div class="form"> -<p> -Send POETRY for one year ($1.50 enclosed) beginning -</p> - -<p> -............................. to -</p> - -<p> -Name ........................... -</p> - -<p> -Address ........................ -</p> - - </div> -</div> - -<div class="ads chapter"> -<p class="adh"> -THE INTERCOLLEGIATE SOCIALIST -</p> - -<p class="i ads"> -Thought-Compelling, Admirably Written Quarterly -of Socialism and the Socialist Movement -</p> - -<p class="c"> -Among the year’s contributors are: -</p> - -<p class="noindent"> -Karl Kautsky, Jean Longuet, Keir Hardie, Morris Hillquit, -Alexander Irvine, Helen L. Sumner, Sidney and Beatrice -Webb, Prof. Vida D. Scudder, Upton Sinclair, William English -Walling, Charles Zueblin, Ernest Poole, Howard Brubaker, -Albert Edwards, Jessie W. Hughan, Caro Lloyd. -</p> - -<p class="b c"> -READ ITS REVIEW OF BOOKS! -</p> - -<p class="u adp"> -SUBSCRIPTION, 25c.<br /> -SINGLE COPY, 10c.<br /> -15 COPIES, $1.00. -</p> - -<p class="u ade"> -INTERCOLLEGIATE SOCIALIST SOCIETY<br /> -105 WEST 40TH STREET - - NEW YORK CITY -</p> - -<p class="adh"> -THE INTERNATIONAL -</p> - -<p> -A magazine for matured minds. -</p> - -<p> -A magazine for those who dare to think. -</p> - -<p> -A magazine for all true cosmopolites. -</p> - -<p> -A magazine with a courage so fearless that it publishes -the best. -</p> - -<p> -Brieux, Schnitzler, Strindberg are only a few of the advanced -thinkers who have appeared in the pages of THE -INTERNATIONAL. -</p> - -<p> -We have been in the vanguard of intellectual freedom. -</p> - -<p> -We shall always be far ahead of our times. -</p> - -<p> -You may glimpse the future by reading THE INTERNATIONAL. -</p> - -<p class="u c"> -George Sylvester Viereck, Editor.<br /> -Leonard D. Abbott, Richard Le Gallienne, Associate Editors. -</p> - -<p class="adp"> -15 CENTS A COPY. $1.50 A YEAR. -</p> - -<p class="u ade"> -MOODS PUBLISHING COMPANY<br /> -29 WEST 42ND STREET - - NEW YORK CITY -</p> - -</div> - -<div class="backmatter chapter"> -<p class="next"> -The April issue of THE -GLEBE will present Collects -and prose-pieces by Horace -Traubel. -</p> - -<p class="s price"> -Subscription price per year, $3.00 -</p> - -</div> - -<div class="trnote chapter"> -<p class="transnote"> -Transcriber’s Notes -</p> - -<p> -The original spelling was mostly preserved. A few obvious typographical errors -were silently corrected. All other changes are listed here (before/after): -</p> - - - -<ul> - -<li> -... her <span class="underline">desserts</span>. Hurry up, you fat slob, or I’ll help ...<br /> -... her <a href="#corr-10"><span class="underline">deserts</span></a>. Hurry up, you fat slob, or I’ll help ...<br /> -</li> -</ul> -</div> - - - - - - - - - -<pre> - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Glebe 1914/03 (Vol. 1, No. 6): -Erna Vitek, by Alfred Kreymborg - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE GLEBE 1914/03 (VOL. 1 *** - -***** This file should be named 63125-h.htm or 63125-h.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/6/3/1/2/63125/ - -Produced by Jens Sadowski and the Online Distributed -Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net. 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