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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d7b82bc --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,4 @@ +*.txt text eol=lf +*.htm text eol=lf +*.html text eol=lf +*.md text eol=lf diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..238b6ca --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #67372 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/67372) diff --git a/old/67372-0.txt b/old/67372-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index b24ed2c..0000000 --- a/old/67372-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,7684 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg eBook of Ninth Avenue, by Maxwell Bodenheim - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and -most other parts of the world 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. If you are not located in the United States, you -will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before -using this eBook. - -Title: Ninth Avenue - -Author: Maxwell Bodenheim - -Release Date: February 10, 2022 [eBook #67372] - -Language: English - -Produced by: Steve Mattern, David E. Brown, and the Online Distributed - Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net - -*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK NINTH AVENUE *** - - - - - -NINTH AVENUE - - - - - ·NINTH· - AVENUE - - _By_ - MAXWELL - BODENHEIM - - [Illustration] - - _New York_ - BONI & LIVERIGHT - 1926 - - - - - COPYRIGHT 1926 :: BY - BONI & LIVERIGHT, INC. - PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES - - [Illustration] - - - - -PART ONE - - - - -NINTH AVENUE - - - - -CHAPTER I - - -When the light of morning touches the buildings and pavements of a -city, it always seems to borrow their hardness and to lose in some -degree its quality of flowing detachment. The Sunday morning that -fell upon Ninth Avenue, New York City, gave you a sense of invisible -stiffness in its very air. The buildings, with their smudged, flat -fronts and tops, presented the impression of huge warehouses stretching -down both sides of the street--the appearance of holding commodities -rather than human beings. Most of them were five or six stories in -height, and their curtained, oblong windows and the bright, tawdry -shops at their base had an oddly lifeless aspect, in spite of the -sounds and animations which occurred within and around them. The iron -elevated-railroad structure that extended down the street, with all of -its roar and rush of trains, could not destroy the spirit of silent -inertia that lurked within the scene. - -Blanche Palmer stood in front of a bureau, in one of the apartments -that lined the street, and combed her dark red, bobbed hair, as -though it were a sacred and perilous performance. She was only -partially dressed, and the mild light that came in through a rear -window from the courtyard brought an extra vividness to her semiplump -arms, abruptly rounded shoulders and moderately swelling bosom. -Their freshness stood out, a little forlorn and challenging, in the -disordered room with its half drab and half gaudy arrangements. -The brass bed, the magazine-posters of pretty women against the -pink-flowered wallpaper, the red plush chair with the most infinitely -smug of shapes, the white chintz, half-dirty curtain and dark green -shade at the window--all of them seemed to be meanly contending against -the youth and life of her body. - -She was fairly tall, with most of the weight of her body centered below -her waist and with an incongruously small torso, but this effect was -not as clumsy as it might have been, since it was relieved by a bold -approach to symmetry. Something of a child and an amazon met in her -body. Her face was not pretty if you examined each of its features -separately--the overwide lips, the nose tilting out too suddenly at the -tip, and the overstraight, shaved eyebrows--but the whole of it had a -piquant and enticing irregularity, and it was redeemed by her large, -deeply set, bluish-gray eyes and the fine smoothness of her cream-white -skin. - -Her twenty years of life had given her a self-consciousness, and a -hasty worldly wisdom, and a slightly complacent sexual alertness, and -these three qualities blended into the customary expressions on her -face. Yet at odd moments it showed questioning and dissatisfied shades. -She was just a little more frank and wondering than the other girls in -her environment--just a little distressed and seeking beneath all of -the affected wrigglings, and ignorances, and small, cruel impulses that -ruled her heart and mind. As she stood before the bureau, the treble of -a child’s voice emerged from the babble of sounds in the surrounding -apartments, lifting the words: “Well, it ain’t gonna rain no mo-ore, -it ain’t gonna rain no mo-ore; how in the heck can I wash my neck when -it ain’t gonna rain no mo-ore.” Blanche took up the song, half humming -it as she slipped on an old, black, sleeveless evening gown which she -still kept to wear about the apartment when visitors were not present -or expected. It had a big, scarlet satine flower sewed at the side of -the waist and was extremely low-necked and gave her a near-courtesan -touch, increased by the over-thick rouge and lipstick on her face. She -could not dispense with cosmetics, even before her family, because -they were too inherently a part of the shaky sexual pride within her, -which always needed to be glossed and protected because it had been -frequently hurt and discountenanced in competitions and comparisons -with the other girls in her life. - -She stepped down the dark hallway and entered the living-room, where -her family sat and pored over the Sunday papers. The hour was verging -on noon, and the debris and confusion of a past breakfast stood on the -square, uncovered table in the middle of the room. Blanche eyed it -peevishly. - -“Oh, for Gawd’s sake, what a dump,” she said. “How’m I going to sit -down with gue and coffee all over the chairs?” - -“Too bad about you,” her brother, Harry, answered, with an amiable jeer -in his voice. “Too bad. We’ll move up on the Drive an’ get a lotta -servunts for you, huh?” - -“Sure, go ahead, but as long’s we’re not there yet you c’n move your -big legs and help clean off the table,” she replied. - -“Whatsamatter, you parulyzed?” he asked, still genial as he rose and -picked up some of the dishes. - -Her sister Mabel and her oldest brother, Philip, joined in the slangy, -waggish repartee as Blanche went to the kitchen and came back with -a cup of coffee and a fried egg. The father chortled behind the -comic-section of one of the papers, oblivious to this usual Sunday -morning “kidding-match,” and the mother was busy in the kitchen. -Harry Palmer, known to the bantam-class of the prize-fighting ring as -Battling Murphy, was a youth of twenty-two, with a short body whose -shoulders and chest were full, hard lumps, and whose legs were thinly -crooked but steel-like. His small, black eyes had a dully fixed, -suspicious, partly dumb and partly cunning look that never left them, -even in the midst of his greatest smiles and laughters, and his nose -was shaped like the beginning of a corkscrew, and his thick lips just -touched each other, with the lower one slightly protruding. His moist -black hair was brushed backward; his skin was a dark brown with a dab -of red running through it. The start of a primitive man, forced to -become tricky and indirect as it escaped from the traps and ways of -city streets, but still longing for direct blows and curses, showed -on every inch of him. He was cruel without wit enough to know that -he was cruel, and in his most lenient and joking moments the little -imagination and sentiment that he had grew large in its own estimation -and made him feel that he was as decent and kind as he could be in a -life where you had to “put it over” the other fellow, or go under. - -He prided himself especially on his generous and affectionate attitude -toward his family. They were the only people who had any actual -claims on him--his own flesh and blood, yep--but he felt that it was -necessary to hurt them whenever they objected to his actions, or tried -to hold him down, or did anything that they should not have done. His -idea of superiority was not to allow any one to boss him unless it -contributed to his material gain, and to order people around whenever -he could. Part of his family-pride was a real emotion and part of it -was a dogged peace-offering to his more openly selfish and cruel words -and actions to other people. He looked upon women as creatures made -for his particular enjoyment, but they alone were able to revive the -streak of surlily shamefaced tenderness within him, and if they were -exceptionally good-looking, and besieged by troubles, he wanted to pet -them and give them money. He intended to avoid marriage until he met a -pretty girl of his own age, who would refuse to give herself to him, -and who could hold her own in the rough parryings of conversation, and -show a practical disposition and a sense of the value of money. - -He had fought in preliminary six-round bouts--with erratic -success--since he was twenty, and he was known to the ring as a -courageous but unscientific fighter, whose main fault was that he would -not train rigorously for his encounters. On the side he was associated -with a gang of bootleggers, in the position of a guard who often went -with them to protect their deliveries, receiving a small share of the -profits. The Palmer family was mainly dependent on his support, since -his other brothers and sisters did little more than pay their own -expenses, and his earnings for the past two years had really lifted -them to a point where they could have deserted their upper-proletarian -life. His parents preferred the Ninth Avenue apartment and its -surroundings, because it had been stamped into their spirits for years, -and because they liked the boisterous freedoms, the lack of etiquette, -and the semiunderworld plainness of their environment. He and his -brothers and sisters would not have been averse to moving to “a sweller -joint,” but the desire was not yet sufficiently deep to stir them to -any action. - -His older brother, Philip, who was twenty-five, was looked upon as the -most “high-toned” member of the family. Philip worked in a neighboring -drug store and studied at night to become a pharmacist, and had had two -years of a high-school education. He was a tall man of much less sturdy -physique than his brother, and he dressed in the manner of a lower -dandy, with much fussing over cravats, shirts and suits of clothes. He -had a weak face beneath his curly brown hair--the face of a sneaking -philanderer, invaded a bit by kindly impulses which he tried to -suppress but which often led to his undoing. His brown, bulging eyes, -soft mouth that tried to be hard, and tilting out nose inherited from -his mother--these features disputed the sneering nonchalance with which -he strove to become one with the life around him. He was not naturally -studious, but his brain was cautious enough to realize that he was not -adapted for the more arduously physical tasks in life, and that he -would have to learn--at any cost--some sheltering and fairly profitable -profession. For this reason he applied himself to absorbing the details -of pharmacy, with much laboring and many secret groans. - -His sister Mabel was the adored young coquette of the family. They -regarded Blanche as a silly, fluctuating, and slightly queer person in -comparison to her sister, for Blanche made no serious effort “to play” -men for their money and favors, and often went out with the poorer and -more ordinary youths of the neighborhood, and revealed, in the opinion -of her family, a spirit that was too jauntily reckless--too “easy.” -Mabel, on the other hand, was reckless enough, with her cabaret, -private club and automobile parties, but the recklessness was more a -patent exuberance used to cover up an excellent canniness. Her people -had the feeling that she could not be taken advantage of, and that she -would play the game carefully until she landed a wealthy man willing -to marry her. Physically, she was a girl of eighteen years, with her -body in that fetching state of transition between budding and maturity; -mentally, she was twelve years old; and emotionally, she was a woman -of fifty. Girls of her kind, whose environment has been split between -their homes in an almost slummy district and the falsetto battle of -Broadway, become sensually wise overnight. At eighteen, Mabel was -literally stuffed with tricks, and informations, and cool wiles picked -up on streets and in cabarets, and her mind merely functioned as an -assistant in this process. At the very bottom she was sentimental and -fearful, but only an actually dire predicament could have extracted -these qualities--an unexpected danger or calamity. She was close to -medium height, with a slenderness made charming by an unusually full -bosom, and a pale brown skin that had a sheen upon it like that on the -surface of a pond, and black, bobbed hair that was curled for three or -four days after each visit to the beauty parlor. Her little nose was -almost straight, with hardly a trace of the Palmer curve, and her lips -were loosely parted and petite, and her big, black eyes assumed the -most vacantly innocent of stares, unless she was angry, when the lids -half closed between dancing sparks. - -Her father, William Palmer, had worked as a bartender, during the -days when his country had not yet established a new and widespread -class of criminals, and he had once owned a small saloon, afterwards -lost through his dice and poker-playing lusts. After the advent of -prohibition, he had branched out as a bootlegger, in a very modest way, -but he lacked the vigor and acumen necessary to such an occupation--he -was now a man of fifty-five--and the arrest of some of his cronies had -frightened him into giving up his illegal trade. Then he became the -ostensible manager of his prize-fighting son, and now he did little -more than hang around the gymnasiums where his son trained, dicker for -a few minutes with the owners of boxing clubs, loaf around his home, -and sit in all-night drinking and poker parties. He still had the -remains of a once powerful body, in spite of his lowered shoulders and -grayish-black hair slowly turning to baldness, and he was one of those -men who hold out against dissipation with an inhuman tenacity, until -near seventy, when their hearts or stomachs abruptly collapse, and they -die. He was of average height and always tried to carry himself with -a great, chipper bluff at youthful spryness. Upon his brown face the -twisted nose which he had given to his son, Harry, stood above broad -and heavy lips, and there was a piggish fixity to his often bloodshot -eyes that were too little for the ample size of his head. - -He was a man who lived in two worlds at the same time--that of verbal -bluffing, uttered to soothe and shun the sore spots and cruel resolves -in his nature, and that one in which he endlessly schemed for money -and ease, and was willing to commit any legal or well-hidden crime to -procure them. He would have grown wrathful if you had accused him of -being dishonest, and his rage would have been quite sincere. He had -practiced self-deception for such a long time that each part of him -was genuinely blind to the tactics and purposes of the other part. His -children were, to him, the great, living boast with which he could -dismiss the world’s and his own allegations of failure. “I never got -what I wanted but I’ll be damned if they don’t,” he sometimes muttered -to himself, and the excuse that he gave himself was that their better -advantages, and his own guidance, would enable them to win out in the -virtues which he had transplanted within them. He had lost his own -parents at an early age and had been raised in a public institution, -and had been forced to work hard when he was not yet fifteen, and he -doted on citing these beginnings as an explanation for all of his -material failures. He had punished and commanded his children when -they were still in knee trousers and short skirts--often shouting at -them and beating them about the legs--and he had struggled outragedly -against their gradual assumption of authority and independence, but -his delight in remaining their master had finally subsided to an -even stronger pleasure--that of a man who was watching the masterful -qualities which his children had derived from him. - -“They get it honest, all right,” he had once said to himself, after -a squabble in which his son Harry, then seventeen, had threatened to -knock him out. “I never took any sass from anybody myself, you bet I -didn’t. They’ll never learn to fight for themselves ’f I take all the -spunk and pep outa them.” - -Now he clung to the gruff pose of ordering them about, but never really -cared when they disregarded most of his words, or talked back to him, -as long as the boys kept out of arrest and the girls did not seem to -be openly or particularly unvirtuous. He suspected that his daughters -had probably “gone the limit” with one or two men whom they knew, but -the absence of feminine virtue to him was not a matter for agitation -unless it was persistent, complete and loudly flaunted. He wanted -his daughters to be “wise” and to end up in decent marriages, but he -was not averse to their “cutting up” a bit, as long as they kept it -well hidden. His favorite children were Harry and Mabel and he never -overlooked any chance to flatter and serve them in some manner. - -His wife, Kate, was the least aggressive member of the family, and -her children, Philip and Blanche, held in a much-qualified way many -of her characteristics. Two years younger than her husband, she was -a lean and not oversturdy woman whose head rose only an inch above -his shoulders. She had been a servant girl just migrated from Ireland -when he--a bartender in the block in which she lived--had married her -because of his inability to seduce her in spite of her meek worship -of him, and because her turn of figure and her tart, fresh face had -appealed to him. She had toiled most of her life, with only a short -period of intermission before the birth of her first child, and she -had frequently taken his drunken blows and his palpable faithlessness -after the first two years of their marriage, and they had often lived -in the dirtiest and most hellish of poverties when his gambling losses -had reduced them to pennilessness, but something like a mangled dream -had never left her spirit--not plaintive, and not precisely wistful, -but more the quietness of a peasant girl never quite living in her -surroundings and always longing for the strong peace of village and -hill. The dream was stupid, maligned, numb--but still it persisted. She -had little courage, and yet a stubborn flare of it often shot out when -she was driven into a corner, and her main reliances were obstinacy and -endurance. Unlike her husband, she did not share the bragging illusions -which he had concerning their children, and she felt that her sons and -daughters were imperfect, overwild and far too selfish, and she cared -for them more because life had deprived her of all other opportunities -for compensation. She favored Blanche most because Blanche seemed to -her to be more of a reproduction of what she, the mother, had been in -her own girlhood. It was not that she had any keen insight into her -daughter’s character and needs--it was only the very cloudy but warm -feeling that Blanche was more honest and “fine” than the rest of her -children. Mrs. Palmer had long since ceased to love her husband, or -to respect anything about him except his physical strength and his -masculine braveries, but she had fallen into a rut of obedience to him, -from which she lacked even the desire to extricate herself, and she -preserved an attitude of bare affection, to impress her children and -to keep him in good humor whenever she could. She had rigid notions -concerning honesty and morality not held by the rest of her family, -and she often weakly complained against their “looseness” and accepted -it only because she could not change it. Below her still abundant, -grayish-red hair, her face was like the seamed and puffed and violated -copy of Blanche’s countenance, with much the same eyes, lips and nose, -but without the hopeful smiles and uncertain questions on the other’s -face. - -As the family gathered in the living-room on this Sunday noon, -chaffing and listening to the latest fox-trot and waltz records from -the slightly nasal phonograph that stood on a shaky table in a corner -of the room, and reading the papers with the jealous, spellbound -attention with which obscure people greet the notorieties and “stunts” -of other men and women, the mother still worked in the kitchen, -cleaning the breakfast dishes and preparing the five o’clock Sunday -dinner. Kate Palmer usually refused to allow her girls to help her -with the housework, for more or less selfish reasons, because of her -pitiful pride in the fact that she could manage things herself--the -elderly housewife, to whom work had become an only distraction and -importance--and because she really dreaded the possibility of their -attractive, feminine hands becoming “chapped and ugly-like.” On -Sundays the Palmers, in varying degrees, were always in their best -mood. They had all slept later than on other days, and the Sabbath-day -was associated in their spirits with “sorta making up for what you -pulled off during the week”--the faint, uncomprehended return of -conscience and forgotten religious precepts--and with more peaceful -forms of enjoyment. Early every Sunday morning the mother went to -a Presbyterian church on the outskirts of their neighborhood, and -sometimes her husband or one of her daughters would accompany her, -both of them stiffly empty and ill-at-ease. If you had asked all of -the Palmers whether they believed in God and in Christianity, they -would instantly have replied in the affirmative, after giving you -a wondering, suspicious look, and yet their belief was merely the -snubbed but never-quite-relinquished shield which their fears became -conscious of at rare and odd moments. In case you died, you wanted to -know that you were on the right side of things and in line for some -possible reward--this was the only shape that religion had to them. -Its exhortations and restrictions were jokes that could not possibly -survive in the sordidness, and strain, and sensual longing of your -life--you knew that at the bottom but you never admitted it to yourself -on the top. Again, there was a consolation, dim and yet imperative, in -feeling that a vast, hazy, grand Father was controlling their days, -and in moments of sore need, or danger, or pain, they would have -instinctively and even beseechingly called out His name. - -When the papers were exhausted, the conversation of the Palmers became -more steady and personal. - -“Guess you’re goin’ out to-night with that Jew-kike uh yours,” said -Harry, trying to get a rise out of Blanche. “Can’t you pick out -somethin’ better than a Christ-killer, huh?” - -“What’s it to you?” she asked, coolly. “Show you a good-looking Jewish -girl and you’ll fall all over yourself trying to date her up. I know -you.” - -“Sure, but I’d just play her for what I could get,” answered Harry. -“I’ve got a notion you’re kinda sweet on that Loo-ee Rosenberg, ’r -whatever his name is.” - -“Well, she’d better not be,” said the father, with a scowl. “I don’t -mind when some kike takes her out for a good time--their jack’s as good -as any other guy’s--but I’m not lettin’ any Jews get into this family.” - -Blanche gave them a scornful smile. She was far from being in love with -Rosenberg, and the matter was neither pressing nor irritating, but she -felt a general defiance against their masculine habit of laying down -the law to women. - -“I guess I’m old enough to tend my own business, pa,” she said. - -“Oh, you are, huh,” answered her father. “Well, maybe we’ll see about -that.” - -“Aw, I know what’s eating both of you,” said Mabel, in her -expressionless, thinly liquid voice. “You’re sore ’cause Harry lost to -a Jew in that fight he had up in Harlem. Kid Goldman, that’s the one. -When you going to beat him up, Harry?” - -“I’ll get him, I’ll get him, don’t worry,” her brother answered, -frowning as he remembered the affront to his vanity. “I was outa -condition that night, and my left wasn’t workin’ good, that’s all. -Wait’ll I get him in the ring again.” - -“You know what I’ve always told you--you got the makin’s of a champion -’f you’ll only get down to business,” said his father. “You’re trailin’ -around too much with that bootleggin’ gang uh yours. No fighter ever -got to the top with a bottle in his hand, I’m tellin’ you.” - -“G’wan, you know damn well I’m down to the gym five days a week,” -answered Harry, who realized the truth of his father’s words, but -wanted to minimize it with his own reply. “An’ what’s more, I don’t see -any of you turnin’ down that fifty they slip me ev’ry Monday. Money -don’t lay around on the street--you got to get it any place you can.” - -“Well, I ain’t any too anxious ’bout hearin’ the cops knockin’ on this -door some day,” his father responded, peevishly. - -“Go ahead, drink your fool self to death--who cares,” said Mabel, who -had become petulant at the thought of the grand style in which they -could all live if her brother would only rise to the head of his class. -“You’ve got plenty of muscle but no sense, that’s the trouble with you.” - -“Say, how many times ’ve you seen me drunk, how many?” Harry asked, -beginning to be angry at this exposure of his weakest trait. “Ev’ry one -in this joint’s always lappin’ up all I bring home, an’ I never touch -it myself. ’F I do go on a jag once’n a while it’s my business. You -can’t get up in the fight game unless you’re on the inside--there’s too -many big crooks higher up fixin’ things.” - -“I don’t believe it--you’re just looking for a way out,” said Blanche, -to whom Harry was a generous but conceited brother--a strong, vicious -baby who imagined himself to be a model of shrewdness. At the bottom -she disliked his bulldozing, prying ways, but her dislike was not yet -strong enough to overcome the more enforced feelings of gratitude and -blood-ties within her heart. Harry always suspected that Blanche was -the one member of his family not impressed by his prowess and his -knowledge of the world, and he never gave up his efforts to increase -her respect, with all the argument and repartee at his command. - -“I am, huh,” he said, answering her last remark. “What do you know -about it? I suppose you get all that info’ uh yours punchin’ the cash -register down at the cafeteria. The only way you’re wise is with your -mouth. That middle-weight champ fight down at the Terrace was fixed up -a week ago and I’ve got it straight. Just watch the papers tuhmorrow -night.” - -“Aw, I’ve heard a lotta roomors goin’ around, but that’s hot air,” -said his father. “Garvey’d be a damn fool to sell his title for any -amount--I don’t care ’fit’s one hundred thousan’. He ain’t had it a -year yet, an’ there’s plenty uh holes left in the meal-ticket.” - -“Listen to somethin’, will yuh,” answered Harry, who really knew what -he was talking about in this matter. “Garvey’s gonna give up the title -now and then win it back in a return bout. Lose it on a foul an’ raise -a big holler--that’s the scheme. Young Anderson’ll keep it f’r a year -’r so, an’ make a pile of dough cleanin’ up all the suckers in the -sticks. With the movie stuff an’ the easy pickin’s he’ll rake in three -times ’s much as his manager give Garvey’s tuh fix it all up. I got it -from a guy who was there when they all talked it over, only I can’t say -his name ’cause I’d get my bean drilled through ’f they ever found out -I told.” - -“Are you kiddin’ me?” demanded his father. - -“I hope to croak if I am!” - -“Oh, boy, watch me put thirty dollars on that fight,” cried Philip, who -had been sitting beside his father and listening avidly. - -“Well, go slow, go slow,” advised his father. “I know Harry wouldn’t -give us a bum stir, but them agreements ’r’ often bungled up ’r -double-crossed at the last minnit.” - -The men began a discussion of prize-fighting conditions in general, -with much vehemence and a comical contrast of naive and foxy opinions, -and the two girls brought out manicure-sets of flashy celluloid, -and fiddled with their nails. Something that was not depression but -unobtrusively akin to it, stirred inside of Blanche. She had felt it -at times before and had never been able to fathom it beyond her sense -that life was too underhanded, and that she didn’t like this aspect of -it. As she listened to the men, with their endless recitals of frauds -and machinations, the little weight moved within her breast. Fake, -fake, fake--that was all you ever heard. Wasn’t there anything honest -and good in the world? It sure didn’t look like there was, most of the -time. Oh, well, why bother so much about it? You could never get along -in this world unless you “belonged”--unless you were like the things -around you. - -She started to think of Louis Rosenberg, the man with whom she had an -engagement for the coming night. She didn’t love him, sure not, but -he wasn’t a bad fellow at that. He seemed to be an honest boy, and -sometimes he talked about big, fancy things, like why people hated -each other so much, and why the world wasn’t better than it was, and -he used a word now and then that he called art--something that made -people write books and do paintings and statuary, and get wild over -nothing that any one else could see. He certainly was different from -most men all right. He kissed her sometimes, but he never tried to “get -fresh” (getting fresh, to Blanche, was the placing of a man’s hands -upon any covered part of her body except the arms). Maybe that was why -she didn’t love him. He was too darn good, and a girl wanted a fellow -to “try something” now and then, if he was slow about it and didn’t act -as though he expected her to fall for him (respond to him) immediately. -Then, when he did try it, she could tell just how much she cared for -him, and she repulsed him, or accepted him to some extent, according -to how nervous and glad he made her feel. Well, anyway, there were -always enough men who tried to make advances to her, and Rosenberg was -something of a relief. - -She met him that night on the corner of Broadway and Forty-second -Street, where the theater lights clustered like bits of a soul burning -in oil, and an endless, crawling stream of automobiles and taxicabs hid -the pavement, and where the tall, rectangular buildings and the suavely -gaudy shops seemed to be the only unexcited and unsensual objects of -the scene. Rosenberg scarcely ever called for her at the apartment, -and when he did he waited outside on the stoop, because Blanche felt -that she would be “mortified to death” if her father and her brothers -should choose to act unfriendly toward him, and she didn’t want to -run the risk of such an occurrence. She was wearing a very thin, -short-sleeved, georgette dress that extended only two inches below -her knees and was of dull white with a dark red flower-pattern, and -semi-transparent, flesh-colored stockings, and brown shoes with high -heels, and a black felt hat shaped like an upside-down cup, with a red -bow at the side. Like many girls in her environment, she dressed with a -combination of unconscious artistry and cheap, over-flashy display. - -Rosenberg was a youth of twenty-three, who worked at the receiving desk -in one of the Public Library branches, and was beginning to think a bit -too much for his happiness, prodded by the “higher literature” that -he was reading for the first time. Previous to his Library job he had -worked as a shoe salesman and had given it up because he had failed -to see that he was “getting anywhere” and because he wanted to do -something out of the ordinary but didn’t know quite what it should be. -He lived with a family of brothers and sisters, and they, together with -his parents, regarded him as a pleasant “schlemiel,” who was always -talking about things but never accomplishing anything, though they were -willing to let him alone as long as he worked and supported himself. -He had met Blanche at the cafeteria where she worked as a cashier on -weekdays, through the expedient of opening a gradual conversation with -her as he paid his check each noon. Finally he had grown bold enough -to ask if he could “take her out” and she had assented because she had -liked the diffident style in which his request was worded. - -He was tall and narrow-shouldered, but he was wiry and his arms were -not unmuscular. His light brown face, with its hooked nose, dark, -large-lidded eyes, and thin mouth, often had the look of a puzzled -dreamer, bowing to practical barriers but still trying, half-heartedly, -to peer beyond them. In his attire he wavered between negligence and -neatness, his tastes running to dark suits and loose collars and -brightly striped shirts, and his leading vanity was his wavy black -hair, which he often combed for ten minutes at a stretch. - -Since the hour was only eight o’clock--still too early for them to -visit the lower Broadway dance-hall which they frequented--Blanche -and Rosenberg walked over to Bryant Park and sat on one of the -wooden-iron benches along the cement walk and looking out on the -orderly, clipped levels of grass. The late spring night, with its -warm air that had the barest threat of coolness in it, and its -cloudless sky dotted with stars and a moon at which you could glance -now and then with the feeling that they were pretty and a bit -mystifying, and the more immediate lights around you, with their -warm, come-on-and-see-what’s-under-me winks, and all the sounds of -pleasure-seeking traffic--these things brought Blanche a light-hearted, -knowing mood. She was a girl, young and rather handsome, and there was -nothing that she couldn’t make men do if she had only cared enough -about it. - -“Tell you what we’ll do, Lou, we’ll take that ferry ride over to Staten -Island,” she said. “I love to get out on the water when it’s night.” - -“Let’s not and say we did,” he answered, moodily. - -“Gee, I never saw a fellow like you,” she replied. “Dance, dance, -that’s all you care about. Here I know you’re short on money, and -here I’m giving you a chance to get away with forty cents for the -night--four thin dimes--and you turn it down.” - -“Don’t always rub in how poor I am,” he said, nettled. “’F I was so -darn crazy about money, like other guys are, I’d get it all right. -There’s other things I’m interested in--books, and good plays, and -watching what other people do. They all call me lazy at home, but it -don’t bother me any. I don’t see that they get so much out of life by -working their heads off all the time.” - -Blanche felt a little scornful and a little inquiring as she listened -to him. Who ever heard of saying that people shouldn’t work--what would -become of them if they didn’t? Besides, what did he get out of all his -reading and this “think-ing” of his? He was a boob in many respects, -and in a way she was wasting her time with him. She could have been in -the company of men who could show her an actual good time--high-class -cabarets and automobile parties, and the best theaters and restaurants. -Yet, after she went out with these men for a while she always grew -tired of them. They all got down to what they wanted from her, and -it became a bald question of taking or rejecting them--you couldn’t -“string them along” forever--and they all lacked something that she -was unable to put her finger on--something “classy” and aboveboard and -decent without being goody-goodish. When she “let them go too far,” -under the hilarious urge of liquor, she never felt quite right about -it afterwards. She could never rid herself of the feeling that the -man had not deserved what he had received and that she had been just -another girl on his list. Rosenberg was the one man who came nearest -to fulfilling this mysterious lack, but he was deficient in all of the -other requisites, and his physical appeal was weak to her. - -“Well, you don’t read a book when you dance, do you?” she asked at -last, desiring to take a mild jab at him. “Gee, but you’re the cat’s -something. I wish you had more get-up about you.” - -“Yeh, it’s too bad I haven’t got a roll,” he answered. “Sometimes I -b’lieve that’s all you girls think about.” - -An anger mounted within her. - -“Say, ’f I did, why’d I have to pick you out?” she asked. “You make me -sick and tired!” - -“Aw, don’t get so sore,” he replied. “I’m touchy in one spot, that’s -all. Let’s talk about something else. I was reading a book called First -Street the other day--it’s highbrow, you know, but it’s darn popular, -too. I hear they’ve sold a hundred thousand. It tells all about how -gossipy-like and narrow-minded and, oh, just small, people are--the -people that live in those little burgs.... Say, the more I find out -about this world of ours the less I like it. Why the devil can’t -people leave each other alone, and do what they want, long’s they’re -not hurting anybody.” - -His last words made Blanche sympathize with him, in spite of the fact -that, to her, there was an unmanly element in what he said. Real men, -now, went out and fought with each other, and “stood the gaff” and “got -what was coming to them” and made people obey them. Still there was too -darn much bossing in the world, with ev’rybody sticking his finger in -the other person’s pie. Her family was always nagging at her, and the -owner of the cafeteria was always telling her what to do--thought he -owned her for his measly twenty-two a week--and the cop on the corner -gave you a rotten look if he saw you walking alone late at night ... -yes, too darn much bossing to suit her. - -“What’s that there word, narruh-mindud, ’r something like that--what’s -it mean?” she asked. - -“It means when you don’t see nothing except what’s right in front of -your eyes,” he answered, delighted at the chance to show his wisdom. -“That’s what ails most of us, all right. When you’re narrow-minded, you -see, you want everybody to be like you are and you go right up in the -air when people don’t act the way you do. That’s what it means.” - -“But you’ve got to be like other people ’r else you’ll never get -anywheres,” she said, uncertainly. - -“Well, yes, in lots of things,” he answered, “but just the same you -can’t be arrested for what’s going on in your head. You c’n have all -the ideas you want to, ’s long as you don’t pull off any crime, ’r -bother anybody.” - -She liked the queerness of his words, for no discernible reason other -than that he seemed to be in favor of “standing up for yourself,” -and not always believing what people told you. Not so bad at that, -only--try--and--do--it! Oh, well, what did all this have to do with the -night ahead of them? This funny boy was her escort for the night, and -she was a desirable woman, and she wished that he would “cut out” all -of the heavy stuff and make love to her, or pay her some compliments, -or do something that men did when they were “gone” on a girl. - -“Say, you never kill yourself paying any attention to _me_,” she said, -after a pause. “It’s always them i-i-deeuhs uh yours. Why, I know piles -uh men that would jump all over themselves just for the chance to sit -’longside uh me here.” - -He had been looking away from her, and now he turned his head, stung, -and sorrowfully hungry, and much more upset than he dared to confess -to himself, as he took in the appetizing, fresh sauciness of her -face, and the suggestive witchcraft of her pent-up breast. There was -a come-and-get-me-if-you’re-able, and an almost smiling expression -on her face. Without realizing it, he always made an additional -effort to talk about “deep things” when he was with her, to escape -from the unsteadying influence which she had upon his emotions. The -other girls whom he occasionally took to moving-picture theaters and -dances, were more or less inviting to him according to the shape of -their faces--he was fond of very plump cheeks and lips with a large -fullness to them--and whether they had ample but not too corpulent -forms--but otherwise he did not differentiate them, except in the -light of whether they were “good kidders” (brightly loquacious about -nothing in particular) or unduly silent and tiresome. Blanche, however, -incited within him a quick-rhythmed trouble and respect which he could -not explain, outside of his desire to embrace her. She never seemed to -have much “brains,” but still he felt that there was something to her -that life hadn’t given her a chance to develop--something honest and -undismayed. - -He had no actual ability at clear thinking, in spite of all of his poor -little defiances and boldnesses abstracted from this book and that, -but he did have a questioning, dissatisfied spirit--a spirit prone to -quick melancholies and even quicker hopes, and always trying to “find -out what it all meant.” He had the desire to make Blanche worthy of -him, and to give her the knowledges and bystandish rebukes toward life -on which he prided himself. He told himself that he was an idealist -in sexual matters and that he was waiting for a girl who could show -him a clean, aspiring, beautiful love, free from all coquetries and -hagglings, and he used the impressive adjectives to serenade his sense -of sexual frustration. In reality, he was oversexed, and not bold -enough to capture the girls whom he secretly desired, but that was not -the whole of it--far beneath him he really did long for a physical -outlet that would be much less sordid and common than the ones within -his reach. At rare intervals he would visit some professional woman, -whose card had been given to him by one of his more rakish friends, and -go away from her with a relieved but downcast mood. - -While he felt that he was in love with Blanche, he didn’t want to be -too quick about telling her--you had to wait and be sure that some -other girl, even more alluring, wouldn’t come along--and since she -didn’t seem to be in love with him, his pride made him silent at the -thought of a probable rejection. Often, when he kissed her good-night, -his longing to “go farther” would be close to overpowering him, but at -this moment she always slipped efficiently out of his arms and said her -last farewell. To Blanche, kisses of any length were equivalents to -saying “yes.” - -As Rosenberg sat beside Blanche now, after her girlishly taunting -words, he lost control of himself for the first time, and his hand -dropped tightly on one of her knees, but she rose instantly from the -bench. She wasn’t angry at his having become “fresh” because she blamed -herself for it, but at the same time she didn’t want to encourage him. -He was a nice enough kid, but somehow when he touched her she didn’t -get any “kick” out of it. - -“Not here, Lou--c’mon, let’s go,” she said, trying to put a look of -cajoling promise on her face. - -They walked over to “Dreamland,” the place where they usually danced. -It was a moderately large hall, where the admission price was only -two dollars for couples, and it catered to a nondescript array of -patrons. Those who attended it regularly were in the main young blades -with small salaries and gay ambitions, and working-girls who desired -to “step out” at night, but you could spy a variety of other people -who dropped in occasionally. The place hired twelve professional -girl dancers, who sat on a row of green wicker chairs and waited for -customers, and there was a booth wherein a lady, who looked like a -middle-aged, superannuated burlesque actress, dispensed tickets, each -of which entitled the bearer to a dance with one of the hired girls. -Three or four professional male dancers in tuxedoes lolled opposite -the girls and waited for feminine patrons. They were mostly in demand -for the tango and the Charleston--more intricate dances which most -of the other men present had not mastered. Prosperous, middle-aged -business men frequently dropped in to dance with the girl “hostesses” -and a buxom, overripe, overdressed, smirking woman--who supervised this -part of the hall’s activities--went through the respectable farce of -inquiring each gentleman’s name and introducing him to his “hostess” -partner. Many youths, “hard up” for the evening and desiring an -excellent and “swell-looking” dancer, and many out-of-town visitors, -pining for deviltry during the vacation from their families, were also -frequent patrons. In addition, a large number of unattached men drifted -about the hall and solicited dances from single girls, who accepted or -rejected them according to whether they were well-dressed and talked -with the proper confident, wise-cracking inflections. The dance floor -covered almost one-half of the hall’s space and was separated by a -wooden railing from the remainder of the place. - -With its bright green wicker armchairs, and floor of dark red plush, -and varicolored electric lights hanging in bunches from the ceiling, -and badly done paintings of women and cherubs and flowers on the -surface of the walls, and canopied, bedecked platform at one side of -the dance floor, where eight jazz players performed, the hall gave you -the general effect of spurious romance putting on its best front to -hide the decay of its heart. The aura of respectability that hung over -the place was an amusing and desperate deception. Two guards stood on -the dance floor and reprimanded couples when they shimmied, or moved -with a too undulating slowness, and other attendants watched the rows -of wicker chairs and censored any open “spooning” among the patrons, -and yet the hall was quite patently an inception-ground for rendezvous, -and assignations, and flirtations, and covert flesh-pressures. The -“hostesses” took soft drinks with their steadiest partners, at one -end of the hall, with much touching of knees and flitting of hands -under the tables, to induce the men to spend more freely--overrouged -and lip-sticked girls, with bobbed hair and plump faces where sex had -become the most automatic and shallow of signals. They wore short -evening gowns, sleeveless and with low necks, and they “innocently” -crossed their legs to show an inch or two of bare flesh above their -rolled-up, thinnest stockings, and then uncrossed them again when they -perceived that some man was staring at the exposure, keeping up these -back-and-forth movements as though an innuendo with springs and wheels -had replaced all of the sexual spontaneity within them. - -Blanche and Rosenberg danced again and again to the jerky, moaning, -truculently snickering ache and dementia of the music. To Blanche, -dancing was the approved, indirect way in which you could relieve your -sex without compromising it, and as she was hugged tightly against -Rosenberg, he became desirable to her because the music and steps -transformed him and cast a rhythmical glamor upon his body. She had the -same feeling with any man with whom she danced, unless he was old or -inept, and when she danced with a man who was physically attractive off -the dance floor as well, the sensation rose to an all-conquering and -haughty semiecstasy. Then she held her head high, and closed her eyes -occasionally, and wished that darkness would suddenly descend on the -floor. - -After their first few dances, Blanche and Rosenberg sat down, -breathless, and without a thought in their heads. To Rosenberg, -dances were opportunities to embrace a girl without interference or -remonstrance, but beyond that the music made him feel that he was -capering on the divine top of the world, where such dull and mournful -things as jobs, and money worries, and alarm clocks, and family -quarrels had been deliciously left behind. - -In front of Blanche, a bulky, short man, in a dark suit with the latest -wide-bottomed trousers, was trying “to make” a dark, barely smiling -girl, slender and dressed in a clinging gray gown, who refused to -answer his remarks. - -“Gee, I’m as popular around here as the German measles,” he said loudly. - -The girl smiled more apparently but failed to answer him. - -“Listen, just try me once,” he begged. “Just one dance. I’ll pay the -doctor bills if I make you sick. I’m a good sport.” - -The girl smiled more widely but still remained silent. - -“Will somebody tell me why I’m living?” he queried to the air above her -head. “Boy, but it’s cold to-night! I left the old automatic at home so -I can’t die just yet, girlie. Come on, just one dance, will you?” - -By this time the girl was fully convinced of his glib-tongued, -regular-guy status, and felt that he had implored enough to serve as -a sufficient payment for his dance. She rose, without a word, and -accompanied him to the floor. Similar episodes were being enacted -around Blanche and Rosenberg, and he said, with a grin: “It sure gets -me when I listen to what you girls fall for. That’s why I lose out--I -hate to talk that kind of line.” - -“Oh, go on, you’d do it if you could,” answered Blanche. “A girl always -likes a fellow ’f he knows how to be funny and don’t carry it too far. -You know what I mean. I never was so crazy ’bout this kidding stuff -myself, but then maybe that’s why you like me, isn’t it, Lou?” - -“You’ve got something in you, all right,” he replied. “You don’t know -so much more’n other girls, but you make me feel that you’re diff’rent, -anyway. I guess it’s because you don’t put up so much bluffing and -leading a fellow on, like other girls do.” - -She laughed to hide her pleasure at the compliment, and because another -part of her said inaudibly: “Oh, I don’t, eh? Well, I’ll show you, -before I’m through!” - -“You’re a funny fellow, but I’ve met them worse than you,” she said. - -They danced until 1 A.M., after which he escorted her to the apartment. -As they stood in the musty, narrow, dimly lit hallway, an emotion like -a Roman-candle spun around in his breast, and for the first time he -grasped her with rough, active hands, and breathed hard as he whispered -short, incoherent pleadings. She pushed him back with an undeniable -anger and force which made him grow still and dismayed, and they stood -for a moment, looking at each other. - -“So, you’re like all the rest of ’em,” she said. “What do you think I -am? You’ve got your nerve, you have. You can’t put your hands on me -that way, and don’t forget it!” - -“Well, I’m sorry,” he answered, downcast. “I didn’t mean to act like -that, but something got the better of me. I couldn’t think of anything -except I wanted you. I’m in love with you, Blanche, and I guess I -didn’t know it till just now. I’d ask you to marry me to-morrow ’f I -had money enough to keep us going.” - -She softened at this switch to a “decent” proposal, and she reproached -herself for having flirted too much with him without loving him or -caring a great deal for his embraces. She liked to hear him talk, but -when he touched her he was awkward and hasty, and without that winning -blend of confidence and gradual boldness which she liked in a man’s -approaches. - -“I s’pose it’s my fault, too,” she said. “I don’t love you, Lou, but -I do like you lots. Maybe I will some time. How c’n any girl be sure -about that? I don’ want to stop going with you ’f you’ll just try to be -friends with me, Lou.” - -He stood for a moment without answering--discouraged and resentful. -Somehow he never seemed to get anything that he really wanted--what -was the use of it all. She li-iked the way he talked, oh, yes, but -she preferred to save herself for some empty-pated cake-eater, some -know-it-all fellow with a straight nose and a bunch of bum jokes and a -string of promises about what he was going to do for her. - -“Oh, I’ll try,” he said at last, “but I can’t see why you don’t care -for me. I’ve got just as good a head as any one else you know, and I’m -not so terrible looking, and I know you wouldn’t turn me down just -’cause I’m poor.” - -“I cert’nly wouldn’t,” she replied. “I can’t tell you why I don’t love -you--it’s just not there, that’s all. I think you’re a nice boy, really -I do, and I want to keep seeing you, but what’s the use of letting you -do things to me when it don’t mean nothing?... I’ve got to go upstairs -now--I feel like I could sleep ten hours. We sure did dance a lot -to-night. Listen, call me up next Thursday noon, at the caf’, and -we’ll go some place Thursday night.” - -“All right, I’ll give you a ring,” he answered, dully. “I guess you -can’t help how you feel, Blanche.” - -He kissed her good-night, and she let his lips stay for a while, out -of pity, and then broke away from him. As she went to bed, she had a -muddled, wondering feeling--why did she always turn down boys that -were “good” and willing to marry her, and why didn’t she object to the -embraces of “bad” men, who were just looking for an easy prospect? -Maybe she was a little “bad” herself--a little like May Harrigan, whose -name was the jest of the neighborhood, and who grabbed any young fellow -that came along.... Her perturbations faded out into sleep. - -On the next morning she was still a bit glum at the cafeteria, but it -was no more than the least of shadows as she exchanged glances and -repartee with various customers who paid their checks. When she sat -before the cash register, her business-like tension extended even to -the sexual side of her, and she uttered her set phrases merely to -dispose of the men who talked to her, and with little interest in their -faces and words. During the lull-hours, however, between two and four -in the afternoon, she relaxed, and the appraising tingles of her sex -came back, and she entered into badinage with the proprietor and the -counter-men and stray customers whom she knew. Her confined perch on -the cashier’s stool had to be forgotten in some way. - -The cafeteria had rows of brightly varnished chairs with broad arms, -and tables with white, enameled tops, and a sprinkle of sawdust on the -tiled floor. Pyramids of oranges and grapefruit stood in the windows, -and the glass-walled food counters were heaped with pastry, cold meats -and trays of salads and puddings. The smell of soggy, overspiced food -and body-odors possessed the air, and a spirit of dreamless, hasty, -semidirty devouring hung over the place. On this afternoon, Blanche was -chatting with the proprietor, a tall Jew of forty years, with a jowled, -bloodless face, killed black eyes that were always shifting about in -the fear that they might be missing something, and the thickest of -lips. His coat was off and he wore an expensive, monogramed silk shirt -of green and white stripes, and had a cigar forever in his mouth or -hand. - -“Check up yet on the accounts?” he asked. - -“Yep, ev’rything’s straight,” she answered. - -“Say, I bought a beauty of uh coat f’r my wiff yesterday,” he said. -“She can’t say I ever hold out on _her_.” - -“Well, isn’t that nice--she must be tickled to death,” said Blanche, -giving him the flattering words that he wanted to hear. “Nobody ever -slips me any swell coats.” - -“Well, if they don’t it’s your fault,” he replied. “You could work a -fellow f’r anything you wanted--you’ve got the goods, all right.” - -“Aw, quit your kidding,” she said. “I wouldn’t take no prizes in a -beauty show.” - -“You would if I was one uh the judges,” he answered. - -He poked her in the side, playfully, and she smiled carefully. You had -to take such things from your boss--it was all in the game--but you -wished that he would keep his hands to himself--the fat old lobster. - -“Any time you wanna take a little ride in my machine, it’s there,” he -said. - -“Gee, I’d be afraid of you,” she retorted. “I think you’re _some_ -devil, you are.” - -He chuckled at the praise of his masculine gifts, and walked back to -the kitchen in response to a call. The cafeteria was located in a -manufacturing and wholesale district where practically all of the trade -occurred around the noon hour, and it closed its doors at 6 P.M. When -Blanche returned to the apartment, Harry, Philip and Mabel were sitting -at the supper-table (the father happened to be visiting one of his -cronies uptown). - -“Say, I met a guy to-day said he saw you at Dreamland las’ night,” said -Philip, when Blanche came to the table. - -“Uh-huh, I was there,” said Blanche. - -“Well, I wouldn’t be seen in a bum joint like that,” Mabel commented. -“You certainly have a gift f’r pickin’ out the penny-squeezers, Blanie. -Me f’r the Club Breauville, ’r places like that. They put on the best -show you ever saw--Hawkins ’n Dale, straight from the Palace Theater, -and a big, A-number-one chorus.” - -“Aw, rats, you’re always worrying what a fella’s going to spend on -you,” said Blanche. “They’ve got a peach of a jazz-band at Dreamland, -and a dandy floor--that’s all I care about.” - -“Your tastes ’r sim-ply aw-ful,” Mabel answered, “and what’s more, why -shouldn’t a girl go with high-class fellas and have ’em spend piles on -her? That’s what they’re made for.” - -“Well, I don’t blame you none,” said Philip, “but believe me, I’d never -pick out a wife like you. You sure would keep a fella on the go digging -it up for you.” - -“Mabel don’t mean anything by it,” said his mother, who had come in -from the kitchen, “but I wish she wouldn’t stay out so late. I get to -worryin’ when she comes home three an’ four an’ five in the mornin’. -You never can tell what’ll happen to a girl in this city.” - -“Aw, ma, don’t fret, I can take care of myself,” Mabel said. - -“That’s what they all say,” Harry broke in. “I was talkin’ to a fella -to-day, said his kid sister got into a scrape out in Jersey. Two guys -started scrappin’ over her in a machine, and one of ’em’s dyin’ in the -hospital, and the bulls ’r after her. It was in the papers yesterday. -You better watch y’r step, Mabe.” - -“Listen, no girl ’cept a fool would go out in a machine with two guys,” -answered Mabel. “I’ll take ’em one at a time, believe me.” - -“Well, I do think you’re too free with the men, an’ you only eighteen,” -her mother said, looking at Mabel in a ruefully helpless way. “It’s I -that can’t hold you down, and it’s I that never could, but I’m wishin’ -you’d stay home once’n a while. How’ll you ever get a decint man to -make a decint proposal to you, how’ll you ever, runnin’ round with that -fast crowd uh yours?” - -“G’wan, she’ll land a big one yet, ’fore she’s through,” said Harry. -“Mabe’s a wise girlie, and I’m with her all the time!” - -“Same here,” Mabel answered affectionately, as she pulled her brother’s -hair. - -“I s’pose I’m the boob uh this fam’ly,” said Blanche, “but I won’t lose -no sleep over it. ’F I like the way a man talks, ’n how he looks, I -don’t care what’s the size of his roll.” - -“You got it from me, you did,” her mother said, with a dully soft look. -“It’s I that married your father when he hadn’t a cent to his name. -’Twas the way he could blarney, ’twas that, and ’twas the face of him -that made me take him.” - -“Aw, pa’s all right, but he’s shy on brains,” Mabel said. “’F I ever -get hooked up with any man he’s got to have plenty uh money, and then -some. I’m worth all the dough in the world ’cordin’ to my way uh -thinkin’, and I’m not scrubbin’ floors for no fella this year ’r next. -This lovin’-up stuff don’t get you much.” - -“Yeh, Blanche is a mut with alla her Rosinburgs, ’n Kellies, ’n all the -rest uh them tin-horn pikers,” said Harry. “I know how she’ll wind up, -all right. Some guy’ll have her washin’ his clothes an makin’ her like -it!” - -“Ma’s been washing yours and pa’s for years, but you’re not kicking -about that,” answered Blanche. “Anyway it won’t be some one like you. -You think that row-mance is something people clean their shoes with, -you do. You’ve got a heart like a oyster, I’ll say.” - -“Row-ma-ance, that’s good,” answered Harry, derisively. “Try an’ cash -in on it at the butcher shop an’ see what you get.” - -“Well, I’m on Blanie’s side,” said Philip, who liked his older sister -because she was “softer” than the other members of the family. “When I -marry a girl she’s got to love me, first, last, ’n’ all the time. I’m -strong for the jack, sure, but there’s other things hanging around.” - -“Say, isn’t Joe Campbell comin’ up to-night?” asked Mabel, turning to -Blanche. - -“Yeh, I’ve got a date with him f’r eight-thirty.” - -“Now there’s a guy you oughta play up to,” said Harry. “He takes down a -good three hundred a week f’r that turn he does up at The Golden Mill. -Joe’s as wise as they make ’em--a wise-crackin’ baby. I’m gonna stick -around when he comes up here to-night. He c’n get a laugh outa me any -day in the year.” - -“Joe’s there, all right,” Mabel said. “I wish he wasn’t so sweet on -Blanche.” - -“Well, go after him, dearie, if that’s how you feel,” Blanche answered. -“It won’t be breaking my heart.” - -As she dressed herself for the coming engagement, Blanche had -an uneven, up-in-the-air song in her blood. Another man would -soon be courting her, and casting “I’d-like-to-get-you” looks at -her, and deferring to her just as much as if she had been famous -or wealthy, and praising her to lead up to attempted caresses, -while she sat in judgment on the proceedings, with a queenly -“I’ll-have-to-see-about-this” sensation, and remarks made of “slams” -and retirings to put him on his mettle, and the feeling of owning the -world for a few, high-keyed hours, until she returned to her bed and -the more level-headed endurance-test at the cafeteria. Her head was -totally empty for a time, and she sang the popular tunes of the day, -in a low, contralto voice, as she fussed about with her toilette. -Then glimpses of Joe Campbell appeared in her head, and she wondered -whether she would ever marry him. She liked him physically, and she -respected his money-making talents, but her response toward him was -much stronger when he was with her. His absence seemed to remove a -black-art spell, and to leave in its place doubts and confusions. -Then, beneath all of his good-humors and effulgent generosities, she -divined an insincerity and something that spoke of shrouded, patiently -crouching intentions. What they were she did not know. Her mind was not -capable of delving into this reaction, and it told her only that he -wasn’t “coming out” with his real self. Her brother had introduced him -to her six months previous to this night, and since then Campbell had -pursued her in an irregular way, since he frequently left New York on -vaudeville-bookings. She had allowed him certain physical liberties and -had admonished herself afterwards for being “too easy,” but the matter -had rested there, since he had never been remarkably insistent in his -efforts to vanquish her. - -When he came up, and airily saluted her, Harry and Mabel, who were in -the living-room, greeted him effusively. They considered it an honor -that this minor Broadway favorite, whose name was occasionally in -electric lights, should be so willing to visit them and “step out of -his class.” - -“’Lo, Joe, still bringin’ down the house?” asked Mabel. - -“Nothing but,” he replied. “The bulls came running into the place last -night, looking for a free-for-all fight, the clapping was that loud.” - -Mabel and Harry laughed, and Harry said: “C’mon, I bet you coulda heard -a maxim-silencer after you got through.” - -“That’s the same gun they shoot off when you get through fighting, -isn’t it?” asked Campbell, with a solemn look. - -“You win,” answered Harry, laughing again. - -“Well, I’ve got to go now,” Mabel said. “Papa doesn’t like to be kept -waitin’, you know.” - -“Be sure and don’t leave him anything,” Campbell replied. “A girl got -expelled from the Flappers’ Union the other day--they all got sore at -her because she overlooked a ten-spot in the upper vest-pocket.” - -“You’re talkin’ to the president of the Union--don’t be funny,” -answered Mabel. - -Blanche joined in the laughter now and then--Campbell’s humor was -hard to resist. A stocky man of medium height, whose feet were always -tapping the floor as though they had a light itch to be dancing, he -rarely ever departed from the bon-mots that constituted his chief -stock-in-trade. His mind was intelligent in worldly ways, and a blank -otherwise, but he was quite aware of his ignorances and careful not to -expose them. He had a long, narrow face, with a slanting nose, mobile -lips, and a twinkling, lazy cruelty in his eyes. His thick brown hair -was burnished and pasted down on his head, and he wore the latest, -loose-trousered clothes, in shades of gray and brown, with multicolored -scarves, and a diamond ring on one of his fingers. He was a coarse -sensualist grown careless from many feminine captures, and he had held -back in Blanche’s regard from the feeling that she would “have to come -to him first.” Still, he was becoming aware of an increasing urge -toward her, moved by something in her face and figure that “hit it off -just right.” She wasn’t nearly as pretty as tens of Broadway girls whom -he knew, but she had an unspoiled swerve and sturdiness that attracted -him, and in addition, he felt that she knew much more than many other -women of his acquaintance--that she was not quite as shallow, or as -palpably scheming, as most of his retinue were. - -He left the apartment with her, and they hailed a taxicab and were -driven to his cabaret off Upper Broadway. His turn only came on at -eleven o’clock when the after-theater crowd poured into the place, and -he sat with Blanche at one of the tables, and endlessly greeted his -“friends,” and adulterated glasses of ginger-ale with the contents of a -silver flask carried in his hip-pocket. - -The Golden Mill was a resplendent, baroque cabaret, with a large, -electrically lit windmill, made of gold silk stretched over a -framework, standing over the stage. The jazz-band sat just below the -stage, between the carpeted runways on which the performers descended -to the dance floor. Men and women, half of them in evening clothes, -chattered and laughed at the surrounding tables, with a macabre -heartiness that sometimes lessened to betrayals of the underlying -dullness. - -The whisky began to knock about in Blanche’s heart to a cruelly -victorious feeling--Campbell thought he was so darn smart, didn’t he? -Well, he’d have to go some to get her, just the same. Girls were always -falling for a celebrity of his kind, and she’d treat him to a novelty. -Still, he made her laugh and forget the rest of her world, and she -didn’t mind if he caressed her to a certain extent (not too much and -not too little). - -“Y’know, you’re a royal-flush to me,” said Campbell. “I’d win the pot -with you, any day in the year.” - -“You’ll win the air ’f you get too gay,” she answered, merrily. - -“Now is that nice?” he queried, in tones of mock-reproach. “Daddy’ll do -anything for you--anything you want.” - -“I’m not taking things from men this year,” she replied. - -“Isn’t she smart--keeps count of the years ’n’ everything,” he said. -“You’ll stop counting when you get to be thirty, old dear.” - -“Is that the place where you stopped?” she asked. - -Campbell winced secretly--he was thirty-five and not particularly -elated about it. Blanche always talked better under the influence of -liquor--it loosened her tongue and unearthed an effervescence in her -mind: keen as far as it went. - -“Take that knife away, Annette;--it’s killing me,” he responded, in -quavering, melodramatic tones. - -Blanche took another sip from her highball. - -“D’y’know, I may get crazy some time and ask you to marry me,” he said. - -“That’s too bad--it must be worrying you a lot,” answered Blanche. “I -never lose my head that way, so look out.” - -“But really, I’m strong for you,” he went on. “It’s all in fun most of -the time with me, but you’re at the top of the list.” - -“I’d hate to bet on your meaning it,” said Blanche, a bit more softly. - -“Don’t do it, you couldn’t get any odds,” he answered. - -He chucked her under the chin and she slapped his hand. - -“What nervous ha-ands you’ve got,” she said. - -“Come on, act as though you didn’t like it,” he retorted. - -“That’s the best thing I do,” she replied. - -They continued the bantering, with the occasional interruption of -a fox-trot, until his “turn” came on, when he left her with an -acquaintance of his--a harmless, hero-worshiping chorus man in a dark -suit, whose ruddy, regular-featured face had a look that was perilously -near to a pout. Then Campbell appeared in white duck trousers, a dark -blue coat, black shoes, and a panama-straw hat, and did clog-dances, -and sang in a hard tenor voice, at the head of a bare-legged chorus -dressed in very short boyish trousers of red, and indigo low-necked -vests, and gaudy caps slanting on their heads. He was a nimble dancer -and had a powerful voice, and could have risen to a point near the head -of his profession, if laziness and undue dissipation had not held him -down. When his act had finished and he had cleaned the make-up from his -face, he returned to the table and remained there with Blanche until 2 -A. M. After they left the place they entered a cab and he said: “What -d’you say to coming up to my joint for a while--I’m harmless, girlie, I -won’t make you cry on mother’s shoulder.” - -“You are, and you’re going to stay that way,” she answered. “C’mon now, -tell James to drive over to Ninth Avenue, old dear.” - -He made a grimace and did as she requested. He’d get her yet, no -fear, but there was no need for hurrying. It was always a fatal move -to expostulate with a woman at such a juncture. Again, she wasn’t -important enough to _him_ for any come-downs. - -In the taxicab, he hugged and kissed her, and though she made little -resistance, an alertness contended against the liquor-fumes in her head -and counseled her to “look out.” As they stood in the hallway of her -building he became a trifle bolder, and she was passive for a while -and then stopped him. It wasn’t easy to hold out against him, and she -had barely been able to check the rising dizziness within her, but she -simply couldn’t let him win her as lightly as this. She had not drunk -sufficiently to reach a gigglingly helpless mood, although everything -_did_ seem to be jovially unimportant, and a dislike of him rose within -her. He was too confident, he was. She’d teach him a lesson, she would, -in spite of all of his physical appeal and his pleasant nerviness. - -“You’re a little too fast--I can’t keep up with you,” she said. -“Besides, I’m getting the willies standing here all the time. Be a good -boy now, and let me go upstairs.” - -“All right, girlie--game’s over,” he replied, gracefully taking his -defeat. “How about next Saturday--eight ’r so?” - -“That suits, I’ll be on deck,” she said. - -He kissed her again and went out to the waiting taxicab. As she entered -her room she had a droopy, misty feeling. Oh, well, another man turned -down--what did _she_ get out of it, anyway? It was funny, you wanted to -and you didn’t want to at the same time. She blinked at herself in the -mirror, and then turned out the light and went to sleep. - - - - -CHAPTER II - - -The late spring evening extracted lights from the twilight on Ninth -Avenue, like some pacing conjurer producing tiny, molten rabbits from -his trailing, unseen sleeves. Blanche walked along the street, on her -way home from the cafeteria, and her high heels scuffed on the dirty -cement sidewalk with a weary evenness. It was all right to say that -sitting on a stool all day rested your legs, but the energy that went -from your arms and head drew its penalty from all of your body. That -cafeteria was finally “getting on her nerves”--the place had changed -proprietors a few weeks before, and the new owner, a furtive-faced man -of thirty, who considered himself to be an invincible Don Juan, always -hovered about Blanche’s stand as much as he could and continually -touched her in ways that made it hard for her to conceal her ire. She -had run out of all of her tactfully laughing withdrawals, and momentary -submissions when the gesture was not “too raw,” and the situation had -reached a straining-point. It would not have been so bad if he had been -good-looking, or if he had sought to lavish gifts upon her, but here he -was a man with a long nose and a spindly body, making advances to her -because she was an employee of his at twenty-three a week--the nerve of -him! She would quit the place to-morrow if he tried another thing. - -A year had passed since her last spring night with Campbell at The -Golden Mill, and she was now a little over twenty-one. Her figure had -grown less bottom-heavy, and her bosom had curved out a bit, and her -face was more resolved and inquiring beneath the many ignorances that -still remained. A deeper, half hopeless question had crept into her -bluish-gray eyes--an untutored I’d-like-to-know-what-it’s-all-about -look--and her wide lips had come together more closely and lost some -of their loose thoughtlessness. Very dimly, she had even commenced -to see flaws and credulities in her hitherto uninspected family, -especially in her father and her brother Harry, whose endless strut -and domineering words had become more of a palpable bluff to her. Yet, -at the same time, she still accepted her environs without much anger -or revolt, because, after all, they were real, and near-at-hand, and -seemingly permanent, and because they still held nightly escapes, and -laughing conquests at parties, and dance halls, and cabarets. The -only one possibility of a change was marriage, and she dreaded this -loophole because it meant being tied down to one man and losing the -delicious sense of juggling several men to the stress of her whims. At -times she toyed with the dream of becoming the mistress of a wealthy -and at least endurable man--plenty of women “got away with it,” and -what was hindering her?--but it never more than flitted through her -mind because her life had always pounded into her the fact that a girl -had to be “respectable” at all costs, had to cling to an indignant -pose of keeping men at arm’s length, so that she could look the -world in the face with the glad knowledge that it was unaware of her -“personal” relentings and sins. Otherwise, the girl definitely cut -herself off from all safeguards and reassurances, and was regarded with -contemptuous smiles, and lightly spoken of. Again, Blanche had just -insight enough to see what the outcome might be if she lived with such -a man or allowed him to maintain an apartment for her--to see a hint -of the querulous boredoms and the eventual separation that would ensue -unless she was really “crazy” about the man. Of course, she merely -translated it into the statement that she was not “cut out” for such a -life. - -During the past year, Campbell had been away twice on long vaudeville -tours, and while he was in New York, her refusals to succumb to him had -piqued him to a point where he called her up at much longer intervals. -What the devil--he wasn’t so “hard up” that he had to chase after a -cafeteria cashier who was probably merely intent on getting a “good -time” out of him. He could not quite dismiss her from his mind--she -had a proud twist to her which he liked in spite of himself, and his -vanity always made him believe that he would eventually subdue her--and -the impulse to see her again came back to him during his weariest -moods--after an unusually pronounced jag, for instance, when he was -“sore at the world” and when his head throbbed heavily, for at such -times she always beckoned to him as a fresher and less solved feminine -variation. - -Blanche’s attitude toward him had narrowed down to a sentence which -she had once said to herself: “’F he ever asks me to marry him, maybe -I will, maybe, but he’s not going to get me like he does other girls, -not ’f he was the Prince uh Wales himself!” During the past year she -had been more steadily in the company of Rosenberg--he was a necessity -to her because he “knew more” than the other men in her life and could -assist the feeble stirrings and problems that were beginning to spring -up in her mind. He was still unattractive to her in a physical way--a -very bright, good boy, but not the broad-chested, wise and yet tender -man who constituted her hazy ideal--but she had permitted him embraces -of greater intimacy, out of the feeling that it wasn’t right to take so -much from him and give him nothing in return, although she refrained -from any semblance of a full surrender. He frequently loaned her books, -through which she stumbled with amusement and awe--she could not -understand most of what they said (it sure was “bughouse”), but when he -sought to explain it to her it grew a bit clearer, and she had glimpses -of men and women in the novels, who lived more freely and searchingly -than she did, and who saw and spoke of “all sorts of strange things” -that she had never dreamt of--com-plex-es, and inhibishuns, and hunting -for bee-oo-ty, and boldly telling life how double-faced it was, and -living your own life with a laugh at the objections of other people, -and always looking for something that stood behind something else. They -formed themselves into perplexing lures that could never be quite -banished from her mind, and became “stronger” when she was in her -“bluest” moods. - -Rosenberg had found another girl--a blonde, slim chatterer, who tried -to write poetry between her labors as a stenographer, and worshiped his -“won-der-ful brain,” but although this girl had become his mistress, he -never regarded her with more than a flattered satisfaction and still -saw Blanche once a week. He could not rid himself of the hope that -Blanche might finally love him and marry him, and the other girl’s glib -professions of culture and creative aspiration were never as appealing -as Blanche’s stumbling and honest questions. He saw “something big” -in Blanche and wanted to extract it from her and bask in its warm -emancipations. - - * * * * * - -When Blanche entered the living-room of her home she found that Harry -and her father were in her bedroom, engaging in a highly secret confab -with another man. Still resenting her day at the cafeteria, and vexed -at this invasion of her private domain, she burst into anger before -Philip and Mabel, who were seated at the table and waiting for the -mother to bring the supper in. - -“Say, what right’ve they to go in my room?” she asked. “Think I want -some fella to see my slip-ons ’n’ things hanging around, and maybe -sitting on my bed? I’m not going to stand for it!” - -“Hush up, don’t let them hear you,” said Mabel. “I know how you feel, -sure, but then it don’t happen ev’ry night. They got something up their -sleeves, and they don’t even want the resta us to hear about it. I -don’t see why Harry and pa can’t trust their own fam’ly, though.” - -“They’re cooking up something about Harry’s next scrap,” said Philip. -“He’s in there with Bill Rainey, and Rainey’s managing this here Young -Thomas, the kid Harry’s gonna fight Friday night.” - -“Well, I’ll stand it once, but they’d better not pull it off again,” -Blanche responded, as she removed her hat and her spring coat. “My -room’s my own place and I don’t want any strange men looking it over.” - -Her anger had gone down to a quieter sullenness. - -“Come on, Blan, get off the high perch,” Philip said. “We’ll all be -rolling in money if the thing comes through.” - -“B’lieve me, Harry’s going to get into trouble yet with all this -crooked stuff of his,” Blanche replied. “He can’t even fight on the -level any more.” - -“Well, I don’t blame Harry one bit,” Mabel said. “He’s just got to play -the old game, that’s all. He won his las’ bout hands down and they went -and give the verdict to the other fellow.” - -“You can’t be a goody-goody and come out on top in this burg,” Philip -said, moodily. “I don’t b’lieve in stealing ’r holding anybody up, but -just the same you’ve got to be as tricky as the other side, I’m telling -you.” - -“That’s always the line around here, but I’m not so sure about it,” -Blanche answered. “There’s plenty of people that get by ’cause they can -do things better’n other people--’cause they’ve got brains in their -heads and not a lotta excuses. ’F ev’rybody was dishonest all the -time, they couldn’t make jails large enough to hold ’em. I’m getting -tired of all this fake and fake and fake around here. It looks like a -bum excuse to me.” - -“Since when’ve you become so up’n the air?” asked Mabel. “You’ve been -listenin’ some more to your Rosinburgs, ’n Smiths, ’n all the resta -them--fellas that walk round without a cent in their pockets, ’n’ tell -you how stra-aight they are, ’n’ talk like they owned the earth. They -give me a pain in the back. Harry’s tryin’ to make some real money so -we c’n all move outa this shack here, but _you_ never give him any -credit.” - -“Have it your own way,” Blanche replied, with a light disgust. “You -won’t talk like that ’f the p’lice ever come up here looking for him.” - -“That’s what I’m always afraid of,” said the mother, who had come in -from the kitchen. “I get turribul dreams all the time, turribul, an’ I -c’n always see your father an’ Harry sittin’ in jail. I’ve always said -it’s no use bein’ dishonest, no use. It’s not the right way uh actin’, -it’s not, an’ you always get punished for it. I’d much rather live just -like we are, plain an’ decint-like, an’ not be worryin’ all the time.” - -“I know how you feel ’bout it, ma,” said Blanche, patting her mother’s -shoulder and stroking her hair, “but there’s no use in saying anything. -Try and tell something to Harry and pa--just try!” - -“Aw, ma, don’t be so foolish,” Mabel said, with affection and -condescending pity mingled, as she pinched her mother’s cheek. “’F -you went round like I do, an’ saw what was goin’ on, you wouldn’t be -so worried. Why, there’s fellas gettin’ away with murder all the time, -an’ nobody touches them. Big ones, too, the bigges’ they’ve got in this -burg.” - -“Well, I think ma’s right, in a way,” said Philip, cautiously, “but -she don’t know what Harry’s up against. You can’t be straight in this -scrapping game.” - -“It’s I that always tried to raise all of you to be honest an’ -good--it’s no fault uh mine, it’s not,” his mother said, mournfully, as -she returned to the kitchen. - -The door of Blanche’s room opened and the two Palmers emerged with -Rainey, the rival manager. Rainey was a tall, beefy man with a paunch, -who wore an immaculate suit of brown checks and sported a gray derby -hat and a heavy gold chain on his white linen vest. He was almost -totally bald, and his smoothly ruddy face had the look of a politician -who had just kissed an unusually homely infant, in the interest of his -election. He uttered a few brightly bovine compliments to the women and -then departed, after a last whispered talk with the father outside of -the apartment door. - -“Say, what’s the idea of keepin’ us outside?” asked Mabel, peevishly, -after her father had returned. “You oughta know we’re safe, you ought.” - -“What you don’t know won’t hurt you none,” her father answered, rubbing -a finger over his thick lips. “Anybody’ll start blabbin’ when he gets a -little booze in him--’specially a woman.” - -“Aw, we know what it’s all about,” said Philip. “They’re pointing -Thomas f’r a go with the champion, and Harry’s one guy _he_ can’t beat, -an’ he knows it. What’s Rainey going to hand out f’r Harry’s putting -the wraps on, that’s what I’d like to know.” - -“Listen, talk about somethin’ else,” Harry said, surlily. - -He was a bit ashamed of his rôle in the affair--not from a sense of -guilt but because it was a refutation of his two-fisted supremacy--and -a bit childishly fearful that the “frame-up” would be discovered if any -one, even a member of his family, conversed on the subject. - -“You people sure hate to mind your own business,” he went on. - -“That’s right, lay off,” said the father. “We’ll be havin’ thousands -nex’ week, ’f ev’rythin’ goes right--I’ll tell yuh that much--but I -don’t want none of yuh to start blah-blahin’ all over the place. You -girls wanna keep a close mouth, d’yuh hear me?” - -“Oh, hush up, you never give us a chance to say anythin’--you’re always -gabbin’ yourself,” Mabel said, petulantly, as she went into her room. - -“I’ll bet both of you get into a peck of trouble before you’re -through, but it’s not my funeral,” said Blanche, in a spirit of weary -indifference. - -“Stop croakin’ all the time, will yuh,” answered Harry. “You talk like -you was anxious f’r us to get in bad, you do.” - -“Oh, let’s drop it--you never pay any attention to what I say,” she -replied. “I’m just looking on--don’t mind me.” - -“Well, see that yuh don’t do nothin’ but look,” her father admonished. -“You’ve been havin’ too damn much to say, these days.” - -Blanche repressed her irritation and retired to prepare for her night’s -engagement. She was to meet a boy named Fred Roper at the corner drug -store, and hints of coming gayety strove to dispel her darker feelings. -She’d get away from her family some time, even if she had to wind up -by marrying a hunchback with one eye, never fear, but in the meantime -there was nothing that she could do. Almost unconsciously, she had -begun to classify the members of her family in general ways that were -far from complimentary. Her mother was a weak, abused woman; her father -was brainless, and conceited, and bossy; Harry was an ill-tempered -bully and gangster; Mabel thought of nothing but deceiving men and -landing a wealthy one; and Phil was afraid of his shadow, and never -taking sides. Still, they were _her_ family, and it was necessary to -“stick up” for them--a great deal to other people and even a little -to herself--and in spite of their faults they _did_ love each other, -and they _were_ generous to each other, and, after all, they were no -worse than most of the people in the world, as far as she could see. -She would always be loyal to them, sure, but she did want to get off by -herself, and be independent, and not bear the brunt of their orders, -and displeasures, and knaveries, and to achieve this she would probably -have to pay the penalty of marrying some man whom she did not love, but -who could comfortably provide for her. What could she do herself--she -had no particular talent or ability (she was getting wise to that), -and it seemed to be a toss-up between working like a Turk and doing -more as she pleased in a home of her own. She would never accept any -large sums of money from her family, even if her brother’s dishonest -schemes should succeed, because she would never be able to feel right -about it--she didn’t want money that was “dirty” and not her own. - -Her mood was unduly reckless as she walked down Ninth Avenue to meet -her “boy-friend,” for she had a reaction to “forget the whole thing” -for the night, at least. In her light brown coat, thinly trimmed with -cheap white rabbit-fur at the bottom and top, and her short black and -lavender crêpe-de-chine dress, and the round, gray hat snugly fitting -over her bobbed hair, she had the self-contained, jauntily ordinary -look of scores of other girls tripping down the street. Her escort of -the evening, Fred Roper, was a pimply-faced, stocky youth, with sandy -hair and lascivious eyes. He dressed in expensive gray-checked suits, -and wore a narrow-brimmed, black derby hat, and regarded himself as one -of the Beau Brummells of the neighborhood. He worked on and off as a -clerk in a Ninth Avenue cigar store, but his main passion and source -of revenue was playing the races, and his financial state varied from -hundreds of dollars on one week to being “broke” and borrowing money -on the next. On this night he had “cleaned up” on a ten-to-one shot at -Belmont Park, and he had the truculent swagger of the successful and -not yet hardened gambler, who feels that he is the darling of chance -and need only lift a finger to cow anything in the world. Blanche -considered him to be an aimless fool--one of the hordes of bozoes who -were always trying to get something for nothing--but since he was -willing to spend money freely for her entertainment, she saw no reason -for refusing to accompany him now and then. Also, he was a good dancer, -and so far had never sought to do more than kiss her--a contact which -always had to be endured as a payment for your evening’s fun. She knew, -of course, that he was “laying for her,” and would sooner or later -attempt to seduce her, but that was the element of lurking risk that -prevented such occurrences from becoming too stale and peaceful--it -gave you the watchful tingle, and the sought-after feeling, that -established your feminine importance, even though you disdained the man -in question and had no intention of responding to him. - -“’Lo, Blanche, how’s the girlie?” he asked, when she had walked up to -him at the drug-store entrance. - -“Fine as silk,” she answered. - -They stepped to the curb-stone and looked for an empty taxicab among -those that rolled by. - -“What d’you wanna do to-night?” he asked. - -“Well, let’s see, I guess I’d better leave you car-fare,” said Blanche, -impudently. - -“I can’t laugh to-night, my lip hurts,” he responded. “I raked in a -coupla hundred on the fifth race to-day, so don’t let that part of it -worry you none.” - -“How about a show, and then the Breauville afterwards?” asked Blanche. - -“You’re on,” he replied. “You’ll meet a lotta guys before you find -one’s loose as I am, girlie.” - -“I know--you’re a peach, Fred,” she answered, putting a note of -cajoling praise in her voice. - -They rode in a cab to a Broadway theater, where he purchased the -best orchestra seats. The show was one of those musical revues--“The -Strolling Models of 1925”--where fully endowed, and slenderly -semi-chubby, chorus girls revealed everything except the extreme middle -portion of their anatomies, and pranced and kicked about the stage, -with a manufactured blitheness and a perfect cohesion; and where male -and female dancers pounded, leapt, and whirled, like inhumanly nimble -and secretly bored manikins; and where the scenes were rococo or -minutely simple--multicolored Chinese scenes, Oriental harem scenes, -streets on the Bowery, Russian peasant festivals; and where the music -and songs were either sweetly languorous or full of a rattling, -tattling sensuality. The music had a precarious charm, a charm that -could not bear much reiteration but just failed to be obvious at a -first hearing. - -Blanche sat, transported, and sorry that she had to return to her -partner between the scenes. This was the life--throwing up your head -and winking an eye at all invitations, like you had a first mortgage -on the earth! She envied the girls on the stage, even though she knew -something of the labors and uncertainties attached to their profession. -How she wished that she, too, could do something different, and get -applauded for it, and lose the buried sense that often recurred to her. - -After the show she went with Roper to the Club Breauville, a private -hang-out off upper Broadway. The place was plastered with frescoes -and decorations in gilt, red, and purple, and had a jazz-orchestra -of ten men. It prided itself upon its air of gleeful informality--a -spirit of natural good-fellowship--although you divined that all of -the uproar was doing its best to hide the passage of money, and a -less humorous sensual game. Theatrical celebrities were hailed at the -tables and asked to make speeches, or give impromptu performances, -and people spoke to each other without an introduction, and a stout -hostess in a black and silver jet evening gown wandered among the -tables and made witty remarks to everybody, and never lost her -“I’m-doing-it-to-keep-you-amused” mien. As Blanche and Roper followed -the head waiter to a table, the hostess, who had chemically yellowed, -abundant hair, and a round, fake-babyish face, was bandying words with -a group of tall, rakish men in tuxedoes. - -“D’you hear the latest?” she asked. “They’re going to give all the -chorines a machine and a diamond bracelet to keep them honest.” - -“Rockefeller’s donating a million to the cause.” - -“Pass that pipe around and we’ll all take a whiff,” answered one of the -men. - -“I’ll give you the needle instead--I sold the pipe to a stock-broker -this morning,” she answered. - -The man laughed at this jibe at their profession, and the hostess -turned to another table. - -Champagne was sold at fifteen dollars a bottle, and Roper spent his -money lavishly, in the effort to impress Blanche. When the second -bottle came she drank sparingly--you grew too darn careless if you -drank too much, and then you frankly “bawled out” the fellow with you, -or let him take too many liberties. Sometimes the matter passed out of -your control and you became merrily hazy about everything, but you had -to fight against such an ending. Roper drank freely and passed into an -inebriated condition that was sullen and hilarious at different times. -This girl would have to be good to him to-night--he had played around -with her long enough--but he would have to laugh it off for a few -hours, until his chance came. - -As they rode away in a cab, he kissed her, and she made no -remonstrances. It was all part of the system--a kiss or two at the -start of the evening, and allowing the man to hug you a little too -closely sometimes, while you were dancing, and then some more kisses -during the ride home, with a few “Don’t, please don’ts” thrown in to -provide the proper touch of objection. Then Roper became more daringly -insistent, and she spoke indignantly over an inner sigh. Here it was -again, the old finale. - -“You musn’t do that to me,” she said. “I don’t like you well enough -for that, Fred. I mean it. I’m not a bad sport, and I’m willing to go -so far, but I won’t give in to a fellow ’less I really care for him. -That’s the way I’m made.” - -Roper’s drunkenness gave him an irresistible anger--if this girl -thought he was a “sucker” he’d soon correct her. - -“You’re gonna come across with me,” he said. “I’m jes’ as good’s any -other fellow, ’n’ I’ve been treatin’ you white, an’ you know it. What’s -the idea, stringin’ me along like this?” - -“’F you can’t talk decent to me I’ll leave the cab,” she replied, -really aggravated this time. “I never promised you anything, and ’f you -wanted to take me out, that was up to you.” - -For a moment, caution contended against Roper’s drunkenness. - -“Aw, can’t you be nice to me?” he asked, trying to resume his -overtures. “You know I’m crazy ’bout you, you know that.” - -“I can’t be like you want me to,” she answered, as she pushed him away. - -This time, a rage took full possession of his muddled head. - -“Suppose I stop the cab an’ let you get out,” he said. “You’re too damn -stuck-up to suit me, an’ I won’t stand f’r any more of it, see? You’re -nothin’ but a lousy gold-digger, you are!” - -A cool sneer rose up within Blanche--she’d “call his bluff” this time, -and show him that he couldn’t insult _her_ with impunity. She tapped -on the glass panel and stopped the cab. Roper tried to detain her, but -she shook off his hands and stepped out to the pavement. The cab driver -looked on with a quizzical ennui--this thing happened in his cab at -least once every night. - -“C’m on back, Blanche, I’ll be good,” Roper cried, but she ignored him -and strode down the street. - -He followed her in the cab to the next corner, repeating his entreaties -and not quite daring to leap after her, but the presence of an -inquisitive policeman caused him to abandon the chase, with a final -oath. As she walked home, Blanche had a feeling of relief and of -self-reproach. She had taught this fellow a lesson, but what was the -sense of such happenings? She couldn’t dismiss a twinge of guilt at -having taken his entertainment and then rejected him, but what could a -girl do--sit at home all the time and watch the walls? Oh, darn, it was -all a mess, all right. - -On the following morning at the cafeteria, she had a heavy head and -a scarcely veiled sulkiness. If Harrison, the proprietor, started -anything now, she’d have to quit her job--it was about time that men -found out that they couldn’t treat her as though she were a bag of -oatmeal! Nothing occurred until the middle of the afternoon, when -Harrison, a tall, thin man with a long nose and blinking eyes beneath -his curly brown hair, hung around her desk. - -“Wanna go somewheres to-night?” he asked. - -“No, thanks, I’ve got ’n engagement,” she replied, trying to make her -voice a little cordial. - -“Say, you’re always turnin’ me down,” he said. “What’s the matter, -don’t I look good to you?” - -“Oh, you’re all right,” she answered, “but I can’t help it ’f I’m -usually dated up. There’s a lot of men in this town, you’d be -surprised, and there’s only seven days in the week, y’ know.” - -“Don’t stall around so much,” he said. “Come on, let’s go to a show -to-night, what do you say? You know you like me, Blanche, sure you do. -You just wanted to see how often I’d ask you, that’s it.” - -He accompanied his words by placing a hand upon one of her hips, and -this time her endurance fled. - -“I’m leaving to-night--you’ll have to find another cashier,” she said, -coolly. “Try all of this stuff on some other girl and see how she likes -it.” - -He looked at her for a moment, with a heavy incredulity, and then broke -into wrath--this girl thought she was better than he was, eh? - -“You can’t leave too soon to suit me,” he said. “You act like you was -Queen of Hoboken, ’r something like that! I’ll pay you off to-night, -and good riddance!” - -“’F I had your conceit I’d think I was a queen, all right,” she -replied, as she went on punching the register. - -“You give me a pain,” he retorted, as he walked away. - -She looked after him with an immense relief. Thank the Lord, this was -over at last. - -As she walked to her home that night, she felt an emboldened mood, as -though she had asserted herself for the first time in her life. When -she broke the news to Mabel, who was sitting in the living-room, her -sister was sympathetic. - -“You’re a darn sight better off away from that place,” Mabel said. -“Stop workin’ for a while an’ just step out, Blan. You’ve got a rest -comin’ to you.” - -“I’ll say I have,” answered Blanche. - -For the next week Blanche hung around the apartment, and enjoyed the -luxury of rising at ten in the morning and losing the old feeling of -drowsy, meek bondage, and went to moving-picture theaters or read -some of Rosenberg’s books during the afternoon, and romped about with -men every other night, but at the end of the week, the relish in her -freedom disappeared, and a nervous weariness took its place. She wanted -to be doing something again, and to feel that she was earning the -right to her nightly pleasures, and to rid herself of the sense that -she “didn’t amount to anything” and was just hugging her bed to forget -about it. To be sure, work was disagreeable and often exhausting, but -if you had no other gifts, what else could you do? That phrase that -Rosenberg was always using--“expressing yourself”--it kind of got under -your skin. Why couldn’t she write things, or be an actress, or learn -something and teach it to other people, like the men and women whom she -read of in the borrowed novels? Well, maybe she would some day, if she -ever found out just how to go about it. She was still a mere girl and -she didn’t intend to be kept down forever. In the meantime, working -could prevent her from getting “too blue” about everything--a brisk -distraction which was the only one within her reach. - -She secured a position in a beauty parlor, giving “waves” to the hair -of young women fidgeting over their allurements, and _passé_ women -rescuing the vanished or vanishing charm, and on the evening of her -first working day she met Rosenberg at their usual street-corner -rendezvous. - -“Let’s just have a talk and not go anywheres to-night,” she said, as -they walked down the glittering hardness of Forty-second Street. - -“I’m with you,” he answered, with an elation upon his narrow face. - -When a girl didn’t want you to spend anything on her, and yet desired -to be with you, it was an exquisitely promising sign, and perhaps -Blanche had begun to fall in love with him. They sat on one of the -stone benches in front of the Public Library building and beneath one -of the huge carved lions that guard its portals, and they looked out -at Fifth Avenue, with its endless stream of crawling, shiny, smoothly -soulless automobiles and busses. - -“Look at all those machines, going somewhere and nowhere at the same -time,” he said, dreamily. “Don’t they all look important though, all -rolling along in two directions, and still they’re just filled with all -kinds of people hunting for an evening’s fun, that’s all.” - -“S’pose they are, what of it?” she asked. “You’ve got to get some -amusement outa life, haven’t you?” - -“Oh, if that’s all you’re after then you’re just like an animal,” he -answered, importantly. “D’you know, sometimes I wonder why people have -heads--they hardly ever use them.” - -“Well, I don’t know--I’ve been using my head some lately but I don’t -seem to be getting anywheres,” she said, dully. - -“Maybe you don’t see where you ought to go,” he replied. - -“I cert’nly don’t,” she responded. “’Less a girl knows how to do -something big, she hasn’t got a chance. Gee, I wish I was clever and -could put it over, like some girls do.” - -“Why don’t you try to write, or go to school and study something?” he -asked. “You’ve got it in you, Blanche, I know you have, but you just -don’t believe in yourself.” - -“Me--write?” she queried, with a laugh. “Don’t be foolish, Lou. I can’t -even spell most words straight!” - -“You could, ’f you put yourself to it,” he answered. “Piles of times -you say something with a lot of meaning to it, piles of times, but you -don’t know what’s in you, Blanche. You need to be pushed along and to -get some confidence in yourself.” - -“Maybe I wouldn’t like to believe you, huh?” she asked, wistfully. -“I feel like I could do things when you talk to me, Lou, and then -afterwards it all goes away.” - -They were silent for a while, and then she said: “Oh, let’s forget -about it. We’re sitting here like a couple of dopes and letting off a -lot of easy talking. Talking, that’s about all I’m good for, I guess. -Let’s take a bus ride and see the Avenue.” - -They boarded one of the green, lumbering busses and sat on the -uncovered top. He curved an arm around her waist, and she made no -objections. He had a peaceful, heartening influence on her, and she -wondered whether it might not be best to marry him, in spite of the -fact that he was physically negative to her. He might help her to make -something out of herself. But no, it never worked out. You had to be -thrilled and light-headed and upside-down when a man touched you, and -if you weren’t, you’d soon get tired of having him near you, no matter -how much you liked to hear him talk, and how encouraging he was. - -When they lingered in the hallway of her building, she let his embraces -become more determined, for the first time in many months, moved by -her troubled compassion for him. Then she stopped him, and gave him a -sorrowful look. - -“I’d like to love you, Lou--I’m not kidding,” she said. - -“Aren’t you a lot nearer to it now than you ever were?” he asked, -eagerly. “Aren’t you?” - -“A little bit, maybe,” she answered. “You’re a good boy, Lou, you are, -and I’m always going to be straight with you. I’ll never tell you -nothing but the truth.” - -They kissed again, and after they had arranged to meet on the following -Monday he walked down the hallway, wondering whether he should dare to -hope, and hoping in spite of his wondering. - -When Blanche returned from her work, on the next evening, she -immediately perceived the downcast looks on the faces of her mother, -Philip, and Mabel, who were seated around the living-room table. - -“What’s this, anyway--’n Irish wake?” she asked. “What’s happened?” - -“I just couldn’t say nothin’ this mornin’, you’d have been that -worried,” her mother replied, dolefully. - -“Anyway, don’t you read the papers?” asked Mabel. “They’ve got it on -the second page of the Herald to-night, an’ the Courier, too.” - -“Harry’s been called up before the Boxing Commission,” said Philip. -“He and pa went down this afternoon, and we’re expecting them back any -minnit now. There musta been a leak somewhere ’bout that fake scrap he -pulled night before last. They’re after him hot and heavy, and the Club -wouldn’t pay him off to-day, and I think Rainey’s double-crossed him in -the bargain. It looks bad all right for poor Harry!” - -“Didn’t I know this was going to happen,” Blanche exclaimed. “I did -think he’d get away with it once ’r twice, though, before they caught -him. You’ve got to have brains ’f you want to be a crook in this world.” - -“Oh, stop this I-told-yuh-so line,” answered Mabel. “Harry was only -trying to look out for the rest of us, and I’m darn sorry for him.” - -“Well, I’m not,” Blanche replied, determinedly. “He needed something to -take the swelled head out of him, he did, and I’ll say it even ’f he is -my own brother.” - -“I only hope it’ll make all of you listen more to your ma,” said Mrs. -Palmer. “There’s never no good in tryin’ to make money dishonest-like. -It’s happy I’ll feel ’f Harry’ll only go to work now, an’ give up alla -that fightin’ and bummin’ around like he does.” - -“Well, Harry’s not down yet, I’m saying,” Philip interposed. “B’lieve -me, he’ll fix the guys that did him dirty, and he’ll do a good job of -it, too!” - -“Yeh, and get into jail for doing it,” said Blanche, as she walked into -her room. - -“Don’t talk like you wished it on him,” Mabel called after her, -irritably. - -As Blanche changed to a kimono, she tried to feel sympathetic toward -Harry, but she could not down her sneaking satisfaction at his -misfortune. Somehow, it was difficult to engender affection toward -this rough-neck, never-seeing, cocksure brother of hers. Of course, -a man wasn’t a man unless he used his fists and his voice with a -hard efficiency, but Harry carried his masculinity to an overbearing -extreme, and never paid any attention to your side of the question, and -seemed to have a meanness--a go-to-hell spirit--which could instantly -be awakened by the slightest opposition. His dishonesty didn’t annoy -her particularly, but she disliked the lame excuses that he always -made for it. If he had been an out-and-out hold-up man, she would -have respected him far more. Oh, well, he was her brother after all, -and maybe this happening would make him more subdued and considerate. -Funny, she and her family would be disgraced now, and yet, if he hadn’t -been found out, they’d still be holding their heads high in the air. -“Getting away with it”--that was all people ever seemed to care about. - -She heard the voice of her father and brother, and went out to the -living-room. They sat slumped down in chairs, with their hands in -their pockets, and scowled down at the linoleum-covered floor. - -“It gets my goat, that bastard on the Commish, Murvaney, tellin’ me -‘Y’r a dis-gra-ace to the ring, Mis-ter Palmer.’ Didn’t he wink his eye -and give Callahan a clean bill when they had all that fuss about the -welter champ fight? Sure he did! I’d like to have the coin they slipped -him f’r that little stunt.” - -“What’s the use uh beefin’--we’re in f’r it,” his father answered, -dully. - -“What did they do to Harry?” Blanche asked. - -“They went an’ barred him from the ring indef’nitely, the skunks,” her -father answered. “Thomas an’ Rainey only got three months, an’ there’s -somethin’ rotten somewhere. ’F we find out they flimflammed us we’ll -make ’em wish they hadn’t! A guy they call Carnavan come down an’ swore -he’d listened to Rainey an’ me fix it all up in the Club on the night -of the fight. I saw him hangin’ around that night, I saw him, but -Rainey said he was a good friend uh his.” - -“Those two guys’ll be in the hospital before the end uh the week,” said -Harry. “Watch what I said.” - -“Oh, what good will it do you ’f you beat them up?” asked Blanche. “I -don’t want to rub it in, Harry, but you’ll get into worse trouble than -this, ’f you don’t tone down.” - -“Keep your mouth shut, that’s all I want from you,” Harry answered. -“You’re too good to live, you are.” - -“Well, I think it’s a darn shame, Harry,” said Mabel, putting an arm -around his shoulders. - -He squeezed her chin, and his scowl lessened a bit--he had a “soft -spot” for Mabel. She knew that you couldn’t get along in this world -without being as rotten as the next fellow was, and she appreciated his -generosity and his manly qualities, and knew that he was usually the -victim of bad luck and that he hardly ever received a “square deal.” -Blanche, on the other hand, was a coward, always trying to preach at -him, and she thought that she was better than he was, and she needed to -be “taken down.” - -“You’re the one in this fam’ly I’m strong for,” he said to Mabel. “You -c’n have my las’ dime any time you want it!” - -“Same here,” Mabel replied. “Blanche is gettin’ too stuck-up these -days, an’ she thinks she knows it all.” - -“Well, she’d better lay offa me,” he said, ominously. - -“You just can’t stand it when any one tells you you’re wrong,” Blanche -retorted. - -“How about me, Harry, you know I’m always with you,” Philip said. - -“Oh, you’re all right, but you need more guts,” Harry answered. “You -don’t know enough to go out an’ get what’s comin’ to you.” - -“’F I was a scrapper like you, maybe I would,” said Philip. “I don’t -take any sass from anybody ’f I can help it, you know that, Harry.” - -“It’s not right f’r you an’ Blanche to be always fightin’ like this,” -said Mrs. Palmer, turning to Harry. “It’s I that wish you’d be nice to -each other, like a brother an’ sister should. I don’t think you done -right, I don’t, but it’s no good pitchin’ into you now. Maybe you’ll -be a good, honest boy from now on, maybe you will.” - -“You mean well, ma, but you don’t know what I’m up against,” Harry -answered, as he patted her head in a clumsy, reluctant way. - -“You make me sick, Kate,” the father broke in. “Didn’t you an’ me work -hard f’r years, didn’t we, an’ what did we get out of it, what did we -get? Nothin’ but trouble, I’ll say! You an’ Blanche leave Harry alone, -’r you’ll hear from me. He got a bum deal this time, but he’ll be out -on top, ’fore it’s over.” - -“Yeh, I’ve got confidence in Harry,” said Philip, giving his brother a -look of respect tempered with more secret annoyance. “He knows how to -handle himself.” - -“Well, I don’t want my own boy to get behind the bars, an’ he will ’f -he don’t behave himself more,” Mrs. Palmer said, in a weakly lamenting -voice, as she shuffled back to the kitchen. - -Blanche, who had no engagement for the night, went to a neighboring -moving-picture show and saw a film called “Nell of the Yukon,” in -which a dimpled statuesque actress named Dorothy Darling--a lady in -her desperately preserved, early thirties--smiled, and frowned, and -struggled, without subtlety but with much animal abandonment wasted on -the impossible tale. She played the part of a speckled but not quite -approachable dance-hall girl in a mining camp in Alaska, and she was -in love with a handsome young gambler who had incurred the enmity of -the saloon and dance-hall proprietor. Of course, the gambler was -the only honest one in the place, and, of course, he protected her -from the proprietor, whose intentions toward her were, alas, horribly -immoral, and, of course, the gambler was also loved by another jealous -dance-hall girl, who became the tool of the unscrupulous proprietor. -The second girl trapped the gambler in her room and, after he had -gently repulsed her pleadings, delivered him to the ambuscade of the -villainous proprietor and his cohorts. He was about to be slain by this -oddly hesitant and delaying villain when Nell of the Yukon rescued him, -at the head of a band of his mining-camp friends. - -As Blanche looked on at the film, she had an excited interest that -sometimes lessened to a sense of the absurd. It _was_ “sort uh silly,” -to be sure, especially that scene where Nell fought against the -proprietor, in her room, and suffered no casualties except the tearing -of the upper part of her waist, and the loosening of her hair. No -girl ever got off that easy when a strapping fellow had her cornered -and was out to do her wrong! But still, the story was a glimpse into -another fabricated world, far more enticing than her own, and in her -eagerness to forget the immediate facts in her life, Blanche devoured -the colossal unreality of the film with only an occasional qualm. -Afterwards, as she walked down Ninth Avenue, she had an odd mood--too -tired to be discontented, and yet carrying the suggestion that life was -purposeless and that there was “nothing much to it.” The mood stayed -with her as she rested prone on the bed in her little room. - - - - -CHAPTER III - - -In the twenties, years slip by with the flimsy rapidity of soap-bubbles -blown from the breath of time, unless the person experiencing them has -found an unusually cloistered or passionless existence. As Blanche sat -in the Beauty Parlor where she worked as a hair-curler, she remembered -that she was twenty-two and that her birthday was only twenty-four -hours distant. - -The year which had elapsed since her brother’s expulsion as a -prize-fighter seemed to be little more than a crowded and instructive -month. As she sat in the Parlor, during an afternoon’s pause between -patrons, she said to herself: “Gee, here I am, already twenty-two! I’ll -be ’n old dame before I know it. It’s enough to give you the jimjams, -it is.” Something that was not wisdom but rather an engrossed search -for wisdom rested on the smooth plumpness of her face. Again, a light -within her eyes came near to the quality of self-possessed skepticism -and shifted against the survival of former hesitations and faiths. -Life to her was no longer a conforming welter of sexual advances and -retreats, with moments of self-disapproval bearing the indistinct -desire “to get somewhere”--thoughts and emotions had snapped within -her; problems were assuming a more unmistakable shape; the people in -life were displaying to her more indisputable virtues and faults; and -a spirit of revolt was simply waiting for some proper climax. Her -past year of argument and contact with Rosenberg had given her a more -assured tongue and a more informed head. The books that he had supplied -her with had now crystallized to specific inducements--tales about men -and women whose lives were brave, or distressed, pursuits of truth, -and an ever keener knowledge of each other, and a sexual freedom that -was not merely the dodging of lust to an eventual marriage ceremony, -and a dislike for the shams and kowtowings of other men and women. -Frequently, she invited the scoffing of her family by remaining at home -and reading some novel until well after midnight, with her eyes never -leaving the pages. Her sister and brothers, and her parents, felt that -she was getting “queer in the dome,” wasting her time like that when -she might have been picking up some fellow with serious intentions, -or enjoying herself, and though she still went out with men three or -four nights of every week, the family were beginning to fear that she -was not a “regular” girl and that silly, unwomanly ideas had gotten -into her head. In their opinion twenty-two was the age at which a -woman should either be married or be moving toward that end, and they -couldn’t understand her apathy in this matter. They cast most of the -blame on Rosenberg--that dopey mut that she was always afraid to bring -around had evidently turned her against her family and filled her with -junk from the foolish books he loaned her. - -Even her mother had begged her to stop going with him and had -complained: “It’s you that’s not me own sweet girl any more. You oughta -stop traipsin’ around with that Jew boy, you oughta. He won’t never -marry you, and it’s I that wouldn’t let you, anyways. He’s got no money -and he’s not right in his head, he’s not!” - -Harry had threatened to “beat up” Rosenberg, if he ever saw him, and -her father had railed at her, but she had seemed to look upon their -objections as a huge joke, which had angered them all the more but -left them powerless to do anything except to lock her in her room at -night--an expedient that could hardly be tried on a twenty-two-year-old -daughter who earned her own living and could leave the family roof -whenever she pleased. - -On her own part, Blanche had treated their railings with a perverse -resentment. “I’ll go on seeing him just to spite them--who’re they to -boss me around,” she had said to herself. In reality, she had lost much -of her old respect for Rosenberg’s mind and verbal talents, and she was -beginning to see flaws in his make-up. - -“He never does anything but talk--he’s a wonder there,” she had said -to herself once. “He takes it all out in wind. I’ll bet you he’ll be -working in that library for the rest of his life, ’r in some other -place just like it. ’N’ again, he always says he’s going to write big -things, but I never see him doing it. I’d like to meet a fellow that’s -doing something--making a name for himself. Gee, ’f I could ever run -across one of those nov’lists, for instance. That man, Ronald Urban, -who wrote Through The Fields--wouldn’t it be all to the mustard to talk -to him! He could tell me all kinds of things I’ve never dreamt of.” - -Still, she continued to see Rosenberg because he was the best prospect -at hand, and because she pitied his longings for her, and to show her -family that she could not be intimidated. - -Harry was still barred from the ring, and the family had lapsed back -to its old tilts with poverty. Both Blanche and Philip had to give -part of their earnings toward the maintenance of the apartment, as -well as Mabel, who had gone to work as a dress-model for a wholesale -cloak-and-suit firm. She pronounced it “cluck ’n soot,” and affected -a great disdain for her environs and her Jewish employers, but she -was not at all averse to dining and dancing with some of the more -prosperous buyers who frequented her place. Harry had become more of -a wastrel, and did little except loaf around during the day, with -an occasional bootlegging venture and sojourns with women, while -the father loitered about poolrooms and complained of his son’s -persecution, or sat in poker and pinochle games. - -As Blanche lolled in the Beauty Parlor, tinkering with her nails, the -image of Joe Campbell was in her head. He had ignored her for six -months and then had bobbed up again on the previous day, and she had an -engagement with him for the coming night. “It’s no use--I can’t get you -out of my head,” he had told her over the telephone. “I stopped seeing -you because I thought you were playing me for a sucker, but go right -ahead, girlie, I’ll bite again. You’re deuces wild and the sky for a -limit with me!” “You didn’t get hoarse telling me that for the last few -months,” she had replied, amused and a little flattered. “Sure not, I -was trying to forget you,” he had responded. “It can’t be done, little -girl. Come on now, let daddy act like a millionaire to-night--he’s good -that way.” - -When she had mentioned his call to her family, they had all urged her -to “make a play for him” and angle for a proposal of marriage. - -“He must be nuts about you ’r else he wouldn’t always come back for -more,” Mabel had said. “I’ll bet you’re always freezin’ him out, that’s -the trouble. You’ll be a fool ’f you don’t try to land him this time. -He’s loaded with jack, and he’s got a rep, and he’s not so bad-lookin’ -at that. What more d’you want, I’d like to know--you’re no Ziegfeld -Follies girl yourself.” - -Now, as she sat and polished her finger-nails, Blanche wondered whether -it might not be best to marry Campbell after all. Most of his past -glamor to her had been rubbed away, and she saw him as a second-rate -actor, always laughing to hide what he wanted to get from a girl, and -drinking and spending his money because he wanted people to believe -that he was much more important than he really was, and caring nothing -for the “fine” part of life which she had begun to realize--books, and -paintings, and such things. Still, if she married him he would give -her a leisure and an independence in which she could find out whether -anything was in her or not, and whether she was gifted for something -better than marcelling hair or punching registers. Then she would be -able to sit most of the day and just read and think, or maybe go to -some school and learn something, and meet new kinds of people. How -could she ever make something out of herself if she had to work hard -every day, and give half of her limited dollars to her family, and -listen to their naggings and pesterings? Of course, she did not love -Campbell, and the thought of continuous physical relations with him was -not as pleasant as it had once been--somehow, when you began to “see -through” a man’s blusterings and boastings, his hands and his kisses -lost part of their thrill--but still, he _was_ physically agreeable -to her, and it might be idle to hope for more than that from any man. -He wouldn’t talk about the new things that she was interested in, or -sympathize with her desires for knowledge and expression, but when, oh, -when, would she ever find a man who had these responses? Such men lived -and moved in a different world, and were hardly likely to meet, or to -care for, a questioning Beauty Parlor girl--they could easily procure -women who were more their equals. Besides, it was silly to sit and -mope around and wait for your “ideal” to arrive. You might wind up by -becoming a dull old maid, with nothing accomplished. - -The one thing that counseled against marriage to Campbell was her -unfounded but instinctive distrust of him. She could never rid herself -of the feeling that he was secretly cruel and heartless, and that there -was something “phony” about all of his smiles and laughters, and that -he was not nearly as intelligent as he seemed to be, but knew how to -manipulate an all-seeing pose. - -The Beauty Parlor was a sweetly smirking, pink and whitish, overdraped -place, trying so hard to look femininely dainty and insipidly refined -and still preserve something of a business-like air. Cream-colored -satin panels were nailed to the walls and pink rosebud arrangements -shaded all of the electric lights except the green-shaded, practical -ones placed beside the tables and the chairs where the work was done. -There were Persian rugs on the hardwood floor, and amateurishly piquant -batiks, and the reek of cheap incense and dryly dizzy perfume was in -the air. Outside of three prosaic, ordinary barber-chairs, the place -had several dressing-tables with long mirrors, enameled in shades of -ivory and pink with thin, curved legs. Bottles of perfume and jars -of paste and powder were scattered over the place, and many framed -photographs of actresses were on the walls, most of them signed: “With -affection (or with regards) to my dear friend, Madame Jaurette” (some -of them had cost Madame a nice penny). These picture-testimonials -had a potent effect upon the Beauty Parlor’s clientele, owing to the -humorous misconception on the part of many women that actresses and -society queens alone are acquainted with the mysteries and abracadabras -of remaining physically young, beautiful, and unwrinkled. Photographs -of society women were much more difficult for Madame to procure--money -was of no avail in their case, ah, _mais non_!--but she did have one of -Mrs. Frederick Van Armen, one of the reigning upper-hostesses of the -day, which she had secured after a year of plotting, and of pleading -notes. - -The entire shop had an air of sex running to an artificial restoration -place to repair the ravages of time, or to add an irresistible -exterior to its youth, but there was something hopeless and thickly -pathetic attached to the atmosphere. It was sex that had lost its -self-confidence and its unashamed hungers--sex that hunted for tiny -glosses and protections, and had a partly mercenary fear and precision -in all of its movements. - -Blanche’s thoughts of Campbell were interrupted by the advent of the -proprietress, Madame Jaurette, and a young patroness. Madame was fat, -and too short for her weight, but through the use of brassieres, -bodices, reducing exercises, and diets, she had kept her curves from -emulating a circus side-show effect. It was a strain on her nerves, -however, and she had that persecuted but uncomplaining look on her -face. Like a great many middle-class, nearly middle-aged French women, -with very moderate educations, she was a preposterous mixture of -dense cupidities and romantic sentiments, and while the cupidities -had their way with her most of the time, they were always apt to be -knocked galley-west by some gentleman with an aquiline nose, or the -destitution of some weeping girl. She had a round, almost handsome -face, with the wretched hint of a double chin that was never allowed to -go any further, and bobbed, black hair--it didn’t become her but it had -to be mutilated for business reasons--and she dressed in dark, lacy, -expensive gowns. - -“Ah, Ma’m’selle Palmaire, you will take so good care of Mees White, -she is vairy fine lady,” she babbled. “Mees White, she always have -Nanette to feex her hair, but Nanette she is here no more. Ma’m’selle -Palmaire, she is really ex-pert, Mees White. She will geeve you, what -you call it?--the curl that won’ come off!” - -“’F I’m so good, why don’t you raise my wages once in a while,” Blanche -thought to herself, but she said: “Sure, I guess I know my work all -right. I’ll do the best I can for her.” - -The patroness was a slim girl with a disproportionately plump bosom, -a dumbly child-like, near-pretty face, and a great shock of blonde, -bobbed hair. As Blanche heated the curling-irons, the other girl said: -“It’s just the hardest thing to keep my hair wavy. It never does last -more than two or three days. I’ll spend a fortune on it before I’m -through.” - -“Why don’t you get a permanent wave--it’s cheaper in the end,” Blanche -answered. - -“Oh, I’m never able to afford it when I do get the impulse, and then I -might want it straight again any time. It’s all so much a question of -what you’re wearing and how you feel, you know. D’you think I look good -in curls?” - -Blanche had no opinion whatever on the subject, but she replied: “Yes, -indeed, I think they go well with your face.” Patronesses, to her, were -simply blanks to be dealt with in rotation, unless they exhibited an -ill-temper or an impatience. A spell of silence came as Blanche bent to -her task, and then the other girl said: “Don’t you get tired of working -all day in this stuffy place? I know I could never stand it myself.” -Blanche was used to this question--women who tried hard to show an -interest in the beauty-parlor workers but rarely ever really felt it. - -“It’s no worse than lots of other things,” she answered. “I’ve got to -earn my living some way. I won’t be here all my life though, believe -me.” - -The conversation continued in this casual strain, with neither woman -caring much about what the other said, but with both desiring to lessen -the tedium of an hour. Two-thirds of all the words that human beings -talk to each other are merely unaffected protections and tilts against -an impending boredom. - -When Blanche came home from work that night, the members of her family -were seated at the supper-table. After she joined them they began to -twit her about her approaching engagement with Campbell. - -“Gonna make him buy the license, Blanche?” Harry asked. - -“Yes, a dog license,” she answered. - -“That’s a fine crack to make against a fellow like Joe,” Harry replied. -“You’re not good enough f’r him, ’f you ask _me_.” - -“’F you give me one of your hankies I’ll cry about it,” she said. -“Maybe that’ll suit you.” - -Harry looked at her dubiously--it sure was hard to “get her goat” these -days. - -“You’re gettin’ sillier ev’ry day,” Mabel said to her sister. “You’ll -never find another chance like Joe Campbell--they don’t grow round -on bushes. S’pose you’d rather sit all night ’n’ read one of those -no-ovuls uh yours. It’s hard to figure you out.” - -“In the first place he hasn’t asked me to marry him yet,” Blanche -answered, “and besides, I don’t see why all of you have to butt into my -affairs so much. I never tell any of you people what to do.” - -“Well, don’t forget, I’m your father, and I’m gonna have somethin’ to -say ’bout who you hitch up with,” Will Palmer said. - -“Nobody’ll stop you from saying it, but I’m no good at being bossed -around,” she retorted coolly. - -“We’ll see ’bout that, we’ll see,” her father responded with a heavy -emphasis. - -This daughter of his was becoming too high-handed, and he would -probably have to use harsh measures to her for her own good, but as -long as the matter remained one of verbal exchanges there was nothing -that he could do about it. Just let her start something, though! - -“We’re all jes’ tryin’ to look out f’r you, Blanie dear,” her mother -said. “You shouldn’t get so uppity about it, you shouldn’t.” - -“I can take care of myself--I’ve had to do it long enough, ma,” Blanche -responded. - -“We’ll, I’m with you all the time, and that’s no lie,” Philip said. - -He did not understand Blanche to any great extent, but he liked her -independence (“spunk”) because it spoke to the similar feeling within -himself which he was too cowardly to express. - -“You’re about the only one in this fam’ly who leaves me alone,” Blanche -answered, with a little dolorous affection. - -She knew that Philip was weak and hedging but she was grateful for his -lack of hard interference and pitied his spineless spirit. - -As she dressed to meet Campbell she had a don’t-care, tired-out mood. -Let them all talk their heads off--they couldn’t prevent _her_ from -doing what she wanted to do. - -When Campbell came up, the rest of her family had departed, with the -exception of her mother, who greeted him with a timid cordiality. How -she wished that her daughter would marry this good-natured, prosperous -man! She herself would have been much better off if she had been more -prudent in her youth and not so much concerned with this “lovin’ and -mushin’” thing. Why, any woman could get to lovin’ a man if he took -care of her, and acted kind and true, and didn’t bother with other -women, and had a nice, jolly nature. Of course, Campbell _did_ go -around with a fast, booze-lapping crowd--she knew what those Broadway -people were, but leave it to Blanche to tame him down if she married -him. Well, maybe Blanche would come to her senses before it was too -late. - -When they reached the street, Campbell said to Blanche: “What’s on your -mind, to-night, old dear? You’ve said about six words since I came up. -You haven’t gone back on me, have you?” - -“I don’t feel much like gabbing to-night,” she answered. “I guess I -won’t be very entertaining to you.” - -“Just be yourself, that’s all I want,” he said, as he squeezed her arm. -He sensed that something might be “going wrong” with her at home, and -after they had entered a cab he asked: “What’s the matter, your family -been razzing you any?” - -“Oh, they’re always doing that,” she responded. “They’re great ones on -telling me what I should do.” - -“Why don’t you make a break?” he queried. “I’ve always thought you were -a fool to stay in that rotten dump of yours. It’s no place for a girl -with any class to be living in, you know that. You could get a couple -of rooms of your own and do as you please, and sit on the top of the -world.” - -He had an idle sympathy for her, and he felt that she would be much -more accessible if she were removed from the guardian eyes of her -family. Funny, how he couldn’t get this girl out of his mind. She had -a “thoroughbred” touch, a high-headed, brave, exclusive something that -he had rarely found in women and could scarcely define. It wasn’t her -looks and she certainly wasn’t particularly talented in any way--it was -a straightness in conduct and word, and an untouched, defiant essence -that seemed to cling to the physical part of her. Some women were like -that--their affairs with men never left any impress upon them. Guess -they never really gave in to any man--that was it.... Should he ever -ask this girl to marry him? Marriage--brr! Wasn’t he still paying -alimony on the first one that he had contracted? No, he’d be willing -to live with Blanche and give other women “the air,” for some time -at least, but no more marrying for him. Even this would be quite an -important concession for a man of his kind, who could have his pick -of pretty girls every night. His first wife had attracted him just -as Blanche did, and what had happened? Everything sweet and snug for -the first six months, and then a first quarrel because she caught him -kissing a girl in his show--nothing but handcuffs and a prison cell -ever satisfied _them_--and then more quarrels about where they should -eat, and what kind of ties he ought to buy, and a dozen more trivial -frictions. And money--two hundred a week for her expenses got to be -like two dollars in her estimation. Then he had felt the gradual -letting down of his desire for her--she had not become less attractive -but less imperative and more a matter of pleasant convenience. He had -returned to unfaithfulness, after drunken parties--how could any man -help it?--and he’d certainly never forget the cheap, blah-blahing night -when she had burst into a hotel room, with two private detectives, and -found him with a woman. No more of that kind of joke for him. - -These thoughts occurred to him irregularly as he talked to Blanche in -the cab, and afterwards as they sat in a corner of The Golden Mill. - -“You’re a simp to work like a nigger all the time,” he said. “What’s it -bring you, anyway? Three dimes and a crook in your pretty back, that’s -about all.” - -“It’s easy for you to talk,” she replied. “Tell me how I’d ever get -along without working?” - -“I’ll keep you up any time you say,” he responded, caressing her hand -that rested on the table, “and don’t think I’m spoofing you, either. -I’ll give you anything you want, and no strings tied to it. I mean it. -Don’t think I hand this spiel around ev’ry night! You’ve had me going -ever since I first saw you--you’ve got the class and I know it.” - -She looked at him meditatively--it would be necessary to “call him -down” for this open proposal, but--just saying it to herself--why -shouldn’t she be supported by a man? How would she ever get a breathing -spell otherwise? - -“When I take money from any man I’m going to be married to him first,” -she replied, “and don’t think I’m giving you any hints, either. ’F I -wanted to be free and easy with men, I’ve had plenty of chances before -this--plenty. I hate to work at something I don’t care much for, sure, -ev’ry girl does, but it’s better than living with some fellow till he -gets tired of you and then passing on to some one else. They’ll never -play baseball with yours truly ’f she can help it.” - -He was divided between admiration for her “spunk” and candor, and a -suspicion that she might be testing him. - -“I’ll stop dealing from the bottom of the deck,” he said, slowly. “I’ve -known you for two years, now, Blanche, and it’s time that we came to -some understanding. This loving stuff’s all apple-sauce to me--you -always think you’re nuts about a girl till she falls for you, and then -you change your eyesight. I’ve had one bum marriage in my life, and I -never was fond of castor-oil and carbolic acid on the same spoon. If -you’ll hook up with me, old girl, I’ll treat you white, but I can’t -hand out any signed testimonials about how long it’ll last, for you ’r -me. What’s the use of all this worrying about next week and next year? -It’s like not sitting down to your meal, ’cause you don’t know what -you’re going to have for dessert.” - -“Well, what’s the proposition?” she asked, surprised at her own lack of -indignation, and liking his unveiled attitude. - -“I’ll get you a swell apartment up in the West Seventies,” he said, -“and you can put up a bluff at studying something--music ’r acting ’r -something like that--just a stall to keep your folks in the dark. I’ll -get a wealthy dame I know to take an interest in you, see? She’ll be -the blind. She’s a good sport and she’ll do anything for me. You’ll -be known as a _protégée_ of hers, and your family’ll never know I’m -putting up the coin. Why, it’s done ev’ry day in the year.” - -“So, I’m to be your miss-tress, like they say in the novels,” Blanche -answered, with a struggle of irritation and tired assent going on -within her. “I suppose I ought to bawl you out for your nerve, but I -won’t take the trouble. I’d like to _really_ study something, and get -somewheres, but I’m not so sure I want to take it like that.” - -“What’s the matter, don’t you like my style?” he asked. - -“You’re not so bad ’s far as you go,” she replied, “but I don’t happen -to be in love with you.” - -“What of it?” he asked. “You know you like to be with me--that’s what -counts. Most of this love stuff’s a lot of hokum, that’s all. I never -saw a couple in my life that stayed crazy about each other for more -than two years, and that’s a world’s record. If they stick to each -other after that it’s because they haven’t got nerve enough to make a -break, ’r for the sake of their kid, ’r a hundred other bum reasons. -But they’ve lost the first, big kick ev’ry time--don’t fool yourself.” - -“I don’t know about that,” she said slowly. “’F a girl finds a man that -loves her for what she is--her ways of acting and talking--I don’t -see why they can’t get along even ’f they do get tired of hugging and -kissing all the time. They’ve got to have the same kind of minds, -that’s it.” - -“We-ell, how’s my mi-ind diff’rent from yours?” he asked, amused and -not quite comprehending (she sure had acquired a bunch of fancy ideas -since his last meeting with her). - -“It’s this way, you don’t like to read much, real good books, I mean,” -she replied, “and you never go to swell symf’ny concerts where they -play beautiful music, and you don’t care for paintings and statues and -things like that. I never thought much of them myself, once upon a -time, but I’m beginning to get wise to what I’ve been missing. I mean -it. I’ve been going around for a long time with a fellow that likes -those things, and I’m not as dumb’s I used to be.” - -Campbell laughed inwardly--doggone if she hadn’t become “highbrow” -since their last time together! This was an interesting, though absurd, -turn of affairs. She had probably been mixing with some writer or -painter, who had stuffed her head with “a-artistic” poppycock, which -she didn’t understand herself, but which she valued because it was -her idea of something grand and elegant. Girls like Blanche were -often weathercocks--not satisfied with their own lack of talent and -ready to be moved by any outburst of novel and impressive hot air -that came along. Well, it would be easy to simulate a response to her -new interests and captivate her in that way, unless the other man had -already captured her. - -“How do you know I don’t like those things?” he asked. “I’ve never -talked much about them because I never knew they mattered to you. -I thought you believed that this guy, Art, was a second cousin to -artesian wells. How was I to know?” - -She caught the presence of an insincerity in his glibness. - -“’F they’d been first on your mind, you couldn’t have helped talking -about them,” she replied. “Anyway, ’f I ever went to live with you, I’d -never do it roundabout, like the thing you had in mind. I’m not much on -lies and hiding things. When I leave home it’ll be a clean break, and -anybody that doesn’t like it’ll have to mind his own business.” - -“Well, I only wanted to make it easier for you,” he said. “If you don’t -care whether your family gets sore, or not, it’s all the same to me.” - -“Say, you talk as though I’d said yes to you,” she answered. “Don’t -take so much for granted, Joe. I’ve listened to you like a good sport, -instead of bawling you out, but I’m not going to rush off with you -_this_ week.” - -“Now, now, I’m not trying to force myself on you,” he said, soothingly. - -She _was_ a wary one, and no mistake, but it looked as though he -finally had her on the run, and it was all a question of whether he -cared to exert a little more patience and persuasiveness in the matter. -Of course, he’d continue the game--he had nothing to lose, and it would -be a distinction to have her lovingly in his arms, and he really liked -her defiance and her immunity from ordinary wiles and blandishments. -She was somebody worth capturing--no doubt of that. A degree of cruelty -also moved within his reactions. Just wait till he had her where he -wanted her--he’d do a little bossing around himself then, and if she -didn’t like it.... - -When they departed from The Golden Mill, the whisky that she had -had played tiddledywinks with her head, aided by the abrupt change -from the heated cabaret to the cooler street air, and she felt an -Oh-give-in-to-him-what’s-the-dif’ mood, and her thoughts grew mumbling -and paralyzed. She swayed a bit on the sidewalk and he put an arm -around her waist, to steady her. - -“Say, Blanche, don’t pass out on me,” he said, anxiously. “We’ll go -over to my shack now, that’s a good girlie. I won’t eat you up, don’t -be afraid.” - -“I’ll go anywheres ... give my he-ead a rest ... feels like a rock ... -that’s funny ... like a ro-ock,” she answered, mistily. - -He hailed a cab, and on the way over to his apartment, she leaned -her head on his shoulder and passed into a semidrowsy state, while -he caressed her with a careful audacity and smiled to himself. Well, -well, Blanche Palmer in the little old net at last--what a blessing -liquor was, if you kept your own head. - -When they reached his apartment--two ornate, untidy rooms with mahogany -furniture, and signed theatrical photographs, and an air of cheaply -ill-assorted luxury--he wanted her to rest upon one of the couches, -but her head had grown a bit clearer by this time, and admonishings -were once more faintly stirring within it. Where was she? Where?... -In Campbell’s apartment.... So, he’d gotten her there at last. Damn, -why was everything trying to revolve around her? This wouldn’t do at -all.... She must ... must ... must get herself together. Tra, la, la, -what on earth was the dif’? It would be nice to let the whole world go -hang for one night, and feel a man’s body against hers, and stop all of -this fighting and objecting. Sweet, all right, sweet, but no ... no ... -no ... he’d be getting her too easy ... and all he wanted was ’nother -party with ’nother girl ... she knew ... and she just didn’t love ... -oh, love, nothing ... better to feel good and be yourself ... but she -didn’t trust him and she wouldn’t have him ... just wouldn’t have ... -yes, she would ... no-o ... she’d simply have to pull herself together. - -She went to the bathroom and closed and locked the door behind her -before he knew what was happening--he had been standing in a corner -of the room and confidently slipping into his dressing-robe. Then she -plunged her head into cold water, off and on, for the next half hour, -and found a bottle of smelling-salts in his medicine cabinet and thrust -it against her nostrils, and loosened her waist. She felt herself -growing steadier, and the mists in her head changed to a swaying ache -in which her thoughts regathered, and her emotions became sullen and -self-contemptuous. - -“You’re some boob, you are, letting Joe Campbell dose you up with booze -and get you to come to his place,” she said to herself. “He almost put -one over on you this time, you conceited dope. How much respect would -he have for you if he got you this way? Say, don’t make me laugh.” - -In spite of the sick giddiness that still remained within her, she -became morosely determined to leave the apartment and return to her -home. If he tried any rough stuff, she’d yell for aid, or break -something over his head. But he wouldn’t--he’d never risk losing her. -He’d know darn well that if he tried any movie stunts she’d never see -him again. Well, maybe she had misjudged him--maybe he was really in -love with her and too ashamed to admit it. They always put up that -I-don’t-care-I’ve-got-a-hundred-others bluff, to impress a girl. -Besides, men always wanted the same thing, and they shouldn’t be blamed -for that. It was natural. - -During the half hour he had rapped repeatedly on the door and begged -her to come out, and she had ignored his words. Now she opened the -door and walked slowly into the room. He was mixing a highball, and he -looked up with a placating smile. - -“Well, feel any better now, Blanchie?” he asked, casually. “Sit down -and rest it off.” - -“I’ll say I do,” she answered. “I’m going home, Joe.” - -He looked at her intently and saw that at least half of her drunkenness -had disappeared. H’mm, this was a nice state of affairs. Sweet -mamma, he’d rather go after a she-fox any day in preference to this -girl! Well, he would have to renew his caresses and cajoleries--more -carefully this time. He walked up to her and placed his arms around her. - -“Listen, don’t leave me flat now,” he said. “I’m wild about you, dear, -and I mean it. What’s the use of stalling around all the time? Hell, -life’s short enough, and the next morning slaps you in the face just -the same. I’d marry you in a second if I didn’t know that marriage -never turns out right. Let’s be ourselves, Blanche dear--let’s cut out -this comedy stuff.” - -As he embraced her his words became more sincere than their original -conception had been--somehow transformed by her smooth closeness and -his grudging respect for the note of “class” within her. - -She tried to thrust him away from her, with wobbly arms, and said: -“You’ve got to let me go home, Joe, I’m not myself, I’m not. You -wouldn’t want me to give in to you just because I’ve drank too -much--not if you love me like you say you do. ’F I ever come to you I -don’t want to be coaxed--I want to do it of my own accord, and be glad -about it.” - -“I can’t, you’ve got me up in the air,” he answered, trying to embrace -her again. - -This time she repulsed him with more vigor. - -“I’d like to see you stop me,” she said. “’F you try it you’ll wish you -hadn’t.” - -She walked to the couch and started to put on her hat and coat. His -mind began to work swiftly, repressing his impulse to follow her and -change it to a battle. The determination in her voice might not be -real--he had subdued other girls by resorting to a mingled physical -struggle and pleading at the last moment--but he had a hunch that it -was genuine in her case. She was that rare kind of girl who had to -be handled with extreme, inhuman care, and who had a fighting spirit -within her and became sullenly stubborn when she thought that a man -was trying to force himself upon her. If he controlled himself now, -it might give him the halo of a “real gentleman” to her, and then -afterwards she would come to him of her own accord, just as she had -said. He walked up to her and held one of her hands, gently. - -“What do you think I am--a gorilla ’r something?” he asked. “I’d never -try to keep you here against your will, don’t be silly. I thought you -didn’t mean it ’r else I’d never have acted this way. You’ve got the -wrong slant on me, Blanche. I’ll get a cab for you now and see you -home.” - -She looked at him more softly and said: “Maybe I have, Joe, maybe. You -can’t be blamed ’f you want me, but you’ll just have to wait till I -come to you myself, ’f I ever do.” - -They descended to the street and he rode home with her. He kissed her -lightly, as they stood in the hallway of her building, and said: “When -can I see you again, dear?” - -“I’m too dizzy to think ’bout anything now,” she replied. “Call me up -real soon and we’ll make a date.” - -She managed to reach her room with no greater heralding than a -collision with a chair in the kitchen, and after she had undressed -and turned out the light, she pitched herself upon the bed, as though -she were violently greeting a tried and deliciously safe friend. For -a while, fragments of thought eddied through the growing fog in her -head. Hadn’t she acted like an idiot--like one of those movie queens in -the pictures, always struggling around with some man, like they were -ashamed they had bodies? She was alone now--she’d had her way, and she -was winding up with nothing, nothing except another day of hard word -at the “parlor,” with a heavy head to carry around. Oh, gee, where was -the man with a big chest, and a handsome face--it wouldn’t have to be -pretty, like that of a cake-eater--and a complete understanding of all -her longings, and a wonderful mind, and ... her head grew blank and she -fell asleep. - -On the next morning she had a virulent headache, and felt thwarted -and taciturn, and was quite certain that life was a fraud and that -the future held nothing for her. The mood remained with varying -intensities, during the next three days, but the resiliency of youth -slowly drove it away, and on the third night, as she sat in her room, -preparing for a “date” with Rosenberg, she felt quite skittish and -intactly hopeful. After all, they hadn’t been able to down _her_ yet. -She’d get ahead in the world before she was through, and she’d find -the man that she was looking for, and in the meantime, Mister Campbell, -and Mister Munson, the stock-broker who had called for her in a -limousine on the night before last--her birthday--and Mister Rosenberg, -and all the rest of them, would have to jig to her tunes. She gave an -idle thought to Munson. He was wealthy, and middle-aged, with a large -wart on his broad nose, and his conversation ... _his_ money, and _his_ -friends, and what _he_ would do for her. Yet, thousands of girls would -simply have jumped at the chance to marry him.... All of these men -were just makeshifts along the way, until she came across the man whom -she could really love, and where was the selfishness involved?--her -presence and her talk were worth just as much as theirs, and if they -were not satisfied, there were no ropes tied to them. She never ran -after _them_, did she? - -Again, she berated herself for having as much as seriously considered -Campbell’s proposal to live with her and support her--in a couple of -months at most he would have turned away from her and sought another -girl, and then what would she have had? A sold-out feeling, and a -wondering where to turn next, and the whole problem of her life still -staring at her. And to think that she had been on the verge of giving -in to him that night at his apartment! She would have to stay away from -liquor for a while--it might turn her into a rank prostitute before -she knew what was happening. A girl only needed one good push to throw -everything to the winds, and she knew her weakness and would have -to be more on guard against it. When she met a man whom she loved, -she’d be daring and ardent then and tell the world to go to the devil, -without even worrying about how long it might last, and not merely -because booze had made her feel jolly and helpless and overheated. At -her next meeting with Campbell she intended to tell him that they could -never be more than pleasant friends to each other. - -As for her family, they were a more concrete bug-bear. She knew that -Harry and her father would become pugnacious if she ever deserted her -home without marrying a man of their choice, but in a pinch, what could -they do except strike her, and if they dared.... - -She emerged from her room, and Mabel, who was sharing a newspaper with -Harry, said: “I heard you come in las’ night, Blan. ’F it wasn’t five -bells I’ll eat your gray bonnet. I hope you didn’t let Joe get too -frisky, though I wouldn’t blame you much if you did. Only he won’t be -liable to marry you ’less you hold him off--you know how men are!” - -“I didn’t see Joe last night, but don’t worry, I wasn’t born -yesterday,” Blanche answered. - -“I guess you’re gonna meet that Jew sissy uh yours,” said Harry. “I’ll -give him a boxin’ lesson ’f I run into him.” - -“That’s all you ever have on your mind,” Blanche retorted. “I don’t see -that all this fighting of yours has ever brought you much.” - -“That’s all right, I’m not through yet,” he responded, with an angry -look. “You hate a guy that doesn’t let off a lotta cheap gas and -wriggle his hips.” - -As she left the building to meet Rosenberg at the corner drug store, -two blocks away, she did not notice that Harry was following her. When -she and Rosenberg had exchanged greetings and were about to cross the -street, she heard her brother’s voice cry: “Hey, wait a minnit!” and -they turned around, and she asked: “What do you want, Harry?” - -He ignored her and spoke to Rosenberg. - -“Your name’s Rosinburg, huh?” he asked. “I just wanna be sure.” - -“That’s right,” Rosenberg answered, scenting trouble and wondering what -turn it would take. - -“Well, you keep away from my sister, get me? You’ve been fillin’ her -head with garbage and turnin’ her against her own people, you have, and -I’m gonna put a stop to it. You’re a Jew-kike besides, an’ you better -stick to your own kind and leave our girls alone, see? ’F you know -what’s good for you, you’ll trot along, now.” - -Caution and wrath contended within Rosenberg. This man was a -professional fighter and gangster, and could probably beat him easily -in spite of the difference in their heights, but, by God, he wouldn’t -stand for that kind of insulting interference. - -“You bet I’m a Jew, and I’m proud of it,” he replied. “What gives you -the idea that you can order me around? If Blanche wants to be with me, -that’s her business and not yours.” - -“Well, I’m gonna make it my business,” Harry retorted, doubling his -fists and stepping closer to Rosenberg. - -Blanche, who had been stunned and then inarticulately angry at first, -glared at Harry--of all the nerve, insulting her escort and handing out -commands to _her_. - -“Are you out of your mind, Harry?” she asked. “What do you mean by -butting in like this? I’m not a baby and I’ll do exactly as I please, -and you might as well get that into your dumb head!” - -Harry still ignored her and said to Rosenberg: “Are you gonna beat it -’r not?” - -“You notice I’m still standing here, don’t you?” Rosenberg asked, -trembling a bit, but holding a lurid roar in his head, in spite of the -sick pain in his breast. - -He was in for it--it couldn’t be helped. - -Harry immediately punched Rosenberg in the jaw and stomach, in quick -succession, and Rosenberg reeled back but recovered his balance and -advanced with a snarl and wildly swinging arms. They fought around -the sidewalk for the next half minute, while an increasing circle of -men and women gathered silently about them. The spectators made no -effort to interfere, but watched with that intent, hungrily curious -impersonality that usually possesses city crowds in such a situation. - -Blanche stood with a numb fear and a helpless anger heavy within her, -as she nervously twisted her little white handkerchief and tried to -look over the heads of the spectators. Was there anything in life -except trouble, and browbeating, and every one trying to pull you a -different way ... and that vile brother of hers ... she’d fix him for -this audacity ... poor Rosenberg, how she had unwittingly lured him -into this mess ... he was more nervy that she had ever given him -credit for ... perhaps Harry was half killing him ... poor, poor boy. - -Rosenberg fought desperately, his courage reviving to an unnatural -fervor beneath the repeated stinging blows, but Harry was far too -swift and strong for him, and an uppercut to the jaw finally knocked -Rosenberg to his knees. At this juncture some one yelled: “Jiggers, -here comes a cop!” The ring of onlookers broke instantly, and some of -them sped around the corner and walked swiftly down the side street, -while others stood about indecisively. Harry promptly jumped into a -nearby taxicab and was driven away--he had done his job and didn’t mean -to get arrested for it. Blanche hurried to Rosenberg and helped him -to his feet, just as the policeman, with the proverbial lateness of -his kind, strode up to them. Rosenberg’s left eye was discolored and a -rivulet of blood dropped from his swollen lips. - -“What’s all this rumpus about--where’s the fellow that beat you up?” -the policeman asked, loudly. - -For a moment, Blanche was about to betray her brother, but she -checked herself--what good would it do? Her hand tugged pleadingly at -Rosenberg’s arm. - -“We were walking along when some enemy of his came up and hit him,” she -answered. “I don’t know who the fellow was.” - -“Well, y’r escort knows, all right,” the policeman said, turning to -Rosenberg. “Who was he, come on, loosen up.” - -“I can’t tell you ’cause I don’t want to make any charges against him,” -Rosenberg answered, slowly. “He started it and I had to defend myself, -that’s all.” - -The officer turned disgustedly to the sprinkling of bystanders. - -“Did any of you see what happened?” he demanded. There was a chorus of -“noes” and “not me’s.” - -“Yeh, you always take it in but you get blind afterwards,” he said, -angrily--he was a new policeman and brassily anxious to make arrests -and acquire a record. “Go on, beat it now, don’t stand around blocking -up the corner. And you, girlie, you’d better take him in this drug -store and have his face fixed up.” - -He waved his club as he dispersed the bystanders. - -Blanche helped Rosenberg into the drug store, and the clerk applied a -poultice to Rosenberg’s eye and gave him some iodine for his mouth. -Blanche felt an enormous pity for him--he was physically weak but -he was not a coward, and she wished that she could love him, for he -certainly deserved it. She had a sense of guilt at having caused him -all this pain and trouble, and she became confused at the impossibility -of making any amends to him. More kisses and huggings?--they would -only lead him to an eventual disappointment. Only her love could make -him happy, and that couldn’t be manufactured, no matter how much you -respected a man. Oh, darn, was there ever an answer to anything?... -One thing was certain, though--for his own good she would have to stop -seeing him. Otherwise, she would only continue to lure him into danger -without offering him any reward. - -On his own part, Rosenberg felt a determined resentment--if he was -going to get his head knocked off for her sake, she would have to give -him much more than friendship. There was no sense in fighting for a -girl who didn’t love you, or refused to surrender herself. - -They sat for a moment on one of the drug-store benches. - -“You’d better go home now, Lou,” she said. “We’ll get a cab and I’ll -ride up with you. Your face must be hurting you terribly. Gee, I can’t -tell you how sorry I am that all this happened, Lou. Harry’s nothing -but a low-down cur, and if he ever dares to do anything like this -again, I won’t stay home another twenty-four hours. I’ve simply got to -show them they can’t walk all over me.” - -“Never mind about me, I’ll be all right in a couple of days,” he -answered. “I’ve got something to say to you, Blanche, but we’ll wait’ll -we’re in the cab.” - -As they rode uptown, they were silent for a while, and then he said -slowly: “We’ve got to have a show-down, Blanche. ’F I’m going to buck -your whole family and that rotten gangster brother of yours, I want to -be sure you’ll marry me, first. I’d be a fool otherwise, you know that.” - -“I know,” she answered, despondently, “and I don’t blame you a bit. I -like you lots, Lou, I’ve told you that enough times, and you’ve helped -me so much, showing me how stupid I was, and ... I feel blue about -it. I don’t love you--you give me a sort of peaceful feeling, and I -like to hear you talk, and I don’t mind your ways ... but that isn’t -love.... Oh, I’ve tried to love you, but it just wouldn’t come. It just -wouldn’t.... I guess you’d better stop seeing me, Lou. I’d only bring -you more trouble, and it wouldn’t be fair to you.” - -“I’ll see about it,” he answered, dully. “I wish I’d never met you. -You’ve never brought me anything but sadness, after all I did for you, -and there’s no use keeping it up forever.” - -“Lou, don’t say that,” she replied. “You know I’ve been honest with -you. I never made any promises, never, and I’ve always told you just -how I felt. I’m miserable about the whole thing as it is, and you can -just bet I’ll never forget you, Lou. I hung on to you all this time -because I needed you, that’s true, but I’d never have chased you if you -hadn’t wanted to be with me.” - -“Well, it’s over, I guess,” he said, “and talking won’t help it any, -now.” - -He felt a self-disparaging apathy. He had poured out his thoughts and -ideas to this girl, and set her to thinking as she never had before, -and this was his reward, eh? The whole world was just a selfish swamp. -She had taken his gifts because they were needed revelations to her, -and now she would save her love for some other man, who’d reverse the -process and plunder her of all she had, and feast on the elastic dream -of her body. No one ever loved you unless you walked all over them and -made them worship your highhandedness. He had had a last lesson now, -and henceforth he would have a cheeky, appraising attitude toward -every woman he ran across. - -After they had traded their farewells--reluctant, empty monosyllables, -in which each person was trying to say something more and finding -himself unable--Blanche boarded a Ninth Avenue elevated train and rode -home, with all of her thoughts and emotions uncertain and sluggish. -What was the use of living?--you wound up by hurting the other person, -or else he injured you, with neither of you meaning to do it, and then -you separated, and accused yourself of selfishness without being able -to remedy the matter. But this brother of hers--wait till she got -hold of him! She’d give him the worst tongue-lashing of his life, and -warn him never to interfere in her affairs again. What did he think -she was--a doormat? Brother or no brother, he was a cruel, stupid -man, and things would have to come to an issue between them. She was -self-supporting and of age, and if her family persisted in treating her -as though she were a slave, she would have to leave their roof. - -As she walked into the living-room of her home, she found her mother -seated beside the table, darning socks and munching at an apple. She -threw her hat and coat upon the seamed, leatherine couch, while her -mother asked: “How come you’re back so soon, Blanie, dear? Ten o’clock, -and _you_ walkin’ in! I think the world’s comin’ right to an end, I do -that. D’you have a fight with the man you was with? Tell your ma what -happened now.” - -“Has Harry been back?” Blanche asked. - -“No, he never gets back till early mornin’, and so does Mabel, an’ -Phil, an’ your pa. None of you ever stays to home to keep _me_ comp’ny.” - -“I know you get lonely, ma,” Blanche answered, stroking her mother’s -hair for a moment and trying to feel much more concerned than she was. -“Didn’t Mrs. O’Rourke, or Katie, come down to-night?” - -“They did, sure enough, but it’s not like havin’ your own fam’ly with -you,” her mother replied. - -Blanche looked at her mother, reflectively. Poor ma, she _was_ kind of -stupid, but maybe she had been more intelligent in her younger days and -had had it slowly knocked out of her. She didn’t get much out of life, -that was a fact, and she worked hard all the time, and she never harmed -anybody. Poor ma.... Then Blanche returned to anger at the thought of -Harry. - -“Just wait’ll I see Harry,” she cried. “I’ll tell him a thing or two, I -will!” - -“What’s Harry been doin’, now?” her mother asked. - -“He followed me to-night till I met Lou Rosenberg, and then he walked -up and told Lou to keep away from me, and picked a fight with him. Of -course he beat Lou up--he knows all the tricks, and Rosenberg doesn’t. -Then a cop came along, and Mister Harry Palmer ran into a cab, like the -coward he is! Believe me, I’m going to show all of you, once and for -all, that you can’t boss me around, and if you keep it up I’ll leave -home in a jiffy.” - -“I jes’ know Harry’ll get into jail yet, with all this scrappin’ uh -his,” her mother said, alarmedly. “Maybe this Mister Rosinburg will -have to go to the hospital, an’ then they’ll come after Harry. Did he -hurt him awful bad?” - -“No, he just gave him a black eye and cut his mouth, but that was -bad enough,” Blanche answered. “The whole thing happened so quick I -couldn’t do anything about it, and besides, I never dreamt Harry would -dare to pull a stunt like that. I’m so angry I could punch him if he -was here!” - -“That’s no way to be talkin’ about your own brother,” Mrs. Palmer said. -“It’s I that don’t think he did right, I don’t, but still, he only -meant it f’r your own good. You shouldn’t be goin’ around with Jews, -you shouldn’t, and this fella Rosinburg, he’s been makin’ you act so -silly-like, with all them books that nobody c’n make head ’r tail of. -You’re gettin’ to be ’n old girl now, Blanie, you are, and it’s time -you were thinkin’ of marryin’ a good man to keep you in comfort.” - -“Why isn’t a Jew as good as anybody else?” Blanche asked. “I don’t -love Rosenberg, but believe me, ’f I did, none of you could keep _me_ -away from him. I’m going to stop seeing him ’cause I don’t want him -to get into trouble all for nothing, but I won’t stand for any more -orders--I’m a free person, and I make my own living, and ’f I think I’m -doing right, that’s all I care about.” - -“Blanie, you’re talkin’ somethin’ terribul,” her mother answered, sadly -aghast. “You oughta have more respect for your pa ’n’ ma, you ought. We -raised you up from a kid, an’ we give you everythin’ we could, an’ we -only want to see you do the right thing. You’ve got to settle down and -have a fine, good-looking, Christian fellow, who’s earnin’ good wages. -Course, you must be lovin’ him first--I’d never want you to marry no -one you didn’t care for, I wouldn’t, but that’s not everythin’ either. -I’d like to see you livin’ like a lady, I would, an’ havin’ a fine -home, ’n’ servants, ’n’ the best uh everythin’.” - -“Marry, marry, that’s all you ever think about,” Blanche replied. “You -mean well, ma, but you can just see so far and no farther. What did -you ever get out of marrying, I’d like to know? Nothing but work, and -trouble, and worrying around.” - -“That’s why I want to see you do better, that’s why,” her mother -responded. “It’s I that knows how foolish I was, I know it, and I don’t -want you to go through all the strugglin’ I’ve had. ’F you marry a man -like Mister Campbell, now, you’ll live in a swell apartment an’ you’ll -have the things you want.” - -“You don’t know what I want, ma,” Blanche said, sadly. “I want to be -somebody, and find out what’s the reason for things, and use my head -for something besides a hat-rack. Any girl can marry and let a man -use her--there’s no trick in that. I’m tired of being just like other -people--I want to act, ’r write, ’r paint, and make a name for myself. -You think a woman shouldn’t do anything except have children and be as -comfortable as she can. You can’t understand what I’m looking for, ma.” - -“It’s I that can’t, it’s all foolishness to me,” her mother replied, -perplexedly. “I don’t see why a woman should be anythin’ ’cept a good -wife ’n’ a good mother, ’f she finds a man that’ll treat her right ’n’ -provide f’r her. This bein’ somebody you’re always talkin’ about, I -don’t see how it’ll ever make you happy, I don’t. It’s your heart that -counts most, an’ nothin’ else. You never talked like this ’fore you met -that Rosinburg. I’m glad you’re not goin’ to meet him again.” - -“We’re both just wasting our words--let’s cut it out,” Blanche said, -depressedly, as she walked into her room. - -Her mother looked after her with a sorrowful, uncomprehending -expression. What was her poor daughter coming to, with all this -unlady-like nonsense, and all this refusing to listen to the counsel of -her family, who only wanted her to have a happy and respected future. -Well, maybe she’d change, now that she wasn’t seeing that Jew-fellow -any more. Jews were human beings, but they were tricky and queer and -always out after the money, and they had no right to be picking on -Gentile girls.... Of course, if Blanche didn’t change, then her pa and -Harry would have to take hold of her. She mustn’t be allowed to go to -the dogs and ruin herself and her chances. While she, the mother, would -never let the menfolks abuse her daughter or lay their hands on her, -she still felt that they would have to act sternly to bring Blanche to -her senses. It couldn’t be helped as long as Blanche refused to behave. - -When Blanche rose on the following morning, Harry was still asleep, -and they did not collide until she returned from work that night. -The family were seated around the supper-table, and Mabel looked at -Blanche, with curiosity and reproach interwoven, while her father -squinted questioningly at her, and Philip squirmed in his chair, -like some one waiting for a dynamite detonation. He hated family -quarrels--you couldn’t agree with both sides and yet you were always -expected to. He felt that the others were “too hard” on Blanche, and he -hoped that she would give them a piece of her mind. - -Harry had a nonchalant mien which placated the fear within him which -he did not quite admit to himself--there was something about Blanche -that he couldn’t fathom, and no matter how much he sought to squelch -this alien foe, with word and action, it never died--a derided but -still-threatening specter. - -Blanche was silent until she had seated herself at the table, and then -she burst forth. - -“Harry, I’m going to tell you something--’f you ever beat up any one -I’m with again, and try to order me around, I’ll break something over -your head! Just try it once more and see what happens!” - -“I’ll do that little thing,” Harry answered. “The last person I was -afraid of, he died ten years ago.” - -“That’s just how I feel,” Blanche replied. “’F I’m not left alone from -now on, I’m going on the war-path.” - -“Bla-anie, you mustn’t talk that way, an’ you, too, Harry,” Mrs. Palmer -said. “I never, never heard of a brother an’ sister carryin’ on like -this! I do think Blanche oughta listen more to what we tell her, I do, -but breakin’ things over y’r heads, why I never heard the like of it. -You won’t help things that way.” - -“See here, Blanche, we’ve got to lay down the law to you,” her father -said. “No more goin’ around with Jews, and no more talkin’ back all the -time. I’m your father an’ I’m gonna put my foot down. You’re not a bad -kid, I don’t say that, but you’re too fresh, an’ you think you know -it all. You better stop readin’ them phony books and pay attention to -yourself, an’ act like a reg’lar girl.” - -“Suppose I leave home, what’ll you do about it?” Blanche asked. - -“I can’t stop you from doin’ that, but ’f you do, don’t think you can -come back here again--not ’less you’re married, anyway,” her father -replied. “We’ll all be through with you then, an’ you’ll be no daughter -uh mine.” - -“I don’t know what’s gotten into you, Blanche,” Mabel said. “You don’t -seem to have any sense nowadays.” - -“Of course you don’t,” answered Blanche. “All you care about is having -a good time, and working men for all they’re worth, and hunting around -for a fellow with money who’ll marry you. I want to do something that -counts, and I want to look into things. That’s all a mystery to you.” - -“Is that so-o?” Mabel asked, bridling up. “I’ve got just as good a head -as you have, even ’f I don’t go around with a chip on my shoulder, like -you do, and tell people I’m better than they are. I’m gonna be a rich -lady and be up in the world ’fore I’m through with the game, but you’ll -wind up with nothing but that hot air you’re always spouting.” - -“Well, I think you’re all too rough on Blanche,” Philip said. “Maybe -she ought to marry and settle down, but it’s her look-out. ’F she wants -to make a name for herself, and study something, I don’t see anything -so awful about it.” - -“You’re the best one in this fam’ly, Phil,” said Blanche, with a -grateful look. “You’re not so wise, but you do believe in letting -people alone.” - -“Yes, you an’ him are twins, all right,” Harry interposed, “but he -knows enough to keep quiet most of the time, and you don’t.” - -“Now, Harry, what did I ever do against you?” Philip asked. - -“Not a thing, but you wouldn’t side with Blanche all the time ’f you -wasn’t like she is,” Harry answered. - -The argument went on, with Blanche subsiding to a hopeless silence, but -as the meal ended, it became more indifferent. Their appeased appetites -brought the others a brief, sluggish contentment, and they felt sure -that it was all just a “lot of jawing,” and that Blanche would never -really revolt--she was a Palmer, after all. - -The next week passed quietly enough, with Blanche and Harry casting -disdainful looks at each other but rarely speaking, and the rest of -the family persuaded that it might be better to leave Blanche alone -as long as she failed to do anything definitely objectionable. Then, -one evening, just after Blanche had returned from work, a loud rapping -sounded on the front door, and after her mother had responded, Blanche -heard a gruff voice asking: “Is this where Mabel Palmer lives, huh?” -When her mother had answered yes, the gruff voice continued: “Well, -we’re detectives from the Sixth Precinct, and we want to have a talk -with you people.” - -“Oh, Lord, what’s the matter--what’s happened to Mabel?” Mrs. Palmer -asked, agitatedly, as she entered the living-room, with the two -detectives walking behind her. - -They were tall, burly men, in dark, ill-fitting suits, slouch hats -of brown, and heavy, black shoes, and one of them had a florid, -impassive face, while the other was tanned and more openly inquiring. -They sat down in chairs and looked the Palmers over. Harry and his -father sought to appear calm and careless but could not repress an -involuntary nervousness--there were several shady spots in their lives -that shrank from the impending searchlight, but these bulls wouldn’t -be acting this way if they really _knew_ anything--while Philip looked -warmly innocent--they didn’t have anything on _him_--and Mrs. Palmer -wrung her hands and told herself that all of her dire prophecies had -been fulfilled. Blanche was curious but undisturbed--little Mabel -Know-Everything had gotten into trouble at last, but what was it? - -“Your girl’s locked up at Arlington Market,” the florid detective said. -“You know why, don’tcha?” - -“My poor little Mabel, what’s happened to her?” Mrs. Palmer asked. “I -don’t know a thing that she’s done, I swear I don’t!” - -“That’s straight, we don’t know what it’s all about,” Harry said, and -his father eagerly corroborated him. - -“Well, we nabbed her this afternoon on Broadway,” the other detective -replied. “She’s been mixing up with a lotta bond-thieves, and we think -she’s one of their go-betweens. She’s been seen all the time with -the brains uh the gang, hanging around cabarets with him. We got him -yesterday, and we’ll scoop in the rest of them before to-morrow. If you -people don’t know anything about this, it’s mighty funny you let your -daughter associate with a gang like that.” - -“Yeh, why do you let her run loose all the time?” the florid detective -asked. - -“I’ve always told her not to be so wild, I’ve always,” answered Mrs. -Palmer, “but she never listened to me. She’s really a good girl -off’cer, she didn’t mean any harm, but she likes to have men payin’ -attentions to her. I know she hasn’t done anything wrong, I know it. -She prob’bly thought those men was honest, that’s it, an’ she b’lieved -all the lies they told her.” - -“That’s what they all say,” the other detective replied, gruffly. - -“You’re wrong, Mabe’s a straight kid,” Mr. Palmer said. “She got into -bum comp’ny an’ didn’t know it, that must be it.” - -“That’s what _you_ say, but we got a diff’rent idea,” the florid -detective retorted. “Sure, you’d take up for her, that’s an old trick.” - -“I cert’nly will,” the father answered, spiritedly. “’F you’ve got any -evidence against her, all right, but I’ll have to hear it first ’fore I -b’lieve it. I’ll take up for my own daughter any time, any time.” - -“Sure, I understand,” the other detective said, more amiably. “All we -know’s that she went around with that gang, hitting up the night clubs, -but we haven’t connected her with anything yet. It looks bad for her, -that’s all.” - -“We’ll put her through a grilling to-night and find out more about -it”--the florid detective suddenly turned to Blanche. “What d’you do -for a living?” - -“I work at Madame Jaurette’s Beauty Parlor, on Fifth Avenue near -Twenty-sixth,” Blanche responded, coolly. “Come down there some day and -I’ll curl your blond locks for you. They need it.” - -The detective grinned and replied: “We’ll look you up, don’t worry.” - -“And you, what’s your trade?” he asked her father. - -“I don’t do much now ’cause my leg’s on the bum,” Mr. Palmer replied. -“I used to be a bartender in the old days when we had a little freedom -in this town.” - -“Well, you’d better stop loafing around and get a job,” the detective -advised. - -“I always work when I’m able to,” said Mr. Palmer. “I used to manage -my boy here, Harry, Battling Murphy--maybe you’ve seen him scrap -somewheres. He got a raw deal an’ they barred him from the ring, but -he’ll be back there ’fore long, don’t worry.” - -The florid detective looked closely at Harry and then said: “Damned if -it isn’t Bat’ Murphy himself! I won some dough on you once when you was -fighting Kid Morley down at the Terrace. Why didn’t you tell us who you -was?” - -“You was askin’ my folks questions an’ I didn’t wanna butt in,” Harry -replied as he shook hands, warmly, with the detective. - -“I hear you been cutting up with a bad gang lately, Bat’,” the other -detective interposed, in a tone of friendly reproof. “Better cut it out -and get back into condition again. We wouldn’t like to pull you in, -y’know.” - -“You c’n lay a bet I will,” Harry replied. “I’m no has-been yet, I’m -tellin’ you I knocked a coupla fellas out at the gym the other day.... -An’ now about this poor kid sister uh mine. She isn’t a bad one, but -you know how fellas c’n fill a girl up with a lotta phony gab. I don’t -think she knew a damn thing about what was goin’ on.” - -“You can bail her out, all right, when we’re through putting the -question to her,” the other detective said. “Know any one to go to?” - -“Know any one, I’ll say we do,” Harry answered. “Why, Bill O’Brien, the -Wigwam chief in this district’s a good friend uh the old man, an’ me -too. He’ll put up the coin in a second.” - -“All right, come down to Arlington Market court to-morrow morning, -ten sharp, when she’s arraigned, and we’ll see what we can do,” the -detective said, with respect in his voice, as both of them rose. “And -by the way, who’s this man in the corner?” - -“He’s my brother Phil, works in a drug store a coupla blocks away,” -Harry answered. - -“A-all right, I guess you’re all straight enough,” the detective -replied, genially. “Only, if your kid sister gets out of this, you -better keep a strict tab on her. She’s a flighty one and no mistake.” - -“It’s sure I am that this’ll teach poor Mabel a lesson,” Mrs. Palmer -said, with a sad eagerness. “An’ to think she’s sittin’ in a cell -right now. It’s terribul, it is!” - -“We-ell, don’t take it to heart, she may be out soon,” the other -detective answered. - -The detectives departed, and after Harry had cautiously opened the door -and assured himself that they had gone, he came back and said: “We’ve -gotta get poor Mabe outa this. I’m gonna run over to Tenth Avenue now -an see ’f I c’n get ahold of O’Brien.” - -“I wonder whether they’ve got the goods on her,” his father said. “I -can’t think a wise girl like Mabel would lay herself open to five years -in the pen. It don’t seem reas’nable. She musta had the wool pulled -over her eyes.” - -“It’s li’ble to happen to any girl,” Harry answered. “When a girl goes -out with a guy, how’s she to know whether he’s a crook ’r not? Besides, -if Mabel was in on it she’d have been flashin’ a roll around here, and -if she’s got one she’s sure been hidin’ it well, I’ll say.” - -“Well, I do think she oughta be more careful ’bout who she goes with,” -Mrs. Palmer said. “I swear, between Mabel and Blanche, I’m goin’ right -to my grave, I am.” - -“Aw, don’t take on so, Kate,” her husband answered. “Mabel’s not like -Blanche anyway--she don’t put on the dog an’ tell her folks they don’t -know nothin’. She jus’ wants to have a good time an’ land a good man -f’r herself, and she’ll get over this mess all right. She made a -mistake in the crowd she went with--they prob’bly told her they was -rich business men.” - -“I suppose I’ll have to get arrested before any of you’ll think I know -something,” Blanche broke in, disgustedly. “I’m sorry Mabel got into -this fix, but if you try to play men for their money, you’ve got to -expect that they’ll turn the tables on you, the first chance they get.” - -“G’wan, you’re jes’ jealous uh her,” Harry said. “You’d do the same -thing ’f you had nerve enough.” - -“Now, now, this is no time f’r scrappin’,” his father interposed. -“We’ve got to hustle around to O’Brien an’ see what he c’n do f’r us.” - -The two Palmers departed, and Blanche and Philip tried to soothe the -mother, who had begun to weep and rock in her chair. Blanche felt a dab -of malice toward her sister--Mabel was so dreamless, and never tried -to understand Blanche’s hopes and desires, and was always scoffing and -sneering--but it was swallowed up by a sense of enforced compassion. -Perhaps Mabel was just a misguided girl whose head had been turned by -the flatteries of men, and perhaps she would wake up now and begin to -think, and question herself and her life, to a small degree at any -rate. In addition, Blanche was relieved at this turn in events, since -it might distract the attention of her family and make them drop for a -time their insistence upon marriage, and their naggings about Campbell, -and their jeers at the books that she read. She went to bed early that -night, and reclined awake for a long time, spinning her hopes from the -dark texture of the room. After all, why did she waste so much time in -arguing with her family? They would never understand her in a million -years, and they meant well in spite of all of their meanness, but she -had simply passed beyond them. They wanted her to be like them, and -share their ideas of happiness and propriety, and they used cruel -methods and threats without knowing how cruel they were because they -felt that the end could apologize for the means. It was all inevitable, -and the best thing that she could do would be quietly to pack her -belongings some day and move out to some rooming-house uptown before -they knew what was happening. Then let them rave all they wanted--what -could they do? - -Besides, her leaving would convince them that she “meant business,” and -most of their bullying was probably due to the fact that they still -thought that they could force her to obey them. When she was finally -living in a place of her own, she’d go to some art or dramatic school -at night--maybe she could learn to draw after all, since she had been -very clever with sketches when she was a child at school, and still -poked around with a pencil now and then. Or again, why couldn’t she be -able to act on the stage, if she were only taught how to handle her -voice and her limbs. These famous actresses, they hadn’t been perfect -and accomplished in their cradles, and if she studied English and -learned how to speak more correctly, she might have as good a chance as -they had had. Nothing ever came to you unless you had a desperate faith -in yourself. She would have to work long and hard at these things, she -knew that, but she worked hard every day as it was, without deriving -any satisfaction from it. - -An image of Rosenberg slipped back to her. Poor boy, wonder what he -was doing now? She owed a great deal to him, and the only payment that -she had given had been to jilt him. Was it always as one-sided as this -between men and women--always a kind of slave-and-master affair, with -one person taking everything and the other person hanging on because -he couldn’t think of any one else and was grateful for the scraps that -were thrown to him? She hadn’t meant to hurt this boy--he had wanted -feelings that were impossible to her, and her body had often endured -his hands out of pity, and her only reason for guilt was that she had -kept on seeing him. But she had needed, oh, she had needed all of the -spurrings-on, and answers, and thoughts, and beliefs in her, which he -had poured out--yes, it had been selfishness on her part, but she was -beginning to think that people could never avoid being selfish to each -other in some respect, even though they hid it behind all kinds of -other names and assertions. They _could_ make it aboveboard, though, -by confessing the unevenness of their relations, and by not demanding -anything that each person was not compelled to give of his own accord. -The ideal, of course, would be a man and a woman who selfishly craved -all of each other, for deeply permanent reasons, in which case each -one would become a happy plunderer--did such a thing ever quite come -off?... Her thoughts trailed out into sleep. - -On the next morning at the Beauty Parlor, Blanche was distracted, and -a little uneasy about her sister--after all, the poor kid was just -conceited and flighty, with no real harm in her--and when Philip came -in at noon and told her that Mabel had been released, for lack of -evidence, Blanche was glad that the matter had blown over. When Blanche -returned from her work that night, Mabel was seated in the one armchair -in the apartment, with the rest of the family grouped admiringly around -her. Now that it was all over, they regarded her as something of a -heroine--one who had tussled with their never-recognized but potent -enemy, the law, and emerged scot-free--and although they qualified this -attitude with warnings and chidings, it dominated them, nevertheless. -The mother remained an exception--she hoped that her daughter would act -more soberly now, and leave her nightly dissipations, and mingle with -more honest men. - -“Gee, I’m glad you’re out,” Blanche said, after kissing her sister. -“Did they treat you rough after they arrested you?” - -“They wasn’t so bad,” Mabel answered. “They put me through a coupla -third degrees, first when they brought me in, and then another one -’bout nine in the ev’ning, tryin’ to trip me up, y’know. They said they -knew I was a prostitute, jes’ to get my goat, and I started to cry and -said it was a darn lie--I jes’ couldn’t help it.” - -“They pull that off on ev’ry girl,” Harry said. “’F she is one, then -she’ll own up cause she thinks they know all about it--that’s the game.” - -“How’d you happen to get in with a crowd like that?” Blanche asked. - -“I didn’t know what they was,” Mabel replied, aggrievedly. “Gee whiz, -you can’t follow a fella around an’ see what he’s doin’, can you? This -Bob Sullivan, now, he told me he was a book-maker at the races, an -ev’rybody I knew seemed to think he was. Then he had a friend, Jack -Misner, said he was a jockey--a little runt of a guy. Bob swore all the -time he was gone on me. He’s a nice fella at that, he is, an’ I’m darn -sorry they got him.” - -“Well, you shouldn’t be,” her mother said. “When any one’s dishonest -they oughta get punished for it, they ought. This world would be a fine -world, it would, ’f ev’rybody went round and robbed ev’rybody else. An’ -what’s more, I do hope you’ll stay home more now, Mabel dear, an’ keep -outa trouble, I do.” - -“Aw, pipe down, Kate,” her husband broke in. “She’s gotta size up her -men better fr’m now on, sure, but you can’t expect her to sit around -here all night. She c’n have all the fun she wants, I don’t mind, long -as she looks them over more careful an’ don’t swallow all their gab.” - -“It’s jes’ no use f’r me to say anythin’,” Mrs. Palmer answered, -dolefully. “None uh you ever pays any attention to Kate Palmer till -it’s too late, and then it’s ma do this f’r me, an’ ma do that.” - -“I’ll watch out more, ma, I will,” Mabel said. “When I meet a fella -with a big wad I’m gonna find out how he makes it ’fore I let him take -me out. A girl’s gotta protect herself, that’s a fact.” - -“It wouldn’t hurt you to go out with a few men that work for a -living--just for a change,” Philip said. “Maybe they won’t take you -to swell joints, maybe not, but they’ll get you into less trouble all -right.” - -“Don’t wish any uh Blanche’s kind on me,” Mabel retorted. “When I want -to go to a sixty-cent movie-house, ’r sit down on a bench in the park, -I’ll have my head tested to see ’f I’m all there.” - -Her little, straight nose turned up, and her loosely small lips drew -together to a tight complacency. Her plump face was more drawn, and -hollows were under her eyes, and a trace of fright still lingered in -the black eyes, but the expression on her face was one of rebuked -but still ruling impudence. She told herself that she had been stung -once by men--an incredible incident--and would henceforth set out to -revenge herself upon them. It was all just a fight to see which side -would get the best of the other, and she wouldn’t be caught napping -twice. Her goal was to marry a man with money and good looks, and she -wouldn’t allow anything to deter her. Beneath these determinations, -sentimentalities and fears, aroused by the shock of her arrest, -told her that she was flirting too closely with danger, and that it -might be better to look for a stalwart youth with a laughable “line” -and a movie-hero face--she was tired, after all, of letting homely, -slow-tongued fellows kiss and hug her because they spent money to give -her the gay nights that were due to every girl, and then again, she -really ought to consider her poor ma, who was always fretting about -her. Aw, well, she _would_ slow down just a little and stay home -once in a while, and select her escorts with more of an eye to their -safety and their physical attraction, and with money alone no longer -all-supreme, but she would never subside to a back-number--not she. -Plenty of girls ended by catching rich young men with a dash to them, -and she could do the same thing if she kept a level head. - -As Blanche listened to her sister, a disapproving sadness welled up -within her--same old Mabel, not a hairbreadth changed. People seemed to -be born in one way and to stick to it for the rest of their lives. She -herself had never been quite like Mabel, even when she, Blanche, had -been much more stupid than she might be now. She had always hunted for -something without knowing what it was, and had always been “easier,” -and more unhappy, and more concerned with the “inside” of herself. - -“Men and men, that’s all you’ve got on your mind,” she said to her -sister, softly. “’F you were ever wrecked now on some island, like I -read about once, with nothing but another girl to keep you company, I -think you’d go mad. You wouldn’t know what to do with yourself.” - -“I’d like to know who would,” Mabel answered. “Why, even you, smarty, -you’ve got to step out with diff’rent fellas, I notice. I suppose I’ll -have to excuse myself f’r being a woman, next thing I know.” - -“That’s your only excuse,” Blanche said, as she turned away. - -“Well, it’s a good enough one to suit me,” Mabel retorted, irascibly. - -Blanche walked into her room without replying. What was the use of -speaking to people when your words went into one of their ears and -instantly flew out of the other? Her future course of action had been -determined. If her family ceased to bother her, she would continue -to live with them, and go to some school at least five nights out of -each week and reserve the other two for sessions with men and for -relaxation. She wouldn’t live like a nun, that was ridiculous, but -she would make a serious effort to master some profession or form of -expression that would be much higher and more inwardly satisfying -than doing the same thing with her hands every day. And if her family -continued to be meddlesome and dictating, she would move out some -morning when the menfolk were away. - -During the next two days her existence was undisturbed. The Palmers had -been somewhat chastened by Mabel’s arrest, and they had to admit that, -in spite of the disagreeable mystery that Blanche had become, she _did_ -manage to keep herself out of difficulties. Their confidence in Mabel -was not as great as it had been, and it affected to a moderate degree -their temporary reactions toward Blanche. - -On the third afternoon, Campbell telephoned Blanche at the Beauty -Parlor and arranged to meet her that night. She wanted to tell him that -he would have to remain content with her friendship and that otherwise -she could not see him again, and that her promise to “think over” his -offer of an apartment and a shrouded alliance had been caused merely -by her desperation in the face of barriers that withheld her from her -desires. She intended to tell him frankly that she had resolved to -permit him no greater physical liberties than a kiss now and then, -and that she had made up her mind to reserve herself for the advent -of an actual love. If he still wanted to take her out under those -conditions, she’d be willing to see him once a week at most--he _was_ -a jolly sedative in his way--but he would have to show her that he had -a serious mind and a sincere love for her before she would reconsider -his pleas. After all, there was such a thing as slowly falling in love -with a man, if he made you entirely reverse your previous image of him. -Campbell would never closely approach her ideals, she knew that, but -perhaps he might make a respectable progress toward it, in which case -she might accept him as the best real prospect possible to her. - -She dressed to meet him that night, with a division of cautious and -sanguinely impertinent feelings seething within her. As they were -walking down Ninth Avenue, he looked admiringly at her round white felt -hat, trimmed with a zigzag dash of black velvet, and her plain yellow -pongee dress that had an air of subdued sprightliness about it, and her -long, black coat with squirrel fur at the bottom. These girls, working -for twenty-five a week, or thirty at most, how on earth did they manage -to doll up like Peggy Hopkins Joyce? Funny too, they never seemed to -retain this penny-transforming ability after they were married! - -“You look like a million bucks, to-night,” he said. “I’d give a week’s -salary to know how you do it.” - -“Well, listen to Mister Innocent--never heard about instalment plans, -and bargain hunting, and getting things cheap ’cause you know the head -buyer.” - -“Oh, even at that it’s the world’s eighth wonder to me,” he replied. -“I’m afraid to take you any place to-night. Everybody I know’ll be -trying to horn in on us.” - -“Why, I thought competition was your middle name,” she said, brightly. - -“No, it’s only an alias--too much of it’s as bad as too little,” -he answered. “Anyway, don’t you get tired of scrimping and putting -yourself out for clothes all the time?” - -“What ’f I do?” she asked. - -“Well, you know what I told you time before last,” he said. “I’ll pay -all the bills and like it, any time you’re ready. You said you were -going to think it over--remember?” - -“Yes, I do,” she replied, soberly. “I’ll talk to you about it later on -to-night. And don’t call a cab, Joe. Let’s walk a few blocks, for a -change. You always act like you hated to use your legs.” - -“I use ’em enough behind the lights to make up for all the riding I -do,” he answered, amused. - -They strolled over to Broadway, and were silent most of the time, save -for commenting on some of the people striding past them. When they -reached the corner of Broadway and one of the Forties, he said: “Say, -Blanche, a friend of mine, Jack Donovan, ’s pulling a party to-night in -his place. There’ll be two ’r three chorines from the Passing Gaieties -show, and a couple of respectable crooks--um, I mean bootleggers--that -kind of thing. I said I’d be up about eleven-thirty but I won’t go if -you don’t want to. We could drop in at The Golden Mill and kill time -until then.” - -“Sure I’ll come, ’f it’s not going to be too wild,” she replied. “I -never was much on those parties where they try to pass you around like -you was a dish of ice cream.” - -“Strictly pairs at Jack’s place, and the same pair lasts through the -night,” he said. “Stick to the woman you’re with ’r take the elevator -down--that’s the rule.” - -“’F there’s too much booze flowing, that elevator-boy sure must be kept -busy,” she retorted, with a laugh. - -“Oh, we run it ourselves--we’re accommodating,” he said, with a grin. - -After they were seated at a table in The Golden Mill and had finished -half of their highballs, she said: “Joe, I’m going to talk serious to -you. I was just in a silly mood when I said last time I’d think about -living with you. It wouldn’t work out--it never does unless two people -really love each other. ’F I ever fall hard in love with you, Joe, I’ll -do it in a minute. I’m not afraid, but I don’t love you now. Besides, -it’s not just a question of some man, with me. I’ve made up my mind -to try and be an artist or an actress--don’t laugh now--and I wonder -whether you could help me any.” - -He listened to her with chagrin and amusement--going after her was -like wading for eels, and she certainly had this “higher aspiration” -bug with a vengeance. These girls now, they were amenable enough -when their only desires were a good time, fine clothes, and a man who -wouldn’t give them the shivers, but the moment they started to get this -“self-expression,” I-want-to-be-different craze, boy, what a tough -proposition they became. Still, even that could be turned to your -advantage if you “yessed” it along and insinuated that you alone could -cause it to succeed. In addition, in spite of his cynical feelings, he -could not quite down his respect for her determination to struggle out -of her present life. She was no ordinary girl, that was certain, and in -a way she was a marvel, in view of the family that she came from and -the half-dirty, low-down flat in which she’d been raised. She probably -had no acting ability--they hardly ever did--but you could never be -sure about _her_; she was little Miss Surprise herself. Well, if he -could only land her first, he’d be willing to help her along--why not? - -He looked at her eager face, that was not quite pretty but boldly -attractive and well-spaced, and the almost full drop of her bosom -rising and falling more quickly as she talked, and the restrained -sturdiness of her lips. Beyond a doubt, he’d give his right hand to -have her, and yet he couldn’t absolutely tell himself why. - -“Well, well, Blanchie’s gone and got stage-struck,” he answered, -lightly. “You know I’ll do anything for you, you know that, but I don’t -want to see you wasting your time. This acting game’s a long, hard -proposition--some get in overnight but they’re damn few in number. -I know girls who’ve been in it for years, and all they’ve got is a -diamond ring in pawn and a favorite chair at the booking agencies. A -girl’s got to have more than ambition to make any one notice her on -Broadway, nowadays. How d’you know you’re fit to be an actorine?” - -“I don’t, but I want a try-out just the same,” she replied. “How’ll I -ever know what I’m cut out for unless I go to it and see what I can -do? ’F I turn out to be a frost as ’n actress, I’ll take up drawing -’r something else. There must be something I can do as good as other -people, besides working like a nigger every day.” - -“Sure there must,” he said, soothingly. “I’m with you all the time--I -like to see a girl who can think of something else besides putting on -the glad rags and lifting the glasses. You’ve got the stuff in you, -and it’s never had a chance to come out, and I’m the one man you know -who can help you in the acting line, don’t forget that. I’ll get you -a try-out for some play--just a little part, y’know, where you walk -across the stage ’n’ say ‘Madame, will you have the tea served now, or -next Monday?’ I’ll make them take you, too.” - -“Will you?” she asked, eagerly. “Say, you’re a brick, Joe!” - -“Not my head, anyways,” he said, smiling. “D’you know, I’m really gone -about you. It took two years to turn the trick--little Joe hates to be -caught, he does--but ’f I’m not in love with you now, it’s so close, I -can feel the breath on my neck. Why don’t you hook up with me and let -me have you meet the right people and push you along? You’re not in -love with me now, but you like me pretty well at that, don’t you?” - -“I do,” she answered, “but I want to find out first whether you really -mean all of this, and whether you’re really int’rested in the same -things I am. You mustn’t be angry at this. It’s a serious thing to me, -and I want to be sure. Besides, ’f you do care for me, why can’t you -help me even ’f we _are_ just friends?” - -“Of course I will,” he responded, with an easy heartiness. “It’s not -like a business transaction to me.” - -If she became more and more dependent upon his assistance, she couldn’t -hold out forever.... They departed from the cabaret, after another -highball, and went to the apartment of his friend, Jack Donovan. -Donovan was a sturdy man of forty, whose five-feet-eleven were -supported by flat feet and buttressed by the girth of a paunch. His -head was one-quarter bald and his black hair was wetly combed down, and -the oval of his face, rising from an almost double chin, was a morbid -calculation, as though he were weary of his stage-laughs and smiles, -and wondering what in the devil was so funny about life, anyway, except -that people liked to pay money to be joshed into believing that it was. -He did a monologue in vaudeville--one of those acts in which a portly -“Senator Callahan,” in a frock coat and a high hat, cracks jokes about -the events and foibles and personages of the day, with many a crudely -ironical fling at grafting officials and high prices and prohibition, -with lower puns and slapstick harangues against the prevailing -immodesty of feminine attire--“They’d wear ’em two feet above the -knees if they weren’t afraid it would completely discourage a guy.” He -greeted Joe with an off-hand amiability, and looked at Blanche, after -the introduction, with a side-long intentness. Joe knew how to pick -’em, all right--she wasn’t a doll-baby but she had class to her. - -The two front parlors of the apartment had an ebony baby-grand piano, -and Louis Sixteenth furniture picked up at auctions and standing -beside the squat, varnished products of Grand Rapids--an oak sideboard -with large, glass knobs and an oak settee. Some bottles and other -accessories were on the sideboard, and Donovan returned to his -interrupted task of making a round of cocktails. The other guests -had already arrived--the two chorus girls mentioned by Campbell, -and another woman whose occupation might not have desired a public -announcement, and two business men who dabbled in liquor-selling on the -side. - -One of the chorus girls, Flo Kennedy, looked like the wax clothes dummy -that can be observed in shop-windows, and hardly showed much more -animation, except that when she spoke, the figure became slightly more -crude and less aloof. Her round face was inhumanly symmetrical below -her dark-brown hair, and its expression was, well, a no-trespassing -sign, over the composed expectation of masculine advances. She -wore a short-skirted thing of terra-cotta silk and cream lace, and -flesh-colored stockings rolled just below the knees, and black pumps. -Her companion, Grace Henderson, was a short, slender, Jewish girl in a -jauntily plain black gown, with bobbed, blondined hair and a mincing, -sensuous glisten on her face--pretty in spite of the tell-tale curve -at the end of her nose. The third woman, Madge Gowan, was silent and -dark, with a half-ugly, long face, whose shapely cheeks and chin partly -diminished the opposite effect, and a fully curved, strong body. - -One of the business men, Sol Kossler, a Jew in his early forties, was -roly-poly and half bald, with a jowled, broad-nosed face on which -smug and sentimental confidences were twined--one of those merchants -who succeed more through luck than because of hard shrewdness--while -the other, Al Simmonds, was robust but not stout and had a shock of -wavy black hair, and the depressed face of a man who knew that he was -hoodwinking himself, in his life and thoughts, but could not spy any -other recourse. In their neatly pressed and creased gray suits, both of -the men looked as though their objective were the immaculate erasure of -individuality. - -The conversation reverberated with continual laughter. The men expected -each other to utter wise-cracks, and digs at each other’s weaknesses, -and humorous tales, and each one was constantly egging the other on -to self-surpassing retorts. The women were not expected to do much -except listen, and laugh or smile at the right places, and join in the -intervals of more placid gossip about theatrical people, and indicate -a sexual responsiveness without becoming demonstrative (sex would have -been boresome to all of them without the assumption of gayly parrying -uncertainties, even though they knew in advance what the night’s -outcome would be, pro or con). - -To Blanche, they were an emptily hilarious lot, out for the usual -things that men and women wanted from each other, and merely laughing -and idling on the way to them--not at all interested in the big, -serious things of which she had had a revealing glimpse--but they -_were_ funny at times, and it _was_ pleasant to be a young woman -patently desired by men, and the chance to be amused and self-forgetful -for one night was not to be sneezed at. She joined in the repartee -between Kossler and Donovan. - -“I hear you sold some shirts to Mayor Kelly the other day,” Donovan -said. “One more vote shot to hell.” - -“I voted for him last time when he bought them from Sax and Mulberry,” -Kossler retorted. “Li’l’ Sol can’t be corrupted, ’less it’s some one of -the other sex, and even then, corrupted wouldn’t be exactly the word, -y’know.” - -“Yes, interrupted would be better there,” Donovan replied, as the -others laughed. - -“Why d’you want to vote for a fellow like Kelly?” Blanche asked. “He’s -just a wind-bag--always telling how much he’s going to do for the -public, but that’s where he ends.” - -Kossler lifted his eyebrows--women were not supposed to be interested -in politics (middle-aged club-women, and professionals in both parties, -and socialists excepted). - -“Now, girlie, what d’you know about it?” he asked, indulgently. -“They’ve all got to promise a lot--that’s in the game--but old Kelly’s -better than the rest of them at that. He’s dead honest and he can’t be -bought.” - -“So’s ’n elephant,” Blanche retorted. “You can buy one cheap at the -Bronx zoo and put him up at the next election.” - -Donovan looked pityingly at her and said: “My Gawd, another socialist.” - -“I’m not, but I come from the Hell’s-Kitchen district and I’m wise to -politics, all right,” Blanche answered. - -“Everything you say is right with me,” Simmonds interjected. “It’s a -foxy-pass, anyway, to argue with a woman at a party--you’ll end up by -singing: ‘Sitting in a co-orner, that’s all I do-o.’” - -“Maybe it is,” said Blanche, while the others laughed. - -Flo and Grace regarded her with a petulant suspicion--she was of the -smart, snippy kind, and furthermore, she’d better not try to go after -_their_ men; they’d pull her hair out if she did. - -“Now, you all stop razzing my Blanche,” Campbell broke in. “She’s just -a little girl trying to make both ends connect in the big, wicked city.” - -“Razzing her!--it’s just the other way,” Simmonds said. “D’you ever -balance a hot coal on the tip of your nose?” - -“It only looks that way--I was out on a party last night,” Campbell -replied. “I heard a good one, though, the other day. Tom Jarvey was -walking along the street, and he runs into Hammond, the village -cut-up. ‘I hear you was seen walkin’ with your grandmother the other -day--that’s a nice thing to do,’ said Hammond. Jarvey comes back: ‘She -didn’t look that way when I married her--you know how it is.’” - -The rest of them laughed, and Grace said: “That’s like the husband I -ditched last year. He was a prize-package until I saw him putting his -false toofies in a glass uh water one night. Hot snakes!” - -“Let’s call it a draw and put the phonograph on, and fox-trot,” Flo -said. - -The party broke into dancing, with regular intervals in which rounds -of cocktails circulated. The silently dark woman sat on a couch, with -a fixed smile, and occasionally chatted with Donovan, and seemed to be -outside of the party, as though she were viewing it with a satiated and -good-natured patience. Blanche sat beside her for a short time. - -“You don’t seem to be enjoying yourself,” Blanche said, “or maybe this -is how you do it.” - -“Oh, I’m a good listener, and I don’t dance if I can help it,” Madge -Gowan replied. “I’m not down on the world, it’s not that, but I like to -sit in the audience now ’n’ then. It’s fine for your nerves and you get -a different slant at what’s going on around you.” - -“I’m a little like that, myself,” Blanche answered, “but this is my -night for mixing in, I guess.” - -Campbell pulled her away for another dance, and she reflected on the -dark woman, through the touch of haze forming in her own head. Was that -the way you became around thirty-five, if you couldn’t stay blind to -the world and the people in it? - -The party became more boisterous, and the innuendoes grew warmer and -less attired, and the chorus girls sat beside Kossler and Simmonds and -exchanged kissing and impolite embraces that were not quite direct. -Donovan had his head on Madge Gowan’s shoulder, while she caressed his -hair. Blanche, who was standing beside the phonograph, with Campbell’s -arm around her waist, felt confused, and merrily indifferent to -everything except the unsteady exaltation in her body and the singing -carelessness of her emotions. As she had done so many times before, -she made an effort to pull herself together and resume some portion of -her secret wariness, but the effort was a weak one, this time, and her -“silly,” lightly unarmored feelings persisted and grew stronger. - -“Let’s leave, Joe dear, I’m so-o-o diz-z-zy,” she said. - -“Sit down a while, you’ll feel better,” he replied, leading her to the -couch. - -The two chorus girls departed with Kossler and Simmonds, after a -loudly gay _mêlée_ of words had flown back and forth, and Blanche, by -this time, was too limp and dazed to bid them good-bye. When Donovan -returned from the front door, Blanche had slumped back upon the couch, -and Campbell said: “Darned if she hasn’t passed out, Jack.” - -Donovan grinned at his friend. - -“We’ll put her on the bed in the spare room and let her sleep it off. -I’m going to turn in, now, with Madge. Don’t do anything your mother -wouldn’t approve of, Joe.” - -Madge Gowan rose and looked steadily at Campbell. - -“How about leaving the poor kid alone, to-night?” she asked. - -“Don’t be foolish, she’s ’n old flame uh mine,” Campbell answered. -“We’ve been crazy about each other for more than two years now.” - -“Well, let her sleep with me, anyway,” Madge persisted. “You can see -her to-morrow morning.” - -“Now Ma-adge, don’t butt in where it’s not needed,” said Donovan -chidingly. - -“Yes, cut out the guardian-angel stuff,” Campbell said, in a careless -voice. “She’s ’n old sweetie uh mine, I’m telling you.” - -Madge turned and looked down at Blanche, in a dully sad way. - -“Oh, well, it’s no business of mine,” she said. - - * * * * * - -When Blanche woke up on the next morning, she looked at the strange -room with an uncomprehending, ferocious ache in her head. Then, in a -detached fashion, incidents of the past night began to bob up in her -head, and she pieced them slowly together, in a stumbling, erratic -way. She’d met Campbell and gone to a party with him, and then she had -become drunk and everything had grown slowly darker. She remembered -vaguely that she had begged him to take her home.... Then, an -indefinable stirring within her heart told her what had happened.... -So, he had sneaked off, afraid to face her now--the coward, the coward. -But perhaps he was still in the place, and ... where was she, anyway? -She opened the door and walked unsteadily down the hallway. Yes, -this was the same parlor where the party had taken place--same piano -and furniture. Perhaps Campbell was sleeping in another room in the -apartment. - -She returned to the room that she had left, and sat down. The pain -in her head gave an added edge to the anger within her. The skulking -meanness of it--oh, she’d love to break his head in two! Then another -voice within her said: “You know perfectly well that’s what almost any -man’ll do, ’specially ’f he’s drunk, as well as you are. Don’t act like -a school-kid--you knew it all the time, but you kept on drinking last -night, long past your limit ... fool.” - -Her anger against Campbell subsided to a more practical disgust. If she -had loved him, she would not have minded this finale, but as it was she -felt like a swindled imbecile. Campbell would have to be put in his -place once more, and treated with a cool aloofness. He had benefited by -an accident wedded to her own weakness, and the only grim satisfaction -left would be to ignore him from now on. She didn’t blame him, -particularly--all men seemed to be cut out of the same stuff--but it -would have to be impressed upon him that his victory had been an empty -one, and that she was still her own mistress. After all, she still felt -intact and undisturbed--it would take more than a dozen Campbells to -break her spirit--and she would sever her relations with him merely as -a matter-of-fact self-protection. - -When she had washed, and dressed herself, she walked back to the parlor -and pulled back the shades at the window, and looked down at the street -far below. It was crowded with people and vehicles--the hour might be -around noon. She glanced back at a clock on the top of the sideboard. -Eleven-thirty--she would have to telephone the “Parlor” and give them -the old illness-excuse.... Where had every one disappeared to--where -was Donovan, who lived in the apartment? She heard the front door -close, and she sat down, waiting, and shrinking a little ... she didn’t -care to meet any one at this exact moment. Campbell walked into the -parlor, and when he saw her, he greeted her with a solicitous joviality. - -“We-ell, there she is--fresh as a daisy ’n’ everything,” he said. “I’ve -bought some stuff and we’ll cook breakfast on Jack’s little electric -stove. He’s still dead to the world, I guess.” - -She rose from the chair, without answering, and walked to the hallway, -where she removed her coat and hat from the rack and started to put -them on. He followed her and dropped a hand on her shoulder. - -“Now, what’s up?” he asked. - -“We’re never going to see each other again,” she replied, “and I’m not -very anxious to talk to you. I don’t blame you for anything, but you’re -not the kind of a man I’m looking for. You’re just no better ’r worse -than most people, that’s all. I’d feel just the same about it ’f you -hadn’t acted like you did. I held on to you because you could make me -laugh and forget my troubles, but I knew it couldn’t last much longer.” - -“Don’t act like desp’rate Tessie in a movie-film,” he said. “Come on, -sit down and let’s talk it over. Nothing so terrible has happened.” - -“I’m not worrying about what happened,” she answered. “’F I cared for -you I wouldn’t give it a thought. I don’t, though, and there’d be no -use in risking a second dose of the same fool stunt. We’ll call it -quits now, and stop seeing each other.” - -“Well, I’ve got something to tell you, and it won’t hurt you to sit -down a minute and listen,” he urged. - -“All right, just a few minutes, and then I’ll be going,” she said, -wearily. - -They sat on opposite chairs in the parlor, and as he looked at her, an -irresistible impulse came to him. She certainly did have a marvelous -spirit and independence--no girl of his acquaintance had ever acted -with such a careless, untouched remoteness on the morning after, -unless she was a plain hooker--not in a way that convinced you of -its genuineness, at any rate--and, strangely enough, as he sat here -now, she was still as desirable as she had ever been. Well, guess he -would have to take the plunge--you couldn’t resist it forever. The old -chain-and-jail wind-up. - -“I want you to marry me, Blanche,” he said. “I’ll go down to the -Municipal Building with you this afternoon, and we’ll get the license. -I mean every word of it. You’re an ace-high full to me and I can’t give -you up. I guess I’ve always been in love with you, but I didn’t want to -admit it to myself. You’ll marry me to-day and we’ll live happy ever -afterwards, just like they do in the books.” - -He looked at her with a confident, admiring smile, as though her assent -were predetermined. She arose and smiled pityingly at him, as she -tucked her hair beneath her hat. - -“Listen, Joe, I wouldn’t marry you on a bet,” she replied. “You -prob’bly think I’ve been egging you on to ask me all the time, and -there’s where you’ve made a big mistake, Joe Campbell. ’F I ever marry -any man I’ll have to be wild about him, and ’f I am, I won’t even care -so much whether he marries me ’r not. And, what’s more, I’ll have -to have a pile of respect for his mind, and I’ll have to feel like -listening to what he says, all the time.” - -He stared at her, without answering. - -“Well, it’s no use talking any more,” she said. “So long, Joe, I’m -going now.” - -He had expected that she would first doubt the sincerity of his -proposal and then eagerly accept him. He still believed that she was -merely leading him on, to revenge herself, and that all of her words -had been said for their effect, and that she only wanted him to be -persistently begging and humble. He followed her into the hallway, and -caught her arm. - -“I’m sorry for what happened last night,” he said. “I’ll make it up to -you, Blan. I mean it, dear. I’m crazy about you, and I want to make you -happy, and I’ll do anything you say. Why, I’ll even stop drinking, if -you say the word. You’ve just got to marry me, you’ve got to, Blanche. -You know you care for me, you know you do.” - -“You’d better guess again, Joe,” she said, coolly, as she broke away -from him. “I’m not going to see you again, and what’s more, don’t -pester me with any ’phone-calls ’r letters, either. It won’t do you a -bit of good.... Good-bye, and good luck, old boy.” - -It gave her a surface thrill to slap his face in this dramatic and -careless fashion. He thought that he was a precious catch, didn’t he? -Well, he might lose some of his huge conceit after she had finished -with him. - -He caught her arm once more. - -“Come on, you’ve razzed me enough now, haven’t you?” he asked. “I’ve -been taking it like a man, but don’t smear it on so thick. Come on, be -good to me, Blanche.” - -She broke away again and walked swiftly down the hallway. He started -after her and then halted, still and perplexed, as she reached the -door. Then a rage quickly possessed him--imagine, this hussy turning -_him_ down after he had been really anxious to make amends. - -“All right, then, you can go to hell for all I care,” he called after -her, as she was passing through the doorway. - -She made no reply as she slammed the door behind her--he could have -said that immediately and spared himself the trouble of his other -words. These men, they thought that all they had to do was to utter -the magical words--ma-arry me--and a girl would be delighted at the -rare, luring condescension and instantly fall into their arms. Well, -perhaps he wouldn’t be quite so conceited from now on--the cheap -sneak. When she married a man it would be soberly and of her own free -will, because she longed to hear his words, and be physically near -him, and because she looked up to his mental gifts, and good taste, -and re-fine-ment. Oh, ye-es, in a way she was an idiot for not having -accepted _Campbell’s_ proposal, since he could certainly have given the -leisure and opportunities which she craved, but ... she’d be damned if -_she_ would ever marry a man just because she was ashamed to leave him -on the day after a drunken party! - -After she had telephoned the “Parlor” and told Madame Jaurette that she -could not come down because of an intense toothache, she returned to -her home. Her mother had gone to the butcher shop and Mabel was sitting -alone in the living-room. - -“Well, sma-artie, where’ve you been all night?” Mabel asked. “Ma was in -a awful stew about you--she was gonna call up the p’lice, but I stopped -her. An’ _pa_, he’s gonna ask you _some_ questions when he gets back, -believe me.” - -“What’s all the fuss about?” Blanche asked, wearily. “I went to a wild -party and passed out, and they had to let me sleep there overnight.” - -“An’ Joe Campbell, he got lost in the crush, ’r else he went back to -his place to sleep, I s’pose,” Mabel answered, sarcastically. “You c’n -tell it to ma but not to me. I never thought you’d give in to him that -easy, Blan. He hasn’t asked you to marry him, has he?” - -“Yes, but I turned him down,” Blanche replied. - -“Turned him down--well, of all the fool things,” Mabel cried. “I’ll bet -you’re jes’ sayin’ you did ’cause you don’t want to admit what a simp -you’ve been.” - -“No, it’s true ... he wanted to marry me right this afternoon.” - -Mabel was silent for a moment, as she regarded her sister with an -irritated surprise, and then she said: “You’ve got me guessing. Here’s -a fine fella, not so bad-lookin’ either, an’ you’ve been goin’ with -him, off and on, f’r over two years, an’ he’s got loads of money, an’ -... you won’t marry him. There’s darn few fellas that’ll ask a girl -right after they’ve slipped one over on her. What’re you waitin’ for, -anyway?” - -“Not for anything you could understand,” Blanche responded. “When I -marry a man I’m going to love him first--that’s what you can’t get into -your head--and it’ll have to be real love, too, and not just because he -has a handsome face and knows how to kid now and then.” - -“Then why’d you stay with Joe last night?” Mabel asked. “’F you’re so -darn up’n the air about it, you didn’t have to peel your clothes off -f’r a fella you don’t care about.” - -“I passed out of the picture, and the next thing I knew it was -morning,” Blanche said, trying to be patient with this querulous, -unseeing sister of hers, but feeling a rising strain. - -It was bad enough that it had happened--why did she have to paw over -the details? - -“Well, he played a dirty, rotten trick on you then,” Mabel answered, -indignantly, “an’ ’f it was me, I’d sure get back at him some way. ’F I -didn’t wanna marry him, then I’d scare him outa his wits an’ make him -come across with plenty uh money, I would. ’R else I’d see he was sent -to the hospital f’r a nice, long stretch.” - -“It was my fault just’s much as his,” Blanche replied, dully. “No man’s -’n angel, and a girl shouldn’t get drunk with him ’f she doesn’t want -to go the limit. I can usually take care of myself, but I took too many -cocktails last night. I was feeling blue and forgot when to stop. ’F -you want to do me a favor, then you’ll talk about something else. I’ll -never see him again, and he doesn’t matter to me.” - -“Try an’ talk to you,” Mabel responded, disgustedly. “The last person -you ever look out f’r is yourself. You ought to be sent to the -booby-hatch!” - -Blanche went into her room without answering ... what was the use? -Mabel meant well enough, but she couldn’t see that money and gay times -and “getting back” at people were not the only things in the world. - -When her mother returned, Blanche pretended to be asleep, and she -remained upon her bed until evening, with all her thoughts darting -about and then hopelessly evaporating, and with occasional intervals of -semi-drowsiness. When she came to the supper-table, where the remainder -of her family were seated, the firing started. - -“Well, give an account uh yourself,” her father said. “Where was you -till twelve this morning?” - -“I stayed with some friends,” Blanche answered--she wasn’t _afraid_ -to tell them the truth, of course not, but she wanted to avoid the -senseless wrangling, and the loud accusations, and the outraged advice -that would ensue if she did. “I drank a little too much and I had to -sleep it off, that’s all.” - -“An’ how about Campbell--was he with you?” her father asked, gruffly. - -“He was gone when I woke up this morning,” Blanche answered, seeking -only to brush aside her father’s words. - -“Well, it sounds damn fishy to me,” her father replied. “’F he did -anything wrong to you I’ll have it out with him, and he’ll have to -marry you then, ’f he knows what’s good f’r him.” - -“That’s what I say,” Harry broke in. “I like Joe all right, but he’d -better go slow with any sister uh mine, I don’t care ’f he was the -Gov’ner himself!” - -“You’re getting terribly concerned about me all at once, aren’t -you?” Blanche asked, speaking to Harry. “You’d better not jump at -conclusions--you don’t know a thing about it.” - -“I’ll make it my business to find out,” Harry answered, looking -steadily at her. - -“Well, I’m gonna stick up f’r Blanie this time,” Mabel said. “You’re -both makin’ a big fuss about nothin’, an’ what’s more, you’ve got -no right to be sayin’ she’s a bad girl. You oughta be ashamed uh -yourselves. All she did was stay overnight with some people she knew -’cause she wasn’t in no condition to come home. I’ve done it myself, -once ’r twice, an’ you never waded into me. Blanche may be a nut in -some ways but she’s not fool enough to let Joe Campbell put it over on -her, an’ you oughta believe her.” - -Blanche gave her sister a grateful, surprised look--Mabel did have a -good streak in her, in spite of her blind reproaches. - -“I’m not accusin’ her of anythin’,” the father said, impressed by this -defense from his favorite daughter. “I only wanted to find out what -happened, like any father would. ’S a matter uh fact, you’d both better -cut out all this booze you’re swillin’. ’F you don’t, you’ll wake up -some fine mornin’ an’ find yourselves in f’r it.” - -“An’ they oughta stay home more, too,” the mother said, breaking in -with her endless complaint, not because she hoped to effect anything, -but merely to maintain her position. “I was worried to death, I was, -when I got up this mornin’ an’ Blanie wasn’t here. You never can tell -what’ll happen to a girl, you never. Don’t I read all kindsa things in -the paper ev’ry day--murders ’n’ rapes ’n’ what not!” - -“I’ll see that they stay home--they’re runnin’ too loose to suit me, -these days,” the father replied. - -He knew that he would do nothing of the kind, but the words soothed his -sense of authority. - -When the supper was finished, Blanche put on her hat and coat, and -said: “I’m going out for a walk. I’ll be back early, I guess.” - -“You’d better,” her father responded. “I won’t swallow another stayin’ -over with friends story, this time.” - -Blanche turned away without replying--words, words, and what did they -all amount to? Threats, and promises, and “reasons” ... and people -scarcely ever meant them. - -After she had left the apartment she strolled aimlessly up one street -and down another, craving the motion that could add a fillip to the -dullness of her thoughts. Would she ever meet people who could help -her, and who would understand her longings and prod her with worthwhile -criticisms and encouragements--people, for instance, as superior to -Rosenberg as Rosenberg had been to the rest of the men whom she knew? -How could she run across them?... As she walked along, different men -stopped beside her for a moment, with their “Nice evening, isn’t it?” -and “You look sorta lonesome, how about it?” and “Pardon me, but -haven’t I met you somewhere before?” and “D’you mind if I talk to you -a while?” Sometimes they called to her from automobiles, but they were -merely irritating reminders of a real and grossly intruding world, -and she ignored them--it never paid to take a chance, for they always -turned out to be common and cheap. It stood to reason--why would an -enticing man be so “hard up” that he would have to solicit women on the -street? - -She didn’t know where she was going, but she wanted to imagine that she -was searching for some destination that would greet her unexpectedly--a -vague, half-laughed-at hope--and she kept on strolling down the hard, -flatly dirty, noisy streets. - - - - -PART TWO - - - - -PART TWO - - -The night became thickly intense, and all the angular details and flat -expanses of each street--neither hideous nor beautiful but vapidly and -rigidly perched in between--took on the least touch of glamor. Some -semblance of a darkly plaintive heart began to sway and quiver within -the scene, as though the essence of all these human beings pacing down -the sidewalks and sitting or standing in shops, cars, and restaurants, -had joined the night and formed another quality--expectations, -illusions, and promises, all electric in the air. The harshly dreamless -industries and shallow loiterings of the day were replaced by an effort -at romance, soiled but persistent, and a sensual pride preening itself -with gallantries, and a confusion of cruel or softly dozing confidences. - -The moving-picture theaters, in dots of red, yellow, blue, and -green light, made proclamations of spurious, quickly attained love, -adventure, and suspense; the United Cigar Stores, framed by red -and gold, displayed their mild, brown opiates, while within them -deferential clerks catered to jovial or importantly sullen men and -women; the restaurants, with food heaped in their windows, and -glistening fronts, were filled with people intent upon turning a -prosy stuffing into an elaborate, laughing ritual; and even the Greek -lunch-rooms, with their stools beside half-dirty glass counters, and -nickel coffee-urns, assumed a hang-dog grin. - -Taxicabs in all the cardinal colors darted about, like feverish insects -serving human masters, and the people in them--lazy, or impatient, -or bored, or out for a lark--made a blur of faces sometimes glimpsed -more distinctly as the cabs stopped or slowed down. Policemen in dark -blue uniforms stood at street-crossings, with tired aggressiveness, -looking for a chance to invest their flunky-rôles with a rasping -authority. Motor-trucks lurched along like drab monsters barely held in -leash. Lights were everywhere--in shops, on iron poles in the streets, -mellowly staring from upper windows--desperately seeking to dismiss -the darkly fearful mystery of the surrounding night, but never quite -overcoming it. - -Street-cars and “L” trains crawled on, soddenly packed with under-dogs -going to their dab of rest or crude pleasure. A roar was in the air, -with immediate, sharp sounds trailing out into it--a complaining, -shackled savage floating up from the scene. The large buildings were -without individuality, except that some of them rose vertically above -the others, and in their dull shades of red, brown, and gray, they -would all have presented a yawning, meanly barrack-like effect but for -the relieving fancy of their lights. Even the perpendicular strength of -the skyscrapers was marred by filigreed and overcorniced lines. - -To Blanche, the scene was a _mêlée_ of delightful possibilities always -just eluding her, and obnoxious intrusions only too ready to seek her -arm. She realized the transforming effect of the night and said to -herself: “Say, I’d never do all this walking if it was daytime--funny, -how everything gets more attractive when the night trots along. Guess -you can’t see things so clear then.... Better chance to kid yourself -along.” - -As she strolled through the outskirts of Greenwich Village her legs -began to feel heavy, and the past hour seemed to be nothing more than -a long, senseless walk taken within the confines of a large trap. The -light, hazy sensation of searching oozed slowly out of her body and was -replaced by the old hopelessness. - -She stopped in front of a batik-shop window and looked at the soft, -intricately veined gaudiness of the smocks, blouses, and scarves. -“Sorta crazy, yes, but she’d like to wear them--they suited her mood.” -Another girl was standing beside Blanche, and the other turned her head -and said: “Aren’t they beauties, though. I’d just love to buy that -purple and green smock there in the corner.” - -“I like the blue one better--the one right next to yours,” Blanche -answered naturally, but she looked closely at the other girl. - -It was not unusual for strange girls to speak to you when they were -either lonely or just brightly interested in some little thing, but -still you had to be careful--sometimes they were “fast” players with -men, in need of a feminine accomplice, or grafters intent on securing -some favor or loan. The other girl had a slender torso and almost -slender legs, with all of her plumpness crowded in the buttocks and -upper thighs. She had singed butterflies on her face and they gave a -light, fluttering pain to her smiles. She had the rarity of large blue -eyes on a duskily pale brown face, and small, loosely parted lips, -and a slight hook on the upper part of her nose, and curly bobbed -brown hair. In her tan coat trimmed with dark fur, scarlet turban, and -multicolored silk scarf, she seemed to be a dilettantish, chippy girl, -just graduated from the flapper class. - -Blanche noticed something “different” in the other girl and answered -her more readily as they continued their talk. - -“D’you live in the Village?” the other girl asked. - -“No, I’m from uptown,” Blanche answered. “I’ve heard lots about it, -though. I’d like to meet some of the int’resting artists and writers -down here. There must be all kinds of them in the tearooms and places -like that.” - -The other girl gave her a pitying look. - -“All kinds of fakers, you mean,” she replied. “They know how to brag -about themselves, but that’s where it ends.” - -“But I thought this was the part of town where real artists ’n’ writers -came together,” Blanche persisted. “Of course, I didn’t believe they -were all great ones, but I did believe they were all trying to do -something, well, different, you know.” - -“Oh, there _are_ some down here, but you don’t usually find them in the -showplaces or tearooms,” the other girl answered, as she and Blanche -walked down the street. “Those places are for the mediocrities, and -the pretenders, and the students ... and, oh, yes, the slummers. People -from uptown hunting for something gayly wicked.” - -“I suppose you think I’m a foolish slummer, too,” Blanche said, “but -I’m not. I’ve just been walking along and thinking things over. I -didn’t realize where I was.” - -“I wasn’t being personal,” the other girl replied. “I sort of like the -way you talk. Suppose we introduce ourselves to each other?” - -They traded names and the other girl, Margaret Wheeler, went on: “You -know, strangers are always supposed to distrust each other, but I can’t -be annoyed. Every once in a while I talk to some girl on the street, -and I’ve started a couple of interesting friendships that way. I’m not -a Lesbian and I haven’t any other designs upon you.” - -“Why, I don’t distrust you at all,” Blanche answered. “I can take -care of myself and I suppose you can, too. You talk like you were -intelligent, and I’d like to know you better, that’s all.” - -“Thanks,” said Margaret. “I would be fairly intelligent, if I didn’t -let some male make an idiot out of me every few months. I’m in love -with some one now, but it’ll wind up like all the others.” - -“You make me feel envious,” Blanche replied. “I don’t think I’ve ever -really loved any fellow.” - -“Are you joking?” Margaret asked. - -“No, that’s straight.” - -“Well, I’m going on twenty-five now, and I couldn’t count the -infatuations I’ve had. I’m not as easy as I used to be, though. Once -upon a time, if a man had a straight nose, and blond hair, and could -recite poetry and make me believe it was his, that was all I needed. -But no-ow, a man must have some real subtlety, and ability, and -wittiness, before I pay any attention to him.” - -“That’s just the kind I’ve been looking for,” Blanche answered. “Where -on earth do you find them?” - -“Nowhere in particular--it’s a matter of luck. And don’t forget that a -girl must be unusual herself before she can attract unusual men, unless -they’re just anxious to have a party with her.” - -“Yes, that’s where I’d lose out,” Blanche said, heavily. “I’m just a -ha-air dresser in a beauty parlor, that’s all.” - -“You certainly don’t talk like one. Maybe you’ve never had much of a -chance to be anything different.” - -“You said it”--Blanche’s voice was low and depressed. - -“Well, I’m only a steno myself,” Margaret answered, “but I’m taking a -course in short-story writing at Herbert College--three nights a week. -I want to tear off the old veils and tell what people do to each other.” - -“Say, maybe I could join it, too,” Blanche replied, eagerly. “I’m not -so strong on grammar, though--stopped in my first year at high and went -to work.” - -“Oh, you can pound _that_ part of it into you. The main thing’s whether -you have something to say--something that’s not just ordinary and -hackneyed.” - -“I think I have, but ... how do I know,” Blanche asked, uncertainly. - -They had stopped in front of a tearoom with a multicolored wooden sign -under an electric light. - -“Here’s Clara’s--one of my hangouts,” Margaret said. “I’m going in to -meet my blond-haired devastator. Won’t you come along?” - -“Perhaps I’ll be in the way.” - -“Nothing of the kind--I’ll introduce you to some of the people I know.” - -They entered the place, which occupied the first floor of a two-storey, -attic-topped, brick house. Kitchen tables and chairs painted pale -green and vermilion lined the walls. Paintings and drawings were hung -everywhere--cubistic plagiarisms, slovenly sketches, and illustrations -meant for the average magazine’s check book but not quite reaching -it--and a semidim light came from stained-glass bowls hung from the -low ceiling. Some fifteen men and women were scattered around the two -rooms, and a portable phonograph in the corner was whining one of the -latest fox-trot insinuations--“He Never Gets Tired of Me, No, Boy, Just -Never Gets Tired of Me-ee.” - -Three men and a woman at a table effusively greeted Margaret, and after -she had introduced Blanche, the two girls sat down with the others. The -third girl, Dora Ruvinsky, was an unsymmetrically fat Jewess, with a -thin-lipped but salacious face and a shorn disorder of black hair. Her -sex had yielded to a cunning nightmare of masculinity, and she wore -a stiff white collar, a red cravat, and a man’s vest and coat. She -spoke in a husky drawl and perpetually slapped the shoulders of the -men beside her. They regarded her with tolerance contending against a -slight aversion. - -One of them, Max Oppendorf, a blond-haired man of thirty, plied her -with whisky from a hip-bottle and strove to trap her into feminine -reactions and remarks, as though he were coldly and listlessly -playing with a desperately hypocritical insect. His narrow, pale, -blue-eyed face glanced around the tables with pity and repugnance -somehow fused into its expression. A recognized poet and novelist, -he was nevertheless known as a distinguished outcast, ostracized, -attacked, and hated by literary and dilettantish groups of every -variety because of his skillful-tongued independence, his careless -violations of etiquettes and conventions, and the ravages of his -unorthodox intellect. His clothes were shabby but not quite untidy, -and as he frequently closed his eyes while speaking, he displayed the -contradictory guise of an aristocratic vagabond. - -Men almost invariably detested him, while the reactions of the women -who met him were evenly divided into a distrustful resentment in one -camp and a loyal adoration in the other. His armor was invulnerable, -save when he became hopelessly drunk, in which condition he either -savagely denounced and affronted the people around him or became -unwontedly indulgent and gave them simulations of sentimentality and -affectionate attention. These abdications sprang from his innate -indifference to life and most of its people. Sincerely believing that -most men and women were beclouded, unsearching, and cruelly _gauche_ -children, alcohol made his indifference to them more indulgently intent -upon distracting itself, and, when drunk, he stooped to them with loud, -mock-arguments, and exuberant caresses. He felt a moderate degree of -tenderness toward Margaret Wheeler, who appealed to him as an honest -grappler, more unreserved and mentally edged than most other girls of -her age and occupation. She was violently in love with him, and they -spoke together in tones that were almost whispers, and stroked each -other’s hands. - -The second man, Bob Trussel--a gorgeously effeminate youth who was -known in Village circles for his not-quite-Beardsleyesque black and -whites--conversed with Dora, while the third, Ben Helgin, talked to -Blanche. - -Ben was a robustly tall man in his early thirties, with a huge, -half-bald head, and dark-brown hair inclined to be frizzly. His long, -pointed nose, severely arched eyebrows, and widely thin lips gave him -the look of a complacent, pettily cruel Devil--a street urchin who had -donned the mask of Mephistopheles but could not quite conceal the leer -of a boy intent upon practical jokes and small tormentings. He was -a master in the arts of dramatic exaggeration and belittling, never -quite telling the truth and never quite lying, and his immeasurable -vanity made him always determined to dominate any conversation. He had -an Oriental volubility, and people would often sit beside him for an -hour or more and vainly seek to insert a beginning remark or express an -uninterrupted opinion. - -One of his favorite devices was to tell anecdotes about men of his -acquaintance, in which the men were invariably depicted in a childish, -ridiculous, or inferior posture, while he gloated over and embellished -the details of their fancied discomfiture, with a great assumption -of sympathy for the victims. Living in a dream-world entirely of his -own making, he loved to flirt with visions, conquests, world-shaking -concepts, and child-like boasts. On one morning he would appear among -his friends, describing some plan or idea with a cyclonic enthusiasm, -and on the very next afternoon no trace of it would remain within his -mind. Again, he would loll in an armchair and announce that a famous -actress of forty had implored him to reside with her and to become the -leading man in her next play, but he would neglect to mention that the -lady in question was renowned for her generous impulses and included -truck-drivers and cigar-clerks in her overtures. These impositions -caused most people to regard him as an eel-like _poseur_, when they -were removed from the persuasive sorceries of his words, and they -failed to see that his gigantic egotism had sincerely hoaxed itself -into the rôle of a flitting and quickly ennuied conqueror. - -For years he had followed the luring dream of amassing a large fortune -through the creation of dexterously dishonest stories, plays, and -press-agent campaigns, and while he had accumulated thousands of -dollars in these ways, the dream of wealth persistently refused to be -captured. He lacked the grimly plodding, blind instinct necessary for -such a goal, and his financial harvests were always quickly gathered -and dissipated. This babbling immersion in the garnering of money, -however, gave him the paradoxical air of an esthetic Babbitt. - -His serious literary creations were original and sardonic at their -best, but frequently marred by a journalistic glibness which led him -into shallow and redundant acrobatics, or facetious saunterings. - -He had known Max Oppendorf for nine years, and they had passed through -a comical fanfare of recriminations, friendly invitations, sneers, and -respects. Oppendorf secretly disliked him but was at times fascinated -by his charming pretenses of _camaraderie_, and the quickness of his -mind. At one time, the poet had broken off with Helgin for three -years--a withdrawal caused by his discovery of the other man’s peculiar -and somewhat incredible sense of humor. Penniless, and afflicted -with incipient tuberculosis, Oppendorf had written to his friend and -asked for the loan of two hundred dollars. A special-delivery letter -had flown back to him, containing an unctuously sympathetic note and -announcing the enclosure of a two-hundred-dollar check. The rest of the -envelope had been empty, however, and believing that the absence of the -check was merely an absent-minded error, he dispatched another letter -which apprised his friend of the oversight. In response, Helgin had -sent him the following telegram: “It was a nice joke--hope you enjoyed -it as much as I did.” - -Helgin had a sincere admiration for the other man’s work and a veiled, -malicious aversion to the poet’s personal side. To him, Oppendorf’s -life held a supreme taunt which had to be demolished with falsehoods -and ridicule. The poet’s unbroken flaunting of moralities, conventions, -and compromises, reminded Helgin that his own life had not been equally -courageous and defiant, in spite of his endless written shots at -average people and their fears, and that, in his personal existence, -he had frequently prostrated himself before the very observances which -he pilloried, or laughed at, in his books and conversation. This -specter could only be slain by the effort to jeer at the opposite man’s -episodes with men and women, and to hold them forth as clownish and -unrewarded capers. - -As Helgin sat now, in the boisterous and tawdrily glassy tearoom, he -spoke to Blanche with the gracious casualness which he always publicly -affected with women. It was a part of his jovially invincible pose to -insinuate that he could have been a perfect libertine had he chosen -to follow that denounced profession, and that his enormous sexual -attractiveness was held in bondage only by his lack of desire and his -ability to peer through the entire, violent fraud of sex itself. In -the dream-world of his own making, through which he moved, loftily but -genially immune to all criticisms, adulations, and importunities, women -were the potential vassals whom he disdained to hire. - -On the night previous to the present one, his second wife had departed -on a visit to her family in a distant city, and he had telephoned -Oppendorf and arranged a meeting, prodded by one of the irregular -impulses in which his respect for the other man overcame his opposite -feelings of envy and aversion. Now, he sat and chatted with Blanche -while she listened with an almost abject attention. This great writer, -whose pictures she had run across on the literary pages of newspapers, -and in magazines, was actually seated beside her and speaking to -her--it could scarcely be true! She recalled that Rosenberg had often -lauded Helgin, and that a year previous she had read one of the latter -man’s novels and had liked its “difficult,” thumb-twiddling style -and disliked its patronizing, pitying attitude toward the feminine -characters. Well, when men wrote about women, or women about men, they -never seemed able to become quite fair to each other. They were always -mushy and lenient, on one side, or sneering and unsympathetic on the -other. She voiced this thought to Helgin, who advised her to cease -searching for an unhappy medium. To him, she presented the figure of -a worried, heavily questioning peasant girl, dressed and manicured -for a more polite rôle, and he had a whim to lure her into expectant -admirations and play with her stumbling hungers and wonderings. -Usually, he did not waste his time on such girls--they were more to -Oppendorf’s liking--but for the space of one night he could afford to -risk the impending boredom in a more unassuming manner. - -“You must get Oppie to compliment you,” he said, glancing in the poet’s -direction. “He does it perfectly. Women cry for it, babies smile, old -ladies jump out of their chairs. Come on, Oppie, say something about -Miss Palmer’s hair. What does it remind you of? A startled ghost of -dawn, the visible breath of afternoon?” - -Oppendorf turned from his whisperings with Margaret, and smiled--a -patient but slightly threatening smile. - -“Are you ordering a tailormade suit or buying a box of cigars?” he -asked, sweetly. - -“The comparison isn’t quite fair to your poetry, Oppie,” Helgin -answered, in the same sweet voice. - -“Monseigneur Helgin, apostle of fairness, sympathy, and tolerance--know -any other good ones, Ben?”--the poet’s smile shone like a sleeping -laugh. - -“Your hair is like a tortured midnight--that was a nice line, Oppie,” -Helgin answered pensively, as he ignored the other man’s thrust. - -“The actual phrase happens to be ‘transfigured midnight,’” Oppendorf -said, in an ominously subdued voice. “You substituted the word tortured -to make the line meaningless, of course.” - -“Sa-ay, wasn’t that tormented night stuff in The Duke of Hoboken, Ben’s -last novel?” Dora Ruvinsky asked, poking Oppendorf in the side. - -“Yes, among other frantic mendacities,” Oppendorf answered, as he -looked compassionately at Helgin. “The ancient Chinese had an excellent -proverb: ‘When your stilettos have failed to penetrate the actual -figure, erect a ludicrous dummy and belabor it with an ax.’” - -“The Chinese usually come to your rescue,” Helgin retorted, “but you -don’t seem to realize that The Duke of Hoboken is simply a gorgeous and -delirious fantasy. It wasn’t meant to be an actual portrait of you.” - -“Yes, you were more innocent than you imagined,” Oppendorf answered, -still smiling. - -“Oh, stop all of this polite quarreling, Maxie,” Margaret interposed, -as she looked at Helgin with an open dislike. “Helgin sits in his -little phantom palace, bo-ored and genial, and when you cave in the -walls he scarcely hears you.” - -“Your own hearing is just a trifle more adoring, isn’t it?” Helgin -asked, as he looked at Margaret with an expression of complacent malice. - -“Yes, it needs to be, if only to counteract yours,” Margaret replied, -tartly. - -“Call it a draw, and let’s talk about purple chrysanthemums,” Oppendorf -interjected. - -When people persisted in clinging to one subject he was always reminded -of scrubwomen endlessly scouring a pane of glass, unless the theme was -exceptionally complex. - -“Dear me, can’t I say something else about the sweet Duke?” Trussel -asked, as he stroked his hair with the fingers of one hand. “It’s -screamingly amusing, really. Lots of the critics have always attacked -Mr. Helgin’s books, you know--called them stilted and, well, -overcynical. That sort of thing. But no-ow, dear me, what a change! -Why, they’re all simply showering praise on the dear Duke of Hobok’. -Of course, there isn’t any connection between this change and the -fact that little Dukie is supposed to be a biting caricature of Mr. -Oppendorf.” - -“No, of course not,” Oppendorf replied, thoroughly amused now. “In the -same way, three thoughtful chorus girls were observed last night, -floating in a huge balloon as they crossed the peninsula of Kamchatka.” - -“People are always talking about the dead,” Helgin said, in a bored -voice. “The indecent vagaries of critics are not interesting to me. -They might be vastly engrossing to some entomologist, though.” - -“Oh, you’re all a lot of bugs,” Dora said, as she caressed Margaret’s -arm while Margaret regarded her with a resigned look that said: “Well, -I suppose you _must_ do this.” - -“You’re crazy, and you take yourselves so darn seriously it gives me a -pain!” Dora continued. “Come on, let’s have another drink and act like -human beings.” - -The conversation changed to a game in which the others bantered with -Dora and laughed at her amiable but scoffing retorts. Blanche, who had -been bewildered and almost awe-stricken ever since her introduction to -these people, began to listen and observe with a clearer, though still -strongly respectful, attitude. They were the people whom she had always -longed to meet, and they knew much more than she did, and they were -bold creators while she was only despairing and partly tongue-tied, -ye-es, but still, they were by no means perfect. They wasted so much -time in slamming each other as cleverly as they could, and while they -were always good-natured about it, you couldn’t fail to spy the malice -beneath at least half of their smiles and remarks. They never expressed -any whole-hearted liking, or sympathy, or placid interest in their -reactions toward each other, and their talk reminded her of a game -in which each one strove to make his “comeback” a little “smarter” -and quicker than that of the others. Yet Oppendorf alone seemed to be -different. The others, with the exception of Margaret, were always -trying to twit or arouse him--something about him seemed to plague them -almost against their will--and never quite succeeding. His eyes were -sleepy and retiring, and he closed them half of the time during his -conversation. When he laughed or raised his voice now and then, it was -in a jerky way, “like some one else” was pulling some strings tied to -him. Funny man ... what had given him this air of tired sadness? Well, -at any rate, she could never fall in love with him--he was too much -like a careful ghost! - -The man whom she loved would have to be robust, and natural, and, well -... sort of eager to be alive, in spite of the fact that he knew all -about the shams and meannesses which life held. Yes, that was it ... -he’d be glad, and a little hopeful, in spite of all the rotten things -he saw and heard. - -She began to talk more frankly, her tongue loosened a bit by the two -drinks of whisky that Oppendorf had given her. - -“Say, why don’t all of you just call each other liars and boobs, and -have it over with?” she asked, with a smile. - -“At an early age, I was confronted by the choice of using the other -side’s tactics now and then or becoming a hermit,” Oppendorf replied, -in his deliberate way. “I am still direct enough, however, to be -ostracized by practically every literary party or group in New York.” - -“I admire your indignation,” Helgin said to Blanche. “Ride us all on a -rail and tell us what vicious double-dealers we are.” - -He had decided to egg her on for purposes of entertainment. “It -wouldn’t have the least effect on any of you,” Blanche answered, -composedly. “Besides, I’m only a stranger and I really haven’t any -right to criticize. You’re all doing things--real things that amount to -something--and I’m just a hair-curler in a Beauty Shop.” - -“Listen, here’s a tip--never be modest when men are around,” Margaret -said, gayly. “They think little enough of women as it is, and they’re -_always_ looking for a chance to walk over us.” - -“Oh, it’s too much trouble not to be honest,” Blanche retorted, -lightly. “Let them try to wa-alk, for all I care.” - -“Have you ever written, or painted?” Oppendorf asked, liking the -contradiction of her humble brassiness. - -“I _have_ fooled around with ideas of being a writer, but I’m afraid I -don’t know English well enough for that,” said Blanche, uncertainly. - -“Don’t take up writing, Miss Palmer--it’s only an excuse for laziness,” -Helgin said. “That’s probably why so many young people try to toss off -stories and verses. They have just a bit of imagination and they don’t -like the prospect of slaving in father’s shoe store or helping mother -bake the evening pies.” - -“There must be a more important reason than that,” Blanche replied, -soberly. - -“Yes, it’s barely possible,” Oppendorf interjected. “It’s a habit with -us to take our profession somewhat flippantly. That’s to avoid giving -the impression that we’re too much in love with ourselves.” - -“Funny, you do manage to give the impression, anyway,” Blanche -answered, as she made a grimace. - -Oppendorf and the others laughed, and Helgin said: “So, you’ve been -carrying that little dagger all the time. Bright gal.” - -“Not at all--just trying to imitate your style,” Blanche retorted, -merrily. - -The others had been regarding her as a meek and abashed apprentice -in their realms, but now they began to pelt her with more respectful -badinage, with the exception of Oppendorf, who watched her with a -sleepy stare of approval and remained silent. This girl wasn’t half -stupid at bottom, but just ignorant of many things. - -The group repaired to Margaret’s nearby studio and danced to a -phonograph and slipped into varying stages of tipsiness. Helgin did not -dance, but sat in a corner and talked to Blanche. He became mellowly -garrulous and somewhat less malicious, and he regarded Blanche as a -fumbling but slightly diverting barbarian--diverting for a night or two -at least. They were mildly interesting as long as they clung to their -ferocious sassiness, but they always wound up by becoming girlishly -wistful, and pleading, and more disrobed. He began to tell her -anecdotes of his past, in which he was always laughing, penetrating, -and triumphant at somebody else’s expense, and she listened eagerly. -My, but this man certainly knew how to talk! He was always getting the -best of people--you had to take at least forty per cent off from any -fellow’s claims in that direction--but he really was a great writer, -and he knew so many words and handled them so gracefully. - -Urged by a perverse whim, he invited Blanche to come with him to a -party which he had promised to attend on the following night. The -affair was to be a gathering of literary and theatrical celebrities -and near celebrities, together with their latest fads and fancies in -human form, and it might be amusing to bring this blunt, would-be -highbrowish, young hair-dresser and see whether the assembled pedestals -would overwhelm her. - -While Blanche suspected that he was playing with her and had only the -impulse to grasp a flitting distraction, she felt delighted at this -second opportunity to meet “famous” writers, and artists, and actors, -and as she accepted the invitation she said to herself: “He thinks I’m -just a snippy nobody, and he wants to show me off and then see what -happens--like letting the puppy run loose in the parlor. Oh, I know. -But what do I care? I might make friends at this party with two or -three people just as intelligent as he is, and maybe more honest.” - -While Helgin left her emotionally unaroused, she was nevertheless -dazed by his vocabulary and his mental swiftness, which she frequently -had to stumble after, and a little flattered by his talkative -attention, in spite of herself. The genially wise-cracking, quizzically -aloof, and patronizing air, which he never deserted, irritated her -but did not drive away the spell of her attention. After all, he -made Rosenberg, the most intelligent man in her past, sound like a -stuttering, yearning baby. Funny, how you changed! She had once looked -up to this same Rosenberg, as though he were a luring and puzzling god. -Well, that was life--listening and clinging to people until you grew -beyond them. The only man whom she could permanently love would be one -always a little superior to her, and urging her to catch up with him, -and kindly waiting a little now and then, so as not to get too far -ahead of her. - -When she reached her home she felt tired but “up in the air.” A long, -hopeless stroll and a chance acquaintanceship had really led her into -a new world--it was like a fairy tale, wasn’t it? Helgin had remained -in the taxicab, after arranging to meet her at Margaret’s studio on the -following night, and hadn’t even attempted to hold her hand ... not -that that mattered, though she was a little curious to know how men of -this kind “went about it.” - -He had refrained from touching her because it would have disrupted his -nonchalant posture--the meticulous avoidance of sexual defeat with -which he kept his egotism intact. He was like a watchman, ever alert in -front of a towering but shaky house of cards. - -It was 2 A.M. when she entered her bedroom, but her mind was still -spinning and darting about, in spite of her physical weariness, and, -moved by an irresistible desire, and a sudden confidence that had been -born from her surprising evening, she took a pad of paper from one of -her bureau drawers and sat up in bed until 4 A.M., writing a sketch -of the tearoom she had visited, and the people within it. The sketch -was crude and at times ungrammatical, but it had an awkward sense of -irony and humor which clung to small, insufficient words or hugged -inappropriately long ones, and it was filled with clumsily good phrases -such as: “They made a lot of noise and then whispered like they were -ashamed of it,” or “She had small eyes and they got smaller when she -talked,” “She was wearing a daisy, georgette thing and she acted like -it.” Sturdily, but with little equipment, her thought bent to the -novel wrestle with words on paper, and she felt an odd, half-uncertain -thrill when she had finished the sketch. Did it have anything to it, -or was it entirely bad? Well, she’d show it to Helgin or Oppendorf on -the next night and get ready for the old cleaver. Nothing like trying, -anyway, and curiously, she felt a beautiful relief now, as though -she had emptied herself for the first time in a way that approached -satisfaction. - -On the next day she was drowsy but cheerful at the Beauty Parlor, -managing somehow to stagger through the quick-fingered details of her -work, but experiencing a rising strain. This would never do--she would -have to be wakeful and at her best for the coming party. It wouldn’t -be like going out with some silly man, feigning to listen to his “I -am it” gab, and leaving him around midnight, with several yawns and -the usual, semievaded kiss and hug. Through using the reliable excuse -of serious illness in her family, she succeeded in leaving the shop at -three in the afternoon, hastening home and sleeping there until nearly -seven. When she sat at the supper-table with the rest of the family, -Harry said: “Say, I’ve got some news for yuh. Ran across Joe Campbell -on Broadway an’ had a long chin-fest with him. He says he begged yuh to -marry him the other night and yuh turned him down flat, but he’s still -leavin’ the prop’sition open. Believe me, I wouldn’t, if I was him. He -asked me to tell yuh, anyway.” - -“How interesting,” Blanche replied. “Suppose you tell your friend, -Mister Campbell, to go to the devil.” - -“Now, Bla-anie, that’s a nice way to talk,” her mother cried. “I’m -ashamed of you, I am. He’s never done you no harm, far’s I know, an’ -he’s been acourtin’ you for over two years now, an’ besides, he’s -gone an’ made you ’n hon-rable pruposul. You could do lots worse than -marryin’ him, you could.” - -“Listen, have I got to go through this whole thing over again?” -Blanche asked, exasperated. “I wouldn’t marry Campbell ’f he had ten -million and owned the subway system, and there’s no sense to this -endless jawing match we put on. You can’t understand me and you never -will--it’s not your fault, you just can’t, and what’s more, you ought -to realize it by this time. I’m going my own way and you might as well -leave me alone.” - -“Is that so,” her father replied, with a dull, puzzled anger shining in -his little eyes. “I-is that so. You’re jest a stranger here, I s’pose, -an’ you’ve dropped in tuh have supper with us. Sure, that’s it. I’m not -your father an’ I’ve got nothin’ tuh say about you, huh? You’ve got a -lot of nerve f’r a person your age, you have.” - -“Yeh, she’s gettin’ a swelled head, all right,” Harry said. “Guess I’ll -have to beat up ’nother one uh her phony guys, an’ tone her down a bit.” - -“Oh, you’re just full of wind,” Blanche answered, indifferently. - -Mabel had been listening to Blanche with a mixture of reluctant loyalty -and annoyance--this “nut” sister of hers was certainly impossible -to understand, but Campbell had “done her dirty” just the same, and -Blanche had a perfect right to detest him, and it was about time that -the family stopped nagging her on that subject. Mabel’s antagonism -against men and her regarding them as a would-be preying sex made it -imperative that she should be on her sister’s side in this question, -almost against her will. - -“I know Blan’s a nut, but stop razzing her about this Campbell stuff,” -she said, glancing disapprovingly around the table. “The way you all -rave about him a person’d think he was a king ’r something. He’s just -like other fellows--waving his dough around an’ trying to put it over -on ev’ry girl he meets. What do you want to do anyway--tie Blan up -an’ carry her down to the license-bureau? She oughta have some rights -around here.” - -Taken aback by this unexpected defense from Mabel, and not being able -to think of any immediate and adequate retort, in spite of their -emotional opposition, the parents and Harry lapsed into a short -silence, after which they returned to minor complaints and jovialities. -It was easy to battle with Blanche, who outraged all of their petted -hopes and ideas, but when Mabel contradicted them, their feeling of -innate kinship with her placed them in a temporarily bewildered state -in which they wondered whether they might not be slightly wrong. -Philip, who had squirmed distressedly in his chair and tried to look -unconcerned, according to his custom, secretly prayed for Blanche to -revolt and leave home. It would be better for her--she’d be happier -then, in her crazy but rather likably independent way--and if she did -there’d be some peace around the flat, for the first time. - -Blanche, who had felt relieved and a little unwillingly affectionate as -she heard her sister’s support, drew back her chair to leave the table. - -“Going out to-night?” Philip asked casually, as he rose. - -“Yes, I’m invited to ’n exclusive party ... artists and actors--real, -famous ones that people talk about,” Blanche replied, not being able to -resist the desire to voice her proudly anticipating mood. - -“Fa-amous, huh,” Harry said, with a sneer. “Well, you’ll sure be outa -place there, ’f they are.” - -“Peddle your wise-cracks somewhere else,” Blanche responded, unruffled. - -“We-ell, I don’t care what they are ’cept that you’d better not come -skiddin’ in after breakfast,” her father broke in, gruffly. - -What his girls did was their business as long as no one “had the -goods on them” and they kept out of trouble, but at the same time -he didn’t intend to stand for any open flaunting of their possible -transgressions. If a girl came home just before dawn, at the latest, -she might only have been “cutting up” at some wild party or night club, -but if she returned later than that, then it was evident that she had -stayed overnight with some man. - -As Blanche stood before her mirror, engrossed in the half-piteous and -half-brazenly hopeful ritual observed by most women--that of applying -cosmetics to her face--a lyric rose and fell in her heart, separated -by skeptical pauses. At last she had a chance to leap from the greasy, -colorless weights of Ninth Avenue, and the cheaply frothy interludes -of Broadway ... but was it only a fair-faced dream? Would the people -in the other impending world laugh at her, or turn their backs? Again, -all of them might turn out to be qualified versions of the group she -had met at Clara’s--mischievous, sneering Helgins, weak and pouting -Trussels, unwomanly Doras, Margarets indifferent to every one save the -men at their sides, and perhaps another approach to Oppendorf--another -intriguing but palely distant figure. - -The lyric rose once more and slew the specters. What an expert she was -at borrowing trouble! It was quite possible that at least two or three -of the people whom she was to meet would act friendly toward her and -invite her to other gatherings, or perhaps a really fetching man, more -naked and decent than Helgin, would fall for her. - -As she walked down Ninth Avenue to the Elevated station, the scene -incited tinglings of disgust in her whereas, usually, she regarded -it with a passively acceptant dislike, as the great, solid ugliness -from which she could not escape. Now, different objects in the scene -affected her as though she had been pummeled in the face. The garbage -cans at one side of the entrances, frequently overbrimming with decayed -fruit, soiled papers, and old shoes and hats; the pillars and tracks -of the “L” road, stretching out like a still millipede, with smaller -insects shooting over its back; frowsy women, with sallow, vacant -faces, shouting down from upper windows; dirt-streaked boys, wrangling -and cursing in hallways; drab blocks of buildings cramped together, -like huge, seething, shoddy boxes; and clusters of youths on each -corner, leering as though they could scarcely control the desire to -leap upon her. - -All of it scraped against her nerves. Why had she remained so long -within it?--it should have become unendurable years ago. Well, -what choice had she ever had?--an unpleasant hall room in some -rooming-shack. She could not afford more than that. But why, oh, why, -was she so depressed on this evening of all others--this evening when -for the first time she had something novel and promising to look -forward to? The lyric started again and the black pause terminated. She -became more in tune with an insidious, dodging gayety that somehow -survived the grossness of Ninth Avenue and sounded in the mildly warm -air of the late spring evening. In the dark-brown duvetyn dress that -stopped at her knees, black chiffon turban, flesh-colored stockings and -brown pumps, she could almost have been mistaken for some society girl -on a slumming tour. - -When she reached Margaret’s studio, Helgin and Oppendorf had already -arrived and were immersed in a game of dice for dimes, while Margaret -finished her toilette. The studio had a low, broad couch covered -with dark green taffeta and batik cushions, and gaudily painted -furniture, and a little kitchenette and bathroom adjoined it. Helgin -greeted Blanche in the affable boyish way which he could affect for -moments--the miraculous atom of humility sometimes flitting to the -surface of his poised urbanities. - -“Are you prepared to be thrilled?” he asked her, as she seated herself. - -“Listen, I’m a hard-boiled egg from Hell’s Kitchen, and I don’t thrill -so easy,” she answered, with the impudent desire to shatter his smiling -condescension. - -“Well, well, little tough Annie from behind the gas works,” he said. -“How did you manage to stuff your boxing gloves into that vanity case?” - -“Don’t need them--bare knuckles where I come from,” she retorted, -smiling back at him. - -“Stop it, Ben, you’ve met your match this time,” Oppendorf called out -from the armchair where he was pensively eying a tiny glass of gin held -in his right hand. “The awkward fighter can always beat the clever one -if he stands and waits for Sir Cleverness to rush him.” - -“Oppie always instructs me--he can’t bear the thought of my being -vanquished,” Helgin replied, lightly. - -“Well, I don’t know, I _have_ managed to bear it now and then,” -Oppendorf said, before swallowing the gin. - -“Didn’t both of you promise me not to be sarcastic for one night?” -Margaret asked, as she entered the studio. “If I had the muscle, why, -I’d spank the two of you!” - -“Start with Ben--it might change his entire life,” Oppendorf said, -grinning. - -“Oh, you’re not so sweet-tempered yourself,” she replied, as she -pinched his cheek. - -“You’re quite right, I’m a snarling, vituperative, vindictive man until -your smile creates a miracle within me,” he said, as he bowed low to -her. - -Whenever Oppendorf liked a woman he treated her at times with a -whimsical pretense of courtliness and deference, merrily overdone -enough to make the whimsicality apparent. - -“How easy it would be to believe you,” she responded, with a sigh that -carried off the vestige of a smile. - -“Emotions are never false--even the masquerade must become real before -it can be persuasive,” Oppendorf answered, quickly changing to a mien -of abstracted, impersonal challenge. “When the reality survives for a -long time it is called sincere and true, and people have faith in it. -It may be just as real for a moment, an hour, six days.” - -“You’re a sophist and a promiscuous wretch, and I’ll probably wind up -by hating you,” Margaret said, as she slid into his arms. “Just as a -person begins to depend on you ... you flit away ... I know.” - -“Why does a woman hate a man when he departs with an honest -abruptness?”--Oppendorf shifted to the inquiry of a distressed child. -“Or, why do men hate women for the same reason? I am immersed in you -at present because you contain qualities which I cannot find in the -other women around me. To-night, perhaps, or in a month from now, I may -meet another woman who does possess them, together with other qualities -which you lack. In such a case, my immersion would naturally transfer -itself. God, how human beings detest everything except the snug, warm -permanence which is either a lie or an unsearching sleep!” - -“There’s nothing logical about pain, Max,” Margaret said. “It _must_ be -deaf, and angry, and blind, and pleading, until it dies down. When a -girl’s lover goes off, her mind can say: ‘He revived and stimulated me, -and I’m glad I did have him for a while,’ but just the same her heart -still cries out: ‘Oh, he’s mean, and selfish, and treacherous, and I -hate him!’” - -Although she was conversing with Helgin, on the couch, Blanche had -caught bits of the other couple’s talk, and they brought a worried -tinge to her heart. Oppendorf was wrong--in very rare cases a man and -a woman _could_ love each other forever. Of course, the cases were -rare simply because people deeply harmonious in every way, from their -dancing-steps and tastes in clothes down to the very last opinion in -their minds, hardly ever met each other. That was it. It was simply a -question of luck as to whether you’d find this one person in a million -or not. - -Helgin called out: “Well, Don Juan’s defending himself again. He’s more -convincing when he doesn’t talk. Come on, Oppie, stop the necking for a -while and join us. You’re falling into the boresome habit of dropping -into a lady’s arms for hours and spoiling the party.” - -“I never object to other people taking the same privilege,” Oppendorf -replied, placidly, as Margaret slipped from his lap. - -“Perhaps we’re not as impatient as you,” Helgin said, grinning. - -“Or perhaps you hide your impatience more patiently--there are so many -possibilities,” Oppendorf retorted. - -“Say, Oscar Wilde once opened a small-talk shop--the store has been -well patronized ever since,” Blanche said, flippantly. - -The line wasn’t her own--it had been in the last novel she had -read--but she wanted to see what its effect would be on these men, and -whether it would impress them. - -“The gal’s improving,” Helgin replied. “Come on, take off your little -costume. You’re a college-student trying to write, and you thought -you’d be more interesting if you posed as a slangy hair-dresser.” - -“The best way to fool you people is not to pose at all,” Margaret said, -smiling. - -“It’s not a bad idea--I’ve tried it myself,” Oppendorf interjected. - -“Ti-ti-tum, come on, let’s go to the party,” Margaret interrupted. “You -can all keep it up on the way over.” - -After they were all in a taxicab and speeding uptown, Helgin said to -Blanche: “Didn’t you give Oppie a manuscript at the studio?” - -“Yes, it’s something I wrote about the tearoom where we sat last -night,” Blanche answered. “He’s such a frank man, and I know he’ll tell -me whether it’s just trash, or not.” - -“It’s becoming very amusing,” Helgin continued. “Nowadays, if you -meet a manicurist you never know when she’s going to stop polishing -your nails and draw the great, American lyric out of her sleeve, and -the waiter at the café tries to induce you to read his startling, -unpublished novel, and the bootblack shoves a short-story under your -nose. None of these people would dare to attempt a painting or a -sonata. The popular superstition is that literature consists of a deep -longing plus thousands of words thrown helter-skelter together.” - -“Well, it doesn’t hurt them to try--they’ll never find out what their -ability is, ’f they don’t,” Blanche replied, defiantly. - -“That’s right, don’t let him razz you,” Margaret broke in. “Masefield -was once a bar-room porter, you know.” - -“Please pick out a better example,” Oppendorf said. - -Then he turned to Blanche. - -“Your grammar is atrocious at times, but you have originality, and -there’s a razor in your humor,” he went on. “Keep on writing, and study -syntax and the declensions of verbs--they’re still fairly well observed -by every one except the Dadaists. I’ll have you in several magazines in -another two months. And thank God you’re not a poet. If you were, you’d -get fifty cents a line, mixed in with profound excuses!” - -“Do you really mean it?” Blanche asked, delightedly. - -“Of course.” - -“Why, I’ll work like a nigger ’f I can really make something of myself -as a writer,” Blanche cried, enraptured. - -“I hope you’re not giving any pleasant mirages to Miss Palmer,” Helgin -said, wondering whether Oppendorf was not merely seeking to flatter her -into an eventual physical capitulation. “I know your weakness. When we -were getting out The New Age you’d plague me every day with verses from -girl-friends of yours, and they were always rank imitations of your own -style.” - -“You seem to have the delusion that every beginner, with a sense of -irony and a deliberate style, is an echo of mine,” Oppendorf replied, -undisturbed. “You’d treat these people with a flippant impatience, -but I’d rather err on the side of encouraging them, unless they’re -saturated with platitudes and gush.” - -“Yes, you _are_ apt to make such mistakes, especially in the case of -some pretty girl,” Helgin said, with a malicious grin. - -“Have it your way, Ben,” Oppendorf responded, indifferently. - -Blanche listened with a serene confidence in Oppendorf--he never lied -about anything connected with writing: somehow she felt sure of that. -Literature was too serious a matter to him. - -For a moment Margaret looked a little jealously at Blanche, pestered -by the suspicion that Oppendorf might have praised Blanche’s work as a -first move toward conquering her--a suspicion which Helgin had known -would be caused by his words. Then Margaret remembered how he had -viciously assailed her own short-stories just after her first meeting -with him, when he had known that she would have prostrated herself -before him for the least word of praise, and with the remembrance her -doubts perished. - -“Be on your good behavior to-night,” Helgin said to Oppendorf. -“Vanderin didn’t want to invite you, but I convinced him that you had -become a chastened and amiable gentleman. I wouldn’t like to see you -thrown down the stairway--it gives smaller people a chance to gloat -over you.” - -“Are you really as wild as all that?” Blanche asked, looking -incredulously at Oppendorf’s subdued pallidness. - -“The stairway myth is one in a celebrated list,” Oppendorf replied. -“You’ll find many of the others in Mr. Helgin’s affectionate tribute -to me--his last novel. The list is a superb one. I deceived some -social-radical friends by pretending to defy the draft laws during the -war. I faked a broken shoulder and sponged on some other friends. I -was caught in the act of attempting to ravish a twelve-year-old girl. -I leap upon women at parties and manhandle them while they shriek for -mercy, in contrast to the other men present, who never do more than -audaciously grasp the little fingers of the same ladies. The amusing -part of it is that none of my actual crimes and offenses are on the -list. I could give my admirers some real ammunition if they would only -ask me for it.” - -“But why do they tell such hideous lies about you?” Blanche asked -naively. - -“I’ll tell you why,” Margaret broke in, indignantly. “It’s because -they hate him and fear him. He gets beneath their skins and mocks at -all their little idols, and squirmings, and compromises. They want to -pulverize him, but he hardly ever gives them any real opportunities, -so they’re reduced to falling back on their imaginations and insisting -that he’s a clownish monster. It’s a beautiful system of exaggerations, -all right! If he happens to be drunk at a party, it’s immediately -reported that he was pushed down the stairs, and if he’s seen stroking -a woman’s arm it’s always said that he hu-urled himself upon her.” - -“It must be troublesome to hear your perfect lover so sadly maligned in -spite of his eloquent assertions of innocence,” Helgin said, smiling. -“Most of the stories are really told in admiration of his savage gifts.” - -“Yes, the admiration is both profound and imaginative,” Oppendorf -retorted, with a weary return of the smile. - -Blanche listened to the others with feelings of uncertainty and dismay. -How could refined, serious, artistic people act so rottenly toward -each other? They weren’t so very much different from the toughs in -her neighborhood, except that they used words while the gangsters -and bullies employed their feet and fists, or fell back on guns and -knives. The gangsters were far less dangerous, too. They could only -hurt a person for a short time, or else kill him and send him beyond -any further injury, but these artist-people with their mean tongues -and their sneering stories could damage some one for the rest of his -life, in different ways. Oh, well, maybe most people were always alike, -except that some of them were clever and had minds, while others were -more inept and stupid. What real difference was there between the -endless digs which her new acquaintances traded and the catty remarks -which she heard every day at the Beauty Parlor? Still, she made a -mental reservation in the case of Oppendorf. He had to retaliate or -keep quiet, and he never started any of the sarcasm, as far as she -could hear, though he certainly could finish it! If he had only been -physically stronger, and more blithely animated, she could have fallen -in love with him. This ideal man of hers!--she’d probably never meet -him. It only happened in story-books. But, at any rate, she intended -to apply herself to writing and feel of some importance for a change. -How relieved and happy she had been after putting down the last word -of her tearoom sketch--it had been almost the first real thrill in her -life. - -When she entered Paul Vanderin’s large, high-ceilinged studio and spied -the Juliet balcony that ran around two sides of it, with rooms leading -out on the balcony, and the profusion of statues and paintings--most -of them weird or fiercely unorthodox--and the grand piano, and the -abundance of luxurious furniture in neutral shades, she sighed and -slipped a hand over her eyes. How delirious it must be to live in a -place of this kind--big, and high, and filled with conveniences and -intensely interesting objects--and how different it was from her own -small, ugly room, with the ceiling hemming you in as though you were in -a cage. Life was so darned unfair--lavishing favors, and stimulations, -and beauties on some people and treating others in the most grudging -and miserly fashion. Well, that was an old story--no good to rave over -it. You had to beat life to its knees somehow, sharpening your mind and -trying to express yourself, and praying for luck. - -Several people had already gathered in the studio, and as she walked -beside Helgin in the round of introductions, she opened her mouth and -felt stunned at the discovery that some of them ... were negroes! This -was really astonishing--she had never dreamt that cultured, artistic -white people mingled with black and brown men and women on terms of -familiar friendship! Her head felt in a turmoil and she couldn’t decide -whether these contacts were right or wrong, whether she herself could -join them without shrinking. Of course, human beings were all equal -and shouldn’t look down upon each other because the color of their -skins varied, but ... didn’t it go much deeper than that? Wasn’t there -a physical repugnance between the different races--a strong feeling -that simply couldn’t be overcome? Certainly, she had always thought so. - -She had spoken to negroes, and Japanese, and Chinamen before, and had -even joked with them--elevator boys, and porters, and waiters, and -laundry-men--but she had never cared for their physical proximity and -had always felt repulsed if they happened to brush against her. But -still, they had been unrefined and ordinary, while these negroes were -intelligent and cultured, and spoke about art and psychology. This -was a revelation, as she had never imagined that negroes of this kind -existed, except in the ratio of one to tens of thousands. She had heard -vaguely of Booker T. Washington, and famous negro lawyers, and, oh -yes, a negro writer named Du Bois, whom Rosenberg had always talked -about, but she had thought that they were rarities and had even felt a -flitting pity for their isolation among their own race. - -Of course, she had been foolish and thoughtless--there was no valid -reason why negroes should not voice their feelings and search for -beauty and uniqueness, instead of always clinging to some business or -manual labor. They were human beings, too, and their hearts and minds -were probably often much more restless than those of most white people. -Besides, since these white writers and artists mixed with negroes, it -must be that society was gradually beginning to approve of this union -and was losing its prejudice in the matter. Sti-ill, perhaps these -negroes and whites simply talked to each other, or danced together, -without any sexual intimacies. Surely, there was no harm in that. - -As she sat beside Helgin she voiced her perplexity. - -“Say, I never knew that black and white people went to the same -parties,” she said. “I don’t quite know what to think of it.” - -“Oh, yes, it’s the latest fad among white dilettantes,” Helgin replied. -“They became weary of their other enthusiasms--finding a tragic, -esthetic beauty in Charlie Chaplin and other slapstick comedians, and -raving over East Side Burlesque Shows, and making Greek gladiators -out of flat-nosed prize-fighters, and hunting for love in Greenwich -Village. They are now busily engaged in patronizing and eulogizing -the negro race. Vanderin is one of the ring-leaders in the matter. -It tickles his jaded senses and reassures him of his decadence, and -provides him with material for novels.” - -“But isn’t any of it sincere and honest?” Blanche inquired. - -“Certainly--negro and white writers and artists are actually starting -to tear down the age-old barriers,” Helgin responded. “What begins as a -fad can end as an avalanche. I really hope it happens.” - -“But ... but tell me, do negro and white men and women have anything to -do with each other?” Blanche asked, falteringly. - -Helgin laughed. - -“Do you see that couple over there?” he asked. “The tall, Nordic kid -and the mulatto girl in red. They’re always together at every party. -Of course, white men have had negro mistresses in the past, with -everything veiled and a little shamefaced, but this is different. It’s -out in the open now, and it’s on the basis of deep mental and spiritual -understanding.” - -“I don’t want to be narrow-minded,” Blanche answered, “but I don’t see -how they can love each other--they must be lying to themselves. The -races just weren’t meant to have physical relations with each other. -There’s something, something in their flesh and blood that stands -between, like ... like a warning signal. That’s it.” - -As she spoke, though, she had the sensation of uttering sentences -which she had borrowed from books and other people, and which did not -decisively express her opinions. - -“Oh, it doesn’t last long, usually,” Helgin said. “It’s not often that -they live permanently together and raise families, but the infatuations -are fierce enough while they last. And even intermarriage is becoming -more common.” - -“We-ell, I’d like to talk to a negro boy, ’f he were intelligent and -brilliant-like, you know, but I don’t think I could fall in love with -him, even then,” Blanche replied. “You can’t reason about it ... it’s -there, that’s all.” - -Vanderin walked up and spoke to Blanche. He was a tall, robust man with -gray hair and a half-bald head and a ruddy, mildly sensual face. His -speech and manners were genially suave and yet reserved, and there -was something about his large eyes that resembled the look of a child -playing with toys to hide its weariness. - -“You don’t mind our mixed gathering, I hope,” he said to Blanche. “I -find the negro race to be very congenial, and just beginning to wake -up. There are negro painters and poets here to-night who are quite able -to stand shoulder to shoulder with white creators.” - -“Tell us all about their plaintive, erotic, defiant quality,” Helgin -said. “You do it well, Paul--come on.” - -Vanderin laughed as he retorted: “You’ll have to read it in my next -book, old skeptic. I’m not giving lectures to-night.” - -“But won’t you tell me something about them?” Blanche asked, -pleadingly. “I’m a frightful simpleton in all these matters, but I do -want to find out about them.” - -Helgin rose and joined a group, while Vanderin sat down and conversed -with Blanche. He fascinated her as he told her grotesquely humorous, -slightly bawdy anecdotes of Harlem’s night life and spoke of cabarets -where negroes and whites danced and frolicked with a savagely paganish -abandonment, and described the motives and longings behind negro music -and writing. According to Vanderin, negroes were pouncing upon the -restrained and timorous art of America and revitalizing it with an -unashamed sensuality, and more simple and tortured longings, and a more -grimly questioning attitude of mind. - -As Blanche listened to his silkenly baritone voice she reproached -herself for her lack of a warm response toward this persuasive, exotic -man. His mind intrigued her but her heart still beat evenly. She -seemed to sense something of a huge, amiable, carelessly treacherous -cat within him--one who lazily and perversely hunted for distractions -and amusements, without allowing anything or any one to move him -deeply, and who could become cruel or disdainful in the tremor of -an eyelash. Why did all of the mentally luring men she had ever met -fail to overpower her emotions? So far, her heart had been moderately -stirred only by mental weaklings or frauds. Oh, dear, this business of -searching for an ideal was certainly a shadowy mess! - -Vanderin excused himself to greet some new arrivals, and Margaret -dropped into his chair. - -“How do you like the hectic fricassee?” she asked, half waving her hand -toward a boisterous group of negroes and whites, who stood with arms -interlocked. - -“I’m very confused about it,” Blanche said. “One part of me, now, it -says, ‘Come on, Blanie, be a good sport and don’t be prejudiced,’ -but there’s another part, you see, and it sort of shrinks away, and -wonders, well ... and wonders how they can kiss and hug each other.” - -“Listen, you ain’ seen nothin’ yet,” Margaret answered, jocosely. “I’ve -been to parties where white and colored people were doing everything -but, and they weren’t lowbrows, either. Real artists, and writers, and -actors.” - -“Well, how do you feel about it?” Blanche asked. - -“I couldn’t do it myself, but I’m not intolerant,” Margaret said. “Some -people have this instinctive, physical aversion to other races, you -know, and some just haven’t. I’ve talked to colored men for hours and -felt very immersed in what they said, but I could never have spooned -with them.” - -“Well, I’m probably built the same way, but I’m not at all sure about -it,” Blanche responded. “I’m not sure about anything, to-night. It’s -all too new to me.” - -A tall, jaunty, colored youth whisked Margaret away, and a portly, -courtly man wearing shell-rimmed spectacles sat down beside Blanche -and began to tell her all about an immortal play which he had written, -but which the managers were hesitating over because it hadn’t strolled -into the box-office. The playwright was garrulous, using his arms as a -sweeping emphasis for his remarks, and Blanche wondered whether she was -listening to a genius or an untalented boaster. Some day she’d meet a -man who didn’t claim to be superb in his particular line ... some day -snow would fall in July. - -The gathering became slowly silent as Vanderin announced that a poet -was about to recite. The poet, a young negro, Christopher Culbert, read -some of his sonnets, in a liquid and at times almost shrill voice. He -had a round, dark-brown face, and a body verging on chubbiness, and his -verses were filled with adored colors and a sentimentality that flirted -with morbidity for moments and then repented. He was effeminate and -jovial in his manner, and after the reading he returned to his place -on a couch beside another negro youth. Then another man, blackish -brown and with the body of an athlete, sang spirituals, with a crazy, -half-sobbing, swaying quaver in his voice. A curious blending and -contrast of elation and austerity seemed to cling to him. As he intoned -the words of one song: “Ho-ow d’yuh kno-ow, ho-ow d’yuh kno-o-ow, a-t -the blo-od done si-ign mah na-a-me?”, Blanche felt shivers racing up -and down her spine. These negroes certainly had something which white -people couldn’t possibly imitate--something that made you feel wild, -and sad, and swung you off your feet! It was hard to put your finger on -it--perhaps it was a kind of insanity. - -When the singer had finished, Vanderin announced that Miss Bee Rollins, -of the Down South night club would do the Charleston dance. She stepped -forward--a palely creamish-brown skinned young negress with a lissom -body incongruously plump about the waist, and an oval face, infinitely -impertinent and infinitely sensual in a loosely heavy way. She twisted -and bobbed and jerked through the maniacal obliquely see-sawing and -shuffling steps of the Charleston, with a tense leer on her face, and -inhumanly flexible legs. She was madly applauded and forced to several -encores. Then the party broke up into dancing and more steady drinking, -with different negroes playing at the piano, and the assistance of a -phonograph in between. - -The dancers undulated and embraced in a way that surprised -Blanche--even in the cheap dance halls which she had frequented, the -floor-watchers always immediately ordered off all couples who tried -to get away with such rough stuff. Well, anyway, it wasn’t the main -part of these people’s lives--their only thrill and importance--as -it was with the dance-hall men and women. The couples in this studio -were only “cutting up” between their more serious, searching labors -and expressions, and they were certainly more entitled to be frankly -sexual, if they wanted to. - -Blanche stepped over the floor with several negro and white men, and -enjoyed the novelty of dancing as extremely as the other couples did, -though she felt the least bit guilty about it--it certainly was “going -the limit.” As she danced with the negroes she felt surprised at her -lack of aversion to the closeness of their bodies. Somehow, they danced -with a rhythmical, subtle, audacious fervor which her white partners -could never quite duplicate, and she was swung into a happy harmony -with their movements in spite of herself. - -As she was catching her breath between dances, she watched some of the -negroes around her. One of them, a short, slender girl in a dark red -smock and a short black skirt, was conversing with a white youth in a -dark suit, who looked like a solemnly tipsy mingling of clergyman and -pagan. She had a pale brown skin, black curls of bobbed hair, thin -lips, and a pug nose. She held his hand and gave him distrustfully -tender looks. - -Blanche caught fragments of their conversation. - -“You don’t love me, hon.... You can get white girls prettier than I -am--I know....” - -“I don’t want them ... you’ve put a song in my blood, right in it.... -I’m crazy about you.” - -“I don’t think you mean it.... Lord knows, I’d like so to believe -you....” - -“You will, you will.... I’ll take care of that....” - -He kissed her and then she withdrew, saying: “You funny, funny, dear, -impatient boy!” - -Another young negress with a dark-brown skin and a tall fullness to her -body, was laughing violently beside a thin, white man with a little -black mustache and a petulant face. She sang: “Mamma has her teeth all -filled with goldun bridges ’n’ diamon’s small, but po-oor papa, po-o-or -papa, got no teefies at a-all.” - -“Not this papa,” he replied. “I’ll prove it to you.” - -She drew back, laughing, while he sought to embrace her. They almost -collided with a young negress who was dancing with a middle-aged white -man. She was slim, with a straight-nosed, creamy face and straight -brown hair, while her partner was floridly jowled and had the symptoms -of a paunch, and sparse, black hair. They stopped their dance and -stood, talking. - -“Have you seen the Russian Players?” she asked. - -“Yep, went down last night and took in that version of -Carmen--‘Carmencita and the Soldier.’” - -“Aren’t they a curious mixture of restraint and hilarity? It’s a -contradiction--a sort of disciplined madness, isn’t it?” - -“Oh, yes, they have dark, strange, patient souls, and yet ... they can -be wildness itself. And they’re entirely obedient to the designs of the -playwright. They never let their personalities swagger all over the -stage at the expense of the author.” - -The two walked off, still talking, and Blanche eyed them regretfully as -she wished that they had remained within hearing. Most of the men and -women at the party seemed to be disinclined to talk about impersonal -subjects. Their only aims were drinking, dancing, and making love to -each other. Of course, they were tired of their more sober professions -and the heavier problems in life, and wanted to forget them for one -night at least--but this explanation scarcely lessened Blanche’s -disappointment. She was longing to hear discussions on art and -psychology--matters that were still semishrouded to her. She had been -to tens of parties where people were “running wild” and foxtrotting and -mauling each other--it was nothing new to her. - -She answered the teasing remarks of the man beside her with abstracted -monosyllables, and watched another couple--a tall, dark, negro youth, -with the face of a proud falcon, and an ample-bodied white woman in -her early thirties, with a round face void of cosmetics but like an -angelic mask that could not quite hide the jaded sensuality underneath -it. She leaned closely against his side while he stroked one of her -arms and looked at her with an almost scornful longing on his face. -Blanche gazed intently at them--this was an exception. All of the other -mixed couples that she had noticed had consisted of negro girls and -white men, and she had been on the verge of believing that the women -of her own race were only tolerantly “fooling around” and had no deep -response to the colored men. But no, she was wrong. Another white woman -and a negro youth were whispering together on the piano-bench, with -their heads almost touching and their right hands clasping each other. - -How queer it was--even she had succumbed to the spell of the negroes, -while dancing with them. They were like wise children--they could be -abandoned and serious in such a quick succession, and there was an -assured, romping, graceful something about them. Still, loving any -one of them would probably be impossible--she still shrank a little -from the nearness of their bodies, when the sorcery of the dances was -removed. - -The teasing man departed, thinking her an odd iceberg, and another man -sat beside her. She turned to look at him. He was of her own height -and had a muscular body, a pale white skin with the least tinge of -brown in it, and straight, light brown hair brushed back. His lips were -thin below a narrow nose, and his large, gray eyes seemed to be full -of silent laughter, as though the scene were an endurable but trivial -comedy to him. In his tuxedo suit, well fitting and distinctive, and -with his athletic, graceful body, that was neither too narrow nor too -broad, and the high-chinned but not supercilious poise of his head, he -could have been mistaken for some movie hero more natural and finely -chiseled than most of the other stars in that profession. - -He looked at Blanche and smiled--a smile that was respectful but had -the least touch of impudence. - -“I haven’t been introduced to you--I came in rather late,” he said, -easily. “My name’s Eric Starling.” - -“Mine’s Blanche Palmer,” she replied. - -“Isn’t it rather silly--this trading of names right off the reel?” he -asked. “They’re just empty sounds until people get to know each other, -and then, of course, they do begin to suggest the qualities within each -person.” - -“My name’s even more meaningless, if that’s possible,” she answered. “I -haven’t done a thing to make it of any importance. Not a thing.” - -“Well, you’re not gray-haired, yet--unless you dye it,” he said, with a -boyish geniality. “You have still time enough to conquer the world.” - -He had a soft and low, but unmistakably masculine voice, that pleased -her. - -“Yes, a girl can keep on telling that to herself until there’s no time -left,” she responded. - -“How doleful you sound,” he replied. “Have a heart--you’ll make me -confess my own pessimism in a minute, if you keep it up.” - -She laughed softly. - -“No, you’re still young--you have plenty of time to conquer the -wo-o-orld,” she said, mimickingly. - -“I was only trying to be pleasantly conventional,” he responded. “Lord -knows, I’m a child of night myself--morbid moods, and hatreds, and -despairs. I do try to tone it down, though. The world may be a muddled -and treacherous place, on the whole, but if you never laugh about it, -then you let it interfere too much with your work. I don’t know why -I’m telling you all this--you’re probably not interested.” - -She liked his tone of quiet self-disparagement and understanding -resignation--the absence of the usual masculine: “Look me over, kid, -I’m there!” - -“Of course I’m interested,” she said. “It’s this way--’f you go around -and laugh too much, why, then it’s just like taking dope, and then -again, ’f you don’t laugh enough, you see, you get too wise to your own -smallness. There’s never any cure for anything, I guess.” - -Up to this time he had regarded her only as a handsome girl, a bit -more unaffected and humorous than the general run, but now he felt a -much keener interest. She had something to say--an intriguing oddity -among women. Who was this girl, with her dark red hair in bobbed curls, -and her jaunty, Irish-looking face, and her words divided between -whimsicality and hopelessness? Perhaps she was a talented person, -well-known in her profession and amusing herself with this posture of -half-smiling and half darkly wistful obscurity. - -“You’re probably quite famous and rebuking me for not having heard of -you,” he said, after a pause. - -“I don’t think Madame Jaurette would agree with you,” she answered, -smiling. - -“Mother or dancing partner?” - -“She owns the Beauty Parlor where I work--I’m just a common -hair-dresser, that’s all.” - -He looked closely at her--was she persistently jesting? - -“No fooling--come clean,” he said. “You’re not really.” - -“Oh, I know, I’m not like my type,” she answered. “I think a little, -and I don’t use slang very often, though I like it sometimes. Don’t be -deceived so easy.” - -“Well, I’ll bet you’re trying to do something different, anyway,” he -said, convinced now that she was telling the truth and engrossed in -this phenomenon of a seemingly intelligent and searching Beauty Shop -girl. “You could tell me you were a scrubwoman and I’d still know -instinctively that your job had nothing to do with your ambitions. It’s -in all your words and all the expressions on your face.” - -She felt glad that his response had not been one of veiled pity, or -sexy flattery, or the polite ending of interest, and her heart began -to quicken its strokes. Say, could he be the man that she had been -looking for? Could he? Silly, oh, very silly dream, and one that -could scarcely be changed to a proven reality by a few beginning and -possibly misleading words, and yet ... she _was_ attracted by his -appearance--stalwart and yet subdued, with no “fizz” about it--and she -liked immensely everything he said. - -“My family’s poor and I’ve had to work to earn my own living,” she -said, simply. “I live in the toughest part of Ninth Avenue--I was born -and raised there. The people I come from think that art’s the second -word in ‘Thou art bughouse.’ Now you’ve got the whole sad story.” - -“Well, seeing that confessions are in order, I’ll spill mine,” -he answered. “I was brought up in a neighborhood where they throw -paving-blocks at each other to prove the sincerity of their feelings. -One of them hit me once, but it didn’t seem able to knock any obedience -into me. Oh, ye-es, nice, little neighborhood.” - -“’F it’s any worse than Hell’s Kitchen it must be a peach,” she -replied, thoroughly unreserved and immersed in him now. - -“It is--Peoria Street in Chicago,” he said, smiling. “If I could escape -from Peoria Street, you’ll probably be able to get out of Ninth Avenue -with one wing-flutter and a little audacity! I’m working for a Harlem -cabaret now--Tony’s Club. Publicity man ... writing the blurbs, and -arranging the banquets, and getting the celebs to come down.” - -“I’m quite sure you’re different from most publicity men, I can just -feel it in your words and in the looks on your face,” she answered, in -a mocking voice. - -“Lady, I’ll never feed you that medicine again--the taste is simply -frightful,” he replied. - -They both laughed and felt relieved about it. - -“D’you know, I’ve got a writing bug buzzing in my head,” she said, -after a short pause. “It really started only a night ago--I never -dared to believe I could do it before. I was down to Greenwich Village -for the first time, and when I came back I wrote a sketch of the -tearoom I’d been in. I didn’t think it amounted to very much, but Max -Oppendorf, the poet, you know, he tells me it’s really clever and -original, in spite of the shaky grammar. I’m going to keep on writing, -you see, and he’s promised to criticize my stuff and try to put it over -for me.” - -“I think I met Oppendorf once,” he replied. “He’s tall and blond, isn’t -he?” - -“Yes, that’s him--he’s here to-night.” - -“You didn’t come with him, did you?” - -“No-o, don’t be scared,” she said, in raillery. “He’s with a girl -friend, Margaret Wheeler, and my, how they’re gone on each other. It -always seems to annoy them when they’ve got to talk to somebody else.” - -“Who’d you come with?” - -“With Ben Helgin, the novelist. I only met him and Oppendorf last -night, and I’m only a curiosity to him. He just wanted to see how -the slum-girlie would get along in the mi-ighty studio. I hope he’s -satisfied now.” - -“Do you know, people who patronize and bend down all the time, do it as -a hop-fiend sniffs his cocaine,” he said. “They might have to take a -close peek at themselves otherwise.” - -“Isn’t it the truth,” she answered. “When I think of all the dopes -people use to kid themselves along, I get the Jailhouse Blues. I was -just as bad myself, two or three years ago, before I commenced to get -wise to myself.” - -A pause came, during which they looked at each other with a budding and -almost incredulous desire. - -“By the way, I have another confession to make,” he said. “Close -your eyes and take the blow. I’m one of those dreamy, high-handed, -impossible poets you’ve heard about. Vanderin likes my stuff and he’s -induced Koller, the publisher, to take a first book of mine. I grind -it out between the times when I’m slaving down at Tony’s.” - -“Three cheers,” she answered, delightedly. “Perhaps we can put our -heads together now, and maybe you’ll help me with my work. I know you -must have much more education than I’ve got.” - -“Oh, I did work my way through two years of college, but I stopped -after that,” he said. “It was too dry, and heavy, and, well, -conservative, to satisfy me. A million don’ts and rules and rules and -boundaries. They’re all right to know but they’re not so sacred to me.” - -“Well, I envy you, anyway,” she replied, sighing. “You’ve got to help -me with my grammar--that’s the big, weak sister with me.” - -“You can bet I will,” he responded, eagerly. - -She was certainly an unusual girl--one who had somehow commenced -to force her way out of a vicious, muddy environment. Since he had -partially freed himself from the same thing, it was a sacred duty -to help her. But he wouldn’t do it for that reason alone--he liked -the jolly and yet pensive turn of her, and the undismayed and candid -twist of her mind, and the soft irregularities of her face, which were -charming in spite of their lack of a perfect prettiness, and the boldly -curved but not indelicate proportions of her strong body. Of course, -it was nonsense to believe that you could fall in love after several -minutes of talking, and there was Lucia, the clever little hoyden whom -he had gone with for two years now, and Clara, savage, beautiful, and -dumb, and Georgie, keen-minded enough but a little hysterical at times, -and promiscuous, and.... But after all, none of them except Lucia had -ever aroused him to any depth of emotion, and even that had long since -begun to wear off. She was mentally shallow--women usually turned out -to be that, after you penetrated their little tricks and defenses. -Would this girl prove to be of the same kind? Maybe, maybe, but there -was one thing about her that he hadn’t found in any other women--the -instant, frank, ingenuous way in which she had intimately revealed -herself, without all of the wrigglings and parryings common to her sex. -They sure did hate to get down to brass tacks. - -He was an odd confusion of sentimentalities and cynicisms, and the -conflict between them was often an indecisive one. As he looked at -Blanche, a fear suddenly shot through him.... Lord, he had forgotten. -The old, dirty scarecrow that would probably turn her away from him. - -“D’you know, I was certainly surprised when I came here to-night,” she -said. “I never imagined that negroes and white people--real, artistic -ones, I mean--I never imagined that they went around with each other -and made love together. I don’t know just how to take it. How would you -feel if you met a good-looking, intelligent, negro girl and she became -fond of you?” - -He winced and his face tightened up. It was just as he had feared--she -had mistaken him for a white man. Of course, he _was_ white for the -most part ... just a fraction of negro blood, but he was proud of -it just the same, damn proud of it, and if people wanted to repulse -him because of this fraction, they could go straight to the devil for -all he cared.... Should he tell her now and have it over with? He -hesitated. Despite his impatient pride he could not bring the words to -his lips, as he had done many times before in such cases. White women -often made this mistake, and he was inured to correcting it and bearing -their constraint, or their shifting to a careful cordiality, but this -time his self-possession had vanished. Sometimes he _had_ failed -to tell women, when he had only wanted a night or two of physical -enjoyment with them, for then it never mattered, but ... some miracle -had happened. This girl really seemed to have cut beneath his skin, and -... yes, he was afraid of losing the chance to see her again. - -He didn’t love her now--in the deep, seething way that was the real -thing--but he felt that if he continued to meet her he probably would, -and this was a rare sensation to him. She would have to be told some -time, of course, but ... not to-night. He simply couldn’t run the risk -of spoiling this growing harmony between them, of not seeing whether it -might flower out into an actual ecstasy. He couldn’t. - -Blanche began to wonder at his lengthy silence, and she looked -inquiringly at him. - -“Please excuse me,” he said at last. “I was sort of ... sort of -waltzing in a dream with you for a while.... Negroes and whites are -human beings after all, and the fact that a man’s colored shouldn’t -make him an inferior animal. But that’s an old story to me. I’ve got -it all memorized. Race-prejudice, and fun-da-men-tal repugnance, and -all the disasters that spring from intermingling. Oh, yes, these things -exist in most people, of course they do, but I refuse to believe that -exceptional men and women can’t rise above them. If they can’t, then -what _is_ exceptional about them?” - -Something in the weary contempt of his words should have suggested to -her that he was pleading his own cause, but her delighted immersion in -him made her oblivious, and she mistook his words for those of a rarely -unprejudiced white man. How eloquently and clearly he talked! He had an -unassuming but fervent way that was far more attractive than Helgin’s -suave, superior jovialities, or Oppendorf’s tired belligerency, or -any of the other postures which she had noticed in different men at -the party. Was she really beginning to fall in love with this Eric -Starling? Somehow, she felt that no matter what faults she might -discover in him afterwards, they would not be huge enough to destroy -this present sense of communion with him. You had to trust to your -instinct in such matters, and this instinct certainly hadn’t failed her -up to date. Hadn’t she always doubted and feared Campbell, and held him -at arm’s length, in spite of his smooth protests and promises? But gee, -what if she _were_ deceiving herself? This time it would be a real blow. - -“I think I agree with you.... I’m not sure,” she answered at last. “I -guess no person can tell how he’s going to feel about, well, loving -somebody who’s of another race, unless he actually runs up against it -himself. I certainly believe negroes and whites ought to talk together, -though, and try to understand each other more. There’s too much darn -hate and meanness in this little world, as it is.” - -“Yes, entirely too much,” he said, in an abstractedly weary way. - -Helgin walked up and Blanche introduced him to Starling. - -“Found your ideal yet, little gal?” he asked, grinning. “A -studio-party’s an excellent place for such delusions.” - -“’F I had, I wouldn’t tell you, old boy,” she answered impertinently. -“You’d just answer ‘Nice li’l baby, all blind and deaf and everything.’” - -“Ideals are out of fashion, Mr. Helgin,” Starling said. “They don’t -seem to blend so well with synthetic gin, and the Charleston, and -divorces at six for a dollar.” - -Helgin countered with one of his bland ironies and then said: “The -party’s beginning to break up, now. Are you ready to leave, Miss -Palmer?” - -“Would you mind if I saw Miss Palmer home?” Starling asked, bluntly, -but in a soft voice. “I hope you won’t be irritated at my nerve.” - -Helgin laughed. - -“Of course not, if it’s agreeable to her,” he replied. “I never have -any desire to interfere with blossoming romances.” - -“You won’t think I’m being terribly rude, will you?” Blanche asked. - -“Go o-on, stop the nervous apologies, child,” he said. “I’m really glad -that you’ve found a kindred soul.” - -He shook hands with the other two and walked away. - -As Blanche and Starling went for their wraps, they ran into Oppendorf -and Margaret, and Blanche introduced the two men, who vaguely -remembered that they had met somewhere before. Oppendorf looked even -sleepier and more distant than usual, while Margaret was in a giggling -daze of contentment. - -“He didn’t kiss more than two other girls to-night,” she said gayly. “I -really think he must be beginning to care for me.” - -“I didn’t count more than two in your case, but then we had our backs -turned once in a while,” Oppendorf replied. - -Blanche promised to visit Margaret’s studio at the end of the week, -with another manuscript for Oppendorf’s appraisal, and the two couples -separated. - -During the taxicab ride to her home, Starling held her hand, but -made no effort to embrace her, and although she wanted him to, she -felt rather glad at his reserve. How tired she had become of men who -desperately tried to rush her at the end of the first night. It almost -seemed as though rarely desirable men were never instantly frantic -about it--as though their unabashed quietness alone proved their -rarity. Naturally, only starved or oversexed men were so immediately -anxious for physical intimacies, although ... Starling might have -kissed her at least. - -As Blanche stood in the dirty, poorly lit hallway, she smiled for a -moment as she remembered how often she had been in this same spot, -permitting men to kiss and hug her, out of pity or as a small payment -for the “good time” that they had shown her. And now she was parting -with a man infinitely more cajoling than they had been, and merely -clasping hands with him. Life was certainly “cuckoo” all right. She -had arranged to see Starling at the end of the week and leave a night -of rest in between. As she retired to her bed, the satiated remnants -of the ecstasy-herald were shifting slowly, slowly in her breast. The -dream had finally peered around the corner ... how nice, how sweet, how -terrifying.... - -On the following day, as she worked at the Beauty Parlor, she was -in a sulkily grimacing mood. Oh, this endless ha-air-curling, and -face-massaging ... beautifying women and girls so that some male fool -would spend his money on them, or offer to marry them, or try to caress -them. Gold-diggers, and loose women too passionate to be very efficient -gold-diggers, and lazy, decent housewives, and sly-faced wives with a -man or two on the side, and kiss-me-’n’-fade-away flappers--take away -their bodies and what would be left of them? Less than a grease-spot. -Drat this empty, tiresome work. She’d have to get out of it pretty soon -or go loony. She wanted to write, and describe people, and live in a -decent place, and ... see Eric Starling. - -He moved about in her mind; his fingers were still touching her hands. -What a strong body and well-shaped face he had. Funny about men’s faces -... they were usually either too weakly perfect--movie-hero-like--or -too homely, but Starling’s was in between. And he had a curious -quality--not humble but sort of sadly and smilingly erect. What was it, -anyway? - -During the next two days she treated her family with a greater degree -of merry friendliness, and they began faintly to hope that she was -coming around to their ways of thinking. In reality, they had ceased to -matter much to her, all except her mother, for whom she still felt a -weak and troubled compassion. Poor, hard-working, patient, stupid ma. -But what on earth could be done to help her? - -Propped up against the pillows on her bed, Blanche had written an -account of the Vanderin party. With more confident emotions now, -fortified by Oppendorf’s praise, and with a little, dizzy ache in her -head, her fingers had passed less laboriously over the paper. Her -sketch was pointedly humorous and disrespectful, and stuck its tongue -out at the different men and women who had attended the party. They -might be celebrities and all that, but most of them hadn’t acted and -talked much different from the business men and chorines whom she had -met at other affairs. She enjoyed the task of good-naturedly attacking -them--it was like revenging her own undeserved obscurity. - -Her sketch was full of lines such as: “She was fat, and when she -did the Charleston with a little skinny fellow, why he looked just -like a frightened kid,” and “The negroes and whites, all except the -loving couples, they acted like they were trying too hard to be happy -together,” and “The party was a good excuse for necking, but they -all could have done it much better alone,” and “They introduced him -as a poet, but when he started to talk to you, why then you got more -uncertain about it, and when he was through talking you were just sure -that something must be wrong.” - -When she met Starling, on Saturday night, she was in a facetious and -tiptoeing mood. Hot doggie, life was perking up again. As they rode in -a taxicab down to Margaret’s studio, she showed him the sketch, and he -laughed loudly over it. - -“You know, the trouble between colored and white people at parties -is that they’re both acting up to each other,” he said. “The whites -are doing their darnedest to be tolerant and, well, cordial, and -the colored people are always a little uncomfortable. They act -self-conscious, you know, or too wild, and why? They’re all trying to -put their best foot forward, and show that they belong there.” - -“But how about all the loving pairs I saw at Vanderin’s?” she asked. -“They sure didn’t seem to mind it much.” - -He sighed and closed his eyes for a moment. Of course, she didn’t know -that in eight cases out of ten--perhaps more--these pairs had nothing -but a passing lust for each other. And what if they did?--that part -of it was all right. There was no earthly reason why they shouldn’t -want each other’s bodies, unless they were too cruel or sneering -about it. God, sex could be a wild, clean, naked, beautiful thing, and -people were always hurling mud and denunciations at it, or slinking -with it behind closed doors, damn them. But he didn’t want just a -flitting affair with Blanche ... he was sure of that now. He had been -afraid that the encouragement of night, and the highballs, and the -party, might have caused him to throw a false radiance around this -girl--he had done the same thing before, though never so severely. -But now he realized that his feelings for her were made of more solid -stuff--realized it just after he had finished reading her sketch. He -liked her upstanding, inquiring, impertinent spirit, and the unaffected -smiles and _moués_ that appeared on her face, and the sturdy and yet -soft freshness of her body. - -Hell was probably facing him. He was a negro, yes, and proud of it, -but suppose it caused him to lose this woman? He would almost hate -it, then--this streak of black blood which he had always flaunted so -defiantly. He wasn’t like other men of his kind--cringing about it, and -claiming to be entirely white, and fawning before every white woman -they met. Stupid lily-snatchers! Not he! Yet he was sorely tempted -to flee to this lie, in Blanche’s case. If he confessed, then all of -his hopes and longings might be shot to pieces. He could picture her -in his mind, recoiling from him against her will, summoning pleasant -and compassionate smiles, trying to soothe the wound caused by her -sorrowful determination never to see him again. - -Puzzled by his frowning silence, she said: “What’s the matter, Eric?” - -“Oh, I was just brooding over some of the injustice in this world,” he -replied. “It’s absurd, of course--never does any good. What were we -talking about?” - -“You said something about negroes and whites always acting up to each -other,” Blanche answered, “and then I said that some of the couples I -saw at Vanderin’s seemed to be really gone on each other.” - -“Of course they are--for a night, or a month. A year’s the world’s -record as far’s I know. It’s nothing but surface sex-appeal, you know, -and it’s not much different from the old plantation-owners down South, -who used to pick out colored mistresses. The only difference nowadays -is that white women are starting to respond to colored men.” - -“Gee, I wonder ’f I could care for you, ’f you were colored ... I -wonder now,” Blanche said, reflectively. “Of course, I’ll never have -to bother about it, but it’s interesting just the same. I guess a -woman never knows how she’ll feel about anything until she’s got to -make a choice. It’s all right to think it over and say ‘I could’ ’r -‘I couldn’t,’ but that’s just because you’ve got to pretend to know -yourself anyway. It kind of keeps up your backbone.” - -She did not notice the pain that twisted his face. He tried his best to -be humorous ... this dark bugaboo was getting on his nerves. - -“Mix black and white together and they make gray,” he said. “I never -did like that color. Let’s be more gaudy to-night.” - -“You’re a terrible liar--you’re wearing a gray suit,” she replied. - -He laughed. - -“Well, what’s a man to do?” he asked. “You women can put on lavender, -and orange, and cerise clothes, but if a man tried it he’d be howled -out of town.” - -“It’s all your own fault,” she said. “Men just hate to look different -from each other, and besides, they’re always afraid that somebody’s -going to think that they’re showing some weakness or other. I know -them.” - -As they continued the conversation, in a vein of mock-chiding and -sprightly rebuke, she knew that she was rapidly descending into the -depths of a love for him. She had also been afraid that the giddiness -of night and a party, plus her own thwarted longings, might have -induced her to throw a glamor over him, and that her next meeting with -him might turn out to be somewhat disillusioning. But no, his mixture -of frowns and deft gayeties, and his clear, incisive way of talking, -were causing her emotions to increase in leaps and bounds. Whenever his -shoulder grazed hers, a shamefaced tremor was born within her. - -After they had reached Margaret’s studio they became more spontaneously -mirthful. Margaret was in a frothy mood and Oppendorf seemed to be more -affable and relaxed than usual. He read Blanche’s sketch with a broad -grin on his face. - -“That’s the stuff, rip it into them, old girl,” he said. “When they’re -not strapping their pedestals to their backs and setting them up -in this place and that, they’re wildly reaching for each other’s -flesh. The very thought of an unassuming naturalness, or a frank and -good-natured exchange of challenges, would give them heart failure!” - -“Don’t worry--they’ll live,” Starling replied. - -Oppendorf was aware of the fact that Starling was a negro, and -Starling liked the blunt and impersonal way in which the other man -treated him. Congenial, and tossing epigrammatic jests about, the -party wended its way to Tony’s Club and danced there until 3 A.M. The -cabaret was a wild, gargoylish, shamelessly tawdry place, trimmed -with colored strings of confetti, and orange and black boxes over the -electric lights hanging from its low, basement-ceiling, and atrocious -wall-panels of half nude women in Grecian draperies, and booths -against the walls, each booth bearing the name of a different state. -A brightly painted railing hemmed in the rectangular dance floor, and -the jazz-orchestra--one of the best in town--moaned and screeched and -thudded, in the manner of some super-roué, chortling as he rolled his -huge dice to see who his next mistress would be. - -Margaret, who also knew that Starling was a negro, glanced curiously -at Blanche now and then, and wondered whether Blanche also knew and -whether she had found that it raised no barrier. The subject, however, -was too delicate to be broached to Blanche on this night.... It would -have to wait. - -Since she was with a man whom she practically loved, Blanche’s usual -wariness toward alcohol--a caution produced by her desire not to become -an unconscious prey--left her entirely, and in spite of Starling’s -remonstrances, she drank with a reckless glee. When 3 A.M., the closing -time, arrived, she was giggling fondly at him, and trying to balance -glasses on her nose, and snuggling her head against his shoulder. - -When the party reached the street she was barely able to walk, and had -to lean against Starling for support. - -“Why don’t you two come down to our place?” Margaret asked. “The poor -kid’s going to pass out soon, and then you’ll be in a devil of a fix -unless she’s safely inside somewhere.” - -“No, I’ll call a cab and take her home,” he said. “Thank you just the -same. She comes from a stupid family, you know, and they’d probably -raise a vicious row if she came back to-morrow afternoon.” - -After bidding the other two farewell, Starling hailed a cab and gave -Blanche’s address to the driver. She passed out completely in the cab, -with her arm around his shoulder and her head on his breast, and as he -thought it over he began to regret his decision. He would be forced -to carry her to the door of her apartment and wake up her family, and -since they were obtuse proletarians, they might imagine that he had -plied her with liquor to achieve her seduction. In that case there -would be a sweet rumpus, all right! He was not afraid of a possible -fight--swinging fists was nothing new to him--but if one did occur, her -folks would probably order her never to see him again, or would look -him up and discover his negro blood. Again, the ever-blundering “cops” -might also interfere in the matter.... In this world it was often -imperative to avoid the sordid misinterpretations of other people, for -otherwise you would simply be expending your energy to no purpose. No, -the best thing would be to take Blanche to his apartment and let her -sleep it off, for then she could return home with the usual story of -having “stayed over” at some girl-friend’s home. Fearful lies, lies, -lies--sometimes he thought that the entire world was just a swamp of -them. Well, hell, you’d get very far, wouldn’t you, trying to hold out -against it! - -He tapped on the pane and told the driver to switch to a Harlem -address. After he had paid the driver and was half carrying Blanche -over the sidewalk, the man called after him: “That’s the way to -get ’em, Bo!” Starling turned and was about to leap at the leering -chauffeur, but burdened with Blanche, whom he could scarcely deposit -on the walk, and fearing to arouse the neighbors in his building, he -ignored the remark. - -His apartment consisted of two rooms and a kitchenette, and after -he had placed Blanche on a couch in one of the rooms, he closed the -door and changed to his slippers and a dressing-gown. Then he sat -down in an armchair and grinned, in a sneer at himself, as he lit a -cigarette. This was exactly like one of the impossible climaxes in a -cheap movie-reel. The handsome hero had the proudly beautiful girl at -his mercy, but nobly and honorably refused to compromise her. Oh, rats, -why not walk in and take the only crude, gone-to-morrow happiness that -life seemed to offer. Otherwise, she would find out about his negro -blood, before their achievement of finality, and depart from him or -tell him to be “just a dear friend,” and what would he have then?--not -even the remembrance of a compensating night. Hell, he ought to regard -her as just another blood-stirring girl, and ravish her, and forget her -afterwards. If you failed to trick and abuse women, they usually sought -to turn the cards on you--he’d found that out often enough. - -He arose and paced up and down the room. No, he was a mawkish fool, a -sentimental jackass--he couldn’t do it. The dirty nigger couldn’t leap -on the superior white girl, damn it. He loved this girl--no doubt about -that. She had a clear, honest, stumbling-on mind, and her heart was -free from pretenses and hidden schemes, and a unique essence, tenderly -simple and defiant by turns, seemed to saturate her. It wasn’t just -her body and face--he had known prettier girls by far--but it was -something that clung to this body and face and transformed them to an -inexplicable but indubitable preciousness. She was unconscious now, and -her inert surrender would mean nothing to him except a cheap and empty -triumph. He wanted her to come to him joyously, spontaneously, madly, -and with quiverings and shinings on her face! - -He sat down again in the armchair. Damn his luck, why couldn’t he have -fallen in love with another negro girl? He wasn’t like some of the men -of his race--always chasing after white girls because it gave these men -a thrill to boast of having captured them, and soothed their miserable -inferiority complex. He had nearly always stuck to the girls of his -own race, and yes, he had loved two of them ... in a way ... but it -hadn’t been the surging, frightened, and at times abashed thing that -he was feeling now. He was in for it now, oh, how he was in for it! He -would undoubtedly be rejected, and pitied, and reduced to every kind of -helpless writhing. It was in him to curse the very day on which he had -entered the earth.... Good God, why couldn’t he shake off this morbid -hopelessness? How did he know what would happen, after all? Perhaps her -love for him was as overwhelming as his. Perhaps she would be forced to -cling to him, in spite of every enormous warning and obstacle. - -He passed into a fitful and often dream-groaning sleep. When he awoke -it was noon. His room seemed uglier than usual--the straight, oak -furniture, and the worn, brown carpet, and the rose-stamped wallpaper -were like slaps against his spirit. Money, money--the devil sure had -been in an ingenious mood when he invented it.... And Blanche Palmer -was in the next room--all of him tingled incredibly at the thought -of her proximity, and his heavy head grew a bit lighter. Then the -door opened and she walked out, slowly, with a sulky, half sleepy, -questioning look on her face, and rumpled hair, and a wrinkled gown. - -“Eric, what’m I doing here--what happened last night?” she asked. - -“Sit down, dear, and let your head clear a bit--I’ll tell you,” he -answered. - -She dropped into the armchair and he drew another chair beside her. - -“You passed out in the cab after we left Tony’s, and I decided to -bring you here,” he said. “It would have been rather ticklish, carrying -you in my arms and waking up your, u-um, intellectual family. Their -response might have been just a trifle excited, you know. You’re not -angry with me, are you, Blanche?” - -She looked steadily at him, with her head too confused and aching for -any definite emotion--for the moment--and then, very slowly, she gave -him a tenderly rebuking smile. Somehow, she knew that he had left her -in peace while she had slept at his place, and funny, this time she -would not have minded an opposite gesture. Things never seemed to -intrude upon you unless you were seeking to avoid them! Yet, she was -touched by this proof that he had not been hiding a mere, ordinary lust -for her. Sweet, sweet boy ... how her head swayed and throbbed, and -yet, despite the pain, a happiness tried to lessen it. - -“You really shouldn’t have brought me here,” she said at last. “My -folks’ll raise the dickens with me now. Their system is wink your eye -at daughter ’f she gets back any time before 6 A. M., and call her a -bad woman ’f she doesn’t. Still, you’d have been in for it ’f you _had_ -brought me back, I guess. There wasn’t much choice in the matter.” - -“Why don’t you leave that dirty den of yours?” he asked. “You can’t go -on sacrificing yourself forever.” - -“Oh, I’m going to leave pretty soon,” she answered. “I’d have done it -long ago, only I didn’t see much difference between living home and -staying in some spotty hall-bedroom, and I’ve never had money enough -for more than that. Maybe I can get a fairly decent place in the -Village, though. Margaret tells me that rents are much cheaper down -there.” - -“Yes, you’d better look around,” he said, dully. - -He couldn’t ask her to live with him, or to marry him--especially the -latter--without telling the secret to her, and once more his courage -failed him. While she was bathing and making her toilette, he fixed a -simple breakfast in the kitchenette. Afterwards, as they were lolling -over the coffee, he said: “You’re looking beautiful this morning. Your -face is like ... well, like a wild rose and a breeze flirting with each -other.” - -“I’m only too willing to believe you, Eric,” she answered, softly. -“Don’t make me conceited now.” - -An irresistible impulse came to him. He arose, walked around the table, -and bent down to her. She curved her arms about his shoulders, and they -traded a lengthy kiss. - -“I’m in love with you, Blanche,” he said, looking away, after he had -straightened up. - -She grasped one of his hands and answered: “Why, you’re startling me, -Eric--I’d never have guessed it. Would it surprise, you, too, ’f I said -I loved you?” - -“Say it and find out.” - -“Well, I do.” - -He bent down and kissed her again. Then he clenched one of his fists -and walked away. It would have to be told now ... or never. - -“Let’s sit on the couch, Blanche, I want to talk to you,” he said. - -After she had acquiesced they were silent for a full minute, while she -looked at him and wondered at his nervous remoteness. Then he turned to -her. - -“I suppose you don’t know that I’m a negro,” he said. - -She stared at him with an unbelieving frown on her face. - -“A ... what?” she asked. - -“A man of negro blood. My grandfather was white and he married a -negress, and my mother married another white man. That’s the story.” - -As she stared at him she felt too stunned for any single emotion. - -“Eric, you’re fooling me, aren’t you?” she asked at last, slowly. - -“No, it’s the truth.” - -“But ... but, Eric, you look exactly like a white man! It can’t be -true.” - -“It is, just the same,” he answered, oddly relieved, now that he had -blurted the thing out, and stoically waiting for her words to strike -him. “I have just a small fraction of negro blood, as you see, and most -people, like you, mistake me for a white man. God, how I wish I were -coal-black--it would have saved me from the heartache that’s coming to -me now!” - -She looked away from him for a while, with a veritable _mêlée_ of -fear, brave indifference to the revelation, and self-doubt contending -within her. Eric Starling was a negro, and she had fallen in love -with him, and ... would she be averse to touching him, now? Would it -make any difference? She reached for his hand and held it tightly for -a moment, almost in an absurd effort to discover the answer to the -question. Oh, what were words, anyway? He could tell her that he was -negro until he became blue in the face, but he didn’t give her the -feeling of one. Somehow, he just didn’t have the physical essence which -she had always felt in the presence of other negroes, even those at -the Vanderin party. He just didn’t have it. There was a fresh, lovely -sturdiness attached to his body, and she wanted to be in his arms, and -she couldn’t help herself. She loved him with every last blood-drop in -her heart. - -But the future, with all its ghastly dangers and troubles. If she -married him, or if they lived together, her father and brothers would -try to kill him, or injure him--she knew what _they_ would do well -enough, the stupid roughnecks--and her mother would weep and shriek, -and perhaps try to kill herself, and other people would shun them, -or make trouble for them. Even the dirty newspapers might take it -up--hadn’t she read last week about a negro who had been hounded out -of a New Jersey town because he loved a white girl and they wanted to -marry each other? People were always like wolves, waiting to leap upon -you if you dared to disregard any of their cherished “Thou Shalt Nots” -... just like wolves. The whole world seemed to be in a conspiracy to -prevent people from becoming natural beings and doing as they pleased, -even when their acts couldn’t possibly injure anybody. It was terrible. - -And she herself, would she have courage enough to defy everything -for his sake, and would her love for him continue in spite of all -the threats and intrusions? She turned to look at him again. He was -slumping down on the couch, with his hands resting limply on his -outstretched legs, and his head lowered. All of her heart bounded -toward him, and she flung herself against him and cried: “I don’t care -what you are, Eric! I love you and I’m going to stick to you. I love -you, Eric, dear one.” - -With hosannas in his heart, he placed his arms around her, and they -passed into an incoherence of weeping, and kissing, and whispered -endearments, and sighs, and strainings. A full hour passed in this way -before they could slowly return to some semblance of composure. Then, -gradually, they tried to discuss the predicament facing them. - -“You’re sure that you love me now, dear, but you’ve got to be doubly -sure,” he said. “We won’t see each other for the next two weeks, and -we’ll have a chance to think things over then. It’ll be hard, hard, but -we’ve simply got to do it. Our minds will work better when we’re alone.” - -“Perhaps you’re right, Eric,” she said, slowly, “but it wouldn’t change -me any ’f I didn’t see you for a year, ’r a lifetime. Don’t be afraid -of that.” - -“You think so now, and, God, I hope it’s true, but you must realize -what we’re going to be up against,” he answered. “Your family will -raise hell, of course, and other people will turn their backs on us, -and you’ll have to mingle with negro friends of mine and live among -them.... Are you sure you’ll be able to face all these things?” - -She hid her head on the couch for a while, and then raised it. - -“I’ll be honest with you, Eric,” she said. “I’ll love you for the rest -of my life, and I’ll never have anything to do with any other man, but -I don’t know whether I’m brave enough to marry you and ... and take all -the blows you’ve been talking about. I just don’t know.” - -“If I were less selfish I’d give you up for your own good,” he -answered, moodily. - -“How about myself?” she asked. “Don’t you know I’m afraid that my -father and my brothers will try to hurt you, ’r even kill you? Why, I -can see the anger and the meanness on their faces right now, and it -won’t do any good to talk to them! ’F I were less selfish, I’d want to -give _you_ up, just to save you, Eric.” - -He kissed her again, and they murmured promises and were loath to -withdraw from each other. Finally, she rose from the couch and tried to -bring a brave smile to her face. - -“I’ve simply got to be going now, Eric,” she said. “I’ll come up here -the Saturday after next, two weeks from now, dear, ’r I’ll write you -’f I just must see you sooner.... I know I _will_ marry you, Eric, in -spite of everything--I know I will--but it’ll be better for both of us -’f we take our time about it.” - -“Yes, that’s true,” he answered, as he fondled her cheek. “I’ll spend -most of the two weeks writing poems to you, when I’m not in harness -down at Tony’s. It’ll be some consolation, anyway.” - -She donned her hat, and they exchanged several “last” hugs before they -descended to the street, where he called a cab for her and, in spite -of her protestations, slipped a bill into the driver’s hands. When -she reached her home, the family were seated in the kitchen, smoking, -reading the Sunday papers, and occasionally debating on the subject of -her whereabouts. - -“Well, give ’n account of y’rself, come on,” her father said, gruffly, -as she removed her hat and desperately tried to straighten out the -wrinkles in her dress. “’F you was out with Campbell again, I’ll make -him talk turkey this time. He can’t fool around with one of my girls -and not expect to do the right thing by her.” - -His little eyes were tense with irritation and suspicion as he watched -her. - -“Yeh, you’ve got a nerve, all right,” Mabel piped up. “_I_ never come -trotting in at three in the afternoon! You’re just losing all respect -for yourself, that’s what.” - -“Say, listen, I’m not a child, any more,” Blanche answered, wearily -resuming the old, useless blah-blahing. “I went to a party down in -the Village and stayed overnight at my girl-friend’s studio, Margaret -Wheeler, but I don’t see why I have to make any excuses about it. If -the rest of you don’t like the way I act, I’ll pack up my things and -leave, that’s all.” - -“You will, huh?” her father asked. “Well, maybe we’ll tell you -ourselves to clear outa here. ’F you can’t show any respect for your -folks, then it’s high time somethin’ was done about it!” - -“Yeh, that goes for me, too,” Harry said. - -He suspected that his sister had rejoined Campbell, and he determined -to look Joe up and frighten him into marrying her. The damn fool--she -didn’t have sense enough to look out for herself, and if she kept it -up, she’d wind up by becoming little better than the easy skirts he -knocked around with. He wouldn’t let that happen to _his_ sister--not -he. - -Kate Palmer stuck to her invariable rôle of peacemaker, though she -felt sick at heart at her daughter’s silliness and looseness. She was -staying out overnight with men and getting to be a regular bad woman. -It was really terrible. - -“Of course, we won’t let you leave home,” she said, “but you’re actin’ -sim-ply awful nowadays. You’ll be disgracin’ all of us the next thing -we know, gettin’ into some trouble ’r somethin’. Won’t you promise your -ma not to stay out all night? Won’t you, Blanie?” - -“You know I don’t want to hurt you, ma,” Blanche replied, as she -stroked her mother’s hair, “but just the same, I’ve got to lead my own -life from now on. I’m a grown-up person, ma, and not a slave.” - -“You know we’re just askin’ you to act decint-like, you know it,” her -mother said, sadly. “We’re none of us tryin’ to hold you down.” - -“Yeh, that’s right, you’re getting too bold,” Mabel cut in, with -disguised envy. - -_She_ scarcely ever “went the limit” with men, and why should her -sister be privileged to be more brazen about it. - -During all of these tirades, Blanche had wondered at her own -indifference--the battle was on again, but now it had only a comical -aspect. These pent-up, dense, jealous people--could they really be -related to her own flesh and blood? They seemed to be so remote and -impossible. None of them, except her mother, stirred her in the least, -and even there it was only a mild compassion. Yet, once she had loved -them in a fashion, and felt some degree of a warm nearness that even -wrangling had never quite been able to remove. What marvels happened -to you, once your mind began to expand. That was it--their minds were -still and hard, and little more than the talking slaves of their -emotions--while hers was restless and separate, and had slowly overcome -the blindness of her former emotions toward them. - -And now ... ah, if they had only known what they really had to rave -about. How they would have pounced upon her! The sick fear returned -to her as she reclined upon the bed in her room. Perhaps it might be -wiser to pack up and leave home immediately. Yet, that would only be a -breathing spell. If she married Starling, or lived with him, they would -inevitably investigate and discover his negro blood, and the storm -would burst, anyway. She tossed about in a brooding indecision. - -During the next week she surprised her family by remaining in her room -each night. What had come over her?--she must be sick, or in some -secret difficulty. When a girl moped around and didn’t care to enjoy -herself at night, something must be wrong, especially a girl like -Blanche, who had always been “on the go” for the past four years. -They suspected that Campbell or some other man might have given her -an unwelcome burden, and they questioned her in this respect, but her -laughing denials nonplussed them. Harry had an interview with Campbell, -and had grudgingly become convinced that Blanche was no longer going -out with him. The Palmer family finally became convinced that she had -really taken their objections to heart and had decided to become a good -girl. - -Blanche wrote feverishly in her room, every night, with a little -grammar which she had purchased to aid her--descriptions of places -which she knew, such as cafeterias, dance halls and amusement parks. -Her anger at human beings, and her sense of humor, fought against -each other in these accounts, and the result was frequently a curious -mixture of indignations and grimaces. Starling was ever a vision, -standing in her room and urging on her hands ... she was writing -for his sake as well as her own. If the rest of her life was to be -interwoven in his, she would have to make herself worthy of him, and -try to equal his own creations, and give him much more than mere -physical contacts and adoring words. Otherwise, he might become quickly -tired of her! - -Her courage grew stronger with each succeeding night, and a youthful, -though still sober, elasticity within her began to make plans that -slew her prostrate broodings. Eric and she would simply run off to -some remote spot--Canada, Mexico, Paris, anywhere--and then the -specters and hatreds in their immediate scene would be powerless -to injure or interfere with them. What was the use of remaining and -fighting, when all of the odds were against them, and when the other -side was so stubbornly unscrupulous, so utterly devoid of sympathy and -understanding? In such a case, they would only be throwing themselves -open to every kind of attack and intrusion, if not to an almost certain -defeat. Eric might be a “nigger,” yes, but he certainly didn’t look -like one, and he was better than any of the white men she had ever met -... dear, sweet boy ... and she loved him with every particle of her -heart. She was sure of that now. She had never before felt anything -remotely equal to the huge, restless emptiness which her separation -from him had brought her--a sort of can’t-stand-it-not-to-see-him -feeling that rose within her, even when she was in the midst of -writing, and kept her pencil idly poised over the paper for minutes, -while in her fancy she teased his hair, or chided some witticism of -his. She’d go through ten thousand hells rather than give him up! - -After a week and a half had passed, she determined to visit Margaret -and “talk it over” with the other girl. It wasn’t that Margaret could -convince her one way or the other--she had made her decision--but -still, she craved the possible sympathy and encouragement of at least -one other person besides Eric. It was hard to stand so utterly alone. - -After telephoning, and finding that Margaret would be alone that night, -she hurried down to see her. - -The two girls sparred pleasantly and nervously with each other for a -while as though they were both dreading the impending subject--which -Margaret had sensed--and futilely trying to delay its appearance. -Finally, Blanche blurted out, after a silence: “I suppose you know I’m -in love with Eric Starling, Mart. You must have guessed it, the way I -fooled around with him at Tony’s.” - -“Yes, I’ve been worrying quite a bit about that,” Margaret answered. -“Do you know that he’s, well--” - -“Yes, I know that he’s a negro,” Blanche interrupted. “It’s true, Eric -has just a little negro blood in him, but you must admit, dear, that -he’s the whitest-looking one you ever saw.” - -“Of course, he’d have fooled me, too, when I first met him, if Max -hadn’t told me about it,” Margaret said. “I like him, too. He’s -certainly not fatiguing to look at, and he has a lovely sense of humor, -but still, can you quite forget about his negro blood when ... oh, when -you’re petting together, I mean.” - -“Can I forget it?--why, I go mad, stark mad, ’f he just puts his hand -over mine,” Blanche cried. “I’ve never fallen so hard for any man -in all my life--I mean it, Mart. I arranged not to meet him for two -weeks--just to see ’f I wouldn’t cool down about him, you know--but -it’s only convinced me all the more. I’ll never be able to get along -without him ... never.” - -“Well, after all, there’s no reason why you shouldn’t have a little -affair with him, if you’re careful about it,” Margaret replied. - -“But it’s much deeper than that,” Blanche said slowly. “We’re both -perm’nently in love with each other, we really are. It’s a big, -precious thing, and not just ... well ... not just wanting to have a -few parties, you know. I’m going to live with him for years and years, -and maybe marry him right now. It’s the first time I’ve ever loved any -one.” - -“But, Blanche, you’re going to let yourself in for an endless -nightmare, if that’s the case,” Margaret replied, sorrowfully. “Your -people will simply raise the roof off, if they’re anything like you -say they are. And then, all the other things--children, and living -among his negro friends, and getting snubbed right and left.... Are you -really sure you love him enough for all that? Are you, really?” - -“Yes, I _am_ sure,” Blanche said, in a slow, sick-at-heart, stubborn -voice. “I’ve thought of everything, don’t worry about that, and it -hasn’t given me much rest, either. Oh, how I hate this blind, mean -world of ours!” - -“Yes, I know, but hating it never solves anything,” Margaret answered, -dully. - -“Well, I’m going to solve it by running off with him,” Blanche -continued. “We’ll go far away, to Paris or London--some place where -nobody’ll know that Eric’s a negro, and we’ll stay there for the rest -of our lives, that’s all. I don’t care ’f we both have to wash dishes -for a living, I don’t. It’s all right to fight back when you’ve got a -chance, but not when everything’s against you.” - -“Funny, I never thought of that,” Margaret said, more cheerfully. “It -might work out that way. Of course, it _is_ cowardly in a way, but -after all, there’s little sense to being brave in the lions’ den and -getting devoured. It might work out fine, if you’re both certain your -love’s going to last. Somehow or other, it’s hard for me to believe -in a permanent love. I don’t think I’ve ever noticed it in any of the -people around me. Are you sure you’re not just in a sentimental dream, -Blanche?” - -Blanche reflected for a while. - -“Well, ’f we’re both making a mistake, we’ll be happy, anyway, till we -find it out,” she said at last. “Good Lord, ’f you never take any risks -in life, why then you’ll be sad all the time, and you won’t have any -happiness at all, no matter how short it is!” - -“Yes, I agree with you there,” Margaret answered, with a sigh. - -They fell into a discussion of the practical details of Blanche’s -possible departure, and the money that would be required, and the -difficulty of earning a living in Europe, both trying to lose -themselves in a bright animation. When Blanche parted with Margaret, -a little after midnight, she felt more confident, and almost -light-hearted. After all, if two human beings were wise, and brave, and -forever alert, they simply couldn’t be separated from each other, no -matter what the dangers were. - -The mood remained with her and grew more intense each day, and when she -rang Starling’s bell at the end of the week, she was almost fluttering -with hope and resolution. For the first hour they did little more than -remain in each other’s arms, in a daze and maze of kisses, sighs, and -simple, reiterated love words. To Starling, huge violins and cornets -were ravishing the air of the room, and the street sounds outside, -floating in through an open window, were only the applause of an -unseen audience. After all, only times like this gave human beings any -possible excuse for existing--the rest of life was simply a series of -strugglings, and dodgings, and tantalizings, and defeats. The least -pressure of her fingertips provoked a fiery somersault within him, -and the grazing of her bosom and face against his aroused revolving -conflagrations within his breast. Blanche had become a stunned child, -scarcely daring to believe in the compensations which were ruffling her -blood to something more than music, and yet desperately guarding them, -incoherently whispering over them, endlessly testing them with her -fingers and lips, lest they prove to be the cruellest of fantasies. - -When Blanche and Starling had made a moderate return to a rational -condition, they began to discuss their future. - -“Don’t you see that we must run away, Eric, dear?” she asked. “We’ll -just be crushed and beaten down, otherwise. My brother Harry, he’d -never rest till he’d put you in a hospital--oh, but don’t I know -him--and he might even try to do worse. I get the shivers when I think -of it.” - -Her words were an affront to his courage, and he said: “Listen, I can -take care of myself--I’ve been through a pretty tough mill.” - -“Of course you can, but they wouldn’t fight fair,” she answered, -impatiently. “They’d just proceed to get you by hook or crook. And -that’s not half of it. Why, I can just see ev’rybody turning their -backs on us, ’r making nasty remarks, ’r trying to poison us against -each other. We’ve just got to run away and live where nobody knows us!” - -“No, it would be too yellow,” he replied, stubbornly. “All the things -you mention will only be a test of our love for each other. If we can’t -stand the gaff, then our love isn’t what we thought it was.” - -“I’m not afraid of that,” she said. “I’d go through anything with you -’f I thought it was the best thing we could do, but why should we -stay here and run up against all kinds of suff’rings and insults, and -dangers, too, just to show how darn brave we are? It’s not cowardly to -run off when everything’s against us--it’s not.” - -“Well, let’s think it over for another week, anyway,” he answered, -slowly. “I don’t like to slink away, with my tail between my legs, but -maybe it’s the only thing to do. If we were only starting a little -affair, like most of the mixed couples that hang out at Vanderin’s -shack, then it would be different, of course, but we’re probably facing -a whole lifetime together, and it’s a much more serious matter. The -trouble is I’ve a great deal of pride in me, honey, and it always wants -to fight back.” - -“I have, too,” she said, “but in a time like this it’s just foolish to -be so proud--it’ll only help other people to make us unhappy, that’s -all.” - -They were silent for a while, and then he said, with a smile: “Good -Lord, we’re getting morbid and theatrical. The whole thing may not be -half as bad as we think it is. Anyway, let’s forget it for one night, -at least.” - -They spent the remainder of the evening in an idyllic way. He read her -his sensuous, symbolistic poems, and talked about them, and told her -exciting stories of his past life, while she tried to describe some of -the struggles and hesitations which had attended the birth of her mind, -and her search for happiness in the face of sordid punches, and stupid -jeers, and all the disappointments with which ignorance slays itself. -They resolved not to become complete lovers until they were really -living together and removed from fears and uncertainties. When they -parted at 2 A. M. they were both wrapped up in a warmly exhausted but -plotting trance. They arranged to meet on the following Wednesday, at -Tony’s Club, and Blanche felt feathery and on tiptoes, as she rode back -to the uninviting home which she would soon leave forever. - -The next four days were excruciating centuries to her, and she was -barely able to stagger through the nagging, drab details of her work -at Madame Jaurette’s. She spent her nights writing in her room, -and the even trend of her days remained uninvaded until Tuesday -evening, when she found a letter waiting for her at home. It was from -Oppendorf, who told her that he had polished up her account of the -Vanderin party and had sold it to a New York magazine of the jaunty, -trying-hard-to-be-sophisticated kind. She was overjoyed as she stared -at the fifty-dollar check which he had enclosed, and she could scarcely -wait to tell the news to Eric. Now she had proved her mettle, and was -on the road to becoming a creative equal of his--blissful thought. - -When she met him at Tony’s, she gayly extracted the check from her -purse and waved it in front of his face. - -“Now what do you think of your stupid, hair-curling Blanche?” she asked -elatedly. - -He laughed at her excitement as he led her to a table. - -“You haven’t made me believe in your ability just because you’ve been -accepted by a frothy, snippy magazine,” he said. “I knew all about it -the first night I met you.” - -“Never mind, this means I’m going to make a name for myself,” she -answered, proudly. - -He gave her a fatherly smile--what a delicious combination of naïvetés -and instinctive wisdoms she was. - -“I felt the same way when I first broke into print,” he said. “The -excitement dies down after a while, and then you don’t care so much -whether people like your stuff or not. You get down to a grimly -plodding gait, old dear, and you start to write only for yourself. Then -each acceptance means only so many dollars and cents.” - -She retorted merrily: “Wet ra-ag--don’t try to dampen my spirits. It -can’t be done.” - -The brazenly sensual clatter and uproar of Tony’s pounded against their -minds, and even Starling, more skeptically inured to it, and knowing -every hidden, sordid wrinkle in the place, became more flighty and -swaggering as he danced with Blanche. It meant something, now that -the girl whom he really loved was stepping out beside him, and it -had become something less gross than a collection of rounders, sulky -or giggling white and colored flappers, fast women, and hoodwinked -sugar-papas spending their rolls to impress the women beside them. Now -it was an appropriate carnival-accompaniment to his happiness. - -Immersed in Starling, Blanche did not notice the group of newcomers -who had seated themselves two tables behind her. They consisted of her -brother Harry, another wooden-faced, overdressed man of middle age, and -their thickly painted, sullen-eyed ladies of the evening. Harry was -settling the details of a whisky-transaction with Jack Compton, the -other man. - -“We’ll have the cases there by midnight on the dot,” he said, in a low -voice. “I’ve got a cop fixed up, an’ he’s gonna stand guard for us an’ -say it’s K.O., ’f any one tries to butt in. We’ll have to hand him a -century, though.” - -“That’s all right with me,” Compton replied. “You put this deal through -without slipping up and there’ll be a coupla hundred in it for you.” - -“It’s as good as done,” Harry answered, with a heavy nod. - -Then, glancing around, he spied Blanche at the other table. - -“Say, there’s my crazy sis, Blanche,” he said, pointing to her. “In the -red pleated skirt, two tables down by the railing. See her, Jack?” - -“Yeh ... she’s a good looker, Harry,” Compton replied. - -“Say, I know the fellow with her,” one of the woman broke in. “He works -here--he’s public’ty-man for the joint. Name’s Starling--Eric Starling. -I met him down here about a week ago. What’s your sister doing out with -a nigger, Harry? She seems to be mighty thick with him from the way -she’s cutting up.” - -“Go o-on, he looks damn white to me,” Harry answered, intently scowling -toward the other table. - -“Well, he _is_ a nigger just the same,” the second woman said. “It’s -known all around here--he don’t deny it any. I’ve seen them like him -before. They’re only about one-eighth black, I guess.” - -“Can’t your sister get any white fellows to go around with?” Compton -asked. “She must be hard up, trotting around with a shine.” - -“Yeh, she’s sure crazy about dark meat, I’ll say,” the first woman -commented, with a laugh. - -The taunts pierced Harry’s thick skin, and a rage grew within him. He’d -stood for her going with Jews, and wops, and dopey weak-sisters, but a -nigger was too much! It affronted his family-pride and erectness, and -made him feel that his friends had been given a chance to ridicule him -in an indirect way. For all he knew, Blanche might be having intimate -relations with this coon, or might be even fixing to marry him. The -thought was like a red-hot iron. His own sister, acting like a slut, in -a black-and-tan dive, and consorting with a nigger there, or maybe with -more of them.... By God, he wouldn’t stand for that! - -“I’m gonna go over an’ bust him in the nose,” he said, half rising -from his chair. “He’ll be leavin’ white girls alone after I’m through -with him!” - -Compton pulled Harry back to his chair. - -“Keep your shirt on, d’you hear me,” he said. “If you start a scrap -here you won’t have a chance--every bouncer ’n’ waiter in the place’ll -be right on top of you. I’ve seen them in action before, and believe -me, they work just like a machine.” - -“Well, I can get in a coupla good cracks at him before they throw me -out,” Harry persisted. “I want to show that dirty shine where _he_ gets -off at, makin’ a play for a sister uh mine!” - -“You won’t show him this way,” Compton retorted. “You’ll land in the -hospital, and you’ll land there quick, too. This gang down here don’t -like a white man’s looks anyway, and they’ll give you the leather, just -for good luck. Come on, let’s all clear outa here. You can lay for -him to-morrow night, if you want to, ’r else give your sister a good -bawling out when you get her home, an’ make her stay away from him.” - -“Well, they can’t do nothin’ ’f I go over an’ bawl her out now,” Harry -said, with a drunken stubbornness. - -“Aw, keep your head, Harry, we don’t want to get the girl-friends here -into no trouble,” Compton replied. “Come on, let’s beat it, Harry.” - -The women added their persuasions, and Harry finally gave a reluctant -assent. He departed with his friends, after vowing to settle the matter -during the next few days. - -Blanche and Starling continued their entranced capers until the -closing hour, and when they rode to her home, they were steeped in a -tired and lazy fondness, with their arms around each other and their -heads close together. The apparitions and doubts had disappeared from -their situation, as far as they were concerned, and nothing remained -but a deliciously overheated and rumpled nearness to each other. They -arranged to meet on the following Saturday night, and exchanged several -farewell kisses, in the cab, before they reluctantly parted. - -Blanche slept until noon, since the day was a holiday--Memorial -Day--and when she awoke, the other Palmers were eating a late breakfast -around the kitchen table. As she entered the kitchen, in her kimono, -the family turned and surveyed her, each bearing a frown on his face. -Taken aback, and suddenly prodded by an instinctive fear, Blanche -advanced slowly toward the table. How could they know anything about -Starling--nonsense. They were probably “sore” at her for some other -reasons. - -After she had seated herself at the table, the bombardment commenced. - -“Who was you with last night?” Harry asked, with a sneer, to see -whether she would lie. - -“It’s none of _your_ business,” Blanche replied, coolly, her fears -soothed now. - -“We-ell, that’s a hot one--going around with a nigger is none of our -business, huh?” Mabel queried, in a shrill voice. - -“What do you mean?” Blanche asked, mechanically--the blow had come, -just when she had least expected it! - -She became sick at heart, and dreaded the impending assault, and -scarcely knew what she could answer. If she became defiant, it would -only enrage them all the more, and it would be useless, besides ... -what could she do, oh, what? To attempt to explain matters to her -family would be ridiculous. - -“You know what we mean all right,” her father cried. “You’ve been goin’ -out with a shine--Harry saw you together last night down at Tony’s -Club. For all we know you may be hooked up with him in the bargain. ’F -I was sure of it, by God, I swear I’d take a swing at you, daughter ’r -no daughter!” - -Blanche remained silent--what they said to her didn’t matter, and she -wasn’t afraid of them, but Eric, Eric ... they might kill him, or -cripple him for life. They were really aroused now as they had never -been before--she knew them well enough to tell when they were merely -blustering and when not--and they felt that she was on the verge of -disgracing and insulting everything that supported their lives--the -cruelly proud, angry delusion of blood superiority, which they clung -to as a last resort against all of the submissions and lacks in their -existences. In their opinion, Eric was little better than a rat, who -had tried to break into the sacred family kitchen. - -Her mother began to speak, through fits of weeping. - -“Oh, Blanie, Blanie, what’s come over you? You must be outa your head, -you must. You’ve just got to give up that nigger you’re goin’ with, ’r -you’ll be breakin’ my heart.... Blanie, Blanie, promise your ma you’ll -never give yourself to nobody but a white man ... promise me, Blanie.” - -“See what you’re doing to ma,” Mabel said. “You’re just bringing her to -her grave, that’s what!” - -“Well, I’m gonna take a hand in this,” her father cried. “You’ll -stay away from that fellow from now on, ’r I’ll land in jail f’r -manslaughter. I’m not kiddin’ any this time. You’ve been havin’ your -own way, an’ stickin’ up your nose at us, an’ we’ve let you get away -with it, but you never put over anythin’ like this--hookin’ up with a -lousy nigger! What have you got to say f’r yourself, huh?” - -“Yeh, that’s what I wanta know,” Harry said, as he glowered at her. - -The promptings of cunning began to stir in Blanche’s brain. To save -Eric, she would have to lie, abasing, tricky lies. No other answers -were possible. If she strove to argue with her family now, or if she -showed a hairbreadth of independence, they would instantly seek Eric -out, and even his life might be in danger. She was certain of that. - -“I’ve only gone out with him twice,” she said. “I didn’t know he was a -negro, I swear I didn’t. I only found it out last night, just before I -left him. He told me he was then, and I was good and mad about it. I -called him down for daring to make up to me, and I told him I’d never, -never see him again. He looks just like a white man, and he’d fool -almost anybody. I swear he would.” - -“Bla-anie, I mighta known it was somethin’ like this,” her mother -cried, joyously. “’Course you won’t see him no more, now you’ve found -out, ’course you won’t.” - -“I should say not,” Blanche answered, vigorously. “I’m not picking out -negroes this year, unless I don’t know what they are.” - -Blanche hated herself for the groveling words which she forced from her -mouth, and yet she felt that she had given the only shrewd answer that -could possibly placate the stupid viciousness assailing her. She’d be -willing to become a carpet, for Eric’s sake, any day in the year, no -matter what nausea might be attached to the proceeding. - -“Well, all right then, we’ll let it rest,” her father said, in a -growling voice; “but just the same, Harry an’ me’ll keep a close watch -on you. ’F you’re not tellin’ us a straight story, it’ll be bad for -this Starling guy. We’ll put him in a nice, tight hotel, all right.” - -“I’m with you there,” Harry broke in. “What I’d like to know is why she -didn’t speak up when we started to ask her about it.” - -“Gee, you were all on top of me like a ton of bricks,” Blanche -answered. “I didn’t have a chance to say anything. Besides, I was -ashamed of the whole thing.” - -“Sure, I can understand that,” Philip said, eagerly, glad that his -favorite sister had not been intending to disgrace them after all. -“Didn’t Harry say this morning that it was hard to tell this Starlun -guy from a white fellow? Blanche was just taken in, that’s all.” - -“’Course she was,” Mrs. Palmer affirmed. - -“Well, I’m not sayin’ she wasn’t,” her father replied. “We’ll just keep -tabs on her, anyway, an’ make sure of it.” - -Blanche continued her meek explanations and protests of innocence, and -her family gradually calmed down and resumed a surface quietness. She -knew that the suspicions of her father and Harry were still smoldering, -and that these two would probably shadow her for some time, or use -some other means to become cognizant of her nightly destinations and -companions. She noticed also the speculative looks that Mabel gave her -now and then. Mabel was too expert a liar not to doubt her sister’s -tale, and she determined to do a little “snooping around” herself. You -never can tell about Blanche. - -The remainder of the day and night held a nightmare to Blanche. She -had to affect a nonchalant mien--they would doubt her again if she -showed any sadness or depression--and the strain was infinite, like -holding up a boulder. Visions of Eric’s lifeless body dodged in and out -of her mind and made her shiver helplessly. Harry and his gangsters -could “get” poor Eric without half trying, and it would be useless to -attempt to flee with him now, since she would be under the severest of -scrutinies, where any false move might bring misfortune. Still, wasn’t -there another way out of it? Why couldn’t they remain scrupulously -apart from each other for half a year, or even longer, and then, when -all of the suspicions and spyings had completely vanished, suddenly -run away together? By that time her family would certainly have -forgotten the matter, and in the interim, she could go about with other -men--somehow compelling herself--and outwardly maintain her normal -ways. A wan approach to cheerfulness possessed her, and late that -night, she sat up in bed and wrote to Eric: - - MY DEAREST BOY: - - My brother Harry saw us at Tony’s last night, and this morning they - gave me hell. It was no use to argue with them and make them even - nastier--just no use. They said they would kill you, dearest, and - I know they were not fourflushing when they said it. They’re cruel - and stupid, and to their way of thinking, I’d disgrace and humiliate - them if I ever married you. It’s what they cling to when everything - else shows them how small they are--this snarling, keep-off pride in - being white.... I lied to them and said I hadn’t known that you were - colored, and swore I’d never see you again. Please, please forgive - me, Eric. They’d have killed you if I hadn’t lied. And please, - Eric, you must do as I say. This is the plan I have. We won’t see - each other for exactly six months, and then we’ll suddenly run away - together. Everything will be quiet then, and before they know what’s - happened, we’ll be hundreds of miles away. If we tried it now we - wouldn’t have a chance. Please, dearest boy, write and tell me you’ll - do as I say. I love you more than anything else in life, and you’re - like a prince walking through some rose-bushes, and you fill all of - my heart, and I’ll never give you up--never be afraid of that. Answer - me at once and address the letter to Madame Jaurette’s. I’m sending - you a thousand kisses, dearest boy. - BLANCHE. - -After finishing the letter, she felt woebegonely relieved and slightly -hopeful, and the mood stayed with her through the following day of -work at the Beauty Shop. She had placed a special-delivery stamp on -the letter, and he received it in a few hours. After he had read and -reread it several times, with a touch of anger lurking in his numbness, -he began to pace up and down in his room, as though striving to goad -himself into life again. Was she really giving him up, and trying to -hide the blow with promises of a future escape? Was she?... No, Blanche -was too inhumanly honest for that--even if she had wanted to lie, she -could never have induced herself to put the words on paper. If he -were wrong in this belief, then he would lose all of his faith in his -ability to peer into human beings, and would call himself a fool for -the remainder of his life! Somehow, a tremor of simple sincerity seemed -to run through her letter--he couldn’t be mistaken. - -Well, what then? If he persisted in running off with Blanche now, it -might lead to melodrama. White gangsters such as her brother would -not hesitate about attempting to “croak him off.” He wasn’t afraid of -actually fighting them, but any man was always defenseless against a -sudden bullet or knife-thrust, and he certainly didn’t care to die that -way. B-r-r, the thought brought a fine sweat to his temples. No, these -whites were little better than rodents, when their angry pride was -aroused, and you had to use some of their own tactics, or perish. - -They regarded him as a dirty nigger, these lily-pure, intelligent, -lofty, noble-hearted people. What a nauseating joke! But, joke or no -joke, it had to be grappled with. Blanche was right after all--when -you were in a trap you had to gnaw slyly at the things binding you. -It was galling to your erect defiance to admit it, but often, in a -dire crisis, an imbecilic bravery brought you no gain, and caused -your extinction. Yes, Blanche was right--it would be best for them to -separate for half a year and then take the other side by surprise, with -a thumb-twiddling swiftness. They would have to be patient--splendidly, -grimly, bitterly patient--and somehow control the aches and cries in -their hearts. - -Of course, during the coming months, he would go out with women now and -then, or chat with them--as a feeble diversion--but he would shun any -intimate relations with them, if it were humanly possible. A pretty, -well-shaped girl could always affect a man, in a purely physical -way--he wasn’t trying naively to delude himself on _that_ score--but -just the same he intended to try his damnedest to remain faithful to -Blanche. She invaded and stirred him as no other woman had, and if he -consorted with other girls now, it would be a taunting and unanswerable -aspersion against the depth and uniqueness of his love for her. In such -a case he would be forced to admit that all of love was only an easily -incited lust--but it wasn’t true. He _would_ remain faithful to her. - -He sat down and wrote a hopeful, agreeing letter, expressing his -implicit belief in her, and swearing that he would remain true, and -urging her to emulate his jaunty fortitude. - -When she received the letter on the following afternoon, a surge of -youthful determination almost drove the darkness out of her heart. If -he had written morbidly, or in despair, her tottering and beleaguered -feelings would have been crushed, but now she felt armored and half-way -restored to her former happiness. After all, they were both very young, -and six months now were little more than six hours in _their_ lives. - -During the next month she went to cabarets and theaters with other -men, and wearily repulsed their inevitable attempts to embrace her -afterwards, and preserved a careful attitude toward her family--not -too friendly and not too ill-tempered. They would have suspected her -of playing a part if she had suddenly seemed to become too pliable -and harmonious. She saw Margaret and Oppendorf once, but did not tell -them anything concerning the developments in her relations with Eric. -She feared that they would advise her never to see him again, and she -didn’t care to pass through the futile torments of an argument. She had -made up her mind, and no human being could change it. - -When a month had passed, however, a restlessly jealous mood stole -imperceptibly over her. Perhaps Eric was running about with other girls -now; perhaps his head was pressed against the smooth tenderness of -their bosoms, or perhaps he had found another girl, far more beautiful -and intelligent than any Blanche Palmer. The mood reached a climax one -Sunday afternoon, as she boarded an “L” train and rode down to the -Battery. Yes, of course, he must have forgotten her by now. He met tens -of women every night down at Tony’s, and among all of them it would -be easy for him to find a quick-minded, tempting girl--perhaps one -of his own race, who would not lead him into staggering troubles and -difficulties. - -She sat on a bench facing the greenish-gray swells of dirty water, and -watched the bobbing boats, and the laboriously swaying barges, and -the straining, smoky tugs. A mood of plaintive, barely wounded peace -settled about her, in spite of the jealous ranklings underneath. For an -hour she sat draped in this acceptant revery, with her mind scarcely -stirring. Then, glancing up, she saw that Eric was standing beside her. - -For almost half a minute they stared at each other, without shifting -their positions. - -“Eric ... darling ... what are you doing here?” she asked at last. - -“I never dreamt I’d see you,” he answered. “I was walking along and -trying to forget my blues when I caught sight of you. I tried hard to -turn around then and avoid you, but I just couldn’t do it. I couldn’t.” - -“I’m so glad you didn’t,” she said, as he sat down beside her. “Eric, -my boysie, what’s been happening to you?” - -“Oh, I’ve been plodding along, and writing poems to you, and extolling -the barbaric charms of Tony’s,” he replied. “I’d get worried and -hopeless every now and then, thinking you were in some other man’s -arms ... just like a boy who doesn’t know whether he’s going to be -whipped or petted.” - -“That’s exactly how I felt,” she cried. “Why, say, I had you falling in -love with every snippy, doll-faced girl in New York!” - -They laughed--softly, ruefully, and with a relaxing weariness. - -“How about your exquisite people?” he asked, after a pause. “Do they -still keep a close watch on you?” - -“No, I think they’re completely deceived by now,” she said. “I’ve -played a foxy game, you know--going out with other men, and bragging -about them, and hiding my feelings all the time. I was so afraid that -somebody you know would see me with some fellow and tell you about it. -I just couldn’t help it, darling. One little break might have given me -away, and I just had to fool my folks. There wasn’t any other way.” - -“Sure, I understand,” he replied, as he stroked her hand and looked at -her with the expression of a man relievedly twitting his past fears and -pains. - -They were silent for a while, reveling in the unexpected, warm nearness -to each other and feeling a giddy swirl of revived faiths and hopes. -Their first little rush of reassuring words had aroused all of the -deferred plans and buried braveries within them, but the awakening was -not yet articulate enough for spoken syllables. They longed to embrace -each other with an open intensity, and the effort needed to control -this desire also served to prevent them from talking. Then Blanche -remembered a fear which she had experienced during the previous week. - -“Eric, did you ever see a play called ‘God’s People Got Wings?’” she -asked. - -“No, but I’ve heard about it.” - -“Well, it certainly made me shiver,” she said. “One of Oppendorf’s -friends took me down to see it, and I’ve never had such a dreadful -time in my life. It was all about a colored man marrying a white girl. -It ended up with the colored boy killing his wife and then committing -suicide--think of it!--and I was just gripping the sides of my seat all -the time.” - -“Were you afraid it might have some connection with us?” he asked, -gravely. - -“No, no, of course not,” she answered, as she clutched his hand. “D’you -think I’m silly enough to let some prejudiced man tell me whether I’m -going to be happy or not? No, Eric, it wasn’t that, but I did feel -angry and upset, and, we-ell ... it set me to wondering. Why do all -these writers now always insist that colored and white people weren’t -meant to get along with each other--oh, why do they?” - -“Mister Shakespeare revived it with his Othello and it’s been going -strong ever since,” he replied, with a contention of forlorn and -contemptuous inflections in his voice. “It can’t be argued about. Most -of them are perfectly sincere, and they really believe that people of -different races always hate and fear each other at the bottom. You -could get yourself blue in the face telling them exceptional men and -women aren’t included in this rule, but it wouldn’t make the slightest -impression.” - -“But why are they so stubborn about it?” she asked. - -“That’s easy,” he answered, wearily. “They don’t want to admit that -there’s the smallest possibility of the races ever coming together. -It’s a deep, blind pride, and they simply can’t get rid of it. They’re -hardly ever conscious of it, Blanche, but it’s there just the same. -Why, even Vanderin isn’t free from it. Take that latest book of -his--Black Paradise--and what do you find? What? He’s just a bystander -trying to be indulgent and sympathetic. It’s the old story. Negroes are -primitive and sa-avage at the bottom, and white people aren’t ... white -people like your brother, I suppose.” - -He had been unable to restrain the sarcasm of his last words because -his wounds had cried out for a childish relief. She had listened to -him with a fascination that was near to worship ... what a dear, wise, -eloquent boy he was! When he talked, even the ghosts of her former -specters fled from her heart. Let the world call him a nigger--what did -it matter? They didn’t care whether he was beautiful or not--all they -wanted was to “keep him in his place,” these in-tel-li-gent people, -just because he happened to have a mixture of blood within him. - -“Oh, let’s not talk any more about it,” she said. “We’re in love with -each other, Eric, boysie, and ... ’f other people don’ like it they can -stand on their heads, for all I care!” - -He fondled her shoulder, gratefully, and an uproar was in his heart. - -“Blanche, what’s the use of waiting and waiting?” he asked at last. -“We’re only suffering and denying ourselves when there’s no reason for -it. Let’s run off to-morrow and marry each other. If we wait too long -we’ll feel too helpless about it--it’ll grow to be a habit with us. I -can’t exist any longer without you, Blanche--it’s just impossible ... -impossible. I’ll draw out the thousand I have in the bank and we’ll hop -a train for Chicago to-morrow afternoon. Don’t you see it’s useless to -keep postponing it, Blanche?” - -His eagerness, and her longing for him, expelled the last vestige of -her fears. - -“Yes, dear, I’ll go with you to-morrow,” she said. - -Their hands gripped each other with the power of iron bands, and they -stared hopefully out across the greenish-gray swells of water. - - -THE END - - - - -TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES: - - - Italicized text is surrounded by underscores: _italics_. - - Obvious typographical errors have been corrected. - - Inconsistencies in hyphenation have been standardized. - - Archaic or alternate spelling has been retained from the original. - -*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK NINTH AVENUE *** - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the -United States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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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 <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a>. If you -are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the -country where you are located before using this eBook. -</div> - -<p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Title: Ninth Avenue</p> -<p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:0; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Author: Maxwell Bodenheim</p> -<p style='display:block; text-indent:0; margin:1em 0'>Release Date: February 10, 2022 [eBook #67372]</p> -<p style='display:block; text-indent:0; margin:1em 0'>Language: English</p> - <p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:0; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em; text-align:left'>Produced by: Steve Mattern, David E. Brown, and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net</p> -<div style='margin-top:2em; margin-bottom:4em'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK NINTH AVENUE ***</div> - -<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/cover.jpg" width="40%" alt="" /></div> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<h1>NINTH AVENUE</h1> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/i002_title.jpg" alt="" /></div> -</div> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="titlepage"> - -<p class="ph2">·NINTH·<br /> -AVENUE</p> - -<p><i>By</i><br /> -<span class="large">MAXWELL<br /> -BODENHEIM</span></p> - - -<p><i>New York</i><br /> -<span class="large">BONI & LIVERIGHT</span><br /> -1926</p> -</div> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/i003_verso.jpg" alt="" /></div> - -<p class="center">COPYRIGHT 1926 :: BY<br /> - -<span class="large">BONI & LIVERIGHT, <span class="smcap">Inc.</span></span><br /> - -PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES</p> - - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<h2 class="nobreak">PART ONE</h2> -</div> - - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_9">[9]</span> -<p class="ph3">NINTH AVENUE</p> - -<h3 class="nobreak">CHAPTER I</h3> -</div> - - -<p><span class="smcap">When</span> the light of morning touches the buildings -and pavements of a city, it always seems to borrow -their hardness and to lose in some degree its quality -of flowing detachment. The Sunday morning that fell -upon Ninth Avenue, New York City, gave you a sense -of invisible stiffness in its very air. The buildings, -with their smudged, flat fronts and tops, presented -the impression of huge warehouses stretching down -both sides of the street—the appearance of holding -commodities rather than human beings. Most of them -were five or six stories in height, and their curtained, -oblong windows and the bright, tawdry shops at their -base had an oddly lifeless aspect, in spite of the sounds -and animations which occurred within and around -them. The iron elevated-railroad structure that extended -down the street, with all of its roar and rush of -trains, could not destroy the spirit of silent inertia -that lurked within the scene.</p> - -<p>Blanche Palmer stood in front of a bureau, in one -of the apartments that lined the street, and combed -her dark red, bobbed hair, as though it were a sacred -and perilous performance. She was only partially -dressed, and the mild light that came in through a<span class="pagenum" id="Page_10">[10]</span> -rear window from the courtyard brought an extra -vividness to her semiplump arms, abruptly rounded -shoulders and moderately swelling bosom. Their -freshness stood out, a little forlorn and challenging, -in the disordered room with its half drab and half -gaudy arrangements. The brass bed, the magazine-posters -of pretty women against the pink-flowered -wallpaper, the red plush chair with the most infinitely -smug of shapes, the white chintz, half-dirty curtain -and dark green shade at the window—all of them -seemed to be meanly contending against the youth and -life of her body.</p> - -<p>She was fairly tall, with most of the weight of her -body centered below her waist and with an incongruously -small torso, but this effect was not as clumsy -as it might have been, since it was relieved by a bold -approach to symmetry. Something of a child and an -amazon met in her body. Her face was not pretty if -you examined each of its features separately—the -overwide lips, the nose tilting out too suddenly at the -tip, and the overstraight, shaved eyebrows—but the -whole of it had a piquant and enticing irregularity, and -it was redeemed by her large, deeply set, bluish-gray -eyes and the fine smoothness of her cream-white skin.</p> - -<p>Her twenty years of life had given her a self-consciousness, -and a hasty worldly wisdom, and a slightly -complacent sexual alertness, and these three qualities -blended into the customary expressions on her face. -Yet at odd moments it showed questioning and dissatisfied -shades. She was just a little more frank and -wondering than the other girls in her environment—just<span class="pagenum" id="Page_11">[11]</span> -a little distressed and seeking beneath all of the -affected wrigglings, and ignorances, and small, cruel -impulses that ruled her heart and mind. As she stood -before the bureau, the treble of a child’s voice emerged -from the babble of sounds in the surrounding apartments, -lifting the words: “Well, it ain’t gonna rain no -mo-ore, it ain’t gonna rain no mo-ore; how in the heck -can I wash my neck when it ain’t gonna rain no mo-ore.” -Blanche took up the song, half humming it as -she slipped on an old, black, sleeveless evening gown -which she still kept to wear about the apartment when -visitors were not present or expected. It had a big, -scarlet satine flower sewed at the side of the waist and -was extremely low-necked and gave her a near-courtesan -touch, increased by the over-thick rouge and -lipstick on her face. She could not dispense with cosmetics, -even before her family, because they were too -inherently a part of the shaky sexual pride within her, -which always needed to be glossed and protected because -it had been frequently hurt and discountenanced -in competitions and comparisons with the other girls -in her life.</p> - -<p>She stepped down the dark hallway and entered -the living-room, where her family sat and pored over -the Sunday papers. The hour was verging on noon, -and the debris and confusion of a past breakfast stood -on the square, uncovered table in the middle of the -room. Blanche eyed it peevishly.</p> - -<p>“Oh, for Gawd’s sake, what a dump,” she said. -“How’m I going to sit down with gue and coffee all -over the chairs?”</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_12">[12]</span>“Too bad about you,” her brother, Harry, answered, -with an amiable jeer in his voice. “Too bad. We’ll -move up on the Drive an’ get a lotta servunts for you, -huh?”</p> - -<p>“Sure, go ahead, but as long’s we’re not there yet -you c’n move your big legs and help clean off the -table,” she replied.</p> - -<p>“Whatsamatter, you parulyzed?” he asked, still -genial as he rose and picked up some of the dishes.</p> - -<p>Her sister Mabel and her oldest brother, Philip, -joined in the slangy, waggish repartee as Blanche went -to the kitchen and came back with a cup of coffee and -a fried egg. The father chortled behind the comic-section -of one of the papers, oblivious to this usual -Sunday morning “kidding-match,” and the mother -was busy in the kitchen. Harry Palmer, known to -the bantam-class of the prize-fighting ring as Battling -Murphy, was a youth of twenty-two, with a short body -whose shoulders and chest were full, hard lumps, and -whose legs were thinly crooked but steel-like. His -small, black eyes had a dully fixed, suspicious, partly -dumb and partly cunning look that never left them, -even in the midst of his greatest smiles and laughters, -and his nose was shaped like the beginning of a corkscrew, -and his thick lips just touched each other, -with the lower one slightly protruding. His moist -black hair was brushed backward; his skin was a -dark brown with a dab of red running through it. -The start of a primitive man, forced to become tricky -and indirect as it escaped from the traps and ways -of city streets, but still longing for direct blows and<span class="pagenum" id="Page_13">[13]</span> -curses, showed on every inch of him. He was cruel -without wit enough to know that he was cruel, and in -his most lenient and joking moments the little imagination -and sentiment that he had grew large in its -own estimation and made him feel that he was as -decent and kind as he could be in a life where you -had to “put it over” the other fellow, or go under.</p> - -<p>He prided himself especially on his generous and -affectionate attitude toward his family. They were -the only people who had any actual claims on him—his -own flesh and blood, yep—but he felt that it was -necessary to hurt them whenever they objected to his -actions, or tried to hold him down, or did anything -that they should not have done. His idea of superiority -was not to allow any one to boss him unless it -contributed to his material gain, and to order people -around whenever he could. Part of his family-pride -was a real emotion and part of it was a dogged peace-offering -to his more openly selfish and cruel words and -actions to other people. He looked upon women as -creatures made for his particular enjoyment, but they -alone were able to revive the streak of surlily shamefaced -tenderness within him, and if they were exceptionally -good-looking, and besieged by troubles, he -wanted to pet them and give them money. He intended -to avoid marriage until he met a pretty girl of his own -age, who would refuse to give herself to him, and who -could hold her own in the rough parryings of conversation, -and show a practical disposition and a sense -of the value of money.</p> - -<p>He had fought in preliminary six-round bouts—with<span class="pagenum" id="Page_14">[14]</span> -erratic success—since he was twenty, and he was -known to the ring as a courageous but unscientific -fighter, whose main fault was that he would not train -rigorously for his encounters. On the side he was -associated with a gang of bootleggers, in the position -of a guard who often went with them to protect their -deliveries, receiving a small share of the profits. The -Palmer family was mainly dependent on his support, -since his other brothers and sisters did little more -than pay their own expenses, and his earnings for the -past two years had really lifted them to a point where -they could have deserted their upper-proletarian life. -His parents preferred the Ninth Avenue apartment -and its surroundings, because it had been stamped -into their spirits for years, and because they liked the -boisterous freedoms, the lack of etiquette, and the -semiunderworld plainness of their environment. He -and his brothers and sisters would not have been -averse to moving to “a sweller joint,” but the desire -was not yet sufficiently deep to stir them to any action.</p> - -<p>His older brother, Philip, who was twenty-five, was -looked upon as the most “high-toned” member of the -family. Philip worked in a neighboring drug store -and studied at night to become a pharmacist, and had -had two years of a high-school education. He was a -tall man of much less sturdy physique than his brother, -and he dressed in the manner of a lower dandy, with -much fussing over cravats, shirts and suits of clothes. -He had a weak face beneath his curly brown hair—the -face of a sneaking philanderer, invaded a bit by -kindly impulses which he tried to suppress but which<span class="pagenum" id="Page_15">[15]</span> -often led to his undoing. His brown, bulging eyes, -soft mouth that tried to be hard, and tilting out nose -inherited from his mother—these features disputed -the sneering nonchalance with which he strove to -become one with the life around him. He was not -naturally studious, but his brain was cautious enough -to realize that he was not adapted for the more arduously -physical tasks in life, and that he would have -to learn—at any cost—some sheltering and fairly -profitable profession. For this reason he applied -himself to absorbing the details of pharmacy, with -much laboring and many secret groans.</p> - -<p>His sister Mabel was the adored young coquette -of the family. They regarded Blanche as a silly, fluctuating, -and slightly queer person in comparison to -her sister, for Blanche made no serious effort “to -play” men for their money and favors, and often -went out with the poorer and more ordinary youths -of the neighborhood, and revealed, in the opinion of -her family, a spirit that was too jauntily reckless—too -“easy.” Mabel, on the other hand, was reckless -enough, with her cabaret, private club and automobile -parties, but the recklessness was more a patent exuberance -used to cover up an excellent canniness. -Her people had the feeling that she could not be taken -advantage of, and that she would play the game carefully -until she landed a wealthy man willing to marry -her. Physically, she was a girl of eighteen years, -with her body in that fetching state of transition between -budding and maturity; mentally, she was twelve -years old; and emotionally, she was a woman of fifty.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_16">[16]</span> -Girls of her kind, whose environment has been split -between their homes in an almost slummy district and -the falsetto battle of Broadway, become sensually -wise overnight. At eighteen, Mabel was literally -stuffed with tricks, and informations, and cool wiles -picked up on streets and in cabarets, and her mind -merely functioned as an assistant in this process. At -the very bottom she was sentimental and fearful, but -only an actually dire predicament could have extracted -these qualities—an unexpected danger or calamity. -She was close to medium height, with a slenderness -made charming by an unusually full bosom, and a pale -brown skin that had a sheen upon it like that on the -surface of a pond, and black, bobbed hair that was -curled for three or four days after each visit to the -beauty parlor. Her little nose was almost straight, -with hardly a trace of the Palmer curve, and her lips -were loosely parted and petite, and her big, black eyes -assumed the most vacantly innocent of stares, unless -she was angry, when the lids half closed between -dancing sparks.</p> - -<p>Her father, William Palmer, had worked as a bartender, -during the days when his country had not yet -established a new and widespread class of criminals, -and he had once owned a small saloon, afterwards -lost through his dice and poker-playing lusts. After -the advent of prohibition, he had branched out as a -bootlegger, in a very modest way, but he lacked the -vigor and acumen necessary to such an occupation—he -was now a man of fifty-five—and the arrest of -some of his cronies had frightened him into giving up<span class="pagenum" id="Page_17">[17]</span> -his illegal trade. Then he became the ostensible manager -of his prize-fighting son, and now he did little -more than hang around the gymnasiums where his -son trained, dicker for a few minutes with the owners -of boxing clubs, loaf around his home, and sit in all-night -drinking and poker parties. He still had the -remains of a once powerful body, in spite of his lowered -shoulders and grayish-black hair slowly turning -to baldness, and he was one of those men who hold -out against dissipation with an inhuman tenacity, -until near seventy, when their hearts or stomachs -abruptly collapse, and they die. He was of average -height and always tried to carry himself with a great, -chipper bluff at youthful spryness. Upon his brown -face the twisted nose which he had given to his son, -Harry, stood above broad and heavy lips, and there -was a piggish fixity to his often bloodshot eyes that -were too little for the ample size of his head.</p> - -<p>He was a man who lived in two worlds at the same -time—that of verbal bluffing, uttered to soothe and -shun the sore spots and cruel resolves in his nature, -and that one in which he endlessly schemed for money -and ease, and was willing to commit any legal or well-hidden -crime to procure them. He would have grown -wrathful if you had accused him of being dishonest, and -his rage would have been quite sincere. He had -practiced self-deception for such a long time that each -part of him was genuinely blind to the tactics and purposes -of the other part. His children were, to him, -the great, living boast with which he could dismiss the -world’s and his own allegations of failure. “I never<span class="pagenum" id="Page_18">[18]</span> -got what I wanted but I’ll be damned if they don’t,” -he sometimes muttered to himself, and the excuse that -he gave himself was that their better advantages, and -his own guidance, would enable them to win out in the -virtues which he had transplanted within them. He -had lost his own parents at an early age and had been -raised in a public institution, and had been -forced to work hard when he was not yet fifteen, and -he doted on citing these beginnings as an explanation -for all of his material failures. He had punished and -commanded his children when they were still in knee -trousers and short skirts—often shouting at them and -beating them about the legs—and he had struggled -outragedly against their gradual assumption of authority -and independence, but his delight in remaining -their master had finally subsided to an even stronger -pleasure—that of a man who was watching the masterful -qualities which his children had derived from -him.</p> - -<p>“They get it honest, all right,” he had once said to -himself, after a squabble in which his son Harry, then -seventeen, had threatened to knock him out. “I never -took any sass from anybody myself, you bet I didn’t. -They’ll never learn to fight for themselves ’f I take all -the spunk and pep outa them.”</p> - -<p>Now he clung to the gruff pose of ordering them -about, but never really cared when they disregarded -most of his words, or talked back to him, as long as -the boys kept out of arrest and the girls did not seem -to be openly or particularly unvirtuous. He suspected -that his daughters had probably “gone the limit” with<span class="pagenum" id="Page_19">[19]</span> -one or two men whom they knew, but the absence of -feminine virtue to him was not a matter for agitation -unless it was persistent, complete and loudly flaunted. -He wanted his daughters to be “wise” and to end up -in decent marriages, but he was not averse to their -“cutting up” a bit, as long as they kept it well hidden. -His favorite children were Harry and Mabel and he -never overlooked any chance to flatter and serve -them in some manner.</p> - -<p>His wife, Kate, was the least aggressive member of -the family, and her children, Philip and Blanche, held -in a much-qualified way many of her characteristics. -Two years younger than her husband, she was a lean -and not oversturdy woman whose head rose only an -inch above his shoulders. She had been a servant girl -just migrated from Ireland when he—a bartender in -the block in which she lived—had married her because -of his inability to seduce her in spite of her meek -worship of him, and because her turn of figure and her -tart, fresh face had appealed to him. She had toiled -most of her life, with only a short period of intermission -before the birth of her first child, and she had -frequently taken his drunken blows and his palpable -faithlessness after the first two years of their marriage, -and they had often lived in the dirtiest and -most hellish of poverties when his gambling losses -had reduced them to pennilessness, but something like -a mangled dream had never left her spirit—not plaintive, -and not precisely wistful, but more the quietness -of a peasant girl never quite living in her surroundings -and always longing for the strong peace of village and<span class="pagenum" id="Page_20">[20]</span> -hill. The dream was stupid, maligned, numb—but -still it persisted. She had little courage, and yet a -stubborn flare of it often shot out when she was driven -into a corner, and her main reliances were obstinacy -and endurance. Unlike her husband, she did not share -the bragging illusions which he had concerning their -children, and she felt that her sons and daughters -were imperfect, overwild and far too selfish, and she -cared for them more because life had deprived her of -all other opportunities for compensation. She favored -Blanche most because Blanche seemed to her to be -more of a reproduction of what she, the mother, had -been in her own girlhood. It was not that she had -any keen insight into her daughter’s character and -needs—it was only the very cloudy but warm feeling -that Blanche was more honest and “fine” than the rest -of her children. Mrs. Palmer had long since ceased -to love her husband, or to respect anything about -him except his physical strength and his masculine -braveries, but she had fallen into a rut of obedience -to him, from which she lacked even the desire to -extricate herself, and she preserved an attitude of -bare affection, to impress her children and to keep -him in good humor whenever she could. She had rigid -notions concerning honesty and morality not held by -the rest of her family, and she often weakly complained -against their “looseness” and accepted it only -because she could not change it. Below her still -abundant, grayish-red hair, her face was like the -seamed and puffed and violated copy of Blanche’s -countenance, with much the same eyes, lips and nose,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_21">[21]</span> -but without the hopeful smiles and uncertain questions -on the other’s face.</p> - -<p>As the family gathered in the living-room on this -Sunday noon, chaffing and listening to the latest fox-trot -and waltz records from the slightly nasal phonograph -that stood on a shaky table in a corner of the -room, and reading the papers with the jealous, spellbound -attention with which obscure people greet the -notorieties and “stunts” of other men and women, -the mother still worked in the kitchen, cleaning the -breakfast dishes and preparing the five o’clock Sunday -dinner. Kate Palmer usually refused to allow her -girls to help her with the housework, for more or -less selfish reasons, because of her pitiful pride in -the fact that she could manage things herself—the -elderly housewife, to whom work had become an only -distraction and importance—and because she really -dreaded the possibility of their attractive, feminine -hands becoming “chapped and ugly-like.” On Sundays -the Palmers, in varying degrees, were always in -their best mood. They had all slept later than on -other days, and the Sabbath-day was associated in -their spirits with “sorta making up for what you -pulled off during the week”—the faint, uncomprehended -return of conscience and forgotten religious -precepts—and with more peaceful forms of enjoyment. -Early every Sunday morning the mother went to a -Presbyterian church on the outskirts of their neighborhood, -and sometimes her husband or one of her -daughters would accompany her, both of them stiffly -empty and ill-at-ease. If you had asked all of the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_22">[22]</span> -Palmers whether they believed in God and in Christianity, -they would instantly have replied in the affirmative, -after giving you a wondering, suspicious look, -and yet their belief was merely the snubbed but never-quite-relinquished -shield which their fears became -conscious of at rare and odd moments. In case you -died, you wanted to know that you were on the right -side of things and in line for some possible reward—this -was the only shape that religion had to them. -Its exhortations and restrictions were jokes that could -not possibly survive in the sordidness, and strain, -and sensual longing of your life—you knew that at -the bottom but you never admitted it to yourself on -the top. Again, there was a consolation, dim and yet -imperative, in feeling that a vast, hazy, grand Father -was controlling their days, and in moments of sore -need, or danger, or pain, they would have instinctively -and even beseechingly called out His name.</p> - -<p>When the papers were exhausted, the conversation -of the Palmers became more steady and personal.</p> - -<p>“Guess you’re goin’ out to-night with that Jew-kike -uh yours,” said Harry, trying to get a rise out of -Blanche. “Can’t you pick out somethin’ better than -a Christ-killer, huh?”</p> - -<p>“What’s it to you?” she asked, coolly. “Show you -a good-looking Jewish girl and you’ll fall all over -yourself trying to date her up. I know you.”</p> - -<p>“Sure, but I’d just play her for what I could get,” -answered Harry. “I’ve got a notion you’re kinda -sweet on that Loo-ee Rosenberg, ’r whatever his name -is.”</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_23">[23]</span>“Well, she’d better not be,” said the father, with -a scowl. “I don’t mind when some kike takes her out -for a good time—their jack’s as good as any other -guy’s—but I’m not lettin’ any Jews get into this -family.”</p> - -<p>Blanche gave them a scornful smile. She was far -from being in love with Rosenberg, and the matter -was neither pressing nor irritating, but she felt a -general defiance against their masculine habit of laying -down the law to women.</p> - -<p>“I guess I’m old enough to tend my own business, -pa,” she said.</p> - -<p>“Oh, you are, huh,” answered her father. “Well, -maybe we’ll see about that.”</p> - -<p>“Aw, I know what’s eating both of you,” said -Mabel, in her expressionless, thinly liquid voice. -“You’re sore ’cause Harry lost to a Jew in that fight -he had up in Harlem. Kid Goldman, that’s the one. -When you going to beat him up, Harry?”</p> - -<p>“I’ll get him, I’ll get him, don’t worry,” her brother -answered, frowning as he remembered the affront to -his vanity. “I was outa condition that night, and my -left wasn’t workin’ good, that’s all. Wait’ll I get him -in the ring again.”</p> - -<p>“You know what I’ve always told you—you got -the makin’s of a champion ’f you’ll only get down to -business,” said his father. “You’re trailin’ around too -much with that bootleggin’ gang uh yours. No fighter -ever got to the top with a bottle in his hand, I’m -tellin’ you.”</p> - -<p>“G’wan, you know damn well I’m down to the gym<span class="pagenum" id="Page_24">[24]</span> -five days a week,” answered Harry, who realized the -truth of his father’s words, but wanted to minimize it -with his own reply. “An’ what’s more, I don’t see any -of you turnin’ down that fifty they slip me ev’ry Monday. -Money don’t lay around on the street—you got -to get it any place you can.”</p> - -<p>“Well, I ain’t any too anxious ’bout hearin’ the cops -knockin’ on this door some day,” his father responded, -peevishly.</p> - -<p>“Go ahead, drink your fool self to death—who -cares,” said Mabel, who had become petulant at the -thought of the grand style in which they could all -live if her brother would only rise to the head of his -class. “You’ve got plenty of muscle but no sense, -that’s the trouble with you.”</p> - -<p>“Say, how many times ’ve you seen me drunk, how -many?” Harry asked, beginning to be angry at this -exposure of his weakest trait. “Ev’ry one in this -joint’s always lappin’ up all I bring home, an’ I never -touch it myself. ’F I do go on a jag once’n a while -it’s my business. You can’t get up in the fight game -unless you’re on the inside—there’s too many big -crooks higher up fixin’ things.”</p> - -<p>“I don’t believe it—you’re just looking for a way -out,” said Blanche, to whom Harry was a generous -but conceited brother—a strong, vicious baby who -imagined himself to be a model of shrewdness. At -the bottom she disliked his bulldozing, prying ways, -but her dislike was not yet strong enough to overcome -the more enforced feelings of gratitude and -blood-ties within her heart. Harry always suspected<span class="pagenum" id="Page_25">[25]</span> -that Blanche was the one member of his family not -impressed by his prowess and his knowledge of the -world, and he never gave up his efforts to increase her -respect, with all the argument and repartee at his -command.</p> - -<p>“I am, huh,” he said, answering her last remark. -“What do you know about it? I suppose you get all -that info’ uh yours punchin’ the cash register down -at the cafeteria. The only way you’re wise is with -your mouth. That middle-weight champ fight down -at the Terrace was fixed up a week ago and I’ve got -it straight. Just watch the papers tuhmorrow night.”</p> - -<p>“Aw, I’ve heard a lotta roomors goin’ around, but -that’s hot air,” said his father. “Garvey’d be a damn -fool to sell his title for any amount—I don’t care -’fit’s one hundred thousan’. He ain’t had it a year yet, -an’ there’s plenty uh holes left in the meal-ticket.”</p> - -<p>“Listen to somethin’, will yuh,” answered Harry, -who really knew what he was talking about in this -matter. “Garvey’s gonna give up the title now and -then win it back in a return bout. Lose it on a foul -an’ raise a big holler—that’s the scheme. Young -Anderson’ll keep it f’r a year ’r so, an’ make a pile -of dough cleanin’ up all the suckers in the sticks. -With the movie stuff an’ the easy pickin’s he’ll rake in -three times ’s much as his manager give Garvey’s tuh -fix it all up. I got it from a guy who was there when -they all talked it over, only I can’t say his name ’cause -I’d get my bean drilled through ’f they ever found out -I told.”</p> - -<p>“Are you kiddin’ me?” demanded his father.</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_26">[26]</span>“I hope to croak if I am!”</p> - -<p>“Oh, boy, watch me put thirty dollars on that fight,” -cried Philip, who had been sitting beside his father and -listening avidly.</p> - -<p>“Well, go slow, go slow,” advised his father. “I -know Harry wouldn’t give us a bum stir, but them -agreements ’r’ often bungled up ’r double-crossed at -the last minnit.”</p> - -<p>The men began a discussion of prize-fighting conditions -in general, with much vehemence and a comical -contrast of naive and foxy opinions, and the two -girls brought out manicure-sets of flashy celluloid, and -fiddled with their nails. Something that was not depression -but unobtrusively akin to it, stirred inside of -Blanche. She had felt it at times before and had -never been able to fathom it beyond her sense that -life was too underhanded, and that she didn’t like -this aspect of it. As she listened to the men, with -their endless recitals of frauds and machinations, the -little weight moved within her breast. Fake, fake, -fake—that was all you ever heard. Wasn’t there anything -honest and good in the world? It sure didn’t -look like there was, most of the time. Oh, well, why -bother so much about it? You could never get along -in this world unless you “belonged”—unless you were -like the things around you.</p> - -<p>She started to think of Louis Rosenberg, the man -with whom she had an engagement for the coming -night. She didn’t love him, sure not, but he wasn’t a -bad fellow at that. He seemed to be an honest boy, -and sometimes he talked about big, fancy things, like<span class="pagenum" id="Page_27">[27]</span> -why people hated each other so much, and why the -world wasn’t better than it was, and he used a word -now and then that he called art—something that -made people write books and do paintings and statuary, -and get wild over nothing that any one else could -see. He certainly was different from most men all -right. He kissed her sometimes, but he never tried -to “get fresh” (getting fresh, to Blanche, was the -placing of a man’s hands upon any covered part of -her body except the arms). Maybe that was why she -didn’t love him. He was too darn good, and a girl -wanted a fellow to “try something” now and then, -if he was slow about it and didn’t act as though he -expected her to fall for him (respond to him) immediately. -Then, when he did try it, she could tell just -how much she cared for him, and she repulsed him, -or accepted him to some extent, according to how -nervous and glad he made her feel. Well, anyway, -there were always enough men who tried to make -advances to her, and Rosenberg was something of a -relief.</p> - -<p>She met him that night on the corner of Broadway -and Forty-second Street, where the theater lights -clustered like bits of a soul burning in oil, and an -endless, crawling stream of automobiles and taxicabs -hid the pavement, and where the tall, rectangular -buildings and the suavely gaudy shops seemed to be -the only unexcited and unsensual objects of the scene. -Rosenberg scarcely ever called for her at the apartment, -and when he did he waited outside on the stoop, -because Blanche felt that she would be “mortified<span class="pagenum" id="Page_28">[28]</span> -to death” if her father and her brothers should choose -to act unfriendly toward him, and she didn’t want to -run the risk of such an occurrence. She was wearing -a very thin, short-sleeved, georgette dress that extended -only two inches below her knees and was of -dull white with a dark red flower-pattern, and semi-transparent, -flesh-colored stockings, and brown shoes -with high heels, and a black felt hat shaped like an -upside-down cup, with a red bow at the side. Like -many girls in her environment, she dressed with a -combination of unconscious artistry and cheap, over-flashy -display.</p> - -<p>Rosenberg was a youth of twenty-three, who worked -at the receiving desk in one of the Public Library -branches, and was beginning to think a bit too much -for his happiness, prodded by the “higher literature” -that he was reading for the first time. Previous to -his Library job he had worked as a shoe salesman -and had given it up because he had failed to see that -he was “getting anywhere” and because he wanted to -do something out of the ordinary but didn’t know -quite what it should be. He lived with a family of -brothers and sisters, and they, together with his parents, -regarded him as a pleasant “schlemiel,” who was -always talking about things but never accomplishing -anything, though they were willing to let him alone -as long as he worked and supported himself. He had -met Blanche at the cafeteria where she worked as a -cashier on weekdays, through the expedient of opening -a gradual conversation with her as he paid his -check each noon. Finally he had grown bold enough<span class="pagenum" id="Page_29">[29]</span> -to ask if he could “take her out” and she had assented -because she had liked the diffident style in which his -request was worded.</p> - -<p>He was tall and narrow-shouldered, but he was -wiry and his arms were not unmuscular. His light -brown face, with its hooked nose, dark, large-lidded -eyes, and thin mouth, often had the look of a puzzled -dreamer, bowing to practical barriers but still trying, -half-heartedly, to peer beyond them. In his attire -he wavered between negligence and neatness, his tastes -running to dark suits and loose collars and brightly -striped shirts, and his leading vanity was his wavy -black hair, which he often combed for ten minutes at -a stretch.</p> - -<p>Since the hour was only eight o’clock—still too -early for them to visit the lower Broadway dance-hall -which they frequented—Blanche and Rosenberg -walked over to Bryant Park and sat on one of the -wooden-iron benches along the cement walk and looking -out on the orderly, clipped levels of grass. The -late spring night, with its warm air that had the barest -threat of coolness in it, and its cloudless sky dotted -with stars and a moon at which you could glance now -and then with the feeling that they were pretty and -a bit mystifying, and the more immediate lights -around you, with their warm, come-on-and-see-what’s-under-me -winks, and all the sounds of pleasure-seeking -traffic—these things brought Blanche a light-hearted, -knowing mood. She was a girl, young and -rather handsome, and there was nothing that she<span class="pagenum" id="Page_30">[30]</span> -couldn’t make men do if she had only cared enough -about it.</p> - -<p>“Tell you what we’ll do, Lou, we’ll take that ferry -ride over to Staten Island,” she said. “I love to get -out on the water when it’s night.”</p> - -<p>“Let’s not and say we did,” he answered, moodily.</p> - -<p>“Gee, I never saw a fellow like you,” she replied. -“Dance, dance, that’s all you care about. Here I -know you’re short on money, and here I’m giving you -a chance to get away with forty cents for the night—four -thin dimes—and you turn it down.”</p> - -<p>“Don’t always rub in how poor I am,” he said, -nettled. “’F I was so darn crazy about money, like -other guys are, I’d get it all right. There’s other things -I’m interested in—books, and good plays, and watching -what other people do. They all call me lazy at -home, but it don’t bother me any. I don’t see that -they get so much out of life by working their heads -off all the time.”</p> - -<p>Blanche felt a little scornful and a little inquiring -as she listened to him. Who ever heard of saying that -people shouldn’t work—what would become of them -if they didn’t? Besides, what did he get out of all -his reading and this “think-ing” of his? He was a -boob in many respects, and in a way she was wasting -her time with him. She could have been in the company -of men who could show her an actual good time—high-class -cabarets and automobile parties, and the -best theaters and restaurants. Yet, after she went out -with these men for a while she always grew tired of -them. They all got down to what they wanted from<span class="pagenum" id="Page_31">[31]</span> -her, and it became a bald question of taking or rejecting -them—you couldn’t “string them along” forever—and -they all lacked something that she was -unable to put her finger on—something “classy” and -aboveboard and decent without being goody-goodish. -When she “let them go too far,” under the hilarious -urge of liquor, she never felt quite right about it -afterwards. She could never rid herself of the feeling -that the man had not deserved what he had received -and that she had been just another girl on his list. -Rosenberg was the one man who came nearest to fulfilling -this mysterious lack, but he was deficient in all -of the other requisites, and his physical appeal was -weak to her.</p> - -<p>“Well, you don’t read a book when you dance, do -you?” she asked at last, desiring to take a mild jab -at him. “Gee, but you’re the cat’s something. I wish -you had more get-up about you.”</p> - -<p>“Yeh, it’s too bad I haven’t got a roll,” he answered. -“Sometimes I b’lieve that’s all you girls think about.”</p> - -<p>An anger mounted within her.</p> - -<p>“Say, ’f I did, why’d I have to pick you out?” she -asked. “You make me sick and tired!”</p> - -<p>“Aw, don’t get so sore,” he replied. “I’m touchy -in one spot, that’s all. Let’s talk about something -else. I was reading a book called First Street the -other day—it’s highbrow, you know, but it’s darn -popular, too. I hear they’ve sold a hundred thousand. -It tells all about how gossipy-like and narrow-minded -and, oh, just small, people are—the people that live in -those little burgs.... Say, the more I find out about<span class="pagenum" id="Page_32">[32]</span> -this world of ours the less I like it. Why the devil -can’t people leave each other alone, and do what they -want, long’s they’re not hurting anybody.”</p> - -<p>His last words made Blanche sympathize with him, -in spite of the fact that, to her, there was an unmanly -element in what he said. Real men, now, went out -and fought with each other, and “stood the gaff” and -“got what was coming to them” and made people obey -them. Still there was too darn much bossing in the -world, with ev’rybody sticking his finger in the other -person’s pie. Her family was always nagging at her, -and the owner of the cafeteria was always telling her -what to do—thought he owned her for his measly -twenty-two a week—and the cop on the corner gave -you a rotten look if he saw you walking alone late at -night ... yes, too darn much bossing to suit her.</p> - -<p>“What’s that there word, narruh-mindud, ’r something -like that—what’s it mean?” she asked.</p> - -<p>“It means when you don’t see nothing except what’s -right in front of your eyes,” he answered, delighted -at the chance to show his wisdom. “That’s what ails -most of us, all right. When you’re narrow-minded, -you see, you want everybody to be like you are and -you go right up in the air when people don’t act the -way you do. That’s what it means.”</p> - -<p>“But you’ve got to be like other people ’r else -you’ll never get anywheres,” she said, uncertainly.</p> - -<p>“Well, yes, in lots of things,” he answered, “but -just the same you can’t be arrested for what’s going -on in your head. You c’n have all the ideas you want<span class="pagenum" id="Page_33">[33]</span> -to, ’s long as you don’t pull off any crime, ’r bother -anybody.”</p> - -<p>She liked the queerness of his words, for no discernible -reason other than that he seemed to be in -favor of “standing up for yourself,” and not always -believing what people told you. Not so bad at that, -only—try—and—do—it! Oh, well, what did all this -have to do with the night ahead of them? This funny -boy was her escort for the night, and she was a desirable -woman, and she wished that he would “cut -out” all of the heavy stuff and make love to her, or -pay her some compliments, or do something that men -did when they were “gone” on a girl.</p> - -<p>“Say, you never kill yourself paying any attention -to <i>me</i>,” she said, after a pause. “It’s always them -i-i-deeuhs uh yours. Why, I know piles uh men that -would jump all over themselves just for the chance to -sit ’longside uh me here.”</p> - -<p>He had been looking away from her, and now he -turned his head, stung, and sorrowfully hungry, and -much more upset than he dared to confess to himself, -as he took in the appetizing, fresh sauciness of her -face, and the suggestive witchcraft of her pent-up -breast. There was a come-and-get-me-if-you’re-able, -and an almost smiling expression on her face. Without -realizing it, he always made an additional effort to -talk about “deep things” when he was with her, to -escape from the unsteadying influence which she had -upon his emotions. The other girls whom he occasionally -took to moving-picture theaters and dances, -were more or less inviting to him according to the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_34">[34]</span> -shape of their faces—he was fond of very plump -cheeks and lips with a large fullness to them—and -whether they had ample but not too corpulent forms—but -otherwise he did not differentiate them, except -in the light of whether they were “good kidders” -(brightly loquacious about nothing in particular) or -unduly silent and tiresome. Blanche, however, incited -within him a quick-rhythmed trouble and respect -which he could not explain, outside of his desire to -embrace her. She never seemed to have much -“brains,” but still he felt that there was something -to her that life hadn’t given her a chance to develop—something -honest and undismayed.</p> - -<p>He had no actual ability at clear thinking, in spite -of all of his poor little defiances and boldnesses abstracted -from this book and that, but he did have a -questioning, dissatisfied spirit—a spirit prone to quick -melancholies and even quicker hopes, and always trying -to “find out what it all meant.” He had the desire -to make Blanche worthy of him, and to give her the -knowledges and bystandish rebukes toward life on -which he prided himself. He told himself that he was -an idealist in sexual matters and that he was waiting -for a girl who could show him a clean, aspiring, beautiful -love, free from all coquetries and hagglings, and -he used the impressive adjectives to serenade his sense -of sexual frustration. In reality, he was oversexed, -and not bold enough to capture the girls whom he -secretly desired, but that was not the whole of it—far -beneath him he really did long for a physical outlet -that would be much less sordid and common than<span class="pagenum" id="Page_35">[35]</span> -the ones within his reach. At rare intervals he would -visit some professional woman, whose card had been -given to him by one of his more rakish friends, and -go away from her with a relieved but downcast mood.</p> - -<p>While he felt that he was in love with Blanche, he -didn’t want to be too quick about telling her—you -had to wait and be sure that some other girl, even -more alluring, wouldn’t come along—and since she -didn’t seem to be in love with him, his pride made -him silent at the thought of a probable rejection. -Often, when he kissed her good-night, his longing to -“go farther” would be close to overpowering him, but -at this moment she always slipped efficiently out of his -arms and said her last farewell. To Blanche, kisses -of any length were equivalents to saying “yes.”</p> - -<p>As Rosenberg sat beside Blanche now, after her -girlishly taunting words, he lost control of himself for -the first time, and his hand dropped tightly on one -of her knees, but she rose instantly from the bench. -She wasn’t angry at his having become “fresh” because -she blamed herself for it, but at the same time -she didn’t want to encourage him. He was a nice -enough kid, but somehow when he touched her she -didn’t get any “kick” out of it.</p> - -<p>“Not here, Lou—c’mon, let’s go,” she said, trying -to put a look of cajoling promise on her face.</p> - -<p>They walked over to “Dreamland,” the place where -they usually danced. It was a moderately large hall, -where the admission price was only two dollars for -couples, and it catered to a nondescript array of patrons. -Those who attended it regularly were in the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_36">[36]</span> -main young blades with small salaries and gay ambitions, -and working-girls who desired to “step out” -at night, but you could spy a variety of other people -who dropped in occasionally. The place hired twelve -professional girl dancers, who sat on a row of green -wicker chairs and waited for customers, and there -was a booth wherein a lady, who looked like a middle-aged, -superannuated burlesque actress, dispensed -tickets, each of which entitled the bearer to a dance -with one of the hired girls. Three or four professional -male dancers in tuxedoes lolled opposite the girls and -waited for feminine patrons. They were mostly in -demand for the tango and the Charleston—more intricate -dances which most of the other men present -had not mastered. Prosperous, middle-aged business -men frequently dropped in to dance with the girl -“hostesses” and a buxom, overripe, overdressed, -smirking woman—who supervised this part of the -hall’s activities—went through the respectable farce -of inquiring each gentleman’s name and introducing -him to his “hostess” partner. Many youths, “hard up” -for the evening and desiring an excellent and “swell-looking” -dancer, and many out-of-town visitors, pining -for deviltry during the vacation from their families, -were also frequent patrons. In addition, a large -number of unattached men drifted about the hall and -solicited dances from single girls, who accepted or -rejected them according to whether they were well-dressed -and talked with the proper confident, wise-cracking -inflections. The dance floor covered almost<span class="pagenum" id="Page_37">[37]</span> -one-half of the hall’s space and was separated by a -wooden railing from the remainder of the place.</p> - -<p>With its bright green wicker armchairs, and floor of -dark red plush, and varicolored electric lights hanging -in bunches from the ceiling, and badly done paintings -of women and cherubs and flowers on the surface -of the walls, and canopied, bedecked platform at one -side of the dance floor, where eight jazz players performed, -the hall gave you the general effect of spurious -romance putting on its best front to hide the decay -of its heart. The aura of respectability that hung -over the place was an amusing and desperate deception. -Two guards stood on the dance floor and reprimanded -couples when they shimmied, or moved with -a too undulating slowness, and other attendants -watched the rows of wicker chairs and censored any -open “spooning” among the patrons, and yet the hall -was quite patently an inception-ground for rendezvous, -and assignations, and flirtations, and covert -flesh-pressures. The “hostesses” took soft drinks with -their steadiest partners, at one end of the hall, with -much touching of knees and flitting of hands under -the tables, to induce the men to spend more freely—overrouged -and lip-sticked girls, with bobbed hair -and plump faces where sex had become the most automatic -and shallow of signals. They wore short evening -gowns, sleeveless and with low necks, and they “innocently” -crossed their legs to show an inch or two of -bare flesh above their rolled-up, thinnest stockings, -and then uncrossed them again when they perceived -that some man was staring at the exposure, keeping<span class="pagenum" id="Page_38">[38]</span> -up these back-and-forth movements as though an innuendo -with springs and wheels had replaced all of -the sexual spontaneity within them.</p> - -<p>Blanche and Rosenberg danced again and again to -the jerky, moaning, truculently snickering ache and -dementia of the music. To Blanche, dancing was the -approved, indirect way in which you could relieve -your sex without compromising it, and as she was -hugged tightly against Rosenberg, he became desirable -to her because the music and steps transformed him -and cast a rhythmical glamor upon his body. She had -the same feeling with any man with whom she danced, -unless he was old or inept, and when she danced with -a man who was physically attractive off the dance -floor as well, the sensation rose to an all-conquering -and haughty semiecstasy. Then she held her head -high, and closed her eyes occasionally, and wished -that darkness would suddenly descend on the floor.</p> - -<p>After their first few dances, Blanche and Rosenberg -sat down, breathless, and without a thought in their -heads. To Rosenberg, dances were opportunities to -embrace a girl without interference or remonstrance, -but beyond that the music made him feel that he was -capering on the divine top of the world, where such -dull and mournful things as jobs, and money worries, -and alarm clocks, and family quarrels had been deliciously -left behind.</p> - -<p>In front of Blanche, a bulky, short man, in a dark -suit with the latest wide-bottomed trousers, was trying -“to make” a dark, barely smiling girl, slender and<span class="pagenum" id="Page_39">[39]</span> -dressed in a clinging gray gown, who refused to answer -his remarks.</p> - -<p>“Gee, I’m as popular around here as the German -measles,” he said loudly.</p> - -<p>The girl smiled more apparently but failed to -answer him.</p> - -<p>“Listen, just try me once,” he begged. “Just one -dance. I’ll pay the doctor bills if I make you sick. -I’m a good sport.”</p> - -<p>The girl smiled more widely but still remained -silent.</p> - -<p>“Will somebody tell me why I’m living?” he queried -to the air above her head. “Boy, but it’s cold to-night! -I left the old automatic at home so I can’t die -just yet, girlie. Come on, just one dance, will you?”</p> - -<p>By this time the girl was fully convinced of his -glib-tongued, regular-guy status, and felt that he had -implored enough to serve as a sufficient payment for -his dance. She rose, without a word, and accompanied -him to the floor. Similar episodes were being enacted -around Blanche and Rosenberg, and he said, with a -grin: “It sure gets me when I listen to what you girls -fall for. That’s why I lose out—I hate to talk that -kind of line.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, go on, you’d do it if you could,” answered -Blanche. “A girl always likes a fellow ’f he knows -how to be funny and don’t carry it too far. You know -what I mean. I never was so crazy ’bout this kidding -stuff myself, but then maybe that’s why you like me, -isn’t it, Lou?”</p> - -<p>“You’ve got something in you, all right,” he replied.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_40">[40]</span> -“You don’t know so much more’n other girls, but you -make me feel that you’re diff’rent, anyway. I guess -it’s because you don’t put up so much bluffing and -leading a fellow on, like other girls do.”</p> - -<p>She laughed to hide her pleasure at the compliment, -and because another part of her said inaudibly: “Oh, -I don’t, eh? Well, I’ll show you, before I’m through!”</p> - -<p>“You’re a funny fellow, but I’ve met them worse -than you,” she said.</p> - -<p>They danced until 1 <span class="allsmcap">A.M.</span>, after which he escorted -her to the apartment. As they stood in the musty, -narrow, dimly lit hallway, an emotion like a Roman-candle -spun around in his breast, and for the first -time he grasped her with rough, active hands, and -breathed hard as he whispered short, incoherent -pleadings. She pushed him back with an undeniable -anger and force which made him grow still and dismayed, -and they stood for a moment, looking at each -other.</p> - -<p>“So, you’re like all the rest of ’em,” she said. -“What do you think I am? You’ve got your nerve, -you have. You can’t put your hands on me that way, -and don’t forget it!”</p> - -<p>“Well, I’m sorry,” he answered, downcast. “I didn’t -mean to act like that, but something got the better -of me. I couldn’t think of anything except I wanted -you. I’m in love with you, Blanche, and I guess I -didn’t know it till just now. I’d ask you to marry me -to-morrow ’f I had money enough to keep us going.”</p> - -<p>She softened at this switch to a “decent” proposal, -and she reproached herself for having flirted too much<span class="pagenum" id="Page_41">[41]</span> -with him without loving him or caring a great deal -for his embraces. She liked to hear him talk, but -when he touched her he was awkward and hasty, and -without that winning blend of confidence and gradual -boldness which she liked in a man’s approaches.</p> - -<p>“I s’pose it’s my fault, too,” she said. “I don’t -love you, Lou, but I do like you lots. Maybe I will -some time. How c’n any girl be sure about that? I -don’ want to stop going with you ’f you’ll just try to -be friends with me, Lou.”</p> - -<p>He stood for a moment without answering—discouraged -and resentful. Somehow he never seemed to -get anything that he really wanted—what was the use -of it all. She li-iked the way he talked, oh, yes, but -she preferred to save herself for some empty-pated -cake-eater, some know-it-all fellow with a straight -nose and a bunch of bum jokes and a string of promises -about what he was going to do for her.</p> - -<p>“Oh, I’ll try,” he said at last, “but I can’t see why -you don’t care for me. I’ve got just as good a head -as any one else you know, and I’m not so terrible -looking, and I know you wouldn’t turn me down just -’cause I’m poor.”</p> - -<p>“I cert’nly wouldn’t,” she replied. “I can’t tell you -why I don’t love you—it’s just not there, that’s all. -I think you’re a nice boy, really I do, and I want to -keep seeing you, but what’s the use of letting you do -things to me when it don’t mean nothing?... I’ve -got to go upstairs now—I feel like I could sleep ten -hours. We sure did dance a lot to-night. Listen, call<span class="pagenum" id="Page_42">[42]</span> -me up next Thursday noon, at the caf’, and we’ll go -some place Thursday night.”</p> - -<p>“All right, I’ll give you a ring,” he answered, dully. -“I guess you can’t help how you feel, Blanche.”</p> - -<p>He kissed her good-night, and she let his lips stay -for a while, out of pity, and then broke away from -him. As she went to bed, she had a muddled, wondering -feeling—why did she always turn down boys that -were “good” and willing to marry her, and why didn’t -she object to the embraces of “bad” men, who were -just looking for an easy prospect? Maybe she was a -little “bad” herself—a little like May Harrigan, whose -name was the jest of the neighborhood, and who -grabbed any young fellow that came along.... Her -perturbations faded out into sleep.</p> - -<p>On the next morning she was still a bit glum at the -cafeteria, but it was no more than the least of shadows -as she exchanged glances and repartee with various -customers who paid their checks. When she sat before -the cash register, her business-like tension extended -even to the sexual side of her, and she uttered her -set phrases merely to dispose of the men who talked -to her, and with little interest in their faces and words. -During the lull-hours, however, between two and four -in the afternoon, she relaxed, and the appraising tingles -of her sex came back, and she entered into badinage -with the proprietor and the counter-men and -stray customers whom she knew. Her confined perch -on the cashier’s stool had to be forgotten in some -way.</p> - -<p>The cafeteria had rows of brightly varnished chairs<span class="pagenum" id="Page_43">[43]</span> -with broad arms, and tables with white, enameled -tops, and a sprinkle of sawdust on the tiled floor. -Pyramids of oranges and grapefruit stood in the windows, -and the glass-walled food counters were heaped -with pastry, cold meats and trays of salads and puddings. -The smell of soggy, overspiced food and body-odors -possessed the air, and a spirit of dreamless, -hasty, semidirty devouring hung over the place. On -this afternoon, Blanche was chatting with the proprietor, -a tall Jew of forty years, with a jowled, bloodless -face, killed black eyes that were always shifting -about in the fear that they might be missing something, -and the thickest of lips. His coat was off and -he wore an expensive, monogramed silk shirt of green -and white stripes, and had a cigar forever in his -mouth or hand.</p> - -<p>“Check up yet on the accounts?” he asked.</p> - -<p>“Yep, ev’rything’s straight,” she answered.</p> - -<p>“Say, I bought a beauty of uh coat f’r my wiff -yesterday,” he said. “She can’t say I ever hold out -on <i>her</i>.”</p> - -<p>“Well, isn’t that nice—she must be tickled to -death,” said Blanche, giving him the flattering words -that he wanted to hear. “Nobody ever slips me any -swell coats.”</p> - -<p>“Well, if they don’t it’s your fault,” he replied. -“You could work a fellow f’r anything you wanted—you’ve -got the goods, all right.”</p> - -<p>“Aw, quit your kidding,” she said. “I wouldn’t -take no prizes in a beauty show.”</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_44">[44]</span>“You would if I was one uh the judges,” he answered.</p> - -<p>He poked her in the side, playfully, and she smiled -carefully. You had to take such things from your -boss—it was all in the game—but you wished that -he would keep his hands to himself—the fat old -lobster.</p> - -<p>“Any time you wanna take a little ride in my machine, -it’s there,” he said.</p> - -<p>“Gee, I’d be afraid of you,” she retorted. “I think -you’re <i>some</i> devil, you are.”</p> - -<p>He chuckled at the praise of his masculine gifts, -and walked back to the kitchen in response to a call. -The cafeteria was located in a manufacturing and -wholesale district where practically all of the trade -occurred around the noon hour, and it closed its doors -at 6 <span class="allsmcap">P.M.</span> When Blanche returned to the apartment, -Harry, Philip and Mabel were sitting at the supper-table -(the father happened to be visiting one of his -cronies uptown).</p> - -<p>“Say, I met a guy to-day said he saw you at Dreamland -las’ night,” said Philip, when Blanche came to -the table.</p> - -<p>“Uh-huh, I was there,” said Blanche.</p> - -<p>“Well, I wouldn’t be seen in a bum joint like that,” -Mabel commented. “You certainly have a gift f’r -pickin’ out the penny-squeezers, Blanie. Me f’r the -Club Breauville, ’r places like that. They put on the -best show you ever saw—Hawkins ’n Dale, straight -from the Palace Theater, and a big, A-number-one -chorus.”</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_45">[45]</span>“Aw, rats, you’re always worrying what a fella’s -going to spend on you,” said Blanche. “They’ve got -a peach of a jazz-band at Dreamland, and a dandy -floor—that’s all I care about.”</p> - -<p>“Your tastes ’r sim-ply aw-ful,” Mabel answered, -“and what’s more, why shouldn’t a girl go with high-class -fellas and have ’em spend piles on her? That’s -what they’re made for.”</p> - -<p>“Well, I don’t blame you none,” said Philip, “but -believe me, I’d never pick out a wife like you. You -sure would keep a fella on the go digging it up for -you.”</p> - -<p>“Mabel don’t mean anything by it,” said his mother, -who had come in from the kitchen, “but I wish she -wouldn’t stay out so late. I get to worryin’ when she -comes home three an’ four an’ five in the mornin’. You -never can tell what’ll happen to a girl in this city.”</p> - -<p>“Aw, ma, don’t fret, I can take care of myself,” -Mabel said.</p> - -<p>“That’s what they all say,” Harry broke in. “I was -talkin’ to a fella to-day, said his kid sister got into a -scrape out in Jersey. Two guys started scrappin’ over -her in a machine, and one of ’em’s dyin’ in the hospital, -and the bulls ’r after her. It was in the papers yesterday. -You better watch y’r step, Mabe.”</p> - -<p>“Listen, no girl ’cept a fool would go out in a machine -with two guys,” answered Mabel. “I’ll take ’em one at -a time, believe me.”</p> - -<p>“Well, I do think you’re too free with the men, an’ -you only eighteen,” her mother said, looking at Mabel -in a ruefully helpless way. “It’s I that can’t hold you<span class="pagenum" id="Page_46">[46]</span> -down, and it’s I that never could, but I’m wishin’ you’d -stay home once’n a while. How’ll you ever get a decint -man to make a decint proposal to you, how’ll you ever, -runnin’ round with that fast crowd uh yours?”</p> - -<p>“G’wan, she’ll land a big one yet, ’fore she’s -through,” said Harry. “Mabe’s a wise girlie, and I’m -with her all the time!”</p> - -<p>“Same here,” Mabel answered affectionately, as she -pulled her brother’s hair.</p> - -<p>“I s’pose I’m the boob uh this fam’ly,” said Blanche, -“but I won’t lose no sleep over it. ’F I like the way a -man talks, ’n how he looks, I don’t care what’s the size -of his roll.”</p> - -<p>“You got it from me, you did,” her mother said, with -a dully soft look. “It’s I that married your father when -he hadn’t a cent to his name. ’Twas the way he could -blarney, ’twas that, and ’twas the face of him that made -me take him.”</p> - -<p>“Aw, pa’s all right, but he’s shy on brains,” Mabel -said. “’F I ever get hooked up with any man he’s got -to have plenty uh money, and then some. I’m worth -all the dough in the world ’cordin’ to my way uh thinkin’, -and I’m not scrubbin’ floors for no fella this year -’r next. This lovin’-up stuff don’t get you much.”</p> - -<p>“Yeh, Blanche is a mut with alla her Rosinburgs, -’n Kellies, ’n all the rest uh them tin-horn pikers,” said -Harry. “I know how she’ll wind up, all right. Some -guy’ll have her washin’ his clothes an makin’ her like -it!”</p> - -<p>“Ma’s been washing yours and pa’s for years, but -you’re not kicking about that,” answered Blanche.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_47">[47]</span> -“Anyway it won’t be some one like you. You think -that row-mance is something people clean their shoes -with, you do. You’ve got a heart like a oyster, I’ll -say.”</p> - -<p>“Row-ma-ance, that’s good,” answered Harry, derisively. -“Try an’ cash in on it at the butcher shop an’ -see what you get.”</p> - -<p>“Well, I’m on Blanie’s side,” said Philip, who liked -his older sister because she was “softer” than the other -members of the family. “When I marry a girl she’s -got to love me, first, last, ’n’ all the time. I’m strong -for the jack, sure, but there’s other things hanging -around.”</p> - -<p>“Say, isn’t Joe Campbell comin’ up to-night?” asked -Mabel, turning to Blanche.</p> - -<p>“Yeh, I’ve got a date with him f’r eight-thirty.”</p> - -<p>“Now there’s a guy you oughta play up to,” said -Harry. “He takes down a good three hundred a week -f’r that turn he does up at The Golden Mill. Joe’s as -wise as they make ’em—a wise-crackin’ baby. I’m -gonna stick around when he comes up here to-night. -He c’n get a laugh outa me any day in the year.”</p> - -<p>“Joe’s there, all right,” Mabel said. “I wish he -wasn’t so sweet on Blanche.”</p> - -<p>“Well, go after him, dearie, if that’s how you feel,” -Blanche answered. “It won’t be breaking my heart.”</p> - -<p>As she dressed herself for the coming engagement, -Blanche had an uneven, up-in-the-air song in her blood. -Another man would soon be courting her, and casting -“I’d-like-to-get-you” looks at her, and deferring to her -just as much as if she had been famous or wealthy, and<span class="pagenum" id="Page_48">[48]</span> -praising her to lead up to attempted caresses, while she -sat in judgment on the proceedings, with a queenly -“I’ll-have-to-see-about-this” sensation, and remarks -made of “slams” and retirings to put him on his mettle, -and the feeling of owning the world for a few, high-keyed -hours, until she returned to her bed and the -more level-headed endurance-test at the cafeteria. Her -head was totally empty for a time, and she sang the -popular tunes of the day, in a low, contralto voice, as -she fussed about with her toilette. Then glimpses of -Joe Campbell appeared in her head, and she wondered -whether she would ever marry him. She liked him physically, -and she respected his money-making talents, but -her response toward him was much stronger when he -was with her. His absence seemed to remove a black-art -spell, and to leave in its place doubts and confusions. -Then, beneath all of his good-humors and effulgent -generosities, she divined an insincerity and something -that spoke of shrouded, patiently crouching intentions. -What they were she did not know. Her mind -was not capable of delving into this reaction, and it told -her only that he wasn’t “coming out” with his real self. -Her brother had introduced him to her six months -previous to this night, and since then Campbell had -pursued her in an irregular way, since he frequently -left New York on vaudeville-bookings. She had allowed -him certain physical liberties and had admonished herself -afterwards for being “too easy,” but the matter -had rested there, since he had never been remarkably -insistent in his efforts to vanquish her.</p> - -<p>When he came up, and airily saluted her, Harry<span class="pagenum" id="Page_49">[49]</span> -and Mabel, who were in the living-room, greeted him -effusively. They considered it an honor that this minor -Broadway favorite, whose name was occasionally in -electric lights, should be so willing to visit them and -“step out of his class.”</p> - -<p>“’Lo, Joe, still bringin’ down the house?” asked -Mabel.</p> - -<p>“Nothing but,” he replied. “The bulls came running -into the place last night, looking for a free-for-all -fight, the clapping was that loud.”</p> - -<p>Mabel and Harry laughed, and Harry said: “C’mon, -I bet you coulda heard a maxim-silencer after you got -through.”</p> - -<p>“That’s the same gun they shoot off when you get -through fighting, isn’t it?” asked Campbell, with a -solemn look.</p> - -<p>“You win,” answered Harry, laughing again.</p> - -<p>“Well, I’ve got to go now,” Mabel said. “Papa -doesn’t like to be kept waitin’, you know.”</p> - -<p>“Be sure and don’t leave him anything,” Campbell -replied. “A girl got expelled from the Flappers’ Union -the other day—they all got sore at her because she -overlooked a ten-spot in the upper vest-pocket.”</p> - -<p>“You’re talkin’ to the president of the Union—don’t -be funny,” answered Mabel.</p> - -<p>Blanche joined in the laughter now and then—Campbell’s -humor was hard to resist. A stocky man of medium -height, whose feet were always tapping the floor -as though they had a light itch to be dancing, he rarely -ever departed from the bon-mots that constituted his -chief stock-in-trade. His mind was intelligent in worldly<span class="pagenum" id="Page_50">[50]</span> -ways, and a blank otherwise, but he was quite aware -of his ignorances and careful not to expose them. He -had a long, narrow face, with a slanting nose, mobile -lips, and a twinkling, lazy cruelty in his eyes. His -thick brown hair was burnished and pasted down on his -head, and he wore the latest, loose-trousered clothes, -in shades of gray and brown, with multicolored scarves, -and a diamond ring on one of his fingers. He was a -coarse sensualist grown careless from many feminine -captures, and he had held back in Blanche’s regard -from the feeling that she would “have to come to him -first.” Still, he was becoming aware of an increasing -urge toward her, moved by something in her face and -figure that “hit it off just right.” She wasn’t nearly as -pretty as tens of Broadway girls whom he knew, but -she had an unspoiled swerve and sturdiness that attracted -him, and in addition, he felt that she knew much -more than many other women of his acquaintance—that -she was not quite as shallow, or as palpably scheming, -as most of his retinue were.</p> - -<p>He left the apartment with her, and they hailed a -taxicab and were driven to his cabaret off Upper -Broadway. His turn only came on at eleven o’clock -when the after-theater crowd poured into the place, and -he sat with Blanche at one of the tables, and endlessly -greeted his “friends,” and adulterated glasses of ginger-ale -with the contents of a silver flask carried in -his hip-pocket.</p> - -<p>The Golden Mill was a resplendent, baroque cabaret, -with a large, electrically lit windmill, made of gold -silk stretched over a framework, standing over the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_51">[51]</span> -stage. The jazz-band sat just below the stage, between -the carpeted runways on which the performers descended -to the dance floor. Men and women, half of -them in evening clothes, chattered and laughed at the -surrounding tables, with a macabre heartiness that -sometimes lessened to betrayals of the underlying -dullness.</p> - -<p>The whisky began to knock about in Blanche’s heart -to a cruelly victorious feeling—Campbell thought -he was so darn smart, didn’t he? Well, he’d have to -go some to get her, just the same. Girls were always -falling for a celebrity of his kind, and she’d treat him -to a novelty. Still, he made her laugh and forget -the rest of her world, and she didn’t mind if he caressed -her to a certain extent (not too much and not too little).</p> - -<p>“Y’know, you’re a royal-flush to me,” said Campbell. -“I’d win the pot with you, any day in the year.”</p> - -<p>“You’ll win the air ’f you get too gay,” she answered, -merrily.</p> - -<p>“Now is that nice?” he queried, in tones of mock-reproach. -“Daddy’ll do anything for you—anything -you want.”</p> - -<p>“I’m not taking things from men this year,” she replied.</p> - -<p>“Isn’t she smart—keeps count of the years ’n’ everything,” -he said. “You’ll stop counting when you get -to be thirty, old dear.”</p> - -<p>“Is that the place where you stopped?” she asked.</p> - -<p>Campbell winced secretly—he was thirty-five and -not particularly elated about it. Blanche always talked<span class="pagenum" id="Page_52">[52]</span> -better under the influence of liquor—it loosened her -tongue and unearthed an effervescence in her mind: -keen as far as it went.</p> - -<p>“Take that knife away, Annette;—it’s killing me,” -he responded, in quavering, melodramatic tones.</p> - -<p>Blanche took another sip from her highball.</p> - -<p>“D’y’know, I may get crazy some time and ask you -to marry me,” he said.</p> - -<p>“That’s too bad—it must be worrying you a lot,” -answered Blanche. “I never lose my head that way, -so look out.”</p> - -<p>“But really, I’m strong for you,” he went on. “It’s -all in fun most of the time with me, but you’re at the -top of the list.”</p> - -<p>“I’d hate to bet on your meaning it,” said Blanche, -a bit more softly.</p> - -<p>“Don’t do it, you couldn’t get any odds,” he answered.</p> - -<p>He chucked her under the chin and she slapped his -hand.</p> - -<p>“What nervous ha-ands you’ve got,” she said.</p> - -<p>“Come on, act as though you didn’t like it,” he retorted.</p> - -<p>“That’s the best thing I do,” she replied.</p> - -<p>They continued the bantering, with the occasional -interruption of a fox-trot, until his “turn” came on, -when he left her with an acquaintance of his—a harmless, -hero-worshiping chorus man in a dark suit, -whose ruddy, regular-featured face had a look that -was perilously near to a pout. Then Campbell appeared -in white duck trousers, a dark blue coat, black shoes,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_53">[53]</span> -and a panama-straw hat, and did clog-dances, and -sang in a hard tenor voice, at the head of a bare-legged -chorus dressed in very short boyish trousers -of red, and indigo low-necked vests, and gaudy caps -slanting on their heads. He was a nimble dancer and -had a powerful voice, and could have risen to a point -near the head of his profession, if laziness and undue -dissipation had not held him down. When his act had -finished and he had cleaned the make-up from his -face, he returned to the table and remained there with -Blanche until 2 <span class="allsmcap">A. M.</span> After they left the place they -entered a cab and he said: “What d’you say to coming -up to my joint for a while—I’m harmless, girlie, -I won’t make you cry on mother’s shoulder.”</p> - -<p>“You are, and you’re going to stay that way,” she -answered. “C’mon now, tell James to drive over to -Ninth Avenue, old dear.”</p> - -<p>He made a grimace and did as she requested. He’d -get her yet, no fear, but there was no need for hurrying. -It was always a fatal move to expostulate with a -woman at such a juncture. Again, she wasn’t important -enough to <i>him</i> for any come-downs.</p> - -<p>In the taxicab, he hugged and kissed her, and -though she made little resistance, an alertness contended -against the liquor-fumes in her head and -counseled her to “look out.” As they stood in the hallway -of her building he became a trifle bolder, and she -was passive for a while and then stopped him. It -wasn’t easy to hold out against him, and she had -barely been able to check the rising dizziness within -her, but she simply couldn’t let him win her as lightly<span class="pagenum" id="Page_54">[54]</span> -as this. She had not drunk sufficiently to reach a gigglingly -helpless mood, although everything <i>did</i> seem -to be jovially unimportant, and a dislike of him rose -within her. He was too confident, he was. She’d teach -him a lesson, she would, in spite of all of his physical -appeal and his pleasant nerviness.</p> - -<p>“You’re a little too fast—I can’t keep up with you,” -she said. “Besides, I’m getting the willies standing -here all the time. Be a good boy now, and let me go -upstairs.”</p> - -<p>“All right, girlie—game’s over,” he replied, gracefully -taking his defeat. “How about next Saturday—eight -’r so?”</p> - -<p>“That suits, I’ll be on deck,” she said.</p> - -<p>He kissed her again and went out to the waiting -taxicab. As she entered her room she had a droopy, -misty feeling. Oh, well, another man turned down—what -did <i>she</i> get out of it, anyway? It was funny, you -wanted to and you didn’t want to at the same time. -She blinked at herself in the mirror, and then turned -out the light and went to sleep.</p> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_55">[55]</span> - -<h3 class="nobreak">CHAPTER II</h3> -</div> - - -<p><span class="smcap">The</span> late spring evening extracted lights from the -twilight on Ninth Avenue, like some pacing conjurer -producing tiny, molten rabbits from his trailing, unseen -sleeves. Blanche walked along the street, on her -way home from the cafeteria, and her high heels -scuffed on the dirty cement sidewalk with a weary -evenness. It was all right to say that sitting on a stool -all day rested your legs, but the energy that went from -your arms and head drew its penalty from all of your -body. That cafeteria was finally “getting on her -nerves”—the place had changed proprietors a few -weeks before, and the new owner, a furtive-faced man -of thirty, who considered himself to be an invincible -Don Juan, always hovered about Blanche’s stand as -much as he could and continually touched her in ways -that made it hard for her to conceal her ire. She had -run out of all of her tactfully laughing withdrawals, -and momentary submissions when the gesture was not -“too raw,” and the situation had reached a straining-point. -It would not have been so bad if he had been -good-looking, or if he had sought to lavish gifts upon -her, but here he was a man with a long nose and a -spindly body, making advances to her because she -was an employee of his at twenty-three a week—the -nerve of him! She would quit the place to-morrow -if he tried another thing.</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_56">[56]</span>A year had passed since her last spring night with -Campbell at The Golden Mill, and she was now a -little over twenty-one. Her figure had grown less bottom-heavy, -and her bosom had curved out a bit, and -her face was more resolved and inquiring beneath the -many ignorances that still remained. A deeper, half -hopeless question had crept into her bluish-gray eyes—an -untutored I’d-like-to-know-what-it’s-all-about look—and -her wide lips had come together more closely -and lost some of their loose thoughtlessness. Very -dimly, she had even commenced to see flaws and -credulities in her hitherto uninspected family, especially -in her father and her brother Harry, whose endless -strut and domineering words had become more of -a palpable bluff to her. Yet, at the same time, she still -accepted her environs without much anger or revolt, -because, after all, they were real, and near-at-hand, -and seemingly permanent, and because they still held -nightly escapes, and laughing conquests at parties, and -dance halls, and cabarets. The only one possibility of -a change was marriage, and she dreaded this loophole -because it meant being tied down to one man -and losing the delicious sense of juggling several men -to the stress of her whims. At times she toyed with -the dream of becoming the mistress of a wealthy and -at least endurable man—plenty of women “got away -with it,” and what was hindering her?—but it never -more than flitted through her mind because her life -had always pounded into her the fact that a girl had -to be “respectable” at all costs, had to cling to an -indignant pose of keeping men at arm’s length, so that<span class="pagenum" id="Page_57">[57]</span> -she could look the world in the face with the glad -knowledge that it was unaware of her “personal” relentings -and sins. Otherwise, the girl definitely cut -herself off from all safeguards and reassurances, and -was regarded with contemptuous smiles, and lightly -spoken of. Again, Blanche had just insight enough -to see what the outcome might be if she lived with -such a man or allowed him to maintain an apartment -for her—to see a hint of the querulous boredoms and -the eventual separation that would ensue unless she -was really “crazy” about the man. Of course, she -merely translated it into the statement that she was -not “cut out” for such a life.</p> - -<p>During the past year, Campbell had been away -twice on long vaudeville tours, and while he was in -New York, her refusals to succumb to him had piqued -him to a point where he called her up at much longer -intervals. What the devil—he wasn’t so “hard up” -that he had to chase after a cafeteria cashier who was -probably merely intent on getting a “good time” out -of him. He could not quite dismiss her from his -mind—she had a proud twist to her which he liked -in spite of himself, and his vanity always made him -believe that he would eventually subdue her—and the -impulse to see her again came back to him during his -weariest moods—after an unusually pronounced jag, -for instance, when he was “sore at the world” and -when his head throbbed heavily, for at such times she -always beckoned to him as a fresher and less solved -feminine variation.</p> - -<p>Blanche’s attitude toward him had narrowed down<span class="pagenum" id="Page_58">[58]</span> -to a sentence which she had once said to herself: “’F -he ever asks me to marry him, maybe I will, maybe, -but he’s not going to get me like he does other girls, -not ’f he was the Prince uh Wales himself!” During -the past year she had been more steadily in the company -of Rosenberg—he was a necessity to her because -he “knew more” than the other men in her life -and could assist the feeble stirrings and problems that -were beginning to spring up in her mind. He was still -unattractive to her in a physical way—a very bright, -good boy, but not the broad-chested, wise and yet -tender man who constituted her hazy ideal—but she -had permitted him embraces of greater intimacy, out -of the feeling that it wasn’t right to take so much from -him and give him nothing in return, although she refrained -from any semblance of a full surrender. He -frequently loaned her books, through which she -stumbled with amusement and awe—she could not -understand most of what they said (it sure was “bughouse”), -but when he sought to explain it to her it -grew a bit clearer, and she had glimpses of men and -women in the novels, who lived more freely and searchingly -than she did, and who saw and spoke of “all -sorts of strange things” that she had never dreamt -of—com-plex-es, and inhibishuns, and hunting for bee-oo-ty, -and boldly telling life how double-faced it was, -and living your own life with a laugh at the objections -of other people, and always looking for something -that stood behind something else. They formed themselves -into perplexing lures that could never be quite<span class="pagenum" id="Page_59">[59]</span> -banished from her mind, and became “stronger” when -she was in her “bluest” moods.</p> - -<p>Rosenberg had found another girl—a blonde, slim -chatterer, who tried to write poetry between her labors -as a stenographer, and worshiped his “won-der-ful -brain,” but although this girl had become his mistress, -he never regarded her with more than a flattered satisfaction -and still saw Blanche once a week. He could -not rid himself of the hope that Blanche might finally -love him and marry him, and the other girl’s glib -professions of culture and creative aspiration were -never as appealing as Blanche’s stumbling and honest -questions. He saw “something big” in Blanche and -wanted to extract it from her and bask in its warm -emancipations.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>When Blanche entered the living-room of her home -she found that Harry and her father were in her bedroom, -engaging in a highly secret confab with another -man. Still resenting her day at the cafeteria, and vexed -at this invasion of her private domain, she burst into -anger before Philip and Mabel, who were seated at -the table and waiting for the mother to bring the -supper in.</p> - -<p>“Say, what right’ve they to go in my room?” she -asked. “Think I want some fella to see my slip-ons ’n’ -things hanging around, and maybe sitting on my bed? -I’m not going to stand for it!”</p> - -<p>“Hush up, don’t let them hear you,” said Mabel. -“I know how you feel, sure, but then it don’t happen -ev’ry night. They got something up their sleeves, and<span class="pagenum" id="Page_60">[60]</span> -they don’t even want the resta us to hear about it. -I don’t see why Harry and pa can’t trust their own -fam’ly, though.”</p> - -<p>“They’re cooking up something about Harry’s next -scrap,” said Philip. “He’s in there with Bill Rainey, -and Rainey’s managing this here Young Thomas, the -kid Harry’s gonna fight Friday night.”</p> - -<p>“Well, I’ll stand it once, but they’d better not pull -it off again,” Blanche responded, as she removed her -hat and her spring coat. “My room’s my own place -and I don’t want any strange men looking it over.”</p> - -<p>Her anger had gone down to a quieter sullenness.</p> - -<p>“Come on, Blan, get off the high perch,” Philip -said. “We’ll all be rolling in money if the thing comes -through.”</p> - -<p>“B’lieve me, Harry’s going to get into trouble yet -with all this crooked stuff of his,” Blanche replied. -“He can’t even fight on the level any more.”</p> - -<p>“Well, I don’t blame Harry one bit,” Mabel said. -“He’s just got to play the old game, that’s all. He -won his las’ bout hands down and they went and give -the verdict to the other fellow.”</p> - -<p>“You can’t be a goody-goody and come out on top -in this burg,” Philip said, moodily. “I don’t b’lieve -in stealing ’r holding anybody up, but just the same -you’ve got to be as tricky as the other side, I’m telling -you.”</p> - -<p>“That’s always the line around here, but I’m not -so sure about it,” Blanche answered. “There’s plenty -of people that get by ’cause they can do things better’n -other people—’cause they’ve got brains in their heads<span class="pagenum" id="Page_61">[61]</span> -and not a lotta excuses. ’F ev’rybody was dishonest -all the time, they couldn’t make jails large enough to -hold ’em. I’m getting tired of all this fake and fake -and fake around here. It looks like a bum excuse -to me.”</p> - -<p>“Since when’ve you become so up’n the air?” asked -Mabel. “You’ve been listenin’ some more to your -Rosinburgs, ’n Smiths, ’n all the resta them—fellas -that walk round without a cent in their pockets, ’n’ -tell you how stra-aight they are, ’n’ talk like they -owned the earth. They give me a pain in the back. -Harry’s tryin’ to make some real money so we c’n all -move outa this shack here, but <i>you</i> never give him -any credit.”</p> - -<p>“Have it your own way,” Blanche replied, with a -light disgust. “You won’t talk like that ’f the p’lice -ever come up here looking for him.”</p> - -<p>“That’s what I’m always afraid of,” said the mother, -who had come in from the kitchen. “I get turribul -dreams all the time, turribul, an’ I c’n always see your -father an’ Harry sittin’ in jail. I’ve always said it’s -no use bein’ dishonest, no use. It’s not the right way -uh actin’, it’s not, an’ you always get punished for it. -I’d much rather live just like we are, plain an’ decint-like, -an’ not be worryin’ all the time.”</p> - -<p>“I know how you feel ’bout it, ma,” said Blanche, -patting her mother’s shoulder and stroking her hair, -“but there’s no use in saying anything. Try and tell -something to Harry and pa—just try!”</p> - -<p>“Aw, ma, don’t be so foolish,” Mabel said, with -affection and condescending pity mingled, as she<span class="pagenum" id="Page_62">[62]</span> -pinched her mother’s cheek. “’F you went round like -I do, an’ saw what was goin’ on, you wouldn’t be so -worried. Why, there’s fellas gettin’ away with murder -all the time, an’ nobody touches them. Big ones, too, -the bigges’ they’ve got in this burg.”</p> - -<p>“Well, I think ma’s right, in a way,” said Philip, -cautiously, “but she don’t know what Harry’s up -against. You can’t be straight in this scrapping game.”</p> - -<p>“It’s I that always tried to raise all of you to be -honest an’ good—it’s no fault uh mine, it’s not,” his -mother said, mournfully, as she returned to the kitchen.</p> - -<p>The door of Blanche’s room opened and the two -Palmers emerged with Rainey, the rival manager. -Rainey was a tall, beefy man with a paunch, who -wore an immaculate suit of brown checks and sported -a gray derby hat and a heavy gold chain on his white -linen vest. He was almost totally bald, and his -smoothly ruddy face had the look of a politician -who had just kissed an unusually homely infant, in -the interest of his election. He uttered a few brightly -bovine compliments to the women and then departed, -after a last whispered talk with the father outside of -the apartment door.</p> - -<p>“Say, what’s the idea of keepin’ us outside?” asked -Mabel, peevishly, after her father had returned. “You -oughta know we’re safe, you ought.”</p> - -<p>“What you don’t know won’t hurt you none,” her -father answered, rubbing a finger over his thick lips. -“Anybody’ll start blabbin’ when he gets a little booze -in him—’specially a woman.”</p> - -<p>“Aw, we know what it’s all about,” said Philip.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_63">[63]</span> -“They’re pointing Thomas f’r a go with the champion, -and Harry’s one guy <i>he</i> can’t beat, an’ he knows it. -What’s Rainey going to hand out f’r Harry’s putting -the wraps on, that’s what I’d like to know.”</p> - -<p>“Listen, talk about somethin’ else,” Harry said, -surlily.</p> - -<p>He was a bit ashamed of his rôle in the affair—not -from a sense of guilt but because it was a refutation -of his two-fisted supremacy—and a bit childishly fearful -that the “frame-up” would be discovered if any -one, even a member of his family, conversed on the -subject.</p> - -<p>“You people sure hate to mind your own business,” -he went on.</p> - -<p>“That’s right, lay off,” said the father. “We’ll be -havin’ thousands nex’ week, ’f ev’rythin’ goes right—I’ll -tell yuh that much—but I don’t want none of yuh -to start blah-blahin’ all over the place. You girls -wanna keep a close mouth, d’yuh hear me?”</p> - -<p>“Oh, hush up, you never give us a chance to say -anythin’—you’re always gabbin’ yourself,” Mabel -said, petulantly, as she went into her room.</p> - -<p>“I’ll bet both of you get into a peck of trouble before -you’re through, but it’s not my funeral,” said -Blanche, in a spirit of weary indifference.</p> - -<p>“Stop croakin’ all the time, will yuh,” answered -Harry. “You talk like you was anxious f’r us to get -in bad, you do.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, let’s drop it—you never pay any attention to -what I say,” she replied. “I’m just looking on—don’t -mind me.”</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_64">[64]</span>“Well, see that yuh don’t do nothin’ but look,” her -father admonished. “You’ve been havin’ too damn -much to say, these days.”</p> - -<p>Blanche repressed her irritation and retired to prepare -for her night’s engagement. She was to meet a -boy named Fred Roper at the corner drug store, and -hints of coming gayety strove to dispel her darker -feelings. She’d get away from her family some time, -even if she had to wind up by marrying a hunchback -with one eye, never fear, but in the meantime there -was nothing that she could do. Almost unconsciously, -she had begun to classify the members of her family in -general ways that were far from complimentary. Her -mother was a weak, abused woman; her father was -brainless, and conceited, and bossy; Harry was an ill-tempered -bully and gangster; Mabel thought of nothing -but deceiving men and landing a wealthy one; and -Phil was afraid of his shadow, and never taking sides. -Still, they were <i>her</i> family, and it was necessary to -“stick up” for them—a great deal to other people and -even a little to herself—and in spite of their faults they -<i>did</i> love each other, and they <i>were</i> generous to each -other, and, after all, they were no worse than most -of the people in the world, as far as she could see. -She would always be loyal to them, sure, but she did -want to get off by herself, and be independent, and not -bear the brunt of their orders, and displeasures, and -knaveries, and to achieve this she would probably -have to pay the penalty of marrying some man whom -she did not love, but who could comfortably provide -for her. What could she do herself—she had no particular<span class="pagenum" id="Page_65">[65]</span> -talent or ability (she was getting wise to that), -and it seemed to be a toss-up between working like a -Turk and doing more as she pleased in a home of her -own. She would never accept any large sums of money -from her family, even if her brother’s dishonest -schemes should succeed, because she would never be -able to feel right about it—she didn’t want money that -was “dirty” and not her own.</p> - -<p>Her mood was unduly reckless as she walked down -Ninth Avenue to meet her “boy-friend,” for she had a -reaction to “forget the whole thing” for the night, at -least. In her light brown coat, thinly trimmed with -cheap white rabbit-fur at the bottom and top, and her -short black and lavender crêpe-de-chine dress, and -the round, gray hat snugly fitting over her bobbed -hair, she had the self-contained, jauntily ordinary look -of scores of other girls tripping down the street. Her -escort of the evening, Fred Roper, was a pimply-faced, -stocky youth, with sandy hair and lascivious eyes. He -dressed in expensive gray-checked suits, and wore -a narrow-brimmed, black derby hat, and regarded himself -as one of the Beau Brummells of the neighborhood. -He worked on and off as a clerk in a Ninth Avenue -cigar store, but his main passion and source of revenue -was playing the races, and his financial state varied -from hundreds of dollars on one week to being “broke” -and borrowing money on the next. On this night he -had “cleaned up” on a ten-to-one shot at Belmont -Park, and he had the truculent swagger of the successful -and not yet hardened gambler, who feels that -he is the darling of chance and need only lift a finger<span class="pagenum" id="Page_66">[66]</span> -to cow anything in the world. Blanche considered him -to be an aimless fool—one of the hordes of bozoes who -were always trying to get something for nothing—but -since he was willing to spend money freely for her -entertainment, she saw no reason for refusing to accompany -him now and then. Also, he was a good -dancer, and so far had never sought to do more than -kiss her—a contact which always had to be endured -as a payment for your evening’s fun. She knew, of -course, that he was “laying for her,” and would sooner -or later attempt to seduce her, but that was the element -of lurking risk that prevented such occurrences -from becoming too stale and peaceful—it gave you the -watchful tingle, and the sought-after feeling, that -established your feminine importance, even though -you disdained the man in question and had no intention -of responding to him.</p> - -<p>“’Lo, Blanche, how’s the girlie?” he asked, when she -had walked up to him at the drug-store entrance.</p> - -<p>“Fine as silk,” she answered.</p> - -<p>They stepped to the curb-stone and looked for an -empty taxicab among those that rolled by.</p> - -<p>“What d’you wanna do to-night?” he asked.</p> - -<p>“Well, let’s see, I guess I’d better leave you car-fare,” -said Blanche, impudently.</p> - -<p>“I can’t laugh to-night, my lip hurts,” he responded. -“I raked in a coupla hundred on the fifth race to-day, -so don’t let that part of it worry you none.”</p> - -<p>“How about a show, and then the Breauville afterwards?” -asked Blanche.</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_67">[67]</span>“You’re on,” he replied. “You’ll meet a lotta guys -before you find one’s loose as I am, girlie.”</p> - -<p>“I know—you’re a peach, Fred,” she answered, putting -a note of cajoling praise in her voice.</p> - -<p>They rode in a cab to a Broadway theater, where -he purchased the best orchestra seats. The show was -one of those musical revues—“The Strolling Models -of 1925”—where fully endowed, and slenderly semi-chubby, -chorus girls revealed everything except the -extreme middle portion of their anatomies, and pranced -and kicked about the stage, with a manufactured -blitheness and a perfect cohesion; and where male and -female dancers pounded, leapt, and whirled, like inhumanly -nimble and secretly bored manikins; and -where the scenes were rococo or minutely simple—multicolored -Chinese scenes, Oriental harem scenes, -streets on the Bowery, Russian peasant festivals; and -where the music and songs were either sweetly languorous -or full of a rattling, tattling sensuality. The -music had a precarious charm, a charm that could not -bear much reiteration but just failed to be obvious at -a first hearing.</p> - -<p>Blanche sat, transported, and sorry that she had to -return to her partner between the scenes. This was -the life—throwing up your head and winking an eye -at all invitations, like you had a first mortgage on the -earth! She envied the girls on the stage, even though -she knew something of the labors and uncertainties attached -to their profession. How she wished that she, -too, could do something different, and get applauded for<span class="pagenum" id="Page_68">[68]</span> -it, and lose the buried sense that often recurred to -her.</p> - -<p>After the show she went with Roper to the Club -Breauville, a private hang-out off upper Broadway. -The place was plastered with frescoes and decorations -in gilt, red, and purple, and had a jazz-orchestra of -ten men. It prided itself upon its air of gleeful informality—a -spirit of natural good-fellowship—although -you divined that all of the uproar was doing its -best to hide the passage of money, and a less humorous -sensual game. Theatrical celebrities were hailed at the -tables and asked to make speeches, or give impromptu -performances, and people spoke to each other without -an introduction, and a stout hostess in a black and -silver jet evening gown wandered among the tables -and made witty remarks to everybody, and never lost -her “I’m-doing-it-to-keep-you-amused” mien. As -Blanche and Roper followed the head waiter to a -table, the hostess, who had chemically yellowed, -abundant hair, and a round, fake-babyish face, was -bandying words with a group of tall, rakish men in -tuxedoes.</p> - -<p>“D’you hear the latest?” she asked. “They’re going -to give all the chorines a machine and a diamond -bracelet to keep them honest.”</p> - -<p>“Rockefeller’s donating a million to the cause.”</p> - -<p>“Pass that pipe around and we’ll all take a whiff,” -answered one of the men.</p> - -<p>“I’ll give you the needle instead—I sold the pipe -to a stock-broker this morning,” she answered.</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_69">[69]</span>The man laughed at this jibe at their profession, -and the hostess turned to another table.</p> - -<p>Champagne was sold at fifteen dollars a bottle, and -Roper spent his money lavishly, in the effort to impress -Blanche. When the second bottle came she -drank sparingly—you grew too darn careless if you -drank too much, and then you frankly “bawled out” -the fellow with you, or let him take too many liberties. -Sometimes the matter passed out of your control and -you became merrily hazy about everything, but you -had to fight against such an ending. Roper drank -freely and passed into an inebriated condition that -was sullen and hilarious at different times. This girl -would have to be good to him to-night—he had played -around with her long enough—but he would have to -laugh it off for a few hours, until his chance came.</p> - -<p>As they rode away in a cab, he kissed her, and she -made no remonstrances. It was all part of the system—a -kiss or two at the start of the evening, and -allowing the man to hug you a little too closely sometimes, -while you were dancing, and then some more -kisses during the ride home, with a few “Don’t, please -don’ts” thrown in to provide the proper touch of objection. -Then Roper became more daringly insistent, -and she spoke indignantly over an inner sigh. Here -it was again, the old finale.</p> - -<p>“You musn’t do that to me,” she said. “I don’t -like you well enough for that, Fred. I mean it. I’m -not a bad sport, and I’m willing to go so far, but I -won’t give in to a fellow ’less I really care for him. -That’s the way I’m made.”</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_70">[70]</span>Roper’s drunkenness gave him an irresistible anger—if -this girl thought he was a “sucker” he’d soon correct -her.</p> - -<p>“You’re gonna come across with me,” he said. “I’m -jes’ as good’s any other fellow, ’n’ I’ve been treatin’ -you white, an’ you know it. What’s the idea, stringin’ -me along like this?”</p> - -<p>“’F you can’t talk decent to me I’ll leave the cab,” -she replied, really aggravated this time. “I never -promised you anything, and ’f you wanted to take me -out, that was up to you.”</p> - -<p>For a moment, caution contended against Roper’s -drunkenness.</p> - -<p>“Aw, can’t you be nice to me?” he asked, trying -to resume his overtures. “You know I’m crazy ’bout -you, you know that.”</p> - -<p>“I can’t be like you want me to,” she answered, -as she pushed him away.</p> - -<p>This time, a rage took full possession of his muddled -head.</p> - -<p>“Suppose I stop the cab an’ let you get out,” he said. -“You’re too damn stuck-up to suit me, an’ I won’t -stand f’r any more of it, see? You’re nothin’ but a -lousy gold-digger, you are!”</p> - -<p>A cool sneer rose up within Blanche—she’d “call -his bluff” this time, and show him that he couldn’t -insult <i>her</i> with impunity. She tapped on the glass panel -and stopped the cab. Roper tried to detain her, but she -shook off his hands and stepped out to the pavement. -The cab driver looked on with a quizzical ennui—this -thing happened in his cab at least once every night.</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_71">[71]</span>“C’m on back, Blanche, I’ll be good,” Roper cried, -but she ignored him and strode down the street.</p> - -<p>He followed her in the cab to the next corner, repeating -his entreaties and not quite daring to leap -after her, but the presence of an inquisitive policeman -caused him to abandon the chase, with a final oath. -As she walked home, Blanche had a feeling of relief -and of self-reproach. She had taught this fellow a -lesson, but what was the sense of such happenings? -She couldn’t dismiss a twinge of guilt at having taken -his entertainment and then rejected him, but what -could a girl do—sit at home all the time and watch the -walls? Oh, darn, it was all a mess, all right.</p> - -<p>On the following morning at the cafeteria, she had -a heavy head and a scarcely veiled sulkiness. If Harrison, -the proprietor, started anything now, she’d have -to quit her job—it was about time that men found out -that they couldn’t treat her as though she were a bag -of oatmeal! Nothing occurred until the middle of -the afternoon, when Harrison, a tall, thin man with a -long nose and blinking eyes beneath his curly brown -hair, hung around her desk.</p> - -<p>“Wanna go somewheres to-night?” he asked.</p> - -<p>“No, thanks, I’ve got ’n engagement,” she replied, -trying to make her voice a little cordial.</p> - -<p>“Say, you’re always turnin’ me down,” he said. -“What’s the matter, don’t I look good to you?”</p> - -<p>“Oh, you’re all right,” she answered, “but I can’t -help it ’f I’m usually dated up. There’s a lot of men -in this town, you’d be surprised, and there’s only seven -days in the week, y’ know.”</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_72">[72]</span>“Don’t stall around so much,” he said. “Come on, -let’s go to a show to-night, what do you say? You -know you like me, Blanche, sure you do. You just -wanted to see how often I’d ask you, that’s it.”</p> - -<p>He accompanied his words by placing a hand upon -one of her hips, and this time her endurance fled.</p> - -<p>“I’m leaving to-night—you’ll have to find another -cashier,” she said, coolly. “Try all of this stuff on -some other girl and see how she likes it.”</p> - -<p>He looked at her for a moment, with a heavy incredulity, -and then broke into wrath—this girl thought -she was better than he was, eh?</p> - -<p>“You can’t leave too soon to suit me,” he said. -“You act like you was Queen of Hoboken, ’r something -like that! I’ll pay you off to-night, and good riddance!”</p> - -<p>“’F I had your conceit I’d think I was a queen, all -right,” she replied, as she went on punching the -register.</p> - -<p>“You give me a pain,” he retorted, as he walked -away.</p> - -<p>She looked after him with an immense relief. Thank -the Lord, this was over at last.</p> - -<p>As she walked to her home that night, she felt an -emboldened mood, as though she had asserted herself -for the first time in her life. When she broke the news -to Mabel, who was sitting in the living-room, her sister -was sympathetic.</p> - -<p>“You’re a darn sight better off away from that place,” -Mabel said. “Stop workin’ for a while an’ just step out, -Blan. You’ve got a rest comin’ to you.”</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_73">[73]</span>“I’ll say I have,” answered Blanche.</p> - -<p>For the next week Blanche hung around the apartment, -and enjoyed the luxury of rising at ten in the -morning and losing the old feeling of drowsy, meek -bondage, and went to moving-picture theaters or read -some of Rosenberg’s books during the afternoon, and -romped about with men every other night, but at the -end of the week, the relish in her freedom disappeared, -and a nervous weariness took its place. She wanted -to be doing something again, and to feel that she was -earning the right to her nightly pleasures, and to rid -herself of the sense that she “didn’t amount to anything” -and was just hugging her bed to forget about -it. To be sure, work was disagreeable and often exhausting, -but if you had no other gifts, what else could -you do? That phrase that Rosenberg was always -using—“expressing yourself”—it kind of got under -your skin. Why couldn’t she write things, or be an -actress, or learn something and teach it to other people, -like the men and women whom she read of in the -borrowed novels? Well, maybe she would some day, -if she ever found out just how to go about it. She -was still a mere girl and she didn’t intend to be kept -down forever. In the meantime, working could prevent -her from getting “too blue” about everything—a -brisk distraction which was the only one within her -reach.</p> - -<p>She secured a position in a beauty parlor, giving -“waves” to the hair of young women fidgeting over -their allurements, and <i>passé</i> women rescuing the vanished -or vanishing charm, and on the evening of her<span class="pagenum" id="Page_74">[74]</span> -first working day she met Rosenberg at their usual -street-corner rendezvous.</p> - -<p>“Let’s just have a talk and not go anywheres to-night,” -she said, as they walked down the glittering -hardness of Forty-second Street.</p> - -<p>“I’m with you,” he answered, with an elation upon -his narrow face.</p> - -<p>When a girl didn’t want you to spend anything on -her, and yet desired to be with you, it was an exquisitely -promising sign, and perhaps Blanche had -begun to fall in love with him. They sat on one of -the stone benches in front of the Public Library building -and beneath one of the huge carved lions that -guard its portals, and they looked out at Fifth -Avenue, with its endless stream of crawling, shiny, -smoothly soulless automobiles and busses.</p> - -<p>“Look at all those machines, going somewhere and -nowhere at the same time,” he said, dreamily. “Don’t -they all look important though, all rolling along in two -directions, and still they’re just filled with all kinds of -people hunting for an evening’s fun, that’s all.”</p> - -<p>“S’pose they are, what of it?” she asked. “You’ve -got to get some amusement outa life, haven’t you?”</p> - -<p>“Oh, if that’s all you’re after then you’re just like -an animal,” he answered, importantly. “D’you know, -sometimes I wonder why people have heads—they -hardly ever use them.”</p> - -<p>“Well, I don’t know—I’ve been using my head some -lately but I don’t seem to be getting anywheres,” she -said, dully.</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_75">[75]</span>“Maybe you don’t see where you ought to go,” he -replied.</p> - -<p>“I cert’nly don’t,” she responded. “’Less a girl -knows how to do something big, she hasn’t got a -chance. Gee, I wish I was clever and could put it -over, like some girls do.”</p> - -<p>“Why don’t you try to write, or go to school and -study something?” he asked. “You’ve got it in you, -Blanche, I know you have, but you just don’t believe -in yourself.”</p> - -<p>“Me—write?” she queried, with a laugh. “Don’t -be foolish, Lou. I can’t even spell most words -straight!”</p> - -<p>“You could, ’f you put yourself to it,” he answered. -“Piles of times you say something with a lot of meaning -to it, piles of times, but you don’t know what’s in -you, Blanche. You need to be pushed along and to -get some confidence in yourself.”</p> - -<p>“Maybe I wouldn’t like to believe you, huh?” she -asked, wistfully. “I feel like I could do things when -you talk to me, Lou, and then afterwards it all goes -away.”</p> - -<p>They were silent for a while, and then she said: -“Oh, let’s forget about it. We’re sitting here like a -couple of dopes and letting off a lot of easy talking. -Talking, that’s about all I’m good for, I guess. Let’s -take a bus ride and see the Avenue.”</p> - -<p>They boarded one of the green, lumbering busses -and sat on the uncovered top. He curved an arm -around her waist, and she made no objections. He -had a peaceful, heartening influence on her, and she<span class="pagenum" id="Page_76">[76]</span> -wondered whether it might not be best to marry him, -in spite of the fact that he was physically negative to -her. He might help her to make something out of herself. -But no, it never worked out. You had to be -thrilled and light-headed and upside-down when a -man touched you, and if you weren’t, you’d soon get -tired of having him near you, no matter how much -you liked to hear him talk, and how encouraging he -was.</p> - -<p>When they lingered in the hallway of her building, -she let his embraces become more determined, for the -first time in many months, moved by her troubled -compassion for him. Then she stopped him, and gave -him a sorrowful look.</p> - -<p>“I’d like to love you, Lou—I’m not kidding,” she -said.</p> - -<p>“Aren’t you a lot nearer to it now than you ever -were?” he asked, eagerly. “Aren’t you?”</p> - -<p>“A little bit, maybe,” she answered. “You’re a -good boy, Lou, you are, and I’m always going to be -straight with you. I’ll never tell you nothing but the -truth.”</p> - -<p>They kissed again, and after they had arranged to -meet on the following Monday he walked down the -hallway, wondering whether he should dare to hope, -and hoping in spite of his wondering.</p> - -<p>When Blanche returned from her work, on the next -evening, she immediately perceived the downcast looks -on the faces of her mother, Philip, and Mabel, who -were seated around the living-room table.</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_77">[77]</span>“What’s this, anyway—’n Irish wake?” she asked. -“What’s happened?”</p> - -<p>“I just couldn’t say nothin’ this mornin’, you’d have -been that worried,” her mother replied, dolefully.</p> - -<p>“Anyway, don’t you read the papers?” asked Mabel. -“They’ve got it on the second page of the Herald to-night, -an’ the Courier, too.”</p> - -<p>“Harry’s been called up before the Boxing Commission,” -said Philip. “He and pa went down this -afternoon, and we’re expecting them back any minnit -now. There musta been a leak somewhere ’bout that -fake scrap he pulled night before last. They’re after -him hot and heavy, and the Club wouldn’t pay him off -to-day, and I think Rainey’s double-crossed him in -the bargain. It looks bad all right for poor Harry!”</p> - -<p>“Didn’t I know this was going to happen,” Blanche -exclaimed. “I did think he’d get away with it once ’r -twice, though, before they caught him. You’ve got to -have brains ’f you want to be a crook in this world.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, stop this I-told-yuh-so line,” answered Mabel. -“Harry was only trying to look out for the rest of us, -and I’m darn sorry for him.”</p> - -<p>“Well, I’m not,” Blanche replied, determinedly. -“He needed something to take the swelled head out -of him, he did, and I’ll say it even ’f he is my own -brother.”</p> - -<p>“I only hope it’ll make all of you listen more to -your ma,” said Mrs. Palmer. “There’s never no good -in tryin’ to make money dishonest-like. It’s happy -I’ll feel ’f Harry’ll only go to work now, an’ give up -alla that fightin’ and bummin’ around like he does.”</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_78">[78]</span>“Well, Harry’s not down yet, I’m saying,” Philip -interposed. “B’lieve me, he’ll fix the guys that did -him dirty, and he’ll do a good job of it, too!”</p> - -<p>“Yeh, and get into jail for doing it,” said Blanche, -as she walked into her room.</p> - -<p>“Don’t talk like you wished it on him,” Mabel called -after her, irritably.</p> - -<p>As Blanche changed to a kimono, she tried to feel -sympathetic toward Harry, but she could not down her -sneaking satisfaction at his misfortune. Somehow, it -was difficult to engender affection toward this rough-neck, -never-seeing, cocksure brother of hers. Of -course, a man wasn’t a man unless he used his fists -and his voice with a hard efficiency, but Harry carried -his masculinity to an overbearing extreme, and never -paid any attention to your side of the question, and -seemed to have a meanness—a go-to-hell spirit—which -could instantly be awakened by the slightest opposition. -His dishonesty didn’t annoy her particularly, -but she disliked the lame excuses that he always made -for it. If he had been an out-and-out hold-up man, she -would have respected him far more. Oh, well, he was -her brother after all, and maybe this happening would -make him more subdued and considerate. Funny, -she and her family would be disgraced now, and yet, -if he hadn’t been found out, they’d still be holding -their heads high in the air. “Getting away with it”—that -was all people ever seemed to care about.</p> - -<p>She heard the voice of her father and brother, and -went out to the living-room. They sat slumped down<span class="pagenum" id="Page_79">[79]</span> -in chairs, with their hands in their pockets, and -scowled down at the linoleum-covered floor.</p> - -<p>“It gets my goat, that bastard on the Commish, -Murvaney, tellin’ me ‘Y’r a dis-gra-ace to the ring, -Mis-ter Palmer.’ Didn’t he wink his eye and give -Callahan a clean bill when they had all that fuss about -the welter champ fight? Sure he did! I’d like to have -the coin they slipped him f’r that little stunt.”</p> - -<p>“What’s the use uh beefin’—we’re in f’r it,” his -father answered, dully.</p> - -<p>“What did they do to Harry?” Blanche asked.</p> - -<p>“They went an’ barred him from the ring indef’nitely, -the skunks,” her father answered. “Thomas an’ Rainey -only got three months, an’ there’s somethin’ rotten -somewhere. ’F we find out they flimflammed us we’ll -make ’em wish they hadn’t! A guy they call Carnavan -come down an’ swore he’d listened to Rainey an’ me -fix it all up in the Club on the night of the fight. I -saw him hangin’ around that night, I saw him, but -Rainey said he was a good friend uh his.”</p> - -<p>“Those two guys’ll be in the hospital before the -end uh the week,” said Harry. “Watch what I said.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, what good will it do you ’f you beat them up?” -asked Blanche. “I don’t want to rub it in, Harry, but -you’ll get into worse trouble than this, ’f you don’t tone -down.”</p> - -<p>“Keep your mouth shut, that’s all I want from you,” -Harry answered. “You’re too good to live, you are.”</p> - -<p>“Well, I think it’s a darn shame, Harry,” said Mabel, -putting an arm around his shoulders.</p> - -<p>He squeezed her chin, and his scowl lessened a bit—he<span class="pagenum" id="Page_80">[80]</span> -had a “soft spot” for Mabel. She knew that you -couldn’t get along in this world without being as rotten -as the next fellow was, and she appreciated his generosity -and his manly qualities, and knew that he was -usually the victim of bad luck and that he hardly ever -received a “square deal.” Blanche, on the other hand, -was a coward, always trying to preach at him, and -she thought that she was better than he was, and she -needed to be “taken down.”</p> - -<p>“You’re the one in this fam’ly I’m strong for,” he -said to Mabel. “You c’n have my las’ dime any time -you want it!”</p> - -<p>“Same here,” Mabel replied. “Blanche is gettin’ -too stuck-up these days, an’ she thinks she knows it -all.”</p> - -<p>“Well, she’d better lay offa me,” he said, ominously.</p> - -<p>“You just can’t stand it when any one tells you -you’re wrong,” Blanche retorted.</p> - -<p>“How about me, Harry, you know I’m always with -you,” Philip said.</p> - -<p>“Oh, you’re all right, but you need more guts,” -Harry answered. “You don’t know enough to go out -an’ get what’s comin’ to you.”</p> - -<p>“’F I was a scrapper like you, maybe I would,” -said Philip. “I don’t take any sass from anybody ’f -I can help it, you know that, Harry.”</p> - -<p>“It’s not right f’r you an’ Blanche to be always -fightin’ like this,” said Mrs. Palmer, turning to Harry. -“It’s I that wish you’d be nice to each other, like a -brother an’ sister should. I don’t think you done right, -I don’t, but it’s no good pitchin’ into you now. Maybe<span class="pagenum" id="Page_81">[81]</span> -you’ll be a good, honest boy from now on, maybe you -will.”</p> - -<p>“You mean well, ma, but you don’t know what I’m -up against,” Harry answered, as he patted her head -in a clumsy, reluctant way.</p> - -<p>“You make me sick, Kate,” the father broke in. -“Didn’t you an’ me work hard f’r years, didn’t we, -an’ what did we get out of it, what did we get? Nothin’ -but trouble, I’ll say! You an’ Blanche leave Harry -alone, ’r you’ll hear from me. He got a bum deal this -time, but he’ll be out on top, ’fore it’s over.”</p> - -<p>“Yeh, I’ve got confidence in Harry,” said Philip, -giving his brother a look of respect tempered with -more secret annoyance. “He knows how to handle -himself.”</p> - -<p>“Well, I don’t want my own boy to get behind the -bars, an’ he will ’f he don’t behave himself more,” Mrs. -Palmer said, in a weakly lamenting voice, as she -shuffled back to the kitchen.</p> - -<p>Blanche, who had no engagement for the night, went -to a neighboring moving-picture show and saw a film -called “Nell of the Yukon,” in which a dimpled -statuesque actress named Dorothy Darling—a lady in -her desperately preserved, early thirties—smiled, and -frowned, and struggled, without subtlety but with -much animal abandonment wasted on the impossible -tale. She played the part of a speckled but not quite -approachable dance-hall girl in a mining camp in -Alaska, and she was in love with a handsome young -gambler who had incurred the enmity of the saloon -and dance-hall proprietor. Of course, the gambler<span class="pagenum" id="Page_82">[82]</span> -was the only honest one in the place, and, of course, -he protected her from the proprietor, whose intentions -toward her were, alas, horribly immoral, and, of course, -the gambler was also loved by another jealous dance-hall -girl, who became the tool of the unscrupulous -proprietor. The second girl trapped the gambler in -her room and, after he had gently repulsed her pleadings, -delivered him to the ambuscade of the villainous -proprietor and his cohorts. He was about to be slain -by this oddly hesitant and delaying villain when Nell -of the Yukon rescued him, at the head of a band of -his mining-camp friends.</p> - -<p>As Blanche looked on at the film, she had an excited -interest that sometimes lessened to a sense of the -absurd. It <i>was</i> “sort uh silly,” to be sure, especially -that scene where Nell fought against the proprietor, -in her room, and suffered no casualties except the -tearing of the upper part of her waist, and the loosening -of her hair. No girl ever got off that easy when -a strapping fellow had her cornered and was out to -do her wrong! But still, the story was a glimpse into -another fabricated world, far more enticing than her -own, and in her eagerness to forget the immediate -facts in her life, Blanche devoured the colossal unreality -of the film with only an occasional qualm. -Afterwards, as she walked down Ninth Avenue, she -had an odd mood—too tired to be discontented, and -yet carrying the suggestion that life was purposeless -and that there was “nothing much to it.” The mood -stayed with her as she rested prone on the bed in her -little room.</p> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_83">[83]</span> - -<h3 class="nobreak">CHAPTER III</h3> -</div> - - -<p><span class="smcap">In</span> the twenties, years slip by with the flimsy rapidity -of soap-bubbles blown from the breath of time, unless -the person experiencing them has found an unusually -cloistered or passionless existence. As Blanche -sat in the Beauty Parlor where she worked as a hair-curler, -she remembered that she was twenty-two and -that her birthday was only twenty-four hours distant.</p> - -<p>The year which had elapsed since her brother’s expulsion -as a prize-fighter seemed to be little more than -a crowded and instructive month. As she sat in the -Parlor, during an afternoon’s pause between patrons, -she said to herself: “Gee, here I am, already twenty-two! -I’ll be ’n old dame before I know it. It’s enough -to give you the jimjams, it is.” Something that was -not wisdom but rather an engrossed search for wisdom -rested on the smooth plumpness of her face. -Again, a light within her eyes came near to the quality -of self-possessed skepticism and shifted against the -survival of former hesitations and faiths. Life to her -was no longer a conforming welter of sexual advances -and retreats, with moments of self-disapproval bearing -the indistinct desire “to get somewhere”—thoughts -and emotions had snapped within her; problems were -assuming a more unmistakable shape; the people in -life were displaying to her more indisputable virtues -and faults; and a spirit of revolt was simply waiting for<span class="pagenum" id="Page_84">[84]</span> -some proper climax. Her past year of argument and -contact with Rosenberg had given her a more assured -tongue and a more informed head. The books that he -had supplied her with had now crystallized to specific -inducements—tales about men and women whose lives -were brave, or distressed, pursuits of truth, and an ever -keener knowledge of each other, and a sexual freedom -that was not merely the dodging of lust to an eventual -marriage ceremony, and a dislike for the shams and -kowtowings of other men and women. Frequently, -she invited the scoffing of her family by remaining at -home and reading some novel until well after midnight, -with her eyes never leaving the pages. Her sister and -brothers, and her parents, felt that she was getting -“queer in the dome,” wasting her time like that when -she might have been picking up some fellow with -serious intentions, or enjoying herself, and though she -still went out with men three or four nights of every -week, the family were beginning to fear that she was -not a “regular” girl and that silly, unwomanly ideas -had gotten into her head. In their opinion twenty-two -was the age at which a woman should either be married -or be moving toward that end, and they couldn’t understand -her apathy in this matter. They cast most of -the blame on Rosenberg—that dopey mut that she -was always afraid to bring around had evidently turned -her against her family and filled her with junk from -the foolish books he loaned her.</p> - -<p>Even her mother had begged her to stop going with -him and had complained: “It’s you that’s not me own -sweet girl any more. You oughta stop traipsin’ around<span class="pagenum" id="Page_85">[85]</span> -with that Jew boy, you oughta. He won’t never marry -you, and it’s I that wouldn’t let you, anyways. He’s -got no money and he’s not right in his head, he’s not!”</p> - -<p>Harry had threatened to “beat up” Rosenberg, if -he ever saw him, and her father had railed at her, but -she had seemed to look upon their objections as a huge -joke, which had angered them all the more but left -them powerless to do anything except to lock her in -her room at night—an expedient that could hardly -be tried on a twenty-two-year-old daughter who earned -her own living and could leave the family roof whenever -she pleased.</p> - -<p>On her own part, Blanche had treated their railings -with a perverse resentment. “I’ll go on seeing him -just to spite them—who’re they to boss me around,” -she had said to herself. In reality, she had lost much -of her old respect for Rosenberg’s mind and verbal -talents, and she was beginning to see flaws in his -make-up.</p> - -<p>“He never does anything but talk—he’s a wonder -there,” she had said to herself once. “He takes it all -out in wind. I’ll bet you he’ll be working in that -library for the rest of his life, ’r in some other place -just like it. ’N’ again, he always says he’s going to -write big things, but I never see him doing it. I’d like -to meet a fellow that’s doing something—making a -name for himself. Gee, ’f I could ever run across -one of those nov’lists, for instance. That man, Ronald -Urban, who wrote Through The Fields—wouldn’t -it be all to the mustard to talk to him! He could tell -me all kinds of things I’ve never dreamt of.”</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_86">[86]</span>Still, she continued to see Rosenberg because he was -the best prospect at hand, and because she pitied his -longings for her, and to show her family that she could -not be intimidated.</p> - -<p>Harry was still barred from the ring, and the family -had lapsed back to its old tilts with poverty. Both -Blanche and Philip had to give part of their earnings -toward the maintenance of the apartment, as well as -Mabel, who had gone to work as a dress-model for a -wholesale cloak-and-suit firm. She pronounced it -“cluck ’n soot,” and affected a great disdain for her -environs and her Jewish employers, but she was not at -all averse to dining and dancing with some of the more -prosperous buyers who frequented her place. Harry -had become more of a wastrel, and did little except -loaf around during the day, with an occasional bootlegging -venture and sojourns with women, while the -father loitered about poolrooms and complained of his -son’s persecution, or sat in poker and pinochle games.</p> - -<p>As Blanche lolled in the Beauty Parlor, tinkering -with her nails, the image of Joe Campbell was in her -head. He had ignored her for six months and then -had bobbed up again on the previous day, and she had -an engagement with him for the coming night. “It’s -no use—I can’t get you out of my head,” he had told -her over the telephone. “I stopped seeing you because -I thought you were playing me for a sucker, but go -right ahead, girlie, I’ll bite again. You’re deuces wild -and the sky for a limit with me!” “You didn’t get -hoarse telling me that for the last few months,” she -had replied, amused and a little flattered. “Sure not,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_87">[87]</span> -I was trying to forget you,” he had responded. “It -can’t be done, little girl. Come on now, let daddy act -like a millionaire to-night—he’s good that way.”</p> - -<p>When she had mentioned his call to her family, -they had all urged her to “make a play for him” and -angle for a proposal of marriage.</p> - -<p>“He must be nuts about you ’r else he wouldn’t -always come back for more,” Mabel had said. “I’ll -bet you’re always freezin’ him out, that’s the trouble. -You’ll be a fool ’f you don’t try to land him this time. -He’s loaded with jack, and he’s got a rep, and he’s -not so bad-lookin’ at that. What more d’you want, -I’d like to know—you’re no Ziegfeld Follies girl yourself.”</p> - -<p>Now, as she sat and polished her finger-nails, -Blanche wondered whether it might not be best to -marry Campbell after all. Most of his past glamor -to her had been rubbed away, and she saw him as a -second-rate actor, always laughing to hide what he -wanted to get from a girl, and drinking and spending -his money because he wanted people to believe that -he was much more important than he really was, and -caring nothing for the “fine” part of life which she -had begun to realize—books, and paintings, and such -things. Still, if she married him he would give her a -leisure and an independence in which she could find -out whether anything was in her or not, and whether -she was gifted for something better than marcelling -hair or punching registers. Then she would be able -to sit most of the day and just read and think, or -maybe go to some school and learn something, and<span class="pagenum" id="Page_88">[88]</span> -meet new kinds of people. How could she ever make -something out of herself if she had to work hard every -day, and give half of her limited dollars to her family, -and listen to their naggings and pesterings? Of course, -she did not love Campbell, and the thought of continuous -physical relations with him was not as pleasant -as it had once been—somehow, when you began to -“see through” a man’s blusterings and boastings, his -hands and his kisses lost part of their thrill—but still, -he <i>was</i> physically agreeable to her, and it might be -idle to hope for more than that from any man. He -wouldn’t talk about the new things that she was interested -in, or sympathize with her desires for knowledge -and expression, but when, oh, when, would she -ever find a man who had these responses? Such men -lived and moved in a different world, and were hardly -likely to meet, or to care for, a questioning Beauty -Parlor girl—they could easily procure women who -were more their equals. Besides, it was silly to sit and -mope around and wait for your “ideal” to arrive. You -might wind up by becoming a dull old maid, with -nothing accomplished.</p> - -<p>The one thing that counseled against marriage to -Campbell was her unfounded but instinctive distrust -of him. She could never rid herself of the feeling that -he was secretly cruel and heartless, and that there was -something “phony” about all of his smiles and laughters, -and that he was not nearly as intelligent as he -seemed to be, but knew how to manipulate an all-seeing -pose.</p> - -<p>The Beauty Parlor was a sweetly smirking, pink<span class="pagenum" id="Page_89">[89]</span> -and whitish, overdraped place, trying so hard to look -femininely dainty and insipidly refined and still preserve -something of a business-like air. Cream-colored -satin panels were nailed to the walls and pink rosebud -arrangements shaded all of the electric lights except -the green-shaded, practical ones placed beside -the tables and the chairs where the work was done. -There were Persian rugs on the hardwood floor, and -amateurishly piquant batiks, and the reek of cheap -incense and dryly dizzy perfume was in the air. Outside -of three prosaic, ordinary barber-chairs, the place -had several dressing-tables with long mirrors, enameled -in shades of ivory and pink with thin, curved -legs. Bottles of perfume and jars of paste and powder -were scattered over the place, and many framed photographs -of actresses were on the walls, most of them -signed: “With affection (or with regards) to my dear -friend, Madame Jaurette” (some of them had cost -Madame a nice penny). These picture-testimonials -had a potent effect upon the Beauty Parlor’s clientele, -owing to the humorous misconception on the part of -many women that actresses and society queens alone -are acquainted with the mysteries and abracadabras -of remaining physically young, beautiful, and unwrinkled. -Photographs of society women were much -more difficult for Madame to procure—money was of -no avail in their case, ah, <i>mais non</i>!—but she did have -one of Mrs. Frederick Van Armen, one of the reigning -upper-hostesses of the day, which she had secured -after a year of plotting, and of pleading notes.</p> - -<p>The entire shop had an air of sex running to an<span class="pagenum" id="Page_90">[90]</span> -artificial restoration place to repair the ravages of time, -or to add an irresistible exterior to its youth, but there -was something hopeless and thickly pathetic attached -to the atmosphere. It was sex that had lost its self-confidence -and its unashamed hungers—sex that hunted -for tiny glosses and protections, and had a partly mercenary -fear and precision in all of its movements.</p> - -<p>Blanche’s thoughts of Campbell were interrupted -by the advent of the proprietress, Madame Jaurette, -and a young patroness. Madame was fat, and too -short for her weight, but through the use of brassieres, -bodices, reducing exercises, and diets, she had kept -her curves from emulating a circus side-show effect. -It was a strain on her nerves, however, and she had -that persecuted but uncomplaining look on her face. -Like a great many middle-class, nearly middle-aged -French women, with very moderate educations, she -was a preposterous mixture of dense cupidities and -romantic sentiments, and while the cupidities had their -way with her most of the time, they were always apt -to be knocked galley-west by some gentleman with -an aquiline nose, or the destitution of some weeping -girl. She had a round, almost handsome face, with -the wretched hint of a double chin that was never -allowed to go any further, and bobbed, black hair—it -didn’t become her but it had to be mutilated for -business reasons—and she dressed in dark, lacy, expensive -gowns.</p> - -<p>“Ah, Ma’m’selle Palmaire, you will take so good -care of Mees White, she is vairy fine lady,” she -babbled. “Mees White, she always have Nanette to<span class="pagenum" id="Page_91">[91]</span> -feex her hair, but Nanette she is here no more. -Ma’m’selle Palmaire, she is really ex-pert, Mees White. -She will geeve you, what you call it?—the curl that -won’ come off!”</p> - -<p>“’F I’m so good, why don’t you raise my wages -once in a while,” Blanche thought to herself, but she -said: “Sure, I guess I know my work all right. I’ll -do the best I can for her.”</p> - -<p>The patroness was a slim girl with a disproportionately -plump bosom, a dumbly child-like, near-pretty -face, and a great shock of blonde, bobbed hair. As -Blanche heated the curling-irons, the other girl said: -“It’s just the hardest thing to keep my hair wavy. It -never does last more than two or three days. I’ll spend -a fortune on it before I’m through.”</p> - -<p>“Why don’t you get a permanent wave—it’s cheaper -in the end,” Blanche answered.</p> - -<p>“Oh, I’m never able to afford it when I do get the -impulse, and then I might want it straight again any -time. It’s all so much a question of what you’re wearing -and how you feel, you know. D’you think I look -good in curls?”</p> - -<p>Blanche had no opinion whatever on the subject, but -she replied: “Yes, indeed, I think they go well with -your face.” Patronesses, to her, were simply blanks -to be dealt with in rotation, unless they exhibited an -ill-temper or an impatience. A spell of silence came as -Blanche bent to her task, and then the other girl said: -“Don’t you get tired of working all day in this stuffy -place? I know I could never stand it myself.” Blanche -was used to this question—women who tried hard to<span class="pagenum" id="Page_92">[92]</span> -show an interest in the beauty-parlor workers but -rarely ever really felt it.</p> - -<p>“It’s no worse than lots of other things,” she answered. -“I’ve got to earn my living some way. I -won’t be here all my life though, believe me.”</p> - -<p>The conversation continued in this casual strain, -with neither woman caring much about what the -other said, but with both desiring to lessen the tedium -of an hour. Two-thirds of all the words that human -beings talk to each other are merely unaffected protections -and tilts against an impending boredom.</p> - -<p>When Blanche came home from work that night, -the members of her family were seated at the supper-table. -After she joined them they began to twit her -about her approaching engagement with Campbell.</p> - -<p>“Gonna make him buy the license, Blanche?” -Harry asked.</p> - -<p>“Yes, a dog license,” she answered.</p> - -<p>“That’s a fine crack to make against a fellow like -Joe,” Harry replied. “You’re not good enough f’r him, -’f you ask <i>me</i>.”</p> - -<p>“’F you give me one of your hankies I’ll cry about -it,” she said. “Maybe that’ll suit you.”</p> - -<p>Harry looked at her dubiously—it sure was hard -to “get her goat” these days.</p> - -<p>“You’re gettin’ sillier ev’ry day,” Mabel said to -her sister. “You’ll never find another chance like Joe -Campbell—they don’t grow round on bushes. S’pose -you’d rather sit all night ’n’ read one of those no-ovuls -uh yours. It’s hard to figure you out.”</p> - -<p>“In the first place he hasn’t asked me to marry him<span class="pagenum" id="Page_93">[93]</span> -yet,” Blanche answered, “and besides, I don’t see why -all of you have to butt into my affairs so much. I never -tell any of you people what to do.”</p> - -<p>“Well, don’t forget, I’m your father, and I’m gonna -have somethin’ to say ’bout who you hitch up with,” -Will Palmer said.</p> - -<p>“Nobody’ll stop you from saying it, but I’m no -good at being bossed around,” she retorted coolly.</p> - -<p>“We’ll see ’bout that, we’ll see,” her father responded -with a heavy emphasis.</p> - -<p>This daughter of his was becoming too high-handed, -and he would probably have to use harsh measures to -her for her own good, but as long as the matter remained -one of verbal exchanges there was nothing -that he could do about it. Just let her start something, -though!</p> - -<p>“We’re all jes’ tryin’ to look out f’r you, Blanie -dear,” her mother said. “You shouldn’t get so uppity -about it, you shouldn’t.”</p> - -<p>“I can take care of myself—I’ve had to do it long -enough, ma,” Blanche responded.</p> - -<p>“We’ll, I’m with you all the time, and that’s no -lie,” Philip said.</p> - -<p>He did not understand Blanche to any great extent, -but he liked her independence (“spunk”) because it -spoke to the similar feeling within himself which he -was too cowardly to express.</p> - -<p>“You’re about the only one in this fam’ly who -leaves me alone,” Blanche answered, with a little -dolorous affection.</p> - -<p>She knew that Philip was weak and hedging but she<span class="pagenum" id="Page_94">[94]</span> -was grateful for his lack of hard interference and pitied -his spineless spirit.</p> - -<p>As she dressed to meet Campbell she had a don’t-care, -tired-out mood. Let them all talk their heads -off—they couldn’t prevent <i>her</i> from doing what she -wanted to do.</p> - -<p>When Campbell came up, the rest of her family -had departed, with the exception of her mother, who -greeted him with a timid cordiality. How she wished -that her daughter would marry this good-natured, -prosperous man! She herself would have been much -better off if she had been more prudent in her youth -and not so much concerned with this “lovin’ and -mushin’” thing. Why, any woman could get to lovin’ -a man if he took care of her, and acted kind and true, -and didn’t bother with other women, and had a nice, -jolly nature. Of course, Campbell <i>did</i> go around with a -fast, booze-lapping crowd—she knew what those -Broadway people were, but leave it to Blanche to tame -him down if she married him. Well, maybe Blanche -would come to her senses before it was too late.</p> - -<p>When they reached the street, Campbell said to -Blanche: “What’s on your mind, to-night, old dear? -You’ve said about six words since I came up. You -haven’t gone back on me, have you?”</p> - -<p>“I don’t feel much like gabbing to-night,” she answered. -“I guess I won’t be very entertaining to you.”</p> - -<p>“Just be yourself, that’s all I want,” he said, as he -squeezed her arm. He sensed that something might -be “going wrong” with her at home, and after they<span class="pagenum" id="Page_95">[95]</span> -had entered a cab he asked: “What’s the matter, your -family been razzing you any?”</p> - -<p>“Oh, they’re always doing that,” she responded. -“They’re great ones on telling me what I should do.”</p> - -<p>“Why don’t you make a break?” he queried. “I’ve -always thought you were a fool to stay in that rotten -dump of yours. It’s no place for a girl with any class -to be living in, you know that. You could get a couple -of rooms of your own and do as you please, and sit -on the top of the world.”</p> - -<p>He had an idle sympathy for her, and he felt that -she would be much more accessible if she were removed -from the guardian eyes of her family. Funny, -how he couldn’t get this girl out of his mind. She had -a “thoroughbred” touch, a high-headed, brave, exclusive -something that he had rarely found in women -and could scarcely define. It wasn’t her looks and she -certainly wasn’t particularly talented in any way—it -was a straightness in conduct and word, and an untouched, -defiant essence that seemed to cling to the -physical part of her. Some women were like that—their -affairs with men never left any impress upon -them. Guess they never really gave in to any man—that -was it.... Should he ever ask this girl to -marry him? Marriage—brr! Wasn’t he still paying -alimony on the first one that he had contracted? No, -he’d be willing to live with Blanche and give other -women “the air,” for some time at least, but no more -marrying for him. Even this would be quite an important -concession for a man of his kind, who could -have his pick of pretty girls every night. His first<span class="pagenum" id="Page_96">[96]</span> -wife had attracted him just as Blanche did, and what -had happened? Everything sweet and snug for the -first six months, and then a first quarrel because she -caught him kissing a girl in his show—nothing but -handcuffs and a prison cell ever satisfied <i>them</i>—and -then more quarrels about where they should eat, and -what kind of ties he ought to buy, and a dozen more -trivial frictions. And money—two hundred a week for -her expenses got to be like two dollars in her estimation. -Then he had felt the gradual letting down of his -desire for her—she had not become less attractive but -less imperative and more a matter of pleasant convenience. -He had returned to unfaithfulness, after -drunken parties—how could any man help it?—and -he’d certainly never forget the cheap, blah-blahing -night when she had burst into a hotel room, with two -private detectives, and found him with a woman. No -more of that kind of joke for him.</p> - -<p>These thoughts occurred to him irregularly as he -talked to Blanche in the cab, and afterwards as they -sat in a corner of The Golden Mill.</p> - -<p>“You’re a simp to work like a nigger all the time,” -he said. “What’s it bring you, anyway? Three dimes -and a crook in your pretty back, that’s about all.”</p> - -<p>“It’s easy for you to talk,” she replied. “Tell me -how I’d ever get along without working?”</p> - -<p>“I’ll keep you up any time you say,” he responded, -caressing her hand that rested on the table, “and don’t -think I’m spoofing you, either. I’ll give you anything -you want, and no strings tied to it. I mean it. Don’t -think I hand this spiel around ev’ry night! You’ve<span class="pagenum" id="Page_97">[97]</span> -had me going ever since I first saw you—you’ve got the -class and I know it.”</p> - -<p>She looked at him meditatively—it would be necessary -to “call him down” for this open proposal, -but—just saying it to herself—why shouldn’t she be -supported by a man? How would she ever get a -breathing spell otherwise?</p> - -<p>“When I take money from any man I’m going to -be married to him first,” she replied, “and don’t think -I’m giving you any hints, either. ’F I wanted to be -free and easy with men, I’ve had plenty of chances -before this—plenty. I hate to work at something I -don’t care much for, sure, ev’ry girl does, but it’s -better than living with some fellow till he gets tired -of you and then passing on to some one else. They’ll -never play baseball with yours truly ’f she can help it.”</p> - -<p>He was divided between admiration for her “spunk” -and candor, and a suspicion that she might be testing -him.</p> - -<p>“I’ll stop dealing from the bottom of the deck,” he -said, slowly. “I’ve known you for two years, now, -Blanche, and it’s time that we came to some understanding. -This loving stuff’s all apple-sauce to me—you -always think you’re nuts about a girl till she -falls for you, and then you change your eyesight. -I’ve had one bum marriage in my life, and I never -was fond of castor-oil and carbolic acid on the same -spoon. If you’ll hook up with me, old girl, I’ll treat -you white, but I can’t hand out any signed testimonials -about how long it’ll last, for you ’r me. What’s the -use of all this worrying about next week and next<span class="pagenum" id="Page_98">[98]</span> -year? It’s like not sitting down to your meal, ’cause -you don’t know what you’re going to have for dessert.”</p> - -<p>“Well, what’s the proposition?” she asked, surprised -at her own lack of indignation, and liking his unveiled -attitude.</p> - -<p>“I’ll get you a swell apartment up in the West -Seventies,” he said, “and you can put up a bluff at -studying something—music ’r acting ’r something like -that—just a stall to keep your folks in the dark. I’ll -get a wealthy dame I know to take an interest in -you, see? She’ll be the blind. She’s a good sport and -she’ll do anything for me. You’ll be known as a <i>protégée</i> -of hers, and your family’ll never know I’m putting -up the coin. Why, it’s done ev’ry day in the -year.”</p> - -<p>“So, I’m to be your miss-tress, like they say in the -novels,” Blanche answered, with a struggle of irritation -and tired assent going on within her. “I suppose I -ought to bawl you out for your nerve, but I won’t take -the trouble. I’d like to <i>really</i> study something, and get -somewheres, but I’m not so sure I want to take it -like that.”</p> - -<p>“What’s the matter, don’t you like my style?” he -asked.</p> - -<p>“You’re not so bad ’s far as you go,” she replied, -“but I don’t happen to be in love with you.”</p> - -<p>“What of it?” he asked. “You know you like to -be with me—that’s what counts. Most of this love -stuff’s a lot of hokum, that’s all. I never saw a -couple in my life that stayed crazy about each other -for more than two years, and that’s a world’s record.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_99">[99]</span> -If they stick to each other after that it’s because they -haven’t got nerve enough to make a break, ’r for -the sake of their kid, ’r a hundred other bum reasons. -But they’ve lost the first, big kick ev’ry time—don’t -fool yourself.”</p> - -<p>“I don’t know about that,” she said slowly. “’F a -girl finds a man that loves her for what she is—her -ways of acting and talking—I don’t see why they -can’t get along even ’f they do get tired of hugging -and kissing all the time. They’ve got to have the same -kind of minds, that’s it.”</p> - -<p>“We-ell, how’s my mi-ind diff’rent from yours?” he -asked, amused and not quite comprehending (she sure -had acquired a bunch of fancy ideas since his last -meeting with her).</p> - -<p>“It’s this way, you don’t like to read much, real -good books, I mean,” she replied, “and you never go -to swell symf’ny concerts where they play beautiful -music, and you don’t care for paintings and statues -and things like that. I never thought much of them -myself, once upon a time, but I’m beginning to get -wise to what I’ve been missing. I mean it. I’ve been -going around for a long time with a fellow that likes -those things, and I’m not as dumb’s I used to be.”</p> - -<p>Campbell laughed inwardly—doggone if she hadn’t -become “highbrow” since their last time together! -This was an interesting, though absurd, turn of affairs. -She had probably been mixing with some writer or -painter, who had stuffed her head with “a-artistic” -poppycock, which she didn’t understand herself, but -which she valued because it was her idea of something<span class="pagenum" id="Page_100">[100]</span> -grand and elegant. Girls like Blanche were often -weathercocks—not satisfied with their own lack of -talent and ready to be moved by any outburst of novel -and impressive hot air that came along. Well, it would -be easy to simulate a response to her new interests -and captivate her in that way, unless the other man -had already captured her.</p> - -<p>“How do you know I don’t like those things?” he -asked. “I’ve never talked much about them because -I never knew they mattered to you. I thought you -believed that this guy, Art, was a second cousin to -artesian wells. How was I to know?”</p> - -<p>She caught the presence of an insincerity in his -glibness.</p> - -<p>“’F they’d been first on your mind, you couldn’t -have helped talking about them,” she replied. “Anyway, -’f I ever went to live with you, I’d never do it -roundabout, like the thing you had in mind. I’m not -much on lies and hiding things. When I leave home -it’ll be a clean break, and anybody that doesn’t like -it’ll have to mind his own business.”</p> - -<p>“Well, I only wanted to make it easier for you,” he -said. “If you don’t care whether your family gets -sore, or not, it’s all the same to me.”</p> - -<p>“Say, you talk as though I’d said yes to you,” she -answered. “Don’t take so much for granted, Joe. I’ve -listened to you like a good sport, instead of bawling -you out, but I’m not going to rush off with you <i>this</i> -week.”</p> - -<p>“Now, now, I’m not trying to force myself on you,” -he said, soothingly.</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_101">[101]</span>She <i>was</i> a wary one, and no mistake, but it looked -as though he finally had her on the run, and it was -all a question of whether he cared to exert a little -more patience and persuasiveness in the matter. Of -course, he’d continue the game—he had nothing to -lose, and it would be a distinction to have her lovingly -in his arms, and he really liked her defiance and her -immunity from ordinary wiles and blandishments. -She was somebody worth capturing—no doubt of that. -A degree of cruelty also moved within his reactions. -Just wait till he had her where he wanted her—he’d -do a little bossing around himself then, and if she -didn’t like it....</p> - -<p>When they departed from The Golden Mill, the -whisky that she had had played tiddledywinks with -her head, aided by the abrupt change from the heated -cabaret to the cooler street air, and she felt an Oh-give-in-to-him-what’s-the-dif’ -mood, and her thoughts -grew mumbling and paralyzed. She swayed a bit on the -sidewalk and he put an arm around her waist, to -steady her.</p> - -<p>“Say, Blanche, don’t pass out on me,” he said, anxiously. -“We’ll go over to my shack now, that’s a good -girlie. I won’t eat you up, don’t be afraid.”</p> - -<p>“I’ll go anywheres ... give my he-ead a rest ... -feels like a rock ... that’s funny ... like a ro-ock,” she -answered, mistily.</p> - -<p>He hailed a cab, and on the way over to his apartment, -she leaned her head on his shoulder and passed -into a semidrowsy state, while he caressed her with -a careful audacity and smiled to himself. Well, well,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_102">[102]</span> -Blanche Palmer in the little old net at last—what a -blessing liquor was, if you kept your own head.</p> - -<p>When they reached his apartment—two ornate, untidy -rooms with mahogany furniture, and signed -theatrical photographs, and an air of cheaply ill-assorted -luxury—he wanted her to rest upon one of the -couches, but her head had grown a bit clearer by this -time, and admonishings were once more faintly stirring -within it. Where was she? Where?... In Campbell’s -apartment.... So, he’d gotten her there at last. Damn, -why was everything trying to revolve around her? -This wouldn’t do at all.... She must ... must ... -must get herself together. Tra, la, la, what on earth -was the dif’? It would be nice to let the whole world -go hang for one night, and feel a man’s body against -hers, and stop all of this fighting and objecting. Sweet, -all right, sweet, but no ... no ... no ... he’d be getting -her too easy ... and all he wanted was ’nother party -with ’nother girl ... she knew ... and she just didn’t -love ... oh, love, nothing ... better to feel good and -be yourself ... but she didn’t trust him and she -wouldn’t have him ... just wouldn’t have ... yes, she -would ... no-o ... she’d simply have to pull herself -together.</p> - -<p>She went to the bathroom and closed and locked the -door behind her before he knew what was happening—he -had been standing in a corner of the room and -confidently slipping into his dressing-robe. Then she -plunged her head into cold water, off and on, for the -next half hour, and found a bottle of smelling-salts -in his medicine cabinet and thrust it against her nostrils,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_103">[103]</span> -and loosened her waist. She felt herself growing -steadier, and the mists in her head changed to a swaying -ache in which her thoughts regathered, and her -emotions became sullen and self-contemptuous.</p> - -<p>“You’re some boob, you are, letting Joe Campbell -dose you up with booze and get you to come to his -place,” she said to herself. “He almost put one over -on you this time, you conceited dope. How much respect -would he have for you if he got you this way? -Say, don’t make me laugh.”</p> - -<p>In spite of the sick giddiness that still remained -within her, she became morosely determined to leave -the apartment and return to her home. If he tried any -rough stuff, she’d yell for aid, or break something over -his head. But he wouldn’t—he’d never risk losing -her. He’d know darn well that if he tried any movie -stunts she’d never see him again. Well, maybe she -had misjudged him—maybe he was really in love with -her and too ashamed to admit it. They always put up -that I-don’t-care-I’ve-got-a-hundred-others bluff, to impress -a girl. Besides, men always wanted the same -thing, and they shouldn’t be blamed for that. It was -natural.</p> - -<p>During the half hour he had rapped repeatedly on -the door and begged her to come out, and she had -ignored his words. Now she opened the door and -walked slowly into the room. He was mixing a highball, -and he looked up with a placating smile.</p> - -<p>“Well, feel any better now, Blanchie?” he asked, -casually. “Sit down and rest it off.”</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_104">[104]</span>“I’ll say I do,” she answered. “I’m going home, -Joe.”</p> - -<p>He looked at her intently and saw that at least -half of her drunkenness had disappeared. H’mm, this -was a nice state of affairs. Sweet mamma, he’d rather -go after a she-fox any day in preference to this girl! -Well, he would have to renew his caresses and cajoleries—more -carefully this time. He walked up to her -and placed his arms around her.</p> - -<p>“Listen, don’t leave me flat now,” he said. “I’m -wild about you, dear, and I mean it. What’s the use of -stalling around all the time? Hell, life’s short enough, -and the next morning slaps you in the face just the -same. I’d marry you in a second if I didn’t know that -marriage never turns out right. Let’s be ourselves, -Blanche dear—let’s cut out this comedy stuff.”</p> - -<p>As he embraced her his words became more sincere -than their original conception had been—somehow -transformed by her smooth closeness and his -grudging respect for the note of “class” within her.</p> - -<p>She tried to thrust him away from her, with wobbly -arms, and said: “You’ve got to let me go home, Joe, -I’m not myself, I’m not. You wouldn’t want me to -give in to you just because I’ve drank too much—not -if you love me like you say you do. ’F I ever come -to you I don’t want to be coaxed—I want to do it -of my own accord, and be glad about it.”</p> - -<p>“I can’t, you’ve got me up in the air,” he answered, -trying to embrace her again.</p> - -<p>This time she repulsed him with more vigor.</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_105">[105]</span>“I’d like to see you stop me,” she said. “’F you try -it you’ll wish you hadn’t.”</p> - -<p>She walked to the couch and started to put on her -hat and coat. His mind began to work swiftly, repressing -his impulse to follow her and change it to a battle. -The determination in her voice might not be real—he -had subdued other girls by resorting to a mingled -physical struggle and pleading at the last moment—but -he had a hunch that it was genuine in her case. She -was that rare kind of girl who had to be handled with -extreme, inhuman care, and who had a fighting spirit -within her and became sullenly stubborn when she -thought that a man was trying to force himself upon -her. If he controlled himself now, it might give him -the halo of a “real gentleman” to her, and then afterwards -she would come to him of her own accord, just -as she had said. He walked up to her and held one -of her hands, gently.</p> - -<p>“What do you think I am—a gorilla ’r something?” -he asked. “I’d never try to keep you here against your -will, don’t be silly. I thought you didn’t mean it ’r -else I’d never have acted this way. You’ve got the -wrong slant on me, Blanche. I’ll get a cab for you now -and see you home.”</p> - -<p>She looked at him more softly and said: “Maybe -I have, Joe, maybe. You can’t be blamed ’f you want -me, but you’ll just have to wait till I come to you -myself, ’f I ever do.”</p> - -<p>They descended to the street and he rode home -with her. He kissed her lightly, as they stood in the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_106">[106]</span> -hallway of her building, and said: “When can I see -you again, dear?”</p> - -<p>“I’m too dizzy to think ’bout anything now,” she replied. -“Call me up real soon and we’ll make a date.”</p> - -<p>She managed to reach her room with no greater -heralding than a collision with a chair in the kitchen, -and after she had undressed and turned out the light, -she pitched herself upon the bed, as though she were -violently greeting a tried and deliciously safe friend. -For a while, fragments of thought eddied through the -growing fog in her head. Hadn’t she acted like an idiot—like -one of those movie queens in the pictures, always -struggling around with some man, like they were -ashamed they had bodies? She was alone now—she’d -had her way, and she was winding up with nothing, -nothing except another day of hard word at the “parlor,” -with a heavy head to carry around. Oh, gee, -where was the man with a big chest, and a handsome -face—it wouldn’t have to be pretty, like that of a cake-eater—and -a complete understanding of all her longings, -and a wonderful mind, and ... her head grew -blank and she fell asleep.</p> - -<p>On the next morning she had a virulent headache, -and felt thwarted and taciturn, and was quite certain -that life was a fraud and that the future held nothing -for her. The mood remained with varying intensities, -during the next three days, but the resiliency of youth -slowly drove it away, and on the third night, as she -sat in her room, preparing for a “date” with Rosenberg, -she felt quite skittish and intactly hopeful. After -all, they hadn’t been able to down <i>her</i> yet. She’d get<span class="pagenum" id="Page_107">[107]</span> -ahead in the world before she was through, and she’d -find the man that she was looking for, and in the -meantime, Mister Campbell, and Mister Munson, the -stock-broker who had called for her in a limousine on -the night before last—her birthday—and Mister -Rosenberg, and all the rest of them, would have to -jig to her tunes. She gave an idle thought to Munson. -He was wealthy, and middle-aged, with a large wart -on his broad nose, and his conversation ... <i>his</i> money, -and <i>his</i> friends, and what <i>he</i> would do for her. Yet, -thousands of girls would simply have jumped at the -chance to marry him.... All of these men were just -makeshifts along the way, until she came across the -man whom she could really love, and where was the -selfishness involved?—her presence and her talk were -worth just as much as theirs, and if they were not satisfied, -there were no ropes tied to them. She never -ran after <i>them</i>, did she?</p> - -<p>Again, she berated herself for having as much as -seriously considered Campbell’s proposal to live with -her and support her—in a couple of months at most he -would have turned away from her and sought another -girl, and then what would she have had? A sold-out -feeling, and a wondering where to turn next, and the -whole problem of her life still staring at her. And to -think that she had been on the verge of giving in to -him that night at his apartment! She would have to -stay away from liquor for a while—it might turn her -into a rank prostitute before she knew what was happening. -A girl only needed one good push to throw -everything to the winds, and she knew her weakness<span class="pagenum" id="Page_108">[108]</span> -and would have to be more on guard against it. When -she met a man whom she loved, she’d be daring and -ardent then and tell the world to go to the devil, without -even worrying about how long it might last, and -not merely because booze had made her feel jolly and -helpless and overheated. At her next meeting with -Campbell she intended to tell him that they could -never be more than pleasant friends to each other.</p> - -<p>As for her family, they were a more concrete bug-bear. -She knew that Harry and her father would become -pugnacious if she ever deserted her home without -marrying a man of their choice, but in a pinch, what -could they do except strike her, and if they dared....</p> - -<p>She emerged from her room, and Mabel, who was -sharing a newspaper with Harry, said: “I heard you -come in las’ night, Blan. ’F it wasn’t five bells I’ll -eat your gray bonnet. I hope you didn’t let Joe get -too frisky, though I wouldn’t blame you much if you -did. Only he won’t be liable to marry you ’less you -hold him off—you know how men are!”</p> - -<p>“I didn’t see Joe last night, but don’t worry, I wasn’t -born yesterday,” Blanche answered.</p> - -<p>“I guess you’re gonna meet that Jew sissy uh yours,” -said Harry. “I’ll give him a boxin’ lesson ’f I run into -him.”</p> - -<p>“That’s all you ever have on your mind,” Blanche -retorted. “I don’t see that all this fighting of yours -has ever brought you much.”</p> - -<p>“That’s all right, I’m not through yet,” he responded, -with an angry look. “You hate a guy that -doesn’t let off a lotta cheap gas and wriggle his hips.”</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_109">[109]</span>As she left the building to meet Rosenberg at the -corner drug store, two blocks away, she did not notice -that Harry was following her. When she and Rosenberg -had exchanged greetings and were about to cross -the street, she heard her brother’s voice cry: “Hey, -wait a minnit!” and they turned around, and she -asked: “What do you want, Harry?”</p> - -<p>He ignored her and spoke to Rosenberg.</p> - -<p>“Your name’s Rosinburg, huh?” he asked. “I just -wanna be sure.”</p> - -<p>“That’s right,” Rosenberg answered, scenting -trouble and wondering what turn it would take.</p> - -<p>“Well, you keep away from my sister, get me? -You’ve been fillin’ her head with garbage and turnin’ -her against her own people, you have, and I’m gonna -put a stop to it. You’re a Jew-kike besides, an’ you -better stick to your own kind and leave our girls alone, -see? ’F you know what’s good for you, you’ll trot -along, now.”</p> - -<p>Caution and wrath contended within Rosenberg. -This man was a professional fighter and gangster, and -could probably beat him easily in spite of the difference -in their heights, but, by God, he wouldn’t stand -for that kind of insulting interference.</p> - -<p>“You bet I’m a Jew, and I’m proud of it,” he replied. -“What gives you the idea that you can order -me around? If Blanche wants to be with me, that’s -her business and not yours.”</p> - -<p>“Well, I’m gonna make it my business,” Harry retorted, -doubling his fists and stepping closer to Rosenberg.</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_110">[110]</span>Blanche, who had been stunned and then inarticulately -angry at first, glared at Harry—of all the nerve, -insulting her escort and handing out commands to <i>her</i>.</p> - -<p>“Are you out of your mind, Harry?” she asked. -“What do you mean by butting in like this? I’m not a -baby and I’ll do exactly as I please, and you might as -well get that into your dumb head!”</p> - -<p>Harry still ignored her and said to Rosenberg: “Are -you gonna beat it ’r not?”</p> - -<p>“You notice I’m still standing here, don’t you?” -Rosenberg asked, trembling a bit, but holding a lurid -roar in his head, in spite of the sick pain in his breast.</p> - -<p>He was in for it—it couldn’t be helped.</p> - -<p>Harry immediately punched Rosenberg in the jaw -and stomach, in quick succession, and Rosenberg reeled -back but recovered his balance and advanced with a -snarl and wildly swinging arms. They fought around -the sidewalk for the next half minute, while an increasing -circle of men and women gathered silently about -them. The spectators made no effort to interfere, but -watched with that intent, hungrily curious impersonality -that usually possesses city crowds in such a situation.</p> - -<p>Blanche stood with a numb fear and a helpless anger -heavy within her, as she nervously twisted her little -white handkerchief and tried to look over the heads of -the spectators. Was there anything in life except -trouble, and browbeating, and every one trying to pull -you a different way ... and that vile brother of hers -... she’d fix him for this audacity ... poor Rosenberg, -how she had unwittingly lured him into this mess ...<span class="pagenum" id="Page_111">[111]</span> -he was more nervy that she had ever given him credit -for ... perhaps Harry was half killing him ... poor, -poor boy.</p> - -<p>Rosenberg fought desperately, his courage reviving -to an unnatural fervor beneath the repeated stinging -blows, but Harry was far too swift and strong for him, -and an uppercut to the jaw finally knocked Rosenberg -to his knees. At this juncture some one yelled: -“Jiggers, here comes a cop!” The ring of onlookers -broke instantly, and some of them sped around the -corner and walked swiftly down the side street, while -others stood about indecisively. Harry promptly -jumped into a nearby taxicab and was driven away—he -had done his job and didn’t mean to get arrested -for it. Blanche hurried to Rosenberg and helped him -to his feet, just as the policeman, with the proverbial -lateness of his kind, strode up to them. Rosenberg’s -left eye was discolored and a rivulet of blood dropped -from his swollen lips.</p> - -<p>“What’s all this rumpus about—where’s the fellow -that beat you up?” the policeman asked, loudly.</p> - -<p>For a moment, Blanche was about to betray her -brother, but she checked herself—what good would -it do? Her hand tugged pleadingly at Rosenberg’s -arm.</p> - -<p>“We were walking along when some enemy of his -came up and hit him,” she answered. “I don’t know -who the fellow was.”</p> - -<p>“Well, y’r escort knows, all right,” the policeman -said, turning to Rosenberg. “Who was he, come on, -loosen up.”</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_112">[112]</span>“I can’t tell you ’cause I don’t want to make any -charges against him,” Rosenberg answered, slowly. -“He started it and I had to defend myself, that’s all.”</p> - -<p>The officer turned disgustedly to the sprinkling of -bystanders.</p> - -<p>“Did any of you see what happened?” he demanded. -There was a chorus of “noes” and “not me’s.”</p> - -<p>“Yeh, you always take it in but you get blind afterwards,” -he said, angrily—he was a new policeman and -brassily anxious to make arrests and acquire a record. -“Go on, beat it now, don’t stand around blocking up -the corner. And you, girlie, you’d better take him in -this drug store and have his face fixed up.”</p> - -<p>He waved his club as he dispersed the bystanders.</p> - -<p>Blanche helped Rosenberg into the drug store, and -the clerk applied a poultice to Rosenberg’s eye and -gave him some iodine for his mouth. Blanche felt -an enormous pity for him—he was physically weak -but he was not a coward, and she wished that she -could love him, for he certainly deserved it. She had -a sense of guilt at having caused him all this pain and -trouble, and she became confused at the impossibility -of making any amends to him. More kisses and huggings?—they -would only lead him to an eventual disappointment. -Only her love could make him happy, -and that couldn’t be manufactured, no matter how -much you respected a man. Oh, darn, was there ever -an answer to anything?... One thing was certain, -though—for his own good she would have to stop seeing -him. Otherwise, she would only continue to lure -him into danger without offering him any reward.</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_113">[113]</span>On his own part, Rosenberg felt a determined resentment—if -he was going to get his head knocked -off for her sake, she would have to give him much more -than friendship. There was no sense in fighting for -a girl who didn’t love you, or refused to surrender -herself.</p> - -<p>They sat for a moment on one of the drug-store -benches.</p> - -<p>“You’d better go home now, Lou,” she said. “We’ll -get a cab and I’ll ride up with you. Your face must -be hurting you terribly. Gee, I can’t tell you how -sorry I am that all this happened, Lou. Harry’s nothing -but a low-down cur, and if he ever dares to do -anything like this again, I won’t stay home another -twenty-four hours. I’ve simply got to show them they -can’t walk all over me.”</p> - -<p>“Never mind about me, I’ll be all right in a couple -of days,” he answered. “I’ve got something to say to -you, Blanche, but we’ll wait’ll we’re in the cab.”</p> - -<p>As they rode uptown, they were silent for a while, -and then he said slowly: “We’ve got to have a show-down, -Blanche. ’F I’m going to buck your whole family -and that rotten gangster brother of yours, I want -to be sure you’ll marry me, first. I’d be a fool otherwise, -you know that.”</p> - -<p>“I know,” she answered, despondently, “and I don’t -blame you a bit. I like you lots, Lou, I’ve told you -that enough times, and you’ve helped me so much, -showing me how stupid I was, and ... I feel blue about -it. I don’t love you—you give me a sort of peaceful -feeling, and I like to hear you talk, and I don’t mind<span class="pagenum" id="Page_114">[114]</span> -your ways ... but that isn’t love.... Oh, I’ve tried to -love you, but it just wouldn’t come. It just wouldn’t.... -I guess you’d better stop seeing me, Lou. I’d only -bring you more trouble, and it wouldn’t be fair to -you.”</p> - -<p>“I’ll see about it,” he answered, dully. “I wish I’d -never met you. You’ve never brought me anything but -sadness, after all I did for you, and there’s no use -keeping it up forever.”</p> - -<p>“Lou, don’t say that,” she replied. “You know I’ve -been honest with you. I never made any promises, -never, and I’ve always told you just how I felt. I’m -miserable about the whole thing as it is, and you can -just bet I’ll never forget you, Lou. I hung on to you -all this time because I needed you, that’s true, but I’d -never have chased you if you hadn’t wanted to be -with me.”</p> - -<p>“Well, it’s over, I guess,” he said, “and talking -won’t help it any, now.”</p> - -<p>He felt a self-disparaging apathy. He had poured -out his thoughts and ideas to this girl, and set her to -thinking as she never had before, and this was his -reward, eh? The whole world was just a selfish -swamp. She had taken his gifts because they were -needed revelations to her, and now she would save -her love for some other man, who’d reverse the process -and plunder her of all she had, and feast on the -elastic dream of her body. No one ever loved you -unless you walked all over them and made them worship -your highhandedness. He had had a last lesson -now, and henceforth he would have a cheeky, appraising<span class="pagenum" id="Page_115">[115]</span> -attitude toward every woman he ran across.</p> - -<p>After they had traded their farewells—reluctant, -empty monosyllables, in which each person was trying -to say something more and finding himself unable—Blanche -boarded a Ninth Avenue elevated -train and rode home, with all of her thoughts and emotions -uncertain and sluggish. What was the use of living?—you -wound up by hurting the other person, or -else he injured you, with neither of you meaning to -do it, and then you separated, and accused yourself -of selfishness without being able to remedy the matter. -But this brother of hers—wait till she got hold of him! -She’d give him the worst tongue-lashing of his life, -and warn him never to interfere in her affairs again. -What did he think she was—a doormat? Brother or no -brother, he was a cruel, stupid man, and things would -have to come to an issue between them. She was -self-supporting and of age, and if her family persisted -in treating her as though she were a slave, she -would have to leave their roof.</p> - -<p>As she walked into the living-room of her home, -she found her mother seated beside the table, darning -socks and munching at an apple. She threw her -hat and coat upon the seamed, leatherine couch, while -her mother asked: “How come you’re back so soon, -Blanie, dear? Ten o’clock, and <i>you</i> walkin’ in! I -think the world’s comin’ right to an end, I do that. -D’you have a fight with the man you was with? Tell -your ma what happened now.”</p> - -<p>“Has Harry been back?” Blanche asked.</p> - -<p>“No, he never gets back till early mornin’, and so<span class="pagenum" id="Page_116">[116]</span> -does Mabel, an’ Phil, an’ your pa. None of you ever -stays to home to keep <i>me</i> comp’ny.”</p> - -<p>“I know you get lonely, ma,” Blanche answered, -stroking her mother’s hair for a moment and trying -to feel much more concerned than she was. “Didn’t -Mrs. O’Rourke, or Katie, come down to-night?”</p> - -<p>“They did, sure enough, but it’s not like havin’ your -own fam’ly with you,” her mother replied.</p> - -<p>Blanche looked at her mother, reflectively. Poor ma, -she <i>was</i> kind of stupid, but maybe she had been more -intelligent in her younger days and had had it slowly -knocked out of her. She didn’t get much out of life, -that was a fact, and she worked hard all the time, and -she never harmed anybody. Poor ma.... Then -Blanche returned to anger at the thought of Harry.</p> - -<p>“Just wait’ll I see Harry,” she cried. “I’ll tell him -a thing or two, I will!”</p> - -<p>“What’s Harry been doin’, now?” her mother asked.</p> - -<p>“He followed me to-night till I met Lou Rosenberg, -and then he walked up and told Lou to keep away -from me, and picked a fight with him. Of course he -beat Lou up—he knows all the tricks, and Rosenberg -doesn’t. Then a cop came along, and Mister Harry -Palmer ran into a cab, like the coward he is! Believe -me, I’m going to show all of you, once and for all, that -you can’t boss me around, and if you keep it up I’ll -leave home in a jiffy.”</p> - -<p>“I jes’ know Harry’ll get into jail yet, with all this -scrappin’ uh his,” her mother said, alarmedly. “Maybe -this Mister Rosinburg will have to go to the hospital,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_117">[117]</span> -an’ then they’ll come after Harry. Did he hurt him -awful bad?”</p> - -<p>“No, he just gave him a black eye and cut his mouth, -but that was bad enough,” Blanche answered. “The -whole thing happened so quick I couldn’t do anything -about it, and besides, I never dreamt Harry would dare -to pull a stunt like that. I’m so angry I could punch -him if he was here!”</p> - -<p>“That’s no way to be talkin’ about your own -brother,” Mrs. Palmer said. “It’s I that don’t think -he did right, I don’t, but still, he only meant it f’r your -own good. You shouldn’t be goin’ around with Jews, -you shouldn’t, and this fella Rosinburg, he’s been -makin’ you act so silly-like, with all them books that -nobody c’n make head ’r tail of. You’re gettin’ to be -’n old girl now, Blanie, you are, and it’s time you -were thinkin’ of marryin’ a good man to keep you in -comfort.”</p> - -<p>“Why isn’t a Jew as good as anybody else?” Blanche -asked. “I don’t love Rosenberg, but believe me, ’f I -did, none of you could keep <i>me</i> away from him. I’m -going to stop seeing him ’cause I don’t want him to get -into trouble all for nothing, but I won’t stand for any -more orders—I’m a free person, and I make my own -living, and ’f I think I’m doing right, that’s all I care -about.”</p> - -<p>“Blanie, you’re talkin’ somethin’ terribul,” her -mother answered, sadly aghast. “You oughta have -more respect for your pa ’n’ ma, you ought. We raised -you up from a kid, an’ we give you everythin’ we could, -an’ we only want to see you do the right thing. You’ve<span class="pagenum" id="Page_118">[118]</span> -got to settle down and have a fine, good-looking, Christian -fellow, who’s earnin’ good wages. Course, you must -be lovin’ him first—I’d never want you to marry no -one you didn’t care for, I wouldn’t, but that’s not -everythin’ either. I’d like to see you livin’ like a lady, -I would, an’ havin’ a fine home, ’n’ servants, ’n’ the -best uh everythin’.”</p> - -<p>“Marry, marry, that’s all you ever think about,” -Blanche replied. “You mean well, ma, but you can -just see so far and no farther. What did you ever -get out of marrying, I’d like to know? Nothing but -work, and trouble, and worrying around.”</p> - -<p>“That’s why I want to see you do better, that’s -why,” her mother responded. “It’s I that knows how -foolish I was, I know it, and I don’t want you to go -through all the strugglin’ I’ve had. ’F you marry a -man like Mister Campbell, now, you’ll live in a swell -apartment an’ you’ll have the things you want.”</p> - -<p>“You don’t know what I want, ma,” Blanche said, -sadly. “I want to be somebody, and find out what’s -the reason for things, and use my head for something -besides a hat-rack. Any girl can marry and let a man -use her—there’s no trick in that. I’m tired of being -just like other people—I want to act, ’r write, ’r paint, -and make a name for myself. You think a woman -shouldn’t do anything except have children and be as -comfortable as she can. You can’t understand what -I’m looking for, ma.”</p> - -<p>“It’s I that can’t, it’s all foolishness to me,” her -mother replied, perplexedly. “I don’t see why a woman -should be anythin’ ’cept a good wife ’n’ a good mother,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_119">[119]</span> -’f she finds a man that’ll treat her right ’n’ provide f’r -her. This bein’ somebody you’re always talkin’ about, -I don’t see how it’ll ever make you happy, I don’t. -It’s your heart that counts most, an’ nothin’ else. You -never talked like this ’fore you met that Rosinburg. -I’m glad you’re not goin’ to meet him again.”</p> - -<p>“We’re both just wasting our words—let’s cut it -out,” Blanche said, depressedly, as she walked into -her room.</p> - -<p>Her mother looked after her with a sorrowful, uncomprehending -expression. What was her poor daughter -coming to, with all this unlady-like nonsense, and -all this refusing to listen to the counsel of her family, -who only wanted her to have a happy and respected -future. Well, maybe she’d change, now that she -wasn’t seeing that Jew-fellow any more. Jews were -human beings, but they were tricky and queer and -always out after the money, and they had no right to -be picking on Gentile girls.... Of course, if Blanche -didn’t change, then her pa and Harry would have to -take hold of her. She mustn’t be allowed to go to the -dogs and ruin herself and her chances. While she, -the mother, would never let the menfolks abuse her -daughter or lay their hands on her, she still felt that -they would have to act sternly to bring Blanche to her -senses. It couldn’t be helped as long as Blanche refused -to behave.</p> - -<p>When Blanche rose on the following morning, Harry -was still asleep, and they did not collide until she returned -from work that night. The family were seated -around the supper-table, and Mabel looked at Blanche,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_120">[120]</span> -with curiosity and reproach interwoven, while her -father squinted questioningly at her, and Philip -squirmed in his chair, like some one waiting for a -dynamite detonation. He hated family quarrels—you -couldn’t agree with both sides and yet you were always -expected to. He felt that the others were “too -hard” on Blanche, and he hoped that she would give -them a piece of her mind.</p> - -<p>Harry had a nonchalant mien which placated the -fear within him which he did not quite admit to himself—there -was something about Blanche that he -couldn’t fathom, and no matter how much he sought -to squelch this alien foe, with word and action, it -never died—a derided but still-threatening specter.</p> - -<p>Blanche was silent until she had seated herself at -the table, and then she burst forth.</p> - -<p>“Harry, I’m going to tell you something—’f you ever -beat up any one I’m with again, and try to order me -around, I’ll break something over your head! Just -try it once more and see what happens!”</p> - -<p>“I’ll do that little thing,” Harry answered. “The -last person I was afraid of, he died ten years ago.”</p> - -<p>“That’s just how I feel,” Blanche replied. “’F I’m -not left alone from now on, I’m going on the war-path.”</p> - -<p>“Bla-anie, you mustn’t talk that way, an’ you, too, -Harry,” Mrs. Palmer said. “I never, never heard of -a brother an’ sister carryin’ on like this! I do think -Blanche oughta listen more to what we tell her, I do, -but breakin’ things over y’r heads, why I never heard -the like of it. You won’t help things that way.”</p> - -<p>“See here, Blanche, we’ve got to lay down the law<span class="pagenum" id="Page_121">[121]</span> -to you,” her father said. “No more goin’ around with -Jews, and no more talkin’ back all the time. I’m your -father an’ I’m gonna put my foot down. You’re not a -bad kid, I don’t say that, but you’re too fresh, an’ you -think you know it all. You better stop readin’ them -phony books and pay attention to yourself, an’ act -like a reg’lar girl.”</p> - -<p>“Suppose I leave home, what’ll you do about it?” -Blanche asked.</p> - -<p>“I can’t stop you from doin’ that, but ’f you do, -don’t think you can come back here again—not ’less -you’re married, anyway,” her father replied. “We’ll all -be through with you then, an’ you’ll be no daughter uh -mine.”</p> - -<p>“I don’t know what’s gotten into you, Blanche,” -Mabel said. “You don’t seem to have any sense nowadays.”</p> - -<p>“Of course you don’t,” answered Blanche. “All you -care about is having a good time, and working men -for all they’re worth, and hunting around for a fellow -with money who’ll marry you. I want to do something -that counts, and I want to look into things. That’s -all a mystery to you.”</p> - -<p>“Is that so-o?” Mabel asked, bridling up. “I’ve got -just as good a head as you have, even ’f I don’t go -around with a chip on my shoulder, like you do, and -tell people I’m better than they are. I’m gonna be a -rich lady and be up in the world ’fore I’m through with -the game, but you’ll wind up with nothing but that -hot air you’re always spouting.”</p> - -<p>“Well, I think you’re all too rough on Blanche,”<span class="pagenum" id="Page_122">[122]</span> -Philip said. “Maybe she ought to marry and settle -down, but it’s her look-out. ’F she wants to make a -name for herself, and study something, I don’t see anything -so awful about it.”</p> - -<p>“You’re the best one in this fam’ly, Phil,” said -Blanche, with a grateful look. “You’re not so wise, -but you do believe in letting people alone.”</p> - -<p>“Yes, you an’ him are twins, all right,” Harry interposed, -“but he knows enough to keep quiet most -of the time, and you don’t.”</p> - -<p>“Now, Harry, what did I ever do against you?” -Philip asked.</p> - -<p>“Not a thing, but you wouldn’t side with Blanche -all the time ’f you wasn’t like she is,” Harry answered.</p> - -<p>The argument went on, with Blanche subsiding to a -hopeless silence, but as the meal ended, it became more -indifferent. Their appeased appetites brought the -others a brief, sluggish contentment, and they felt sure -that it was all just a “lot of jawing,” and that Blanche -would never really revolt—she was a Palmer, after all.</p> - -<p>The next week passed quietly enough, with Blanche -and Harry casting disdainful looks at each other but -rarely speaking, and the rest of the family persuaded -that it might be better to leave Blanche alone as long -as she failed to do anything definitely objectionable. -Then, one evening, just after Blanche had returned -from work, a loud rapping sounded on the front door, -and after her mother had responded, Blanche heard -a gruff voice asking: “Is this where Mabel Palmer -lives, huh?” When her mother had answered yes, the -gruff voice continued: “Well, we’re detectives from<span class="pagenum" id="Page_123">[123]</span> -the Sixth Precinct, and we want to have a talk with -you people.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, Lord, what’s the matter—what’s happened to -Mabel?” Mrs. Palmer asked, agitatedly, as she entered -the living-room, with the two detectives walking -behind her.</p> - -<p>They were tall, burly men, in dark, ill-fitting suits, -slouch hats of brown, and heavy, black shoes, and one -of them had a florid, impassive face, while the other -was tanned and more openly inquiring. They sat down -in chairs and looked the Palmers over. Harry and his -father sought to appear calm and careless but could -not repress an involuntary nervousness—there were -several shady spots in their lives that shrank from the -impending searchlight, but these bulls wouldn’t be -acting this way if they really <i>knew</i> anything—while -Philip looked warmly innocent—they didn’t have anything -on <i>him</i>—and Mrs. Palmer wrung her hands and -told herself that all of her dire prophecies had been -fulfilled. Blanche was curious but undisturbed—little -Mabel Know-Everything had gotten into trouble at -last, but what was it?</p> - -<p>“Your girl’s locked up at Arlington Market,” the -florid detective said. “You know why, don’tcha?”</p> - -<p>“My poor little Mabel, what’s happened to her?” -Mrs. Palmer asked. “I don’t know a thing that she’s -done, I swear I don’t!”</p> - -<p>“That’s straight, we don’t know what it’s all about,” -Harry said, and his father eagerly corroborated him.</p> - -<p>“Well, we nabbed her this afternoon on Broadway,” -the other detective replied. “She’s been mixing up<span class="pagenum" id="Page_124">[124]</span> -with a lotta bond-thieves, and we think she’s one of -their go-betweens. She’s been seen all the time with -the brains uh the gang, hanging around cabarets with -him. We got him yesterday, and we’ll scoop in the -rest of them before to-morrow. If you people don’t -know anything about this, it’s mighty funny you let -your daughter associate with a gang like that.”</p> - -<p>“Yeh, why do you let her run loose all the time?” -the florid detective asked.</p> - -<p>“I’ve always told her not to be so wild, I’ve always,” -answered Mrs. Palmer, “but she never listened -to me. She’s really a good girl off’cer, she didn’t mean -any harm, but she likes to have men payin’ attentions -to her. I know she hasn’t done anything wrong, I -know it. She prob’bly thought those men was honest, -that’s it, an’ she b’lieved all the lies they told her.”</p> - -<p>“That’s what they all say,” the other detective replied, -gruffly.</p> - -<p>“You’re wrong, Mabe’s a straight kid,” Mr. Palmer -said. “She got into bum comp’ny an’ didn’t know it, -that must be it.”</p> - -<p>“That’s what <i>you</i> say, but we got a diff’rent idea,” -the florid detective retorted. “Sure, you’d take up for -her, that’s an old trick.”</p> - -<p>“I cert’nly will,” the father answered, spiritedly. -“’F you’ve got any evidence against her, all right, but -I’ll have to hear it first ’fore I b’lieve it. I’ll take up -for my own daughter any time, any time.”</p> - -<p>“Sure, I understand,” the other detective said, more -amiably. “All we know’s that she went around with -that gang, hitting up the night clubs, but we haven’t<span class="pagenum" id="Page_125">[125]</span> -connected her with anything yet. It looks bad for her, -that’s all.”</p> - -<p>“We’ll put her through a grilling to-night and find -out more about it”—the florid detective suddenly -turned to Blanche. “What d’you do for a living?”</p> - -<p>“I work at Madame Jaurette’s Beauty Parlor, on -Fifth Avenue near Twenty-sixth,” Blanche responded, -coolly. “Come down there some day and I’ll curl your -blond locks for you. They need it.”</p> - -<p>The detective grinned and replied: “We’ll look you -up, don’t worry.”</p> - -<p>“And you, what’s your trade?” he asked her father.</p> - -<p>“I don’t do much now ’cause my leg’s on the bum,” -Mr. Palmer replied. “I used to be a bartender in the -old days when we had a little freedom in this town.”</p> - -<p>“Well, you’d better stop loafing around and get a -job,” the detective advised.</p> - -<p>“I always work when I’m able to,” said Mr. Palmer. -“I used to manage my boy here, Harry, Battling -Murphy—maybe you’ve seen him scrap somewheres. -He got a raw deal an’ they barred him from the ring, -but he’ll be back there ’fore long, don’t worry.”</p> - -<p>The florid detective looked closely at Harry and -then said: “Damned if it isn’t Bat’ Murphy himself! -I won some dough on you once when you was fighting -Kid Morley down at the Terrace. Why didn’t you -tell us who you was?”</p> - -<p>“You was askin’ my folks questions an’ I didn’t -wanna butt in,” Harry replied as he shook hands, -warmly, with the detective.</p> - -<p>“I hear you been cutting up with a bad gang lately,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_126">[126]</span> -Bat’,” the other detective interposed, in a tone of -friendly reproof. “Better cut it out and get back into -condition again. We wouldn’t like to pull you -in, y’know.”</p> - -<p>“You c’n lay a bet I will,” Harry replied. “I’m no -has-been yet, I’m tellin’ you I knocked a coupla fellas -out at the gym the other day.... An’ now about this -poor kid sister uh mine. She isn’t a bad one, but you -know how fellas c’n fill a girl up with a lotta phony -gab. I don’t think she knew a damn thing about what -was goin’ on.”</p> - -<p>“You can bail her out, all right, when we’re through -putting the question to her,” the other detective said. -“Know any one to go to?”</p> - -<p>“Know any one, I’ll say we do,” Harry answered. -“Why, Bill O’Brien, the Wigwam chief in this district’s -a good friend uh the old man, an’ me too. He’ll -put up the coin in a second.”</p> - -<p>“All right, come down to Arlington Market court -to-morrow morning, ten sharp, when she’s arraigned, -and we’ll see what we can do,” the detective said, with -respect in his voice, as both of them rose. “And by -the way, who’s this man in the corner?”</p> - -<p>“He’s my brother Phil, works in a drug store a -coupla blocks away,” Harry answered.</p> - -<p>“A-all right, I guess you’re all straight enough,” the -detective replied, genially. “Only, if your kid sister -gets out of this, you better keep a strict tab on her. -She’s a flighty one and no mistake.”</p> - -<p>“It’s sure I am that this’ll teach poor Mabel a lesson,” -Mrs. Palmer said, with a sad eagerness. “An’ to<span class="pagenum" id="Page_127">[127]</span> -think she’s sittin’ in a cell right now. It’s terribul, it -is!”</p> - -<p>“We-ell, don’t take it to heart, she may be out soon,” -the other detective answered.</p> - -<p>The detectives departed, and after Harry had cautiously -opened the door and assured himself that they -had gone, he came back and said: “We’ve gotta get -poor Mabe outa this. I’m gonna run over to Tenth -Avenue now an see ’f I c’n get ahold of O’Brien.”</p> - -<p>“I wonder whether they’ve got the goods on her,” -his father said. “I can’t think a wise girl like Mabel -would lay herself open to five years in the pen. It -don’t seem reas’nable. She musta had the wool pulled -over her eyes.”</p> - -<p>“It’s li’ble to happen to any girl,” Harry answered. -“When a girl goes out with a guy, how’s she to know -whether he’s a crook ’r not? Besides, if Mabel was -in on it she’d have been flashin’ a roll around here, -and if she’s got one she’s sure been hidin’ it well, I’ll -say.”</p> - -<p>“Well, I do think she oughta be more careful ’bout -who she goes with,” Mrs. Palmer said. “I swear, between -Mabel and Blanche, I’m goin’ right to my grave, -I am.”</p> - -<p>“Aw, don’t take on so, Kate,” her husband answered. -“Mabel’s not like Blanche anyway—she don’t put on -the dog an’ tell her folks they don’t know nothin’. -She jus’ wants to have a good time an’ land a good -man f’r herself, and she’ll get over this mess all right. -She made a mistake in the crowd she went with—they -prob’bly told her they was rich business men.”</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_128">[128]</span>“I suppose I’ll have to get arrested before any of -you’ll think I know something,” Blanche broke in, -disgustedly. “I’m sorry Mabel got into this fix, but -if you try to play men for their money, you’ve got to -expect that they’ll turn the tables on you, the first -chance they get.”</p> - -<p>“G’wan, you’re jes’ jealous uh her,” Harry said. -“You’d do the same thing ’f you had nerve enough.”</p> - -<p>“Now, now, this is no time f’r scrappin’,” his father -interposed. “We’ve got to hustle around to O’Brien -an’ see what he c’n do f’r us.”</p> - -<p>The two Palmers departed, and Blanche and Philip -tried to soothe the mother, who had begun to weep and -rock in her chair. Blanche felt a dab of malice toward -her sister—Mabel was so dreamless, and never tried -to understand Blanche’s hopes and desires, and was -always scoffing and sneering—but it was swallowed -up by a sense of enforced compassion. Perhaps Mabel -was just a misguided girl whose head had been turned -by the flatteries of men, and perhaps she would wake -up now and begin to think, and question herself and -her life, to a small degree at any rate. In addition, -Blanche was relieved at this turn in events, since it -might distract the attention of her family and make -them drop for a time their insistence upon marriage, -and their naggings about Campbell, and their jeers -at the books that she read. She went to bed early that -night, and reclined awake for a long time, spinning -her hopes from the dark texture of the room. After all, -why did she waste so much time in arguing with her -family? They would never understand her in a million<span class="pagenum" id="Page_129">[129]</span> -years, and they meant well in spite of all of their -meanness, but she had simply passed beyond them. -They wanted her to be like them, and share their -ideas of happiness and propriety, and they used cruel -methods and threats without knowing how cruel they -were because they felt that the end could apologize -for the means. It was all inevitable, and the best thing -that she could do would be quietly to pack her belongings -some day and move out to some rooming-house -uptown before they knew what was happening. Then -let them rave all they wanted—what could they do?</p> - -<p>Besides, her leaving would convince them that she -“meant business,” and most of their bullying was probably -due to the fact that they still thought that they -could force her to obey them. When she was finally -living in a place of her own, she’d go to some art or -dramatic school at night—maybe she could learn to -draw after all, since she had been very clever with -sketches when she was a child at school, and still -poked around with a pencil now and then. Or again, -why couldn’t she be able to act on the stage, if she -were only taught how to handle her voice and her -limbs. These famous actresses, they hadn’t been perfect -and accomplished in their cradles, and if she -studied English and learned how to speak more correctly, -she might have as good a chance as they had -had. Nothing ever came to you unless you had a desperate -faith in yourself. She would have to work long -and hard at these things, she knew that, but she -worked hard every day as it was, without deriving any -satisfaction from it.</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_130">[130]</span>An image of Rosenberg slipped back to her. Poor -boy, wonder what he was doing now? She owed a -great deal to him, and the only payment that she had -given had been to jilt him. Was it always as one-sided -as this between men and women—always a kind of -slave-and-master affair, with one person taking everything -and the other person hanging on because he -couldn’t think of any one else and was grateful for -the scraps that were thrown to him? She hadn’t meant -to hurt this boy—he had wanted feelings that were -impossible to her, and her body had often endured his -hands out of pity, and her only reason for guilt was -that she had kept on seeing him. But she had needed, -oh, she had needed all of the spurrings-on, and answers, -and thoughts, and beliefs in her, which he had poured -out—yes, it had been selfishness on her part, but she -was beginning to think that people could never avoid -being selfish to each other in some respect, even though -they hid it behind all kinds of other names and assertions. -They <i>could</i> make it aboveboard, though, by -confessing the unevenness of their relations, and by -not demanding anything that each person was not compelled -to give of his own accord. The ideal, of course, -would be a man and a woman who selfishly craved all -of each other, for deeply permanent reasons, in which -case each one would become a happy plunderer—did -such a thing ever quite come off?... Her thoughts -trailed out into sleep.</p> - -<p>On the next morning at the Beauty Parlor, Blanche -was distracted, and a little uneasy about her sister—after -all, the poor kid was just conceited and flighty,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_131">[131]</span> -with no real harm in her—and when Philip came in -at noon and told her that Mabel had been released, -for lack of evidence, Blanche was glad that the matter -had blown over. When Blanche returned from her -work that night, Mabel was seated in the one armchair -in the apartment, with the rest of the family -grouped admiringly around her. Now that it was all -over, they regarded her as something of a heroine—one -who had tussled with their never-recognized but -potent enemy, the law, and emerged scot-free—and -although they qualified this attitude with warnings -and chidings, it dominated them, nevertheless. The -mother remained an exception—she hoped that her -daughter would act more soberly now, and leave her -nightly dissipations, and mingle with more honest men.</p> - -<p>“Gee, I’m glad you’re out,” Blanche said, after kissing -her sister. “Did they treat you rough after they -arrested you?”</p> - -<p>“They wasn’t so bad,” Mabel answered. “They put -me through a coupla third degrees, first when they -brought me in, and then another one ’bout nine in -the ev’ning, tryin’ to trip me up, y’know. They said -they knew I was a prostitute, jes’ to get my goat, and -I started to cry and said it was a darn lie—I jes’ -couldn’t help it.”</p> - -<p>“They pull that off on ev’ry girl,” Harry said. “’F -she is one, then she’ll own up cause she thinks they -know all about it—that’s the game.”</p> - -<p>“How’d you happen to get in with a crowd like -that?” Blanche asked.</p> - -<p>“I didn’t know what they was,” Mabel replied,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_132">[132]</span> -aggrievedly. “Gee whiz, you can’t follow a fella around -an’ see what he’s doin’, can you? This Bob Sullivan, -now, he told me he was a book-maker at the races, -an ev’rybody I knew seemed to think he was. Then -he had a friend, Jack Misner, said he was a jockey—a -little runt of a guy. Bob swore all the time he was -gone on me. He’s a nice fella at that, he is, an’ I’m -darn sorry they got him.”</p> - -<p>“Well, you shouldn’t be,” her mother said. “When -any one’s dishonest they oughta get punished for it, -they ought. This world would be a fine world, it -would, ’f ev’rybody went round and robbed ev’rybody -else. An’ what’s more, I do hope you’ll stay home -more now, Mabel dear, an’ keep outa trouble, I do.”</p> - -<p>“Aw, pipe down, Kate,” her husband broke in. -“She’s gotta size up her men better fr’m now on, sure, -but you can’t expect her to sit around here all night. -She c’n have all the fun she wants, I don’t mind, long -as she looks them over more careful an’ don’t swallow -all their gab.”</p> - -<p>“It’s jes’ no use f’r me to say anythin’,” Mrs. Palmer -answered, dolefully. “None uh you ever pays any attention -to Kate Palmer till it’s too late, and then it’s -ma do this f’r me, an’ ma do that.”</p> - -<p>“I’ll watch out more, ma, I will,” Mabel said. -“When I meet a fella with a big wad I’m gonna find -out how he makes it ’fore I let him take me out. A -girl’s gotta protect herself, that’s a fact.”</p> - -<p>“It wouldn’t hurt you to go out with a few men that -work for a living—just for a change,” Philip said.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_133">[133]</span> -“Maybe they won’t take you to swell joints, maybe -not, but they’ll get you into less trouble all right.”</p> - -<p>“Don’t wish any uh Blanche’s kind on me,” Mabel -retorted. “When I want to go to a sixty-cent movie-house, -’r sit down on a bench in the park, I’ll have my -head tested to see ’f I’m all there.”</p> - -<p>Her little, straight nose turned up, and her loosely -small lips drew together to a tight complacency. Her -plump face was more drawn, and hollows were under -her eyes, and a trace of fright still lingered in the -black eyes, but the expression on her face was one -of rebuked but still ruling impudence. She told herself -that she had been stung once by men—an incredible -incident—and would henceforth set out to -revenge herself upon them. It was all just a fight to -see which side would get the best of the other, and she -wouldn’t be caught napping twice. Her goal was to -marry a man with money and good looks, and she -wouldn’t allow anything to deter her. Beneath these -determinations, sentimentalities and fears, aroused by -the shock of her arrest, told her that she was flirting -too closely with danger, and that it might be better to -look for a stalwart youth with a laughable “line” and -a movie-hero face—she was tired, after all, of letting -homely, slow-tongued fellows kiss and hug her because -they spent money to give her the gay nights that were -due to every girl, and then again, she really ought -to consider her poor ma, who was always fretting about -her. Aw, well, she <i>would</i> slow down just a little and stay -home once in a while, and select her escorts with more -of an eye to their safety and their physical attraction,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_134">[134]</span> -and with money alone no longer all-supreme, but she -would never subside to a back-number—not she. -Plenty of girls ended by catching rich young men with -a dash to them, and she could do the same thing if -she kept a level head.</p> - -<p>As Blanche listened to her sister, a disapproving -sadness welled up within her—same old Mabel, not -a hairbreadth changed. People seemed to be born -in one way and to stick to it for the rest of their lives. -She herself had never been quite like Mabel, even when -she, Blanche, had been much more stupid than she -might be now. She had always hunted for something -without knowing what it was, and had always been -“easier,” and more unhappy, and more concerned with -the “inside” of herself.</p> - -<p>“Men and men, that’s all you’ve got on your mind,” -she said to her sister, softly. “’F you were ever -wrecked now on some island, like I read about once, -with nothing but another girl to keep you company, I -think you’d go mad. You wouldn’t know what to do -with yourself.”</p> - -<p>“I’d like to know who would,” Mabel answered. -“Why, even you, smarty, you’ve got to step out with -diff’rent fellas, I notice. I suppose I’ll have to excuse -myself f’r being a woman, next thing I know.”</p> - -<p>“That’s your only excuse,” Blanche said, as she -turned away.</p> - -<p>“Well, it’s a good enough one to suit me,” Mabel -retorted, irascibly.</p> - -<p>Blanche walked into her room without replying. -What was the use of speaking to people when your<span class="pagenum" id="Page_135">[135]</span> -words went into one of their ears and instantly flew -out of the other? Her future course of action had -been determined. If her family ceased to bother her, -she would continue to live with them, and go to some -school at least five nights out of each week and reserve -the other two for sessions with men and for -relaxation. She wouldn’t live like a nun, that was -ridiculous, but she would make a serious effort to -master some profession or form of expression that -would be much higher and more inwardly satisfying -than doing the same thing with her hands every day. -And if her family continued to be meddlesome and -dictating, she would move out some morning when -the menfolk were away.</p> - -<p>During the next two days her existence was undisturbed. -The Palmers had been somewhat chastened -by Mabel’s arrest, and they had to admit that, in spite -of the disagreeable mystery that Blanche had become, -she <i>did</i> manage to keep herself out of difficulties. -Their confidence in Mabel was not as great as it had -been, and it affected to a moderate degree their temporary -reactions toward Blanche.</p> - -<p>On the third afternoon, Campbell telephoned Blanche -at the Beauty Parlor and arranged to meet her that -night. She wanted to tell him that he would have to -remain content with her friendship and that otherwise -she could not see him again, and that her promise to -“think over” his offer of an apartment and a shrouded -alliance had been caused merely by her desperation -in the face of barriers that withheld her from her -desires. She intended to tell him frankly that she had<span class="pagenum" id="Page_136">[136]</span> -resolved to permit him no greater physical liberties -than a kiss now and then, and that she had made up -her mind to reserve herself for the advent of an actual -love. If he still wanted to take her out under those -conditions, she’d be willing to see him once a week at -most—he <i>was</i> a jolly sedative in his way—but he -would have to show her that he had a serious mind -and a sincere love for her before she would reconsider -his pleas. After all, there was such a thing as slowly -falling in love with a man, if he made you entirely -reverse your previous image of him. Campbell would -never closely approach her ideals, she knew that, but -perhaps he might make a respectable progress toward -it, in which case she might accept him as the best -real prospect possible to her.</p> - -<p>She dressed to meet him that night, with a division -of cautious and sanguinely impertinent feelings seething -within her. As they were walking down Ninth -Avenue, he looked admiringly at her round white felt -hat, trimmed with a zigzag dash of black velvet, and -her plain yellow pongee dress that had an air of subdued -sprightliness about it, and her long, black coat -with squirrel fur at the bottom. These girls, working -for twenty-five a week, or thirty at most, how on earth -did they manage to doll up like Peggy Hopkins Joyce? -Funny too, they never seemed to retain this penny-transforming -ability after they were married!</p> - -<p>“You look like a million bucks, to-night,” he said. -“I’d give a week’s salary to know how you do it.”</p> - -<p>“Well, listen to Mister Innocent—never heard about<span class="pagenum" id="Page_137">[137]</span> -instalment plans, and bargain hunting, and getting -things cheap ’cause you know the head buyer.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, even at that it’s the world’s eighth wonder to -me,” he replied. “I’m afraid to take you any place to-night. -Everybody I know’ll be trying to horn in on -us.”</p> - -<p>“Why, I thought competition was your middle -name,” she said, brightly.</p> - -<p>“No, it’s only an alias—too much of it’s as bad as -too little,” he answered. “Anyway, don’t you get tired -of scrimping and putting yourself out for clothes all -the time?”</p> - -<p>“What ’f I do?” she asked.</p> - -<p>“Well, you know what I told you time before last,” -he said. “I’ll pay all the bills and like it, any time -you’re ready. You said you were going to think it -over—remember?”</p> - -<p>“Yes, I do,” she replied, soberly. “I’ll talk to you -about it later on to-night. And don’t call a cab, Joe. -Let’s walk a few blocks, for a change. You always act -like you hated to use your legs.”</p> - -<p>“I use ’em enough behind the lights to make up for -all the riding I do,” he answered, amused.</p> - -<p>They strolled over to Broadway, and were silent -most of the time, save for commenting on some of the -people striding past them. When they reached the -corner of Broadway and one of the Forties, he said: -“Say, Blanche, a friend of mine, Jack Donovan, ’s pulling -a party to-night in his place. There’ll be two ’r -three chorines from the Passing Gaieties show, and a -couple of respectable crooks—um, I mean bootleggers—that<span class="pagenum" id="Page_138">[138]</span> -kind of thing. I said I’d be up about -eleven-thirty but I won’t go if you don’t want to. We -could drop in at The Golden Mill and kill time until -then.”</p> - -<p>“Sure I’ll come, ’f it’s not going to be too wild,” -she replied. “I never was much on those parties where -they try to pass you around like you was a dish of ice -cream.”</p> - -<p>“Strictly pairs at Jack’s place, and the same pair -lasts through the night,” he said. “Stick to the woman -you’re with ’r take the elevator down—that’s the -rule.”</p> - -<p>“’F there’s too much booze flowing, that elevator-boy -sure must be kept busy,” she retorted, with a laugh.</p> - -<p>“Oh, we run it ourselves—we’re accommodating,” -he said, with a grin.</p> - -<p>After they were seated at a table in The Golden -Mill and had finished half of their highballs, she said: -“Joe, I’m going to talk serious to you. I was just in -a silly mood when I said last time I’d think about living -with you. It wouldn’t work out—it never does unless -two people really love each other. ’F I ever fall -hard in love with you, Joe, I’ll do it in a minute. I’m -not afraid, but I don’t love you now. Besides, it’s not -just a question of some man, with me. I’ve made up -my mind to try and be an artist or an actress—don’t -laugh now—and I wonder whether you could help me -any.”</p> - -<p>He listened to her with chagrin and amusement—going -after her was like wading for eels, and she certainly -had this “higher aspiration” bug with a vengeance.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_139">[139]</span> -These girls now, they were amenable enough -when their only desires were a good time, fine clothes, -and a man who wouldn’t give them the shivers, but the -moment they started to get this “self-expression,” -I-want-to-be-different craze, boy, what a tough proposition -they became. Still, even that could be turned to -your advantage if you “yessed” it along and insinuated -that you alone could cause it to succeed. In addition, -in spite of his cynical feelings, he could not quite down -his respect for her determination to struggle out of her -present life. She was no ordinary girl, that was certain, -and in a way she was a marvel, in view of the -family that she came from and the half-dirty, low-down -flat in which she’d been raised. She probably had -no acting ability—they hardly ever did—but you could -never be sure about <i>her</i>; she was little Miss Surprise -herself. Well, if he could only land her first, he’d be -willing to help her along—why not?</p> - -<p>He looked at her eager face, that was not quite -pretty but boldly attractive and well-spaced, and the -almost full drop of her bosom rising and falling more -quickly as she talked, and the restrained sturdiness of -her lips. Beyond a doubt, he’d give his right hand to -have her, and yet he couldn’t absolutely tell himself -why.</p> - -<p>“Well, well, Blanchie’s gone and got stage-struck,” -he answered, lightly. “You know I’ll do anything for -you, you know that, but I don’t want to see you wasting -your time. This acting game’s a long, hard proposition—some -get in overnight but they’re damn few in -number. I know girls who’ve been in it for years, and<span class="pagenum" id="Page_140">[140]</span> -all they’ve got is a diamond ring in pawn and a favorite -chair at the booking agencies. A girl’s got to have more -than ambition to make any one notice her on Broadway, -nowadays. How d’you know you’re fit to be an -actorine?”</p> - -<p>“I don’t, but I want a try-out just the same,” she -replied. “How’ll I ever know what I’m cut out for -unless I go to it and see what I can do? ’F I turn -out to be a frost as ’n actress, I’ll take up drawing ’r -something else. There must be something I can do as -good as other people, besides working like a nigger -every day.”</p> - -<p>“Sure there must,” he said, soothingly. “I’m with -you all the time—I like to see a girl who can think of -something else besides putting on the glad rags and -lifting the glasses. You’ve got the stuff in you, and -it’s never had a chance to come out, and I’m the one -man you know who can help you in the acting line, -don’t forget that. I’ll get you a try-out for some play—just -a little part, y’know, where you walk across the -stage ’n’ say ‘Madame, will you have the tea served -now, or next Monday?’ I’ll make them take you, too.”</p> - -<p>“Will you?” she asked, eagerly. “Say, you’re a -brick, Joe!”</p> - -<p>“Not my head, anyways,” he said, smiling. “D’you -know, I’m really gone about you. It took two years -to turn the trick—little Joe hates to be caught, he -does—but ’f I’m not in love with you now, it’s so close, -I can feel the breath on my neck. Why don’t you -hook up with me and let me have you meet the right -people and push you along? You’re not in love with<span class="pagenum" id="Page_141">[141]</span> -me now, but you like me pretty well at that, don’t -you?”</p> - -<p>“I do,” she answered, “but I want to find out first -whether you really mean all of this, and whether you’re -really int’rested in the same things I am. You mustn’t -be angry at this. It’s a serious thing to me, and I want -to be sure. Besides, ’f you do care for me, why can’t -you help me even ’f we <i>are</i> just friends?”</p> - -<p>“Of course I will,” he responded, with an easy -heartiness. “It’s not like a business transaction to -me.”</p> - -<p>If she became more and more dependent upon his -assistance, she couldn’t hold out forever.... They -departed from the cabaret, after another highball, -and went to the apartment of his friend, Jack Donovan. -Donovan was a sturdy man of forty, whose five-feet-eleven -were supported by flat feet and buttressed -by the girth of a paunch. His head was one-quarter -bald and his black hair was wetly combed down, and -the oval of his face, rising from an almost double -chin, was a morbid calculation, as though he were -weary of his stage-laughs and smiles, and wondering -what in the devil was so funny about life, anyway, except -that people liked to pay money to be joshed into -believing that it was. He did a monologue in vaudeville—one -of those acts in which a portly “Senator -Callahan,” in a frock coat and a high hat, cracks jokes -about the events and foibles and personages of the -day, with many a crudely ironical fling at grafting -officials and high prices and prohibition, with lower -puns and slapstick harangues against the prevailing<span class="pagenum" id="Page_142">[142]</span> -immodesty of feminine attire—“They’d wear ’em two -feet above the knees if they weren’t afraid it would -completely discourage a guy.” He greeted Joe with an -off-hand amiability, and looked at Blanche, after the -introduction, with a side-long intentness. Joe knew -how to pick ’em, all right—she wasn’t a doll-baby but -she had class to her.</p> - -<p>The two front parlors of the apartment had an ebony -baby-grand piano, and Louis Sixteenth furniture picked -up at auctions and standing beside the squat, varnished -products of Grand Rapids—an oak sideboard with -large, glass knobs and an oak settee. Some bottles and -other accessories were on the sideboard, and Donovan -returned to his interrupted task of making a round of -cocktails. The other guests had already arrived—the -two chorus girls mentioned by Campbell, and another -woman whose occupation might not have desired a -public announcement, and two business men who -dabbled in liquor-selling on the side.</p> - -<p>One of the chorus girls, Flo Kennedy, looked like -the wax clothes dummy that can be observed in shop-windows, -and hardly showed much more animation, -except that when she spoke, the figure became slightly -more crude and less aloof. Her round face was inhumanly -symmetrical below her dark-brown hair, and -its expression was, well, a no-trespassing sign, over -the composed expectation of masculine advances. She -wore a short-skirted thing of terra-cotta silk and cream -lace, and flesh-colored stockings rolled just below the -knees, and black pumps. Her companion, Grace Henderson, -was a short, slender, Jewish girl in a jauntily<span class="pagenum" id="Page_143">[143]</span> -plain black gown, with bobbed, blondined hair and -a mincing, sensuous glisten on her face—pretty in -spite of the tell-tale curve at the end of her nose. The -third woman, Madge Gowan, was silent and dark, with -a half-ugly, long face, whose shapely cheeks and chin -partly diminished the opposite effect, and a fully -curved, strong body.</p> - -<p>One of the business men, Sol Kossler, a Jew in his -early forties, was roly-poly and half bald, with a -jowled, broad-nosed face on which smug and sentimental -confidences were twined—one of those merchants -who succeed more through luck than because -of hard shrewdness—while the other, Al Simmonds, -was robust but not stout and had a shock of wavy -black hair, and the depressed face of a man who knew -that he was hoodwinking himself, in his life and -thoughts, but could not spy any other recourse. In -their neatly pressed and creased gray suits, both of -the men looked as though their objective were the immaculate -erasure of individuality.</p> - -<p>The conversation reverberated with continual laughter. -The men expected each other to utter wise-cracks, -and digs at each other’s weaknesses, and humorous -tales, and each one was constantly egging the other -on to self-surpassing retorts. The women were not -expected to do much except listen, and laugh or smile -at the right places, and join in the intervals of more -placid gossip about theatrical people, and indicate a -sexual responsiveness without becoming demonstrative -(sex would have been boresome to all of them without -the assumption of gayly parrying uncertainties, even<span class="pagenum" id="Page_144">[144]</span> -though they knew in advance what the night’s outcome -would be, pro or con).</p> - -<p>To Blanche, they were an emptily hilarious lot, out -for the usual things that men and women wanted from -each other, and merely laughing and idling on the way -to them—not at all interested in the big, serious things -of which she had had a revealing glimpse—but they -<i>were</i> funny at times, and it <i>was</i> pleasant to be a young -woman patently desired by men, and the chance to be -amused and self-forgetful for one night was not to be -sneezed at. She joined in the repartee between Kossler -and Donovan.</p> - -<p>“I hear you sold some shirts to Mayor Kelly the -other day,” Donovan said. “One more vote shot to -hell.”</p> - -<p>“I voted for him last time when he bought them from -Sax and Mulberry,” Kossler retorted. “Li’l’ Sol can’t -be corrupted, ’less it’s some one of the other sex, and -even then, corrupted wouldn’t be exactly the word, -y’know.”</p> - -<p>“Yes, interrupted would be better there,” Donovan -replied, as the others laughed.</p> - -<p>“Why d’you want to vote for a fellow like Kelly?” -Blanche asked. “He’s just a wind-bag—always telling -how much he’s going to do for the public, but that’s -where he ends.”</p> - -<p>Kossler lifted his eyebrows—women were not supposed -to be interested in politics (middle-aged club-women, -and professionals in both parties, and socialists -excepted).</p> - -<p>“Now, girlie, what d’you know about it?” he asked,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_145">[145]</span> -indulgently. “They’ve all got to promise a lot—that’s -in the game—but old Kelly’s better than the rest of -them at that. He’s dead honest and he can’t be -bought.”</p> - -<p>“So’s ’n elephant,” Blanche retorted. “You can -buy one cheap at the Bronx zoo and put him up at the -next election.”</p> - -<p>Donovan looked pityingly at her and said: “My -Gawd, another socialist.”</p> - -<p>“I’m not, but I come from the Hell’s-Kitchen district -and I’m wise to politics, all right,” Blanche answered.</p> - -<p>“Everything you say is right with me,” Simmonds -interjected. “It’s a foxy-pass, anyway, to argue with -a woman at a party—you’ll end up by singing: ‘Sitting -in a co-orner, that’s all I do-o.’”</p> - -<p>“Maybe it is,” said Blanche, while the others -laughed.</p> - -<p>Flo and Grace regarded her with a petulant suspicion—she -was of the smart, snippy kind, and furthermore, -she’d better not try to go after <i>their</i> men; they’d -pull her hair out if she did.</p> - -<p>“Now, you all stop razzing my Blanche,” Campbell -broke in. “She’s just a little girl trying to make both -ends connect in the big, wicked city.”</p> - -<p>“Razzing her!—it’s just the other way,” Simmonds -said. “D’you ever balance a hot coal on the tip of -your nose?”</p> - -<p>“It only looks that way—I was out on a party last -night,” Campbell replied. “I heard a good one, though, -the other day. Tom Jarvey was walking along the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_146">[146]</span> -street, and he runs into Hammond, the village cut-up. -‘I hear you was seen walkin’ with your grandmother -the other day—that’s a nice thing to do,’ said Hammond. -Jarvey comes back: ‘She didn’t look that way -when I married her—you know how it is.’”</p> - -<p>The rest of them laughed, and Grace said: “That’s -like the husband I ditched last year. He was a prize-package -until I saw him putting his false toofies in a -glass uh water one night. Hot snakes!”</p> - -<p>“Let’s call it a draw and put the phonograph on, and -fox-trot,” Flo said.</p> - -<p>The party broke into dancing, with regular intervals -in which rounds of cocktails circulated. The silently -dark woman sat on a couch, with a fixed smile, and -occasionally chatted with Donovan, and seemed to -be outside of the party, as though she were viewing -it with a satiated and good-natured patience. Blanche -sat beside her for a short time.</p> - -<p>“You don’t seem to be enjoying yourself,” Blanche -said, “or maybe this is how you do it.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, I’m a good listener, and I don’t dance if I can -help it,” Madge Gowan replied. “I’m not down on the -world, it’s not that, but I like to sit in the audience -now ’n’ then. It’s fine for your nerves and you get a -different slant at what’s going on around you.”</p> - -<p>“I’m a little like that, myself,” Blanche answered, -“but this is my night for mixing in, I guess.”</p> - -<p>Campbell pulled her away for another dance, and -she reflected on the dark woman, through the touch of -haze forming in her own head. Was that the way you<span class="pagenum" id="Page_147">[147]</span> -became around thirty-five, if you couldn’t stay blind -to the world and the people in it?</p> - -<p>The party became more boisterous, and the innuendoes -grew warmer and less attired, and the chorus -girls sat beside Kossler and Simmonds and exchanged -kissing and impolite embraces that were not quite -direct. Donovan had his head on Madge Gowan’s -shoulder, while she caressed his hair. Blanche, who -was standing beside the phonograph, with Campbell’s -arm around her waist, felt confused, and merrily indifferent -to everything except the unsteady exaltation -in her body and the singing carelessness of her emotions. -As she had done so many times before, she made -an effort to pull herself together and resume some portion -of her secret wariness, but the effort was a weak -one, this time, and her “silly,” lightly unarmored feelings -persisted and grew stronger.</p> - -<p>“Let’s leave, Joe dear, I’m so-o-o diz-z-zy,” she -said.</p> - -<p>“Sit down a while, you’ll feel better,” he replied, -leading her to the couch.</p> - -<p>The two chorus girls departed with Kossler and Simmonds, -after a loudly gay <i>mêlée</i> of words had flown -back and forth, and Blanche, by this time, was too -limp and dazed to bid them good-bye. When Donovan -returned from the front door, Blanche had slumped -back upon the couch, and Campbell said: “Darned -if she hasn’t passed out, Jack.”</p> - -<p>Donovan grinned at his friend.</p> - -<p>“We’ll put her on the bed in the spare room and let -her sleep it off. I’m going to turn in, now, with Madge.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_148">[148]</span> -Don’t do anything your mother wouldn’t approve of, -Joe.”</p> - -<p>Madge Gowan rose and looked steadily at Campbell.</p> - -<p>“How about leaving the poor kid alone, to-night?” -she asked.</p> - -<p>“Don’t be foolish, she’s ’n old flame uh mine,” -Campbell answered. “We’ve been crazy about each -other for more than two years now.”</p> - -<p>“Well, let her sleep with me, anyway,” Madge persisted. -“You can see her to-morrow morning.”</p> - -<p>“Now Ma-adge, don’t butt in where it’s not needed,” -said Donovan chidingly.</p> - -<p>“Yes, cut out the guardian-angel stuff,” Campbell -said, in a careless voice. “She’s ’n old sweetie uh mine, -I’m telling you.”</p> - -<p>Madge turned and looked down at Blanche, in a -dully sad way.</p> - -<p>“Oh, well, it’s no business of mine,” she said.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>When Blanche woke up on the next morning, she -looked at the strange room with an uncomprehending, -ferocious ache in her head. Then, in a detached fashion, -incidents of the past night began to bob up in her -head, and she pieced them slowly together, in a stumbling, -erratic way. She’d met Campbell and gone to a -party with him, and then she had become drunk and -everything had grown slowly darker. She remembered -vaguely that she had begged him to take her -home.... Then, an indefinable stirring within her<span class="pagenum" id="Page_149">[149]</span> -heart told her what had happened.... So, he had -sneaked off, afraid to face her now—the coward, the -coward. But perhaps he was still in the place, and ... -where was she, anyway? She opened the door and -walked unsteadily down the hallway. Yes, this was the -same parlor where the party had taken place—same -piano and furniture. Perhaps Campbell was sleeping in -another room in the apartment.</p> - -<p>She returned to the room that she had left, and sat -down. The pain in her head gave an added edge to -the anger within her. The skulking meanness of it—oh, -she’d love to break his head in two! Then another -voice within her said: “You know perfectly well that’s -what almost any man’ll do, ’specially ’f he’s drunk, as -well as you are. Don’t act like a school-kid—you knew -it all the time, but you kept on drinking last night, -long past your limit ... fool.”</p> - -<p>Her anger against Campbell subsided to a more -practical disgust. If she had loved him, she would -not have minded this finale, but as it was she felt like -a swindled imbecile. Campbell would have to be put -in his place once more, and treated with a cool aloofness. -He had benefited by an accident wedded to her -own weakness, and the only grim satisfaction left would -be to ignore him from now on. She didn’t blame him, -particularly—all men seemed to be cut out of the same -stuff—but it would have to be impressed upon him -that his victory had been an empty one, and that she -was still her own mistress. After all, she still felt intact -and undisturbed—it would take more than a -dozen Campbells to break her spirit—and she would<span class="pagenum" id="Page_150">[150]</span> -sever her relations with him merely as a matter-of-fact -self-protection.</p> - -<p>When she had washed, and dressed herself, she -walked back to the parlor and pulled back the shades -at the window, and looked down at the street far below. -It was crowded with people and vehicles—the hour -might be around noon. She glanced back at a clock -on the top of the sideboard. Eleven-thirty—she would -have to telephone the “Parlor” and give them the old -illness-excuse.... Where had every one disappeared -to—where was Donovan, who lived in the apartment? -She heard the front door close, and she sat down, -waiting, and shrinking a little ... she didn’t care to -meet any one at this exact moment. Campbell walked -into the parlor, and when he saw her, he greeted her -with a solicitous joviality.</p> - -<p>“We-ell, there she is—fresh as a daisy ’n’ everything,” -he said. “I’ve bought some stuff and we’ll -cook breakfast on Jack’s little electric stove. He’s -still dead to the world, I guess.”</p> - -<p>She rose from the chair, without answering, and -walked to the hallway, where she removed her coat and -hat from the rack and started to put them on. He -followed her and dropped a hand on her shoulder.</p> - -<p>“Now, what’s up?” he asked.</p> - -<p>“We’re never going to see each other again,” she -replied, “and I’m not very anxious to talk to you. -I don’t blame you for anything, but you’re not the -kind of a man I’m looking for. You’re just no better -’r worse than most people, that’s all. I’d feel just the -same about it ’f you hadn’t acted like you did. I held<span class="pagenum" id="Page_151">[151]</span> -on to you because you could make me laugh and forget -my troubles, but I knew it couldn’t last much longer.”</p> - -<p>“Don’t act like desp’rate Tessie in a movie-film,” -he said. “Come on, sit down and let’s talk it over. -Nothing so terrible has happened.”</p> - -<p>“I’m not worrying about what happened,” she answered. -“’F I cared for you I wouldn’t give it a -thought. I don’t, though, and there’d be no use in -risking a second dose of the same fool stunt. We’ll -call it quits now, and stop seeing each other.”</p> - -<p>“Well, I’ve got something to tell you, and it won’t -hurt you to sit down a minute and listen,” he urged.</p> - -<p>“All right, just a few minutes, and then I’ll be going,” -she said, wearily.</p> - -<p>They sat on opposite chairs in the parlor, and as -he looked at her, an irresistible impulse came to him. -She certainly did have a marvelous spirit and independence—no -girl of his acquaintance had ever acted -with such a careless, untouched remoteness on the -morning after, unless she was a plain hooker—not in -a way that convinced you of its genuineness, at any -rate—and, strangely enough, as he sat here now, she -was still as desirable as she had ever been. Well, -guess he would have to take the plunge—you couldn’t -resist it forever. The old chain-and-jail wind-up.</p> - -<p>“I want you to marry me, Blanche,” he said. “I’ll -go down to the Municipal Building with you this afternoon, -and we’ll get the license. I mean every word of -it. You’re an ace-high full to me and I can’t give you -up. I guess I’ve always been in love with you, but -I didn’t want to admit it to myself. You’ll marry me<span class="pagenum" id="Page_152">[152]</span> -to-day and we’ll live happy ever afterwards, just like -they do in the books.”</p> - -<p>He looked at her with a confident, admiring smile, -as though her assent were predetermined. She arose -and smiled pityingly at him, as she tucked her hair -beneath her hat.</p> - -<p>“Listen, Joe, I wouldn’t marry you on a bet,” she -replied. “You prob’bly think I’ve been egging you on -to ask me all the time, and there’s where you’ve made -a big mistake, Joe Campbell. ’F I ever marry any -man I’ll have to be wild about him, and ’f I am, I -won’t even care so much whether he marries me ’r not. -And, what’s more, I’ll have to have a pile of respect -for his mind, and I’ll have to feel like listening to what -he says, all the time.”</p> - -<p>He stared at her, without answering.</p> - -<p>“Well, it’s no use talking any more,” she said. “So -long, Joe, I’m going now.”</p> - -<p>He had expected that she would first doubt the -sincerity of his proposal and then eagerly accept him. -He still believed that she was merely leading him on, -to revenge herself, and that all of her words had been -said for their effect, and that she only wanted him to -be persistently begging and humble. He followed her -into the hallway, and caught her arm.</p> - -<p>“I’m sorry for what happened last night,” he said. -“I’ll make it up to you, Blan. I mean it, dear. I’m -crazy about you, and I want to make you happy, and -I’ll do anything you say. Why, I’ll even stop drinking, -if you say the word. You’ve just got to marry me,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_153">[153]</span> -you’ve got to, Blanche. You know you care for me, -you know you do.”</p> - -<p>“You’d better guess again, Joe,” she said, coolly, -as she broke away from him. “I’m not going to see -you again, and what’s more, don’t pester me with any -’phone-calls ’r letters, either. It won’t do you a bit of -good.... Good-bye, and good luck, old boy.”</p> - -<p>It gave her a surface thrill to slap his face in this -dramatic and careless fashion. He thought that he -was a precious catch, didn’t he? Well, he might lose -some of his huge conceit after she had finished with -him.</p> - -<p>He caught her arm once more.</p> - -<p>“Come on, you’ve razzed me enough now, haven’t -you?” he asked. “I’ve been taking it like a man, but -don’t smear it on so thick. Come on, be good to me, -Blanche.”</p> - -<p>She broke away again and walked swiftly down the -hallway. He started after her and then halted, still -and perplexed, as she reached the door. Then a rage -quickly possessed him—imagine, this hussy turning -<i>him</i> down after he had been really anxious to make -amends.</p> - -<p>“All right, then, you can go to hell for all I care,” -he called after her, as she was passing through the -doorway.</p> - -<p>She made no reply as she slammed the door behind -her—he could have said that immediately and spared -himself the trouble of his other words. These men, -they thought that all they had to do was to utter the -magical words—ma-arry me—and a girl would be delighted<span class="pagenum" id="Page_154">[154]</span> -at the rare, luring condescension and instantly -fall into their arms. Well, perhaps he wouldn’t be quite -so conceited from now on—the cheap sneak. When -she married a man it would be soberly and of her own -free will, because she longed to hear his words, and be -physically near him, and because she looked up to his -mental gifts, and good taste, and re-fine-ment. Oh, -ye-es, in a way she was an idiot for not having accepted -<i>Campbell’s</i> proposal, since he could certainly have -given the leisure and opportunities which she craved, -but ... she’d be damned if <i>she</i> would ever marry a -man just because she was ashamed to leave him on the -day after a drunken party!</p> - -<p>After she had telephoned the “Parlor” and told -Madame Jaurette that she could not come down because -of an intense toothache, she returned to her -home. Her mother had gone to the butcher shop and -Mabel was sitting alone in the living-room.</p> - -<p>“Well, sma-artie, where’ve you been all night?” -Mabel asked. “Ma was in a awful stew about you—she -was gonna call up the p’lice, but I stopped her. -An’ <i>pa</i>, he’s gonna ask you <i>some</i> questions when he gets -back, believe me.”</p> - -<p>“What’s all the fuss about?” Blanche asked, wearily. -“I went to a wild party and passed out, and they had -to let me sleep there overnight.”</p> - -<p>“An’ Joe Campbell, he got lost in the crush, ’r else -he went back to his place to sleep, I s’pose,” Mabel -answered, sarcastically. “You c’n tell it to ma but not -to me. I never thought you’d give in to him that easy, -Blan. He hasn’t asked you to marry him, has he?”</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_155">[155]</span>“Yes, but I turned him down,” Blanche replied.</p> - -<p>“Turned him down—well, of all the fool things,” -Mabel cried. “I’ll bet you’re jes’ sayin’ you did ’cause -you don’t want to admit what a simp you’ve been.”</p> - -<p>“No, it’s true ... he wanted to marry me right this -afternoon.”</p> - -<p>Mabel was silent for a moment, as she regarded her -sister with an irritated surprise, and then she said: -“You’ve got me guessing. Here’s a fine fella, not so -bad-lookin’ either, an’ you’ve been goin’ with him, off -and on, f’r over two years, an’ he’s got loads of -money, an’ ... you won’t marry him. There’s darn few -fellas that’ll ask a girl right after they’ve slipped one -over on her. What’re you waitin’ for, anyway?”</p> - -<p>“Not for anything you could understand,” Blanche -responded. “When I marry a man I’m going to love -him first—that’s what you can’t get into your head—and -it’ll have to be real love, too, and not just because -he has a handsome face and knows how to kid now and -then.”</p> - -<p>“Then why’d you stay with Joe last night?” Mabel -asked. “’F you’re so darn up’n the air about it, you -didn’t have to peel your clothes off f’r a fella you don’t -care about.”</p> - -<p>“I passed out of the picture, and the next thing I -knew it was morning,” Blanche said, trying to be patient -with this querulous, unseeing sister of hers, but -feeling a rising strain.</p> - -<p>It was bad enough that it had happened—why did -she have to paw over the details?</p> - -<p>“Well, he played a dirty, rotten trick on you then,”<span class="pagenum" id="Page_156">[156]</span> -Mabel answered, indignantly, “an’ ’f it was me, I’d sure -get back at him some way. ’F I didn’t wanna marry -him, then I’d scare him outa his wits an’ make him -come across with plenty uh money, I would. ’R else -I’d see he was sent to the hospital f’r a nice, long -stretch.”</p> - -<p>“It was my fault just’s much as his,” Blanche replied, -dully. “No man’s ’n angel, and a girl shouldn’t -get drunk with him ’f she doesn’t want to go the limit. -I can usually take care of myself, but I took too many -cocktails last night. I was feeling blue and forgot when -to stop. ’F you want to do me a favor, then you’ll talk -about something else. I’ll never see him again, and -he doesn’t matter to me.”</p> - -<p>“Try an’ talk to you,” Mabel responded, disgustedly. -“The last person you ever look out f’r is yourself. -You ought to be sent to the booby-hatch!”</p> - -<p>Blanche went into her room without answering ... -what was the use? Mabel meant well enough, but she -couldn’t see that money and gay times and “getting -back” at people were not the only things in the world.</p> - -<p>When her mother returned, Blanche pretended to be -asleep, and she remained upon her bed until evening, -with all her thoughts darting about and then hopelessly -evaporating, and with occasional intervals of semi-drowsiness. -When she came to the supper-table, where -the remainder of her family were seated, the firing -started.</p> - -<p>“Well, give an account uh yourself,” her father said. -“Where was you till twelve this morning?”</p> - -<p>“I stayed with some friends,” Blanche answered—she<span class="pagenum" id="Page_157">[157]</span> -wasn’t <i>afraid</i> to tell them the truth, of course not, -but she wanted to avoid the senseless wrangling, and -the loud accusations, and the outraged advice that -would ensue if she did. “I drank a little too much and -I had to sleep it off, that’s all.”</p> - -<p>“An’ how about Campbell—was he with you?” her -father asked, gruffly.</p> - -<p>“He was gone when I woke up this morning,” -Blanche answered, seeking only to brush aside her -father’s words.</p> - -<p>“Well, it sounds damn fishy to me,” her father replied. -“’F he did anything wrong to you I’ll have it -out with him, and he’ll have to marry you then, ’f -he knows what’s good f’r him.”</p> - -<p>“That’s what I say,” Harry broke in. “I like Joe -all right, but he’d better go slow with any sister uh -mine, I don’t care ’f he was the Gov’ner himself!”</p> - -<p>“You’re getting terribly concerned about me all -at once, aren’t you?” Blanche asked, speaking to -Harry. “You’d better not jump at conclusions—you -don’t know a thing about it.”</p> - -<p>“I’ll make it my business to find out,” Harry answered, -looking steadily at her.</p> - -<p>“Well, I’m gonna stick up f’r Blanie this time,” -Mabel said. “You’re both makin’ a big fuss about -nothin’, an’ what’s more, you’ve got no right to be -sayin’ she’s a bad girl. You oughta be ashamed uh -yourselves. All she did was stay overnight with some -people she knew ’cause she wasn’t in no condition to -come home. I’ve done it myself, once ’r twice, an’ you -never waded into me. Blanche may be a nut in some<span class="pagenum" id="Page_158">[158]</span> -ways but she’s not fool enough to let Joe Campbell -put it over on her, an’ you oughta believe her.”</p> - -<p>Blanche gave her sister a grateful, surprised look—Mabel -did have a good streak in her, in spite of her -blind reproaches.</p> - -<p>“I’m not accusin’ her of anythin’,” the father said, -impressed by this defense from his favorite daughter. -“I only wanted to find out what happened, like any -father would. ’S a matter uh fact, you’d both better -cut out all this booze you’re swillin’. ’F you don’t, -you’ll wake up some fine mornin’ an’ find yourselves -in f’r it.”</p> - -<p>“An’ they oughta stay home more, too,” the mother -said, breaking in with her endless complaint, not because -she hoped to effect anything, but merely to -maintain her position. “I was worried to death, I was, -when I got up this mornin’ an’ Blanie wasn’t here. -You never can tell what’ll happen to a girl, you never. -Don’t I read all kindsa things in the paper ev’ry day—murders -’n’ rapes ’n’ what not!”</p> - -<p>“I’ll see that they stay home—they’re runnin’ too -loose to suit me, these days,” the father replied.</p> - -<p>He knew that he would do nothing of the kind, but -the words soothed his sense of authority.</p> - -<p>When the supper was finished, Blanche put on her -hat and coat, and said: “I’m going out for a walk. -I’ll be back early, I guess.”</p> - -<p>“You’d better,” her father responded. “I won’t -swallow another stayin’ over with friends story, this -time.”</p> - -<p>Blanche turned away without replying—words,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_159">[159]</span> -words, and what did they all amount to? Threats, and -promises, and “reasons” ... and people scarcely ever -meant them.</p> - -<p>After she had left the apartment she strolled aimlessly -up one street and down another, craving the -motion that could add a fillip to the dullness of her -thoughts. Would she ever meet people who could -help her, and who would understand her longings and -prod her with worthwhile criticisms and encouragements—people, -for instance, as superior to Rosenberg -as Rosenberg had been to the rest of the men whom -she knew? How could she run across them?... As -she walked along, different men stopped beside her -for a moment, with their “Nice evening, isn’t it?” -and “You look sorta lonesome, how about it?” and -“Pardon me, but haven’t I met you somewhere before?” -and “D’you mind if I talk to you a while?” -Sometimes they called to her from automobiles, but -they were merely irritating reminders of a real and -grossly intruding world, and she ignored them—it -never paid to take a chance, for they always turned -out to be common and cheap. It stood to reason—why -would an enticing man be so “hard up” that he would -have to solicit women on the street?</p> - -<p>She didn’t know where she was going, but she -wanted to imagine that she was searching for some destination -that would greet her unexpectedly—a vague, -half-laughed-at hope—and she kept on strolling down -the hard, flatly dirty, noisy streets.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_160">[160]</span></p> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_161">[161]</span> -<p class="ph3">PART TWO</p> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_162">[162]</span></p> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_163">[163]</span> -<h2 class="nobreak">PART TWO</h2> -</div> - - -<p><span class="smcap">The</span> night became thickly intense, and all the angular -details and flat expanses of each street—neither -hideous nor beautiful but vapidly and rigidly perched -in between—took on the least touch of glamor. Some -semblance of a darkly plaintive heart began to sway -and quiver within the scene, as though the essence -of all these human beings pacing down the sidewalks -and sitting or standing in shops, cars, and restaurants, -had joined the night and formed another quality—expectations, -illusions, and promises, all electric in the -air. The harshly dreamless industries and shallow -loiterings of the day were replaced by an effort at -romance, soiled but persistent, and a sensual pride -preening itself with gallantries, and a confusion of -cruel or softly dozing confidences.</p> - -<p>The moving-picture theaters, in dots of red, yellow, -blue, and green light, made proclamations of spurious, -quickly attained love, adventure, and suspense; the -United Cigar Stores, framed by red and gold, displayed -their mild, brown opiates, while within them -deferential clerks catered to jovial or importantly sullen -men and women; the restaurants, with food heaped -in their windows, and glistening fronts, were filled -with people intent upon turning a prosy stuffing into an -elaborate, laughing ritual; and even the Greek lunch-rooms,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_164">[164]</span> -with their stools beside half-dirty glass counters, -and nickel coffee-urns, assumed a hang-dog grin.</p> - -<p>Taxicabs in all the cardinal colors darted about, -like feverish insects serving human masters, and the -people in them—lazy, or impatient, or bored, or out -for a lark—made a blur of faces sometimes glimpsed -more distinctly as the cabs stopped or slowed down. -Policemen in dark blue uniforms stood at street-crossings, -with tired aggressiveness, looking for a chance -to invest their flunky-rôles with a rasping authority. -Motor-trucks lurched along like drab monsters barely -held in leash. Lights were everywhere—in shops, on -iron poles in the streets, mellowly staring from upper -windows—desperately seeking to dismiss the darkly -fearful mystery of the surrounding night, but never -quite overcoming it.</p> - -<p>Street-cars and “L” trains crawled on, soddenly -packed with under-dogs going to their dab of rest or -crude pleasure. A roar was in the air, with immediate, -sharp sounds trailing out into it—a complaining, -shackled savage floating up from the scene. The large -buildings were without individuality, except that some -of them rose vertically above the others, and in their -dull shades of red, brown, and gray, they would all -have presented a yawning, meanly barrack-like effect -but for the relieving fancy of their lights. Even the -perpendicular strength of the skyscrapers was marred -by filigreed and overcorniced lines.</p> - -<p>To Blanche, the scene was a <i>mêlée</i> of delightful possibilities -always just eluding her, and obnoxious intrusions -only too ready to seek her arm. She realized<span class="pagenum" id="Page_165">[165]</span> -the transforming effect of the night and said to herself: -“Say, I’d never do all this walking if it was -daytime—funny, how everything gets more attractive -when the night trots along. Guess you can’t see -things so clear then.... Better chance to kid yourself -along.”</p> - -<p>As she strolled through the outskirts of Greenwich -Village her legs began to feel heavy, and the past -hour seemed to be nothing more than a long, senseless -walk taken within the confines of a large trap. -The light, hazy sensation of searching oozed slowly -out of her body and was replaced by the old hopelessness.</p> - -<p>She stopped in front of a batik-shop window and -looked at the soft, intricately veined gaudiness of -the smocks, blouses, and scarves. “Sorta crazy, yes, -but she’d like to wear them—they suited her mood.” -Another girl was standing beside Blanche, and the -other turned her head and said: “Aren’t they beauties, -though. I’d just love to buy that purple and -green smock there in the corner.”</p> - -<p>“I like the blue one better—the one right next to -yours,” Blanche answered naturally, but she looked -closely at the other girl.</p> - -<p>It was not unusual for strange girls to speak to you -when they were either lonely or just brightly interested -in some little thing, but still you had to be -careful—sometimes they were “fast” players with -men, in need of a feminine accomplice, or grafters intent -on securing some favor or loan. The other girl -had a slender torso and almost slender legs, with all<span class="pagenum" id="Page_166">[166]</span> -of her plumpness crowded in the buttocks and upper -thighs. She had singed butterflies on her face and they -gave a light, fluttering pain to her smiles. She had the -rarity of large blue eyes on a duskily pale brown face, -and small, loosely parted lips, and a slight hook on -the upper part of her nose, and curly bobbed brown -hair. In her tan coat trimmed with dark fur, scarlet -turban, and multicolored silk scarf, she seemed to be -a dilettantish, chippy girl, just graduated from the -flapper class.</p> - -<p>Blanche noticed something “different” in the other -girl and answered her more readily as they continued -their talk.</p> - -<p>“D’you live in the Village?” the other girl asked.</p> - -<p>“No, I’m from uptown,” Blanche answered. “I’ve -heard lots about it, though. I’d like to meet some of -the int’resting artists and writers down here. There -must be all kinds of them in the tearooms and places -like that.”</p> - -<p>The other girl gave her a pitying look.</p> - -<p>“All kinds of fakers, you mean,” she replied. “They -know how to brag about themselves, but that’s where -it ends.”</p> - -<p>“But I thought this was the part of town where -real artists ’n’ writers came together,” Blanche persisted. -“Of course, I didn’t believe they were all great -ones, but I did believe they were all trying to do -something, well, different, you know.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, there <i>are</i> some down here, but you don’t -usually find them in the showplaces or tearooms,” the -other girl answered, as she and Blanche walked down<span class="pagenum" id="Page_167">[167]</span> -the street. “Those places are for the mediocrities, and -the pretenders, and the students ... and, oh, yes, the -slummers. People from uptown hunting for something -gayly wicked.”</p> - -<p>“I suppose you think I’m a foolish slummer, too,” -Blanche said, “but I’m not. I’ve just been walking -along and thinking things over. I didn’t realize where -I was.”</p> - -<p>“I wasn’t being personal,” the other girl replied. -“I sort of like the way you talk. Suppose we introduce -ourselves to each other?”</p> - -<p>They traded names and the other girl, Margaret -Wheeler, went on: “You know, strangers are always -supposed to distrust each other, but I can’t be annoyed. -Every once in a while I talk to some girl on the -street, and I’ve started a couple of interesting friendships -that way. I’m not a Lesbian and I haven’t any -other designs upon you.”</p> - -<p>“Why, I don’t distrust you at all,” Blanche answered. -“I can take care of myself and I suppose you -can, too. You talk like you were intelligent, and I’d -like to know you better, that’s all.”</p> - -<p>“Thanks,” said Margaret. “I would be fairly intelligent, -if I didn’t let some male make an idiot out of me -every few months. I’m in love with some one now, but -it’ll wind up like all the others.”</p> - -<p>“You make me feel envious,” Blanche replied. “I -don’t think I’ve ever really loved any fellow.”</p> - -<p>“Are you joking?” Margaret asked.</p> - -<p>“No, that’s straight.”</p> - -<p>“Well, I’m going on twenty-five now, and I couldn’t<span class="pagenum" id="Page_168">[168]</span> -count the infatuations I’ve had. I’m not as easy as -I used to be, though. Once upon a time, if a man had -a straight nose, and blond hair, and could recite poetry -and make me believe it was his, that was all I needed. -But no-ow, a man must have some real subtlety, and -ability, and wittiness, before I pay any attention to -him.”</p> - -<p>“That’s just the kind I’ve been looking for,” Blanche -answered. “Where on earth do you find them?”</p> - -<p>“Nowhere in particular—it’s a matter of luck. And -don’t forget that a girl must be unusual herself before -she can attract unusual men, unless they’re just -anxious to have a party with her.”</p> - -<p>“Yes, that’s where I’d lose out,” Blanche said, -heavily. “I’m just a ha-air dresser in a beauty parlor, -that’s all.”</p> - -<p>“You certainly don’t talk like one. Maybe you’ve -never had much of a chance to be anything different.”</p> - -<p>“You said it”—Blanche’s voice was low and depressed.</p> - -<p>“Well, I’m only a steno myself,” Margaret answered, -“but I’m taking a course in short-story writing at Herbert -College—three nights a week. I want to tear -off the old veils and tell what people do to each -other.”</p> - -<p>“Say, maybe I could join it, too,” Blanche replied, -eagerly. “I’m not so strong on grammar, though—stopped -in my first year at high and went to work.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, you can pound <i>that</i> part of it into you. The -main thing’s whether you have something to say—something -that’s not just ordinary and hackneyed.”</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_169">[169]</span>“I think I have, but ... how do I know,” Blanche -asked, uncertainly.</p> - -<p>They had stopped in front of a tearoom with a -multicolored wooden sign under an electric light.</p> - -<p>“Here’s Clara’s—one of my hangouts,” Margaret -said. “I’m going in to meet my blond-haired devastator. -Won’t you come along?”</p> - -<p>“Perhaps I’ll be in the way.”</p> - -<p>“Nothing of the kind—I’ll introduce you to some -of the people I know.”</p> - -<p>They entered the place, which occupied the first -floor of a two-storey, attic-topped, brick house. -Kitchen tables and chairs painted pale green and -vermilion lined the walls. Paintings and drawings -were hung everywhere—cubistic plagiarisms, slovenly -sketches, and illustrations meant for the average -magazine’s check book but not quite reaching it—and -a semidim light came from stained-glass bowls hung -from the low ceiling. Some fifteen men and women -were scattered around the two rooms, and a portable -phonograph in the corner was whining one of the -latest fox-trot insinuations—“He Never Gets Tired -of Me, No, Boy, Just Never Gets Tired of Me-ee.”</p> - -<p>Three men and a woman at a table effusively greeted -Margaret, and after she had introduced Blanche, the -two girls sat down with the others. The third girl, -Dora Ruvinsky, was an unsymmetrically fat Jewess, -with a thin-lipped but salacious face and a shorn disorder -of black hair. Her sex had yielded to a cunning -nightmare of masculinity, and she wore a stiff white -collar, a red cravat, and a man’s vest and coat. She<span class="pagenum" id="Page_170">[170]</span> -spoke in a husky drawl and perpetually slapped the -shoulders of the men beside her. They regarded her -with tolerance contending against a slight aversion.</p> - -<p>One of them, Max Oppendorf, a blond-haired man -of thirty, plied her with whisky from a hip-bottle and -strove to trap her into feminine reactions and remarks, -as though he were coldly and listlessly playing -with a desperately hypocritical insect. His narrow, -pale, blue-eyed face glanced around the tables with -pity and repugnance somehow fused into its expression. -A recognized poet and novelist, he was nevertheless -known as a distinguished outcast, ostracized, -attacked, and hated by literary and dilettantish -groups of every variety because of his skillful-tongued -independence, his careless violations of etiquettes -and conventions, and the ravages of his unorthodox -intellect. His clothes were shabby but not -quite untidy, and as he frequently closed his eyes -while speaking, he displayed the contradictory guise -of an aristocratic vagabond.</p> - -<p>Men almost invariably detested him, while the reactions -of the women who met him were evenly divided -into a distrustful resentment in one camp and a -loyal adoration in the other. His armor was invulnerable, -save when he became hopelessly drunk, in -which condition he either savagely denounced and -affronted the people around him or became unwontedly -indulgent and gave them simulations of sentimentality -and affectionate attention. These abdications -sprang from his innate indifference to life and most -of its people. Sincerely believing that most men and<span class="pagenum" id="Page_171">[171]</span> -women were beclouded, unsearching, and cruelly -<i>gauche</i> children, alcohol made his indifference to them -more indulgently intent upon distracting itself, and, -when drunk, he stooped to them with loud, mock-arguments, -and exuberant caresses. He felt a moderate -degree of tenderness toward Margaret Wheeler, who -appealed to him as an honest grappler, more unreserved -and mentally edged than most other girls of her -age and occupation. She was violently in love with -him, and they spoke together in tones that were almost -whispers, and stroked each other’s hands.</p> - -<p>The second man, Bob Trussel—a gorgeously effeminate -youth who was known in Village circles for his -not-quite-Beardsleyesque black and whites—conversed -with Dora, while the third, Ben Helgin, talked to -Blanche.</p> - -<p>Ben was a robustly tall man in his early thirties, -with a huge, half-bald head, and dark-brown hair inclined -to be frizzly. His long, pointed nose, severely -arched eyebrows, and widely thin lips gave him the -look of a complacent, pettily cruel Devil—a street -urchin who had donned the mask of Mephistopheles -but could not quite conceal the leer of a boy intent -upon practical jokes and small tormentings. He was -a master in the arts of dramatic exaggeration and belittling, -never quite telling the truth and never quite -lying, and his immeasurable vanity made him always -determined to dominate any conversation. He had an -Oriental volubility, and people would often sit beside -him for an hour or more and vainly seek to insert a -beginning remark or express an uninterrupted opinion.</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_172">[172]</span>One of his favorite devices was to tell anecdotes -about men of his acquaintance, in which the men were -invariably depicted in a childish, ridiculous, or inferior -posture, while he gloated over and embellished the details -of their fancied discomfiture, with a great assumption -of sympathy for the victims. Living in a dream-world -entirely of his own making, he loved to flirt with -visions, conquests, world-shaking concepts, and child-like -boasts. On one morning he would appear among -his friends, describing some plan or idea with a cyclonic -enthusiasm, and on the very next afternoon no -trace of it would remain within his mind. Again, he -would loll in an armchair and announce that a famous -actress of forty had implored him to reside with her -and to become the leading man in her next play, but -he would neglect to mention that the lady in question -was renowned for her generous impulses and included -truck-drivers and cigar-clerks in her overtures. These -impositions caused most people to regard him as an -eel-like <i>poseur</i>, when they were removed from the -persuasive sorceries of his words, and they failed to see -that his gigantic egotism had sincerely hoaxed itself -into the rôle of a flitting and quickly ennuied conqueror.</p> - -<p>For years he had followed the luring dream of -amassing a large fortune through the creation of dexterously -dishonest stories, plays, and press-agent campaigns, -and while he had accumulated thousands of -dollars in these ways, the dream of wealth persistently -refused to be captured. He lacked the grimly plodding, -blind instinct necessary for such a goal, and his financial -harvests were always quickly gathered and dissipated.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_173">[173]</span> -This babbling immersion in the garnering of -money, however, gave him the paradoxical air of an -esthetic Babbitt.</p> - -<p>His serious literary creations were original and sardonic -at their best, but frequently marred by a journalistic -glibness which led him into shallow and redundant -acrobatics, or facetious saunterings.</p> - -<p>He had known Max Oppendorf for nine years, and -they had passed through a comical fanfare of recriminations, -friendly invitations, sneers, and respects. -Oppendorf secretly disliked him but was at times fascinated -by his charming pretenses of <i>camaraderie</i>, and -the quickness of his mind. At one time, the poet had -broken off with Helgin for three years—a withdrawal -caused by his discovery of the other man’s peculiar and -somewhat incredible sense of humor. Penniless, and -afflicted with incipient tuberculosis, Oppendorf had -written to his friend and asked for the loan of two -hundred dollars. A special-delivery letter had flown -back to him, containing an unctuously sympathetic -note and announcing the enclosure of a two-hundred-dollar -check. The rest of the envelope had been empty, -however, and believing that the absence of the check -was merely an absent-minded error, he dispatched another -letter which apprised his friend of the oversight. -In response, Helgin had sent him the following -telegram: “It was a nice joke—hope you enjoyed it -as much as I did.”</p> - -<p>Helgin had a sincere admiration for the other man’s -work and a veiled, malicious aversion to the poet’s personal -side. To him, Oppendorf’s life held a supreme<span class="pagenum" id="Page_174">[174]</span> -taunt which had to be demolished with falsehoods and -ridicule. The poet’s unbroken flaunting of moralities, -conventions, and compromises, reminded Helgin that -his own life had not been equally courageous and defiant, -in spite of his endless written shots at average -people and their fears, and that, in his personal existence, -he had frequently prostrated himself before the -very observances which he pilloried, or laughed at, in -his books and conversation. This specter could only -be slain by the effort to jeer at the opposite man’s episodes -with men and women, and to hold them forth as -clownish and unrewarded capers.</p> - -<p>As Helgin sat now, in the boisterous and tawdrily -glassy tearoom, he spoke to Blanche with the gracious -casualness which he always publicly affected with -women. It was a part of his jovially invincible pose -to insinuate that he could have been a perfect libertine -had he chosen to follow that denounced profession, and -that his enormous sexual attractiveness was held in -bondage only by his lack of desire and his ability to -peer through the entire, violent fraud of sex itself. In -the dream-world of his own making, through which -he moved, loftily but genially immune to all criticisms, -adulations, and importunities, women were the potential -vassals whom he disdained to hire.</p> - -<p>On the night previous to the present one, his second -wife had departed on a visit to her family in a distant -city, and he had telephoned Oppendorf and arranged -a meeting, prodded by one of the irregular impulses in -which his respect for the other man overcame his -opposite feelings of envy and aversion. Now, he sat<span class="pagenum" id="Page_175">[175]</span> -and chatted with Blanche while she listened with an -almost abject attention. This great writer, whose pictures -she had run across on the literary pages of newspapers, -and in magazines, was actually seated beside -her and speaking to her—it could scarcely be true! -She recalled that Rosenberg had often lauded Helgin, -and that a year previous she had read one of the latter -man’s novels and had liked its “difficult,” thumb-twiddling -style and disliked its patronizing, pitying -attitude toward the feminine characters. Well, when -men wrote about women, or women about men, they -never seemed able to become quite fair to each other. -They were always mushy and lenient, on one side, or -sneering and unsympathetic on the other. She voiced -this thought to Helgin, who advised her to cease -searching for an unhappy medium. To him, she presented -the figure of a worried, heavily questioning -peasant girl, dressed and manicured for a more polite -rôle, and he had a whim to lure her into expectant -admirations and play with her stumbling hungers and -wonderings. Usually, he did not waste his time on such -girls—they were more to Oppendorf’s liking—but for -the space of one night he could afford to risk the impending -boredom in a more unassuming manner.</p> - -<p>“You must get Oppie to compliment you,” he said, -glancing in the poet’s direction. “He does it perfectly. -Women cry for it, babies smile, old ladies jump out of -their chairs. Come on, Oppie, say something about -Miss Palmer’s hair. What does it remind you of? A -startled ghost of dawn, the visible breath of afternoon?”</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_176">[176]</span>Oppendorf turned from his whisperings with Margaret, -and smiled—a patient but slightly threatening -smile.</p> - -<p>“Are you ordering a tailormade suit or buying a -box of cigars?” he asked, sweetly.</p> - -<p>“The comparison isn’t quite fair to your poetry, -Oppie,” Helgin answered, in the same sweet voice.</p> - -<p>“Monseigneur Helgin, apostle of fairness, sympathy, -and tolerance—know any other good ones, Ben?”—the -poet’s smile shone like a sleeping laugh.</p> - -<p>“Your hair is like a tortured midnight—that was -a nice line, Oppie,” Helgin answered pensively, as he -ignored the other man’s thrust.</p> - -<p>“The actual phrase happens to be ‘transfigured midnight,’” -Oppendorf said, in an ominously subdued -voice. “You substituted the word tortured to make -the line meaningless, of course.”</p> - -<p>“Sa-ay, wasn’t that tormented night stuff in The -Duke of Hoboken, Ben’s last novel?” Dora Ruvinsky -asked, poking Oppendorf in the side.</p> - -<p>“Yes, among other frantic mendacities,” Oppendorf -answered, as he looked compassionately at Helgin. -“The ancient Chinese had an excellent proverb: ‘When -your stilettos have failed to penetrate the actual figure, -erect a ludicrous dummy and belabor it with an ax.’”</p> - -<p>“The Chinese usually come to your rescue,” Helgin -retorted, “but you don’t seem to realize that The -Duke of Hoboken is simply a gorgeous and delirious -fantasy. It wasn’t meant to be an actual portrait of -you.”</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_177">[177]</span>“Yes, you were more innocent than you imagined,” -Oppendorf answered, still smiling.</p> - -<p>“Oh, stop all of this polite quarreling, Maxie,” Margaret -interposed, as she looked at Helgin with an open -dislike. “Helgin sits in his little phantom palace, -bo-ored and genial, and when you cave in the walls -he scarcely hears you.”</p> - -<p>“Your own hearing is just a trifle more adoring, -isn’t it?” Helgin asked, as he looked at Margaret with -an expression of complacent malice.</p> - -<p>“Yes, it needs to be, if only to counteract yours,” -Margaret replied, tartly.</p> - -<p>“Call it a draw, and let’s talk about purple chrysanthemums,” -Oppendorf interjected.</p> - -<p>When people persisted in clinging to one subject he -was always reminded of scrubwomen endlessly scouring -a pane of glass, unless the theme was exceptionally -complex.</p> - -<p>“Dear me, can’t I say something else about the -sweet Duke?” Trussel asked, as he stroked his hair -with the fingers of one hand. “It’s screamingly amusing, -really. Lots of the critics have always attacked -Mr. Helgin’s books, you know—called them stilted -and, well, overcynical. That sort of thing. But -no-ow, dear me, what a change! Why, they’re all -simply showering praise on the dear Duke of Hobok’. -Of course, there isn’t any connection between this -change and the fact that little Dukie is supposed to be -a biting caricature of Mr. Oppendorf.”</p> - -<p>“No, of course not,” Oppendorf replied, thoroughly -amused now. “In the same way, three thoughtful<span class="pagenum" id="Page_178">[178]</span> -chorus girls were observed last night, floating in a -huge balloon as they crossed the peninsula of Kamchatka.”</p> - -<p>“People are always talking about the dead,” Helgin -said, in a bored voice. “The indecent vagaries of critics -are not interesting to me. They might be vastly engrossing -to some entomologist, though.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, you’re all a lot of bugs,” Dora said, as she -caressed Margaret’s arm while Margaret regarded her -with a resigned look that said: “Well, I suppose you -<i>must</i> do this.”</p> - -<p>“You’re crazy, and you take yourselves so darn -seriously it gives me a pain!” Dora continued. “Come -on, let’s have another drink and act like human -beings.”</p> - -<p>The conversation changed to a game in which the -others bantered with Dora and laughed at her amiable -but scoffing retorts. Blanche, who had been bewildered -and almost awe-stricken ever since her introduction -to these people, began to listen and observe with a -clearer, though still strongly respectful, attitude. They -were the people whom she had always longed to meet, -and they knew much more than she did, and they were -bold creators while she was only despairing and partly -tongue-tied, ye-es, but still, they were by no means -perfect. They wasted so much time in slamming each -other as cleverly as they could, and while they were -always good-natured about it, you couldn’t fail to spy -the malice beneath at least half of their smiles and -remarks. They never expressed any whole-hearted liking, -or sympathy, or placid interest in their reactions<span class="pagenum" id="Page_179">[179]</span> -toward each other, and their talk reminded her of a -game in which each one strove to make his “comeback” -a little “smarter” and quicker than that of the -others. Yet Oppendorf alone seemed to be different. -The others, with the exception of Margaret, were -always trying to twit or arouse him—something about -him seemed to plague them almost against their will—and -never quite succeeding. His eyes were sleepy -and retiring, and he closed them half of the time -during his conversation. When he laughed or raised -his voice now and then, it was in a jerky way, “like -some one else” was pulling some strings tied to him. -Funny man ... what had given him this air of tired -sadness? Well, at any rate, she could never fall in -love with him—he was too much like a careful ghost!</p> - -<p>The man whom she loved would have to be robust, -and natural, and, well ... sort of eager to be alive, in -spite of the fact that he knew all about the shams -and meannesses which life held. Yes, that was it ... -he’d be glad, and a little hopeful, in spite of all the -rotten things he saw and heard.</p> - -<p>She began to talk more frankly, her tongue loosened -a bit by the two drinks of whisky that Oppendorf -had given her.</p> - -<p>“Say, why don’t all of you just call each other liars -and boobs, and have it over with?” she asked, with -a smile.</p> - -<p>“At an early age, I was confronted by the choice -of using the other side’s tactics now and then or becoming -a hermit,” Oppendorf replied, in his deliberate -way. “I am still direct enough, however, to be ostracized<span class="pagenum" id="Page_180">[180]</span> -by practically every literary party or group in -New York.”</p> - -<p>“I admire your indignation,” Helgin said to Blanche. -“Ride us all on a rail and tell us what vicious double-dealers -we are.”</p> - -<p>He had decided to egg her on for purposes of entertainment. -“It wouldn’t have the least effect on any of you,” -Blanche answered, composedly. “Besides, I’m only a -stranger and I really haven’t any right to criticize. -You’re all doing things—real things that amount to -something—and I’m just a hair-curler in a Beauty -Shop.”</p> - -<p>“Listen, here’s a tip—never be modest when men -are around,” Margaret said, gayly. “They think little -enough of women as it is, and they’re <i>always</i> looking -for a chance to walk over us.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, it’s too much trouble not to be honest,” -Blanche retorted, lightly. “Let them try to wa-alk, -for all I care.”</p> - -<p>“Have you ever written, or painted?” Oppendorf -asked, liking the contradiction of her humble brassiness.</p> - -<p>“I <i>have</i> fooled around with ideas of being a writer, -but I’m afraid I don’t know English well enough for -that,” said Blanche, uncertainly.</p> - -<p>“Don’t take up writing, Miss Palmer—it’s only an -excuse for laziness,” Helgin said. “That’s probably -why so many young people try to toss off stories and -verses. They have just a bit of imagination and they<span class="pagenum" id="Page_181">[181]</span> -don’t like the prospect of slaving in father’s shoe store -or helping mother bake the evening pies.”</p> - -<p>“There must be a more important reason than that,” -Blanche replied, soberly.</p> - -<p>“Yes, it’s barely possible,” Oppendorf interjected. -“It’s a habit with us to take our profession somewhat -flippantly. That’s to avoid giving the impression that -we’re too much in love with ourselves.”</p> - -<p>“Funny, you do manage to give the impression, anyway,” -Blanche answered, as she made a grimace.</p> - -<p>Oppendorf and the others laughed, and Helgin -said: “So, you’ve been carrying that little dagger all -the time. Bright gal.”</p> - -<p>“Not at all—just trying to imitate your style,” -Blanche retorted, merrily.</p> - -<p>The others had been regarding her as a meek and -abashed apprentice in their realms, but now they began -to pelt her with more respectful badinage, with the -exception of Oppendorf, who watched her with a sleepy -stare of approval and remained silent. This girl wasn’t -half stupid at bottom, but just ignorant of many -things.</p> - -<p>The group repaired to Margaret’s nearby studio -and danced to a phonograph and slipped into varying -stages of tipsiness. Helgin did not dance, but sat in -a corner and talked to Blanche. He became mellowly -garrulous and somewhat less malicious, and he regarded -Blanche as a fumbling but slightly diverting -barbarian—diverting for a night or two at least. They -were mildly interesting as long as they clung to their -ferocious sassiness, but they always wound up by<span class="pagenum" id="Page_182">[182]</span> -becoming girlishly wistful, and pleading, and more disrobed. -He began to tell her anecdotes of his past, in -which he was always laughing, penetrating, and triumphant -at somebody else’s expense, and she listened -eagerly. My, but this man certainly knew how -to talk! He was always getting the best of people—you -had to take at least forty per cent off from any -fellow’s claims in that direction—but he really was a -great writer, and he knew so many words and handled -them so gracefully.</p> - -<p>Urged by a perverse whim, he invited Blanche to -come with him to a party which he had promised to -attend on the following night. The affair was to be -a gathering of literary and theatrical celebrities and -near celebrities, together with their latest fads and -fancies in human form, and it might be amusing to -bring this blunt, would-be highbrowish, young hair-dresser -and see whether the assembled pedestals would -overwhelm her.</p> - -<p>While Blanche suspected that he was playing with -her and had only the impulse to grasp a flitting distraction, -she felt delighted at this second opportunity -to meet “famous” writers, and artists, and actors, and -as she accepted the invitation she said to herself: “He -thinks I’m just a snippy nobody, and he wants to show -me off and then see what happens—like letting the -puppy run loose in the parlor. Oh, I know. But what -do I care? I might make friends at this party with -two or three people just as intelligent as he is, and -maybe more honest.”</p> - -<p>While Helgin left her emotionally unaroused, she<span class="pagenum" id="Page_183">[183]</span> -was nevertheless dazed by his vocabulary and his -mental swiftness, which she frequently had to stumble -after, and a little flattered by his talkative attention, -in spite of herself. The genially wise-cracking, quizzically -aloof, and patronizing air, which he never deserted, -irritated her but did not drive away the spell -of her attention. After all, he made Rosenberg, the -most intelligent man in her past, sound like a stuttering, -yearning baby. Funny, how you changed! She had -once looked up to this same Rosenberg, as though he -were a luring and puzzling god. Well, that was life—listening -and clinging to people until you grew beyond -them. The only man whom she could permanently love -would be one always a little superior to her, and urging -her to catch up with him, and kindly waiting a little -now and then, so as not to get too far ahead of her.</p> - -<p>When she reached her home she felt tired but “up in -the air.” A long, hopeless stroll and a chance acquaintanceship -had really led her into a new world—it -was like a fairy tale, wasn’t it? Helgin had -remained in the taxicab, after arranging to meet her -at Margaret’s studio on the following night, and hadn’t -even attempted to hold her hand ... not that that -mattered, though she was a little curious to know how -men of this kind “went about it.”</p> - -<p>He had refrained from touching her because it would -have disrupted his nonchalant posture—the meticulous -avoidance of sexual defeat with which he kept his egotism -intact. He was like a watchman, ever alert in -front of a towering but shaky house of cards.</p> - -<p>It was 2 <span class="allsmcap">A.M.</span> when she entered her bedroom, but<span class="pagenum" id="Page_184">[184]</span> -her mind was still spinning and darting about, in -spite of her physical weariness, and, moved by an -irresistible desire, and a sudden confidence that had -been born from her surprising evening, she took a pad -of paper from one of her bureau drawers and sat up -in bed until 4 <span class="allsmcap">A.M.</span>, writing a sketch of the tearoom -she had visited, and the people within it. The sketch -was crude and at times ungrammatical, but it had an -awkward sense of irony and humor which clung to -small, insufficient words or hugged inappropriately long -ones, and it was filled with clumsily good phrases such -as: “They made a lot of noise and then whispered like -they were ashamed of it,” or “She had small eyes and -they got smaller when she talked,” “She was wearing -a daisy, georgette thing and she acted like it.” Sturdily, -but with little equipment, her thought bent to -the novel wrestle with words on paper, and she felt an -odd, half-uncertain thrill when she had finished the -sketch. Did it have anything to it, or was it entirely -bad? Well, she’d show it to Helgin or Oppendorf on -the next night and get ready for the old cleaver. -Nothing like trying, anyway, and curiously, she felt -a beautiful relief now, as though she had emptied herself -for the first time in a way that approached satisfaction.</p> - -<p>On the next day she was drowsy but cheerful at the -Beauty Parlor, managing somehow to stagger through -the quick-fingered details of her work, but experiencing -a rising strain. This would never do—she would -have to be wakeful and at her best for the coming -party. It wouldn’t be like going out with some silly<span class="pagenum" id="Page_185">[185]</span> -man, feigning to listen to his “I am it” gab, and leaving -him around midnight, with several yawns and the -usual, semievaded kiss and hug. Through using the -reliable excuse of serious illness in her family, she -succeeded in leaving the shop at three in the afternoon, -hastening home and sleeping there until nearly -seven. When she sat at the supper-table with the rest of -the family, Harry said: “Say, I’ve got some news for -yuh. Ran across Joe Campbell on Broadway an’ had -a long chin-fest with him. He says he begged yuh to -marry him the other night and yuh turned him down -flat, but he’s still leavin’ the prop’sition open. Believe -me, I wouldn’t, if I was him. He asked me to tell -yuh, anyway.”</p> - -<p>“How interesting,” Blanche replied. “Suppose you -tell your friend, Mister Campbell, to go to the devil.”</p> - -<p>“Now, Bla-anie, that’s a nice way to talk,” her -mother cried. “I’m ashamed of you, I am. He’s never -done you no harm, far’s I know, an’ he’s been acourtin’ -you for over two years now, an’ besides, he’s gone an’ -made you ’n hon-rable pruposul. You could do lots -worse than marryin’ him, you could.”</p> - -<p>“Listen, have I got to go through this whole thing -over again?” Blanche asked, exasperated. “I wouldn’t -marry Campbell ’f he had ten million and owned the -subway system, and there’s no sense to this endless -jawing match we put on. You can’t understand me -and you never will—it’s not your fault, you just can’t, -and what’s more, you ought to realize it by this time. -I’m going my own way and you might as well leave -me alone.”</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_186">[186]</span>“Is that so,” her father replied, with a dull, puzzled -anger shining in his little eyes. “I-is that so. You’re -jest a stranger here, I s’pose, an’ you’ve dropped in -tuh have supper with us. Sure, that’s it. I’m not your -father an’ I’ve got nothin’ tuh say about you, huh? -You’ve got a lot of nerve f’r a person your age, you -have.”</p> - -<p>“Yeh, she’s gettin’ a swelled head, all right,” Harry -said. “Guess I’ll have to beat up ’nother one uh her -phony guys, an’ tone her down a bit.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, you’re just full of wind,” Blanche answered, -indifferently.</p> - -<p>Mabel had been listening to Blanche with a mixture -of reluctant loyalty and annoyance—this “nut” sister -of hers was certainly impossible to understand, but -Campbell had “done her dirty” just the same, and -Blanche had a perfect right to detest him, and it was -about time that the family stopped nagging her on that -subject. Mabel’s antagonism against men and her regarding -them as a would-be preying sex made it imperative -that she should be on her sister’s side in this -question, almost against her will.</p> - -<p>“I know Blan’s a nut, but stop razzing her about -this Campbell stuff,” she said, glancing disapprovingly -around the table. “The way you all rave about him a -person’d think he was a king ’r something. He’s just -like other fellows—waving his dough around an’ trying -to put it over on ev’ry girl he meets. What do you -want to do anyway—tie Blan up an’ carry her down to -the license-bureau? She oughta have some rights -around here.”</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_187">[187]</span>Taken aback by this unexpected defense from -Mabel, and not being able to think of any immediate -and adequate retort, in spite of their emotional opposition, -the parents and Harry lapsed into a short silence, -after which they returned to minor complaints and -jovialities. It was easy to battle with Blanche, who -outraged all of their petted hopes and ideas, but when -Mabel contradicted them, their feeling of innate kinship -with her placed them in a temporarily bewildered -state in which they wondered whether they might not -be slightly wrong. Philip, who had squirmed distressedly -in his chair and tried to look unconcerned, -according to his custom, secretly prayed for Blanche -to revolt and leave home. It would be better for her—she’d -be happier then, in her crazy but rather likably -independent way—and if she did there’d be some peace -around the flat, for the first time.</p> - -<p>Blanche, who had felt relieved and a little unwillingly -affectionate as she heard her sister’s support, -drew back her chair to leave the table.</p> - -<p>“Going out to-night?” Philip asked casually, as he -rose.</p> - -<p>“Yes, I’m invited to ’n exclusive party ... artists -and actors—real, famous ones that people talk about,” -Blanche replied, not being able to resist the desire to -voice her proudly anticipating mood.</p> - -<p>“Fa-amous, huh,” Harry said, with a sneer. “Well, -you’ll sure be outa place there, ’f they are.”</p> - -<p>“Peddle your wise-cracks somewhere else,” Blanche -responded, unruffled.</p> - -<p>“We-ell, I don’t care what they are ’cept that you’d<span class="pagenum" id="Page_188">[188]</span> -better not come skiddin’ in after breakfast,” her father -broke in, gruffly.</p> - -<p>What his girls did was their business as long as -no one “had the goods on them” and they kept out -of trouble, but at the same time he didn’t intend to -stand for any open flaunting of their possible transgressions. -If a girl came home just before dawn, at the -latest, she might only have been “cutting up” at some -wild party or night club, but if she returned later -than that, then it was evident that she had stayed overnight -with some man.</p> - -<p>As Blanche stood before her mirror, engrossed in the -half-piteous and half-brazenly hopeful ritual observed -by most women—that of applying cosmetics to her face—a -lyric rose and fell in her heart, separated by -skeptical pauses. At last she had a chance to leap from -the greasy, colorless weights of Ninth Avenue, and -the cheaply frothy interludes of Broadway ... but -was it only a fair-faced dream? Would the people in -the other impending world laugh at her, or turn their -backs? Again, all of them might turn out to be qualified -versions of the group she had met at Clara’s—mischievous, -sneering Helgins, weak and pouting -Trussels, unwomanly Doras, Margarets indifferent to -every one save the men at their sides, and perhaps -another approach to Oppendorf—another intriguing -but palely distant figure.</p> - -<p>The lyric rose once more and slew the specters. -What an expert she was at borrowing trouble! It was -quite possible that at least two or three of the people -whom she was to meet would act friendly toward her<span class="pagenum" id="Page_189">[189]</span> -and invite her to other gatherings, or perhaps a really -fetching man, more naked and decent than Helgin, -would fall for her.</p> - -<p>As she walked down Ninth Avenue to the Elevated -station, the scene incited tinglings of disgust in her -whereas, usually, she regarded it with a passively acceptant -dislike, as the great, solid ugliness from which -she could not escape. Now, different objects in the -scene affected her as though she had been pummeled -in the face. The garbage cans at one side of the entrances, -frequently overbrimming with decayed fruit, -soiled papers, and old shoes and hats; the pillars and -tracks of the “L” road, stretching out like a still millipede, -with smaller insects shooting over its back; -frowsy women, with sallow, vacant faces, shouting -down from upper windows; dirt-streaked boys, wrangling -and cursing in hallways; drab blocks of buildings -cramped together, like huge, seething, shoddy boxes; -and clusters of youths on each corner, leering as though -they could scarcely control the desire to leap -upon her.</p> - -<p>All of it scraped against her nerves. Why had she -remained so long within it?—it should have become -unendurable years ago. Well, what choice had she -ever had?—an unpleasant hall room in some rooming-shack. -She could not afford more than that. But why, -oh, why, was she so depressed on this evening of all -others—this evening when for the first time she had -something novel and promising to look forward to? -The lyric started again and the black pause terminated. -She became more in tune with an insidious, dodging<span class="pagenum" id="Page_190">[190]</span> -gayety that somehow survived the grossness of Ninth -Avenue and sounded in the mildly warm air of the late -spring evening. In the dark-brown duvetyn dress that -stopped at her knees, black chiffon turban, flesh-colored -stockings and brown pumps, she could almost -have been mistaken for some society girl on a slumming -tour.</p> - -<p>When she reached Margaret’s studio, Helgin and -Oppendorf had already arrived and were immersed in -a game of dice for dimes, while Margaret finished her -toilette. The studio had a low, broad couch covered -with dark green taffeta and batik cushions, and gaudily -painted furniture, and a little kitchenette and bathroom -adjoined it. Helgin greeted Blanche in the affable -boyish way which he could affect for moments—the -miraculous atom of humility sometimes flitting to -the surface of his poised urbanities.</p> - -<p>“Are you prepared to be thrilled?” he asked her, -as she seated herself.</p> - -<p>“Listen, I’m a hard-boiled egg from Hell’s Kitchen, -and I don’t thrill so easy,” she answered, with the impudent -desire to shatter his smiling condescension.</p> - -<p>“Well, well, little tough Annie from behind the gas -works,” he said. “How did you manage to stuff your -boxing gloves into that vanity case?”</p> - -<p>“Don’t need them—bare knuckles where I come -from,” she retorted, smiling back at him.</p> - -<p>“Stop it, Ben, you’ve met your match this time,” -Oppendorf called out from the armchair where he was -pensively eying a tiny glass of gin held in his right -hand. “The awkward fighter can always beat the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_191">[191]</span> -clever one if he stands and waits for Sir Cleverness -to rush him.”</p> - -<p>“Oppie always instructs me—he can’t bear the -thought of my being vanquished,” Helgin replied, -lightly.</p> - -<p>“Well, I don’t know, I <i>have</i> managed to bear it now -and then,” Oppendorf said, before swallowing the gin.</p> - -<p>“Didn’t both of you promise me not to be sarcastic -for one night?” Margaret asked, as she entered the -studio. “If I had the muscle, why, I’d spank the two -of you!”</p> - -<p>“Start with Ben—it might change his entire life,” -Oppendorf said, grinning.</p> - -<p>“Oh, you’re not so sweet-tempered yourself,” she replied, -as she pinched his cheek.</p> - -<p>“You’re quite right, I’m a snarling, vituperative, vindictive -man until your smile creates a miracle within -me,” he said, as he bowed low to her.</p> - -<p>Whenever Oppendorf liked a woman he treated her -at times with a whimsical pretense of courtliness and -deference, merrily overdone enough to make the whimsicality -apparent.</p> - -<p>“How easy it would be to believe you,” she responded, -with a sigh that carried off the vestige of -a smile.</p> - -<p>“Emotions are never false—even the masquerade -must become real before it can be persuasive,” Oppendorf -answered, quickly changing to a mien of abstracted, -impersonal challenge. “When the reality survives -for a long time it is called sincere and true, and<span class="pagenum" id="Page_192">[192]</span> -people have faith in it. It may be just as real for a -moment, an hour, six days.”</p> - -<p>“You’re a sophist and a promiscuous wretch, and I’ll -probably wind up by hating you,” Margaret said, as -she slid into his arms. “Just as a person begins to -depend on you ... you flit away ... I know.”</p> - -<p>“Why does a woman hate a man when he departs -with an honest abruptness?”—Oppendorf shifted to -the inquiry of a distressed child. “Or, why do men -hate women for the same reason? I am immersed in -you at present because you contain qualities which -I cannot find in the other women around me. To-night, -perhaps, or in a month from now, I may meet another -woman who does possess them, together with other -qualities which you lack. In such a case, my immersion -would naturally transfer itself. God, how human -beings detest everything except the snug, warm permanence -which is either a lie or an unsearching sleep!”</p> - -<p>“There’s nothing logical about pain, Max,” Margaret -said. “It <i>must</i> be deaf, and angry, and blind, -and pleading, until it dies down. When a girl’s lover -goes off, her mind can say: ‘He revived and stimulated -me, and I’m glad I did have him for a while,’ but just -the same her heart still cries out: ‘Oh, he’s mean, and -selfish, and treacherous, and I hate him!’”</p> - -<p>Although she was conversing with Helgin, on the -couch, Blanche had caught bits of the other couple’s -talk, and they brought a worried tinge to her heart. -Oppendorf was wrong—in very rare cases a man and -a woman <i>could</i> love each other forever. Of course, the -cases were rare simply because people deeply harmonious<span class="pagenum" id="Page_193">[193]</span> -in every way, from their dancing-steps and -tastes in clothes down to the very last opinion in their -minds, hardly ever met each other. That was it. It was -simply a question of luck as to whether you’d find -this one person in a million or not.</p> - -<p>Helgin called out: “Well, Don Juan’s defending -himself again. He’s more convincing when he doesn’t -talk. Come on, Oppie, stop the necking for a while -and join us. You’re falling into the boresome habit of -dropping into a lady’s arms for hours and spoiling -the party.”</p> - -<p>“I never object to other people taking the same privilege,” -Oppendorf replied, placidly, as Margaret -slipped from his lap.</p> - -<p>“Perhaps we’re not as impatient as you,” Helgin -said, grinning.</p> - -<p>“Or perhaps you hide your impatience more patiently—there -are so many possibilities,” Oppendorf -retorted.</p> - -<p>“Say, Oscar Wilde once opened a small-talk shop—the -store has been well patronized ever since,” Blanche -said, flippantly.</p> - -<p>The line wasn’t her own—it had been in the last -novel she had read—but she wanted to see what its -effect would be on these men, and whether it would -impress them.</p> - -<p>“The gal’s improving,” Helgin replied. “Come on, -take off your little costume. You’re a college-student -trying to write, and you thought you’d be more interesting -if you posed as a slangy hair-dresser.”</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_194">[194]</span>“The best way to fool you people is not to pose at -all,” Margaret said, smiling.</p> - -<p>“It’s not a bad idea—I’ve tried it myself,” Oppendorf -interjected.</p> - -<p>“Ti-ti-tum, come on, let’s go to the party,” Margaret -interrupted. “You can all keep it up on the -way over.”</p> - -<p>After they were all in a taxicab and speeding -uptown, Helgin said to Blanche: “Didn’t you give -Oppie a manuscript at the studio?”</p> - -<p>“Yes, it’s something I wrote about the tearoom -where we sat last night,” Blanche answered. “He’s -such a frank man, and I know he’ll tell me whether -it’s just trash, or not.”</p> - -<p>“It’s becoming very amusing,” Helgin continued. -“Nowadays, if you meet a manicurist you never know -when she’s going to stop polishing your nails and draw -the great, American lyric out of her sleeve, and the -waiter at the café tries to induce you to read his startling, -unpublished novel, and the bootblack shoves a -short-story under your nose. None of these people -would dare to attempt a painting or a sonata. The -popular superstition is that literature consists of a -deep longing plus thousands of words thrown helter-skelter -together.”</p> - -<p>“Well, it doesn’t hurt them to try—they’ll never find -out what their ability is, ’f they don’t,” Blanche replied, -defiantly.</p> - -<p>“That’s right, don’t let him razz you,” Margaret -broke in. “Masefield was once a bar-room porter, you -know.”</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_195">[195]</span>“Please pick out a better example,” Oppendorf said.</p> - -<p>Then he turned to Blanche.</p> - -<p>“Your grammar is atrocious at times, but you have -originality, and there’s a razor in your humor,” he -went on. “Keep on writing, and study syntax and the -declensions of verbs—they’re still fairly well observed -by every one except the Dadaists. I’ll have you in -several magazines in another two months. And thank -God you’re not a poet. If you were, you’d get fifty -cents a line, mixed in with profound excuses!”</p> - -<p>“Do you really mean it?” Blanche asked, delightedly.</p> - -<p>“Of course.”</p> - -<p>“Why, I’ll work like a nigger ’f I can really make -something of myself as a writer,” Blanche cried, enraptured.</p> - -<p>“I hope you’re not giving any pleasant mirages to -Miss Palmer,” Helgin said, wondering whether Oppendorf -was not merely seeking to flatter her into an -eventual physical capitulation. “I know your weakness. -When we were getting out The New Age you’d -plague me every day with verses from girl-friends of -yours, and they were always rank imitations of your -own style.”</p> - -<p>“You seem to have the delusion that every beginner, -with a sense of irony and a deliberate style, is an echo -of mine,” Oppendorf replied, undisturbed. “You’d -treat these people with a flippant impatience, but I’d -rather err on the side of encouraging them, unless -they’re saturated with platitudes and gush.”</p> - -<p>“Yes, you <i>are</i> apt to make such mistakes, especially<span class="pagenum" id="Page_196">[196]</span> -in the case of some pretty girl,” Helgin said, with a -malicious grin.</p> - -<p>“Have it your way, Ben,” Oppendorf responded, indifferently.</p> - -<p>Blanche listened with a serene confidence in Oppendorf—he -never lied about anything connected with -writing: somehow she felt sure of that. Literature -was too serious a matter to him.</p> - -<p>For a moment Margaret looked a little jealously at -Blanche, pestered by the suspicion that Oppendorf -might have praised Blanche’s work as a first move -toward conquering her—a suspicion which Helgin had -known would be caused by his words. Then Margaret -remembered how he had viciously assailed her own -short-stories just after her first meeting with him, -when he had known that she would have prostrated -herself before him for the least word of praise, and -with the remembrance her doubts perished.</p> - -<p>“Be on your good behavior to-night,” Helgin said -to Oppendorf. “Vanderin didn’t want to invite you, -but I convinced him that you had become a chastened -and amiable gentleman. I wouldn’t like to see you -thrown down the stairway—it gives smaller people a -chance to gloat over you.”</p> - -<p>“Are you really as wild as all that?” Blanche asked, -looking incredulously at Oppendorf’s subdued pallidness.</p> - -<p>“The stairway myth is one in a celebrated list,” -Oppendorf replied. “You’ll find many of the others -in Mr. Helgin’s affectionate tribute to me—his last -novel. The list is a superb one. I deceived some<span class="pagenum" id="Page_197">[197]</span> -social-radical friends by pretending to defy the draft -laws during the war. I faked a broken shoulder and -sponged on some other friends. I was caught in the -act of attempting to ravish a twelve-year-old girl. I -leap upon women at parties and manhandle them while -they shriek for mercy, in contrast to the other men -present, who never do more than audaciously grasp -the little fingers of the same ladies. The amusing part -of it is that none of my actual crimes and offenses are -on the list. I could give my admirers some real ammunition -if they would only ask me for it.”</p> - -<p>“But why do they tell such hideous lies about you?” -Blanche asked naively.</p> - -<p>“I’ll tell you why,” Margaret broke in, indignantly. -“It’s because they hate him and fear him. He gets -beneath their skins and mocks at all their little idols, -and squirmings, and compromises. They want to pulverize -him, but he hardly ever gives them any real -opportunities, so they’re reduced to falling back on -their imaginations and insisting that he’s a clownish -monster. It’s a beautiful system of exaggerations, all -right! If he happens to be drunk at a party, it’s immediately -reported that he was pushed down the stairs, -and if he’s seen stroking a woman’s arm it’s always -said that he hu-urled himself upon her.”</p> - -<p>“It must be troublesome to hear your perfect lover -so sadly maligned in spite of his eloquent assertions -of innocence,” Helgin said, smiling. “Most of the -stories are really told in admiration of his savage -gifts.”</p> - -<p>“Yes, the admiration is both profound and imaginative,”<span class="pagenum" id="Page_198">[198]</span> -Oppendorf retorted, with a weary return of the -smile.</p> - -<p>Blanche listened to the others with feelings of uncertainty -and dismay. How could refined, serious, -artistic people act so rottenly toward each other? -They weren’t so very much different from the toughs -in her neighborhood, except that they used words -while the gangsters and bullies employed their feet -and fists, or fell back on guns and knives. The gangsters -were far less dangerous, too. They could only -hurt a person for a short time, or else kill him and -send him beyond any further injury, but these artist-people -with their mean tongues and their sneering -stories could damage some one for the rest of his life, -in different ways. Oh, well, maybe most people were -always alike, except that some of them were clever -and had minds, while others were more inept and -stupid. What real difference was there between the -endless digs which her new acquaintances traded and -the catty remarks which she heard every day at the -Beauty Parlor? Still, she made a mental reservation -in the case of Oppendorf. He had to retaliate or keep -quiet, and he never started any of the sarcasm, as -far as she could hear, though he certainly could finish -it! If he had only been physically stronger, and more -blithely animated, she could have fallen in love with -him. This ideal man of hers!—she’d probably never -meet him. It only happened in story-books. But, at -any rate, she intended to apply herself to writing and -feel of some importance for a change. How relieved -and happy she had been after putting down the last<span class="pagenum" id="Page_199">[199]</span> -word of her tearoom sketch—it had been almost the -first real thrill in her life.</p> - -<p>When she entered Paul Vanderin’s large, high-ceilinged -studio and spied the Juliet balcony that ran -around two sides of it, with rooms leading out on the -balcony, and the profusion of statues and paintings—most -of them weird or fiercely unorthodox—and the -grand piano, and the abundance of luxurious furniture -in neutral shades, she sighed and slipped a hand -over her eyes. How delirious it must be to live in a -place of this kind—big, and high, and filled with conveniences -and intensely interesting objects—and how -different it was from her own small, ugly room, with -the ceiling hemming you in as though you were in a -cage. Life was so darned unfair—lavishing favors, -and stimulations, and beauties on some people and -treating others in the most grudging and miserly fashion. -Well, that was an old story—no good to rave -over it. You had to beat life to its knees somehow, -sharpening your mind and trying to express yourself, -and praying for luck.</p> - -<p>Several people had already gathered in the studio, -and as she walked beside Helgin in the round of introductions, -she opened her mouth and felt stunned at -the discovery that some of them ... were negroes! -This was really astonishing—she had never dreamt -that cultured, artistic white people mingled with black -and brown men and women on terms of familiar friendship! -Her head felt in a turmoil and she couldn’t decide -whether these contacts were right or wrong, -whether she herself could join them without shrinking.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_200">[200]</span> -Of course, human beings were all equal and shouldn’t -look down upon each other because the color of their -skins varied, but ... didn’t it go much deeper than -that? Wasn’t there a physical repugnance between the -different races—a strong feeling that simply couldn’t -be overcome? Certainly, she had always thought so.</p> - -<p>She had spoken to negroes, and Japanese, and -Chinamen before, and had even joked with them—elevator -boys, and porters, and waiters, and laundry-men—but -she had never cared for their physical proximity -and had always felt repulsed if they happened to -brush against her. But still, they had been unrefined -and ordinary, while these negroes were intelligent and -cultured, and spoke about art and psychology. This -was a revelation, as she had never imagined that -negroes of this kind existed, except in the ratio of one -to tens of thousands. She had heard vaguely of Booker -T. Washington, and famous negro lawyers, and, oh -yes, a negro writer named Du Bois, whom Rosenberg -had always talked about, but she had thought that -they were rarities and had even felt a flitting pity for -their isolation among their own race.</p> - -<p>Of course, she had been foolish and thoughtless—there -was no valid reason why negroes should not -voice their feelings and search for beauty and uniqueness, -instead of always clinging to some business or -manual labor. They were human beings, too, and -their hearts and minds were probably often much -more restless than those of most white people. Besides, -since these white writers and artists mixed with -negroes, it must be that society was gradually beginning<span class="pagenum" id="Page_201">[201]</span> -to approve of this union and was losing its prejudice -in the matter. Sti-ill, perhaps these negroes and -whites simply talked to each other, or danced together, -without any sexual intimacies. Surely, there -was no harm in that.</p> - -<p>As she sat beside Helgin she voiced her perplexity.</p> - -<p>“Say, I never knew that black and white people -went to the same parties,” she said. “I don’t quite -know what to think of it.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, yes, it’s the latest fad among white dilettantes,” -Helgin replied. “They became weary of their other -enthusiasms—finding a tragic, esthetic beauty in Charlie -Chaplin and other slapstick comedians, and raving -over East Side Burlesque Shows, and making Greek -gladiators out of flat-nosed prize-fighters, and hunting -for love in Greenwich Village. They are now -busily engaged in patronizing and eulogizing the negro -race. Vanderin is one of the ring-leaders in the matter. -It tickles his jaded senses and reassures him of his -decadence, and provides him with material for -novels.”</p> - -<p>“But isn’t any of it sincere and honest?” Blanche -inquired.</p> - -<p>“Certainly—negro and white writers and artists are -actually starting to tear down the age-old barriers,” -Helgin responded. “What begins as a fad can end as -an avalanche. I really hope it happens.”</p> - -<p>“But ... but tell me, do negro and white men and -women have anything to do with each other?” Blanche -asked, falteringly.</p> - -<p>Helgin laughed.</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_202">[202]</span>“Do you see that couple over there?” he asked. -“The tall, Nordic kid and the mulatto girl in red. -They’re always together at every party. Of course, -white men have had negro mistresses in the past, with -everything veiled and a little shamefaced, but this is -different. It’s out in the open now, and it’s on the -basis of deep mental and spiritual understanding.”</p> - -<p>“I don’t want to be narrow-minded,” Blanche answered, -“but I don’t see how they can love each other—they -must be lying to themselves. The races just -weren’t meant to have physical relations with each -other. There’s something, something in their flesh and -blood that stands between, like ... like a warning -signal. That’s it.”</p> - -<p>As she spoke, though, she had the sensation of uttering -sentences which she had borrowed from books -and other people, and which did not decisively express -her opinions.</p> - -<p>“Oh, it doesn’t last long, usually,” Helgin said. -“It’s not often that they live permanently together -and raise families, but the infatuations are fierce -enough while they last. And even intermarriage is -becoming more common.”</p> - -<p>“We-ell, I’d like to talk to a negro boy, ’f he were -intelligent and brilliant-like, you know, but I don’t -think I could fall in love with him, even then,” Blanche -replied. “You can’t reason about it ... it’s there, -that’s all.”</p> - -<p>Vanderin walked up and spoke to Blanche. He was -a tall, robust man with gray hair and a half-bald head -and a ruddy, mildly sensual face. His speech and<span class="pagenum" id="Page_203">[203]</span> -manners were genially suave and yet reserved, and -there was something about his large eyes that resembled -the look of a child playing with toys to hide its -weariness.</p> - -<p>“You don’t mind our mixed gathering, I hope,” he -said to Blanche. “I find the negro race to be very congenial, -and just beginning to wake up. There are negro -painters and poets here to-night who are quite able to -stand shoulder to shoulder with white creators.”</p> - -<p>“Tell us all about their plaintive, erotic, defiant -quality,” Helgin said. “You do it well, Paul—come -on.”</p> - -<p>Vanderin laughed as he retorted: “You’ll have to -read it in my next book, old skeptic. I’m not giving -lectures to-night.”</p> - -<p>“But won’t you tell me something about them?” -Blanche asked, pleadingly. “I’m a frightful simpleton -in all these matters, but I do want to find out about -them.”</p> - -<p>Helgin rose and joined a group, while Vanderin sat -down and conversed with Blanche. He fascinated her -as he told her grotesquely humorous, slightly bawdy -anecdotes of Harlem’s night life and spoke of cabarets -where negroes and whites danced and frolicked with a -savagely paganish abandonment, and described the -motives and longings behind negro music and writing. -According to Vanderin, negroes were pouncing upon -the restrained and timorous art of America and revitalizing -it with an unashamed sensuality, and more -simple and tortured longings, and a more grimly questioning -attitude of mind.</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_204">[204]</span>As Blanche listened to his silkenly baritone voice she -reproached herself for her lack of a warm response -toward this persuasive, exotic man. His mind intrigued -her but her heart still beat evenly. She seemed -to sense something of a huge, amiable, carelessly -treacherous cat within him—one who lazily and perversely -hunted for distractions and amusements, without -allowing anything or any one to move him deeply, -and who could become cruel or disdainful in the tremor -of an eyelash. Why did all of the mentally luring men -she had ever met fail to overpower her emotions? So -far, her heart had been moderately stirred only by -mental weaklings or frauds. Oh, dear, this business -of searching for an ideal was certainly a shadowy -mess!</p> - -<p>Vanderin excused himself to greet some new arrivals, -and Margaret dropped into his chair.</p> - -<p>“How do you like the hectic fricassee?” she asked, -half waving her hand toward a boisterous group of -negroes and whites, who stood with arms interlocked.</p> - -<p>“I’m very confused about it,” Blanche said. “One -part of me, now, it says, ‘Come on, Blanie, be a good -sport and don’t be prejudiced,’ but there’s another -part, you see, and it sort of shrinks away, and wonders, -well ... and wonders how they can kiss and hug -each other.”</p> - -<p>“Listen, you ain’ seen nothin’ yet,” Margaret answered, -jocosely. “I’ve been to parties where white -and colored people were doing everything but, and -they weren’t lowbrows, either. Real artists, and writers, -and actors.”</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_205">[205]</span>“Well, how do you feel about it?” Blanche asked.</p> - -<p>“I couldn’t do it myself, but I’m not intolerant,” -Margaret said. “Some people have this instinctive, -physical aversion to other races, you know, and some -just haven’t. I’ve talked to colored men for hours -and felt very immersed in what they said, but I could -never have spooned with them.”</p> - -<p>“Well, I’m probably built the same way, but I’m -not at all sure about it,” Blanche responded. “I’m -not sure about anything, to-night. It’s all too new to -me.”</p> - -<p>A tall, jaunty, colored youth whisked Margaret -away, and a portly, courtly man wearing shell-rimmed -spectacles sat down beside Blanche and began to tell -her all about an immortal play which he had written, -but which the managers were hesitating over because -it hadn’t strolled into the box-office. The playwright -was garrulous, using his arms as a sweeping emphasis -for his remarks, and Blanche wondered whether she -was listening to a genius or an untalented boaster. -Some day she’d meet a man who didn’t claim to be -superb in his particular line ... some day snow would -fall in July.</p> - -<p>The gathering became slowly silent as Vanderin -announced that a poet was about to recite. The poet, -a young negro, Christopher Culbert, read some of his -sonnets, in a liquid and at times almost shrill voice. -He had a round, dark-brown face, and a body verging -on chubbiness, and his verses were filled with -adored colors and a sentimentality that flirted with -morbidity for moments and then repented. He was<span class="pagenum" id="Page_206">[206]</span> -effeminate and jovial in his manner, and after the -reading he returned to his place on a couch beside -another negro youth. Then another man, blackish -brown and with the body of an athlete, sang spirituals, -with a crazy, half-sobbing, swaying quaver in his -voice. A curious blending and contrast of elation and -austerity seemed to cling to him. As he intoned the -words of one song: “Ho-ow d’yuh kno-ow, ho-ow d’yuh -kno-o-ow, a-t the blo-od done si-ign mah na-a-me?”, -Blanche felt shivers racing up and down her spine. -These negroes certainly had something which white -people couldn’t possibly imitate—something that made -you feel wild, and sad, and swung you off your feet! -It was hard to put your finger on it—perhaps it was -a kind of insanity.</p> - -<p>When the singer had finished, Vanderin announced -that Miss Bee Rollins, of the Down South night club -would do the Charleston dance. She stepped forward—a -palely creamish-brown skinned young negress with -a lissom body incongruously plump about the waist, -and an oval face, infinitely impertinent and infinitely -sensual in a loosely heavy way. She twisted and -bobbed and jerked through the maniacal obliquely -see-sawing and shuffling steps of the Charleston, with -a tense leer on her face, and inhumanly flexible legs. -She was madly applauded and forced to several encores. -Then the party broke up into dancing and more -steady drinking, with different negroes playing at the -piano, and the assistance of a phonograph in between.</p> - -<p>The dancers undulated and embraced in a way that -surprised Blanche—even in the cheap dance halls<span class="pagenum" id="Page_207">[207]</span> -which she had frequented, the floor-watchers always -immediately ordered off all couples who tried to get -away with such rough stuff. Well, anyway, it wasn’t -the main part of these people’s lives—their only thrill -and importance—as it was with the dance-hall men -and women. The couples in this studio were only -“cutting up” between their more serious, searching -labors and expressions, and they were certainly more -entitled to be frankly sexual, if they wanted to.</p> - -<p>Blanche stepped over the floor with several negro -and white men, and enjoyed the novelty of dancing -as extremely as the other couples did, though she felt -the least bit guilty about it—it certainly was “going the -limit.” As she danced with the negroes she felt surprised -at her lack of aversion to the closeness of their -bodies. Somehow, they danced with a rhythmical, subtle, -audacious fervor which her white partners could -never quite duplicate, and she was swung into a happy -harmony with their movements in spite of herself.</p> - -<p>As she was catching her breath between dances, she -watched some of the negroes around her. One of them, -a short, slender girl in a dark red smock and a short -black skirt, was conversing with a white youth in a -dark suit, who looked like a solemnly tipsy mingling -of clergyman and pagan. She had a pale brown skin, -black curls of bobbed hair, thin lips, and a pug nose. -She held his hand and gave him distrustfully tender -looks.</p> - -<p>Blanche caught fragments of their conversation.</p> - -<p>“You don’t love me, hon.... You can get white girls -prettier than I am—I know....”</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_208">[208]</span>“I don’t want them ... you’ve put a song in my -blood, right in it.... I’m crazy about you.”</p> - -<p>“I don’t think you mean it.... Lord knows, I’d like -so to believe you....”</p> - -<p>“You will, you will.... I’ll take care of that....”</p> - -<p>He kissed her and then she withdrew, saying: “You -funny, funny, dear, impatient boy!”</p> - -<p>Another young negress with a dark-brown skin and -a tall fullness to her body, was laughing violently beside -a thin, white man with a little black mustache and -a petulant face. She sang: “Mamma has her teeth all -filled with goldun bridges ’n’ diamon’s small, but -po-oor papa, po-o-or papa, got no teefies at a-all.”</p> - -<p>“Not this papa,” he replied. “I’ll prove it to you.”</p> - -<p>She drew back, laughing, while he sought to embrace -her. They almost collided with a young negress -who was dancing with a middle-aged white man. She -was slim, with a straight-nosed, creamy face and -straight brown hair, while her partner was floridly -jowled and had the symptoms of a paunch, and sparse, -black hair. They stopped their dance and stood, talking.</p> - -<p>“Have you seen the Russian Players?” she asked.</p> - -<p>“Yep, went down last night and took in that version -of Carmen—‘Carmencita and the Soldier.’”</p> - -<p>“Aren’t they a curious mixture of restraint and -hilarity? It’s a contradiction—a sort of disciplined -madness, isn’t it?”</p> - -<p>“Oh, yes, they have dark, strange, patient souls, -and yet ... they can be wildness itself. And they’re -entirely obedient to the designs of the playwright.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_209">[209]</span> -They never let their personalities swagger all over -the stage at the expense of the author.”</p> - -<p>The two walked off, still talking, and Blanche eyed -them regretfully as she wished that they had remained -within hearing. Most of the men and women at the -party seemed to be disinclined to talk about impersonal -subjects. Their only aims were drinking, dancing, and -making love to each other. Of course, they were tired -of their more sober professions and the heavier problems -in life, and wanted to forget them for one night -at least—but this explanation scarcely lessened -Blanche’s disappointment. She was longing to hear -discussions on art and psychology—matters that were -still semishrouded to her. She had been to tens of -parties where people were “running wild” and foxtrotting -and mauling each other—it was nothing new -to her.</p> - -<p>She answered the teasing remarks of the man beside -her with abstracted monosyllables, and watched another -couple—a tall, dark, negro youth, with the face -of a proud falcon, and an ample-bodied white woman -in her early thirties, with a round face void of cosmetics -but like an angelic mask that could not quite -hide the jaded sensuality underneath it. She leaned -closely against his side while he stroked one of her -arms and looked at her with an almost scornful longing -on his face. Blanche gazed intently at them—this -was an exception. All of the other mixed couples that -she had noticed had consisted of negro girls and white -men, and she had been on the verge of believing that -the women of her own race were only tolerantly “fooling<span class="pagenum" id="Page_210">[210]</span> -around” and had no deep response to the colored -men. But no, she was wrong. Another white woman -and a negro youth were whispering together on the -piano-bench, with their heads almost touching and -their right hands clasping each other.</p> - -<p>How queer it was—even she had succumbed to the -spell of the negroes, while dancing with them. They -were like wise children—they could be abandoned and -serious in such a quick succession, and there was an -assured, romping, graceful something about them. -Still, loving any one of them would probably be impossible—she -still shrank a little from the nearness -of their bodies, when the sorcery of the dances was -removed.</p> - -<p>The teasing man departed, thinking her an odd iceberg, -and another man sat beside her. She turned -to look at him. He was of her own height and had a -muscular body, a pale white skin with the least tinge -of brown in it, and straight, light brown hair brushed -back. His lips were thin below a narrow nose, and his -large, gray eyes seemed to be full of silent laughter, -as though the scene were an endurable but trivial -comedy to him. In his tuxedo suit, well fitting and -distinctive, and with his athletic, graceful body, that -was neither too narrow nor too broad, and the high-chinned -but not supercilious poise of his head, he could -have been mistaken for some movie hero more natural -and finely chiseled than most of the other stars in that -profession.</p> - -<p>He looked at Blanche and smiled—a smile that was -respectful but had the least touch of impudence.</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_211">[211]</span>“I haven’t been introduced to you—I came in rather -late,” he said, easily. “My name’s Eric Starling.”</p> - -<p>“Mine’s Blanche Palmer,” she replied.</p> - -<p>“Isn’t it rather silly—this trading of names right -off the reel?” he asked. “They’re just empty sounds -until people get to know each other, and then, of -course, they do begin to suggest the qualities within -each person.”</p> - -<p>“My name’s even more meaningless, if that’s possible,” -she answered. “I haven’t done a thing to make -it of any importance. Not a thing.”</p> - -<p>“Well, you’re not gray-haired, yet—unless you dye -it,” he said, with a boyish geniality. “You have still -time enough to conquer the world.”</p> - -<p>He had a soft and low, but unmistakably masculine -voice, that pleased her.</p> - -<p>“Yes, a girl can keep on telling that to herself until -there’s no time left,” she responded.</p> - -<p>“How doleful you sound,” he replied. “Have a -heart—you’ll make me confess my own pessimism in -a minute, if you keep it up.”</p> - -<p>She laughed softly.</p> - -<p>“No, you’re still young—you have plenty of time -to conquer the wo-o-orld,” she said, mimickingly.</p> - -<p>“I was only trying to be pleasantly conventional,” -he responded. “Lord knows, I’m a child of night myself—morbid -moods, and hatreds, and despairs. I do -try to tone it down, though. The world may be a muddled -and treacherous place, on the whole, but if you -never laugh about it, then you let it interfere too<span class="pagenum" id="Page_212">[212]</span> -much with your work. I don’t know why I’m telling -you all this—you’re probably not interested.”</p> - -<p>She liked his tone of quiet self-disparagement and -understanding resignation—the absence of the usual -masculine: “Look me over, kid, I’m there!”</p> - -<p>“Of course I’m interested,” she said. “It’s this way—’f -you go around and laugh too much, why, then it’s -just like taking dope, and then again, ’f you don’t -laugh enough, you see, you get too wise to your own -smallness. There’s never any cure for anything, I -guess.”</p> - -<p>Up to this time he had regarded her only as a handsome -girl, a bit more unaffected and humorous than -the general run, but now he felt a much keener interest. -She had something to say—an intriguing oddity -among women. Who was this girl, with her dark red -hair in bobbed curls, and her jaunty, Irish-looking -face, and her words divided between whimsicality and -hopelessness? Perhaps she was a talented person, -well-known in her profession and amusing herself -with this posture of half-smiling and half darkly wistful -obscurity.</p> - -<p>“You’re probably quite famous and rebuking me -for not having heard of you,” he said, after a pause.</p> - -<p>“I don’t think Madame Jaurette would agree with -you,” she answered, smiling.</p> - -<p>“Mother or dancing partner?”</p> - -<p>“She owns the Beauty Parlor where I work—I’m -just a common hair-dresser, that’s all.”</p> - -<p>He looked closely at her—was she persistently jesting?</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_213">[213]</span>“No fooling—come clean,” he said. “You’re not -really.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, I know, I’m not like my type,” she answered. -“I think a little, and I don’t use slang very often, -though I like it sometimes. Don’t be deceived so -easy.”</p> - -<p>“Well, I’ll bet you’re trying to do something different, -anyway,” he said, convinced now that she was -telling the truth and engrossed in this phenomenon of -a seemingly intelligent and searching Beauty Shop girl. -“You could tell me you were a scrubwoman and I’d -still know instinctively that your job had nothing to -do with your ambitions. It’s in all your words and all -the expressions on your face.”</p> - -<p>She felt glad that his response had not been one -of veiled pity, or sexy flattery, or the polite ending of -interest, and her heart began to quicken its strokes. -Say, could he be the man that she had been looking -for? Could he? Silly, oh, very silly dream, and one -that could scarcely be changed to a proven reality by -a few beginning and possibly misleading words, and -yet ... she <i>was</i> attracted by his appearance—stalwart -and yet subdued, with no “fizz” about it—and -she liked immensely everything he said.</p> - -<p>“My family’s poor and I’ve had to work to earn -my own living,” she said, simply. “I live in the toughest -part of Ninth Avenue—I was born and raised there. -The people I come from think that art’s the second -word in ‘Thou art bughouse.’ Now you’ve got the -whole sad story.”</p> - -<p>“Well, seeing that confessions are in order, I’ll spill<span class="pagenum" id="Page_214">[214]</span> -mine,” he answered. “I was brought up in a neighborhood -where they throw paving-blocks at each other -to prove the sincerity of their feelings. One of them -hit me once, but it didn’t seem able to knock any -obedience into me. Oh, ye-es, nice, little neighborhood.”</p> - -<p>“’F it’s any worse than Hell’s Kitchen it must be -a peach,” she replied, thoroughly unreserved and immersed -in him now.</p> - -<p>“It is—Peoria Street in Chicago,” he said, smiling. -“If I could escape from Peoria Street, you’ll probably -be able to get out of Ninth Avenue with one wing-flutter -and a little audacity! I’m working for a Harlem -cabaret now—Tony’s Club. Publicity man ... -writing the blurbs, and arranging the banquets, and -getting the celebs to come down.”</p> - -<p>“I’m quite sure you’re different from most publicity -men, I can just feel it in your words and in the -looks on your face,” she answered, in a mocking voice.</p> - -<p>“Lady, I’ll never feed you that medicine again—the -taste is simply frightful,” he replied.</p> - -<p>They both laughed and felt relieved about it.</p> - -<p>“D’you know, I’ve got a writing bug buzzing in my -head,” she said, after a short pause. “It really started -only a night ago—I never dared to believe I could do -it before. I was down to Greenwich Village for the -first time, and when I came back I wrote a sketch of -the tearoom I’d been in. I didn’t think it amounted -to very much, but Max Oppendorf, the poet, you know, -he tells me it’s really clever and original, in spite of -the shaky grammar. I’m going to keep on writing,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_215">[215]</span> -you see, and he’s promised to criticize my stuff and try -to put it over for me.”</p> - -<p>“I think I met Oppendorf once,” he replied. “He’s -tall and blond, isn’t he?”</p> - -<p>“Yes, that’s him—he’s here to-night.”</p> - -<p>“You didn’t come with him, did you?”</p> - -<p>“No-o, don’t be scared,” she said, in raillery. “He’s -with a girl friend, Margaret Wheeler, and my, how -they’re gone on each other. It always seems to annoy -them when they’ve got to talk to somebody else.”</p> - -<p>“Who’d you come with?”</p> - -<p>“With Ben Helgin, the novelist. I only met him and -Oppendorf last night, and I’m only a curiosity to him. -He just wanted to see how the slum-girlie would get -along in the mi-ighty studio. I hope he’s satisfied -now.”</p> - -<p>“Do you know, people who patronize and bend down -all the time, do it as a hop-fiend sniffs his cocaine,” -he said. “They might have to take a close peek at -themselves otherwise.”</p> - -<p>“Isn’t it the truth,” she answered. “When I think -of all the dopes people use to kid themselves along, I -get the Jailhouse Blues. I was just as bad myself, two -or three years ago, before I commenced to get wise -to myself.”</p> - -<p>A pause came, during which they looked at each -other with a budding and almost incredulous desire.</p> - -<p>“By the way, I have another confession to make,” -he said. “Close your eyes and take the blow. I’m one -of those dreamy, high-handed, impossible poets you’ve -heard about. Vanderin likes my stuff and he’s induced<span class="pagenum" id="Page_216">[216]</span> -Koller, the publisher, to take a first book of mine. -I grind it out between the times when I’m slaving down -at Tony’s.”</p> - -<p>“Three cheers,” she answered, delightedly. “Perhaps -we can put our heads together now, and maybe -you’ll help me with my work. I know you must have -much more education than I’ve got.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, I did work my way through two years of college, -but I stopped after that,” he said. “It was too -dry, and heavy, and, well, conservative, to satisfy me. -A million don’ts and rules and rules and boundaries. -They’re all right to know but they’re not so sacred -to me.”</p> - -<p>“Well, I envy you, anyway,” she replied, sighing. -“You’ve got to help me with my grammar—that’s the -big, weak sister with me.”</p> - -<p>“You can bet I will,” he responded, eagerly.</p> - -<p>She was certainly an unusual girl—one who had -somehow commenced to force her way out of a vicious, -muddy environment. Since he had partially freed himself -from the same thing, it was a sacred duty to help -her. But he wouldn’t do it for that reason alone—he -liked the jolly and yet pensive turn of her, and the -undismayed and candid twist of her mind, and the soft -irregularities of her face, which were charming in spite -of their lack of a perfect prettiness, and the boldly -curved but not indelicate proportions of her strong -body. Of course, it was nonsense to believe that you -could fall in love after several minutes of talking, and -there was Lucia, the clever little hoyden whom he had -gone with for two years now, and Clara, savage, beautiful,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_217">[217]</span> -and dumb, and Georgie, keen-minded enough but -a little hysterical at times, and promiscuous, and.... -But after all, none of them except Lucia had ever -aroused him to any depth of emotion, and even that -had long since begun to wear off. She was mentally -shallow—women usually turned out to be that, after -you penetrated their little tricks and defenses. Would -this girl prove to be of the same kind? Maybe, maybe, -but there was one thing about her that he hadn’t -found in any other women—the instant, frank, ingenuous -way in which she had intimately revealed -herself, without all of the wrigglings and parryings -common to her sex. They sure did hate to get down to -brass tacks.</p> - -<p>He was an odd confusion of sentimentalities and -cynicisms, and the conflict between them was often an -indecisive one. As he looked at Blanche, a fear suddenly -shot through him.... Lord, he had forgotten. -The old, dirty scarecrow that would probably turn -her away from him.</p> - -<p>“D’you know, I was certainly surprised when I came -here to-night,” she said. “I never imagined that -negroes and white people—real, artistic ones, I mean—I -never imagined that they went around with each -other and made love together. I don’t know just how -to take it. How would you feel if you met a good-looking, -intelligent, negro girl and she became fond -of you?”</p> - -<p>He winced and his face tightened up. It was just -as he had feared—she had mistaken him for a white -man. Of course, he <i>was</i> white for the most part ...<span class="pagenum" id="Page_218">[218]</span> -just a fraction of negro blood, but he was proud of it -just the same, damn proud of it, and if people wanted -to repulse him because of this fraction, they could -go straight to the devil for all he cared.... Should -he tell her now and have it over with? He hesitated. -Despite his impatient pride he could not bring the -words to his lips, as he had done many times before -in such cases. White women often made this mistake, -and he was inured to correcting it and bearing their -constraint, or their shifting to a careful cordiality, -but this time his self-possession had vanished. Sometimes -he <i>had</i> failed to tell women, when he had only -wanted a night or two of physical enjoyment with -them, for then it never mattered, but ... some miracle -had happened. This girl really seemed to have cut -beneath his skin, and ... yes, he was afraid of losing -the chance to see her again.</p> - -<p>He didn’t love her now—in the deep, seething way -that was the real thing—but he felt that if he continued -to meet her he probably would, and this was a -rare sensation to him. She would have to be told -some time, of course, but ... not to-night. He simply -couldn’t run the risk of spoiling this growing harmony -between them, of not seeing whether it might -flower out into an actual ecstasy. He couldn’t.</p> - -<p>Blanche began to wonder at his lengthy silence, and -she looked inquiringly at him.</p> - -<p>“Please excuse me,” he said at last. “I was sort -of ... sort of waltzing in a dream with you for a -while.... Negroes and whites are human beings after -all, and the fact that a man’s colored shouldn’t make<span class="pagenum" id="Page_219">[219]</span> -him an inferior animal. But that’s an old story to me. -I’ve got it all memorized. Race-prejudice, and fun-da-men-tal -repugnance, and all the disasters that spring -from intermingling. Oh, yes, these things exist in -most people, of course they do, but I refuse to believe -that exceptional men and women can’t rise above -them. If they can’t, then what <i>is</i> exceptional about -them?”</p> - -<p>Something in the weary contempt of his words -should have suggested to her that he was pleading his -own cause, but her delighted immersion in him made -her oblivious, and she mistook his words for those -of a rarely unprejudiced white man. How eloquently -and clearly he talked! He had an unassuming but -fervent way that was far more attractive than Helgin’s -suave, superior jovialities, or Oppendorf’s tired -belligerency, or any of the other postures which she -had noticed in different men at the party. Was she -really beginning to fall in love with this Eric Starling? -Somehow, she felt that no matter what faults she might -discover in him afterwards, they would not be huge -enough to destroy this present sense of communion -with him. You had to trust to your instinct in such -matters, and this instinct certainly hadn’t failed her -up to date. Hadn’t she always doubted and feared -Campbell, and held him at arm’s length, in spite of -his smooth protests and promises? But gee, what if -she <i>were</i> deceiving herself? This time it would be a -real blow.</p> - -<p>“I think I agree with you.... I’m not sure,” she -answered at last. “I guess no person can tell how<span class="pagenum" id="Page_220">[220]</span> -he’s going to feel about, well, loving somebody who’s -of another race, unless he actually runs up against it -himself. I certainly believe negroes and whites ought -to talk together, though, and try to understand each -other more. There’s too much darn hate and meanness -in this little world, as it is.”</p> - -<p>“Yes, entirely too much,” he said, in an abstractedly -weary way.</p> - -<p>Helgin walked up and Blanche introduced him to -Starling.</p> - -<p>“Found your ideal yet, little gal?” he asked, grinning. -“A studio-party’s an excellent place for such -delusions.”</p> - -<p>“’F I had, I wouldn’t tell you, old boy,” she answered -impertinently. “You’d just answer ‘Nice li’l -baby, all blind and deaf and everything.’”</p> - -<p>“Ideals are out of fashion, Mr. Helgin,” Starling -said. “They don’t seem to blend so well with synthetic -gin, and the Charleston, and divorces at six for a -dollar.”</p> - -<p>Helgin countered with one of his bland ironies and -then said: “The party’s beginning to break up, now. -Are you ready to leave, Miss Palmer?”</p> - -<p>“Would you mind if I saw Miss Palmer home?” -Starling asked, bluntly, but in a soft voice. “I hope -you won’t be irritated at my nerve.”</p> - -<p>Helgin laughed.</p> - -<p>“Of course not, if it’s agreeable to her,” he replied. -“I never have any desire to interfere with blossoming -romances.”</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_221">[221]</span>“You won’t think I’m being terribly rude, will you?” -Blanche asked.</p> - -<p>“Go o-on, stop the nervous apologies, child,” he -said. “I’m really glad that you’ve found a kindred -soul.”</p> - -<p>He shook hands with the other two and walked -away.</p> - -<p>As Blanche and Starling went for their wraps, they -ran into Oppendorf and Margaret, and Blanche introduced -the two men, who vaguely remembered that they -had met somewhere before. Oppendorf looked even -sleepier and more distant than usual, while Margaret -was in a giggling daze of contentment.</p> - -<p>“He didn’t kiss more than two other girls to-night,” -she said gayly. “I really think he must be beginning -to care for me.”</p> - -<p>“I didn’t count more than two in your case, but -then we had our backs turned once in a while,” Oppendorf -replied.</p> - -<p>Blanche promised to visit Margaret’s studio at the -end of the week, with another manuscript for Oppendorf’s -appraisal, and the two couples separated.</p> - -<p>During the taxicab ride to her home, Starling held -her hand, but made no effort to embrace her, and although -she wanted him to, she felt rather glad at his -reserve. How tired she had become of men who desperately -tried to rush her at the end of the first night. -It almost seemed as though rarely desirable men -were never instantly frantic about it—as though their -unabashed quietness alone proved their rarity. Naturally, -only starved or oversexed men were so immediately<span class="pagenum" id="Page_222">[222]</span> -anxious for physical intimacies, although ... -Starling might have kissed her at least.</p> - -<p>As Blanche stood in the dirty, poorly lit hallway, -she smiled for a moment as she remembered how often -she had been in this same spot, permitting men to kiss -and hug her, out of pity or as a small payment for the -“good time” that they had shown her. And now she -was parting with a man infinitely more cajoling than -they had been, and merely clasping hands with him. -Life was certainly “cuckoo” all right. She had arranged -to see Starling at the end of the week and leave -a night of rest in between. As she retired to her bed, -the satiated remnants of the ecstasy-herald were shifting -slowly, slowly in her breast. The dream had finally -peered around the corner ... how nice, how sweet, how -terrifying....</p> - -<p>On the following day, as she worked at the Beauty -Parlor, she was in a sulkily grimacing mood. Oh, this -endless ha-air-curling, and face-massaging ... beautifying -women and girls so that some male fool would -spend his money on them, or offer to marry them, or -try to caress them. Gold-diggers, and loose women -too passionate to be very efficient gold-diggers, and -lazy, decent housewives, and sly-faced wives with a -man or two on the side, and kiss-me-’n’-fade-away -flappers—take away their bodies and what would be -left of them? Less than a grease-spot. Drat this -empty, tiresome work. She’d have to get out of it -pretty soon or go loony. She wanted to write, and -describe people, and live in a decent place, and ... -see Eric Starling.</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_223">[223]</span>He moved about in her mind; his fingers were still -touching her hands. What a strong body and well-shaped -face he had. Funny about men’s faces ... -they were usually either too weakly perfect—movie-hero-like—or -too homely, but Starling’s was in between. -And he had a curious quality—not humble but -sort of sadly and smilingly erect. What was it, anyway?</p> - -<p>During the next two days she treated her family with -a greater degree of merry friendliness, and they began -faintly to hope that she was coming around to -their ways of thinking. In reality, they had ceased to -matter much to her, all except her mother, for whom -she still felt a weak and troubled compassion. Poor, -hard-working, patient, stupid ma. But what on earth -could be done to help her?</p> - -<p>Propped up against the pillows on her bed, Blanche -had written an account of the Vanderin party. With -more confident emotions now, fortified by Oppendorf’s -praise, and with a little, dizzy ache in her head, her -fingers had passed less laboriously over the paper. -Her sketch was pointedly humorous and disrespectful, -and stuck its tongue out at the different men and -women who had attended the party. They might be -celebrities and all that, but most of them hadn’t acted -and talked much different from the business men and -chorines whom she had met at other affairs. She enjoyed -the task of good-naturedly attacking them—it -was like revenging her own undeserved obscurity.</p> - -<p>Her sketch was full of lines such as: “She was fat, -and when she did the Charleston with a little skinny<span class="pagenum" id="Page_224">[224]</span> -fellow, why he looked just like a frightened kid,” and -“The negroes and whites, all except the loving couples, -they acted like they were trying too hard to be happy -together,” and “The party was a good excuse for -necking, but they all could have done it much better -alone,” and “They introduced him as a poet, but when -he started to talk to you, why then you got more uncertain -about it, and when he was through talking you -were just sure that something must be wrong.”</p> - -<p>When she met Starling, on Saturday night, she was -in a facetious and tiptoeing mood. Hot doggie, life -was perking up again. As they rode in a taxicab down -to Margaret’s studio, she showed him the sketch, and -he laughed loudly over it.</p> - -<p>“You know, the trouble between colored and white -people at parties is that they’re both acting up to each -other,” he said. “The whites are doing their darnedest -to be tolerant and, well, cordial, and the colored -people are always a little uncomfortable. They act -self-conscious, you know, or too wild, and why? -They’re all trying to put their best foot forward, and -show that they belong there.”</p> - -<p>“But how about all the loving pairs I saw at Vanderin’s?” -she asked. “They sure didn’t seem to mind -it much.”</p> - -<p>He sighed and closed his eyes for a moment. Of -course, she didn’t know that in eight cases out of ten—perhaps -more—these pairs had nothing but a passing -lust for each other. And what if they did?—that part -of it was all right. There was no earthly reason why -they shouldn’t want each other’s bodies, unless they<span class="pagenum" id="Page_225">[225]</span> -were too cruel or sneering about it. God, sex could be -a wild, clean, naked, beautiful thing, and people were -always hurling mud and denunciations at it, or slinking -with it behind closed doors, damn them. But he -didn’t want just a flitting affair with Blanche ... he -was sure of that now. He had been afraid that the -encouragement of night, and the highballs, and the -party, might have caused him to throw a false radiance -around this girl—he had done the same thing before, -though never so severely. But now he realized that -his feelings for her were made of more solid stuff—realized -it just after he had finished reading her sketch. -He liked her upstanding, inquiring, impertinent spirit, -and the unaffected smiles and <i>moués</i> that appeared -on her face, and the sturdy and yet soft freshness of -her body.</p> - -<p>Hell was probably facing him. He was a negro, yes, -and proud of it, but suppose it caused him to lose -this woman? He would almost hate it, then—this -streak of black blood which he had always flaunted -so defiantly. He wasn’t like other men of his kind—cringing -about it, and claiming to be entirely white, -and fawning before every white woman they met. -Stupid lily-snatchers! Not he! Yet he was sorely -tempted to flee to this lie, in Blanche’s case. If he confessed, -then all of his hopes and longings might be shot -to pieces. He could picture her in his mind, recoiling -from him against her will, summoning pleasant and -compassionate smiles, trying to soothe the wound -caused by her sorrowful determination never to see him -again.</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_226">[226]</span>Puzzled by his frowning silence, she said: “What’s -the matter, Eric?”</p> - -<p>“Oh, I was just brooding over some of the injustice -in this world,” he replied. “It’s absurd, of course—never -does any good. What were we talking about?”</p> - -<p>“You said something about negroes and whites always -acting up to each other,” Blanche answered, “and -then I said that some of the couples I saw at Vanderin’s -seemed to be really gone on each other.”</p> - -<p>“Of course they are—for a night, or a month. A -year’s the world’s record as far’s I know. It’s nothing -but surface sex-appeal, you know, and it’s not much -different from the old plantation-owners down South, -who used to pick out colored mistresses. The only difference -nowadays is that white women are starting to -respond to colored men.”</p> - -<p>“Gee, I wonder ’f I could care for you, ’f you were -colored ... I wonder now,” Blanche said, reflectively. -“Of course, I’ll never have to bother about it, -but it’s interesting just the same. I guess a woman -never knows how she’ll feel about anything until she’s -got to make a choice. It’s all right to think it over and -say ‘I could’ ’r ‘I couldn’t,’ but that’s just because -you’ve got to pretend to know yourself anyway. It -kind of keeps up your backbone.”</p> - -<p>She did not notice the pain that twisted his face. -He tried his best to be humorous ... this dark bugaboo -was getting on his nerves.</p> - -<p>“Mix black and white together and they make gray,” -he said. “I never did like that color. Let’s be more -gaudy to-night.”</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_227">[227]</span>“You’re a terrible liar—you’re wearing a gray -suit,” she replied.</p> - -<p>He laughed.</p> - -<p>“Well, what’s a man to do?” he asked. “You women -can put on lavender, and orange, and cerise clothes, -but if a man tried it he’d be howled out of town.”</p> - -<p>“It’s all your own fault,” she said. “Men just hate -to look different from each other, and besides, they’re -always afraid that somebody’s going to think that -they’re showing some weakness or other. I know -them.”</p> - -<p>As they continued the conversation, in a vein of -mock-chiding and sprightly rebuke, she knew that -she was rapidly descending into the depths of a love -for him. She had also been afraid that the giddiness -of night and a party, plus her own thwarted longings, -might have induced her to throw a glamor over him, -and that her next meeting with him might turn out to -be somewhat disillusioning. But no, his mixture of -frowns and deft gayeties, and his clear, incisive way of -talking, were causing her emotions to increase in leaps -and bounds. Whenever his shoulder grazed hers, a -shamefaced tremor was born within her.</p> - -<p>After they had reached Margaret’s studio they became -more spontaneously mirthful. Margaret was in -a frothy mood and Oppendorf seemed to be more affable -and relaxed than usual. He read Blanche’s sketch -with a broad grin on his face.</p> - -<p>“That’s the stuff, rip it into them, old girl,” he said. -“When they’re not strapping their pedestals to their -backs and setting them up in this place and that,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_228">[228]</span> -they’re wildly reaching for each other’s flesh. The -very thought of an unassuming naturalness, or a frank -and good-natured exchange of challenges, would give -them heart failure!”</p> - -<p>“Don’t worry—they’ll live,” Starling replied.</p> - -<p>Oppendorf was aware of the fact that Starling was -a negro, and Starling liked the blunt and impersonal -way in which the other man treated him. Congenial, -and tossing epigrammatic jests about, the party wended -its way to Tony’s Club and danced there until 3 -<span class="allsmcap">A.M.</span> The cabaret was a wild, gargoylish, shamelessly -tawdry place, trimmed with colored strings of confetti, -and orange and black boxes over the electric lights -hanging from its low, basement-ceiling, and atrocious -wall-panels of half nude women in Grecian draperies, -and booths against the walls, each booth bearing the -name of a different state. A brightly painted railing -hemmed in the rectangular dance floor, and the jazz-orchestra—one -of the best in town—moaned and -screeched and thudded, in the manner of some super-roué, -chortling as he rolled his huge dice to see who -his next mistress would be.</p> - -<p>Margaret, who also knew that Starling was a negro, -glanced curiously at Blanche now and then, and wondered -whether Blanche also knew and whether she had -found that it raised no barrier. The subject, however, -was too delicate to be broached to Blanche on this -night.... It would have to wait.</p> - -<p>Since she was with a man whom she practically -loved, Blanche’s usual wariness toward alcohol—a caution -produced by her desire not to become an unconscious<span class="pagenum" id="Page_229">[229]</span> -prey—left her entirely, and in spite of Starling’s -remonstrances, she drank with a reckless glee. When -3 <span class="allsmcap">A.M.</span>, the closing time, arrived, she was giggling -fondly at him, and trying to balance glasses on her -nose, and snuggling her head against his shoulder.</p> - -<p>When the party reached the street she was barely -able to walk, and had to lean against Starling for support.</p> - -<p>“Why don’t you two come down to our place?” -Margaret asked. “The poor kid’s going to pass out -soon, and then you’ll be in a devil of a fix unless she’s -safely inside somewhere.”</p> - -<p>“No, I’ll call a cab and take her home,” he said. -“Thank you just the same. She comes from a stupid -family, you know, and they’d probably raise a vicious -row if she came back to-morrow afternoon.”</p> - -<p>After bidding the other two farewell, Starling hailed -a cab and gave Blanche’s address to the driver. She -passed out completely in the cab, with her arm around -his shoulder and her head on his breast, and as he -thought it over he began to regret his decision. He -would be forced to carry her to the door of her apartment -and wake up her family, and since they were -obtuse proletarians, they might imagine that he had -plied her with liquor to achieve her seduction. In that -case there would be a sweet rumpus, all right! He was -not afraid of a possible fight—swinging fists was nothing -new to him—but if one did occur, her folks would -probably order her never to see him again, or would -look him up and discover his negro blood. Again, the -ever-blundering “cops” might also interfere in the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_230">[230]</span> -matter.... In this world it was often imperative to -avoid the sordid misinterpretations of other people, -for otherwise you would simply be expending your -energy to no purpose. No, the best thing would be to -take Blanche to his apartment and let her sleep it -off, for then she could return home with the usual -story of having “stayed over” at some girl-friend’s -home. Fearful lies, lies, lies—sometimes he thought -that the entire world was just a swamp of them. Well, -hell, you’d get very far, wouldn’t you, trying to hold -out against it!</p> - -<p>He tapped on the pane and told the driver to switch -to a Harlem address. After he had paid the driver -and was half carrying Blanche over the sidewalk, the -man called after him: “That’s the way to get ’em, Bo!” -Starling turned and was about to leap at the leering -chauffeur, but burdened with Blanche, whom he could -scarcely deposit on the walk, and fearing to arouse -the neighbors in his building, he ignored the remark.</p> - -<p>His apartment consisted of two rooms and a kitchenette, -and after he had placed Blanche on a couch -in one of the rooms, he closed the door and changed -to his slippers and a dressing-gown. Then he sat down -in an armchair and grinned, in a sneer at himself, -as he lit a cigarette. This was exactly like one of the -impossible climaxes in a cheap movie-reel. The handsome -hero had the proudly beautiful girl at his mercy, -but nobly and honorably refused to compromise her. -Oh, rats, why not walk in and take the only crude, -gone-to-morrow happiness that life seemed to offer. -Otherwise, she would find out about his negro blood,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_231">[231]</span> -before their achievement of finality, and depart from -him or tell him to be “just a dear friend,” and what -would he have then?—not even the remembrance of -a compensating night. Hell, he ought to regard her as -just another blood-stirring girl, and ravish her, and -forget her afterwards. If you failed to trick and abuse -women, they usually sought to turn the cards on you—he’d -found that out often enough.</p> - -<p>He arose and paced up and down the room. No, he -was a mawkish fool, a sentimental jackass—he -couldn’t do it. The dirty nigger couldn’t leap on the -superior white girl, damn it. He loved this girl—no -doubt about that. She had a clear, honest, stumbling-on -mind, and her heart was free from pretenses and -hidden schemes, and a unique essence, tenderly simple -and defiant by turns, seemed to saturate her. It wasn’t -just her body and face—he had known prettier girls -by far—but it was something that clung to this body -and face and transformed them to an inexplicable but -indubitable preciousness. She was unconscious now, -and her inert surrender would mean nothing to him -except a cheap and empty triumph. He wanted her to -come to him joyously, spontaneously, madly, and with -quiverings and shinings on her face!</p> - -<p>He sat down again in the armchair. Damn his luck, -why couldn’t he have fallen in love with another negro -girl? He wasn’t like some of the men of his race—always -chasing after white girls because it gave these -men a thrill to boast of having captured them, and -soothed their miserable inferiority complex. He had -nearly always stuck to the girls of his own race, and<span class="pagenum" id="Page_232">[232]</span> -yes, he had loved two of them ... in a way ... but -it hadn’t been the surging, frightened, and at times -abashed thing that he was feeling now. He was in for -it now, oh, how he was in for it! He would undoubtedly -be rejected, and pitied, and reduced to every -kind of helpless writhing. It was in him to curse the -very day on which he had entered the earth.... Good -God, why couldn’t he shake off this morbid hopelessness? -How did he know what would happen, after all? -Perhaps her love for him was as overwhelming as his. -Perhaps she would be forced to cling to him, in spite -of every enormous warning and obstacle.</p> - -<p>He passed into a fitful and often dream-groaning -sleep. When he awoke it was noon. His room seemed -uglier than usual—the straight, oak furniture, and -the worn, brown carpet, and the rose-stamped wallpaper -were like slaps against his spirit. Money, money—the -devil sure had been in an ingenious mood when -he invented it.... And Blanche Palmer was in the -next room—all of him tingled incredibly at the thought -of her proximity, and his heavy head grew a bit -lighter. Then the door opened and she walked out, -slowly, with a sulky, half sleepy, questioning look on -her face, and rumpled hair, and a wrinkled gown.</p> - -<p>“Eric, what’m I doing here—what happened last -night?” she asked.</p> - -<p>“Sit down, dear, and let your head clear a bit—I’ll -tell you,” he answered.</p> - -<p>She dropped into the armchair and he drew another -chair beside her.</p> - -<p>“You passed out in the cab after we left Tony’s,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_233">[233]</span> -and I decided to bring you here,” he said. “It would -have been rather ticklish, carrying you in my arms -and waking up your, u-um, intellectual family. Their -response might have been just a trifle excited, you -know. You’re not angry with me, are you, Blanche?”</p> - -<p>She looked steadily at him, with her head too confused -and aching for any definite emotion—for the -moment—and then, very slowly, she gave him a tenderly -rebuking smile. Somehow, she knew that he -had left her in peace while she had slept at his place, -and funny, this time she would not have minded an -opposite gesture. Things never seemed to intrude -upon you unless you were seeking to avoid them! Yet, -she was touched by this proof that he had not been -hiding a mere, ordinary lust for her. Sweet, sweet boy -... how her head swayed and throbbed, and yet, despite -the pain, a happiness tried to lessen it.</p> - -<p>“You really shouldn’t have brought me here,” she -said at last. “My folks’ll raise the dickens with me -now. Their system is wink your eye at daughter ’f -she gets back any time before 6 <span class="allsmcap">A. M.</span>, and call her -a bad woman ’f she doesn’t. Still, you’d have been in -for it ’f you <i>had</i> brought me back, I guess. There -wasn’t much choice in the matter.”</p> - -<p>“Why don’t you leave that dirty den of yours?” he -asked. “You can’t go on sacrificing yourself forever.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, I’m going to leave pretty soon,” she answered. -“I’d have done it long ago, only I didn’t see much difference -between living home and staying in some -spotty hall-bedroom, and I’ve never had money enough -for more than that. Maybe I can get a fairly decent<span class="pagenum" id="Page_234">[234]</span> -place in the Village, though. Margaret tells me that -rents are much cheaper down there.”</p> - -<p>“Yes, you’d better look around,” he said, dully.</p> - -<p>He couldn’t ask her to live with him, or to marry -him—especially the latter—without telling the secret -to her, and once more his courage failed him. While -she was bathing and making her toilette, he fixed a -simple breakfast in the kitchenette. Afterwards, as -they were lolling over the coffee, he said: “You’re -looking beautiful this morning. Your face is like ... -well, like a wild rose and a breeze flirting with each -other.”</p> - -<p>“I’m only too willing to believe you, Eric,” she answered, -softly. “Don’t make me conceited now.”</p> - -<p>An irresistible impulse came to him. He arose, -walked around the table, and bent down to her. She -curved her arms about his shoulders, and they traded -a lengthy kiss.</p> - -<p>“I’m in love with you, Blanche,” he said, looking -away, after he had straightened up.</p> - -<p>She grasped one of his hands and answered: “Why, -you’re startling me, Eric—I’d never have guessed it. -Would it surprise, you, too, ’f I said I loved you?”</p> - -<p>“Say it and find out.”</p> - -<p>“Well, I do.”</p> - -<p>He bent down and kissed her again. Then he -clenched one of his fists and walked away. It would -have to be told now ... or never.</p> - -<p>“Let’s sit on the couch, Blanche, I want to talk to -you,” he said.</p> - -<p>After she had acquiesced they were silent for a full<span class="pagenum" id="Page_235">[235]</span> -minute, while she looked at him and wondered at his -nervous remoteness. Then he turned to her.</p> - -<p>“I suppose you don’t know that I’m a negro,” he -said.</p> - -<p>She stared at him with an unbelieving frown on -her face.</p> - -<p>“A ... what?” she asked.</p> - -<p>“A man of negro blood. My grandfather was white -and he married a negress, and my mother married -another white man. That’s the story.”</p> - -<p>As she stared at him she felt too stunned for any -single emotion.</p> - -<p>“Eric, you’re fooling me, aren’t you?” she asked at -last, slowly.</p> - -<p>“No, it’s the truth.”</p> - -<p>“But ... but, Eric, you look exactly like a white -man! It can’t be true.”</p> - -<p>“It is, just the same,” he answered, oddly relieved, -now that he had blurted the thing out, and stoically -waiting for her words to strike him. “I have just a -small fraction of negro blood, as you see, and most -people, like you, mistake me for a white man. God, -how I wish I were coal-black—it would have saved -me from the heartache that’s coming to me now!”</p> - -<p>She looked away from him for a while, with a veritable -<i>mêlée</i> of fear, brave indifference to the revelation, -and self-doubt contending within her. Eric Starling -was a negro, and she had fallen in love with him, -and ... would she be averse to touching him, now? -Would it make any difference? She reached for his -hand and held it tightly for a moment, almost in an<span class="pagenum" id="Page_236">[236]</span> -absurd effort to discover the answer to the question. -Oh, what were words, anyway? He could tell her that -he was negro until he became blue in the face, but -he didn’t give her the feeling of one. Somehow, he -just didn’t have the physical essence which she had -always felt in the presence of other negroes, even -those at the Vanderin party. He just didn’t have it. -There was a fresh, lovely sturdiness attached to his -body, and she wanted to be in his arms, and she -couldn’t help herself. She loved him with every last -blood-drop in her heart.</p> - -<p>But the future, with all its ghastly dangers and -troubles. If she married him, or if they lived together, -her father and brothers would try to kill him, or injure -him—she knew what <i>they</i> would do well enough, the -stupid roughnecks—and her mother would weep and -shriek, and perhaps try to kill herself, and other people -would shun them, or make trouble for them. Even -the dirty newspapers might take it up—hadn’t she read -last week about a negro who had been hounded out -of a New Jersey town because he loved a white girl -and they wanted to marry each other? People were -always like wolves, waiting to leap upon you if you -dared to disregard any of their cherished “Thou Shalt -Nots” ... just like wolves. The whole world seemed to -be in a conspiracy to prevent people from becoming -natural beings and doing as they pleased, even when -their acts couldn’t possibly injure anybody. It was -terrible.</p> - -<p>And she herself, would she have courage enough -to defy everything for his sake, and would her love<span class="pagenum" id="Page_237">[237]</span> -for him continue in spite of all the threats and intrusions? -She turned to look at him again. He was -slumping down on the couch, with his hands resting -limply on his outstretched legs, and his head lowered. -All of her heart bounded toward him, and she flung -herself against him and cried: “I don’t care what you -are, Eric! I love you and I’m going to stick to you. -I love you, Eric, dear one.”</p> - -<p>With hosannas in his heart, he placed his arms -around her, and they passed into an incoherence of -weeping, and kissing, and whispered endearments, and -sighs, and strainings. A full hour passed in this way -before they could slowly return to some semblance of -composure. Then, gradually, they tried to discuss the -predicament facing them.</p> - -<p>“You’re sure that you love me now, dear, but you’ve -got to be doubly sure,” he said. “We won’t see each -other for the next two weeks, and we’ll have a chance -to think things over then. It’ll be hard, hard, but we’ve -simply got to do it. Our minds will work better when -we’re alone.”</p> - -<p>“Perhaps you’re right, Eric,” she said, slowly, “but -it wouldn’t change me any ’f I didn’t see you for a -year, ’r a lifetime. Don’t be afraid of that.”</p> - -<p>“You think so now, and, God, I hope it’s true, but -you must realize what we’re going to be up against,” -he answered. “Your family will raise hell, of course, -and other people will turn their backs on us, and you’ll -have to mingle with negro friends of mine and live -among them.... Are you sure you’ll be able to face -all these things?”</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_238">[238]</span>She hid her head on the couch for a while, and then -raised it.</p> - -<p>“I’ll be honest with you, Eric,” she said. “I’ll love -you for the rest of my life, and I’ll never have anything -to do with any other man, but I don’t know -whether I’m brave enough to marry you and ... and -take all the blows you’ve been talking about. I just -don’t know.”</p> - -<p>“If I were less selfish I’d give you up for your -own good,” he answered, moodily.</p> - -<p>“How about myself?” she asked. “Don’t you -know I’m afraid that my father and my brothers will -try to hurt you, ’r even kill you? Why, I can see the -anger and the meanness on their faces right now, and -it won’t do any good to talk to them! ’F I were less -selfish, I’d want to give <i>you</i> up, just to save you, -Eric.”</p> - -<p>He kissed her again, and they murmured promises -and were loath to withdraw from each other. Finally, -she rose from the couch and tried to bring a brave -smile to her face.</p> - -<p>“I’ve simply got to be going now, Eric,” she said. -“I’ll come up here the Saturday after next, two weeks -from now, dear, ’r I’ll write you ’f I just must see you -sooner.... I know I <i>will</i> marry you, Eric, in spite -of everything—I know I will—but it’ll be better for -both of us ’f we take our time about it.”</p> - -<p>“Yes, that’s true,” he answered, as he fondled her -cheek. “I’ll spend most of the two weeks writing -poems to you, when I’m not in harness down at Tony’s. -It’ll be some consolation, anyway.”</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_239">[239]</span>She donned her hat, and they exchanged several -“last” hugs before they descended to the street, where -he called a cab for her and, in spite of her protestations, -slipped a bill into the driver’s hands. When she -reached her home, the family were seated in the -kitchen, smoking, reading the Sunday papers, and -occasionally debating on the subject of her whereabouts.</p> - -<p>“Well, give ’n account of y’rself, come on,” her -father said, gruffly, as she removed her hat and desperately -tried to straighten out the wrinkles in her -dress. “’F you was out with Campbell again, I’ll make -him talk turkey this time. He can’t fool around with -one of my girls and not expect to do the right thing -by her.”</p> - -<p>His little eyes were tense with irritation and suspicion -as he watched her.</p> - -<p>“Yeh, you’ve got a nerve, all right,” Mabel piped -up. “<i>I</i> never come trotting in at three in the afternoon! -You’re just losing all respect for yourself, that’s what.”</p> - -<p>“Say, listen, I’m not a child, any more,” Blanche -answered, wearily resuming the old, useless blah-blahing. -“I went to a party down in the Village and stayed -overnight at my girl-friend’s studio, Margaret Wheeler, -but I don’t see why I have to make any excuses about -it. If the rest of you don’t like the way I act, I’ll pack -up my things and leave, that’s all.”</p> - -<p>“You will, huh?” her father asked. “Well, maybe -we’ll tell you ourselves to clear outa here. ’F you can’t -show any respect for your folks, then it’s high time -somethin’ was done about it!”</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_240">[240]</span>“Yeh, that goes for me, too,” Harry said.</p> - -<p>He suspected that his sister had rejoined Campbell, -and he determined to look Joe up and frighten him into -marrying her. The damn fool—she didn’t have sense -enough to look out for herself, and if she kept it up, -she’d wind up by becoming little better than the easy -skirts he knocked around with. He wouldn’t let that -happen to <i>his</i> sister—not he.</p> - -<p>Kate Palmer stuck to her invariable rôle of peacemaker, -though she felt sick at heart at her daughter’s -silliness and looseness. She was staying out overnight -with men and getting to be a regular bad woman. It -was really terrible.</p> - -<p>“Of course, we won’t let you leave home,” she said, -“but you’re actin’ sim-ply awful nowadays. You’ll be -disgracin’ all of us the next thing we know, gettin’ -into some trouble ’r somethin’. Won’t you promise -your ma not to stay out all night? Won’t you, Blanie?”</p> - -<p>“You know I don’t want to hurt you, ma,” Blanche -replied, as she stroked her mother’s hair, “but just the -same, I’ve got to lead my own life from now on. I’m -a grown-up person, ma, and not a slave.”</p> - -<p>“You know we’re just askin’ you to act decint-like, -you know it,” her mother said, sadly. “We’re none -of us tryin’ to hold you down.”</p> - -<p>“Yeh, that’s right, you’re getting too bold,” Mabel -cut in, with disguised envy.</p> - -<p><i>She</i> scarcely ever “went the limit” with men, and -why should her sister be privileged to be more brazen -about it.</p> - -<p>During all of these tirades, Blanche had wondered<span class="pagenum" id="Page_241">[241]</span> -at her own indifference—the battle was on again, but -now it had only a comical aspect. These pent-up, -dense, jealous people—could they really be related -to her own flesh and blood? They seemed to be so -remote and impossible. None of them, except her -mother, stirred her in the least, and even there it was -only a mild compassion. Yet, once she had loved them -in a fashion, and felt some degree of a warm nearness -that even wrangling had never quite been able -to remove. What marvels happened to you, once your -mind began to expand. That was it—their minds were -still and hard, and little more than the talking slaves -of their emotions—while hers was restless and separate, -and had slowly overcome the blindness of her -former emotions toward them.</p> - -<p>And now ... ah, if they had only known what they -really had to rave about. How they would have -pounced upon her! The sick fear returned to her as -she reclined upon the bed in her room. Perhaps it -might be wiser to pack up and leave home immediately. -Yet, that would only be a breathing spell. If -she married Starling, or lived with him, they would -inevitably investigate and discover his negro blood, -and the storm would burst, anyway. She tossed about -in a brooding indecision.</p> - -<p>During the next week she surprised her family by -remaining in her room each night. What had come -over her?—she must be sick, or in some secret difficulty. -When a girl moped around and didn’t care -to enjoy herself at night, something must be wrong, -especially a girl like Blanche, who had always been<span class="pagenum" id="Page_242">[242]</span> -“on the go” for the past four years. They suspected -that Campbell or some other man might have given -her an unwelcome burden, and they questioned her -in this respect, but her laughing denials nonplussed -them. Harry had an interview with Campbell, and had -grudgingly become convinced that Blanche was no -longer going out with him. The Palmer family finally -became convinced that she had really taken their objections -to heart and had decided to become a good -girl.</p> - -<p>Blanche wrote feverishly in her room, every night, -with a little grammar which she had purchased to aid -her—descriptions of places which she knew, such as -cafeterias, dance halls and amusement parks. Her -anger at human beings, and her sense of humor, fought -against each other in these accounts, and the result -was frequently a curious mixture of indignations and -grimaces. Starling was ever a vision, standing in her -room and urging on her hands ... she was writing for -his sake as well as her own. If the rest of her life -was to be interwoven in his, she would have to make -herself worthy of him, and try to equal his own creations, -and give him much more than mere physical -contacts and adoring words. Otherwise, he might -become quickly tired of her!</p> - -<p>Her courage grew stronger with each succeeding -night, and a youthful, though still sober, elasticity -within her began to make plans that slew her prostrate -broodings. Eric and she would simply run off to -some remote spot—Canada, Mexico, Paris, anywhere—and -then the specters and hatreds in their immediate<span class="pagenum" id="Page_243">[243]</span> -scene would be powerless to injure or interfere -with them. What was the use of remaining and fighting, -when all of the odds were against them, and when -the other side was so stubbornly unscrupulous, so -utterly devoid of sympathy and understanding? In -such a case, they would only be throwing themselves -open to every kind of attack and intrusion, if not to -an almost certain defeat. Eric might be a “nigger,” -yes, but he certainly didn’t look like one, and he was -better than any of the white men she had ever met ... -dear, sweet boy ... and she loved him with every particle -of her heart. She was sure of that now. She had -never before felt anything remotely equal to the huge, -restless emptiness which her separation from him had -brought her—a sort of can’t-stand-it-not-to-see-him -feeling that rose within her, even when she was in the -midst of writing, and kept her pencil idly poised over -the paper for minutes, while in her fancy she teased -his hair, or chided some witticism of his. She’d go -through ten thousand hells rather than give him up!</p> - -<p>After a week and a half had passed, she determined -to visit Margaret and “talk it over” with the other -girl. It wasn’t that Margaret could convince her one -way or the other—she had made her decision—but -still, she craved the possible sympathy and encouragement -of at least one other person besides Eric. It -was hard to stand so utterly alone.</p> - -<p>After telephoning, and finding that Margaret would -be alone that night, she hurried down to see her.</p> - -<p>The two girls sparred pleasantly and nervously with -each other for a while as though they were both dreading<span class="pagenum" id="Page_244">[244]</span> -the impending subject—which Margaret had -sensed—and futilely trying to delay its appearance. -Finally, Blanche blurted out, after a silence: “I suppose -you know I’m in love with Eric Starling, Mart. -You must have guessed it, the way I fooled around -with him at Tony’s.”</p> - -<p>“Yes, I’ve been worrying quite a bit about that,” -Margaret answered. “Do you know that he’s, well—”</p> - -<p>“Yes, I know that he’s a negro,” Blanche interrupted. -“It’s true, Eric has just a little negro blood -in him, but you must admit, dear, that he’s the -whitest-looking one you ever saw.”</p> - -<p>“Of course, he’d have fooled me, too, when I first met -him, if Max hadn’t told me about it,” Margaret said. -“I like him, too. He’s certainly not fatiguing to look -at, and he has a lovely sense of humor, but still, can -you quite forget about his negro blood when ... oh, -when you’re petting together, I mean.”</p> - -<p>“Can I forget it?—why, I go mad, stark mad, ’f he -just puts his hand over mine,” Blanche cried. “I’ve -never fallen so hard for any man in all my life—I mean -it, Mart. I arranged not to meet him for two weeks—just -to see ’f I wouldn’t cool down about him, you -know—but it’s only convinced me all the more. I’ll -never be able to get along without him ... never.”</p> - -<p>“Well, after all, there’s no reason why you shouldn’t -have a little affair with him, if you’re careful about it,” -Margaret replied.</p> - -<p>“But it’s much deeper than that,” Blanche said -slowly. “We’re both perm’nently in love with each -other, we really are. It’s a big, precious thing, and<span class="pagenum" id="Page_245">[245]</span> -not just ... well ... not just wanting to have a few -parties, you know. I’m going to live with him for -years and years, and maybe marry him right now. -It’s the first time I’ve ever loved any one.”</p> - -<p>“But, Blanche, you’re going to let yourself in for -an endless nightmare, if that’s the case,” Margaret replied, -sorrowfully. “Your people will simply raise the -roof off, if they’re anything like you say they are. And -then, all the other things—children, and living among -his negro friends, and getting snubbed right and left.... -Are you really sure you love him enough for all -that? Are you, really?”</p> - -<p>“Yes, I <i>am</i> sure,” Blanche said, in a slow, sick-at-heart, -stubborn voice. “I’ve thought of everything, -don’t worry about that, and it hasn’t given me much -rest, either. Oh, how I hate this blind, mean world -of ours!”</p> - -<p>“Yes, I know, but hating it never solves anything,” -Margaret answered, dully.</p> - -<p>“Well, I’m going to solve it by running off with him,” -Blanche continued. “We’ll go far away, to Paris or -London—some place where nobody’ll know that Eric’s -a negro, and we’ll stay there for the rest of our lives, -that’s all. I don’t care ’f we both have to wash dishes -for a living, I don’t. It’s all right to fight back when -you’ve got a chance, but not when everything’s against -you.”</p> - -<p>“Funny, I never thought of that,” Margaret said, -more cheerfully. “It might work out that way. Of -course, it <i>is</i> cowardly in a way, but after all, there’s -little sense to being brave in the lions’ den and getting<span class="pagenum" id="Page_246">[246]</span> -devoured. It might work out fine, if you’re both certain -your love’s going to last. Somehow or other, it’s -hard for me to believe in a permanent love. I don’t -think I’ve ever noticed it in any of the people around -me. Are you sure you’re not just in a sentimental -dream, Blanche?”</p> - -<p>Blanche reflected for a while.</p> - -<p>“Well, ’f we’re both making a mistake, we’ll be -happy, anyway, till we find it out,” she said at last. -“Good Lord, ’f you never take any risks in life, why -then you’ll be sad all the time, and you won’t have -any happiness at all, no matter how short it is!”</p> - -<p>“Yes, I agree with you there,” Margaret answered, -with a sigh.</p> - -<p>They fell into a discussion of the practical details -of Blanche’s possible departure, and the money that -would be required, and the difficulty of earning a living -in Europe, both trying to lose themselves in a bright -animation. When Blanche parted with Margaret, a -little after midnight, she felt more confident, and -almost light-hearted. After all, if two human beings -were wise, and brave, and forever alert, they simply -couldn’t be separated from each other, no matter what -the dangers were.</p> - -<p>The mood remained with her and grew more intense -each day, and when she rang Starling’s bell at the end -of the week, she was almost fluttering with hope and -resolution. For the first hour they did little more -than remain in each other’s arms, in a daze and maze -of kisses, sighs, and simple, reiterated love words. To -Starling, huge violins and cornets were ravishing the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_247">[247]</span> -air of the room, and the street sounds outside, floating -in through an open window, were only the applause of -an unseen audience. After all, only times like this gave -human beings any possible excuse for existing—the -rest of life was simply a series of strugglings, and dodgings, -and tantalizings, and defeats. The least pressure -of her fingertips provoked a fiery somersault within -him, and the grazing of her bosom and face against his -aroused revolving conflagrations within his breast. -Blanche had become a stunned child, scarcely daring -to believe in the compensations which were ruffling her -blood to something more than music, and yet desperately -guarding them, incoherently whispering over -them, endlessly testing them with her fingers and lips, -lest they prove to be the cruellest of fantasies.</p> - -<p>When Blanche and Starling had made a moderate return -to a rational condition, they began to discuss their -future.</p> - -<p>“Don’t you see that we must run away, Eric, dear?” -she asked. “We’ll just be crushed and beaten down, -otherwise. My brother Harry, he’d never rest till he’d -put you in a hospital—oh, but don’t I know him—and -he might even try to do worse. I get the shivers when -I think of it.”</p> - -<p>Her words were an affront to his courage, and he -said: “Listen, I can take care of myself—I’ve been -through a pretty tough mill.”</p> - -<p>“Of course you can, but they wouldn’t fight fair,” -she answered, impatiently. “They’d just proceed to -get you by hook or crook. And that’s not half of it. -Why, I can just see ev’rybody turning their backs on<span class="pagenum" id="Page_248">[248]</span> -us, ’r making nasty remarks, ’r trying to poison us -against each other. We’ve just got to run away and -live where nobody knows us!”</p> - -<p>“No, it would be too yellow,” he replied, stubbornly. -“All the things you mention will only be a test of our -love for each other. If we can’t stand the gaff, then -our love isn’t what we thought it was.”</p> - -<p>“I’m not afraid of that,” she said. “I’d go through -anything with you ’f I thought it was the best thing -we could do, but why should we stay here and run -up against all kinds of suff’rings and insults, and -dangers, too, just to show how darn brave we are? -It’s not cowardly to run off when everything’s against -us—it’s not.”</p> - -<p>“Well, let’s think it over for another week, anyway,” -he answered, slowly. “I don’t like to slink away, with -my tail between my legs, but maybe it’s the only thing -to do. If we were only starting a little affair, like most -of the mixed couples that hang out at Vanderin’s shack, -then it would be different, of course, but we’re probably -facing a whole lifetime together, and it’s a much -more serious matter. The trouble is I’ve a great deal -of pride in me, honey, and it always wants to fight -back.”</p> - -<p>“I have, too,” she said, “but in a time like this -it’s just foolish to be so proud—it’ll only help other -people to make us unhappy, that’s all.”</p> - -<p>They were silent for a while, and then he said, -with a smile: “Good Lord, we’re getting morbid and -theatrical. The whole thing may not be half as bad as<span class="pagenum" id="Page_249">[249]</span> -we think it is. Anyway, let’s forget it for one night, -at least.”</p> - -<p>They spent the remainder of the evening in an -idyllic way. He read her his sensuous, symbolistic -poems, and talked about them, and told her exciting -stories of his past life, while she tried to describe some -of the struggles and hesitations which had attended the -birth of her mind, and her search for happiness in the -face of sordid punches, and stupid jeers, and all the -disappointments with which ignorance slays itself. -They resolved not to become complete lovers until -they were really living together and removed from -fears and uncertainties. When they parted at 2 <span class="allsmcap">A. M.</span> -they were both wrapped up in a warmly exhausted but -plotting trance. They arranged to meet on the following -Wednesday, at Tony’s Club, and Blanche felt -feathery and on tiptoes, as she rode back to the uninviting -home which she would soon leave forever.</p> - -<p>The next four days were excruciating centuries to -her, and she was barely able to stagger through the -nagging, drab details of her work at Madame Jaurette’s. -She spent her nights writing in her room, and -the even trend of her days remained uninvaded until -Tuesday evening, when she found a letter waiting for -her at home. It was from Oppendorf, who told her that -he had polished up her account of the Vanderin party -and had sold it to a New York magazine of the jaunty, -trying-hard-to-be-sophisticated kind. She was overjoyed -as she stared at the fifty-dollar check which -he had enclosed, and she could scarcely wait to tell -the news to Eric. Now she had proved her mettle, and<span class="pagenum" id="Page_250">[250]</span> -was on the road to becoming a creative equal of his—blissful -thought.</p> - -<p>When she met him at Tony’s, she gayly extracted the -check from her purse and waved it in front of his -face.</p> - -<p>“Now what do you think of your stupid, hair-curling -Blanche?” she asked elatedly.</p> - -<p>He laughed at her excitement as he led her to a -table.</p> - -<p>“You haven’t made me believe in your ability just -because you’ve been accepted by a frothy, snippy magazine,” -he said. “I knew all about it the first night I -met you.”</p> - -<p>“Never mind, this means I’m going to make a name -for myself,” she answered, proudly.</p> - -<p>He gave her a fatherly smile—what a delicious combination -of naïvetés and instinctive wisdoms she was.</p> - -<p>“I felt the same way when I first broke into print,” -he said. “The excitement dies down after a while, and -then you don’t care so much whether people like your -stuff or not. You get down to a grimly plodding gait, -old dear, and you start to write only for yourself. -Then each acceptance means only so many dollars and -cents.”</p> - -<p>She retorted merrily: “Wet ra-ag—don’t try to -dampen my spirits. It can’t be done.”</p> - -<p>The brazenly sensual clatter and uproar of Tony’s -pounded against their minds, and even Starling, more -skeptically inured to it, and knowing every hidden, -sordid wrinkle in the place, became more flighty and -swaggering as he danced with Blanche. It meant something,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_251">[251]</span> -now that the girl whom he really loved was -stepping out beside him, and it had become something -less gross than a collection of rounders, sulky or giggling -white and colored flappers, fast women, and -hoodwinked sugar-papas spending their rolls to impress -the women beside them. Now it was an appropriate -carnival-accompaniment to his happiness.</p> - -<p>Immersed in Starling, Blanche did not notice the -group of newcomers who had seated themselves two -tables behind her. They consisted of her brother -Harry, another wooden-faced, overdressed man of -middle age, and their thickly painted, sullen-eyed ladies -of the evening. Harry was settling the details of a -whisky-transaction with Jack Compton, the other man.</p> - -<p>“We’ll have the cases there by midnight on the dot,” -he said, in a low voice. “I’ve got a cop fixed up, an’ -he’s gonna stand guard for us an’ say it’s K.O., ’f any -one tries to butt in. We’ll have to hand him a century, -though.”</p> - -<p>“That’s all right with me,” Compton replied. “You -put this deal through without slipping up and there’ll -be a coupla hundred in it for you.”</p> - -<p>“It’s as good as done,” Harry answered, with a heavy -nod.</p> - -<p>Then, glancing around, he spied Blanche at the other -table.</p> - -<p>“Say, there’s my crazy sis, Blanche,” he said, pointing -to her. “In the red pleated skirt, two tables down -by the railing. See her, Jack?”</p> - -<p>“Yeh ... she’s a good looker, Harry,” Compton replied.</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_252">[252]</span>“Say, I know the fellow with her,” one of the woman -broke in. “He works here—he’s public’ty-man for the -joint. Name’s Starling—Eric Starling. I met him down -here about a week ago. What’s your sister doing out -with a nigger, Harry? She seems to be mighty thick -with him from the way she’s cutting up.”</p> - -<p>“Go o-on, he looks damn white to me,” Harry answered, -intently scowling toward the other table.</p> - -<p>“Well, he <i>is</i> a nigger just the same,” the second -woman said. “It’s known all around here—he don’t -deny it any. I’ve seen them like him before. They’re -only about one-eighth black, I guess.”</p> - -<p>“Can’t your sister get any white fellows to go around -with?” Compton asked. “She must be hard up, trotting -around with a shine.”</p> - -<p>“Yeh, she’s sure crazy about dark meat, I’ll say,” -the first woman commented, with a laugh.</p> - -<p>The taunts pierced Harry’s thick skin, and a rage -grew within him. He’d stood for her going with Jews, -and wops, and dopey weak-sisters, but a nigger was too -much! It affronted his family-pride and erectness, and -made him feel that his friends had been given a chance -to ridicule him in an indirect way. For all he knew, -Blanche might be having intimate relations with this -coon, or might be even fixing to marry him. The -thought was like a red-hot iron. His own sister, acting -like a slut, in a black-and-tan dive, and consorting with -a nigger there, or maybe with more of them.... By -God, he wouldn’t stand for that!</p> - -<p>“I’m gonna go over an’ bust him in the nose,” he<span class="pagenum" id="Page_253">[253]</span> -said, half rising from his chair. “He’ll be leavin’ white -girls alone after I’m through with him!”</p> - -<p>Compton pulled Harry back to his chair.</p> - -<p>“Keep your shirt on, d’you hear me,” he said. “If -you start a scrap here you won’t have a chance—every -bouncer ’n’ waiter in the place’ll be right on top of you. -I’ve seen them in action before, and believe me, they -work just like a machine.”</p> - -<p>“Well, I can get in a coupla good cracks at him before -they throw me out,” Harry persisted. “I want to show -that dirty shine where <i>he</i> gets off at, makin’ a play for -a sister uh mine!”</p> - -<p>“You won’t show him this way,” Compton retorted. -“You’ll land in the hospital, and you’ll land there quick, -too. This gang down here don’t like a white man’s -looks anyway, and they’ll give you the leather, just for -good luck. Come on, let’s all clear outa here. You -can lay for him to-morrow night, if you want to, ’r -else give your sister a good bawling out when you get -her home, an’ make her stay away from him.”</p> - -<p>“Well, they can’t do nothin’ ’f I go over an’ bawl -her out now,” Harry said, with a drunken stubbornness.</p> - -<p>“Aw, keep your head, Harry, we don’t want to get -the girl-friends here into no trouble,” Compton replied. -“Come on, let’s beat it, Harry.”</p> - -<p>The women added their persuasions, and Harry -finally gave a reluctant assent. He departed with his -friends, after vowing to settle the matter during the -next few days.</p> - -<p>Blanche and Starling continued their entranced capers<span class="pagenum" id="Page_254">[254]</span> -until the closing hour, and when they rode to her -home, they were steeped in a tired and lazy fondness, -with their arms around each other and their heads -close together. The apparitions and doubts had disappeared -from their situation, as far as they were concerned, -and nothing remained but a deliciously overheated -and rumpled nearness to each other. They arranged -to meet on the following Saturday night, and -exchanged several farewell kisses, in the cab, before -they reluctantly parted.</p> - -<p>Blanche slept until noon, since the day was a holiday—Memorial -Day—and when she awoke, the other Palmers -were eating a late breakfast around the kitchen -table. As she entered the kitchen, in her kimono, -the family turned and surveyed her, each bearing a -frown on his face. Taken aback, and suddenly prodded -by an instinctive fear, Blanche advanced slowly toward -the table. How could they know anything about -Starling—nonsense. They were probably “sore” at -her for some other reasons.</p> - -<p>After she had seated herself at the table, the bombardment -commenced.</p> - -<p>“Who was you with last night?” Harry asked, with -a sneer, to see whether she would lie.</p> - -<p>“It’s none of <i>your</i> business,” Blanche replied, coolly, -her fears soothed now.</p> - -<p>“We-ell, that’s a hot one—going around with a nigger -is none of our business, huh?” Mabel queried, in a -shrill voice.</p> - -<p>“What do you mean?” Blanche asked, mechanically—the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_255">[255]</span> -blow had come, just when she had least expected -it!</p> - -<p>She became sick at heart, and dreaded the impending -assault, and scarcely knew what she could answer. -If she became defiant, it would only enrage them all -the more, and it would be useless, besides ... what -could she do, oh, what? To attempt to explain matters -to her family would be ridiculous.</p> - -<p>“You know what we mean all right,” her father -cried. “You’ve been goin’ out with a shine—Harry -saw you together last night down at Tony’s Club. For -all we know you may be hooked up with him in the -bargain. ’F I was sure of it, by God, I swear I’d take -a swing at you, daughter ’r no daughter!”</p> - -<p>Blanche remained silent—what they said to her -didn’t matter, and she wasn’t afraid of them, but Eric, -Eric ... they might kill him, or cripple him for life. -They were really aroused now as they had never been -before—she knew them well enough to tell when they -were merely blustering and when not—and they felt -that she was on the verge of disgracing and insulting -everything that supported their lives—the cruelly -proud, angry delusion of blood superiority, which they -clung to as a last resort against all of the submissions -and lacks in their existences. In their opinion, Eric was -little better than a rat, who had tried to break into the -sacred family kitchen.</p> - -<p>Her mother began to speak, through fits of weeping.</p> - -<p>“Oh, Blanie, Blanie, what’s come over you? You -must be outa your head, you must. You’ve just got to -give up that nigger you’re goin’ with, ’r you’ll be breakin’<span class="pagenum" id="Page_256">[256]</span> -my heart.... Blanie, Blanie, promise your ma -you’ll never give yourself to nobody but a white man -... promise me, Blanie.”</p> - -<p>“See what you’re doing to ma,” Mabel said. “You’re -just bringing her to her grave, that’s what!”</p> - -<p>“Well, I’m gonna take a hand in this,” her father -cried. “You’ll stay away from that fellow from now -on, ’r I’ll land in jail f’r manslaughter. I’m not kiddin’ -any this time. You’ve been havin’ your own way, an’ -stickin’ up your nose at us, an’ we’ve let you get away -with it, but you never put over anythin’ like this—hookin’ -up with a lousy nigger! What have you got to -say f’r yourself, huh?”</p> - -<p>“Yeh, that’s what I wanta know,” Harry said, as he -glowered at her.</p> - -<p>The promptings of cunning began to stir in Blanche’s -brain. To save Eric, she would have to lie, abasing, -tricky lies. No other answers were possible. If she -strove to argue with her family now, or if she showed -a hairbreadth of independence, they would instantly -seek Eric out, and even his life might be in danger. -She was certain of that.</p> - -<p>“I’ve only gone out with him twice,” she said. “I -didn’t know he was a negro, I swear I didn’t. I only -found it out last night, just before I left him. He told -me he was then, and I was good and mad about it. I -called him down for daring to make up to me, and I -told him I’d never, never see him again. He looks just -like a white man, and he’d fool almost anybody. I -swear he would.”</p> - -<p>“Bla-anie, I mighta known it was somethin’ like<span class="pagenum" id="Page_257">[257]</span> -this,” her mother cried, joyously. “’Course you won’t -see him no more, now you’ve found out, ’course you -won’t.”</p> - -<p>“I should say not,” Blanche answered, vigorously. -“I’m not picking out negroes this year, unless I don’t -know what they are.”</p> - -<p>Blanche hated herself for the groveling words which -she forced from her mouth, and yet she felt that she -had given the only shrewd answer that could possibly -placate the stupid viciousness assailing her. She’d be -willing to become a carpet, for Eric’s sake, any day in -the year, no matter what nausea might be attached to -the proceeding.</p> - -<p>“Well, all right then, we’ll let it rest,” her father -said, in a growling voice; “but just the same, Harry an’ -me’ll keep a close watch on you. ’F you’re not tellin’ -us a straight story, it’ll be bad for this Starling guy. -We’ll put him in a nice, tight hotel, all right.”</p> - -<p>“I’m with you there,” Harry broke in. “What I’d -like to know is why she didn’t speak up when we -started to ask her about it.”</p> - -<p>“Gee, you were all on top of me like a ton of bricks,” -Blanche answered. “I didn’t have a chance to say anything. -Besides, I was ashamed of the whole thing.”</p> - -<p>“Sure, I can understand that,” Philip said, eagerly, -glad that his favorite sister had not been intending -to disgrace them after all. “Didn’t Harry say this -morning that it was hard to tell this Starlun guy from -a white fellow? Blanche was just taken in, that’s all.”</p> - -<p>“’Course she was,” Mrs. Palmer affirmed.</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_258">[258]</span>“Well, I’m not sayin’ she wasn’t,” her father replied. -“We’ll just keep tabs on her, anyway, an’ make sure -of it.”</p> - -<p>Blanche continued her meek explanations and protests -of innocence, and her family gradually calmed -down and resumed a surface quietness. She knew that -the suspicions of her father and Harry were still -smoldering, and that these two would probably shadow -her for some time, or use some other means to become -cognizant of her nightly destinations and companions. -She noticed also the speculative looks that Mabel gave -her now and then. Mabel was too expert a liar not to -doubt her sister’s tale, and she determined to do a little -“snooping around” herself. You never can tell about -Blanche.</p> - -<p>The remainder of the day and night held a nightmare -to Blanche. She had to affect a nonchalant mien—they -would doubt her again if she showed any sadness -or depression—and the strain was infinite, like holding -up a boulder. Visions of Eric’s lifeless body dodged in -and out of her mind and made her shiver helplessly. -Harry and his gangsters could “get” poor Eric without -half trying, and it would be useless to attempt to flee -with him now, since she would be under the severest -of scrutinies, where any false move might bring misfortune. -Still, wasn’t there another way out of it? -Why couldn’t they remain scrupulously apart from -each other for half a year, or even longer, and then, -when all of the suspicions and spyings had completely -vanished, suddenly run away together? By that time<span class="pagenum" id="Page_259">[259]</span> -her family would certainly have forgotten the matter, -and in the interim, she could go about with other men—somehow -compelling herself—and outwardly maintain -her normal ways. A wan approach to cheerfulness possessed -her, and late that night, she sat up in bed and -wrote to Eric:</p> - -<div class="blockquot"> -<p><span class="smcap">My Dearest Boy</span>:</p> - -<p>My brother Harry saw us at Tony’s last night, and -this morning they gave me hell. It was no use to argue -with them and make them even nastier—just no use. -They said they would kill you, dearest, and I know -they were not fourflushing when they said it. They’re -cruel and stupid, and to their way of thinking, I’d -disgrace and humiliate them if I ever married you. -It’s what they cling to when everything else shows them -how small they are—this snarling, keep-off pride in -being white.... I lied to them and said I hadn’t known -that you were colored, and swore I’d never see you -again. Please, please forgive me, Eric. They’d have -killed you if I hadn’t lied. And please, Eric, you must -do as I say. This is the plan I have. We won’t see -each other for exactly six months, and then we’ll suddenly -run away together. Everything will be quiet -then, and before they know what’s happened, we’ll be -hundreds of miles away. If we tried it now we wouldn’t -have a chance. Please, dearest boy, write and tell me -you’ll do as I say. I love you more than anything -else in life, and you’re like a prince walking through -some rose-bushes, and you fill all of my heart, and I’ll -never give you up—never be afraid of that. Answer me<span class="pagenum" id="Page_260">[260]</span> -at once and address the letter to Madame Jaurette’s. -I’m sending you a thousand kisses, dearest boy.</p> - -<p class="right"><span class="smcap">Blanche.</span></p> -</div> - -<p>After finishing the letter, she felt woebegonely relieved -and slightly hopeful, and the mood stayed with -her through the following day of work at the Beauty -Shop. She had placed a special-delivery stamp on the -letter, and he received it in a few hours. After he -had read and reread it several times, with a touch -of anger lurking in his numbness, he began to pace up -and down in his room, as though striving to goad himself -into life again. Was she really giving him up, and -trying to hide the blow with promises of a future -escape? Was she?... No, Blanche was too inhumanly -honest for that—even if she had wanted to lie, she -could never have induced herself to put the words on -paper. If he were wrong in this belief, then he would -lose all of his faith in his ability to peer into human -beings, and would call himself a fool for the remainder -of his life! Somehow, a tremor of simple sincerity -seemed to run through her letter—he couldn’t be -mistaken.</p> - -<p>Well, what then? If he persisted in running off with -Blanche now, it might lead to melodrama. White -gangsters such as her brother would not hesitate about -attempting to “croak him off.” He wasn’t afraid of -actually fighting them, but any man was always defenseless -against a sudden bullet or knife-thrust, and -he certainly didn’t care to die that way. B-r-r, the -thought brought a fine sweat to his temples. No, these<span class="pagenum" id="Page_261">[261]</span> -whites were little better than rodents, when their angry -pride was aroused, and you had to use some of their -own tactics, or perish.</p> - -<p>They regarded him as a dirty nigger, these lily-pure, -intelligent, lofty, noble-hearted people. What a nauseating -joke! But, joke or no joke, it had to be grappled -with. Blanche was right after all—when you were -in a trap you had to gnaw slyly at the things binding -you. It was galling to your erect defiance to admit it, -but often, in a dire crisis, an imbecilic bravery brought -you no gain, and caused your extinction. Yes, Blanche -was right—it would be best for them to separate for -half a year and then take the other side by surprise, -with a thumb-twiddling swiftness. They would have to -be patient—splendidly, grimly, bitterly patient—and -somehow control the aches and cries in their hearts.</p> - -<p>Of course, during the coming months, he would go -out with women now and then, or chat with them—as -a feeble diversion—but he would shun any intimate -relations with them, if it were humanly possible. A -pretty, well-shaped girl could always affect a man, in -a purely physical way—he wasn’t trying naively to -delude himself on <i>that</i> score—but just the same he -intended to try his damnedest to remain faithful to -Blanche. She invaded and stirred him as no other -woman had, and if he consorted with other girls now, -it would be a taunting and unanswerable aspersion -against the depth and uniqueness of his love for her. In -such a case he would be forced to admit that all of -love was only an easily incited lust—but it wasn’t -true. He <i>would</i> remain faithful to her.</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_262">[262]</span>He sat down and wrote a hopeful, agreeing letter, -expressing his implicit belief in her, and swearing that -he would remain true, and urging her to emulate his -jaunty fortitude.</p> - -<p>When she received the letter on the following afternoon, -a surge of youthful determination almost drove -the darkness out of her heart. If he had written morbidly, -or in despair, her tottering and beleaguered -feelings would have been crushed, but now she felt -armored and half-way restored to her former happiness. -After all, they were both very young, and six -months now were little more than six hours in <i>their</i> -lives.</p> - -<p>During the next month she went to cabarets and -theaters with other men, and wearily repulsed their -inevitable attempts to embrace her afterwards, and -preserved a careful attitude toward her family—not -too friendly and not too ill-tempered. They would -have suspected her of playing a part if she had suddenly -seemed to become too pliable and harmonious. -She saw Margaret and Oppendorf once, but did not -tell them anything concerning the developments in her -relations with Eric. She feared that they would advise -her never to see him again, and she didn’t care to pass -through the futile torments of an argument. She had -made up her mind, and no human being could change it.</p> - -<p>When a month had passed, however, a restlessly -jealous mood stole imperceptibly over her. Perhaps -Eric was running about with other girls now; perhaps -his head was pressed against the smooth tenderness -of their bosoms, or perhaps he had found another girl,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_263">[263]</span> -far more beautiful and intelligent than any Blanche -Palmer. The mood reached a climax one Sunday afternoon, -as she boarded an “L” train and rode down to -the Battery. Yes, of course, he must have forgotten -her by now. He met tens of women every night down -at Tony’s, and among all of them it would be easy for -him to find a quick-minded, tempting girl—perhaps -one of his own race, who would not lead him into -staggering troubles and difficulties.</p> - -<p>She sat on a bench facing the greenish-gray swells -of dirty water, and watched the bobbing boats, and the -laboriously swaying barges, and the straining, smoky -tugs. A mood of plaintive, barely wounded peace settled -about her, in spite of the jealous ranklings underneath. -For an hour she sat draped in this acceptant -revery, with her mind scarcely stirring. Then, glancing -up, she saw that Eric was standing beside her.</p> - -<p>For almost half a minute they stared at each other, -without shifting their positions.</p> - -<p>“Eric ... darling ... what are you doing here?” -she asked at last.</p> - -<p>“I never dreamt I’d see you,” he answered. “I was -walking along and trying to forget my blues when I -caught sight of you. I tried hard to turn around then -and avoid you, but I just couldn’t do it. I couldn’t.”</p> - -<p>“I’m so glad you didn’t,” she said, as he sat down -beside her. “Eric, my boysie, what’s been happening -to you?”</p> - -<p>“Oh, I’ve been plodding along, and writing poems to -you, and extolling the barbaric charms of Tony’s,” he -replied. “I’d get worried and hopeless every now and<span class="pagenum" id="Page_264">[264]</span> -then, thinking you were in some other man’s arms ... -just like a boy who doesn’t know whether he’s going -to be whipped or petted.”</p> - -<p>“That’s exactly how I felt,” she cried. “Why, say, -I had you falling in love with every snippy, doll-faced -girl in New York!”</p> - -<p>They laughed—softly, ruefully, and with a relaxing -weariness.</p> - -<p>“How about your exquisite people?” he asked, after -a pause. “Do they still keep a close watch on you?”</p> - -<p>“No, I think they’re completely deceived by now,” -she said. “I’ve played a foxy game, you know—going -out with other men, and bragging about them, and -hiding my feelings all the time. I was so afraid that -somebody you know would see me with some fellow -and tell you about it. I just couldn’t help it, darling. -One little break might have given me away, and I -just had to fool my folks. There wasn’t any other -way.”</p> - -<p>“Sure, I understand,” he replied, as he stroked her -hand and looked at her with the expression of a man -relievedly twitting his past fears and pains.</p> - -<p>They were silent for a while, reveling in the unexpected, -warm nearness to each other and feeling a -giddy swirl of revived faiths and hopes. Their first -little rush of reassuring words had aroused all of the -deferred plans and buried braveries within them, but -the awakening was not yet articulate enough for spoken -syllables. They longed to embrace each other with -an open intensity, and the effort needed to control this -desire also served to prevent them from talking. Then<span class="pagenum" id="Page_265">[265]</span> -Blanche remembered a fear which she had experienced -during the previous week.</p> - -<p>“Eric, did you ever see a play called ‘God’s People -Got Wings?’” she asked.</p> - -<p>“No, but I’ve heard about it.”</p> - -<p>“Well, it certainly made me shiver,” she said. “One -of Oppendorf’s friends took me down to see it, and -I’ve never had such a dreadful time in my life. It was -all about a colored man marrying a white girl. It ended -up with the colored boy killing his wife and then committing -suicide—think of it!—and I was just gripping -the sides of my seat all the time.”</p> - -<p>“Were you afraid it might have some connection -with us?” he asked, gravely.</p> - -<p>“No, no, of course not,” she answered, as she -clutched his hand. “D’you think I’m silly enough to -let some prejudiced man tell me whether I’m going to -be happy or not? No, Eric, it wasn’t that, but I did -feel angry and upset, and, we-ell ... it set me to -wondering. Why do all these writers now always insist -that colored and white people weren’t meant to get -along with each other—oh, why do they?”</p> - -<p>“Mister Shakespeare revived it with his Othello and -it’s been going strong ever since,” he replied, with a -contention of forlorn and contemptuous inflections in -his voice. “It can’t be argued about. Most of them -are perfectly sincere, and they really believe that people -of different races always hate and fear each other -at the bottom. You could get yourself blue in the face -telling them exceptional men and women aren’t included<span class="pagenum" id="Page_266">[266]</span> -in this rule, but it wouldn’t make the slightest impression.”</p> - -<p>“But why are they so stubborn about it?” she asked.</p> - -<p>“That’s easy,” he answered, wearily. “They don’t -want to admit that there’s the smallest possibility of -the races ever coming together. It’s a deep, blind -pride, and they simply can’t get rid of it. They’re -hardly ever conscious of it, Blanche, but it’s there -just the same. Why, even Vanderin isn’t free from it. -Take that latest book of his—Black Paradise—and -what do you find? What? He’s just a bystander trying -to be indulgent and sympathetic. It’s the old -story. Negroes are primitive and sa-avage at the bottom, -and white people aren’t ... white people like -your brother, I suppose.”</p> - -<p>He had been unable to restrain the sarcasm of his -last words because his wounds had cried out for a -childish relief. She had listened to him with a fascination -that was near to worship ... what a dear, wise, -eloquent boy he was! When he talked, even the ghosts -of her former specters fled from her heart. Let the -world call him a nigger—what did it matter? They -didn’t care whether he was beautiful or not—all they -wanted was to “keep him in his place,” these in-tel-li-gent -people, just because he happened to have a mixture -of blood within him.</p> - -<p>“Oh, let’s not talk any more about it,” she said. -“We’re in love with each other, Eric, boysie, and ... -’f other people don’ like it they can stand on their -heads, for all I care!”</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_267">[267]</span>He fondled her shoulder, gratefully, and an uproar -was in his heart.</p> - -<p>“Blanche, what’s the use of waiting and waiting?” -he asked at last. “We’re only suffering and denying -ourselves when there’s no reason for it. Let’s run off -to-morrow and marry each other. If we wait too long -we’ll feel too helpless about it—it’ll grow to be a -habit with us. I can’t exist any longer without you, -Blanche—it’s just impossible ... impossible. I’ll -draw out the thousand I have in the bank and we’ll -hop a train for Chicago to-morrow afternoon. Don’t -you see it’s useless to keep postponing it, Blanche?”</p> - -<p>His eagerness, and her longing for him, expelled the -last vestige of her fears.</p> - -<p>“Yes, dear, I’ll go with you to-morrow,” she said.</p> - -<p>Their hands gripped each other with the power of -iron bands, and they stared hopefully out across the -greenish-gray swells of water.</p> - - -<p class="center">THE END</p> - - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<div class="transnote"> -<p class="ph1">TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES:</p> - - -<p>Obvious typographical errors have been corrected.</p> - -<p>Inconsistencies in hyphenation have been standardized.</p> - -<p>Archaic or alternate spelling has been retained from the original.</p> -</div></div> -<div style='display:block; margin-top:4em'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK NINTH AVENUE ***</div> -<div style='text-align:left'> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -Updated editions will replace the previous one—the old editions will -be renamed. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United -States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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