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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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