diff options
Diffstat (limited to 'old/69701-0.txt')
| -rw-r--r-- | old/69701-0.txt | 11154 |
1 files changed, 0 insertions, 11154 deletions
diff --git a/old/69701-0.txt b/old/69701-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 5782476..0000000 --- a/old/69701-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,11154 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg eBook of Antennae, by Hulbert Footner - -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: Antennae - -Author: Hulbert Footner - -Release Date: January 4, 2023 [eBook #69701] - -Language: English - -Produced by: Al Haines, Cindy Beyer & the online Distributed - Proofreaders Canada team at https://www.pgdpcanada.net - -*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ANTENNAE *** - - - - - - - - [Cover Illustration] - - - - - _ANTENNAE_ - - BY - HULBERT FOOTNER - - - [Illustration] - - NEW YORK - GEORGE H. DORAN COMPANY - - - - - COPYRIGHT, 1926, - BY GEORGE H. DORAN COMPANY - - [Illustration] - - - - ANTENNAE - —A— - PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA - - - - - TO - MY FIRST CRITIC - - - - - CONTENTS - - PAGE - Part One: Boys. . . . . 11 - - Part Two: Youths. . . . 77 - - Part Three: Young Men. . . . 133 - - Part Four: Lovers. . . . 195 - - Part Five: Husbands. . . . 297 - - - - - PART ONE: BOYS - - - - - ANTENNAE - - - - - PART ONE - - - I - -Wilfred Pell stole down-stairs carrying his shoes. With infinite care he -turned the handle of the front door, his heart in his mouth. When one -pressed down a catch in the lock, it permitted the outside handle to -turn; and one could come in again. He sat down in the vestibule to put -on his shoes. There was also an outer door, closed when the family went -to bed. This had an ordinary lock, and the key was in it. It had been -Wilfred’s intention to lock this door, and carry the key with him; but -in the act of doing so the thought struck him: Suppose there was a fire? -How would his Aunts get out? - -He had not much of an opinion of the presence of mind of those ladies. -They might very well stand there rattling the door, and burn up before -they recollected the basement door. Or the way to the basement might be -cut off. He pictured flames billowing up the basement stairs. No! let -them take the chance of robbery in preference to incineration. He left -both doors unlocked behind him. Sometimes the policeman on beat tried -the basement gates as he passed through the block; but Wilfred had never -seen him mount the stoops to try the front doors. On the sidewalk there -was a horrible moment as he passed within range of Aunt May’s windows -over the drawing-room, then safety. - -This was not his first sortie at ten o’clock. It was a way of release -from the torment of his thoughts that he had discovered. That is, if he -remembered it in time. Once the misery had him fairly in its grip he was -helpless. It was this business of becoming a man. Sometimes he went for -a walk early in the morning; but everybody knew about that; he could not -hug the secret deliciously to his breast. Anyhow morning walks were for -light hearts, he thought, with a gentle swell of self-pity. Night for -him! How wistfully he looked back towards the cool zone of childhood. -What happened to you was not pleasant. He had noticed a funny thing; if -he had said to himself during the day: To-night I will sneak out—there -was no virtue in it; he carried his earthiness with him. But if while he -was in his bed he yielded suddenly to the impulse; and arose and -dressed; a sort of miracle occurred; he forgot himself. - -It was so to-night. The night took him. He was thrilled by the double -line of still houses fronting each other; each house with its windows -fixed unswervingly on its adversary across the street; the oblique stoop -rails like beards; the cornices like eyebrows. And overhead the stars, -deathless flowers in a meadow. Wilfred felt that he belonged. He was as -much the street’s as that cat creeping across, its belly hugging the -asphalt. Like the cat he was all eyes, ears and nose; the thinking part -of him had stopped working. He made a feint at the cat; and chuckled -aloud at the creature’s precipitate loss of dignity. Gee! how good it -was to be out! - -Respectable West Eleventh street was already settling down. Most of the -outer doors were closed, and many bedroom windows showed rectangles of -an agreeable apricot light filtering through the lowered shades. Wilfred -had turned East, seeking life. At the corner of Fifth Avenue he was -struck by the effect of the new arc lights. Hanging two to a pole, the -mellow pinkish globes stretched far into the distance in two gradually -converging lines. Like insect lights they climbed the Thirty-Fourth -street hill at last and disappeared. Fruit of Night, Wilfred whispered -to himself. - -In Washington Square this mild October night there were still many -couples sitting on the benches. The sight of them left Wilfred cold; he -merely wondered at their static attitudes; hours, apparently, without -moving or speaking. But once as he passed such a couple, a girl whose -face was hidden in a man’s neck, laughed softly in her throat, and -Wilfred’s breast was acutely disturbed by the sound. It suggested that -that private nightmare of his might be a loveliness when shared; that it -was the means whereby two human hearts might open to each other. Never -for me! he thought with a needle in his heart; and hurried away from the -sound. - -Through Washington Place across Broadway; through Astor Place and down -the Bowery. The bulk of Cooper Union loomed like a whale against the -sky. The sight of it, brought the slightly fœtid smell of the -reading-room into Wilfred’s nostrils. It was a place where you could go. -The bums never looked at you. He breasted the Bowery like a swimmer. No -early-to-bed habits here. He edged along close to the store-fronts, -looking at everybody; entering into them; thieves, prostitutes, drunken -men, sporting characters, and the great unclassified. So many and such -queer souls each peeping suspiciously out of a pair of eyes. With the -shuffling of the people, the four track line of electric cars in the -middle of the street, and the steam cars of the Elevated railway -immediately over the sidewalk, the uproar was at once distracting and -stimulating. - -There were certain store windows that Wilfred always looked into; the -florist’s full of green wire frames to serve as a foundation for funeral -pieces; a musical instrument dealer’s exhibiting a gigantic brass horn -and a doll’s horn beside it to show the range of the stock; an animal -and bird store with cages of monkeys. Something furtive and ugly in the -eyes of the people watching the monkeys made Wilfred exquisitely uneasy. -As you went on the stores became less reputable in character. Besides -the crowding saloons, there were the auction sales, celebrated in the -popular song; the dime museums and side shows with faded banners; an -anatomical museum, free “for men only.” All the shows had a free lobby -to tempt you in. The most innocent were those with ranks of Edison’s -phonographs inside; but Wilfred recoiled from the little bone pieces you -had to stick in your ears. - -Glancing into a store window where mirrors were displayed, he saw -repeated from every angle, the figure of a boy that his eyes embraced -all over in a flash. A boy approaching sixteen, tall for his age; -dressed in a shapeless snuff-colored suit, with trousers that flapped -almost as if there were no legs within them. He walked with a long step -having a funny little dip in the middle. He had wavy, light brown hair, -a lock of which escaped untidily under the visor of his cap to sweep his -forehead. His eyes, somewhat deep-set, were grey-blue in color, and had -a look at once haunted, secretive and top-lofty—Wilfred’s word. A wide -mouth with uneven lips like a crimson gash across his white face. There -was a something awkward about him; something self-centered and peculiar -that set him apart from other boys. A boy to be jeered at. In that flash -Wilfred saw it clearly. - -Why . . . that’s me, he thought, with self-consciousness winging back, -making the picture hateful. Oh Lord! what a dub! The picture remained -fixed in his mind amongst the multitude of pictures capable of turning -up at any odd moment. - -At Rivington Street he turned East again, entering another populous -world quite different in style from that of the Bowery. Here, on a mild -night the family life of the East side, predominantly Jewish, was -revealed. This was Wilfred’s objective. His solitariness was comforted -by the vicarious sharing in many households. A narrow street hemmed in -on either side by tall sooty tenements. The fronts of the houses were -decorated with webs of rusty fire-escapes, the platforms of which were -heaped with the overflow of goods from the crowded rooms within. From -web to web criss-cross, everywhere ran the clotheslines with their -fluttering damp burdens. In Rivington Street even the air was crowded. - -The narrow sidewalk was maggoty with people. The inner side was lined by -humble shops, the outer by an endless line of gay pushcarts like boats -anchored alongside the curb, stretching for block after block and -displaying every manner of goods. The low stoops between the shops were -crowded, mostly with women of a complete, unconfined fatness; nearly -every one of them suckling an infant. These mothers surveyed the scene -with an equanimity that arrested Wilfred. To have a whole lot of -children must be one way of solving the riddle. He _liked_ these -featherbed women; because . . . it was difficult for him to find the -word for his thought; they didn’t fidget; they bore their fruit as -inevitably as orchard trees. From the windows overhead leaned other fat -women, comfortably supporting their forearms on pillows laid across the -sills. Their faces expressed a great content. - -Wilfred yielded himself to the scene of life. He had the sensation of -straining open like petals. This was the pleasure they couldn’t take -away from him; a pleasure that left a sweet taste in the mind.—The -lavish set-out of goods under the brown canvas shelters; apples floating -in brine and unwholesome-looking preserved fish; rows upon rows of ratty -fur neckpieces and muffs; bolts of printed cottons; gay garters and -suspenders; jewelry; dazzling tinware. The pushcarts were lighted by -smoking kerosene torches that threw leaping, ruddy lights and sooty -shadows on the scene. I must notice everything; Wilfred would say to -himself; and forthwith begin to enumerate a catalogue in his mind. But -his darting eyes could not wait for the names of things; they flew ahead -and he forgot the catalogue. Presently he would come to consciousness -thinking: I am not noticing anything! - -The people! The dirty, savage, robust children shouldering their way -through the crowd, shrieking to each other. To these children grown-ups -were no more than bushes obstructing their hunting paths. Then there -were the young people; the scornful, comely youths flaunting their -masculinity, and the pretty girls undismayed by it. Empty and hard these -young people were; what of it? They were aware of their beauty, and of -their desirability in each other’s eyes; they were proud with youth; it -was fine to see. - -Wilfred turned North at last into a side street to find another way -home. Dark streets had a different sort of attraction. No doubt the -black houses were just as full of tenants as the others, but here, -people were not drawn to the windows, nor down-stairs to the forbidding -sidewalks. Only a group of men was to be seen here and there, on the -steps, or loitering half-concealed in a vestibule. Night-birds, Wilfred -thought with an intense thrill; cutthroats. How stirring to think of men -who were restrained by nothing! Through each house there ran a narrow -arched passage to a yard in the rear, where there was always, he knew, a -second house hidden from the street. There would be a gaslight in the -yard, and you would get a glimpse of greenish flagstones. By day or by -night these passages teased Wilfred; but he had never dared to enter. In -such dens Oliver Twist had been taught to steal; Nancy Sikes had been -choked by the brutal Bill. - -Wilfred soared like a bird. This was one of his “moments.” Why they came -sometimes and not other times he did not know. His breast hummed like -harpstrings. The seat of his intense feeling seemed to be somewhere at -the back of his palate. It was almost the same as a pain, but it was -rare! At such a moment nothing was changed; everything became more -intensely itself. He was still Wilfred, but a Wilfred made universal. He -entered into everything and became a part of it. At such a moment all -tormenting questions were laid; it was sufficient that things were. Life -was painted in such high colors that he was dazzled. The feeling of pain -was due to the fact that he couldn’t take it all in. He had the actual -sensations of soaring; he stretched his nostrils to get sufficient -oxygen. Mixed with pure exaltation was the feeling: How wonderful of me -to be feeling this way! - -Impressions were bitten into his consciousness as with an acid. That -frowning perspective of the confined street with its different planes of -blacknesses; granite paving stones, flagged sidewalks, brick tenements; -the whole was like a dead scale upon the living earth, which -nevertheless one apprehended quivering underfoot. It was there, though -it was not seen, the fertile earth capable of bringing forth forests. At -either end of the block an arc light casting its unnatural beams -horizontally through, picking out the ash cans and empty boxes grouped -along the curb in fantastic disorder. Everywhere the bold shadows, black -and sinister. Whether beautiful or ugly, it thrilled him through and -through. Half way through the block, the door of a closely shuttered -place was thrown open, letting out a startling shaft of light and a -babel of voices; then sharply pulled to again. Oh, life, how marvellous! - -At the approaching corner there was a saloon; and its side door, the -“Family Entrance,” protected by the usual fancy porch of wood and glass, -lay in Wilfred’s path. A discreet radiance came through the frosted -glass. In the corner formed by this porch with the main building Wilfred -beheld a group of six or eight boys standing with their shoulders -pressed together in a circle, heads lowered. Their stillness, their -uneasy looks over their shoulders, conveyed an intimation. He paused, -all aghast inside as if he had been surprised by a wound. His spirit -came diving down like a broken-winged bird. Little scorching flames were -lighted in the pit of his stomach, and he tasted the bitterness of -wormwood. - -He walked on, trying to look unconscious. One of the boys was his own -age, the others varying sizes smaller. As he came by, the big boy cast a -wary look over his shoulder. Seeing Wilfred’s stricken face, the boy -instantly knew how it was with him, and Wilfred knew that he knew. He -felt as if he must die with shame. The boy’s face broke up in a horrid -triumphant leer. Wilfred was never to forget any detail of the look of -that boy. He wore ribbed cotton stockings faded to a greenish hue, and -button shoes much too big for him with fancy cloth tops and run-over -heels; around his neck was wound a white cotton cloth, hideously soiled, -suggesting that he had had a sore throat weeks before. His -face—close-set sharp black eyes; longish nose; lips suggesting the beak -of a predatory bird; was all lighted up by that all-knowing, zestful -leer. A wicked, dirty, comely face; it was the zest expressed there that -dishonored Wilfred. - -Without turning around, the boy with a slight derisive cock of his head -conveyed an invitation to Wilfred to join the circle. Wilfred, gasping, -hastened by with lowered head, a hot tide pouring up and scorching his -cheeks and forehead. The boy’s mocking laughter pursued him. - -“Hey, wait a minute, Kid!” - -Wilfred darted around the corner. - -He made his way home with head down, averting his sight from the sordid -streets, and the disgusting beings that frequented them. He knew of -course that the change was in himself. He had lost his talisman in the -mud. He felt sodden. What’s the use? he asked himself in the last -bitterness of spirit; I can’t climb a little way out of the muck, but my -foul nature drags me back again. I am the same as that rotten boy. He -saw it. . . . Oh God! if I could only forget the look of that boy! - - - II - -The circle of boys in the corner by the Family Entrance broke up. Joe -Kaplan, the biggest boy, cuffed and booted smaller ones aside, and -walked off towards Rivington street, indifferent to what became of the -others. He slapped the flagstones with his spreading shoes, and whistled -between his teeth. He was feeling good. A recollection of the -white-faced boy flitted across his mind, buoying him up with scorn. Kid -from up-town, he thought, sneakin’ around lookin’ for somepin bad. Gee! -what rotten minds them kids has! But Joe could not put this kid out of -his mind right away. What made him look at me so funny? he asked -himself. - -At the Rivington street corner Joe lounged against a pillar with his -shoulders hunched forward, making a stupid, sleepy look come in his -face. Under his drooping eyelids gleamed a spark. This was his hunting -ground. Every little stir in the crowd had its meaning for him. He -marked the cop on the sidewalk to the left, leaning back with his elbows -propped on a rail, surveying the crowd with good-humored contempt. -Hogan; nothing to fear from him; a fat-head, always looking at the -women. On the corner in the other direction was Mitchell; a terror if -you tried to turn a trick on the storekeepers; but he despised the -pushcart men; all the cops did. However, Joe had heard that the pushcart -thefts had made so much talk, the captain of the precinct had sent out a -couple of plain-clothes men to mix with the crowd. He was looking for -them. - -Taking to the middle of the street, Joe shambled up to the corner and -back, making out to be a low-down poor mutt, searching under the -pushcarts for butts. Joe could let his mouth hang open, and a sort of -film come over his eyes; you would swear he was half-crazed with drugged -cigarettes. His tour assured him there was no plain-clothes men in that -block. He could smell a cop out. He gradually narrowed his beat to and -fro, his objective being the pushcart that was selling furs. Cold -weather was coming on, and it was doing a brisk trade. - -Suddenly Joe perceived a thin-faced lad older than himself, standing -about with a cagey eye. Bent upon the same business as himself of -course. Joe grinned inwardly. He ain’t as smart as me, he thought. Watch -me make him work for me. Joe’s only regret was, that there was nobody to -see how clever he was. He unobtrusively fell back to the curb opposite -the cart of furs, where he appeared to be looking at everything in sight -except the thin-faced lad. - -This one edged up to the pushcart from behind. Occasionally he turned a -white face over his shoulder with a faraway look. Clumsy work! thought -Joe; if there was a cop within a hundred feet he’d get on to his face. -The pushcart had a rack about three feet high built around three sides -of it, the better to display its wares. This rack was lined with canvas; -but the canvas, as Joe could see, was not securely fastened at the -bottom. The canvas-covered rack concealed the thin-faced lad from the -proprietor of the cart, who was in front. - -When he saw the thin-faced lad throw away his cigarette, Joe crossed the -road. The lad was watching the proprietor around the edge of the screen, -and did not see Joe. Joe went around the opposite end of the cart, and -stood, making his eyes goggle at the grand display of furs. In this -position he could no longer see the thin-faced lad, but he saw what he -was waiting for; the piece of fur disappear under the canvas with a -jerk. Others saw it too, and cries were raised. Some took after the -thief. Every eye was turned in that direction. The distracted proprietor -flung himself over his stock with arms outspread. - -Everybody was looking the other way! What a snap! Joe slipped his hand -under the canvas at his end of the cart, and jerked a fur neckpiece out. -Fur makes no sound. Nobody got on to him, and a second piece followed -the first. Thrusting his prizes under his coat, he walked off, whistling -between his teeth. Oh, I’m smart! I’m smart! I’m smart! he thought upon -a swelling breast. The foretaste of a big meal made his mouth water. - -Having disposed of his loot in the back room of a little dry goods store -where he was known, Joe proceeded to a restaurant on Canal street. This -was no hash house, but a regular bon-ton restaurant, with cloths on the -tables, and waiters that didn’t dast give the customers no lip, so’s -they had the price. Here you could get a big T-bone steak and coffee for -thirty cents, with French fried and bread thrown in, and all the ketchup -you wanted. Joe went in feeling big; it wasn’t often a kid of his age -had the nerve to enter _that_ joint. - -Half an hour later he leaned back and picked his teeth. He felt out o’ -sight inside. He _liked_ that joint; in the middle of the night it was -always warm and bright, and had a stir of life about it. You could hear -the meat frying at the back, and smell the smoke of it. There were two -men sitting opposite to each other, leaning forward until their heads -almost touched, and whispering, whispering, each one rapidly stirring -his coffee without ever looking toward the cup. Planning some job all -right, thought Joe; bet they ain’t as smart as me, though. You can see -they’re nervous. Across from the men sat a girl who was vainly trying to -attract their attention. She was beginning to look bedraggled, and there -was a look of terror in the bottom of her eyes that excited Joe’s scorn. -She was on the toboggan all right. Been kicked out of the houses. A man -would be a fool to take her. - -His breast twanged with exultation. He was a smart feller; he was all -there, you bet. A feller could have a good time in this world if he was -smart enough. Everything waitin’ to be picked up. No danger of _him_ -gettin’ pinched. He was just a little too smart for them. Gee! it was -great to bat around at night, and sleep in the day when the thick-heads -was workin’! Let the thick-heads work! There was plenty of them. Workin’ -never got you nowhere. Look at his old man. . . . Soon as he was old -enough he’d have a woman to work for him. Funny how women would work for -a man. Soft. Oh well, he’d have one of the best. When he wanted -anything, he went out and got it. That was the sort of feller he was. He -was smarter than anybody. - -Joe went home by way of Allen street where the houses were. After -midnight when the East side generally was beginning to quiet down, Allen -street was in full swing. Joe never tired of watching the game that was -played there. The men looked so sheepish when they sneaked into the -houses, and more so when they came out later, cleaned out. Each man -looking as if he was the first who had been trimmed. These were the poor -fools who hadn’t spunk enough to get a woman for themselves. The -painted-up girls too, at the windows, grinning at the men like cats, and -making goo-goo eyes, and calling pet names to get them to come in. And -the poor suckers fell for it! It was enough to make a feller laugh. -Besides, there was often a good trick to be worked in Allen street. If -you could get hold of a souse before he fell into the hands of the -girls. - -On this night Joe had the fun of seeing Chicago Liz’s house raided by -the police. He had heard rumors that Liz was having trouble with the -Captain along of her payments. The police didn’t bother the other houses -of course, and all the girls were at the windows and doors watching. It -was good sport to see Chicago Liz’s girls carried out into the street in -their short dresses; yelling and carrying on, and joshing the crowd -until they were shoved in the wagon. The Madame herself, who looked -sour, was taken away with a policeman to herself in a two horse cab. - -After it was over, Joe was beckoned by a girl standing in a doorway -across the street. This was Jewel La Count who was in Clara Moore’s -house. Joe had a sort of footing in that house as occasional errand boy. -Jewel was half Italian like himself; but nobody knew what the other half -of her was. They were about the same age, but Jewel tried to put it over -him because she had been going with men for more than a year. Joe -sneered at her, but these girls were often useful to him, and he went -across the street. A certain uneasiness attacked him at the thought of -speaking to her alone. Kid though she was, he wasn’t sure how to handle -her; he hadn’t discovered any way of getting her going. - -“What yeh want?” he asked gruffly. - -Jewel’s great brown eyes took him in unsmilingly, and turned away. -“Nottin’,” she said. “There’s nottin’ doin’ to-night. I just wanted -somebody to talk to.” - -Joe felt at a loss. “Aah!” he said, kicking the step with his spreading -shoe. - -“Tell me somepin, Kid,” said Jewel. “I never get out.” - -“Aah!” said Joe. He sized her up calculatingly out of the corners of his -eyes. She was a damn pretty girl. But that meant nothing to him. Her -skin was as soft and smooth as a baby’s. The prettiest girl in the -street. He had heard said that Clara Moore knew what a good thing she -had in Jewel, and took good care of her. “Where’s the Madam?” he asked. - -“Out,” said Jewel indifferently. - -“You’d catch hell if she saw you down in the street.” - -“I ain’t lookin’ for anything. The house is closed to-night.” - -A silence fell between them. Joe wished himself away from there. Jewel -made him feel small. He whistled between his teeth, and cursed. “——! -but it’s slow in the street to-night. Why the hell couldn’t Liz pay up -and let business go on.” - -Jewel ignored this as if it had not been spoken. That was the way she -was, thought Joe sorely, independent. Stealing a look at her, he was -struck by the calm rise and fall of her breast under the pretty waist. -She was healthy all right. Well, she lived soft; nothing to do but eat -and sleep. - -“I like to talk to somebody on the outside,” said Jewel. “In this house -it’s always the same. . . . I like to talk.” - -“Well, you got plenty company,” said Joe with a knowing grin. - -“Aah! I don’t talk to them,” said Jewel coolly. “They don’t ac’ human. I -like young kids better. Seems like boys went dotty when they got to be -men.” - -Joe knew what she meant, but he wasn’t going to let anything on to a -girl. “Aah! you’re a bit too big for your shoes,” he said loftily. - -It made no impression on her. “I like the streets,” she said dreamily. -“I wisht I could roam the streets with a gang of kids. That’s what I’d -like.” - -“You don’t know when you’re well off,” said Joe. - -“Where you been to-night?” asked Jewel. - -“To the Bowery Mission,” said Joe derisively. - -“Yeah,” said Jewel. “You look it!” - -Joe laughed, and felt more at his ease. After all, there was something -about Jewel. . . . She didn’t talk with a sponge in her mouth like other -girls. She gave it to you straight. “I had a steak at Dolan’s,” he said -offhand. - -“Yes, you did!” said Jewel. “Where’d you git the price?” - -“Oh, I hooked a coupla cat-skins offen a pushcart.” - -“Were you chased?” asked Jewel eagerly. - -“Nah! What d’ye think I am?” - -Jewel paid no attention to the question. Her thoughts pursued their own -course. - -“Come on up,” she said in friendly fashion. - -Joe went hot and cold. At first he didn’t know what to say. - -“I got a pack of cigarettes in my room,” the girl went on; “we’ll smoke -and chin. I’ll mend your coat for you.” - -“Clara’d give me hell if she come home,” said Joe. He heard the little -quaver in his own voice and it made him sore. A hard nut like him! - -“Oh, Clara wouldn’t mind you,” said Jewel, coolly. - -This stung. - -“You often been in before,” said Jewel. - -This was true, and why shouldn’t he go now? But something inside him -trembled. - -“Come on,” Jewel went on; “I’ll show you all my things. I got real nice -things of my own. I keep ’em locked in my drawer. I’d like to show ’em -to somebody. I got a big doll that I dressed myself. She looks real -cunning. I got a set of dishes from Chinatown. I got a solid silver -photograph frame. . . .” - -“Who’s in it?” asked Joe with a curling lip. - -“President Cleveland,” said Jewel undisturbed. “Come on up. We’ll talk. -You could come often. I’d like to have somebody come to see me, that -belonged to me like. . . .” - -Joe felt that he must play the man. “Nottin’ doin’ to-night, girly,” he -said, as he had heard men say along Allen street. - -Jewel looked at him with her big, calm eyes. Then she laughed. She -planted her hands on her hips, and opened her mouth wide to let it come -out. - -“Aah!” snarled Joe. “Aah . . . !” Her laughter stung him like whips. If -she had said anything, he could have got back at her, but she laughed -what was in her mind, and there was no answer to that. She wasn’t just -trying to get back at him; she really thought he was as funny as hell. -“Aah!” snarled Joe, “I’m not afraid of you!” - -She laughed afresh, and by that he knew that she knew that he _was_ -afraid of her. “Aah! to hell with you!” snarled Joe, grinding his teeth. - -He walked off followed by the sound of her laughter. - - * * * * * - -The Kaplans lived in two rooms on Sussex street. Joe banged the door -open noisily. Here was a place where he could make himself felt. Though -it was past midnight his father and mother were still sewing pants on -the two sewing machines, side by side against the wall between the -cook-stove and the front windows. Their bowed backs were to Joe as he -entered. On a chair between the two narrow windows sat a girl of eleven -asleep, her head fallen back against the wall, her white, unchildlike -face turned up to the gaslight; mouth open. The pair of pants she had -been sewing on, had slipped to the floor. On a broken, carpet-covered -sofa against the left-hand wall, lay two little boys sleeping in their -clothes; the outer one clinging to his brother to keep from rolling off. -The dining table with the remains of the last meal upon it, was shoved -into the back corner of the room. Pants in various stages of completion -were piled everywhere. - -“Well, this is a hell of a dump to come back to!” said Joe in a rasping -voice. - -At the sound of his voice, the two little boys rolled off the sofa, and -creeping on hands and knees to the only unoccupied corner, curled up in -a fresh embrace, and instantly fell asleep again. It pleased Joe to see -how quickly they moved. His mother rose heavily from her machine, and -threw a ragged piece of quilt over the boys. She shook the girl by the -shoulder, and led her staggering into the back room, where the child -collapsed on a mattress spread on the floor. - -Joe sat down on the vacated sofa, and commenced to take off his shoes. -His eyes roved around the place full of contempt. There was both a -window and a door into the back room, which had no other openings. It -was not much larger than a closet; the bed and the narrow mattress -thrown down beside it, filled the floor space. From lines stretched -across between wall and wall hung whatever of the family wardrobe was -not in use. The walls were painted blue. - -“God! what a home for a fellow!” said Joe. - -Nobody paid any attention. His mother plodded back to her machine -without looking at him. His father never had stopped working the -treadles. Joe looked from one to another in a rage. Nice pair of -broken-down mutts they were! Was this the best they could do for him? -Did they think a fellow was going to stand for it? His mother was a -strong, healthy woman, but dead from the neck up; dazed-like; dumb. She -took everything that came. It was almost impossible to get her going. -His father—Joe grinned; you could always get _him_ by the short hairs. -Joe gloated over the humbled back. His father was askeared of him, all -right! Yah! the skinny Jew with his ashy face and sore eyes! His grey -hair was coming out in spots like a mangy dog’s. The tufts that remained -curled in ringlets with the bald spots showing through. His beard too. -Spit-curls! - -“How the hell do you expect me to sleep in this racket?” snarled Joe. - -“This lot is promised in the morning,” said his mother in a dead voice. - -“What’s that to me? I gotta have my sleep.” - -“Take my place on the bed,” she said. - -“What! sleep wit’ _him_,” said Joe indicating his father. “Not on your -tin-type. I’m more particular, _I_ am.” - -The woman shrugged, and went on with her sewing. - -“On the level,” said Joe, undressing, “is he my fat’er?” - -“You shut your mouth,” she said, without looking around. - -“Honest, I can’t believe that bag o’ bones ever made me,” drawled Joe. -“I ain’t like him. It beats me, Mom, how you could a’ done it!” - -The two machines whirred on, with only the necessary pauses to turn the -goods. - -Joe raised his voice a little to make sure of being heard above the -sound. “But its a cinch some Jew made me. I got Jew blood all right, and -I’m glad of it. The Jews are a smart people. . . . All except him. He’s -a botched Jew; a scarecrow; he’s a Jew that didn’t come off. He must a -been made of the stale bits like that twice-baked cake yeh git such a -big hunk of for a penny, but at that it would make you puke to eat -it. . . .” - -Joe’s father suddenly rose, and turning round, supported himself against -the back of his chair with a wasted, shaking arm. Joe, with a grin, -watched how the sparse curls of his beard seemed to stiffen and quiver. -“You bad boy . . . you bad boy!” he said in a husky broken voice. The -old geezer’s lungs were rotten. “You are my son, God help me! When you -were placed in my hands I gave thanks to God for my first-born. Little -did I think it was a curse He was laying upon me!” - -The old man straightened up, and shook his scraggy arms above his head. -Good as a t’eayter, thought Joe. “Oh God! what have I done to deserve -such a son!” he croaked. “I have worked hard all my days, and have -wronged no man!” He waved his sticks of arms about. “Look! Look! How we -live; how we work! We are sick and starving. And he comes in from the -streets, the loafer! greasy with good food, and twits me to my beard! -. . . God has abandoned me! God has abandoned me! . . .” Straining back -his head like a man struggling for air, the old man staggered into the -back room. They heard him fall, a dead weight on the bed. - -Joe laughed loudly. “Well, if I’m a hell of a son, you’re a hell of a -father,” he called after him. “What did you ever do for me?” He pulled -an old coverlet from under the sofa, and wrapped himself up in it, -laughing. “Gee! it’s rich when the old man begins to call on God!” he -said. “That’s the Jew of it! And him kicked out of the synagogue, like -you was kicked out of the church! This is a swell religious family, this -is!” - -His mother did not answer him. She kept her broad back turned to him. -Joe saw her glance over at the other machine to measure how much work -the man had left undone. Then her head went a little lower, as she made -the treadles of her machine move faster. Joe, feeling better now, flung -an arm over his eyes to shield them from the gaslight; and settled -himself to sleep. - - - III - -Towards evening Joe Kaplan and two boys smaller than himself were making -their way down Fifth Avenue. They had started out in the morning five -strong, but two of the kids had been lost somewhere. They had spent the -day in Central Park where they had seen the m’nag’rie, and the swan -boats and the rich kids riding in goat carriages on the Mall. Of the -latter Pat Crear had said: “Gawd! all dressed up in velvet and lace like -doll babies, and strapped down in them little wagons so’s they can’t -fall out; it’s a wonder they don’t get heart disease from the -excitement.” In order to find out if he was human, Pat had given the -long curls of one little boy a sharp tweak, and cut whooping across the -grass to the shrubbery. - -They had had the luck to come across a boy selling lozenges in an out of -the way spot. They had swiped his box offen him, and after sampling some -of each flavor, had sold the rest in another part of the park, thus -providing the means for a more substantial feed. Afterwards they had -wandered away up to Harlem mere, and had lost themselves in the woods up -there. They built a fire, and made out they were hoboes, and Tony Lipper -had killed a squirrel with a stone. No kid he knew had ever done that -before, and he was bringing it home in his pocket to prove it. - -On Fifth Avenue the elegant carriages rolled up and down, each drawn by -a pair of glossy horses stepping high, and each driven by one or two men -sitting up in front without moving, like the tin men on pavement toys. -On the sidewalk the tony guys were walking up and down, many of the -Johnnies wearing silk ties and swinging sticks, the dames with sleeves -as big as hams and little tails to their jackets sticking up like a -chippie’s. Joe and the other boys were pleased by the sense of their -incongruity in that company, and they accentuated it by slapping the -pavement with their broken shoes, spitting to the right and left, and -talking rough. They felt great when they succeeded in attracting the -scowls and the disgusted looks of the passers-by; or when a lady -daintily drew her skirts aside to avoid contact. - -“Dare me to spit on the next one?” said Pat. - -“If you do some Johnnie will crack yeh over the coco wit’ his stick,” -said Joe indifferently. “But yeh kin show yeh don’t give a damn for them -by makin’ snoots. They can’t do nottin’ to yeh for that.” - -They came to two great square houses built of brownstone and joined -together in the middle by a bone like the Siamese twins, so imposing -that Pat was led to ask: - -“What the hell buildings is them?” - -“The Vanderbilts live there,” said Joe. “They’s the richest guys in the -world.” - -“On’y one family in the whole goddam house?” said Pat. “Gee! it must be -lonely for them.” - -They were not especially interested in this high-toned world; it didn’t -touch them anywhere. It was different though, when they caught sight of -a quartette of tough kids like themselves, moseying along on the other -side of the way looking innocent. Joe and his two instinctively sought -cover behind the swell guys, whence they watched the enemy warily. - -“All harps,” said Joe. “Likely they belong to the Hell’s Kitchen gang -over by the North river. Say, that’s the worst neighborhood in town. -They’s a coupla murders done there ev’y day.” - -“What they doin’ on Fift’ Avenoo?” asked Tony fearfully. - -“Same as yourself,” said Joe with scorn. “If you was to go over on the -West side you’d get moralized by the Hell’s Kitcheners, wouldn’t yeh? -And the same on the East side by the Gas house gang or the Turtle Bays. -But you’re safe on Fift’ Avenoo ain’t yeh? All the fellas goes up Fift’ -Avenoo cos that’s neutral ground, see?” - -“They’s some bad gangs up-town, too,” Joe went on. “The Hundredth street -gang, and the Hundred and Tenth. I’ve heard tell how the Hundred and -Tenth Streeters come down Amsterdam Avenue by Bloomingdale Asylum, -spread across the street from curb to curb like skirmishers, and -carryin’ all before them. They’s on’y a few cops up there.” - -The Hell’s Kitcheners passed out of sight, and were forgotten. - -“Say, Joe,” asked Pat, “why don’t you never go with the East Houston -street gang or the Delancey Streeters?” - -“Aah!” said Joe, “that’s childish to me, all that fightin’ for nottin’. -I play my own hand, see? When I go out, I go for somepin for myself.” - -“You go wit’ us?” - -“You go wit’ me, you mean. I ain’t no objection to havin’ a coupla -little suckers along to do what I tell ’em.” - -When they reached Thirty-Fourth street it was growing dark, and they cut -through to Broadway where there was more life after nightfall. To the -smaller boys it seemed as if the people were dressed sweller over here, -but Joe said they were not so high-toned as the Avenue gang. The women -were mostly high-priced tarts, he said. Every block had its theatre; the -Standard, the Bijou, Palmer’s, Daly’s, the Imperial and the Fifth -Avenue. The Twenty-Eighth street crossing appeared to be the busiest and -brightest spot, and here they took up their stand. - -“Lookit,” said Joe, “you two want to sit on that grating, see? as if you -was cold and was after the warm air comin’ up. You want to sit on the -front edge, see, so’s when anybody pitches you a nickel it won’t go -through the grating, see? You don’t have to do nottin’ but look poor the -way I showed yeh, and shiver, and squeeze up close for warmth. Pat looks -t’ best wit’ his fat’er’s coat on. Tony, if you let me tear your pants a -little more so’s the skin would show. . . .” - -“Nottin’ doin’! It’s the on’y pair I got.” - -“Oh, to hell wit’ it, then. You keep a little behind Pat. For God’s sake -don’t ast for anything, or hold out your hand, or you’ll give the whole -snap away. You don’t want to even look at the people. Look down on the -ground as if you was all in wit’ t’ hunger and cold, see? And don’t -forget to look surprised ev’y time you get a penny.” - -Joe retired down the side street. Occasionally he strolled past the -huddling pair on the grating, surveying them out of the corner of his -eye with pride in the effect. Pennies and nickels fell at their feet. In -fact they were too successful, the ring of the coins on the flagstones -reached the sharp ears of the blind woman who sold matches at the door -of the Fifth Avenue Theatre adjoining. She came out in a rage, furiously -tapping; a fearsome figure with her big bonnet, her blue glasses, her -voluminous petticoats. Lashing out with her stick, she drove the boys -away with frightful curses. - -“Gawd! what langwidge from a woman!” said Pat, a little awestruck, when -they collected their forces, down near Sixth Avenue. - -However, they had already taken seventy cents. Joe took the money, but -laid out a part of it on a big feed of frankfurters, bolivars, and -sarsaparilla on Sixth. They filled their pockets with cigarettes. They -felt fine. - -They drifted up-town again. Later they found themselves outside a big -new theatre by Fortieth street, called the Empire. They loitered on the -pavement just out of reach of the carriage man, watching the -four-wheelers and the hansoms trundle up and discharge their passengers. -There was one or two of these here horseless carriages among them, which -came drifting up to the curb as quietly as boats, the driver perched up -behind, steering with a handle. From all the vehicles ladies descended, -pointing a satin slipper to the ground. They wore velvet cloaks, red, -green or white, and no hats, which was strange, since they were not poor -women. The men wore big black capes; they had hats, tall ones, and it -was the boys’ chief interest to get a vantage point where they could see -the men press their hats against their hips as they walked through the -lobby, and smash them flat. A remarkable sight, which caused them to -laugh uproariously. - -The stream of arrivals at the theatre door had about ceased, when two -Johnnies came along through Fortieth street, and paused, grinning at the -three boys. Joe was familiar with that grin. Young fellows who fancied -themselves, like to sass a street boy, and if you answered them back -smart, but not smart enough to put them out of face, very often there -was a dime in it, or a quarter if the fellow had an edge on. But these -two were not the real thing, Joe perceived; counter-jumpers. One of them -had two blue admission checks in his hand, and he said to his friend: -“Let’s give ’em to the little fellers.” - -Joe, with a meek expression, instantly effaced himself. The other two, -not deceived by this maneuver, watched him anxiously. Joe strolled off -to the gallery door of the Empire, from which the two Johnnies must have -just issued. Presently Pat and Tony approached, each nipping a blue -ticket between his fingers. They stopped to consult in whispers. They -crossed the street, and stood kicking a hydrant and looking at Joe. Joe -looked up and down the street. Suddenly the two set off towards Sixth -avenue on the run. Joe was not to be drawn off. They came back on his -side of the street, each one trying to persuade the other to go first. -Then they decided to rush the theatre door together. Joe was not -confused by these tactics. He had picked out his victim from the -beginning. Tony Lipper was the smaller of the two. Joe snatched the -check out of Tony’s hand, and started up the stone stairway with Pat -beside him. As soon as Tony was eliminated, Pat sucked up to Joe. - -“That dirty little guinney hadn’t oughta go into a swell house like -this. His pants is tore.” - -They found themselves sitting towards the top of a steep bank of seats -looking almost straight down into an illuminated well; the stage. The -curtain was up. Joe had been to the London and the Thalia, but never to -a swell up-town t’eayter. At first he was confused by the play, which -was not like a play; it was just ordinary talking. He wondered if it was -a custom up-town for the actors to sit around on the stage and talk -before the play began. But from the close attention accorded by the -audience he judged that this must be the play; a newer, tonier kind of -play, he guessed, and applied his mind to it. - -Well, the stage represented a room in a very fine house, such a room as -Joe had never been in; but he accepted that room; an instinct told him -it was the thing. A party was going on; the people were of the sort that -Joe had seen entering the theatre. There was a sour-faced woman in a -brown silk dress who was making a fuss. She said she was going home -because there was another woman in the house that she didn’t like, and -the others were all trying to smooth her down. Why the hell didn’t they -let her go, thought Joe. - -There was a lot of talk about this other woman, and Joe’s curiosity was -excited about her. Then she came in, and the audience clapped; a little -thing with a proud nose. She put all the other women in the shade. She -wasn’t so pretty neither, but there was something about her . . . she -just walked in and took the place. Joe was struck by her flashing -glance, which could make out anything she wanted, without giving her -away. Gee! she’s smart! he thought. She knows how to work ’em! She was -wearing the prettiest white dress he had ever seen. - -“Gee! this is a rotten show!” whispered Pat Crear. - -“Well, it didn’t cost you nottin’!” said Joe. - -“Ain’t nottin’ to it!” - -“Not to an ign’rant little mutt like you.” - -“Let’s go down to Fourteent’ street. Somepin doin’ there.” - -“Go ahead.” - -But Pat would not go alone. - -There was a fresh-complected Johnny in the play who was stuck on the -little woman with the proud nose, and they were fixing to get married. -But all his folks were dead against it; for why, Joe could not -understand, since she was certainly the pick of the basket. There was a -lot of lahdy-dah talk he didn’t understand. He was interested in -studying the details of that house, and the looks and manners of its -high-toned inmates. He particularly admired the cool way the men handled -themselves; lighting their cigars and pouring their drinks. Actin’ as if -they owned the earth, he thought; and that’s the right way to act. It -takes the heart out of the poor boobs. - -Finally there was a scene in what looked like a book-store; but Joe -picked up in the course of the action that it was called library, and -all the books belonged to the man who lived in that house. There was a -long talk in this room between a big guy who let on he was a lawyer—he -was the fresh-complected Johnnie’s uncle; and the little woman with the -proud nose, who was now wearing a grey dress even sweller than the white -one. Bit by bit the lawyer guy broke her down (But not really, because -all the time she was crying and carrying on, she was still looking -around with that unbeatable eye) and it all came out that she had had a -kid, and wasn’t married at all. This discovery rather dashed Joe; for he -had forgotten that it was a play, but this was just the same as the -plays on the Bowery. In real life for a girl to have a kid wasn’t -nothing. But maybe it was different in high society. - -The noisy scene drew Pat Crear’s attention back to the stage. When the -curtain fell, he said: “Aah! I’d like to paste that fat slob! What he -wanta make t’ guyl cry fer?” - -“Aah, you don’t know nottin’,” said Joe. “It’s on’y a play, like. I -don’t pay no attention to that.” - -“You was takin’ it all in,” said Pat. - -Joe’s close-set eyes seemed to draw closer together; he gnawed a finger -nail, scowling slightly. “I dunno . . .” he muttered. “It set me -thinkin’, like. . . . It was a chance to see how them rich folks lives -inside their houses. They lives nice. Plenty of room to spread -themselves. And t’ best of ev’yt’ing, see? That’s what appeals to me. -Soft stuffs like silks and velvets around yeh, and women fixed nice. -Servants to ac’ humble, and bring yeh ev’yt’ing yeh want. . . .” - -“Maybe that was all made up, too,” suggested Pat. - -“Shut up, you pore ign’rant mutt, and listen to what I’m tellin’ yeh! -. . . Look at the dirty way our folks live. What do folks call us? -gutter-snipes; street ayrabs, and such all. Well, them folks are no -better’n we are, on’y they got money, see? Well, I guess they’s more -money to be got the same way. . . . This is a free country and I’m as -good as anybody. . . . You don’t git money by wuykin’ your heart out, -neither. It ain’t wuykman as gits rich. It’s the smart guys. They wuyk -the boobs and suckers. . . . When you git older you begin sizin’ things -up. I’m near sixteen now. Well, I’m a smart feller. I’m gonna live soft -too, and have a servant that I can boot around. . . .” - -“They didn’t boot their servants.” - -“Shut up! They could if they wanted to.” - -“Where you gonna git it?” - -“I’ll git it all right. I allus gits what I wants. . . . I know what I -want now. I want a whole lot of money. . . . First-off I got to make a -good appearance. I’ll git me a nobby suit and a haircut . . .” - -“Chrrrist!” said Pat, grinning derisively. Inside the theatre he knew he -was safe. - -“Shut up, you mutt!” said Joe, without heat. “A mutt you was born, and a -mutt you’ll die!” - - - IV - -East Broadway was the Fifth Avenue of the East Side. A wide street -lined, not with tall tenements like the other streets, but with moderate -sized brick houses with steep roofs and big chimneys. Nothing grand -about them, but solid looking. One family to a house. In these houses -lived the smart guys who lived directly off the poor boobs of the East -Side: that is to say: doctors, lawyers, politicians, rabbis and -prosperous storekeepers. Many of these guys were able to buy up the -up-town blokes several times over, it was said, but they made out they -lived simple and bragged about being East-Siders; it was good for -business. They were smart guys all right, but Joe had no intention of -stopping at East Broadway. - -He was on his way to report to a lawyer who had hired him to secure -evidence against a man, whose wife wanted to get a divorce. Having -extended the scope of his operations, Joe had been able to procure -himself a whole suit with long pants; also new shoes and a cap. He wore -a white celluloid collar which he cleaned with a rag every morning. But -he was already dissatisfied with the effect; his suit was beginning to -look crummy, because he had no way of getting it cleaned and pressed. He -wanted two suits. - -The nights were cold now, and the people had retired indoors. While he -was still some way off, therefore, Joe’s attention was attracted by a -little group gathered below one of the old-fashioned stoops. From the -way the people on the sidewalk were bending over, he perceived that -something was the matter; and hastened forward. Sitting on the bottom -step he beheld a funny-looking little woman, her knees as high as her -chest, her skirts drawn up high enough to reveal a pair of new button -shoes of soft leather, which toed in like a little girl’s. She was -tenderly feeling of her ankle. Not at all a grand person, yet Joe -instantly perceived she was of the up-town world. What a chance! he -thought, energetically shouldering aside the women of the neighborhood -who were bending over her. They fell back muttering: “Fresh!” - -“Are yez hurted, lady?” Joe enquired, making his voice purr. - -She lifted a pair of big, foggy grey eyes. “My ankle,” she murmured, “I -put my foot in a crack, and twisted it badly. . . . I don’t know. . . . -I’m afraid it’s sprained!” - -“Send for the ambylance,” said a voice. - -“Oh, no! no!” said the little woman like a scared child. “I want to go -home!” - -“Sure!” said Joe. “What you want is a cab.” - -“Oh, yes!” she said. “Can one get a cab in this neighborhood?” - -“I can git you one,” said Joe. “Fella I know. Just around the corner. -You wait here.” - -He ran around to McArdel’s livery stable in Division street, and gave -the order. In three minutes he was back again. The crowd had increased -in numbers; he bored his way through it as a matter of right. “S’all -right, ma’am. Cab ’ll be here d’rectly.” - -She looked up at him half grateful, half afraid of the bold-faced boy. - -Joe faced the crowd truculently, his eyes darting from face to face to -discover if anybody was inclined to dispute his claim to the woman. Just -let them try it, that was all! “Get back, can’t yeh!” he cried roughly. -“Can’t yeh give the lady air?” - -Out of the corners of his eyes he sized her up. He was excited. What a -chance! What a chance! He put aside his errand to the lawyer. He felt a -burning desire to learn her, to master the secret of her nature, to -envelope her, to turn her to his own uses. She looked easy, with that -foggy glance and the childlike droop to the corners of her mouth; but -she was of a world that was strange to him; he must make no mistakes. He -had not missed the fact that she was half afraid of him; and he set -himself to subdue his masterful air before her, and to butter his -grating voice. - -“Yer all right, Lady. I’ll see yeh troo!” - -He cuffed aside the small boys, who came pushing between the legs of the -adults to have a look. - -Meanwhile he registered every detail of her appearance. She was about -fifty years old, but her face was very little wrinkled, and her color -was fresh. She looked as if she had been preserved under a thin film of -paraffine; even her eyes. There was a strained look in her eyes. She’s -scared now; you can’t get her right, thought Joe. Obviously an old maid; -likes the soapy stuff, he thought. She wore a long, close-fitting coat -of dark green, having many little capes, each edged with grey fur; and a -small black hat shaped like a shell clinging to her head. - -The cab came rattling and banging around the corner, and the old horse -slid to a stand on his shaky legs. The crowd opened a way through for -the lady. She surveyed the rusty vehicle, the furry beast that drew it, -and the boozy driver on the box in unmixed alarm. The smell of the -outfit came clear across the sidewalk. - -“S’all right! S’all right!” Joe repeated. “Of course the swellest -turnouts was already out, but I know this driver. He’s a safe -driver. . . . Stand up on your good leg, lady, and lean on me. . . . -Here you, take her other arm.” - -Supported on either side, the lady hopped across the sidewalk on one -foot. Somehow they got her bundled in. Joe shouldered his helper to one -side. Keeping his hand on the handle of the door, he stuck his head -inside. - -“Where to, Lady?” - -“Nineteen West Eleventh street,” she said faintly. - -Nineteen; that’s near Fifth avenue; thought Joe with satisfaction. -Repeating the number to the driver, he climbed nimbly after the lady, -and pulled the door to. The cab jerked into motion. - -“Oh!” she gasped from her corner. “You needn’t have come!” - -“S’all right,” said Joe. “Don’t cost no more for two than one. You need -me to help you out, see? The driver maybe can’t leave his horse stand.” - -The old cab lurched and swayed. Talking was well-nigh impossible until -they turned into an asphalt paved street. Joe had seldom ridden in a -cab, but he had only a side glance of his mind for that experience. He -was preoccupied with the little lady, pressing herself into her corner. -Frightened, it seemed. He greatly desired to improve his opportunity, -but was afraid of queering himself. If he could only make her talk he -could get a line on her! Finally he ventured politely: - -“You was a long way from home, lady.” - -“Thursday nights I teach sewing to working girls in the White Door -Settlement,” she said nervously. - -“Oh, I see,” said Joe. “Them settlement houses does a lot of good.” - -No response. She looked obstinately out of the window. - -However “Settlement” had given Joe his line. He had heard all about -those Christers who came down from up-town to lift up the poor. “On’y -wisht I could go to one,” he said mournfully. “I’m so darn ign’rant.” - -She did not rise to it. - -Joe persevered. “I got no time for it. I gotta work nights as well as -daytimes. . . .” - -“What is your work?” - -Joe smiled to himself. He had forced her to ask that. “Oh, I got a -regular job in the daytime. Nights I sell papers to help out. I got -heavy expenses. . . .” He left his sentence teasingly in the air. - -“Expenses? A boy like you? . . . Huh? I suppose you mean you have to -help out at home?” - -Joe felt assured now that he could handle her. He proceeded to spread -himself. “Oh, I ain’t got no regular home, like. I just sleep around -where I can get the cheapest bed. Summer nights I often sleep in the -park to save the price of a bed. I got a kid brother, you see. I got him -boardin’ wit’ a nice family on East Broadway. I was just comin’ from -there, when I seen you. Three dollars a week, I pay for him. That’s what -keeps me hustlin’. . . . Besides his clo’es and all. . . .” - -The lady came partly out of her corner. She was interested. “Why . . .” -she said. “What stories one hears! . . . I don’t know. . . . It seems -terrible. . . . Huh? Have you no father and mother?” - -“Dead, ma’am,” said Joe, sadly. “My old man, he was killed in a boiler -explosion; and me mutter, she just wasted away, like, after.” - -“Oh, dear!” she said. “And the whole burden fell on you! . . . Huh? -. . . You poor boy!” - -“Oh, I don’t mind, ma’am,” said Joe quickly. “I’m a bugger for -work. . . . He’s a real cute little feller. . . .” - -“How old?” - -“Nine.” - -“What’s his name?” - -“Malcolm, ’m.” - -There was no lack of conversation during the rest of the drive. - -When they drew up at the address given, Joe perceived to his -satisfaction that it was a fine neighborhood; quiet and genteel. Number -Nineteen was one of three houses in a row; smaller than their neighbors, -but having a neat, choice look. The red bricks were set off with a white -wood trim; there were elegant lace curtains in the windows. - -Between them Joe and the cabman helped the lady up the steps. The outer -door of the house was closed. In response to their ring, it was -presently opened by another little lady, very like the first, but having -a more sensible look. Joe was relieved; a man might have been difficult -to deal with. - -The lady at the door gasped in dismay. Joe’s lady pretended to make out -that it was nothing at all, but all the time she was letting on that she -was real bad off. This one had such a funny way of talking. She couldn’t -say anything right through, but always run out of breath in the middle, -and fetched a little gasp. Huh? Very often she ended up with something -quite different from the beginning. An Irish maid came, and all three -talked at once, or made clucking noises. A houseful of women; what luck! -thought Joe. - -The sister and the maid received the sufferer from the hands of Joe and -the cabman. To the cabman Joe said out of the corner of his mouth: -“You’ve got your pay; cheese it!” The man went down the steps. Joe -himself insinuated his body inside the door, and closed it. He made -himself inconspicuous in the dark vestibule. The two women were making -their way towards the stairs, supporting the sufferer between them. -Intent upon her, they paid no attention to Joe. - -The strong servant picked up her mistress bodily, and started up the -stairs. The other lady followed with her arms outstretched as if she -expected them to fall over backwards, and clucking all the way. Joe -entered the house, softly closing the inner door, and eagerly looked -around him. His first feeling was one of disappointment; the carpet was -worn. Still . . . the place was fixed up real nice; nothing grand, of -course. - -The gas was burning inside a fancy red lantern; there was a funny carved -oak hat-stand with brass hooks; and on the other side of it a table with -a silver plate on it, full of cards with people’s names on them. Joe -took note of how the stair carpet was fastened down by a brass rail -running across each step. That was a neat rig, now. The door into the -parlor at his right hand, was open, but that room was dark. However, -enough light came in from the street to show him that it was a real nice -room, crowded with pretty fixings. - -Hearing a stir overhead, Joe hastily smoothed his hair down with his -hands, and sat down in the hall with a Christly expression. The sister -of the hurt lady came tripping down the stairs at a great rate. She had -a worried look; evidently it had just occurred to her that Joe had not -been disposed of. She saw him and stopped on the stairs. “Oh!” she said. -She was a little older than her sister, yet somehow had a fresher look. -But not a woman who was accustomed to dealing with men. She had a smooth -oval face, and pretty sloping shoulders like a girl. - -“I brought her home,” said Joe, modestly, to help her out. - -“Oh, yes! Of course!” she said. “Just wait a moment till I fetch my -purse.” - -“No, lady, no,” said Joe. “I don’t want nottin’ off yeh. I was just -waitin’ to hear if your sister was bad hurted. I t’ought maybe I could -run for the doctor.” - -“Oh!” said the lady. She came slowly down the rest of the stairs. She -was looking at Joe with little wrinkles in her forehead. Joe could read -her thoughts. He had put her in the wrong by refusing the tip she had -offered him. Now she didn’t know what to do with him. She didn’t like -him, but she felt that she ought to like such a true-hearted lad as he -was making out to be. Well, Joe didn’t care whether she liked him or -not, so he could make her do what he wanted. - -“Shall I go for the doctor?” he asked. - -“Oh, no!” she said, recollecting herself. “It is not serious. It has -happened before, and I know just what to do.” - -“Then I’ll be stepping,” said Joe. He lingered, allowing his glance to -travel wistfully around the pleasant interior. - -“I’m sure we both thank you,” said the lady uneasily. “I wish. . . .” - -Joe looked up encouragingly, but she didn’t go on. - -“We both thank you very much indeed!” - -“Don’t mention it, ma’am,” said Joe. “. . . My name is Joseph Kaplan,” -he added suggestively, and lingered still. - -“Yes?” she said with a strained smile. - -She became very uncomfortable, but Joe couldn’t get her over the -sticking point. There was nothing more he could do without showing his -hand. He thought: Oh, well, I can come back to ask how the other one is -getting on. He said softly: - -“Good-night, lady,” and with a wistful glance in her face, let himself -out of the door. - -She was left standing in the hall looking unhappy. As soon as he was -gone, she could not understand how she could have shown such a lack of -proper feeling toward that poor boy. She wanted to call him back. - - - V - -“The sight of so much sin and suffering . . .” said the lady with the -sprained ankle. “Hum; there were fleas in that cab. . . . I don’t know; -they don’t seem to realize! . . . Huh? And the most of it falls on the -innocent!” - -“If they was more like you we’d be a hull lot better off,” said Joe. - -“Not like me, Joe, no! . . . That horse ought to have been reported to -the S.P.C.A. Oh, dear! There are so many things one ought to . . . Joe, -you should say: ‘If there were more’—if you don’t mind my telling -you. . . . Huh? . . .” - -“No’m. I’m crazy to learn. Ain’t had no chances. If there were more like -you. . . .” - -“No, Joe! . . . I’m sure it had some terrible disease . . . I’m but a -poor weak vessel! One night a week . . . Huh? The air is so bad! . . . -Yes; if I was made of sterner stuff I would give up everything I possess -and . . . I don’t know. . . .” - -“If you gave away ev’yt’ing, ’m, you wouldn’t have nottin’ to give to -the poor.” - -“Oh, I don’t believe in . . . Huh? You must practice your th’s. Like -this: ‘Everything; nothing.’ Huh? . . . It is yourself that you must -give. . . . They don’t seem to appreciate. . . .” - -They were sitting in the parlor of the little house on West Eleventh -street—only they called it drawing-room, Joe had learned. The little -lady was seated on a sofa by the window, with her injured foot on a -stool before her; a silk scarf thrown over her ankle. It was after five -on Sunday afternoon, and the servant had just lighted a tall lamp which -stood beside the old-fashioned piano at the back of the room. The lamp -had a very large shade made of yellow crinkled paper, which spread an -agreeable glow around. It was like a play. - -Joe, his hair well slicked down, had the air of being established in the -house, and he knew it. He kept his eyes lowered so as not to betray his -satisfaction. Handling the old maid was as easy as eating pie. She could -take any amount of soft sawder. On a stand beside the sofa was a vase -containing three damaged pink roses, wired to their stems. Every now and -then she glanced at them with a softened look. The other sister was in -and out of the room. The one was called Miss May Gittings; the other, -Mrs. Fanny Boardman. - -Miss Gittings continued, her hazy grey eyes shining on something far -away: “Sympathy; understanding; encouragement; that is the message I try -to . . . Huh? And plain sewing . . . oh, dear! they seem to have no -womanly feeling for the needle. . . . The worst of misfortune is, it -breeds a callous spirit. . . . I don’t know. . . . When they jeer at me -I tell myself it is but the anguish of their souls peeping out. Every -Thursday I find it harder and harder to work myself up to . . . Ah, yes! -. . . Poor dear girls. . . . Huh? . . .” - -“If I was there, I’d learn them!” said Joe doubling his fist. - -“Oh, Joe! you wouldn’t hit a girl . . . !” - -“Of course I wouldn’t _hit_ them,” he said quickly. “But I’d give ’em a -good layin’ out.” - -“No, you can’t do away with poverty!” said Miss Gittings. “There’s one -or two of them _would_ be the better for a good whipping. . . . Huh? -. . . The great thing is to teach the poor to be more spiritual-minded. -. . . They chew gum with their mouths open. They know it annoys -me. . . . Huh? . . . So they can trample on the ills of the flesh. We -are all equal sharers in the things of the spirit. . . . And I know some -of them smoke cigarettes. . . . Huh?” - -“You talk beautiful,” murmured Joe. - -“I can talk to you. You’re the first poor person that ever understood -me. . . . Huh? . . . You’re only a boy, but you’ve been through the -fire. . . . You should say: ‘Talk beautifully’. . . . And your spirit is -refined like. . . . Huh? . . . whatever shortcomings your exterior . . . -but that’s not your fault. . . .” - - * * * * * - -Mrs. Boardman was a more practical-minded person than her sister—but -not much more. She had an easy-going sensible look. She had been married -only three months, and that twenty years ago, Joe had learned, but the -experience, brief as it was, apparently enabled her to keep her feet on -the ground, while the sister, who had never known a man, pursued her -batlike flights through the air. But a funny thing was, as Joe was quick -to see, the batty one was the leading spirit of the two. Apparently -there was more force in her notions than in the other’s commonsense. -Mrs. Boardman followed contentedly wherever Miss Gittings led. -Therefore, if you made yourself solid with the old maid, you would be -all right with the widow. - -“Don’t you spend your Sunday afternoons with Everard, Joe?” asked Miss -Gittings. “You might bring . . . Huh? . . . Is he a very destructive -child?” - -“No ’m. You mean Malcolm. I t’ought I hadn’t oughta keep him outa Sunday -School, like.” - -“You mustn’t run your words together. . . . Of course; quite -right. . . . Say that sentence again, slowly.” - -Joe obeyed very willingly. This was useful. - -“Don’t you go to Sunday School, Joe?” asked Mrs. Boardman. - -“I’ll tell you the troot . . . truth, ’m, I ain’t got the face. I’m so -ignorant, they’d put me amongst the littlest kids.” - -“But if Malcolm is only nine, you must have been at least six or seven -when your mother died. Didn’t she give you any religious instruction?” - -“Yes’m,” said Joe vaguely. “. . . She was a good woman.” - -“Do you remember her clearly?” - -“Yes’m, I kin see her now!” - -Miss Gittings exchanged a look with her sister. “But Fanny, that is -psychic!” she said, opening her eyes. - -Joe had no idea what the funny-sounding word meant. Evidently it was a -word which excited them. He waited with stretched ears for some clue to -its meaning. - -“Do you mean that merely in a manner of speaking,” asked Mrs. Boardman -of Joe; “or do you mean you can actually see her as if she were a living -person?” - -Joe had no doubt of the answer required to this question. “I kin see her -just as plain as I see you ’m.” He closed his eyes, and went on: “She -was a tall woman and she gen’ally wore a grey dress, real full in the -skirt. She had real black hair, parted in the middle, and brushed down -flat, and she wore a little gold cross hangin’ round her neck, and a -gold ring on her finger. We wasn’t so poor then.” - -“An authentic spirit portrait. . . . Huh? . . .” murmured Miss Gittings -to her sister. “Tell me,” she asked Joe in some excitement, “under what -circumstances does she usually . . . Huh? . . . how? when? where?” - -“Oh, she comes most any time,” said Joe, “but gen’ally at night. She -shows brighter in the dark, seems like.” - -“What a spirit touch!” murmured the sisters. - -“She most allus comes when I’m feelin’ bad,” Joe went on. “When I ain’t -had no supper; or when I gotta sleep on a park bench. Then I see her -beside me, bendin’ over. She puts her hand on my wrist. . . .” - -“Can you _feel_ her hand?” demanded Miss Gittings breathlessly. “This is -important. . . . Huh?” - -“Surest thing you know ’m! Just like this!” Joe grasped his own wrist. - -“How truly remarkable!” - -“And she says: ‘Fight the good fight, Joe!’ Or: ‘Stick it out, son; your -mutter is watchin’ you.’ Or somepin like that. Then I feel all right -again.” - -“A genuine psychic!” murmured Miss Gittings breathlessly. “. . . Huh? -. . . This rude, uninstructed . . . The veriest sceptic must be . . . -Oh, sister! . . . Tell us more,” she said to Joe, “my sister and I are -extremely interested in such phenomena. We ourselves . . . go on! go -on!” - -By this time, of course, Joe had grasped the sense of the funny-sounding -word. Spirits! Well, he could feed ’em as much as they’d take. “Wuncet,” -he resumed solemnly, “things was real bad with me. Malcolm was sick, and -had to have the doctor, and the folks he lives with was after me for the -two dollars to pay him; and I didn’t have it; and I didn’t dast go to -see how he was, wit’out it; and I was near crazy, you bet! And I -happened to be goin’ troo Rivington street where the pushcart market is, -and they was all kinds of things on the pushcarts that a feller could -pick up; hats and fur-pieces and women’s jackets and all; and I made up -my mind to snitch a baby’s jacket for Malcolm’s sake. . . .” - -“But what could you have done with that?” - -“Oh, there’s places you kin sell them things. There’s plenty bad fellers -on the East Side makes a business of it, and they’re allus askin’ yeh to -go in wit’ ’em. But I don’t have no truck wit’ ’em.” - -“Go on!” said both sisters together. - -“Well, while I was standin’ there waitin’ for the man to turn his back -so’s I could prig the jacket, all of a sudden I seen me mutter beside -me. She didn’t say nottin’ that time, but she looked real bad. She just -took aholt of me and pulled me away from the pushcart. She pulled me -around the corner into Ridge street, and down the hill to the church -there, and inside the church. It was all dark awmost, except the candles -on the altar. And she took holy water, and put it on me—honest, I could -feel the very drops! and she made me kneel down beside her, and she -prayed to God! to make me a good feller, and keep me from sin. And say, -there was all a faint sort of light around her head, like there was a -candle behind her head, only there wasn’t no candle. . . .” - -Mrs. Boardman glanced at her sister a little dubiously, and Joe -perceived that he was laying it on too thick. You fool! he said to -himself, why can’t you leave a thing lay, when it’s doin’ well. - -However, he had Miss Gittings locoed with the story. The big grey eyes -were full of wonder like a child’s. “Go on!” she said. . . . “Huh?” - -“Well, when I looked again, she was gone,” said Joe. “But I felt all -light, like, inside. I come out of the church, and went right to see the -doctor, and when I told him I hadn’t no money, he said sure, he’d go see -the kid, as often as would be necessary, and I could pay him when I -earned it.” - -“Fanny,” said Miss Gittings impressively, “we must report this -extraordinary case to the circle. . . . Huh? . . . Let scoff who will! -. . . We can produce the boy. . . .” - -“Yes, sister.” - -The front door opened and closed, and a slender shadow fell in the hall. -Joe was instantly all attention. Another member to this household! The -whole problem was altered. - -“Wilfred, come here,” said Miss Gittings. - -No response. - -“Wilfred!” she repeated, raising her voice a little. - -A boy of Joe’s own age came into the room with rather a sullen air; on -the defensive. Joe perceived that it was that same white-faced -boy. . . . God! _that_ kid! All the ground was cut from under his feet. -For an instant he thought of flight. - -But only for an instant. It steadied him to perceive that the kid was a -lot worse upset by the meeting than he was. The kid’s eyes were fixed -and crazy, like. He was looking at Joe as if he saw a headless ghost -rising out of the grave. It almost made Joe laugh. What the hell! he -said to himself; the kid wouldn’t dare to name anything to the women. -And anyhow, he didn’t see nothing but what his own dirty mind -imagined. . . . He’s no better than me himself. I can handle him, too. - -“This is my nephew, Wilfred Pell,” said Miss Gittings, pleasantly. - -“Please to meet yeh,” said Joe affably. - -The frantic look in the kid’s eyes warned Joe not to put out his hand. -He _might_ explode. - - * * * * * - -Wilfred had been down to Staten Island. The Aunts approved of these -Sunday excursions. For once they were of a mind with Wilfred about -something. To-day he had discovered a lovely spot called Willow Brook, -which in its wild beauty and solitude might have been a thousand miles -from New York, instead of actually within the city limits. It had been a -good day. - -Upon entering the house, his heart sank, recognizing from the tones of -his Aunt’s voice that there were strangers in the drawing-room. One -could not get past the open door without being seen. And he did want to -get to his own room to think. He debated sneaking out again, and -entering by the basement, but his Aunt called him in her company voice. -The second time she called, he was obliged to enter the room. - -He was astonished to see a boy of his own age, sitting with his back to -the windows. He examined him with eager curiosity. When the boy arose -and came towards him, Wilfred’s heart failed him. That boy of the East -Side!—cleaner now, and better dressed, but the same boy! Wilfred turned -sick inside. This was a hallucination, of course; that wicked, bold, -long-nosed face had haunted him, these past weeks. This was the Tempter; -the destroyer of his peace! Well, it was all over then; this was the -end; he was done for! - -Then his Aunt May introduced them to each other in her silly-sounding -voice, and Wilfred realized that Joe was no apparition. He looked at him -in helpless confusion. By what trick of fate had he come to be sitting -in the drawing-room of the prim Aunts as if he belonged there? The -explanation when it came was natural enough: - -“This is the boy who brought me home when I sprained my ankle on -Thursday night.” - -Wilfred’s heart sank lower still; for this looked like the direct -interposition of Fate or whatever Power there was, on the side of the -enemy. If this boy had actually gained a footing in his own home, how -could he, Wilfred, hope to withstand him, and all that he represented? -. . . He didn’t want to withstand him. He was lost. After the first -glance, the black-haired boy avoided looking at Wilfred. He was as -demure as a cat. He knew his own power. Wilfred glanced at the roses -with a painful sneer. Faded ones, of course, because they were more -pathetic. - -An awkward constraint fell upon the quartette. Aunt May, having -introduced the two boys with as much as to say: You two ought to be -friends, had become silent and fidgety. It must be apparent now, even to -her fuzzy wits, that we couldn’t be friends, thought Wilfred. There was -some desultory conversation between Joe and Aunt Fanny. The black-haired -boy was exercising a horrible fascination over Wilfred. Fairly well -dressed now, Wilfred perceived how good-looking he was. A healthy, pink -color showed in the bold, thin profile; the whole head expressed a power -of cynical hardihood. This boy doesn’t care _what_ he does! thought -Wilfred. In body, too, Joe’s shoulders were wider than Wilfred’s, and -under the shoddy pants the line of a trim thigh was revealed. Joe’s -comeliness sickened Wilfred. He has every advantage of me! he thought -despairingly. - -As from a distance, Wilfred heard his Aunt May saying to him in the -manner of a rebuke: “Joseph has been telling us about himself. He has -had a hard life. . . . I don’t know. . . . It is very interesting to -hear. . . . Huh?” - -“Wilfred has been so sheltered!” put in Aunt Fanny. - -Wilfred listened woodenly. A screech of laughter sounded through him. Oh -my Lord! they are on the way to make a hero of Joe! - -“Very interesting. . . .” Aunt May repeated vaguely. “. . . Huh?” The -presence of Wilfred forced her to look at Joe anew, and to ask herself -what was to come of his being in the house. An unfortunate boy, and not -to be blamed in any way; still . . . a great boy like that . . . almost -a man . . . - -An uncomfortable situation. Joe was master of it. He stood up, saying -easily: - -“I gotta go now. Malcolm’ll be lookin’ for me.” - -A feeling of relief pervaded the other three. Joe, with eyes modestly -cast down, waited for the ladies to invite him to call again. They felt -strongly the suggestion to do so, but with Wilfred standing there, -resisted it; and were glad that they had resisted it as soon as Joe was -out. But all three inmates of the house knew by instinct that they had -not seen the last of Joe. The sisters looked at each other with eyes -eloquent of relief. Nevertheless, Aunt May said: - -“A deserving boy, sister. . . . Huh? . . . We must do something for -him.” - -And Aunt Fanny answered: “Yes; and gifted with a strange power, May.” - -It fell to Wilfred’s part to show Joe out of the front door. When they -got out in the hall Wilfred’s heart was pounding, and he had a -difficulty in getting his breath. Not for anything would he have looked -at Joe; he knew without looking, how Joe’s hard, bright, all-knowing -eyes were fixed on his face; and Joe’s thin protuberant upper lip was -flattened in a zestful grin. As Wilfred stood holding the door open, Joe -came so close to him that he could feel the warmth of his body, and -stood there, trying to make Wilfred look at him. But Wilfred would not. - -“Goin’ to take a walk to-night?” Joe murmured. - -Wilfred, nearly suffocated by the beating of his heart, silently shook -his head. - -“Well . . . any time you feel like it . . . come on down. You’ll find me -somewheres around those corners. . . . I’ll show you ’round.” - -Joe ran down the steps thinking: Funny look that kid’s got. But I got -him going. Wonder why he takes it so hard? . . . Oh, to hell with them; -the whole three of them is easy! I can get what I want out of -them. . . . - -Wilfred closed the door, and leaned his forehead against the ornamental -glass pane. It had a sort of Gothic arch cut in the glass, from which -depended a number of meaningless tails, each winding up in a curlicue. -Wilfred, nauseated, was thinking: - -“Any time . . . any time . . . that means I’ll have to fight it every -night. . . . Wouldn’t it be better to give in at once, and save all -that? . . . Disgust might cure me. . . .” - -From the drawing-room Aunt May called him. - - - VI - -Mrs. Boardman poured her sister a second cup of coffee. Wilfred had just -departed for school, and the sisters were able to talk more freely. - -“Sister,” said Mrs. Boardman, looking very uncomfortable, “do you . . . -do you entirely believe Joe’s story?” - -Miss Gittings looked no less uncomfortable, but answered quickly: “I see -no reason. . . . Huh? . . . Obviously Joe was too ignorant to . . . -anyhow, you and I agreed long ago that it was better to be deceived than -to be sceptical!” - -“Wilfred says. . . .” - -Miss Gittings caught her up. “And since when have we been taking Wilfred -as an. . . . Huh? . . . Oh, Wilfred is so . . . I declare, Fanny! You -know it as well as I do!” - -“But Joe’s story does vary, sister.” - -“That signifies nothing. A spiritual experience is susceptible of -various. . . . Huh?” - -“Well, very likely you’re right. . . . What are you going to do about -him?” - -“Do about him?” - -“Well, he keeps coming here. . . .” - -“I don’t see why you should put the entire responsibility up to me!” -said Miss Gittings tartly. - -“You brought him here the first time.” - -“I didn’t!” - -“Sister!” - -“He brought me. . . . Huh? . . .” - -“Oh, he makes me so uncomfortable!” cried Mrs. Boardman from her heart. -“And you, too, sister! It is useless for you to deny it!” - -Miss Gittings did not deny it. She merely stirred her coffee. After -awhile she said: “I think my first plan. . . . Huh? . . . A strangely -pertinacious boy! . . . Let us take him. . . . That must be his Jewish -blood . . . to a meeting of the circle. If Professor Boiling or Mr. -Latham should happen to. . . . Huh? They being men . . . it would be -more suitable. . . .” - -“Yes,” said Mrs. Boardman with a sigh. “Certainly he is too much for us! -. . . But sister,” she objected. “If we took him to one of the meetings -wouldn’t it look as if we were prepared to vouch for him?” - -“Vouch for him?” echoed Miss Gittings, startled. “Huh? . . . Well, what -alternative is there?” - -“I thought we might just mention Joe to Professor Bolling, without -taking any responsibility for him, and ask the Professor here some night -to question Joe.” - -Miss Gittings considered the suggestion. “Yes,” she said, “letting the -professor understand of course that our minds were quite. . . . Huh? We -might ask Mr. Latham the same night; and Mrs. Van Buren; but not the -other members of the circle with whom we are not exactly on. . . . Yes! -And we might ask two or three people from outside the circle to whom we -wish to show some little. . . . Quite informally. . . . Huh? . . . But -Joe himself, sister, do you think. . . . Huh? . . .” - -“Oh, I’m sure he will behave admirably,” said Mrs. Boardman, not without -a touch of bitterness. “He is so quick to adapt himself.” - -“It must all be very informal. . . . You might make one of your Spanish -buns. . . . Huh?” - -“Do you think we could pass wine? In father’s day. . . .” - -“I think that would be an affectation now. Everybody knows that we do -not keep wine in the house. . . . It would give us an opportunity of -asking Cousin Emily Gore here. . . . Huh? . . . She affects to be -interested in. . . . And we cannot entertain such rich people in any -formal way.” - -“Do you suppose Amasa Gore would come?” asked Mrs. Boardman eagerly. - -“Naturally; if it was in the evening. Cousin Emily is not the sort of -woman who goes out in the evening without her husband.” - -“Oh! in that case he could meet Wilfred, without it seeming to have been -contrived! Oh, sister! if Mr. Gore would only take an interest in -Wilfred, the boy’s future would be secure! . . . But Wilfred is _so_ -difficult!” - -“I will prepare him beforehand,” said Miss Gittings. - -“No! No! sister. I confess I do not understand the boy, but I am sure -that would be a mistake! He becomes so cynical and obstinate when we try -to point out a proper course of action to him. Say nothing to him -beforehand. It is the only way!” - -“Oh well, in any case Mr. Gore must do _something_. . . . Huh? . . . We -may properly let them see that we expect it. . . . His wife’s first -cousin only once removed! . . . A pitcher of lemonade will be much more -suitable. . . .” - -“What about a bottle of whiskey for the gentlemen?” - -“Cousin Emily would hardly approve. She has strong views. . . .” - - - VII - -Miss Gittings had asked Joe if he would come on such and such a night, -and let a college professor question him about his “psychical” -experiences. There would be a few other friends present, she said. When -Joe had suggested that his clothes were hardly suitable for an evening -party, he had been met with silence and pained looks. He had not really -expected to get a new suit out of it; he had discovered before this that -these people, though they lived nice, were poor in the sense that they -had to look twice at every dollar. He had begun to ask himself if they -were worth bothering about; he hadn’t got anything out of it; but now he -decided that the chance of meeting their friends was worth one more -night of his time. - -Joe conceived the idea of bracing Isador Cohen for a new suit on the -strength of his rise in society. Cohen kept the best-known secondhand -store in town on lower Sixth avenue, and Joe had had various dealings -with him. There were fine clothes in his store, too. So Joe had told his -story to Cohen, offering to prove it by letting Izzy see him go into the -Eleventh street house by the front door. Izzy took him up; and not only -did he see Joe admitted to the house; but a moment later he received a -greeting from Joe through the parlor window. Izzy subsequently allowed, -that Joe was a smart feller, and advanced him a suit, and all the -fixings. Joe picked out a neat blue cheviot of good quality, and was -fitted and sewed up on the spot. At Izzy’s they specialized in providing -a man with a quick change. - -The party was for eight o’clock. Joe was the first to arrive. The ladies -of the house were greatly pleased with his improved appearance; but the -white-faced boy walked out of the room when Joe entered, and did not -appear again, until the other guests had come, and his Aunt went -up-stairs to fetch him. The college professor proved to be a young man, -tall; elegantly-dressed; and having a sort of childlike, wild eye. The -other guests were mostly elderly. They were all solemn. Joe had not the -slightest anxiety on the score of fooling them; because they obviously -wanted to be fooled; and expected it. He made out to be quiet and -bashful among the strangers. The white-faced boy was watching everything -he did with a sneering smile: he was on to Joe. What of it? Joe was on -to him, too. - -Joe was reminded of a Broadway play by the way all the people sat and -stood around the drawing-room, talking in fancy voices with the idea of -letting each other know what fine people they were. Like kids at a -sidewalk game. It was funny to see full-grown men standing for it. - -The last pair of guests drove up to the house in a handsome carriage -with two dummies on the outside seat, wearing tall hats with ornaments -at the sides, and dark green overcoats with silver buttons. Joe watched -them from the window. One dummy jumped down from his seat before the -carriage quite stopped, as if he was worked by clockwork, and ran around -behind the carriage to be ready to open the door. That’s what I call -style, thought Joe. - -The entrance of this pair into the drawing-room changed the whole -atmosphere of the party. It was clear to Joe from the silky quality that -appeared in the attitude of everybody present, that these were not just -ordinary rich people, but something exceptional. The professor was -nowhere now. Seeing this, all Joe’s faculties sharpened. He recognized a -great opportunity. His whole nature went out to the new arrivals. He -became one great yearning; to get next! to get next! The other people in -the room ceased to exist for him. - -The gentleman was a handsome, middle-aged man, somewhat soft in face and -body. He wore a fine dress suit; and sported a neat, pointed beard. His -expression was inclined to be sulky; his eyes gave nothing away. The -lady was a tall, spare, faded blonde; wearing an expensive, ugly green -silk dress, and a good deal of jewelry. She had a proud, sour look; and -took all the smiles and bows of the people present as her right; whereas -the gentleman was indifferent to them. Joe hung around them, hoping to -be taken notice of. He had not been brought to the attention of any of -the guests yet. The lady put up her glasses, and looked at him as if he -had been something in the menagerie; the gentleman took no notice of him -whatever. - -Joe soon gave the lady up. She was not in his line at all. He -concentrated passionately on the gentleman. He surrendered himself, -that, by entering into this other nature, he might command it. By -degrees Joe became aware that the gentleman scorned spirits and -spiritualists: that he had been brought there against his will: that -rich though they might be, his wife had him tied fast to her strings: -that behind his grand front lurked a timid soul. He was an intensely -respectable party; his clothes; his expression; his whole bearing showed -how conscious he was of being respectable: and yet! . . . and yet! . . . -The sharpened Joe at certain moments perceived a pained roll to the -man’s eyeballs, such as you see sometimes in a horse. He had a trick of -wetting his lips with his tongue; and when he did so, Joe took note -between mustache and beard of how fleshy and dark those lips were. Joe -glanced at the sour-faced wife, and smiled inwardly. Hope dawned. With a -man so respectable as that, you’d have to be damn careful what you -_said_; but you could let him see things without saying them. - -Oblivious to the clack of voices in the room, and the moving about, Joe, -quietly, with all the force of which he was capable, desired the -gentleman to look at him. Since the rich pair were the centers of -attraction in the room; everybody trying to bespeak their notice by word -or smile, his task was difficult. Joe was patient. It doesn’t matter how -long it takes, he said to himself; he must look at me in the end . . . -he _must_ look, because I want him to. - -In the midst of a conversation with somebody else, the gentleman’s bored -glance suddenly swerved to Joe. Joe, outwardly the quiet, abashed boy, -let a world of meaning appear in his eyes for him alone. The gentleman -was startled; he hastily turned away his glance. He changed color; -puffed out his cheeks a little; twirled the ornament on his watch chain. -By and by his eyes came creeping back to Joe’s face, and found Joe’s -eyes waiting. The two pairs of eyes embraced, and were quickly cast -down. I’ve got him going! thought Joe exultantly. - -Joe had heard the gentleman addressed as Mr. Gore. That suggested -nothing to him; Gore was a common enough name. But later, he heard the -lady call her husband Amasa, and when he put the two names together, a -great light broke on him. Amasa Gore! Joe had read plenty about _him_ in -the newspapers. One of the sons of Isaac Gore, with whose story every -boy of the streets was familiar. The smartest guy America had ever -produced; the little wizard of finance; the railroad wrecker; who used -to throw Wall street into a panic by holding up a finger; and who died -leaving a hundred million dollars. For an instant Joe’s heart failed him -at the bigness of the game he had cut out for himself; _Amasa Gore_! But -he stole another look into the gentleman’s face, and confidence came -winging back. He was only a man like any other. He was easy! - -When the psychical part of the evening was introduced, Joe accommodated -himself to the wind from Mr. Gore’s quarter. If Mr. Gore had come there -expecting to give the laugh to the spiritualists, naturally he would be -put out if the show appeared to be a success. - -So Joe turned tongue-tied and idiotic. He could relate no interesting -experiences; he boggled at answering the simplest questions. The ladies -of the house were astonished and shamed before their guests; the -professor was nonplussed; the white-faced boy in the background though -he had always mocked at the psychical experiences, looked at the -distressed faces of his Aunts and was angry. However, Joe cared nothing -about these people now. He saw that Mrs. Gore took the failure of the -exhibition as a personal affront to herself, and that her husband was -secretly pleased that she was cross. Joe was satisfied with the outcome. - -The professor abruptly dropped his questioning, and the while company -plunged nervously into general conversation again. Joe saw that they -would have liked to kick him out, but they couldn’t, because it would -not have been high-toned. Instead, they all made out from that moment -that Joe was no longer present. That suited Joe very well. He remained -in an obscure corner between the end of the piano and the dining-room -door. At intervals Mr. Gore’s uneasy eyes crept to Joe’s face, and never -failed to find Joe’s eyes waiting. - -There were great difficulties in Joe’s way. Mr. Gore was so respectable -and scary, he saw that it would be up to him to make all the running. In -the end his man might escape him out of sheer funk. It was necessary for -him to have a private word or two with Mr. Gore before the evening was -over; and how was that to be managed when the millionaire was -continually surrounded by admiring listeners, who obliged him to play -the respectable. That’s what’s the matter with him, thought Joe, -thinking of the pained roll to his eyeballs; there’s always people -watching him, and he never has a chance to be bad. Well . . . ! - -Refreshments were served. There was a blight upon the party, and while -it was still early, the ladies retired up-stairs to put on their wraps. -The gentlemen had left their hats and coats on the hall-rack, and they -stood in the hall talking, while they waited for the ladies. Besides Mr. -Gore and the Professor, there were two others. The boy who lived in the -house had disappeared. It was now or never with Joe. With a modest air -he made his way out between the gentlemen. He knew Mr. Gore would look -at him as he passed; and he did look. Joe gave him a speaking glance; -and letting himself out the door, waited on the stoop. - -It worked. Mr. Gore presently came through the door behind him, and -glanced importantly below as if he had come out to make sure that his -carriage was waiting. He made a great business of cutting and lighting a -cigar; ignoring Joe. Joe smiled inwardly. He had but a precious second -or two; no time to beat around the bush. - -“I couldn’t go on with that fool business after I seen you,” he -murmured. “I could see that you was on to that foolishness.” - -“That was very, very wrong of you!” said Mr. Gore severely; “to deceive -those good ladies!” - -“I never thought of the wrong of it until after I seen you,” said Joe, -making his eyes ask. “Then I was sorry all right. . . . It was them led -me into it. They liked to be fooled. And I’m only a poor boy.” - -“Have you no employment?” asked Mr. Gore. - -Joe shook his head. - -“Um! . . . Ha!” said the millionaire. - -“Will you give me a job?” whispered Joe. - -Mr. Gore looked scared, and puffed out his cheeks. “Impossible!” he -said. “Ah . . . in my sort of business there is nothing suitable. . . .” - -“Will you let me come to see you?” - -“Impossible!” - -“Oh, I don’t mean come to your house,” said Joe. “Of course the Madam -wouldn’t like a poor boy like me comin’ round. . . . But to your office -. . . ?” - -“Quite impossible!” gasped the millionaire. - -Joe heard the voices of the ladies within. He had but one more throw! -“If you was to walk home to get the air, like,” he whispered swiftly, “I -could catch up to you. And you could talk to me. If I only had a man -like you to tell me what to do . . . !” - -Mr. Gore gave no sign. The door opened, and the rest came streaming out -on the stoop. Joe flattened himself against the balustrade, and watched. -There were polite good-byes. It seemed to be the general feeling that -the Gores must be allowed to get away first; and everybody else remained -on the stoop, while the millionaire handed his wife down, and the -footman opened the carriage door. Mr. Gore paused with a foot on the -step, as if he had just had an idea. - -“. . . Er, my dear,” said he to his wife, “I am smoking. I will walk -home so that you may not be troubled by the fumes.” - -Joe felt like God. - -The footman closed the carriage door, and running around behind, climbed -up nimbly as the carriage started. The turnout clip-clopped briskly down -the street. Mr. Gore set off towards the Avenue, swinging his shoulders. - -The long-legged young professor suddenly scampered down the steps. “Oh, -Mr. Gore, if you’re walking . . . !” he cried. - -In his heart Joe cursed him. - -Mr. Gore paused politely. There was a brief exchange on the sidewalk -which Joe could not hear. Then . . . the professor remained standing -where he was with a foolish look, and Mr. Gore walked on, swinging his -shoulders. Joe’s heart rebounded. - - - - - PART TWO: YOUTHS - - - - - PART TWO - - - I - -Nothing in the Gore offices could have been changed in many years, -Wilfred supposed. Many a country lawyer did himself better. Mr. Amasa -Gore shared one very large room with his secretary, John Dobereiner and -his assistant secretary, or office boy, or door-keeper, or whatever you -chose to call him, which was Wilfred. The room had a door opening -directly on the public corridor; and double doors in the right and left -walls. Various officials of the Gore railroads strolled through from -time to time; and Mr. Isaac Gore, the elder brother, was in the habit of -making his escape through their room, when his own way out was blocked. -Still, there was privacy of a kind, the room was so big. From his corner -Wilfred could not hear what Mr. Gore might be saying in his corner; nor -could Dobereiner from his. - -Wilfred’s particular job was to open the corridor door when anyone -knocked. He would open it a crack first, with his foot behind it, while -he reconnoitred. So far there had never been any excitement. Nothing was -painted on the door but the number of the room, 47; and this password, -was given out only to Mr. Gore’s friends. Occasionally a crank or a -begging widow took a chance and knocked: that was all. In the beginning -Wilfred had speculated on what he would do should an anarchist burst in -with a bomb in a satchel. That had happened to Russell Sage, once. -Wilfred had made up a story about it, in which he played a heroic part; -but it was not one of his best stories. - -Mr. Gore’s big roll-top desk was turned cater-cornered. The door into -his brother’s office was at his hand in case _he_ wanted to make a quick -getaway. When he was seated at his desk, Wilfred could see no more than -the thin lock of hair which waved on his forehead, and his sulky eyes -when he raised them. Mr. Dobereiner’s desk was in the other front -corner; Wilfred’s desk in one of the back corners. One could have given -a ball in the middle of the room. - -The great chance of his life! his aunts called it; being placed so close -to a millionaire. How Wilfred hated it! Day after day he felt as if -there was some foul stuff smoldering in his breast, the fumes of which -were slowly suffocating him. So much had been made of this job, he -couldn’t conceive of any escape from it. The whole millionaire -atmosphere; the bluff, man-to-man air which the cleverest of Mr. Gore’s -creatures had learned to adopt towards their master; he hated it. The -private secretary, Dobereiner was an out and out toady and lick-spittle; -Wilfred didn’t mind him; it was the fine gentlemen; the various -stockbrokers; corporation officials; dummy directors and so on; Ugh! -Loathsome! - -Mr. Gore was a good enough employer; liberal; he was rather a fool -behind his big front, and Wilfred could have liked him under other -circumstances. Millionaire and office boy preserved a distant air -towards each other. Wilfred took care to keep the lashes lowered over -his resentful eyes. He kept his employer’s check-books and accounts; -thus he knew that Mr. Gore’s income amounted to more than seven hundred -thousand dollars a year. It made the office boy grind his teeth. - -Wilfred had not enough to do to keep him busy during office hours; and -he shamefully neglected what he had to do. It had been understood when -he came, that he was to perfect himself in shorthand; that he might take -some of the correspondence off Dobereiner’s hands. There lay the Pitman -textbook, and the note-book handy to his hand; and the sight of them -turned his stomach. Wilfred spent the greater part of the days in -listless dreaming: his body held in such a position that to a glance -from behind he might appear to be practicing shorthand. He suspected -that Mr. Gore spent hours dreaming, too. Well he was able to if he -wanted. Certainly there wasn’t much business transacted in that office. -Yet Mr. Gore kept regular office hours. Apparently he hadn’t anything to -do, but come sit in his office. So far as Wilfred could judge he had -never read a book in his life. What an existence for one with two -thousand dollars a day to spend! But to scorn his employer didn’t help -Wilfred any; he knew he was the idle apprentice, and he hated himself. - -A murmur was heard from Mr. Gore’s corner, and Dobereiner, springing up, -paddled to his employer’s desk. He had very large flat feet that turned -out wide, and his knees gave a little with every step. He had bulging -blue eyes that held a doglike expression; and his broad, ugly, German -face was always oily with devotion. An invaluable creature, Wilfred -conceded, but not the man he would choose to have around him. A brief -whispered colloquy took place—everything was whispered in that office; -and Dobereiner came hustling over to Wilfred’s desk, breathing a little -hard, as one who bears momentous tidings. - -“Mr. Gore has decided not to go out to lunch,” he said. “Please bring -him a glass of milk and two chicken sandwiches from the directors’ -restaurant.” - -Wilfred cast a glance on Dobereiner, and went out. In a moment or two he -returned—empty handed. Dobereiner ran to meet him. - -“Where is Mr. Gore’s lunch?” he demanded, aghast. - -“I gave the order,” said Wilfred. “A waiter will bring it directly.” - -Dobereiner’s slightly bloodshot eyes stuck out at Wilfred—but more in -dismay, than anger. “I told you to bring it!” he stammered. “Mr. Gore -must not be kept waiting!” - -Wilfred looked at him without speaking, one side of his mouth pressed -stubbornly into his cheek. All but wringing his hands, Dobereiner -turned, and waddled out of the room. - -In due course he returned, bearing the glass and plate as if they were -holy vessels. Placing them on Mr. Gore’s desk, he stood back. Mr. Gore -did not ask the wherefore of this act of service, but picked up one of -the sandwiches, and bit into it. Wilfred suspected that such incidents -as this did not injure him with his boss; after all they were of the -same class: it was other things. - -Mr. Gore was still munching when there was heard a light, assured -tapping on the glass of the corridor door; two fingernails rotated. -Wilfred’s breast burned and his lip curled painfully as he went to open -the door. They all knew who this was. Dobereiner turned a foolish, -beaming smile towards the door; and Mr. Gore looked over the top of his -desk with all the sullenness gone out of his face. Wilfred opened the -door; and Joe Kaplan breezed past him. - -“‘Lo, Wilfred! . . . ’Lo, Mr. Dobereiner. . . . Good morning, Mr. Gore.” - -He got no answering greeting from Wilfred; but a fat lot Joe cared for -that. That was the worst of it; filled with a fervor of indignation, -Wilfred had not the power to make Joe feel it. Why? He knew. It was -because his indignation was insincere. The sight of the glittering Joe -made him sick with envy. He was crushed by the hatefulness of his own -feelings. - -Wilfred scanned him in the effort to discover something . . . something -that would enable him to feel superior. But Joe was too perfect; he was -too exactly what Wilfred himself dreamed of becoming; the gay, gilded, -insouciant youth. Insouciant was one of Wilfred’s favorite words. To be -sure, Joe was a little _too_ well-dressed to be a gentleman; but there -was nothing blatant about him; he picked things up too quickly. And -everybody was ready to forgive a slightly dandified air in so -good-looking a youth. Wilfred, while he sneered at the -beautifully-fitting dark green suit with a small check, the puffy Ascot -tie with a handsome pearl in it, the Dunlap derby fresh from the -burnisher’s iron, secretly admired. Somehow Wilfred’s effects never came -off. Though they were of the same age, the finish Joe had acquired made -him look three or four years older. Wilfred was miserably aware of being -an untidy and gangly eighteen. - -Joe plumped himself down like an equal in a chair at Mr. Gore’s left -hand; and their heads drew close together. Whisper; whisper; whisper; -punctuated with chuckles. Joe was visible at the side of the desk; but -Mr. Gore Wilfred could not see; however, he knew only too well how the -man’s face relaxed; how his sulky eyes became moist and irresponsible; -and how the thick lips parted. Almost anybody except the fatuous -Dobereiner could have told at a glance what was the relation between -those two. Wilfred had no difficulty in reading his employer; a sensual -man, weak and shy. It was Joe’s perfect shamelessness which had won him. -It was the same with everybody. The satyr in Joe’s hard, bright, -close-set eyes encouraged the imprisoned appetites to come out and -stretch themselves. Had not Wilfred felt it himself? Only he could not -let himself go. He did not blame Mr. Gore; there was something warm and -human in the man’s surrender. He was getting something that his nature -craved. But Joe! while he smiled and murmured and debauched others, -_his_ eyes remained cold and bright and watchful. What a horror! - -What did they talk about? They were arranging the details of parties, -Wilfred assumed; small, discreet parties, conducted without danger of -discovery. That would be Joe’s business. Wilfred’s opulent imagination -proceeded to supply the details of their parties. Oh Heaven! supreme -luxury and voluptuousness! And Joe of course, a sharer in it all. Envy -suffocated him. Joe had turned out such a tall, handsome, graceful -fellow. And no foolish scruples to hamper him! Joe shared in it; the -soulless gutter-snipe; the lad no older than himself; he had everything; -money; good clothes; admiration; and endless pleasure: while he, Wilfred -who _had_ imagination and feeling was poor and half-baked and despised -and starving for joy! Why didn’t the dull millionaire come to _him_ for -his pleasures? He had imagination. In Joe’s parties there would be a -leer; but in _his_ only a mad, mad joy! In the midst of this Wilfred -grinned bitterly at himself; for he knew well enough that he was -shameless only in his imagination. A shivering fastidiousness held him -in leash. After all, Joe was a fitter instrument for the millionaire. - -These talks between Mr. Gore and Joe always ended in the same way. Mr. -Gore pulled out a little drawer in his desk, and took something from it -that found its way into Joe’s trousers pocket. The fool! thought -Wilfred; does he suppose I’m not on to him? Always, later, a check would -be made out to a certain Harry Bannerman, a creature of Mr. Gore’s, who -would carry it to the bank; and bring back the wherewithal to replenish -the drawer against Joe’s next visit. Many hundreds of dollars weekly. -Mr. Gore did not require cash for anything else, since he had credit -everywhere. - -And then Joe, sleek and elegant as a panther, would steam out, -scattering good-byes; and Mr. Gore, resuming his ordinary sulky mask, -would glance intimidatingly at poor Dobereiner and Wilfred, as if daring -them to suggest that he had ever dropped it. Dobereiner of course, had -no thought of criticizing his master; and Wilfred at least adopted a -polite air of inscrutability. On this occasion whether or not Mr. Gore -suspected the thoughts that Wilfred hid under it, he said: - -“Bring over your note-book, Pell.” - -Wilfred obeyed with a heart full of bitterness—sharp apprehension, too. -_He_ was required to make pot-hooks while Joe was sent out with a -pocketful of money, to scour the markets for beauty! The inevitable -humiliation awaited him now; perhaps the final humiliation. Wilfred -hated his job, but was none the less terrified of losing it. For where -would he, the timid, the self-distrustful, the half-baked, find another? -And how could he ever face the Aunts who had plotted for years to obtain -this job for him? - -After an unhappy quarter of an hour Mr. Gore said in a bored voice: -“. . . Er . . . How long does it take to learn shorthand?” - -“Three months,” murmured Wilfred. - -“You’ve been studying it longer than that.” - -“It’s difficult . . . to apply oneself at night.” - -“Well, I’m sure you’re not very busy in the daytime. . . . What’s the -matter with you, Pell? You would do very well here, if you would only -wake up. You appear to be half asleep most of the time.” - -“I will try to do better,” mumbled Wilfred, loathing himself. - -He went back to his desk, seething. The fool! The fool! The -empty-headed, dull, rich fool! It’s lucky he has his money-bags to give -him some identity! He hasn’t even got brains enough to go to the devil -by himself, but must hire a boy to lead him! - -Then his mood changed. He sat staring at the square glass inkstands on -his desk, with their lacquered iron covers; cheap stuff stamped out by -the million. What is to become of me? he thought with a sinking heart; I -undertake to rage at everything, yet I am no good myself. There is no -beginning place in me; I am spread all over. I want to be . . . I want -to be everything, and I have started at nothing. Everything I try to -grasp dissolves in my hand. I exist in a fog! . . . God! how I hate -business! My father was a failure, and I am a failure, too. What is one -to do if one has the instincts of a gentleman and no money . . . ! - -Dobereiner was looking over at Wilfred in horrified commiseration. He -could imagine nothing worse than to be rebuked by Mr. Gore. During the -rest of the day his manner towards Wilfred was gentle. Wilfred glared at -him helplessly. - - - II - -Joe had chosen the top floor in a row of old walk-up flats on West -Fifty-Eighth street. The neighborhood was one of the best in town; but -the house itself was unimproved, and a little run-down; anybody might -live in such a house. It was pleasant too, to walk up the interminable, -dark, shabbily-carpeted stairs, and at the top burst into a paradise of -red velvet portières and Oriental divans crowded with feather cushions. -Joe had bought all the stuff himself; it had been great to pick out the -very best quality velours and the thickest rugs. It was Mr. Gore who -stipulated for a walk-up apartment. In a house with an elevator, you ran -the chance of a blackmailing elevator boy. - -Jewel Le Compte (Mr. Gore had suggested the changed spelling of her -name) sat half reclining in a Morris chair, sewing a ribbon strap on a -sheer undergarment, with microscopic stitches. Joe lay stretched out on -a divan with his hands under his head, watching her. She was wrapped in -a blue silk kimono embroidered with pink chrysanthemums; Joe had picked -that out, too. Her legs were crossed, and from the foot which was -elevated, a quilted blue mule dangled free of her rosy heel. Her -plentiful black hair was gathered in a rough twist on top of her head: -and she had no make-up on her face. Joe liked to see her without her war -paint; when she left it off, the babyish look came back to her cheeks; -they no longer looked all of a piece; but showed delicate, dusky -discolorations and unevennesses. A damn pretty girl, Jewel; and how well -she suited her luxurious surroundings! He had had the wit to foresee -that while she was still in Allen street. - -From time to time Jewel looked up from her sewing, and her eyes -travelled with pleasure over Joe from head to foot. - -“You’re fillin’ out,” she remarked. “You’ll soon be a man.” - -“Aah!” said Joe; “I’m man enough alretty to be _your_ master!” - -Jewel laughed. “Listen to it! I got you to nurse, boy.” - -“Where would you be if it wasn’t for me?” demanded Joe. - -“Oh, as a business manager you’re all right,” said Jewel. “That wasn’t -what I meant. . . . In ten years maybe you can talk about bein’ my -master!” - -“How do you know I’ll stick to you that long?” asked Joe. - -“Well, you will. Not that it matters . . . but you will.” - -Joe felt uncomfortable. “Why will I?” - -“I don’t know . . . I guess we’re a pair . . .” - -A thousand recollections tumbled into Joe’s mind. He looked at Jewel and -in her unsmiling eyes he saw the same things that were in his own mind. -For the moment he seemed to have become Jewel; and Jewel him; he the -woman; Jewel the man. It made him feel queer. “Aah!” he snarled. - -Jewel resumed her sewing. “It’s like this,” she said; “with all the -other fellows I’ve known, I had to chuck a bluff, see? One kind of bluff -or another. And they the same with me. Like an Irish jig, when you dance -up to your partner and back. . . . But with you—though you’re only a -boy, it’s different. . . . You belong to me, like.” - -“The hell I do!” said Joe. - -Jewel shrugged. “Not that my saying so, matters. Either it’s so or it -isn’t so, and we can’t change it.” - -“I t’ink you got Jewish blood, too,” said Joe, “That’s how they talk.” - -“I do’ know what I got,” she said indifferently. - -“The Jews are a great people,” said Joe; “when they chuck all that -Jewish bunk, and get down to tacks. . . . But an old-fashioned Jew! Gee! -Like my old man. A preachin’ Jew’s the limit!” - -Jewel was not listening to this. The color of her eyes seemed to darken. -“I know why it is,” she said. “With me . . . you forget yourself.” - -“You forget yourself, too,” said Joe quickly. - -“Oh, sure!” she said lightly. Joe perceived resentfully that she only -said it to shut him up. “It’s great to be able to make a fellow like you -lose himself,” she went on with a slow smile; she was honest enough -then; “you’re so stuck on yourself!” - -“Aah!” said Joe sorely. For the moment he could find no rejoinder; he -studied her, looking for some way to get back at her. “You’ll get fat,” -he said at length. - -“Sure, bright-eyes!” she said unconcernedly. “Your eyes run over me like -rats. . . . But at that, men will still like me.” - -“Why will they?” - -“I dunno. . . . It’s somepin. . . . For the same reason maybe, that -women will always run after you, you pink and black devil!” - -“Because I’m so handsome?” said Joe, grinning. - -“Nah! there’s a plenty of handsomer fellows than you!” - -“Well, you’re no Lillian Russell!” - -“It’s somepin we know . . . but I don’t know how to name it. . . . -Neither you nor me gives a damn. . . .” - -“Now you’re talkin’!” said Joe, pleased. - -“But . . . we’ll never be able to get shet of each other,” Jewel went on -with her darkened eyes. - -“We’d better get hitched, then,” said Joe, sneering. - -“Oh, Gawd!” she said, disgustedly. - -Joe echoed her disgust. “Oh, Gawd!” - -They looked at each other and laughed. - -“You’ll always come back,” she said. - -“I’m gonna marry a swell dame,” said Joe; “the pick of the whole four -hundred. . . . You needn’t laugh. You wait!” - -“Go ahead,” she said. - -“You kin marry, too, if you play your cards right.” - -Jewel laughed suddenly. “Thanks for the favor,” she said. . . . “Not on -your life! I like my own self too well. I like to live alone. . . . Why -should I marry? I ain’t ambitious.” - -“To get a man to keep you when you’re old,” said Joe. - -“I’ll put by enough for me old age,” said Jewel. “I don’t want much. All -this—” she waved her arm about, “is all right to attrac’ custom, but it -don’t mean nottin’ to me. . . . A nice plain room wit’ a winda on a busy -street. There I’ll sit. . . . All I want good is a bed. My bed must be -of the best; a1 box spring and a real hair mattress. Plenty of tasty -food cooked the way I like it. Nobody to hinder my comin’ and goin’; -nobody wit’ the right to bother me! That’s livin’!” - -“Aah! you’ll git like the fat lady in Barnum and Bailey’s!” - -“All right!” - -“It wouldn’t suit me,” said Joe. “I want to be mixed up in things. I’m -gonna be a big man. One of the biggest. I been about a bit now. I’m as -smart as anybody I see. I’m gonna make them feel me. I like to see the -buggers crawl on their bellies. Like Dobereiner. I’ll have a secretary -like Dobereiner. Makes you feel great. . . . And a hell of a big house -on Fift’ Avenoo, and a yacht and a private car . . . there isn’t -anything I won’t have!” - -“You’re welcome to it,” said Jewel. “Seems childish to me.” - -“And a swell-lookin’ wife to take around, wearing diamonds all over -her. . . .” - -“Just the same, you’ll come to see me,” said Jewel smiling to herself; -“fat though I be.” - - * * * * * - -“Have you braced the old man?” asked Jewel. - -Joe armed himself with caution. He had been waiting for this. “No,” he -said. “All bills paid, and a hundred a week clear! Ain’t yeh satisfied?” - -“No,” said Jewel. “This may blow up any time. I want to be protected. A -lump sum down. A man as rich as that; it’s customary. It don’t have to -be in cash. A string of pearls, if it suits him better. Or anything I -can realize on.” - -Joe smoothed out his tone. “You’re right, Jewel. You’re certainly -entitled to it. Just leave it to me. I’ll brace him as soon as the time -is ripe.” - -“The time is ripe now,” said Jewel with quiet stubbornness. - -“Who’s runnin’ this show?” Joe demanded. - -“There’s some things you don’t know,” said Jewel. “You’re only a kid. -The time is ripe. The old man is ripe.” - -“All right,” said Joe. “I’ll brace him next time I see him.” - -“That’s what you said before. You needn’t mind now. I’ll brace him -myself to-night.” - -Joe sat up suddenly. “Go ahead!” he cried violently. “And the whole -show’ll blow up right then! I know that old geezer! If _you_ ask him for -money, he’ll fade! He likes to make out it’s all a fairy-story like, -when he comes here.” - -“Has he already given you the money for me?” Jewel asked unexpectedly. - -Joe’s mouth opened and shut. He perceived that he had betrayed himself -by showing too much heat. Oh well, he had to have it out with her -anyhow. “Yes,” he said coolly, falling back on the divan. - -Jewel stood up suddenly. Her sewing fell to the floor. She stood over -Joe with clenched hands; a flush in her dark cheeks; her big eyes -burning—she was handsome! “You dirty cheat!” she said, not loud. “You -rotten kid! Rotten before you’re ripe! You thieving Jew! . . . I might -have known how it would be!” - -Joe felt relieved. If this was how she was going to take it, he was -right there with her. He grinned up at her. “Aah! chase yerself!” he -drawled. “This is my show. I started it, didn’t I?” - -“You didn’t earn this money, damn you!” - -“I put you in the way of earning it!” - -Jewel suddenly quieted down. “Was it in cash?” she asked. - -“No, railroad bonds. He got ’em out of the safe deposit box himself.” - -Jewel sat down, and picked up her sewing. This was what Joe was afraid -of. He ground his teeth together. “Aah, what was you anyhow when I -picked you out of the gutter?” he cried noisily. “You was nottin’ but a -dirty little Allen street. . . .” - -Jewel smiled at him. “What’s the use?” she said; “you know you got to -fork out.” - -“I’m damned if I will!” cried Joe. “Now you know it, what you goin’ to -do about it?” - -Jewel merely pulled her sewing this way and that. - -“I’m damned well gonna keep those bonds!” shouted Joe. “You tell the old -man when he comes here to-night! Maybe he’ll hand you a new set. I don’t -think! What _can_ you do? It’s back to Allen street for yours if _I_ -drop you. The old man’ll fire me, you says. What the hell do I care? -‘’ll still have the mon’, won’t I? I’m about troo wit’ t’ old stiff -anyhow . . . and he don’t need neither me nor you no more, if you want -to know it; cos I’ve taught him the ropes. There’s plenty other girls.” - -Joe’s tone changed. “. . . But you got him eatin’ out of your hand. He -don’t want to hafta make up to a new girl. If you was wise you could -keep him long as you wanted. The longer you kep’ him, the harder it -would be for him to make a break. You could work him for a whole sheaf -of gilt-edge bonds. But you gotta make a stink, I suppose. That’s just -like a woman. All right! All right! If you’re so stuck on the Allen -street houses. . . .” - -Joe ran out of matter. You’ve got to have some return from the other -side in order to keep this sort of thing up. He jumped up, and walked -about the room muttering angrily; picking things up and putting them -down again; darting little side looks at Jewel. She went on sewing. - -Joe found his voice again. “It’s up to you now. I warn yeh! I’m about to -resign the job as your manager anyhow. It don’t give me enough scope. -I’m tired suckin’ up to that old dub—to anybody! I’m gonna operate on -my own now. I’ll have them comin’ to me! And I don’t need no woman in my -business neither! . . . A few thousands is little enough for you to pay -me for puttin’ you where you are. . . .” - -In spite of himself, Joe could not keep his mind on any one line; it -shot off this way and that. He sounded weak to himself. How the hell had -he come to let himself be put on the defensive anyhow? Now, struggle as -he would, he could not keep a whining tone from coming into his voice. - -“Aah! what’s the matter with yeh? I ain’t tryin’ to swipe the bonds -offen you. You know me! I on’y want to use ’em for a little while. I got -a scheme. . . . I can pay you back twice over. I can make money for both -of us. You said I was a good business man. Well, I’m a better business -man than you know. On’y I got to have a lump sum to start with. As a -decoy to attrac’ more. I’ll tell you my scheme. . . .” - -“I ain’t interested,” said Jewel, biting off her thread. - -“Now listen, Jewel. . . .” - -“You hand over my bonds,” she said, looking at him steadily. “When -they’re in my own hands, then you can talk. I’ll have the handling of my -own money, see? If your scheme looks good to me, I’ll put something in -it—but I’ll say how much.” - -Joe flung himself down on the divan again. “Yeah!” he said in extreme -bitterness. “You think you’re gonna run my business, don’t you? What you -know about business? You never been off Allen street till you come up -here. You’d do better to stick to your own business, and leave me mine.” - -“Where are the bonds?” she asked. - -“Aah! in the inside pocket o’ me coat.” Joe flung an arm over his eyes. - -Jewel got up without haste. - - - III - -From his place in the corner of the basement room Wilfred watched the -other diners covertly. Had he but possessed a mantle of invisibility his -happiness would have been complete. As it was, his pleasure in looking -at people vanished when they looked at him. There were four places at a -table, and he was most comfortable when all were taken. People sitting -so close, never looked at you; and they made a sort of screen for you; -moreover he was able to listen to their talk, and to build upon it. - -He ate his dinner in this place on West Tenth street once or twice a -week; or as often as he could scare up the necessary thirty-five cents. -He told his Aunts he had to work late at the office. How scandalized -they would have been could they have seen him sitting there with a -bottle of wine before him. They would never realize that he was grown. -The place had no license of course, and you had a pleasant feeling of -lawlessness; at any moment the police might come banging at the door. -But they never had. A plain and friendly place, it supplied something -that Wilfred had apprehended in novels of foreign life. He had got in -the first time by attaching himself to the tail of a party at the door. -Now he was known there and hailed by name. The generous minestrone, -ravioli, etc., made his stomach purr. When he sat back and lighted a -cigarette, life ceased to appall. - -It was run by a handsome Italian woman with a heavenly smile, named -Ceccina. Her husband, Michele, held sway over the kitchen, which was -revealed through an open door; and their three children Raymo, -Alessandro and Enriqueta helped their mother to wait upon the tables. -Simple people; Wilfred loved them from a distance, except the little -girl, who was pert without being engaging. It was the fault of the fond -patrons. Wilfred felt it his duty to discourage her. He had a specially -warm spot for Alessandro the bullet-headed one, a blonde sport in that -dark family. Alessandro, always watching for a chance to sneak out and -play in the streets, was often in trouble with his father, who swore at -him in English, without being aware of the comic effect of his -aspersions on the boy’s parentage. - -The round table in the middle of the room, which would hold six at a -squeeze, was reserved for a little company of friends that included two -known authors; a lady editor; an artist; and a long-legged young man of -unknown affiliations, whom the others called the bambino. These people -constituted the focus of interest in the place. Wilfred watching them, -and listening, decided against them. Let the authors be known as well as -they might, their circle was not the real thing; its brilliancy was -self-conscious. One author looked like a walrus with his tusks drawn; -the other like an elderly trained poodle. The artist had a voluminous -cape to his overcoat; and rattled his stick against the door-frame when -he entered. Somebody said he designed labels for tomato cans. The room -was small enough for Wilfred to scoop in these bits of information, as -they flew about. - -These and others in the room were of the general show; there was one -group that Wilfred had taken for his own; whom he regarded with an -intensity of interest that hurt. Young fellows, no more than a year or -two older than himself; lively young fellows; and good friends! Until he -had come to Ceccina’s he had never seen any young men like these, but he -immediately understood them; he seemed to have been waiting for such. -The conventions upon which young men ordinarily formed themselves, had -no force with them. Their eyes seemed to see what they were turned upon; -they were interested in things; they could let themselves go; and how -they talked! - -Two of them came every night. These addressed each other as Stanny and -Jasper. Stanny was short and sturdily built; with an expression of -doughty wistfulness that arrested Wilfred. He had a tenor voice with -rather plaintive modulations, that went with his eyes. A man every inch -of him, from the set of his strong shoulders, and his courageous glance; -but a man who felt things and wondered. Up to this time Wilfred had -despairingly supposed that manliness was the capacity for not feeling -things. Jasper, with his crisp, bronze, wavy hair, and warm color, was -full of a slow, earthy zest. His face generally wore a sleepy -half-smile; and he had a trick of squinting down his big nose. Wilfred -inferred that he must have wit, from the surprised laughter which -greeted his rare sallies. - -These two were sometimes joined by an older man with a fine, reticent -face and silky black beard, whom they called Hilgy. Hilgy had his -features under such control, that it was impossible to decide whether he -was speaking in jest or in earnest. Wilfred observed that sometimes his -own friends did not know how to take him. Hilgy liked to string them. -Sometimes a thin, handsome youth no older than Wilfred, made one of the -party. They called him Binks; and so exuberant and audacious was his -style, that all hung upon his words, though he was the youngest among -them. - -Unfortunately for Wilfred, these fellows, unlike the party at the center -table, talked low and all he could get of it was a phrase here and -there. He had gathered that they were all artists, though they wore -their hair short, and dressed like anybody else. They forced him to -reconsider all his notions about artists. Art! the word rang hopefully -in Wilfred’s consciousness; it was a way other than business, of making -one’s living. Of course he couldn’t be a painter, because his fingers -were all thumbs. But a writer, perhaps; that was an art, too. Years ago, -his grandfather had told him he had imagination; he had been hugging the -assurance ever since. Nobody else had ever suggested that he had any -worthy quality. Still, a writer!—how ridiculous to dream of such a -thing, when he lacked a college education. - -For many nights Wilfred had been watching these happy fellows. Such -friends! What would he not have given for one friend, and each of these -had three! Talk boiled out of them. Sometimes at a heard phrase, -Wilfred’s own breast would froth up like yeasty beer. It was so -extraordinary to discover that they talked about the same things that -troubled his mind! They were clever. They poked sly fun at the other -diners. Once Wilfred caught Stanny’s nickname for the writer who looked -like a poodle: “Flannel-belly!” Inexplicably right! he laughed whenever -he thought of it. - -Wilfred had taken two of the four to his heart; Stanny and Binks. But -his feelings toward them were different: for the one he felt a violent -affection and sympathy; for the other, a violent, helpless admiration. -One or another of these two, or both of them, linked arms with Wilfred -in his waking dreams; and into their attentive ears he poured the frothy -stuff that choked his breast. When he came to himself, he would smile, -to think how in his dreams, he did all the talking. - -On this night none of the fellows had come, and Wilfred was obliged to -swallow his disappointment. Ceccina had finally been obliged to give -their places to a party of overdressed strangers from up-town, who -stared rudely around the room, and made audible comments. Such people -cheapened everybody in the place. Wilfred cursed them under his breath. - -Then the bell rang, and Stanny and Jasper entered the room, a good half -hour after their usual time. Wilfred’s heart leaped like a lover’s; then -set up a tremendous pounding; for the only two vacant places together, -were at his table. The two crossed the room as a matter of course; and -Stanny asked him politely if they might share his table. - -“Certainly!” stammered Wilfred, keeping his eyes down. He simply had not -the courage to look at them so near to. - -They sat down side by side opposite him. Wilfred’s breast was in a -commotion. His confusion must have affected the other two, for they were -silent at first. Undoubtedly they thought him a churl, who hugged his -solitude. He could not bring himself to look at them. He was bitterly -upbraiding himself. You fool! What a poor figure you are cutting! Why -can’t you be natural? These are simple, likable fellows, willing to be -friends. They are your kind. What a chance! And you’re throwing it away! -You won’t get another such chance. This is what comes of dreaming! -Unfits you for the reality. . . . - -Their soup was brought; and they hungrily applied themselves to it, with -encomiums upon its flavor. While waiting for their next course, they -picked up a conversation that had evidently been dropped a little while -before. They spoke low; but Wilfred’s sharpened ears heard every word. - -“I think you’re foolish,” said Stanny, “after working in the office all -day, to sit in your basement nights, hacking away at your carving. With -a book of Italian verbs open besides you, too. Or if you’re not there, -you’re sitting in Madame Tardieu’s stuffy room, droning French with that -tiresome old soul!” - -“She needs the money,” mumbled Jasper. His shy, unsure utterance -endeared him to Wilfred. - -“Well, that’s not your fault,” said Stanny, slightly exasperated. -“You’re too easy. She knows she’s got a good thing, and she’s nursing it -along. . . . I say, it’s not natural at our age.” - -“What else is there to do, nights?” grumbled Jasper. “We haven’t any -money to spend.” - -“Loaf!” said Stanny, promptly. “A certain amount of loafing is necessary -to the soul’s health. You’re doing violence to your nature with this -continual grind. It’ll get back at you some day. This self-improvement -business can be carried too far. How can you improve when you’ve worked -yourself into a half-doped state? . . . I bet you fall asleep in your -chair at Mme. Tardieu’s many’s the night, while the old body drools on.” - -“It’s a fact,” confessed Jasper. - -While they talked together, ignoring him, Wilfred quieted down. It was -better they should ignore him, he thought; for if, as was probable, they -should not like him, that would be worse. Meanwhile what a glimpse into -their lives he was getting! - -“Last night,” said Jasper in his diffident, masculine voice, “I was -sitting in Madame Tardieu’s room. It’s true, I was half asleep. I -happened to look out of the window. . . . In the house opposite, there -was a girl going to bed. She’d forgotten to pull down the shades. . . . -Damn nice-looking girl! When she put up her arms to unpin her hair . . . -lovely round arms . . . such a picture! . . . Well . . . I lost my head. -I said good-night to the old lady in a hurry, and I went . . . I mean I -went across the street. . . .” - -“_What!_” exclaimed Stanny. - -“It’s a rooming house. The outer door was closed. I waited on the stoop -until one of the lodgers came home. Told him I’d lost my key. He let me -in. I went up to the girl’s room and went in. . . .” - -“Good God! what did _she_ say?” demanded Stanny. - -“Oh, she was surprised,” said Jasper shyly. “But she didn’t make much of -a fuss . . . I stayed. . . .” - -“Suppose she _had_ made a fuss?” - -“I didn’t think of that.” - -“You had been drinking!” - -“No. . . . Something got into me. . . .” - -Wilfred was astounded and delighted by this anecdote. Such delicious -effrontery was almost inconceivable to him. It was _right_, thought -Wilfred; that was the gallant way; the mad, imprudent jolly way! Jasper -loomed a hero in his eyes. He ventured to steal a look at the pair of -them. Stanny was a little scandalized by the story—but only a little. -Evidently it was much the sort of thing a friend might expect to hear -from Jasper. Then Wilfred looked at Jasper; and at the same moment -Jasper happened to raise his shy, wicked eyes to Wilfred’s face. A spark -was struck, and suddenly they laughed together. - -Wilfred blushed scarlet. “I’m sorry,” he stammered. “I couldn’t help -hearing. . . .” - -“Oh, that’s all right,” said Jasper, blushing, too. “You know how it -is.” - -A warm tide of joy coursed through Wilfred. To be hailed by Jasper as a -fellow! - -Stanny now included Wilfred in his remarks. He was annoyed. “A piece of -folly, if you ask me,” he said. “God knows what might have happened!” - -“But it wouldn’t, to him,” said Wilfred. “There wasn’t any room in his -mind for it to happen.” - -Stanny looked at Wilfred dubiously. Wilfred blushed again. What nonsense -am I talking? he thought. - -“He understands,” said Jasper, with a jerk of his head in Wilfred’s -direction. - -“Yes, I understand,” said Wilfred, a little breathlessly. “But I -wouldn’t have had the nerve to carry it through, myself. I think it was -fine!” - -“Huh!” said Stanny. “You don’t know this idiot as well as I do. Works -himself into a state of stupefaction. Then suddenly blows up, and -doesn’t know what he’s doing. I don’t call that rational!” - -“Oh well, reason isn’t everything!” said Wilfred grinning. - -“Hear! Hear!” said Jasper. - -Stanny’s irritation was only on the surface. He grinned back at Wilfred. -“You shouldn’t encourage him!” he said with an affectionate glance at -Jasper. “The old stove-in-bottom! You wouldn’t think he was capable of -it, to look at him, would you?” - -“I’m not bragging about it,” said Jasper with an aggrieved air. “I only -told you how it was. I’m ashamed of myself now, I felt rotten about it -all day.” - -“If it had been me, I wouldn’t be ashamed,” murmured Wilfred. - -“Anyhow, you’re no Joseph!” said Jasper to Stanny. “How about Myrtle?” - -A flicker of disgust made Stanny’s face look pinched. “Oh, that was just -a common or garden pick-up,” he said; “all conducted according to rule. -It’s ended. Two nights ago I blew her to a ride in a hansom. Bowling -down Fifth Avenue. Felt like a lord! She spoiled it by getting -mercenary. I invited her to get out, and came home alone.” - -“Why shouldn’t she be mercenary?” asked Jasper mildly. - -“Sure, I’m a sentimentalist!” said Stanny. - -Wilfred experienced a pang of sympathy. Glancing in Stanny’s face, he -thought: He deserves better than that! - -Spaghetti was brought to Stanny and Jasper; and they applied themselves -to it. Wilfred, who had finished his meal, lit a cigarette with slightly -trembling fingers; and prayed that this might not be the end. In his -mind he searched furiously around for interesting matter to carry on the -talk; while at the same time another part of his mind warned him not to -force the occasion, or it would break down as it always did; but to let -the occasion use him. While he was still distracted between these inner -voices, the talk started of itself. - -Said Stanny: “When I came down-town to-night, I saw that they had taken -away the female figures leading up to the Dewey Arch on either side. -Charlotte Marshall posed for those figures. She comes here sometimes.” - -“I’ve seen her,” said Wilfred. “What a strange creature!” - -Stanny smiled at him good-naturedly, in a way that made Wilfred feel -very young. Of course! thought Wilfred. I was trying to be wise. I -_will_ be natural! - -“All legs,” grumbled Jasper. - -“Well, that’s the sculptor’s ideal,” said Stanny. - -“The degenerate sculptor’s ideal!” - -“Anyhow, it looks a lot better without them—or her,” said Stanny. “I -like it, though it’s been damaged a bit by the weather, and by the hubs -of the busses driving through. Wish you could have seen the pair of -drivers I saw to-night, racing through abreast, licking their horses -like the chariot race in Ben-Hur.” - -“It’s not really good,” said Jasper. “Just a lot of miscellaneous -architecture.” - -“Well, you ought to know, old Goat and Compasses!” - -“I like to look at it,” said Wilfred shyly. “Just because it was run up -for a sort of festival. It was a damn fool thing to spend all that money -on a monument of lath and plaster. That’s why I like it. Everything else -is so damned useful. . . .” - -He suddenly became aware that both young fellows were listening to him. -Self-consciousness supervened, and his tongue began to stumble. They -listen! he thought. I can talk too. - -“Do you paint?” asked Stanny. - -Wilfred shook his head. “I’m only a millionaire’s office boy,” he said, -trying to carry it off with a grin. - -“That’s nothing,” said Stanny quickly. “I make line drawings for James -Gordon Bennett, and Jasper here, draws plans for a millionaire -jerry-builder.” - -“Some day I hope to write,” Wilfred said. In that moment his resolution -was formed. - -“That so?” said Stanny with interest. “We haven’t got a writer in our -bunch.” - -Wilfred’s heart almost burst out of his breast. Did he mean anything by -that? . . . But probably not. - -Thenceforward, talk never failed. - -The three youths left the restaurant together. A despair had seized upon -Wilfred. There was nothing further he could do to prolong the occasion. -He had no place where he could ask them to come. This was the end! They -paused on the sidewalk. - -“Which way you go?” asked Stanny, offhand. - -“I live in Eleventh street.” - -“Walk around by the Avenue with us.” - -So he obtained five minutes reprieve. At the Eleventh street corner they -paused again. Wilfred’s heart was low. His tongue clave to his palate. - -Stanny said in the forthright manner that became his doughty self so -well: “Look here; I’ve got a garret up on Fourteenth street. Jasper’s -coming up. Would you like to come and look at my stuff?” - -Would he! Wilfred could scarcely reply. “Oh yes!” he murmured. “I was -hoping you would ask me.” - -Both lads looked at him with quick pleasure. Without knowing it, he had -said exactly the right thing. They marched up-town three abreast. - -“Got anything to drink?” mumbled Jasper. - -“Divil a drop, you sponge!” - -“I . . . I wish you’d let me . . . stand treat,” stammered Wilfred. With -his fingers, he made sure of the limp dollar bill in his trousers -pocket. That was for lunches the balance of the week, but . . . ! - -“All right,” said Stanny. “We’ll go round by Maria’s, and get a bottle -of Nebiola . . .” - - - IV - -Towards the close of the business day, Joe Kaplan dropped in at Harry -Bannerman’s little office on Nassau street. He had been there before. In -his sphere, Harry occupied much the same relation to Mr. Gore that Joe -did in his. It had been no part of Mr. Gore’s plans to make his two -favorites known to each other, but they had in a way of speaking smelled -each other out. No doubt it had occurred to Harry, as it certainly had -to Joe, that an alliance would be useful. How else could they keep tab -on each other? It had greatly amused Joe to watch Harry’s face when he -had unexpectedly come into Mr. Gore’s office one day to find Joe seated -by the millionaire’s desk. Joe could imagine Harry going to Dobereiner -for information; and Dobereiner getting off his innocent spiel about the -clever young man whom Mr. Gore was educating! How Harry must have been -tormented by the sums in cash he was forced to draw every week! Well, -now, unknown to Mr. Gore and Dobereiner, Harry and Joe had become -“intimate” friends. That was funny, too! - -“’Lo, Harry!” said Joe. He allowed a shadow to appear on his brow, and -rolled his Eden perfecto moodily between his lips. - -“This is out o’ sight!” cried Harry. “I’ll be through directly. We’ll go -out and have something.” - -Behind this parade of heartiness, Joe perceived the glitter of hatred, -and exulted. He dropped on a chair, and extending his elegantly -trousered legs plucked at the creases. A sickly look appeared in Harry’s -eyes. Don’t he wish he was me! thought Joe. - -Joe said, gloomily: “I need a drink!” - -“What’s the matter, old fel’?” asked Harry. - -Joe, observing the spring of eager malice in his eyes, thought: He’s a -smart fellow; but I’m smarter. I can play on him like the piano. I can -surround him all about, and be ready for him to move in any direction! -Joe said: “You’ve got me in a hole, that’s what!” - -“I?” said Harry, opening his china blue eyes, candid for once in his -astonishment. - -Joe chuckled inwardly; and looking Harry over, made him wait for the -explanation. Harry was a young man, but not so young as he looked. He -made a business of being a young man. He was slender; yet somehow he -gave the impression of being soft and plump. A dimple in one cheek -contributed to that effect. From the neck up he had a naked look, though -his head was furnished with a sufficient quantity of hair. It was one of -those heads of hair that suggest a wig. He even had a small, stiff -mustache, every hair of which was laid in order. Just the same his face -had a naked look. - -“How could I get you in a hole?” he asked. - -“I been talkin’ too much about you up at the flat,” said Joe. “About our -gettin’ to be friends, and goin’ around together, and all.” - -“Has she told _him_?” asked Harry sharply. - -“Nah! That kid is wise. She don’t tell the old man anything but what he -wants to hear.” - -“What’s the trouble then?” - -Joe scowled. “Aah! She wants me to bring you up there while the old -man’s out of town.” - -Harry quickly lowered his lids—not so quickly, though, but that Joe -perceived what was under them. It was funny! Harry of course, was out of -his mind with curiosity concerning the flat on Fifty-Eighth street, and -it’s occupant. “Well . . . why not?” said Harry with a shrug. - -“Good God! man!” cried Joe. “Suppose the old man got on to it?” - -“Why should he get on to it, if the girl is on the level with us?” - -“Suppose she was to get stuck on you?” said Joe. “Where would I be?” - -Harry fiddled among the papers on his desk. “Oh, you can leave that to -me,” he said with a laugh. “I’m not going to let her . . . I might ask -you the same question. Where would _I_ be if she did?” - -“I don’t see how you could help yourself,” said Joe. “If you attempted -to discourage her, it would only make her worse. I tell you frankly, -after a certain point _I_ can’t handle her.” - -“What did she say?” Harry asked, keeping his face averted from Joe—but -Joe marked the deepening dimple. - -“Said she was bored, seeing nobody but the old man and me.” - -“Well . . . you’re not old,” suggested Harry. - -“Oh, I’m like her brother,” said Joe. “We scrap all the time.” - -“I mean, what did she say about me?” - -“Said if I didn’t bring you up, she’d come down here.” - -“So this has been going on some time?” - -“Oh, a couple of weeks.” - -“Well . . . it’s up to you,” said Harry. “You’re running that show.” - -“Do you want to come?” asked Joe. - -“Oh, I’m only human,” said Harry, shrugging. “I’m curious to see what -the old man’s taste is. . . . But it makes no real difference. I have -other interests as you know.” - -Joe grinned inwardly. Does he think he’s taking me in, the jay-bird! He -said, grumblingly: “Well, I suppose I’ll have to take you. I’ll get no -peace until I do! . . . Look here, if there should be any trouble, can I -count on you to do the right thing by me? Suppose the old man should get -on to something, will you tell him it wasn’t my fault?” - -“Why, sure!” said Harry, with a reproachful look. “You ought to know me -better than that, Joe! . . . Make your mind, easy. There isn’t going to -be any trouble. I’m the quietest little pot of tea that ever brewed on -the back of the stove!” - -“All right,” said Joe. “We’ll go on up, after we’ve had a drink. We can -have dinner sent in from outside.” - - * * * * * - -Shortly after midnight Joe and Harry issued out of the house on -Fifty-Eighth street. Apparently there was nothing to choose between them -for mellowness; but Joe was not as mellow as he was making out to be. He -linked his arm affectionately within Harry’s. - -“You’re a damn good fellow, Harry! I think the world of you! . . . Just -the same there’s going to be trouble as a result of this night’s work!” - -“You’re foolish!” said Harry, dimpling. “She didn’t care. . . .” - -“I know her!” said Joe significantly. “She wasn’t going to let anything -on to you, of course. And me being there, too. . . .” - -“Well,” said Harry expansively, “even so! Need the heavens fall? . . . -Oh my God! what a skin! Like old white velvet. . . . What the old man -don’t know won’t hurt him!” - -“Look at the position it puts me in!” - -“You don’t need to know, either.” - -“Aah . . . !” Joe grew vague. “Well, I can’t help it. . . . ’S too soon -to go home, old fellow.” - -“My club is near here,” said Harry. “Come in for a nightcap.” - -Nested in a deep leather chair, with a fresh cigar between his lips, -Joe’s gaze at the dying fire appeared to become slightly rapt. “Look -here, Harry, you’re the best friend I’ve got. I can talk to you. God! -the life we lead, we never get a chance to open up. You don’t dare to -let yourself go with any ordinary guy. . . . I want to tell you -something, Harry. I suppose to you I appear just a fly kid; -happy-go-lucky, and all that. But that ain’t the real me. I hate the -position I’m in. You’re a whole lot better off than me; still, it’s much -the same. I don’t see how you can stand it either!” - -“Stand what?” asked Harry sharply. - -“Sucking up to that —— —— ——!” - -“Well, there are good pickings!” said Harry with a sickly smile. - -“To hell with pickings! Are you going to be satisfied with his droppings -all your life? Not me! . . . We only have to look around us. Everybody -on the inside is making pots of money right now, pots! There’s never -been anything like it. Why shouldn’t we? Wouldn’t you like to have money -enough of your own to tell that old swell-front to go to hell, and close -the door as he went out?” - -Harry twisted in his chair without answering. - -“Well, I mean to,” said Joe. “I want a pile, and I’m going to grab it.” - -“How?” asked Harry. - -“Well, I been picking up quite a bit about the ways of the Street, one -place and another,” said Joe. “I make the old man talk about it, without -his getting on to how much he’s giving away. All the talk is of mergers -now. The air is full of it. That is how the money is made. Millions in a -stroke of the pen!” - -“Everything is merged, now,” said Harry. - -“Not quite everything. I’ll tell you about a cunning little merger that -I have in mind. These electric cabs that have increased so fast the last -two or three years. You see them everywhere now. There are five small -companies operating them. The damn things are so expensive, and they -break down so often, the companies are all bankrupt, and only keep going -by selling more stock all the time. You can always stick the public with -a new thing like that. How about merging all the New York cab -companies?” - -“But if they’re all bankrupt . . . ?” - -Joe wagged his hand. “What do I care about that? Think of the publicity! -Everybody is interested in cabs. Cabs are romantic. Cabs are always -associated with going on the loose. And horseless cabs have news value. -Look here! First you go round to the different companies and make an -agreement with each one. Oh, it ain’t much of an agreement. They simply -agree to come in if the others do, see? Anybody will agree to that. But -the five agreements make a good-looking bunch of documents to shake in a -sucker’s face, see? He won’t read ’em. Then you incorporate. There’s -regular men you can get for incorporators. I’m going to call it the -Consolidated Cab Co. Con. Cab ’ll look good on the ticker. . . .” - -“It’s a con, all right,” said Harry. - -“By God! that’s right!” said Joe pulled up short. “A cheap josh might -ruin us. Well, call it the Manhattan Cab Company, then. Man. Cab on the -ticker. . . . Soon as you’re incorporated, you let loose your publicity. -‘Big Corporation formed to take over all New York cabs!’ That’s news, -see? You don’t have to pay for it. It’s good for a front page spread. -Then you place an order for a thousand new cabs. That’s another news -story. Then you get an option on an abandoned car-barn, and announce a -super-garage, see? And so on. You tell how wonderful the new service is -going to be, and quote the reduced rates. The papers will eat it up. - -“When you get the public appetite sharpened, you begin to put out your -stock on the curb in a small way. You must have real nice engraved -certificates; none of your filled-in stuff. Of course the wise guys know -there is nothing behind it but hot air, but some of them will take a -chance on it. They always do. Hundred dollar shares will sell for four -or five or six on the curb. That’s enough when you can issue all you -want. It’ll pay expenses. You hire a nice office—nothing showy; and -engage a polite old geezer with white hair to take in the visitors’ -cards. And so on. Then I’ll have Amasa Gore approached. . . .” - -“Do you think for a moment you’re going to sting _him_?” said Harry. - -“Nothing like it! He’ll be invited to share in the profits! . . . -Suppose the stock is selling on the curb at six, see? He’ll be offered a -thousand shares out of the treasury, or as much as he wants, at three, -see? Then it will be announced that Amasa Gore is taking an active -interest in Manhattan Cab, and will be elected as vice-president at the -next directors’ meeting. The stock will jump to ten or twelve then, and -he’ll sell out on the q.t. You know he does that all the time. He told -me so himself.” - -“And when it becomes known that he has sold?” said Harry. - -“Oh, anybody that wants, can have Manhattan Cab then,” said Joe with a -grin. “I’ll be short on the stock, myself.” - -“Where will you get yours?” asked Harry. - -“After the company’s incorporated, I’ll have a set of directors of -course. I’ll have them vote me a thousand shares out of the treasury -stock for my services in promoting the company. Then I mean to put some -real money into it, too. When the stock is first put out on the curb, -I’ll be the buyer, see? To create a market. I’ll get it cheap. I’ll have -two or three thousand shares when the time comes to sell.” - -“It listens good,” said Harry. - -“Oh, I’ve only given you the rough outlines. I’ve got the details all -planned out.” - -“But you’re not nineteen yet,” objected Harry. “Your face is too smooth. -You couldn’t command attention.” - -“Lord! what do you think I am!” said Joe. “I’m not going to appear in -this personally. It would queer me, after. This isn’t going to be my -last deal on the street. I’ll get fellows to act for me. You don’t think -I’d undertake to sell Amasa Gore any stock, do you? He don’t look on me -in that light. And you know how sore it makes him when anybody -disarranges his ideas. . . . No, I want you to put me onto somebody who -will take on the promotion of the company, after I’ve got my thousand -shares. I want a young fellow with plenty of vim and go; enthusiastic, -but not _too_ smart. What they call idealistic, see? It’ll be my job to -fire up his steam. A fellow with a name that is known in the street, if -possible.” - -“There is Silas Moore Bristed,” suggested Harry. - -“That’s a good-sounding name. I’ve heard it before.” - -“Sure, you have. He’s grandson to the first Silas Moore Bristed, the -famous inventor, whose name is borne by several big corporations. But -it’s all passed out of the family. Young Silas is as poor as a church -mouse. He’s a salesman in a bond house.” - -“A good sort of fellow?” asked Joe, conveying a certain intimation. - -“Innocent as a lamb,” said Harry. - -“Well, I’ll look him over.” - -“I’ll introduce you.” - -“No you don’t! Just tell me where he’s to be found, and I’ll get next -him. He mustn’t know of any connection between you and me, because -later, he’ll have to come to you, when he wants to make his proposition -to Amasa Gore.” - -“Oh, I see!” said Harry with a thin smile. - -There was a silence. - -“Well . . . I suppose I got to go,” said Joe, smothering a yawn. - -“Look here,” said Harry in a voice that showed strain, “what is there in -this for me?” - -Joe clapped him affectionately on the shoulder. “Why, you’ll be right in -on the ground floor, old fel’! I’ll tell you the exact right moment when -to buy and when to sell. You ought to clean up a nice little pile on -it!” - -“How about a little treasury stock for me, too?” - -“What for?” asked Joe with a cold stare. - -“You really need me in this,” said Harry. “You’ve got ideas, I grant, -but I’ve got the experience. You and I ought to be working together -shoulder to shoulder in the background.” - -“I certainly am grateful for any help you can give me,” said Joe, “but I -hadn’t counted on regularly taking anybody in with me. There isn’t -enough in it for two.” - -“Oh hell!” said Harry, “what’s a few shares of treasury stock more or -less. Issue me a thousand shares, and I’ll guarantee to get Amasa Gore -into it. You know what influence I have there.” - -“Is that a threat?” asked Joe calmly. - -Harry appeared to be wounded to the quick. “What do you think I am!” he -cried. He looked around him as much as to say: In my own club, too! - -“Because, if it is,” said Joe, coolly, “there’s nothing to it. Whether -you get any treasury stock or not, you have a chance to make thousands -buying and selling the stock on the curb. You’re not going to queer -that!” - -“If you think that way about me, I can’t talk to you,” said Harry, with -dignity. - -Joe looked at him quizzically. “Aah! climb down!” he said. - -There was a silence. At length Harry said: “Well, do I get the thousand -shares?” - -“You _do_ not!” said Joe promptly. “This is my scheme. You can’t expect -to come in on the same basis as me!” - -“Well, five hundred, then,” said Harry. - -“Oh hell!” said Joe, “I can’t Jew a friend down! I want you in with me, -Harry; that’s a fact! I look up to you, Harry. You’ve taught me a lot. -I’ll make it five hundred shares. . . .” - - - V - -Wilfred could scarcely credit his own situation. There he lay, he the -solitary one, inside man of four lads stretched out on two cots placed -against the wall of Stanny’s studio in the assumption that they would -afford more room when they were shoved together. The other three were -asleep. Sleep was far from Wilfred’s eyes. His head hummed with wine. He -lay on his back, very still in his strait place for fear of disturbing -Stanny, who was alongside him. Jasper was on the other side of Stanny; -and Jasper’s young brother Fred had the perilous outside place. - -It had started to rain fitfully on the tin roof overhead. Wilfred -remembered how the low-hanging clouds had rosily given back the glow of -the street lights. That delicate glow was coming through the skylight -now, pervading the room with a ghostly radiance. The front of the room -came down like a low forehead to two windows, set in only a foot above -the floor. You had to go down on your knees to look out. Below, all day, -was spread the panorama of the shoppers on the busy side of Fourteenth -street opposite, and the sidewalk vendors with their baskets. The -skylight was in the high part of the room at the back. - -That room was dear to Wilfred beyond measure. Not for its beauty, -because it contrived at the same time to be both bare and littered—it -was a chaos now, after parties on two succeeding nights. It was the -first room where he had been free; a man’s room, smelling of tobacco, -where you could spread yourself. It didn’t have to be tidied up until -you felt like it; dirty clothes could be kicked into the corners. The -paraphernalia of Stanny’s trade lay about—Stanny, his friend, whose -thick shoulder lay warmly against Wilfred’s thin one now; -drawing-boards; sheets of bristol board; drawings stood up with their -faces turned to the wall; and everywhere, thumb-tacks and Higgins ink -bottles with their tops like black nipples. To the walls were pinned -several of Stanny’s best drawings; distant prospects of landscape that -stung Wilfred with their beauty. It was marvellous to him that such -effects could be created with a scratching pen. When Stanny drew people, -their faces all had a slightly tormented look. Funny! - -It had been a lively thirty hours in the lives of the friends. Wilfred -went over it in his mind, smiling into the darkness. Jasper’s young -brother Fred had come down from Lockport to see the town; and they had -had a supper of canned lobster and Nebiola in his honor. That started -it. To their provender had been added a fruit cake, brought from home by -the guest—such a fruit cake as Wilfred had never tasted. Canned lobster -and fruit cake! Nobody had been sick but the guest. - -At first they had been rather disconcerted by their guest. Jasper didn’t -know his brother very well, it appeared. Fred knew all about New York -from hearsay, and undertook to tell them. He didn’t say so; but it was -clear he was a little surprised at there being no ladies included in the -supper party. He drank largely of Nebiola; and unquestionably enjoyed -himself; but his air of implying that there was something naughty about -it all, rather dashed the others. Until Hilgy began to jolly him in his -quiet way. But after Fred had been sick, he returned to the table with a -pale and thoughtful cast, and they liked him better. - -That soft-voiced, poker-faced mockery of Hilgy’s was rather terrible. -None of them was safe from it; not Hilgy himself: because when he -desired sympathy, the others supposed that he was still mocking. Then -Hilgy would get a little sore. He was a handsome fellow, with his silky -black beard, and the subdued manner that concealed such powerful -batteries. You never knew you had been hit, until a moment or two -afterwards. Wilfred was in awe of him, he was so much older; almost -thirty. It annoyed Hilgy that anybody should be in awe of him, so -Wilfred struggled to treat him as offhandedly as Stanny and Jasper did; -whereupon Hilgy, perceiving the struggle, with characteristic perversity -started mocking Wilfred subtly. So intercourse was a little difficult. -Yet Wilfred admired Hilgy without stint. - -What a privilege it was to be associated with such fellows. Wilfred -doubted if there was a circle in all New York that could show the same -average of brilliancy. Unfortunately he couldn’t recall any of the -bright things that had been said; he hadn’t that kind of a memory; but -he had the scene of the party to a hair. There were only three chairs in -the room; and they had dragged up the cot to make two seats more, while -Wilfred sat on an up-ended suit-case. Stanny at the head of the -table—How Stanny blossomed under the influence of Nebiola, yet never -lost his plaintive air; Jasper at the foot, looking down his nose with -an expression of. . . . - -What was the word to describe Jasper’s expression when he had had a -drink or two? Sly drollery? . . . no! Recondite glee! . . . no! Arch -solemnity? . . . well that was better, but not _the_ phrase. I shall -never be a writer! thought Wilfred sadly. Epithets do not explode in my -head like they do in Stanny’s. - -. . . Hilgy and Binks sitting on the cot; and Fred alongside Wilfred. -Five keen, vital faces to watch, revealing their characteristics in the -wrinkles of merriment—well, say four faces, because Fred’s was rather a -pudding; united in good fellowship, yet betraying such fascinating -differences of nature, and suggesting such mysteries! Wilfred was unable -to imagine a greater pleasure. - -When the laughter and gibes were suddenly turned against Wilfred -himself, he was ready to sink under his confusion; but he liked it -nevertheless. It assured him that he had an identity too. - -After supper Binks had become delightfully silly. A special bond united -Wilfred and Binks; the kids of the crowd, exactly the same age. They had -to conceal their kiddishness from the older fellows, but might reveal it -to each other when alone. They were intensely jealous of each other. -Wilfred had to be content with second place, because Binks surpassed him -in everything. Binks at nineteen already had his drawings in the best -magazines. Wilfred was enslaved by his admiration of Binks’ elegant air -that was not dependent upon dress, his outrageous audacity; his faculty -for making friends. Binks was nonchalantly one with gangsters, and with -the Four Hundred. What a Godsend that would be to me, thought Wilfred; -if I had it. - -Amazing fellow, Binks! He had said: “My boss asked me to lunch on -Wednesday. He runs what he calls the Simple Life Club. Not so damn -simple. Has in the fellows who write and draw for his magazine to amuse -the society dames he knows. I sat next to Mrs. Van Buren. . . .” - -“Mrs. Peter Polk Van Buren?” asked Wilfred, amazed. - -“Yes, that’s her.” - -“The most beautiful woman in New York!” said Wilfred, “and the greatest -name!” - -“That so”? Well, she was a peach all right. As we took our places she -kicked my foot under the table. She begged my pardon, and I said: ‘Oh, -go as far as you like!’ It sort of broke the ice. She said she was dying -to smoke; but she didn’t know how the other women would take it. I said: -‘Oh, go ahead. When they see you start they’ll all smoke themselves -black in the face!’ Across the table sat:” he named names that took -Wilfred’s breath away. “Some party! . . . I came home afterwards, and -carried down the washing from the roof for my mother.” - -By degrees Wilfred had perceived that Binks’ affections were not warm -like Stanny’s and Jasper’s. With sharpest pain he thought: The fellows -he met last night for the first time are just the same to him as -us. . . . Oh well, that’s his nature. You have to take him as he is. -When Binks got drunk, and, no longer clever, made believe that the -studio was a skating rink, Wilfred felt like a father to him. At any -rate I can carry my liquor better than Binks, he told himself. - -After supper there came a point when Jasper burst into flower like that -night-blooming plant whose name Wilfred couldn’t remember. He stood -behind a chair, haranguing them in the manner of a rabbit-toothed curate -with his spectacles slipping off his nose. A rag-tag parody of biblical -quotations, and pulpit jargon. The congregation rolled helplessly on the -floor. At such moments, Wilfred thought, Jasper under his unsure manner -revealed richer ore than any of them. - -The supply of Nebiola had given out; and they went cascading down the -four flights of stairs for a fresh supply. They found Maria’s restaurant -empty; and in the back room Binks banged on the piano while the others -danced. Oh! the combination of Hilgy’s grave, sad head and skittish -legs. Hilgy never laughed; he only caused the others to. It seemed to -Wilfred that as his friends became wilder, he grew ever more sober. But -as they stopped to read a sign in the street, an enormous laugh was -suddenly directed against him when it was discovered that he was holding -one eye shut. I must have been drunk, too; thought Wilfred, surprised. - -The rest was merely noise and wild laughter. Pictures leaped out of the -dark. The foolish Fred, dressed up like d’Artagnan and posed upon the -model stand for Stanny to sketch—he had no idea he was being joshed; -Stanny’s expression of indignant wistfulness when he tried to rise from -the floor, and discovered that he was sitting in the glue which somebody -had overturned. Oh, how good it was to laugh! It washed you out! Oh, -Nebiola, and the pink foam in the glasses! How these expansive rackety -nights drew fellows together! After two such nights on end, Wilfred felt -that he had a real hold upon them. - -The next day was Sunday. They met at noon in a cheap restaurant on -Fourteenth street. There was renewed laughter at the sight of Jasper’s -morose expression as he pushed a piece of dry toast around his plate -with a fork. Fred was pitiful; all the Lockport doggy air had gone out -of him. It transpired that Jasper had invited Hilgy (who lived up-town) -to spend the night with him and his brother, and the bed had collapsed -under the triple load. There had been a high old row. The widow with -whom Jasper lodged had fired them on the spot; and it was only after -much persuasion that she had relented to the extent of letting them stay -out the night. - -“She had a mash on Jasper,” said Hilgy, “and what really made her sore -was him seeing her in her nighty and curlpapers. She realized that she -could no longer hope.” - -The situation was awkward since practically all their money had been -spent in Fred’s entertainment. However Stanny had said they could share -his studio until they scraped together enough to pay an advance on -another room. - -The moving was the occasion of the second party. It was more restrained -than the first owing to a certain shortage of supplies, still . . . ! At -midnight between two showers they had issued out to conduct the hegira. -Returning, what a circus! A treat for the occasional passer-by. Hilgy -first with rolls and rolls of tracing paper under one arm; and in the -other hand the front end of Jasper’s trunk. Jasper next with the hinder -end of the trunk in one hand; and in the other the front end of a -folding cot. Binks had the stern end of the cot in one hand; and an end -of a drawing-table in the other; Wilfred the other end of the -drawing-table and one handle of a Gladstone bag; Stanny the remaining -handle of the bag, and more rolls of drawings and tracings. Fred brought -up the rear, walking alone, with a suit-case in each hand, and more -rolls caught under his arms. - -Thus they made their way up the midnight Avenue, like one of those -wooden-jointed snakes that were sold on Fourteenth street. Whenever -anybody stopped to stare at them, the grave Hilgy capered like a goat. -In the middle of the street, Jasper’s suit-case (carried by Fred) burst -with a loud report, flinging soiled under-clothing, broken shoes and -lead pencils far and wide. Fred, dropping the suit-case, fled up the -street, and made out he wasn’t with them. The others as well as they -could for laughing, gathered up the debris. Hilgy held up a torn union -suit in an attitude of pensive regard. Oh, Gee! - -At the Fourteenth street corner a suspicious cop had stopped Hilgy with -a question. This was nuts to Hilgy. Putting down his end of the trunk, -he walked down the line, introducing each fellow by name to the officer -with a childlike air. . . . - -Wilfred lost in the scene he was picturing, snickered aloud. A low voice -at his ear recalled him to his surroundings; the bed; Stanny’s room; -Stanny himself alongside. - -“Aren’t you asleep, Wilf?” - -“No. I thought you were.” - -“Hell! I can’t sleep.” - -Stanny slipped his arm through Wilfred’s. It was the first time since -Wilfred could remember, that anybody had made such an overture in his -direction; he caught his breath and felt quite silly and confused. He -pressed Stanny’s arm hard against his ribs, and neither said anything. - -Finally Stanny asked: “What were you laughing at?” - -“At Hilgy and the cop,” said Wilfred. “I’ve been going over it in my -mind . . . trying to find words.” - -“Oh, for God’s sake!” said Stanny, “when you start dramatizing a thing -you spoil it!” - -“I know,” said Wilfred eagerly, “I know just the point when analysing -things becomes barren. I stop short of that now. It’s all right to think -about things when you can keep yourself detached from them.” - -“But you never can!” - -“Oh yes, I can, now,” said Wilfred confidently. Suddenly his confidence -ran out of him. “Well, sometimes I can,” he amended. - -Stanny chuckled derisively. - -“I know, I’m foolish . . . But you like me . . . ?” - -Stanny squeezed his arm. - -“I . . . I can’t tell you what you are to me, Stanny. . . .” - -“Oh, for God’s sake, don’t try!” said Stanny quickly. - -“To have somebody I can talk to like this . . . I can’t believe it! I -had made up my mind that I was a freak. I expected to be laughed at, so -I intended to hold my tongue all my life. . . . Do you think I am -effeminate, Stanny?” - -“Oh, for God’s sake . . . !” - -He _does_ think so; thought Wilfred; but it doesn’t matter if he is my -friend. - -“It isn’t important,” said Stanny, groping for expression; “all this -bunk about manliness . . . if you have mind . . . if you have -character. . . .” - -“Yes, but have I?” demanded Wilfred. - -“Don’t worry about it . . . ! You’re too self-conscious.” - -“Sure! But how can I help that? You’re like my Aunts. When I was little -they were always telling me I was too thin-skinned. You might as well -blame a man for being blind.” - -“Don’t think about yourself so much.” - -“Everything comes back to yourself. Yourself is the only measure you -have for other things. . . . I’ve read hundreds of books, but I’ve never -had anybody to tell me things. I don’t even know how to pronounce the -words I have read, because I never heard anybody say them. . . . Only my -grandfather, and he died when I was eleven. He was a man! I read his -books. They are stored in a packing-room next to my room. Darwin, -Huxley, Spencer and Tyndall were his favorites. I can’t make much of -Huxley or Herbert Spencer, but Darwin! Oh, Gee! Darwin is my man!” - -“Why Darwin in particular?” - -“I dunno. Sort of mental hero. Always willing to face a new fact though -it destroyed all his work up to that moment. . . . My grandfather wasn’t -a one-sided man. He read the poets too; also Emerson and Carlyle. I’m -crazy about Carlyle. . . . . It was fine to discover that your nature -and mine were alike, Stanny!” - -“You hop about so!” grumbled Stanny. “The hell they are!” - -“I know. . . . It is you and the others, who have cured me, made me -healthy in my mind. I used to think I was going crazy. . . . But -especially you. There’s something between you and me . . . like this, we -can talk about things. . . .” - -A start of laughter escaped Stanny, which had not altogether a merry -sound. - -“Why do you laugh?” asked Wilfred. - -“Well, when we talk . . . you do most of the talking.” - -“I suppose I do. . . . But you must know that nothing would please me -better than to have you talk to me about yourself. How can I lead you on -to talk about yourself, except by going on about myself?” - -“I know,” mumbled Stanny. . . . “It’s not from any lack of friendliness -that I don’t. It’s all inside,” he touched his breast; “but I can’t get -it out. It hurts. . . .” - -“I know,” whispered Wilfred. - -“You don’t know!” said Stanny irritably. “Things come out of you easy -enough. We’re different. You think over to-night and last night, and it -makes you chuckle. I don’t feel like chuckling. I drank too much wine. -It brings things up in me that I can keep under most times. I drink to -forget, and it only makes things clearer. I dread the end of the -evening, when I’ve got to lie here staring. . . .” - -“What things?” asked Wilfred in concern. - -“I don’t know. . . .” Wilfred heard his teeth click together in pain. -“I’ve got my head against a stone wall. Always have had.” - -“You’ve got a stubborn kind of nature . . .” hazarded Wilfred. - -“Oh, to hell with my nature!” - -“Now my nature I suppose is light. . . .” - -“Happy Wilf!” said Stanny. - -Happy Wilf! Wilfred snatched at the phrase. It supplied the identity he -was in search of. The moment it was spoken he recognized its truth, -though up to that time he had regarded himself as among the unhappiest -of mortals. This would necessitate the recasting of his whole scheme. It -started a dozen rabbits in his mind. There was evidently an unhappiness -to which he was a stranger. Was it worse not to be able to explain one’s -unhappiness? And so on. These rabbits must be run down one by one later. -Happy Wilf! Stanny had given him a character! - -“What’s the matter?” whispered Stanny, alarmed by his silence. - -“Nothing. What you said made me think. . . .” - -Stanny snorted. - -Wilfred, recollecting that he had Stanny to console, pulled himself -together. “Things are buried way down in you,” he said. He heard the -heavy tone in his own voice, and was dissatisfied with it. “That’s why -it hurts when they struggle up. . . .” - -“Oh, for God’s sake! I wish you wouldn’t always be trying to explain me -to myself!” interrupted Stanny. “It’s a most irritating way that you -have. . . . Things are not so easy explained. I’m like . . . I’m like a -man standing with his back to the shore, and the waves breaking over his -head!” - -“I’m sorry,” whispered Wilfred. “I’ve got to be trying to explain -things. I can’t rest with them. But you mustn’t mind what I say. I’m -only . . . I’m only . . . what is the word? I’m only speculating. I -don’t insist on anything.” - -“You’re too young. . . .” - -“Oh, I don’t think age has got much to do with it. I knew the same -things when I was a child. Age only seems to bring you the words to put -them to.” - -“Words! Huh! They don’t explain anything.” - -“It’s the same with books,” Wilfred went on. “You don’t learn much from -books. In books you just seize on what has already been whispered to -you.” - -“Oh, for God’s sake! You’re beany!” - -Wilfred clung to his arm. “I know,” he murmured. “Let me be that way -with you. Let me let everything come out without having to watch myself, -or be sorry for it afterwards. You’re my only safety valve.” - -Stanny returned the pressure of his arm. “Oh, blow off as much as you -want to,” he grumbled. “Don’t mind my cursing.” He struggled with what -he had next to say: “The truth is . . . the truth is . . . I need you -too. There is no curtain between us. . . . But I’ll never admit it -again.” Then very gruffly: “And don’t think you have me explained with -your literary phrases!” - -“I don’t, really. All my life I’ll be speculating about you, without -ever being sure of anything.” - -“Well, don’t let me know you’re doing it, that’s all.” - - * * * * * - -When he opened his eyes in the morning, Stanny looked at Wilfred in -horror. “My God! what a lot of rot we talked last night! We were drunk! -For God’s sake forget it, Wilf!” - -“Sure,” said Wilfred, grinning. - - - - - PART THREE: YOUNG MEN - - - - - PART THREE - - - I - -Immediately upon the closing of the Stock Exchange at noon on Saturday, -Theodore Dodge came to Joe Kaplan’s office. Dodge was a stockbroker, who -enjoyed the prestige of being known as the financial advisor, and -representative on ’change of Cooper Gillett, present head of the famous -old New York family. Joe was expecting a communication from that -quarter. The Gillett millions had always been invested in New York real -estate, but Cooper Gillett was interesting himself more and more in Wall -street. Only a few people knew that it was Joe Kaplan who had introduced -him to the excitements of that game. - -Dodge plumped himself down, and without preamble said gloomily: “It -closed two points higher.” - -Joe nodded, good-humoredly. All the strings of this affair were safely -in his hands, and he had only to jerk a finger here and there, to make -things come about as he wished. - -“Of course the stock began to show strength as soon as I stopped -selling,” Dodge went on: “Everybody was watching me. I sent three -messages to Cooper Gillett from the floor, and got no answer. Finally I -left the floor, and went to his office. Keep and Shriver were with him. -He was biting his nails in a blue funk. When I asked for additional -orders to sell, he flew into a passion. ‘I’m already short forty -thousand shares of the damned stock!’ he cried. ‘Suppose she jumps five -points more? I should be seriously embarrassed!’ - -“We all laughed a little at this,” Dodge went on. “‘Seriously -embarrassed’ sounded comic, coming from him. ‘How about the rest of us?’ -said I. ‘We have all put every cent we possessed into this.’ - -“‘The more fools, you!’ he said. - -“‘We followed you in,’ I reminded him. - -“‘Yah! and now you look to me to get you out again!’ he snarled. ‘I must -throw away a million maybe, to save your paltry thousands!’ - -“I gave it to him straight, then. ‘Look here,’ said I, ‘that’s not the -point. Never mind what we stand to lose. I’m your broker, and I’m -supposed to give you honest advice. Well, here it is! Everybody knows -you can’t go into a deal like this, and stop half way. You might just as -well stand on the corner, and pitch your money down a sewer opening. As -soon as I stopped selling for you, the stock began to rise. When it -becomes generally known that you have released the pressure on it, it -will rebound like a rubber ball. It won’t be a question of five points -rise then, but ten, and very likely twenty. You’ll lose half a million -dollars, and become a laughing-stock. I’ll be ruined. . . .’ - -“‘On the other hand,’ I said, ‘if you see the thing through, you _can’t_ -lose! This is simply a duel between you and the Mattisons of Chicago. -Well, you’ve got more money and more credit than that crowd. As yet, you -haven’t begun to touch your resources. You’re bound to beat them out in -the end. . . . Now what are my instructions for the opening on Monday?’ - -“But he only sat there glowering and biting his fingers. I couldn’t get -him up to the sticking-point. Your name was never mentioned, but we -could all see that he wanted you to buck him up, and wouldn’t admit it. -You must see him to-day, Kaplan, or we’ll all be in the soup. He’s going -out of town over Sunday.” - -“But I can’t see him unless he sends for me,” Joe objected. “If I go -after him, he is bound to take the defensive, just as he did with you.” - -“He’ll never send for you,” said Dodge gloomily, “because he’s ashamed -to admit that a man as young as you has so much influence over -him. . . . Couldn’t you run into him as if by accident?” - -“What are his movements?” - -“The four of us are lunching at Martin’s at one o’clock. After we’ve -eaten, I’ll steer them into the café. Anybody could drop into the café.” - -“But the three of you being there, he’d smell a rat for certain,” said -Joe smiling. - -“You could cover your tracks; you’re clever at that. . . . You _must_ -see him before he goes out of town!” - -“Well, look here,” said Joe. “I’ll drop into Martin’s with some other -fellows, see? It will be up to you to make Cooper Gillett invite me to -your table.” - -“Sure!” said Dodge, vastly relieved. - -“And here’s a piece of advice for you,” Joe went on. “Don’t give him an -indigestion of the subject during lunch. On the other hand, you mustn’t -enter into a conspiracy of silence either, or _that_ will make him -suspicious. If the subject comes up, speak your minds on it, and let it -drop again. Never nag a millionaire. That’s my motto.” - - * * * * * - -Joe came into Martin’s by the Broadway entrance, at the heels of the two -friends he had picked up for the occasion. On Saturday afternoons -everybody who was anybody in New York desired to show themselves at -Martin’s, and the café was crowded. Joe was aware, as he passed down the -room, that many heads were turned to follow him. He knew that they were -beginning to call him “the Boy Wonder of the Street” and his heart -exulted. Already he had succeeded in getting his head well above the -ruck of the town. - -He and his friends sat themselves down at a table against the back wall. -The friends had their instructions. The three put their heads close -together as if they had serious business to discuss, or some delightful -plot to lay. Joe seemed not to see Cooper Gillett and his party who were -seated at a larger table in the center of the room. In addition to -Dodge, Gillett had with him Judge Keep, one of his attorneys; and Eddie -Shriver, a young relative of his wife’s. - -Out of the tail of his eye, Joe perceived the eager resentment with -which Gillett beheld _him_. He could almost hear the millionaire say: -“There’s the damned kid now! He don’t appear to be worrying!” There was -no occasion for Dodge to exercise any diplomacy; for Gillett immediately -dispatched Shriver to Joe’s table. Shriver was a good-looking young -fellow with a blond beard, who did everything he was told. - -“Mr. Gillett wants to speak to you,” he said to Joe. - -Joe started with pleased surprise. “Hello, Eddie!” Looking eagerly -beyond him, he waved his hands to his friends at the center table. Many -people in the place were looking at them. “Meet Mr. Cummings and Mr. -Underwood . . . Mr. Shriver. I’ll be with you in five minutes, Eddie. -There are one or two things I have to settle with these gentlemen before -they hustle for their train.” - -Joe kept the multi-millionaire waiting a good quarter of an hour. Then, -after bidding an ostentatious good-bye to his young friends, he strolled -over. Joe found the atmosphere of Martin’s pleasantly stimulating. -Before any of the quartet had a chance to speak, he said cheerfully: - -“That was a nice little rise we had just before the close of the -market.” - -This diverted what Gillett was about to say. He looked disconcerted. - -Joe occupied himself with a cigarette. “I hope you all sold while the -selling was good,” he remarked. - -“I’m already short forty thousand shares,” grumbled Gillett. - -“The shorter you are, the more money you’ll make,” said Joe. - -“How about Monday?” - -“She’ll rise a couple of points more. Sell every share you can find a -buyer for! . . . It wasn’t such a bad move to hold off for awhile. -You’ll have a better market, Monday, because of it.” - -An uncertain look came into Gillett’s red face. Joe caused his own face -to look wooden. The stockbroker lowered his eyes. He could see that the -current was already setting the other way. - -“How about that item on the news ticker to-day?” asked Judge Keep. “It -was stated that our new machine, wouldn’t work.” - -“And it won’t either,” grumbled Shriver. “I can’t do anything with it.” - -“I instigated that story,” said Joe, flicking the ash off his cigarette. - -Gillett stared. “What the deuce for?” he demanded. - -“To bring buyers for Mattison’s stock into the market,” said Joe. “We -can’t continue to sell the stock short if there are no buyers. The thing -was beginning to stagnate.” - -“But we got all our publicity on that new machine. . . .” - -“What of it?” said Joe. “They can’t take it away from us now. A new -invention is news, but the failure of a new invention isn’t news. We’ll -tap new sources of publicity.” - -“But suppose I gave the order to sell, and Mattison’s stock still rises -on Monday?” said Gillett. - -“An hour or two after the opening she’ll flop,” said Joe casually. - -“How do you know?” - -Taking a paper from his pocket, he spread it out on the table. It was -the page proof of a Sunday article for the newspapers, embellished with -photographs. Joe, grinning, read out the headlines: - -“Cooper Gillett buys another big factory! The young financier hot-foot -on the trail of the trust!” - -“Me, young?” said Gillett grinning, too. - -“It endears you to the public,” said Joe. - -“I didn’t buy the factory. I only have an option on it.” - -“What’s in a word! It ’ll all be forgotten in a couple of days. . . . -This will appear to-morrow in five of the biggest cities in the country. -A whole page, see? It recapitulates the story of our other three -factories. . . .” - -“Which have never manufactured anything . . .” put in Shriver. - -“The public doesn’t know that.” - -“Good God! how much is this going to cost me?” asked Gillett, rapping -the paper. - -“Not a cent,” said Joe, grinning. “That’s the beauty of it. The magic -name of Gillett is always news, see? It’s been accustomed to the front -page for four generations. And what’s more, trust-busting is now the -latest popular sport, and we got in just right. Mattison is the trust, -and we’re the noble champions of the down-trodden common people! We’ve -got him in a position where he can’t fight back. This story will send -his stock off four or five points. That’ll give you a chance to cover, -if you’re scared. As for me, I mean to hold on for a week longer, if I -can string the banks along. - -“Mattison’s not at the end of his rope yet. By straining his credit, -he’ll be able to maintain his stock at a decent level for another week. -I’ve got another story for next Sunday, and then he’ll be done. The -bottom will fall out of the Trust. We’ll make a killing! When that -happens, you must not be contented with covering, but buy! buy! buy! -Spread your orders through a dozen houses. - -“Mattison will have to come to us, then. We will ask for a million of -their stock to cease hostilities. Technically, of course, he will be -buying out our company. A million for our four junk factories which have -never manufactured anything, and the good will of our business—it is to -laugh! This, together with what you’ve bought on the market, will give -you a controlling interest in the trust, and you will then be elected -director and vice-president and the stock will jump twenty-five . . . -forty points! Gee! what a killing!” - -Gillett turned to Dodge. “Look here,” he said, “you wanted instructions -for Monday. Dump a block of five thousand shares on the market at the -opening; and go on selling as long as you can find takers. I don’t set -any limit.” - -Broad smiles surrounded the table. Only Joe looked indifferent. - -An uncomfortable thought occurred to Gillett. “I say,” he objected, -rubbing his lip; “when it comes out that I have sold out to the Trust, -and been elected a vice-president, it’ll put me in a rotten light with -the public.” - -“Oh, it’ll all be forgotten in a week,” said Joe smoothly. “—By -everybody except Mattison. We’ll give the public something else to think -about if you like. . . . Look here, if you want to stand well with the -public, I’ve got another scheme. . . .” - -His three hearers leaned toward him. - -“There’s been too many Trust Companies formed under the new banking law. -Some of them are damned hard up for business. We’ll pick on one of them, -and let it be quietly circulated around that it’s in a bad way, see? A -bank is very sensitive to that sort of thing. We can pick up whatever -stock comes into the market at a discount; and when our bank gets good -and groggy—if there’s a run on it, so much the better; you can step -forward and deposit a million in cash. Think of the publicity! They’d -elect you president or anything else you were willing to take; and the -stock would jump twenty-five points. You’d be hailed in the newspapers -as the savior of the institution, and incidentally make a handsome -profit, see? . . . It’s just as easy to work it one way as the -other. . . .” - -Business having been disposed of, the talk around the table slipped into -undress. Joe, watchfully keeping all four of his auditors in play, made -the running. He had diverse elements to deal with; for while Gillett and -Dodge were frankly high livers, old Judge Keep was the pillar of some -church or another; Eddie Shriver an easy-going young husband and father. -Different as they were, they all yielded to Joe’s insinuating looseness. -Joe had a smiling way of taking the worst for granted that the most -prudish of men found difficult to withstand. He worked to bring a -certain sly, sheepish grin into the faces of his hearers; and when that -appeared, he knew they were his. - -Secretly, Joe was weary of his present audience. They were too dull; too -old; his power over them was too easy to exert; they made him feel like -a second-rate performer. Glancing around the room to see who was looking -at him, Joe perceived that a figure, vaguely familiar, had taken a seat -at one of the small tables by the Twenty-Sixth street windows. It was -that kid, Wilfred Pell, the white-faced kid; the kid with the funny look -in his eyes. - -Joe was immediately interested. That kid had always teased his interest; -it was hard to say why, because it was a footless sort of kid; he cut no -ice. But Joe had never been able to make him give in. There was a bad -streak in him all right; it instantly responded to Joe’s suggestion; but -the kid would not let himself go. Joe had never been able to make him -look sheepish. Not that it mattered a damn; still . . . why hadn’t he -been able to? - -Now he looked as untidy as ever in his wrinkled, mouse-colored suit; it -might almost have been the same suit he was wearing three years ago; and -with much the same look in his eyes, but intensified by growing -manliness; a sort of crazy, proud, hot look—what _was_ that look? If he -felt like that, why the hell didn’t he let himself go? Obviously a damn -fool; one of these, morbid, solitary kids; rotten! But Joe couldn’t -dismiss him; there was something there that he couldn’t get. - -Joe saw that Wilfred had been watching him, though he quickly turned -away his eyes when Joe looked. No greeting passed between the two. -Wilfred’s look made Joe purr with gratification. Funny, that this -insignificant kid had that effect, when Cooper Gillett’s ill-concealed -admiration only bored him. What a contrast between the two of them. -There was he, Joe, handsome, elegantly-dressed; sitting as an equal with -some of the best-known men in New York, telling them things: and there -was that other kid, just the same age, untidy and sallow-cheeked, -sitting alone and unregarded, looking out of place in the swell joint. -And Wilfred showed that he felt the contrast. You could almost see him -grind his teeth when he looked at Joe. The kid hated him, yet he was -crazy about him in a way; while his mouth was ugly with a sneer, his -eyes had a certain slavish look in them, that Joe was familiar enough -with. Joe looked in one of the mirrors and plumed himself, aware that -this would make the kid feel worse. - -Joe now experienced a renewed zest in entertaining his table companions. -As a careless youth to youths he related the surprising adventures of -his hours of ease, making out that they were not at all surprising. When -he wished to make a good impression, Joe never allowed himself to boast, -but let it be assumed that the other man was quite as bold, shameless, -insatiable and lucky as himself. His middle-aged listeners fawned upon -him in gratified vanity. Joe never looked again, but was always -conscious of the hot-eyed spectator in the background. Let the kid see -how I can make the famous Cooper Gillett eat out of my hand, he thought. - -“. . . She was dining with her husband at the next table. I had Millie -with me. Millie and the husband were sitting back to back, and that left -the peach, facing me, see? All through the meal she kept looking at me -in a certain way; you know how they do. They love to do it when they’re -with their husbands. It’s a slap in the old man’s eye; and they feel -safe when he’s there. Don’t expect to be taken up. But they don’t -usually do it when you’ve already got such a pretty girl as Millie with -you. That suggested to me that the peach must be damn sure of her -charms, and I was interested. She _was_ a peach! - -“Usually, Millie is a good-natured little thing; and I suggested that -she follow the peach into the ladies’ cloak-room, and make a date with -her for me. But for some reason she got up on her ear—you know how it -is with women; and refused. So I shook her. I timed it so’s I came out -on the sidewalk right behind the peach and her hubby. I marched up to -her and raised my hat. Gosh! she near died. Didn’t know which way to -turn. But she was game. She recovered herself, and introduced me to the -old man as Mr. Smithers. He was jealous as Hell. That made it twice as -much fun, of course; you know! An old clothes-bag like that, hadn’t any -right to have such a pretty wife, anyhow. - -“The old man had called a hansom, and she invited me to ride up-town -with them—since I lived just around the corner from them, as she said. -The old man made out to sit in the middle, but that just suited me, -because he had to sit forward a little, and the peach and I were able to -talk sign language behind his back. And all the way up-town I need -hardly say, she was real affectionate to him, pulling his ear, and -rubbing her cheek against his shoulder. Isn’t that like a woman? By God! -if I ever get a wife, I’ll recognize the danger signals! And she told -him all about me, see? thus providing me with my cues. Oh! she was a -clever little devil! When we got up to their flat, she sent him out to -the delicatessen for bottled beer. . . .” - -When the party at the round table broke up, they passed close beside -Wilfred’s table on their way to the Twenty-Sixth street door. Joe did -not look at Wilfred; but was pleasantly aware of the look that the other -cast upon him as he went by. - -Outside, Joe’s friends boarded cabs for their several destinations. -Gillett and Keep went off together. Joe was left alone with a spice of -anger in his breast. These men were willing to let him flatter them; -willing to let him make money for them; but they never asked him home. -However, the feeling quickly passed. To Hell with it! thought Joe; when -I’m ready, I’ll make my way into any house in New York! - -For the moment he was at a loose end. He hesitated on the sidewalk. -Where to find amusement? A recollection of that kid’s queer look came -back to him. Turning, he went through the doors again. - - - II - -On Saturday afternoon, after a long prowl about the picturesque edges of -Manhattan, Wilfred made his way to Martin’s café. This was a treat he -could occasionally give himself. It was rather awful to enter the place -alone, but once you got your legs under a table, you sank into a -comfortable insignificance. And what a scene for the connoisseur of -humanity! he thought. Martin’s was the center of New York life—not -fashionable life, because that had moved up-town with Delmonico’s; but -fashionable people hardly counted nowadays; the best-known writers, -artists, actors; men of the hour in every walk of life, frequented -Martin’s. And exquisite women! the flower of New York’s women; who cared -what their social status might be? - -Wilfred could not meet the eye of one of these delicate creatures, but -in his mind he explored them through and through. In his mind he -experienced the gallant way of dealing with them. Sometimes when he -overheard snatches of conversation at near-by tables, he burned to tell -the whining male for the honor of his sex, that _that_ was not the way! - -On the present occasion when he looked about the rooms, he received an -unpleasant shock upon beholding Joe Kaplan seated at a table in the -vicinity, the center of a group of admiring older men. Oh Lord! can I -never hope to escape him! thought Wilfred. The face of one of Joe’s -companions struck familiarly on his sight; a face that had been -reproduced in the newspapers; handsome, dusky, florid; blurred a little -by self-indulgence. Cooper Gillett, of course. It _would_ be a -multi-millionaire, thought Wilfred, sneering. - -He saw that Joe’s own style had improved very much. He had lost his -too-sleek appearance. Joe, who was always learning, had discovered that -the acme of good taste in men’s dress was expressed in an elegant -carelessness. He was wearing a suit of grey homespun, obviously made by -the most eminent of tailors. His tie was of a soft silk, cornflower -blue; and he had a knot of ragged cornflowers stuck in his buttonhole. -His hair lay on his head like a raven’s wing; his skin was as pink as a -baby’s; the teeth he revealed in his frequent smiles were as gleaming -and regular as a savage’s. What if his eyes were a little too close -together? they sparkled with zest and good humor. Well, he could afford -to be good-humored. He lived. - -Twenty-three years old, and already at the top of the heap! A rich man, -and the associate of rich men. He would never be obliged to grind his -teeth in lonesomeness. That shameless smile of his would be devastating -among women. Women loved to be yanked down from their pedestals, and -quite right, too. How charming to yank them down. Half the desirable -women in the place were looking at Joe now. - -But _does_ Joe live? Wilfred asked himself. He has no feeling. That’s -what makes him great. That’s what gives him such a power over everybody. -He doesn’t care. That’s what gives him such a power over me—God damn -him! I feel, and he does not. He lives his life, and I feel it for him, -and curse my own impotence! It is feeling which makes me so ineffectual. -Feelings . . . all kinds of feelings that lay hands on me and drag me -back! Oh God! I wish I could be a soulless animal like Joe! . . . And -yet . . . what’s the use of living a crowded life if you can’t realize -it? After all, isn’t it more real to have the feeling than the substance -. . . ? But down that path you soon begin to gibber! To hell with -thought! I want the fleshpots! - -He perceived that Joe was aware of him, though he gave no sign of -recognition. A certain increased amplitude appeared in Joe’s style. -Wilfred sneered. It’s nuts to him to have me looking at him, he thought; -the fellow of good family who has come to nothing, gazing with sickly -envy at the street Arab who has risen to affluence! By God! I will not -look at him again!—But he could not help himself. His eyes were dragged -back. - -Meanwhile he sneered. Rotten little hooligan! He gets on because he’s -got no conscience. If a decent man can’t get on in the world, so much -the worse for the world! I don’t envy him his present company; -millionaires and their hangers-on! Those fellows are dead inside; that’s -why they like him. Even the warmth of a dung-heap is warmth! Scratch the -pink skin and you’d find just a common, foul-minded Jew! Wilfred’s -thoughts seared his breast. He looked away from Joe in a despairing -effort to divert his mind; but the animated spectacle in which he had -hitherto taken such pleasure, no longer had any meaning for him. - -When Joe and his party arose to leave, their course took them out beside -Wilfred’s table. Wilfred kept his eyes down until they had passed; then -raised them to that hateful-enviable back. The tall grace of Joe’s slim -figure, so perfectly turned-out—he had put on a black soft hat, just -enough out of the ordinary to emphasize his stylishness; the confident -poise of his head; it seemed almost more than Wilfred could bear. Oh -God! how I hate him! he thought; he poisons my being! Meanwhile the -under voice was whispering: If I could only be him! - -As Joe went through the door, a girl sitting at the last table, glanced -up at him through her lashes. Wilfred had already marked her; she was -the prettiest girl in the room; fragile as tinted china; a flame burning -in an egg-shell. She wore an amusing little seal-skin cape with a high -collar; and a smart black hat elevated behind, and tilted over her -adorable nose. A fatuous old man was sitting opposite her. - -Instantly Wilfred’s burning fancy rearranged the scene. The girl was -still sitting there with her inscrutable half-smile, but now Joe was -opposite her all togged up to the nines, looking at her with insolent -mastery. And Wilfred with money in his pocket, very well dressed, with -that something in his air which showed that his grandfather had worn -good clothes before him, came strolling in. As he passed their table, -the girl raised her lovely speaking eyes. Their glances met and clung -for an instant, and something passed between them that Joe would never -know. - -With ready self-possession, Wilfred turned to Joe, saying: “Hello, -Kaplan, I didn’t recognize you.” Joe’s greeting was stiff; but Wilfred, -coolly ignoring that, said something humorous that caused the girl to -giggle deliciously. She looked at Joe in a way that he could not ignore, -and he was obliged to murmur churlishly: “Mr. Pell . . . Miss Demarest.” -(An assumed name of course; the enchanting and mysterious creature gave -herself recklessly, while she looked for the man!) She offered Wilfred -her drooping hand, not quite able to meet his eyes now, while she -murmured: “Won’t you sit down for awhile?” - -Wilfred spoke of real things with a simple humor that showed up the -cheap facetiousness that passed current at Martin’s for what it was. A -new look appeared in the girl’s beautiful eyes. As in a flash, she had -perceived the great truth, revealed to but few women: that it is the -shy, imaginative men who are really the delicious rakes at heart; while -the showy, flaunting fellow, the professional lady-killer is cold and -shallow. . . . - -Wilfred suddenly caught sight of Joe in the flesh, coming towards him. -It was like an icy douche. . . . - -To his astonishment, Joe stopped at his table. He said with his -disarming grin: - -“Hello, Pell!” - -Wilfred mumbled in reply. - -“I didn’t speak to you before,” Joe went on, “because of that gang I was -with. They’re gone now, thank God! and I can be myself.” He dropped into -the chair opposite Wilfred. “What you drinking? _Grenadine au Kirsch?_ -Nothing but apple water! Have an absinthe with me.” He signalled a -waiter. “Hey, _garçon! Deux absinthes au sucre._” - -Joe Kaplan speaking French! A yell of laughter inside Wilfred. - -To have the effulgent Joe sitting opposite, attracting all eyes to their -table, made Wilfred exquisitely conscious of the discrepancies of his -own dress. Joe’s brilliant personality beat him to the earth; he hated -himself for being so easily overcome. He couldn’t meet those hard bright -eyes. He was full of indignation that Joe had presumed to sit down -without waiting to be asked; and at the same time he was amazed that Joe -deigned to notice him at all. Surely he could not be so insignificant as -he seemed to himself if. . . . But vanity was slain by the hateful -suggestion that it gratified Joe to sit there displaying the contrast -between them to the assembled company. - -How Wilfred writhed under that thought! Yet it would have been too -ridiculous for him to get up and walk out of the place. He had not -courage enough for that. He sat there, enduring it, until people -forgetting them, looked elsewhere. Then curiosity began to burn in him, -and he no longer wished to go. What a chance to learn the truth about -Joe! If he could be induced to talk about himself; to reveal his -commonness; it would destroy the absurd, splendid, evil creature of -Wilfred’s imagination, and cure his envy. - -“Funny how we always run into each other,” said Joe; “big as the town -is! What you doing now?” He was only giving Wilfred half his attention; -the black eyes were roving around. - -“I work for the Exchange Trust,” said Wilfred. - -“Oh, Amasa Gore’s bank. Did he put you in there? I haven’t seen Gore for -near four years. How is the old stiff? . . . And Dobereiner? And Harry -Bannerman?” - -“I don’t know,” said Wilfred. “I never go there.” - -“Still living with the Aunts?” - -“No. I have my own place now.” - -“That’s what a fellow wants, eh? When he grows up,” said Joe with a -good-humored, and infinitely suggestive grin. - -Wilfred stiffened his face; but in spite of himself, his breast warmed a -little towards Joe. There was a sort of infernal bond between them. -Wilfred was a profligate too—that is, he desired to be. - -The bottle and glasses were brought, each glass with a little silver -fountain placed on top, through which the water dripped on the sugar, -alternately side and side, with a fairy tinkle. Wilfred watched the -operation fascinated. He tingled with pleasure at the thought of -drinking the dangerous stuff. As the sugared water mingled with it, the -green liquor mantled and pearled. - -“A whole lot has happened since those days,” Joe went on. “I’ve ceased -to be a pimp, and have become a stockjobber. It’s considered more -respectable, I understand. Anyhow, it’s more profitable. Already I’m -rich, but not as rich as I shall be. Wall street is easy picking for me. -I’ll tell you why. The fellows down there have got the name of being the -smartest on earth, and they know it, and that makes them careless, see? -They’re so accustomed to doing others, they forget that they may be -done, in their turn. Another thing; Wall street has got a bad name, and -they’re always scared of what people will say. They want to be both -pirates and pillars of the church. I got an advantage over them, because -I don’t give a damn what anybody says, as long as I can keep out of -jail. What was I? Just a kid out of the East Side gutters. I had nothing -to lose. I’m a realist, I am. I think things through. - -“Besides, I got a sort of gift of reading men. I don’t know how it is, -but when I’m talkin’ to a man, I always seem to know the bad things he’s -thinking about, and is afraid to let on. Some men look good, and some -look bad; but it don’t matter how good a man _looks_, you can depend -upon it, he’s got a secret badness in him, that he nurses. Everybody -likes me because I’m so damn natural. Even the men I get the best of, -come round. Morality is the curse of this country. Everybody is sick of -it, really. That’s why an out and out bad actor like me becomes a sort -of hero to everybody. You would never believe the things that -respectable men tell me when they get a drink or two in them. It’s -morality that perverts them. They feel they can let themselves go with -me, because I got no morals. . . .” - -Wilfred thought with a kind of enthusiasm: This is great stuff! I must -remember it. He asked, shyly: “How about women?” - -“Oh, women,” said Joe carelessly, “they’re a different proposition. I -only know one thing about women, and that’s all that concerns me. . . . -There’s no money to be made out of women. . . . I can tell you, though, -women are a damn sight more natural than men.” - -Wilfred, afire with curiosity, had not sufficient effrontery to question -him further. - -Joe held his glass up to the light. “I’m crazy about this green stuff! -My favorite poison! Makes your blood sting as it runs. Makes you feel -like a king! I don’t dare drink it when I got business on hand. Might do -something reckless like telling a millionaire the truth.” - -Wilfred was disappointed with his first taste of absinthe. It was as -mild and insipid as anise-seed drops. He had drunk half his glass, and -it had had no effect whatever. All at once, he realized that he was -enjoying its effect, without his having been aware of its coming on. His -heart was lifted up. All his faculties were sharpened. He found himself -able to look Joe in the face. Oh, wonder-working spirit! I shall drink -absinthe every Saturday afternoon, he resolved. - -Wilfred looked at Joe. After all, he’s only a fellow like myself, he -thought. He has his parts, and I have mine. He’s a trafficker and I’m an -artist. Would I change? Not likely! I can see a damn sight further into -him, than he can into me. He sees that I have a sort of grovelling -admiration for him in my blood; what he does not see is, that I despise -him in my mind. . . . - -A second absinthe followed the first. - -“It’s nice to have a fellow your own age that you can let go with,” said -Joe. “I get pretty sick of playing bright-eyes all the time to those old -dubs I got to work.” - -“Haven’t you any friends?” asked Wilfred with a secret satisfaction. - -“Friends?” said Joe. “Hundreds! But all older men than me. Got no time -for young fellows. They just fool. I’m a business man. . . . But damn it -all! I’m only twenty-three. I like to cut loose once in a while without -thinking what I’m saying. There are women of course, but they don’t -understand a man’s thoughts. I can talk to you. From the first I felt -there was something . . . that you and I understood each other.” - -Wilfred shivered internally. It’s true, he thought; but by God! I’ll -never confess it to him! Rather to his surprise he found himself talking -to Joe with an impartial air. - -“I’ve always been interested in you. You’re an extraordinary fellow. You -remind me of Adam; or of an artificial man that I read about, who was -created by a great scientist, and let loose on the world. A -perfectly-functioning man, with no hereditary influences to restrain -him. It gives you a terrible advantage over the rest of us.” - -“Say, what are you driving at?” said Joe with a hard stare. - -Wilfred smiled to himself. Got under his skin that time! However, he did -not wish to quarrel with the man, but to explore him. In order to divert -him, he said: “I’d like to hear about your Wall street operations.” - -Joe’s annoyance passed. “Ah, to hell with my operations!” he said. “This -is out of business hours. . . . I’d like to get good and drunk over -Sunday. Are you on?” - -Wilfred was sharply arrested by desire. What a chance! After that Joe -would have no mysteries for him! But of course, a power outside his -control shook his head for him. He heard himself saying primly: “Sunday -is my working day.” - -Joe was not sufficiently interested to enquire what he meant. “That’s a -good-looking wench over here at my left,” he said; “the one with the -black hat tipped over her nose.” - -Wilfred was willing to meet him on that ground. “Out o’ sight,” he -agreed. “Wonderful looking girls come here.” - -“They ought to be,” said Joe; “highest-priced in town . . . let’s get a -couple. . .” - -An icy hand was laid on Wilfred, chilling the absinthe-engendered -warmth. In spite of himself, he could not quite command his face. Joe -chuckled. - -“It’s easy fixed,” he said. “All you got to do is slip a bill to the -waiter. You don’t even have to do that, because François will get a -rake-off from the girls later. He has a list of their telephone numbers, -see? He calls them up, and in a few minutes a pair of them will breeze -in and say: ‘_So_ sorry we were late!’” - -Wilfred miserably shook his head. - -“You don’t need to be afraid of them,” said Joe. “Just because they look -like Duchesses. They wouldn’t be let in here if they didn’t. They’re -just girls like any others. They’ll make it easy for you, when they see -you’re green.” - -This was bitter for Wilfred. “I’m not afraid of them,” he said quickly. - -Joe laughed again. “Aw, come on,” he said. - -“I’m not dressed. . . .” - -“It don’t matter,” said Joe. “So long as you have the price.” - -“But I haven’t,” said Wilfred desperately. - -“Oh Hell!” said Joe. “I didn’t suppose you had. This is on me. . . . -Look!” He produced a wallet from his breast pocket, and partly opening -it, revealed a thick stuffing of crisp new yellow-backed bills. “That’s -my Sunday money. I’ll go halves with you.” - -“I . . . I couldn’t,” stammered Wilfred, grinding his teeth. - -“Why not? Money means nothing to me. I mean spending money. It would be -fun to give you a swell, expensive time for once. You look as if you -needed it. Come on; to-morrow’s Sunday.” - -Wilfred thought: This is not generosity, but merely the desire to shine -at my expense. He was almost suffocated with wounded pride. He could not -trust himself to speak; but merely shook his head again. - -Joe was enjoying his discomfiture. “Haven’t you ever?” he asked, -grinning. - -“Sure!” lied Wilfred. “But I didn’t buy it.” - -“Oh, sure!” said Joe. “Love. That’s all right, too. But there’s -something about a pretty girl you never saw before, and never expect to -see again . . . you don’t give a damn, and she don’t. . . . Look here, -I’ll lend you the money. You can pay me back.” He held up a finger for -François. - -“You’ll have to entertain them by yourself,” warned Wilfred. “I won’t -stay!” - -“Oh, to Hell with it, then!” said Joe, disgruntled. - -When the waiter came, Joe asked for their bill. Wilfred insisted on -paying for half the drinks, taking care to conceal from Joe how thinly -his wallet was lined. They left the café in silence. On the pavement -outside, Joe signalled for a cab, and Wilfred stiffly bade him good-bye. - -Joe, grinning sideways at Wilfred, caught hold of his arm. “Wait a -minute, fellow!” - -Wilfred read that grin perfectly. His thoughts were bitter. - -“Come along with me,” Joe said. “I’m going up to see my girl—my steady -girl I mean. Been going with her five years. Almost like an old married -pair.” - -“Sorry, I can’t,” said Wilfred. “Some other time. . . .” - -“Aw, come on. This is just a social call. She’s a peach of a looker. -She’ll put you at your ease. . . .” - -Wilfred detached his arm. “Sorry, I can’t,” he said. “Good-bye.” - -Joe, one foot on the step of the cab, called after him: “Say, Kid, it’s -time you grew up!” - -Wilfred walked away quickly. Joe’s parting shot rankled like a barbed -dart. It was true! It was true! He had not yet become a man! - - - III - -Joe was rich enough now, to come out into the open. He had lately taken -two rooms high up in the newest building on lower Broadway. The marble -entrance hall with its uniformed attendants, and its ranks of -velvet-running elevators, was the most imposing in town. It gave Joe a -standing with the public to have his name listed in the telephone book; -moreover, it pleased him to have men twice his age coming to see him hat -in hand, and talking humble. They never got anything out of him; for Joe -dug up his own business in his own way. In the outer room were installed -a shiny-haired clerk, and a crisply-laundered stenographer; Joe’s own -room was furnished with waxed mahogany and a Bokhara rug. The windows -looked out over the Upper Bay. - -One morning, shortly after Joe had arrived at his office, the -gentlemanly clerk (Joe would not have Jews about him; Jews around an -office were too suggestive of sharp business) came in to say that an old -woman wanted to see him. - -“What have I got to do with old women?” asked Joe, with lifted eyebrows. -“What sort of old woman?” - -“A real poor old woman, Mr. Kaplan. I couldn’t get anything out of her. -Just said she wanted to see you. She must have seen you come in. She was -here before, this morning.” - -“Even so, do I have to see her?” asked Joe with a hard look. He enjoyed -putting the clerk out of countenance; a fair lad, prone to blush and to -turn pale; the two of them were the same age. - -“No, sir. Certainly not, sir. I’ll send her away.” - -“Wait a minute,” said Joe harshly. A slight uneasiness had made itself -felt. The old woman had seen him come in, the clerk said; that sounded -as if she knew him. “Let her come in,” said Joe carelessly. “A beggar, I -suppose.” - -When his clerk opened the door a second time, Joe beheld his mother. Oh -well, he had always expected it to happen sooner or later. He saw in a -glance that the old woman was stupid with terror, and that he should -have no trouble with her. So it was all right. The clerk was disposed to -linger. - -Joe helped himself to a cigarette from the silver box on his desk. To -the clerk he said carelessly: “Call up Mr. Mitchell, and tell him I will -see him here at eleven o’clock.” - -The door closed; and mother and son were left looking at each other. Joe -had the advantage, because the windows were at his back. He experienced -no emotion at the sight of his mother. In eight years she had changed -very much. That vigorous, peasant’s frame was broken. Her face which had -once had the strength of apathy, looked sodden now. Her clothes . . . -Ugh! Joe hoped she would not sit down on one of his chairs. She seemed -incapable of speaking; and Joe felt no inclination to help her out. It -was a settled maxim with him, to make the other party speak first. He -lit his cigarette with the greatest deliberation, and holding the -lighted match high above the ash receiver, let it flicker down. - -Finally she stammered: “I seen the name and the address in a -newspaper. . . . I come round to see if it was my Joe Kaplan. . . .” - -“Did you tell anybody in this building your name?” - -She shook her head. “I do’ want to make no trouble for you, Joe.” - -“What _do_ you want?” - -“Well, Joe. . . .” Speech failed her. With a falling hand, she indicated -herself—then him. - -Joe regarded her thoughtfully; whistling between his teeth. - -After a silence, she began again. “Well, Joe . . . your fat’er is sick. -He’s got the consumption. He’s like to die on me any day. . . .” - -“Isn’t that old geezer dead yet?” said Joe. - -“It takes all I kin earn to buy him his medicine, and a bit for the two -of us to eat. I can’t save the rent. The landlord has pasted a notice on -the door.” - -“Where’s Lulu?” asked Joe. - -“She left home when she was seventeen. I ain’t seen her since.” - -“Well, you can’t blame her.” - -“I ain’t blamin’ her.” - -“Was she good-lookin’?” - -“Yes. . . . God help her!” murmured the woman. - -“Oh, fudge!” said Joe. “. . . Where’s the boys?” - -“On the streets. They come home sometimes. I feeds them—if I has it.” - -“What do you want of me?” - -“Well, Joe . . . we’re your folks. . . .” - -“Cut it out!” said Joe with a gesture. “I’ve been told often enough that -I’ve got no natural feelings. All right; I’m not going to make out to -have any now. Home Sweet Home never meant nothing to me but a place to -git away from. As for my father. . . . Gee! it made me sore even as a -young kid to think that I sprung from _that_! The dirty, whining Jew! -I’d do something handsome for you, if you could prove to me he wasn’t my -father!” - -“You wouldn’t want him to be buried in Potters’ Field. . . .” - -“Why not? The main thing is to get him buried. A dead man rests just as -comfortable in Potters’ Field as in Woodlawn!” - -“But the disgrace of it. . . .” - -“Aah! talk sense to me!” cried Joe, screwing up his face in irritation. -“I’m a realist! Do you know what that means? You used to be one -yourself. What’s come over you?” - -“I do’ know what’s come over me,” she muttered, wiping a hand over her -face. “I don’t think about nothing no more. Don’t see no use in -it. . . . I just go along. . . .” - -“Well, I’ve climbed out of that pigsty!” said Joe. “All by myself, I -climbed out. I don’t owe nothing to you!” - -Without another word she turned to go. - -“Wait a minute!” cried Joe, exasperated. “I didn’t say I wouldn’t do -nottin’ for you. I just wanted to have it well understood you hadn’t no -claim on me!” - -She waited. - -“I always been willing to help you out,” grumbled Joe. Something about -the dirty, broken-spirited old woman seemed to make him so sore he -couldn’t see straight. “Soon as I got money I went to Sussex street -first-off, but you had moved away. One of the neighbors give me a number -in Forsyth street, and I went there, but you had moved again, leaving no -address. What more could I do?” - -“We had to move often,” she murmured. - -“Listen; I’m willing to keep you in comfort, on condition that you -change your name, and keep away from me, see? Call yourself Cohen or -Levy, or any common Jewish name. Go hire some nice clean rooms, and put -in some new furniture. Get everything new, and just walk out of the mess -you’re in and get a fresh start, see? Don’t tell anybody who knows you -as Kaplan where you’re going. And if you want any comfort in your new -life, you’d better not tell the boys.” - -“Oh!” she stammered. “I couldn’t shake the boys, Joe! That wouldn’t be -right, like.” - -“Well, that’s up to you. As long as you have a dollar, they’ll bleed -yeh!” - -“I know . . . but when the old man goes, I’d be alone. . . .” - -“All right. If the boys ever tried to make trouble for me, I’d know how -to handle them. They can’t get money out of me by threatening to expose -my past, because I brag about it, see? . . . As soon as you’re settled -in your new rooms—Aw, take a regular nice flat with a kitchen and a -bathroom and all; write to me under your new name, see? and send the -address. I’ll fix it so’s a bank will send you forty dollars a week as -long as either of you live. . . . I’ll give you the money now for the -furniture and the first month’s rent.” - -Over his desk he passed her a handful of crackling bills. The old woman -drew back from them with a look of horror that made Joe laugh. “Here, -take them,” he said. “They won’t burn yeh!” - -“It’s . . . it’s too much!” she stammered. His harshness she had taken -as a matter of course; his beneficence terrified her. - -Joe laid the bills down on the edge of his desk. After a while she -picked them up in tremulous hands. The old face began to work in an -extraordinary manner. “Oh Joe . . .” she stammered. “Oh, Joe . . . !” - -Joe ran a hand through his sleek hair. “For God’s sake, don’t turn on -the waterworks here!” he said. “You never did that!” - -“I’m broke, Joe!” she wailed. “I got no resistance no more!” - -“Oh, for God’s sake!” cried Joe, striding up and down. “. . . For God’s -sake when you get in your new place keep yourself clean! I suppose -you’re too old to change your ways much, but you can keep clean! . . . -Your face is dirty! . . .” - -“Yes, Joe. . . . I gotta thank you, Joe.” - -“Don’t make me laugh!” said Joe. “I’m no philanthropist! I want things -fixed in a certain way between you and me, and I’m willing to pay for -it. If you ever come around me again, the deal is off, see? Beat it -now.” - -But she lingered. She plucked up a little courage. “If you was to see -the youngest, Joe. . . . He’s a smart kid. Something could be made of -him. . . .” - -“Then make it,” said Joe. “You’re his mutter. You’ve got money, now.” - -“I t’ink he’s like you, Joe.” - -“Useless!” said Joe, grinning. “You can’t touch my heart. . . . I -couldn’t do nothing with a boy off the streets.” - -“That’s what you was.” - -“Exactly! And nobody couldn’t do nothing with me. I did it for meself!” - -“Don’t you want to see the old man before he goes?” - -“What for? When he was well the sight of him used to make _me_ sick!” - -“Well . . . good-bye, Joe. . . .” - -“Easy with the Joes when you open the door!” - -“I’ll be careful. When I write I’ll put Mr. Kaplan. . . .” - - - IV - -The four friends drifted out into the street from Ceccina’s. Linking -arms, they paraded towards Sixth avenue, singing. Binks had to be put in -the middle because he wobbled at the knees. Stanny and Jasper each had a -good edge on, too. Jasper was gloriously released. Wilfred observed them -enviously. I can drink like a fish, he thought, and it has no effect -whatever! - -They made a round of their favorite resorts; the Grapevine; Maria’s; -Mould’s over on University Place. Wilfred tossed down more fiery -potations than the _vino de pasto_ of Ceccina’s. It only intensified his -self-consciousness. I’ll never be able to carry it through! . . . You -_shall_ go through with it! He was ceaselessly plotting how he could -shake his friends without exciting ribald comment. As they became really -drunk that offered no difficulty. But how dear they became to him! How -he hated to leave them! . . . I really ought not to leave them now. I’ve -got the only cool head in the party. They might get into serious -trouble. Some other night I’ll start out alone and . . . Come off! -You’ve _got_ to go through with it! - -In the end he found himself alone without knowing exactly how it had -come about. I must be getting drunk! he thought hopefully. But no! the -surroundings were still bitten into his consciousness as with acid. The -trees of Union Square, misshapen like rickety children, and tragic in -the bareness of November; the ugly statue of Lincoln on the corner that -he had passed a thousand times without ever seeing it; the green -electric cars creeping like worms around the double curve; and that -endless, dingy press of people that shuffled back and forth on the south -side of Fourteenth street every night in the year. Such dulled and -flaccid faces! Why were they deader than the faces on other streets? Why -did they crowd together on the one sidewalk, leaving the other empty? - -Wilfred went east on Fourteenth street. That stretch of Fourth avenue -between Union Square and Cooper Square was devoted after nightfall to -the traffic in which he was resolved to share. He turned into Fourth -avenue with a wildly beating heart. It was not crowded here; just a few -figures furtively veering and hauling on their way. The shop windows -were dark, except those of the dazzling saloons on every corner. - -Wilfred’s tongue clave to the roof of his mouth. How can I choose when -I’m so shaky? he thought. What do you say to them at first, anyway? What -a pitiful fool I should appear if I tried to address one with a thick -tongue! I’ll never be able to go through with it! . . . You _shall_ go -through with it! Wilfred perceived a young woman approaching, with her -eyes fixed on him. In blind panic he stopped, and made believe to be -attracted by something in a shop window. It was a cobbler’s window, -quite dark, with nothing in it but a row of run-over shoes to be mended. - -An arm was slipped through Wilfred’s arm, and a voice murmured in his -ear: “Hello, sweetheart!” Wilfred turned a pair of terrified eyes. She -was not bad-looking; a Greek girl perhaps; dark and opulent. Her face -was not painted. Her glance was fairly open—at least she had not the -leer that Wilfred so dreaded. He felt himself like putty in her -experienced hands, and was relieved. This is not as bad as I expected; -he thought. A price was named, and certain conditions laid down. This -part seemed very unreal. - -The next thing Wilfred knew, he was being shepherded up a steep straight -flight of stairs over a saloon. There was a red carpet on the stairs, -sooty on the edges, and worn threadbare in the middle. At the top of the -steps stood a desk; a dog-eared hotel register lay upon it. A young -waiter appeared from somewhere; and collecting a dollar from Wilfred, -shoved the register towards him to be signed. Wilfred wondered about the -waiter. A fellow his own age. Though his white suit was much soiled, he -was not uncomely, with his stiff blond hair sticking up on his crown -like a schoolboy’s. - -The waiter whisked them into a bedroom close at hand, and shut the door. -Wilfred drew a long breath to steady himself. There he was alone in a -bedroom with a woman he had never seen until five minutes before, and -who was already preparing to reveal herself. How amazing! One swift -glance around, and the common room was photographed on his brain -forever. The cheap yellow bureau just inside the door, where Wilfred -stood frozen, one hand resting upon it. He could see himself from the -outside as if the eyes of his soul were suspended under the ceiling. -Stretched across under the window, the bed, because there was no other -possible place for it; in the corner behind Wilfred, the washstand; two -chairs—all of the same ugly yellow wood. The bed was covered with a -soiled white spread which still bore a significant impress in the -middle. Wilfred wondered if the impress was still warm. - -Wishing to do the thing in good style, he had ordered drinks; and they -were now brought; cocktails with a red cherry in the bottom of each -glass. Wilfred looked at the young waiter again. He put the tray on the -bureau, and departed without looking at Wilfred. He had an -extraordinarily inscrutable air; he had taught himself to see nothing; -to give nothing away. What a queer job for a lad, popping in and out of -the bedrooms! Wilfred wondered if he had ever been out in the country. -How many rooms were there in the place? All occupied no doubt. He -listened. - -He indicated one of the drinks to his companion. He would not carry it -to her, for fear of betraying the trembling of his hand. - -“Much obliged, fella,” she said politely, “but I don’t indulge. Drink -’em both yourself. You kin understand if I drank with every fella, I’d -be paralyzed before morning.” - -Good God! thought Wilfred. “How many?” he asked involuntarily. - -“Aah, fergit it!” she said, perfectly good-tempered. “What do you look -at me like that for?” - -Wilfred, abashed, schooled his eyes, and started slowly to undress. He -had no feeling of shame; but only of strangeness. - -His companion chattered away. She was rather a likeable sort. “It’s the -drink that does for girls. So I keep away from it. The rest don’t do you -no harm, if you take care of yourself. You kin depend upon me, fella. My -name’s Angela. I ain’t been at this long. I started it so’s I could help -me mutter out, and keep me young sister in school. She’s smart. We’re -gonna send her to college. You’re a nice lookin’ fella. Is this the -first time?” - -“No,” said Wilfred quickly. - -“Bet it is, though I kin tell. None of them wants to admit it. Well, you -might do worse than begin wit’ me. You look somepin like my fella. He’s -blond, too. But he’s got twenty pounds on you.” - -Wilfred had heard that these girls always had a lover. That seemed -strange to him. - -“He’s a deckhand on the steamboat _Albertina_. . . .” - -I share with a deckhand! thought Wilfred. - -“He gimme this ruby ring I wear. If you come to see me at my place I’ll -show you his pitcher. Me and him’s gonna git married when I kin save -enough to furnish wit’.” - -Good God! thought Wilfred again. “Does he know?” he asked. - -Angela’s big, good-humored face was momentarily disfigured by a scowl. -“What the hell is it to you? . . . Aw, . . . fergit it! . . . What you -look at me like that for? Come on.” - -But Wilfred stood still. His feet were weighted down. - -“What you waiting for? What’s the matter wit’ me, you look like that? -Come on. . . .” - -Wilfred went towards the bed like an automaton. He looked at her. After -all there was nothing astounding in her unveiling. It was just a human -body, the complement to his own; one was instinctively familiar with it. -He recognized dispassionately that it was a generous, comely woman’s -body, without blemish. He was reminded of fruitfulness; it was a body -fit for Ceres, for Eve. What lovely, dimpling hollows! what a magical -texture in woman’s skin!—But it didn’t seem to matter. What mattered -terribly, and made him tremble, was the strangeness of the soul that -inhabited this woman’s body, sending him such queer intimations through -her eyes, all the while her tongue was so glib and matter-of-fact. Their -bodies might press together as one, but their souls were sundered by an -immensity of space. . . . How piteous! - -“What you look at me like that for, fella?” - - * * * * * - -Once more Wilfred stood in front of the bureau with one hand upon it, -his head lowered. Angela was busy in the corner behind him. He did not -feel that anything of moment had happened to him. He was not -changed. . . . Was _that_ all? . . . But, no! He had failed; that’s what -it meant. He was not human enough to take fire and burn in the beautiful -human way. He was just a sort of figment of a man; an hallucination. He -fulfilled himself only in imagination. Faced with reality, he dissolved. -A dreadful fear gripped him. It was like falling through space. His hand -tightened hard on the edge of the bureau, as if to convince himself that -here was a real flesh and blood hand gripping palpable matter. . . . The -edge of the bureau was blackened by many cigarette burns. The men who -had laid those cigarettes down, _their_ bodies had burned! - -The girl came, and passed an arm around his shoulders. “You’re a -wonderful fella!” she murmured. “I like you.” - -Oh, yes! thought Wilfred. Flattery is a part of her business. - -On the hand that lay on the bureau, Wilfred sported an antique ring of -no great value. She turned it round on his finger. “Give it to me for a -keepsake, fella,” she whispered cajolingly. - -Wilfred thought: She knows that normal men have a moment of tenderness -now. But not me. I feel nothing. He shook his head, and drew away from -her. - -“Don’t you like me?” - -“You’re all right!” said Wilfred. - -She tried to wheedle more money out of him. Wilfred shook his head. - -“Well, will you come to see me again?” - -“Sure!” said Wilfred. - -She slipped a card into his hand. “That’s my home address. It’s nicer -there than these Raines Law joints. If you come in the afternoon I can -give you more time. . . .” - -Wilfred walked home, musing. His brain was active and cool. From a point -at a little distance outside himself, he surveyed the scene in the hotel -bedroom, and grinned. The girl’s attitude had been absolutely right of -course. Matter-of-fact was the only thing to be under those -circumstances. It was he, who had played the mountebank. . . . What -comical little insects human beings were! . . . Well, it had been a -richly humorous experience, and it had taught him a lot. He was glad it -had happened. . . . But never again! Might as well make up his mind to -it, that he was different in that respect from other men. - -Inside the door of his own room, another mood was lying in wait for him. -He loved that room; everything in it had been chosen by himself. It was -on the ground floor at the back of what had been a fine dwelling in its -day. There was a noble fireplace with a mantel of black marble. The -fire, burning low, filled the room with comfortable warm shadows. Desire -struck into Wilfred’s breast like a dagger. - -Ah! if there was a dear girl waiting _here_ for me! he thought. One -whose heart I knew, and who knew my heart! How sweet before the fire to -take her in my arms and kiss her neck; to . . . . - -Wilfred’s veins were full of molten fire then; his head whirled giddily. -He burst out laughing. Here you are at your imaginings again . . . ! - - - V - -Joe Kaplan was walking up lower Broadway, hugging himself within an -expensive overcoat. Catching sight of his shining eyes and wreathed lips -in a mirror, he thought: Picture of a man who enjoys life! Well, -everything was going fine with him. He put down his feet deliberately, -for it suited his humor to affect the solid air of an established man of -thirty-five—but his heels were light. - -Passing the Union Trust Building, his attention was attracted by a -slender figure, who, with self-consciously averted head, sought to hurry -by him unseen. Joe caught the man’s shoulder and swung him around. - -“Bristed!” he cried. “How are you!” - -The other, held in Joe’s grip, showed his teeth painfully; scowled; -turned red; said nothing. Joe saw that he would have liked to strike -him, but was too civilized. Six or seven years older than me, thought -Joe; but a child in my hands! One of those white-headed boys with rich -blue eyes like a picture—and like a picture, with nothing behind it. -But this pup had one merit; he had not yelped when he was held up by his -tail. - -“Come and have lunch with me,” said Joe. - -“Thanks, I don’t care to,” said Bristed stiffly. - -“What the hell!” said Joe. “That’s ancient history. . . . I was just -thinking about you. Or rather, I was casting about in my mind for -somebody like you. You lost out through me once; well, now you got a -chance to make through me.” - -“I’ve had quite enough of you,” said Bristed bitterly. - -“Don’t be a fool. Come and have a good lunch with me at the Savarin. -That commits you to nothing.” - -Bristed’s blue eyes sought out Joe’s black ones. “You know I think -you’re a scoundrel,” he said quietly. - -Joe was not in the least put out. “That’s all right,” he said laughing. -“Now you’ve put yourself on record, there’s no reason you shouldn’t take -a lunch off me.” - -“All right. I’ll come,” said Bristed. - -They continued up the street together. Joe warmed on the outside by the -overcoat; and inside, by the sense of well-being, discussed the -morning’s news of the Street. Bristed said nothing. Joe, without ever -looking at him, was aware how he was biting his lip, and darting painful -and envious looks like adders’ tongues at Joe’s profile. Joe had that -effect on young men. It stimulated him. This young man gave Joe no -concern. A slack-twisted skein, he was thinking; I could sell him out -twice over, and still he wouldn’t be able to stand out against me, if I -wanted to use him again. - -Once inside the expensive restaurant, Bristed began to lose something of -his pinched air. This is like coming home to him, thought Joe. The -_maître-d’hotel_ remembered him. “How do you do, Mr. Bristed. It is a -long time since we have had the pleasure of seeing you.” - -“Yes, I’ve been travelling,” said Bristed carelessly. - -Joe rubbed his upper lip to hide a grin. - -Joe ordered a choice little meal, and a bottle of Johannisberger. -Bristed was impressed, but would not show it. Joe was becoming an adept -in menu cards; and was prouder of this accomplishment than of his -greatest coup on the Street. He himself, never over-ate; there were too -many swollen paunches surrounding him down-town. He liked too well, the -feeling of being twenty-three and on his toes. Besides, he went in for -other pleasures. - -When at last they lighted up their Eden perfectos, Joe said: “Gosh! when -I was a brat in Sussex street, I never expected to be burning these!” - -Bristed betrayed no interest in his reminiscences. “What do you want of -me this time?” he asked bluntly. - -“Keep your shirt on,” said Joe coolly. “This is not financial. I’m -already making money faster than I can hire safety-deposit boxes.” - -“What is it then?” - -“I’m going into society.” - -Bristed laughed unpleasantly. - -Joe did not mind, because it was not assured laughter. Bristed knew -quite well that Joe _could_ go into society if he wanted to. “There’s -plenty of society already open to me,” Joe went on; “but I’ll have -nothing short of the best. The real top-notch. I’ve got money enough -already to support the position; and in a few years, if I live, I’ll be -one of the big half dozen of this burg.” - -“I don’t doubt it,” said Bristed bitterly. “You’re marked for it. . . . -Do you think I am able to help you get into society?” - -“None better,” said Joe. “Your father, and his father before him were in -the forefront.” - -“Sure!” said Bristed. “My grandfather had the distinction of making -money, and my father of spending it. But what have I got?” - -“The family name,” suggested Joe. - -“Sure! And an old house on Thirty-sixth street that we can’t afford to -heat properly in the winter; and where my mother and sister do their own -housework.” - -“But the best society in New York is open to you, if you had the money -to take your place in it. The old society. That’s what I have my eye -on.” - -“And where are we going to get the money?” asked Bristed. - -“From me.” - -“No! by God!” said Bristed. “We haven’t fallen as low as that!” - -“Go ahead!” said Joe smiling. “Shoot off your fine sentiments, and then -we’ll get down to business.” - -Bristed became incoherent in his indignation. “What do you think I am? -Do you think I’d lend my mother and sister to. . . . There are some -things you don’t understand smart as you are. Ah! I’m not going to talk -to you. . . !” He stood up. - -“Sit down,” said Joe quietly. “You can always turn me down, you know. -Only a fool turns down a proposition before he hears it.” - -Bristed sat down looking rather like a fool. - -“Now, briefly,” said Joe, “without any skyrockets or red fire, what is -the objection?” - -“Do you think we’re going to foist you off on our friends . . . ?” - -“Easy!” said Joe. “There’s not going to be any foisting. You ought to -know me. Wherever I go, I stand on my own bottom. I say to everybody: -Eight years ago I was a dirty little ragamuffin on Sussex street. My -father and mother made their living sewing on pants for a contractor. -When I was hungry I stole things off the pushcarts to get me a meal.” - -“It pays to tell that, eh?” sneered Bristed. - -“You’re dead right, it pays,” said Joe. “The idea it suggests to the -other person is: Look how far he’s risen! I never made any pretences. -Don’t have to. That’s how I get along. People think it’s original. -Everybody likes me except those who have lost money through me. If you -could only see it, it’s your fine sentiments that keep you down. Bet -your grandfather wasn’t troubled with them. - -“Take this scheme that I propose—you wouldn’t exactly have to beat the -drum for me, you know. I’m fairly notorious. The Boy Wonder of the -Street. Folks high and low are curious to have a look at me. I’d be a -social asset instead of a liability. I’ve noticed that family, blue -blood and all that, don’t cut as much ice as they used to. Those people, -having bored each other stiff, are now beginning to look around for a -little outside entertainment . . . Of course I could climb up anyhow. -But I don’t care to take the trouble to lay a regular campaign. Prefer -to begin at the top . . . I like the girls up there,” he added grinning; -“they’re so damned independent. Like me!” - -“Damn you!” said Bristed under his breath. - -“Keep the change!” said Joe cheerfully . . . “How much would it take to -keep up your house in good style?” - -“It’s not a big house,” muttered Bristed. “Ten thousand a year.” - -“I’ll make it twelve thousand,” said Joe. “And what’s more, I’ll settle -a good round sum on your mother in the beginning, so that when I no -longer need you, she wont be left flat.” - -“And what would we have to do, exactly, to earn it?” asked Bristed, -sneering. - -“Just have me to your house, and have your friends there to meet me. -After that I stand or fall by my own efforts.” - -“Everybody would know where the money came from.” - -“And why the Deuce shouldn’t they know? That’s what people like you -can’t see! Tell the truth about the whole affair. Tell everybody. Then -they’d begin to respect you . . . There’d be a lot of benefits to you in -addition to the twelve thou. If you and your folks took your rightful -place, you’d have a chance to look around yourself, eh? and . . .” - -“No thanks!” said Bristed violently. - -“Oh, of course you wouldn’t sell yourself,” said Joe dryly. “But she -might be a damn fine girl, though rich. It _has_ happened. I tell you -straight, Bristed, it’s your only chance. You haven’t got the guts to -make good in the rough and tumble of the Street. You’re too gentlemanly. -Then there’s your sister . . .” - -“By God . . . !” said Bristed with burning eyes. - -“Keep your hair on,” said Joe coolly. “That is not a part of my plans.” - -“Don’t you mean to marry?” sneered Bristed. - -“If I do, I shall look higher,” said Joe, facing him down. “. . . -However, I mean to thoroughly canvass the field first. I don’t want -money of course. I mean to marry a girl of the very highest position who -hasn’t got too much. But she’s got to be a regular top-notcher!” - -“I won’t have anything to do with it!” said Bristed. - -“Put it before your family,” said Joe, undisturbed. “You owe them that. -Tell them the worst you know about me. If they want to look me over -before committing themselves, all right. Then if they turn me down, why -that’s all right, too. I can easy find somebody else.” - -“Well, I’ll tell them,” said Bristed. “But I’ll advise them against it.” - -“That’s all right, old man,” said Joe. “I have confidence in the ladies. -They are always realists.” - - - VI - -Wilfred was washing himself at the basin in his little dressing-room. He -bit his lip to keep back the whistle that naturally issued at such a -moment, because he had found that if he kept quiet in there, the girl in -front would sometimes come into her dressing-room which adjoined. In the -old house there had been a pantry running across between the two rooms, -and this had been divided by the flimsiest of partitions. When he was on -his side and she was on hers, it was almost as though he were in her -company. She was a little brown girl, delicately rounded, with an -innocent, gentle, provoking air, and a skin like peaches and cream. How -delicious it was to picture her washing at her basin while he was -washing at his! - -Wilfred had never spoken to her. She had a husband. The pair of them -excited a warm interest in Wilfred because they were so young. A mere -boy and girl and they initiated so much further than he was! Once he had -had a glimpse into their room as he passed the door. It was -distressingly bare; nothing but a bed. Evidently one of these imprudent -runaway matches. He, considering himself a prudent person, was charmed -by imprudence in others. Yet Bella Billings the landlady, hinted that -already things were not going well in the front room. The husband, a -sulky-looking blond lad with an unwholesome complexion, was a -telegrapher who worked all night, and slept in the daytime. Thus the -little wife was thrown much into Bella’s company. A well-meaning -creature, Bella, but rabid in her emotions; hardly the best advisor for -a discontented girl wife. - -Thus Wilfred’s thoughts as he held his head close to the water to avoid -a noisy splashing. As he straightened up, groping for his towel, a -murmur of voices from the front room reached his ears. It came from the -direction of the bed. Wilfred became very still, and his heart beat -faster. What did a boy-husband and a girl wife say to each other in bed? - -No words reached his ears; but the sense of the murmuring was very -clear; the girl beseeching, the lad’s surly voice denying. - -Wilfred, blushing all over, retreated into his main room with the towel -about his head. He was filled with a delighted astonishment. He had -never guessed that the sort of girl a man aches for might in turn ask. -He had supposed that such a one merely suffered a man to love her out of -her kindness. The discovery that a woman might be both desirable and -desiring seemed to change the color of life. He silently addressed the -front room: “Oh, if you were mine!” - -That was all. A day or two later, as Bella had foretold, the -establishment in the front room suddenly broke up. The young telegrapher -went off to take a job in the Southwest, while his wife returned to live -with her mother in a Connecticut town. Wilfred did not forget her. In -his dreams he invited her. The fact that she had been married lent her -an added seductiveness. He led Bella on to talk of her. It transpired -that they kept up a correspondence. Her name was Mildred. - - * * * * * - -Bella Billings was draping herself ungracefully in the doorway of -Wilfred’s room. For reasons of propriety she would never come all the -way in. His room, being on the ground floor, was convenient to stop at. -She liked Wilfred, perhaps because he allowed her to talk as long as she -pleased. Few of her lodgers would. Wilfred found her conversation no -less tiresome than the others did, but kept himself up with the reminder -that he was a literary man, and Bella undoubtedly a character. She -talked with a wasteful expenditure of breath that left her gasping -halfway through a sentence, but unsilenced; and a display of pale gums -that slightly shocked Wilfred. It seemed to him that he had never seen -anything so naked as Bella Billings’ gums. - -She was an institution on the South side of Washington Square. Everybody -had lodged with her one time or another. In addition to letting rooms -unfurnished without service, she conducted a manufacturing business in a -rear extension to her house. “Stella Shoulder-Brace Co.” the brass plate -at the door announced; but “shoulderbrace” was a euphemism; what she -made were various artificial contours for the female form. These objects -were shaped on strange machines in the back premises like parts of iron -women, polished. Bella—everybody south of Fourteenth street called her -Bella behind her back—also painted Newfoundland dogs and cupids after -Bouguereau in oils upon red velvet panels. - -Her subject at the moment was pernicious anæmia from which she had been -a sufferer. She was describing to Wilfred how her fingernails and -toenails had dropped off. Wilfred had heard it before; but was rendered -patient by a design of using Bella for his own ends. As soon as an -opening presented itself, he said carelessly: - -“Only six days to Christmas! What are you going to do to celebrate, Miss -Billings?” - -Deprived of the support of her discourse, Bella blinked uncertainly. -“Well . . . I don’t know,” she said with a giggle. “I suppose I’ll do -nothing as usual.” - -“Everybody ought to have a big time, Christmas,” suggested Wilfred. - -Bella took a fresh pose in the doorway. “I’ve kinda got out of the way -of social life,” she said. “Being so devoted to my art, and all.” - -“Why don’t you give a party?” - -“Ohh!” said Bella breathlessly, “I don’t know people well enough to give -a party.” - -“You would before the party was over,” said Wilfred. “That’s what a -party’s for.” - -“I don’t know enough people to ask.” - -“Small parties are the best. You know some girls.” - -“Oh, there wouldn’t be any fun in a hen party.” - -“I’ll tell you what let’s do,” said Wilfred; “let’s give a joint party -during Christmas week, you and I. You ask the girls and I’ll bring the -fellows.” - -Bella’s eyes widened, and she uncovered the pale gums. Then she nodded -until Wilfred thought her head must snap off. “All right!” she said -panting. “But why bother about any more girls? I’d love to entertain -your friends.” - -“Oh, we must have enough girls,” said Wilfred quickly. “If there was -only one, the fellows would get to quarrelling.” - -“Will Stanny come?” she asked breathless and giggling. - -“Sure!” - -“He’s my favorite. He’s so wistful. I always wonder what he’s thinking -about when he looks so wistful.” - -“Maybe his corns hurt,” said Wilfred. This was the line to take with -Bella. - -“Oh, Mr. Pell, you’re so cynical! . . . Who else will you bring?” - -“Just Stanny and Jasper; the others will be out of town.” - -“I must ask the two boys from the top floor.” - -“Oh, them!” said Wilfred. “How about the girls?” - -“Well, there’s Hattie Putzel,” said Bella. “Her brother’s on’y a -bootblack, but you would never know it from her. A real stylish girl. -And there are the two Scotch lassies I met in the restaurant where I eat -sometimes. Regular little ladies, they are. Name of McElderry.” - -“That’s four, counting yourself,” said Wilfred, “against five fellows. -Must have another girl.” - -“Well, let me see . . .” said Bella. - -He waited breathlessly. - -“There’s that Maud Morrison who used to be my forelady in the shop -. . .” - -Wilfred was obliged to show his hand. “Do you think that Mildred would -come?” he suggested offhand. - -“Now that’s a good idea!” said Bella. “The poor little thing must be -having a dull time living at home. A wife who is no wife! I might keep -her here with me a couple of days Christmas. I’ll write to-night.” - -Wilfred started to brush his coat, whistling softly. He was aware that -he must be looking exceedingly self-conscious. Fortunately Bella was not -perspicacious; her mind was busy with plans. - -“I’ll get a gallon of Marsala wine from the Eyetalian in Thompson -street. You and me can go halves on it. I’ll get the girls to bring -sandwiches. Charley works for a commission merchant; he can bring apples -. . .” - - * * * * * - -Wilfred, Stanny and Jasper, having dined at Ceccina’s, made their way -across Washington Square. Stanny and Jasper were calm and anticipatory; -Wilfred was tormented by an anxiety that he did not confide in his -friends. Up to that morning Mildred had left Bella in doubt as to her -coming. Wilfred had staked everything on her. Suppose she did not come? -Cinders; ashes; dust! - -They went into Wilfred’s room to leave their hats and brush their hair. -From Bella’s room in the rear extension, came the sounds of a discreet -little company. When they entered Wilfred could scarcely bear to raise -his eyes to look. Ten people crowded the room to suffocation. Yes! and -there she was, sitting in the farthest corner, her lashes sweeping her -flower petal cheeks. A great wave of relief and laughter surged in -Wilfred’s breast. What a joke that she should look so virginal! You -darling! if you knew what I know about you! he thought. He could not -meet her eyes. - -It was a squeeze in Bella’s room which was crowded before anybody -entered it; and at first an awful constraint settled upon them. No one -said anything except the nervous Bella, whose occasional squalls of talk -seemed to be lost in a vacuum. The girls just sat, looking aggravatingly -refined; and the young men stood holding up the walls with their backs. -Wilfred began to sweat gently; he felt responsible. Neither Jasper nor -Stanny was disposed to help him out. Jasper squinted down his nose; and -Stanny looked obstinately mournful. Wilfred blamed the two men from -up-stairs. They didn’t belong. Charley was a lean and sprawling youth; -Dave a dark and solid one. Boors, thought Wilfred. - -Finally in desperation, Wilfred said: “Let’s go into my room. It’s -bigger.” - -The girls decorously shook out their skirts and prepared to follow. - -Things began to go a little better. Wilfred had a bottle of cherry -brandy that he circulated with trembling hands. There was but one -liqueur glass to each two persons, and that helped to break the ice. The -guests began to circulate and pair off. Hattie Putzel and Jasper found -each other out. Hattie was a handsome, dark girl with a great deal of -manner. It was impossible to believe that her brother was a bootblack. -During the whole evening, Jasper kept his arm around Hattie’s waist -without, so far as Wilfred could see, ever exchanging a word with her. -However they seemed to understand each other. Stanny got one of the -little Scotch girls, but Bella was continually organizing cutting-out -expeditions. - -Mildred sat by herself shy and demure. Wilfred, electrically conscious -of her, had not yet dared to approach. Nevertheless there were mute -exchanges. Wilfred was aware that her demureness was addressed to him. -It seemed to be clear to everybody present that this was a case; and no -other fellow tried to interfere. - -When the cherry brandy was finished, the hospitable Bella produced her -gigantic demijohn of Marsala. During the rest of the evening the -demijohn never left the crook of her arm. “_La Vivandière_” Stanny -dubbed her. Bella was wearing a dress made by herself of red flannel -with black crescents printed on it. Half beside herself with giggling, -panting excitement she was such a ludicrous figure as to make them all -self-conscious. They scarcely liked to look at her. However, by degrees -the party became animated and noisy; and Wilfred felt no further concern -for the outcome. Wilfred and Mildred kept apart, glancing at each other -with sidelong eyes. - -Bye and bye Charley invited the crowd up to his room. As they swept -up-stairs, Wilfred and Mildred came together at the tail of the -procession. In the semi-darkness of the hall, out of sight of the -others, Wilfred felt more confidence. - -“Hello!” he whispered. - -“Hello yourself,” she whispered back. - -“I was so afraid you wouldn’t come to-night!” - -“Bella told me you wanted me to come.” - -“Funny we shouldn’t meet until after you had moved away.” - -“I used to wonder about you.” - -The darling! She had wondered about him! - -She slipped her arm through his like a little girl, and Wilfred pressed -it. Something broke loose in his breast. He roared up through the house: -“Clear the track for we are coming!” And galloped up the stairs, -dragging the laughing and protesting Mildred after. Only once or twice -in his life had Wilfred found his whole voice like that. - -On the last dark landing she pulled back a little. He got it. His eager -arms went around her with a will. He crushed the slender delicious body -against his own. Ah! what a moment! To close his arms about his dream, -and find them full! To be assured that he was no sprite, but a man like -other men! Their lips hungrily sought each other in the dark. Again and -again! Never should he get enough! Oh woman! Oh mystery of delight! Oh -terrifying feast to be halved with a hungry stranger! - -They entered the lighted room carefully apart from each other; subdued -and highly self-conscious. A roar of laughter greeted them. They blushed -scarlet, but rather enjoyed it. Mildred made haste to lose herself -amongst the girls. The dignified Stanny tempted Wilfred. Seizing his -hands, Wilfred whirled him about like a dervish. - -“Have you gone crazy?” said Stanny, affronted. - -Stanny was not having a good time. He desired to shine in the eyes of -the little Scotch girl, and that ridiculous, ogling Bella was making him -look like a fool! In some sort of hand-holding game that they all -played, Bella, pretending to be insulted, accused Stanny of having -tickled her palm. Stanny’s sense of humor was not equal to it. Pure -hatred glittered in his eyes, as he denied the charge. Wilfred will -never forget the picture made by Bella in the red flannel dress, sitting -in the middle of the floor with her toes sticking up, embracing the -mighty demijohn, and coyly expressing a hope that no gentleman would -take advantage of her condition. None did. - -Hunger set them all cascading down the stairs. Supper was served in -Bella’s shop at the rear, amidst the queer polished forms on which the -“shoulderbraces” were made. A difference arose between Jasper and -Charley, upon the latter’s expressing a desire to share the society of -the aristocratic Hattie. For a moment a row threatened; but Wilfred had -the happy idea of suggesting that they settle it by seeing which could -first pitch an apple into a stove pipe hole near the ceiling. After -sundry apples had been squashed against the wall, Jasper won. - -Wilfred and Mildred, sitting a little apart from the others, ate -largely, while they gazed at each other, no longer ashamed. - -“Funny, how it makes you hungry,” said Wilfred, grinning. - -“How what does?” asked Mildred, with an innocent air. - -“Well . . . you know!” - -Mildred giggled. - -While Wilfred laughed with her, the sweetness of her struck through his -body like a dagger. She exercised at once the charm of a child and of a -woman. If she had been really grown-up, he would have been terrified of -her, but she was a child at heart, and Wilfred was all right with -children. At the same time, notwithstanding her dawn-freshness, she was -a woman more experienced than himself. He did not have to remember to -spare her. - -Something set the crowd rampaging up the stairs again. Perhaps there -were others who took advantage of the dark halls. Wilfred detained -Mildred at the bottom. - -“Let them go,” he whispered; “they’re so noisy. Let’s you and I go into -my room where it’s quiet.” - -“Oh, no!” said Mildred. “Not in there with you alone!” - -“Oh,” said Wilfred, immediately cast down. - -They hung unhappily at the bottom step. - -“_Please_ come,” he begged. - -“I will if you promise to be good.” - -“I’ll be as good as I can.” - -They ran into Wilfred’s room. He closed the door, and slid the bolt. - -“Oh, you mustn’t do that!” cried Mildred. - -He told himself that her words didn’t signify anything. He believed that -her lips were hungry for his. Wine had turned them crimson. So he merely -looked at her, and walked away from the door. She avoided his look. They -drifted to the worn bearskin in front of the fire, and sat down upon it, -not touching each other. Now that they were alone together, behind the -bolted door, constraint afflicted them again. They stared into the fire. -Wilfred had a sense that precious moments were being wasted. - -Finally Mildred said primly: “You have a nice room.” - -“Like it?” said Wilfred. “It’s nice to have your own place.” - -“I came in here once with Bella, when you were out,” she confessed. - -“Did you?” he said delighted. - -“I wanted to see if there were any pictures of girls about.” - -“What did you care?” - -“Oh, girls are always curious about a boy like you. You never give -yourself away.” - -Delicious flattery! “Well, there are no pictures.” - -“Oh, I expect you’ve got them put away.” - -“No. I don’t know any girls.” - -“Well all I can say is, you’re pretty cheeky for a beginner!” - -Wilfred felt bold and masterful again. “That is because you sweep me off -my feet,” he said. He leaned towards her, bringing his face very close -to hers. How enchanting it was to remain like that, without actually -touching her. What a strange, strong current passed into him from her! - -“You have put a spell on me!” he faltered. - -“Promise me to stay quite still for a minute,” she whispered. - -“What for?” - -“Just because I ask you to.” - -“Well . . . I promise.” - -She caught his face between her two hands. “I want to kiss you all by -myself,” she murmured. “In my way.” - -Wilfred closed his eyes. “I’ll try to endure it,” he whispered. - -“Lots of times. . . . Lots of times!” she crooned. “Ah, you’re so sweet! -You’re as sweet as a baby!” - -Wilfred received this with mixed feelings. “I don’t want to be kissed -like a baby . . . !” - -Between kisses she giggled. “Well, I’m not! . . . I just said you were -as sweet as a baby. . . . I’d like to kiss you a hundred times without -stopping!” Moving her head from side to side that her lips brushed his, -she whispered: “I’m so glad you’re new at this . . . !” - -“Time’s up!” cried Wilfred, flinging his arms around her. Deprived of -any prop, they toppled over on the rug. “You weren’t good!” he murmured -accusingly. “You began it! That lets me out! What do you think a man is -made of? . . . Oh, you darling . . . !” - -“Oh, Wilfred, don’t!” she begged in a panic. “Please, _please_ darling -Wilfred! You’re so much stronger than I! _Please_ let me up! Let me out -of this room . . . !” - -Gathering her up in his arms, Wilfred carried her to the couch. - -Clinging to him, she continued to protest. “Please, _please_ Wilfred! -Let me up . . . ! I demand that you open that door! . . . Oh, Wilfred, -I’m so ashamed. I can’t bear to look at you . . . !” - -“That’s easy fixed,” he said, laughing. He reached over their heads, and -turned out the light. - - * * * * * - -In the small hours the three friends were making their way back across -Washington Square arm in arm, Wilfred in the middle. Wilfred was too -much excited to seek his bed; he had offered to see his two friends -home. Jasper’s face wore a sleepy smile; but Stanny looked disgruntled. -On this night he had had no luck. - -Wilfred’s turgid feelings almost strangled utterance. “By God! but you -fellows are dear to me!” he cried, pressing their arms against his ribs. -“What would I do without you? I suppose I’m drunk. When I froth up like -this I know I make a fool of myself. I don’t care. I’ve got to tell you -how I feel. . . . I’ve been as miserable as hell lately. Well, that’s -over. I’ve made a stage. . . . You think and think and get nowhere. No -fixed point! Like a squirrel in a revolving cage! Like a nebula in the -ether!—That’s damn good, you fellows. . . . Nebula in the ether! . . . -For once I have forgotten myself! It’s astonishing. By letting -everything go I caught hold of something solid. There is such a thing as -joy! Oh, Heaven, it makes up for everything! There is beauty. . . . Oh -my God! but life is good! I wouldn’t change with God to-night . . . !” - -“Oh, for God’s sake!” said Stanny. “One would think you were the first -male!” - -So comic was this explosion of disgust, that Jasper and Wilfred stood -still and roared with laughter. Stanny punched them, laughing, too. A -tension was relieved. They continued skylarking on their way. - - - - - PART FOUR: LOVERS - - - - - PART FOUR - - - I - -On the way to Thursday dinner with the Aunts, Wilfred went around by -Sixth avenue in order to have a look at the news-stand. Yes, the Century -was out! Good old Century in its plain yellow dress, and neat lettering! -Wilfred’s heart set up a slightly accelerated beating. Before paying -over his thirty-five cents, he took the precaution of consulting the -table of contents. “Romance in Rivington Street. . . . Wilfred Pell.” A -sigh of satisfaction relieved his breast. - -Oblivious to the uproar at Sixth avenue and Eighth street, he leaned -against a shop window to get the light over his shoulder, reading the -sentences that he already knew by heart, with a delighted grin pressing -into his cheeks. How human and funny it was! how offhand and graceful! -He had _got_ it that time! At the same time an inner voice was saying -dryly, in Hilgy’s manner: Oh, it’s not as good as all that! His delight -was mixed with apprehension: Would he ever be able to get it again? - -He gave his private ring at the Aunts’ door-bell, that the maid might -not be brought up-stairs from her work. Aunt May opened the door. -Wilfred had shoved the magazine in his overcoat pocket. He would not -blurt out his news. Besides, his Aunts would be sure to say the wrong -thing. Aunt May held up her cheek to be kissed, without looking at him. -It was one of the most amusing characteristics of his people, the way -they took each other for granted. - -The reason for Aunt May’s abstraction was revealed. “I think a rat must -have died under the floor. . . . Huh?” she said sniffing. “These old -houses . . . !” - -“How inconsiderate!” said Wilfred. - -She was already on her way back to the drawing-room, and did not get it. -Wilfred presently followed, carrying the magazine in his hand. - -“I am just finishing a letter,” said Aunt May at her desk. - -Wilfred looked around the room with a warm feeling about his heart. How -pleasant the sight of something that was unchanged. The Brussels carpet -with its all-over design; the skimmed-milk wall-paper with its -neo-Gothic ornaments traced in gilt; the square piano with yellowed keys -and absurd muscle-bound legs; the carved walnut furniture. Could he not -do something in a story with that tranquillizing room, with the whole -quaint little house which was of a piece with it—but no! He was still -too close to it. At the thought of the room up-stairs which had been -his, he shivered with old pains and ardors. - -Wilfred commenced to read the delicious story all over again. - -Having sealed her letter, Aunt May became aware of his smile. “What is -amusing you?” she asked. - -“Damn good story!” said Wilfred. - -“Wilfred! This is not South Washington Square!” - -“Oh, beg pardon, Aunt. They tell me that profanity is becoming -fashionable.” - -“Not in this house! . . . Who is the story by?” - -Wilfred affected to turn back to the beginning. “Chap called Wilfred -Pell.” - -“Wilfred! Give me that magazine!” - -Together they studied the illustration to Wilfred’s story. - -“I don’t think much of that,” remarked Aunt May. - -“Putrid!” - -“Wilfred . . . !” - -“One is prepared for it,” said Wilfred like a long-suffering author. -“He’s made my young lad look like a race track tout. Twenty years out of -date. Why can’t these fellows look about them when they go into the -streets? . . . However, it’s a Dugan, you see. That lends importance to -the story. They paid more for that one picture than they did for the -story.” - -“How unjust!” - -The placid, rosy Aunt Fanny came into the room. - -“Fanny!” cried her sister. “Wilfred’s story in the Century!” - -Aunt Fanny seized the magazine, and while her eyes fastened upon it, she -held up her cheek sideways to be kissed. - -Said Aunt May with a thoughtful air: “Wilfred, how many of those could -you . . . Huh? . . . About the same amount of writing as ten letters, I -should say. And if you had nothing else to do. . . .” - -“Oh, but I have not your facility, Aunt May.” - -“Don’t try to be funny! . . . Say, two a month anyway. . . .” - -“It’s not how many you can write, but how many you can sell, my dear.” - -“Oh, but the cheaper magazines will all be after you . . . Huh? now that -the Century. . . .” - -“Well, I wouldn’t exactly say that. The cheaper magazines have a grand -conceit of themselves, you see. They affect to look upon the Century as -a back number.” - -“All the best people read the Century!” - -“Unfortunately there are so many more people of the other kind!” - -Later, at the table, Aunt May said with a casual air—but her hazy grey -eyes were intent upon her thought: “Wilfred, now that you are becoming -known . . . Huh? . . . you ought to . . . _Do_ sit up straight in your -chair! . . . you ought to go about more . . . !” - -“Why, I circulate like a dollar bill!” said Wilfred. “I am worn and -greasy with handling.” - -“I _wish_ you wouldn’t be vulgar!” - -“Seriously, I have dozens of friends now.” - -“Oh, South Washington Square!” - -“I’m known as far North as Fifty-Ninth street. The Fifty-Ninth street -crowd of artists and writers are _most_ respectable. They sell their -work, too. I know Walter Sherman, and Louis Sala and Frances Mary Lore. -Miss Lore is a special friend of mine.” - -The two Aunts exchanged an anxious glance. “Lore?” said Aunt Fanny. “Who -are her people . . . Huh? . . .” - -“Let me see,” said Wilfred, “her father was a letter carrier in Memphis. -Or else he was the garbage collector. I forget.” - -“Wilfred!” - -“Well, it doesn’t signify, does it? Frances Mary stands on her own -bottom.” - -“_Wilfred!_” - -“Oh, Aunt! I didn’t mean what you mean!” - -“Seriously, Wilfred,” said Aunt May, “you are twenty-six years -old. . . .” - -“We should hate to see you marry on South Washington Square,” put in -Aunt Fanny. - -Aunt May frowned at Aunt Fanny. This was too direct. - -Wilfred grinned at them both. An outrageous retort trembled on his -tongue, but he bit it back. After all, they were dear old dears. And he -was his own man now. “Well, thank God! that’s not an issue,” he said. “I -don’t want to marry and I couldn’t if I did!” - -“You ought to know the people who _count_,” said Aunt May. - -“So I do,” said Wilfred. “In my world.” - -“But that’s a very small world, my dear. . . . Huh? . . . I mean the -great world.” - -“Society?” said Wilfred. “I can hardly see myself performing with that -troupe of trained seals.” - -“And why not, pray?” asked Aunt May, bridling. “That is where you -belong, on both sides of the house. Your name alone. . . . Huh? . . . -the sole representative of your branch. . . .” - -“And you have become quite nice-looking,” added Aunt Fanny. - -“Thanks, ladies, thanks,” said Wilfred bowing. - -“Nor are we entirely forgotten,” said Aunt May with dignity, -“notwithstanding the parvenues who crowd everywhere. . . .” - -“And the girls of that world are so much prettier and more charming,” -put in Aunt Fanny. - -Aunt May frowned at her again. But it was the seeming injudicious remark -of Aunt Fanny’s which arrested Wilfred’s attention, and sent his mind -cavorting down the very avenue that they wished. It was true! The girls -of _his_ world, writers and artists, good fellows as they were—well, -that was just the trouble with them, they were such good fellows! When -women descended into the arena to compete with men, they lost something -of their allure. What cynic had he heard say that? He himself, would -never have dared say it out loud amongst his friends; but was it not -true? And sometimes, confound them! they beat a man at his own trade! -How could you make love to a girl whose stories were in greater demand -by the editors than your own? . . . Why not be honest with yourself, and -confess that you were enough of a Turk at heart to be attracted by the -idea of exquisite girls especially trained and groomed to please men. -Very reprehensible, of course, but as long as there were such girls -going, why not have one? - -Wilfred was recalled to his surroundings by hearing Aunt May say, -casually: - -“Every time we see Cousin Emily Gore she asks after you.” - -So that was the milk in the cocoanut! “Kind of her,” said Wilfred. - -“She has several times given you an opening to call; but you never -would.” - -“That was when I was working for her husband,” said Wilfred. “No sucking -up to the boss’s wife for me, thanks.” - -“Wilfred! What an expression!” - -“But I’m on my own now; the case is altered.” - -“And Cousin Emily says,” added Aunt Fanny, “that there’s such a shortage -of dancing men in society, they’re at a premium!” - -Aunt May looked annoyed. Fanny _would_ say the word too much! - -“Yes, so I’ve heard,” drawled Wilfred. “Low society is really more -select.” - -“Will you call on Cousin Emily Gore? . . . Huh?” asked Aunt May. - -“Haven’t got a Prince Albert.” - -“We are told it is no longer indispensable.” - -“Oh, they’ll take us in anything now, eh?” - -“_Do_ be sensible, Wilfred! . . . Will you go?” - -“Oh well, I suppose an author’s got to know all sides of life—even the -lowest.” - -The two ladies exchanged a look of mutual congratulation. - -“Wednesday is her day,” said Aunt May. “And Wilfred, dear, do allow -yourself to be . . . Huh? . . . As you know so well how to be. . . . -This mocking air may be . . . But not in Cousin Emily’s world, my -dear. . . .” - -It was then, Wilfred saw, Aunt Fanny’s turn to feel that May was risking -all they had gained by saying too much. Their faces were so transparent! -“Cousin Emily takes a special interest in the débutantes,” Aunt Fanny -hastily put in. “They say that this year’s débutantes are the loveliest -in years!” - -“Well I may be a Turk,” said Wilfred, “but I’m not as much of a Turk as -that—no débutantes!” - -“A Turk. . . . Huh? . . .” said Aunt May. “I’ll let her know you’re -coming.” - - - II - -Wilfred knew the Gore house from cellar to garret, from having been -required once in the old days, to take an inventory of its contents. It -was rather piquant to be there now as a guest in a swallow-tail coat. It -was not one of the greatest houses in New York; but ’twould serve. His -hat and coat were taken from him in a horrible entrance hall in the -“Moorish” style, all the rage about 1890. He passed through the library -(which contained no books) all done in red velvet, and entered the -drawing-room behind. The drawing-room, with its great bay-window giving -on the side street, was rather fine he considered; evidently a pretty -good decorator had been let loose in here. But there was far too much -stuff in it. The prevailing tone was an agreeable blue. - -In the bay stood a grand piano, with a great golden harp placed beside -it. Wilfred smiled at the harp. It had not been moved in seven years. -“Why in Hell a harp?” he asked himself. Against the wall facing the bay -stood an immense upholstered settee; and over the settee in the place of -honor, hung the famous portrait of Mrs. Gore by Madrazo. A superb -figure. The rich blue brocade of her corsage seemed to be glued to her -body like wall-paper. - -It was a dinner for about twenty people. Mrs. Gore affected the -Knickerbocker set, whose present day representatives showed a sad -falling off from the picturesqueness of their ancestors. The ladies -affected a rich and dowdy style of dress, still featuring the abdomen; -and the gentlemen also, who ran to bottle shoulders, and a small, neat -melon under their waist-bands, suggested the magazine illustrations of -twenty years ago. Obviously gentlemen, who toiled not neither did they -spin. In America, for some reason, they looked piteous. There were -several more or less subdued young persons present. Wilfred was -introduced to a few of the guests, and left to shift for himself. He was -to take in a Mrs. Varick, an anæmic little woman who kept up a fire of -virtuous platitudes. One could safely agree with everything she said, -while one looked about. - -A little late, when all the estimable guests were visibly becoming -uneasy, a woman entered the room, who changed the whole complexion of -the party. Like a wild bird lighting in the poultry yard, Wilfred -thought. She was about his own age with miscellaneous American features, -not in the least beautiful. But she had the divine carriage of Diana, -and Diana’s arrowy glance. Never had Wilfred beheld that proud, free -glance in living woman. What a glorious spirit it betokened! So defiant -and desirable it rendered him helpless. She was wearing a dress of -tomato red, partly misted with smoke-colored net. Nothing of yesteryear -about _her_! Though she and all her works must have been anathema to the -drab ones, Wilfred observed that they were inclined to fawn upon her. -Obviously, that girl could get away with anything, anywhere, Wilfred -thought. - -At the table he was terrified and delighted to discover that she was to -be on the other side of him. She sat down, talking busily to her -companion. Wilfred stole a glance at her place card. “Miss Elaine -Sturges.” It had the effect of striking a gong. Elaine Sturges! Wilfred -had not been above reading of the doings of the butterflies he despised; -the Sturgeses of North Washington Square; elect of the elect! For -several seasons she had been chief amongst the unmarried girls. It -appeared that no entertainment was complete without her. Merely from -having her name so often printed, the lustre of fame was about her -plainly-dressed brown head; and Wilfred’s imagination was dazzled -afresh. While he sagely nodded his head in agreement with Mrs. Varick’s -ambling comment, he sought in his mind to have ready some arresting -thing to say, when his chance came. But his mind was a blank. - -He happened not to be looking in that direction when a contralto voice -said near his ear: “I say, who are you? Your place card is covered up.” - -Wilfred jumped. “Wilfred Pell,” he said, smiling. - -“I thought I knew all the Pells.” - -“I’m only an offshoot. A scribbling Pell.” - -“Didn’t think such a thing was possible!” - -They laughed, knowing the Pell characteristics. - -Wilfred thought: She has not read my stories. . . . But why should she? -I must say something at once, or she’ll turn back to the other -man. . . . - -When it came, it sounded feeble. “I hate to be asked my name. I dislike -it so much!” - -“What, Wilfred?” she asked carelessly. “Yes, it is rather in the Percy -and Harold class.” - -“One’s mouth takes such a foolish shape in saying it.” - -Her cool, strong glance sought his eyes appraisingly. There was a -thought in her eyes that she did not utter; but he read it. - -“You think Wilfred suits me?” he said smiling, and sore at heart. - -“I wasn’t thinking,” she said coolly. “. . . You have nice eyes.” - -Nice eyes! At that moment it was like an insult. And so good-humored -about it! He struggled with a crushing sense of inferiority. - -“Well, at any rate, you are well-named,” he said. - -“Am I? I thought the original Elaine was a pale, die-away maiden who -floated down the river with flowers in her hair, and her toes turned to -the sky!—But maybe I’m thinking of somebody else. My literary -associations are hazy.” - -“The Lady of Shalott?” suggested Wilfred. “I was thinking of the mere -sound of the name. Elaine! So forthright!” - -“So you think I’m a forthright sort of person?” - -“Rather!” - -“That requires consideration.” - -“How do you seem to yourself?” asked Wilfred. - -“Oh, I don’t know. . . . We are all over-civilized, over-complicated -nowadays. . . .” - -“You are neither civilized nor complicated,” said Wilfred boldly. - -“Well upon my word!” she said, half-affronted. - -“Diana,” murmured Wilfred. “You know that picture at the Metropolitan; a -rotten picture, but a glorious woman!” - -She continued to stare, really amused, as with a baby’s prattle. -Wilfred, as if Mrs. Varick had spoken to him, turned away. I _did_ make -an impression then, he thought; better leave her with it! - -They talked again at intervals during dinner; the usual sort of thing. -Wilfred had no other daring inspiration. However, when the divinely -brave eyes turned on him, he perceived a speculative look in them. At -least I exist for her, he thought hopefully. - -After dinner there was music in the drawing-room (but not on the harp) -and all the guests had to stay put—or so Wilfred supposed. Not having -been sufficiently ready-witted to maneuver himself into a position -beside her, he watched her from down the room. He was sitting beside the -door into the hall. There was a sleek fellow behind her, leaning forward -with his lips close to her ear. He appeared to be able to amuse her. He -was not in the least afraid of her, Wilfred observed with a pang. - -Taking advantage of a little movement among the guests between numbers, -the red girl with characteristic nonchalance came sauntering down the -long room, attended by her companion. Wilfred’s skin began to burn and -prickle. She was headed directly for him. He suffered acutely. He did -not see how he was going to keep his head up if she passed so close. She -had laid a dreadful spell on him. - -She did not pass him by. She stopped, and he jumped up. Careless of who -might hear, she said: - -“Come and sit on the stairs with me.” - -Wilfred followed her like a man in a dream. - -“Thanks, Ted,” she said over her shoulder to the other man, and he -remained within the room. - -Wilfred tingled. Came to me in the face of the whole room! Sent the -other man away! But he was deeply perturbed, too. It should have been me -to go to her, and carry her off. . . . What will Mrs. Gore say to my -walking out on her concert like this? - -Elaine seemed to read his thoughts. “They won’t blame you,” she said -smiling. “They know me! . . . Oh well, poor dears! I like to give them -something to talk about. They lead such dull lives!” - -In the hall, the stairs started off at right angles, and after pausing -on a sort of Moorish balcony, turned and went up in the proper direction -without further divagations. Above the balcony it was rather secluded, -and not too light. Here they sat, Wilfred with a tumultuously beating -heart. There was already a meek youth and maiden higher up. Elaine -permitted Wilfred to light a cigarette for her. Wilfred was astounded at -his situation. Smoking companionably on the stairs with Elaine Sturges! -He had supposed that these girls were so circumspect. However, there was -nothing equivocal in the clear glance. - -“After a season or two, what an experience of stairs you must acquire!” -said Wilfred. - -“Eh?” she said, not getting it—or not choosing to get it. - -“You ought to write a monograph on the subject,” he blundered on; “The -stairs of New York.” - -She smiled inattentively, and Wilfred felt like a perfect ass. - -“I never meet any artists or writers,” she said, “except old and famous -ones. It seems so odd for a young man to go in for it. And a Pell!” - -She means that she thinks its unmanly, thought Wilfred with a wry smile. -“Oh, it’s an easy job,” he said flippantly. - -“You only say that because you think I’m not capable of understanding,” -she said. - -“Not at all!” said Wilfred quickly. “It’s because I can’t appear to take -myself seriously, without feeling like a fool!” - -“Oh!” she said, looking at him as if he had given her new food for -reflection. - -Wilfred felt like a specimen impaled on a pin. - -“Tell me more about myself,” she said presently. “It’s refreshing!” - -“I have so little to go on!” protested Wilfred. - -“That didn’t seem to hamper you a while ago. Make it up as you go -along.” - -“You always do exactly what you please.” - -She smiled inscrutably. “That isn’t very clever!” - -Wilfred felt flattened out. “Well . . . you have entirely false notions -about life,” he said, making a desperate fresh start. - -“That’s better,” she said serenely. “In what way do you mean?” - - - III - -It was after the lawful hours of business. Casting a glance up and down -to assure himself no policeman was watching, Wilfred descended three -steps, and knocked on the shuttered door of the little Hungarian café in -East Fourth street. He was admitted as a matter of course. A haze of -tobacco smoke filled the interior. The cymbaline player had gone home; -and the place seemed oddly quiet. There were only four or five figures -crouching over the tables; habitués of the place. - -Relief filled Wilfred’s breast at the sight of Stanny in his usual -place, over against the wall, his back to the door. Impossible to tell -if he were drunk. It required more than a casual glance to discover that -in Stanny. Opposite him sat Mitzi of course, with her seraphic, -unchanging smile. The wide-eyed, soulless, pretty creature!—Not -soulless, really; one must be fair; soulless only to them. Stanny, -brooding upon her face, was giving everything away in his eyes. Andreas, -the proprietor, passing to and fro with the drinks, scarcely troubled to -hide his contempt. Wilfred became hot with angry compassion. - -Big Andreas greeted him with loud heartiness, the while his black eyes -glittered remotely. They hated each other. Mitzi turned her smile on -Wilfred, offering him an adorable, plump, cruel little paw with short -tapering fingers. That is to say, the kind of hand which is called -cruel, he thought. In reality there was no cruelty in Mitzi; she was -merely docile. Stanny looked around at him without any expression -whatever; and by that, Wilfred knew he was drunk. He dropped into the -seat beside Stanny, and a glass of _tchai_ was put before him. - -“’Ello, Vee’fred!” said the adorable Mitzi “’Ow you was to-night?” - -Wilfred was fully sensible of her magical quality—the quality of a red -rose beginning to unfold; but it left him unperturbed. For one thing she -was too foreign. “Out o’ sight!” he replied. “I don’t need to ask how -you are. You are prettier than ever to-night.” - -“You lie!” said Mitzi, pouting good-humoredly. “You no t’ink I pretty -girl. You t’ink I ogly girl.” - -“Aw, shucks!” said Wilfred. “You know quite well you’re the prettiest -girl East of Third avenue!” - -Mitzi, having exhausted her English, relapsed into her smile. -Occasionally she made a droll face at either Stanny or Wilfred and -murmured: “Aw, shucks!” Mitzi could sit and smile at a man—any man, the -whole evening through without betraying either tedium or -self-consciousness. There was that in her smile Wilfred thought, which -called into being fires she was incapable of comprehending. - -Wilfred was aware that anger was smoking within Stanny. Finally it -puffed out spitefully: “What do you want here?” - -“A glass of _tchai_,” said Wilfred, smiling. - -“By God! I’m sick of this Ten Nights in a Barroom stunt!” said Stanny -passionately. “You’re not my keeper!” - -“Keep your shirt on,” said Wilfred, smiling still for Mitzi’s benefit. -“I don’t aim to be.” - -“Then what brought you here?” - -“I wanted company,” said Wilfred. It was true, but Stanny would not -believe it. - -“If I’m going to Hell, I prefer to go in my own way,” said Stanny. - -“Sure!” agreed Wilfred. “But I can’t help thinking you’re getting damned -little out of this lap.” - -“That’s all right!” said Stanny with drunken obstinacy. - -“What you say him?” asked Mitzi, without in the least caring what the -answer might be. - -“I’m telling him I wish you were my sweetheart,” said Wilfred grinning. -(How sick he was of his own grin!) “That’s what makes him sore.” - -“Aw, shucks!” said Mitzi. - -“What do you expect to get out of it?” Wilfred went on to Stanny. “You -know as well as I do, that the man only puts out his pretty little wife -as a decoy. He never lets her out of his sight. I don’t see how you can -fall for it. With him looking on and sneering!” - -“I wish to God I could see you make a fool of yourself over a woman!” -cried Stanny bitterly. “You wouldn’t be so damn superior then!” - -Wilfred grinned until his nostrils hurt. He had spent the earlier part -of the night walking up and down North Washington Square, gazing at the -lighted windows of the Sturges sitting-room with sick eyes; picturing a -man inside bolder than himself. - -“But I never will! I never will!” said Stanny. “You’re too much up in -the air!” - -“You don’t know me,” murmured Wilfred. - -“Yah! a hell of a romantic feller if the truth were known, eh?” sneered -Stanny. - -Wilfred went on grinning inanely; tracing a capital E on the table with -his forefinger. It created a sort of diversion to have Stanny abusing -him unjustly; it was a counterirritant. He was absolutely sure of -Stanny’s affection. It comforted him a little to lean his breast against -the thorn of misunderstanding. It was the nearest to obtaining sympathy -that he could hope for, he thought. - -After awhile Wilfred said: “Will you come now?” - -“No!” said Stanny. - -But Mitzi, though she could not understand their talk, perceived that -there was something inimical in the atmosphere. Presently she yawned -behind the sinister little manicured paw, and stood up. - -“Well, goo’-ni’, boys. Come round to-morrow.” - -Through sullen lashes Stanny watched the little thing go swaying down -the room and through the curtain at the rear, an unfathomable pain in -his eyes. Wilfred raged internally. A man like Stanny to be brought down -by _that_! What am I raging at? he asked himself. Certainly not at -Stanny; nor at the unconscious, infantile Mitzi. And he had no God to -rage at.—At the same time Wilfred envied Stanny; his pain was so much -simpler than his own. - -Wilfred and Stanny went out on the sidewalk. At the Third avenue corner -Stanny stopped. - -“You had better leave me here,” he said bitterly, but without anger; -“you can do me no good to-night.” - -“How about your doing me a little good?” suggested Wilfred. - -“Don’t make me laugh!” said Stanny. “You’re as transparent as window -glass! . . . If you could only get rid of your evangelical streak!” - -“I don’t want to save you,” said Wilfred. “I just want to be with -somebody. Even you! . . . My God! you’re a selfish beggar!” - -Stanny snorted, and started walking on with that extraordinarily doughty -carriage of his, more pronounced when he was drunk. - -Wilfred fell in beside him. “Oh hell,” he said, “you can say what you -like. I’m not going to leave you. . . . You can come to my place if you -want. Or I’ll go to yours if you’d rather.” - -“I can’t sleep,” muttered Stanny. - -“No more can I. Let’s walk then.” - -When they had gone a block, Stanny stopped short, and faced Wilfred. “I -know I’m a bloody fool,” he said ill-temperedly. “Now are you -satisfied?” - -Wilfred slipped his arm through Stanny’s “I’m a bloodier fool than you, -old fellow, and my heart’s just as heavy!” - -“Oh, for God’s sake!” cried Stanny passionately. “You and your heart! Do -you think I can’t see that you’re saying that just to make me feel -better? Nothing can touch _you_! I wish to God you’d give over trying to -manage me like a woman!” - -Wilfred laughed. - -When they got to the corner of Washington Square, Stanny kept straight -on, and by that Wilfred knew that he was coming to his place. As they -turned in at the old iron gate, rusting under its hundred coats of -paint, in Stanny’s sullen eyes could be read as plainly as if it had -been spoken, his intention of inveigling Wilfred into going to bed, and -afterwards slipping out again. - -As soon as they got inside Wilfred’s room, they started to quarrel -viciously. Wilfred insisted on making up the fire, and Stanny said they -shouldn’t need it. Then about the bed. Stanny all but knocked Wilfred -into his own bed. Wilfred however, insisted on lying down on the -moth-eaten bearskin before the fire. Stanny looked as if he would have -liked to kick him there. - -“You might as well take the bed,” said Wilfred. - -“I’m damned if I will!” cried Stanny passionately. - -“If I was alone, I should be lying here just the same. I can’t sleep, -and I like to look at the fire.” - -“Seeing pictures, eh?” sneered Stanny. - -“Sure, seeing pictures. . . . What fools we are to scrap with each -other, Stanny. . . .” - -“Sure, what fools!” agreed Stanny, suddenly falling quiet and -mournful.—But instantly, he lost his temper again. “You needn’t think -I’m going to take your bed and leave you lying on the floor!” - -“Well, you know what you can do with it,” snarled Wilfred. - -Stanny flung himself into Wilfred’s big chair, and the bed remained -without an occupant. - -The firelight filled the room. The rows of books looked gravely down -from the tall shelves. Bye and bye Wilfred had the satisfaction of -seeing the bitter, down-drawn face in the chair begin to relax. Stanny -took a more comfortable position, and his head dropped over against one -of the wings. But he was not yet asleep. From the borderland he -murmured: - -“She has enslaved my senses. . . . I am besotted . . . !” - -Wilfred murmured involuntarily: “You don’t know it, but you are lucky it -is only your senses. If it was your imagination that was enslaved, there -would be no satisfaction possible; no escape; ever!” - -There was no reply, and Wilfred looked over apprehensively. To his -relief he perceived that Stanny had not heard it; he was asleep. - -Wilfred stretched himself out on the old rug, yielding to the luxury of -pain. Real pain that bit like teeth. For an instant he beheld the truth -with devastating clearness. There was no hope for him. Elaine’s instinct -was sounder than his own. He and she could not possibly find happiness -together. He was a better man than she would ever guess: but his -worthier qualities were sealed to her, and must always be so. Impossible -to reach an understanding. In another way, he was not man enough to be -her mate. How that thought stabbed! But it was the truth. It must be -faced out. Thank God! pain could be borne. He had his own kind of -strength, not at all a showy kind, and Elaine would never perceive it; -but he need not despise himself. Pain fortified him. He looked over -towards Stanny with a feeling of gratitude. In some queer way it was due -to the presence of that solid body in his chair, that he had been -vouchsafed this moment of lucid pain, instead of being dragged as usual, -helpless at the heels of the wild horses of Imagination. - - - IV - -In the winter twilight Elaine and Wilfred were sunk in easy chairs side -by side before the fire in the Sturges sitting-room, the smoke of their -cigarettes mounting lazily. In that serene atmosphere Wilfred was least -serene. Whenever he sat there his heart beat too fast; and the clamorous -thoughts jostled confusedly in his brain. The smiling servants had -softly brought the tea things, and later, had carried them away. A -lovely, gracious life! Should he ever be able to take it as if it were -his by right? The Sturges house was almost exactly opposite Bella -Billings; distant about three hundred yards; but social deeps rolled -between. - -Elaine was sliding down in the deep chair on the small of her back, her -long legs inelegantly thrust out, her feet crossed. Elaine could yield -to any common impulse without losing the quality of distinction, he -thought. The firelight was strong in her resolute face. It was not -beautiful in the ordinary sense. He despised the insipidity of pretty -women. There was something much greater here; character; passion; and -that divine assurance of herself. Whence arose Elaine’s magnificent air? -It was because she held herself one of the elect of earth. Ordinary -people were so far beneath her, she could afford to exhibit them every -kindness. All wrong! thought Wilfred. A preposterous assumption! Yet -there it was! And it beat him down! - -They were good enough friends to be silent together when they felt like -silence. But those silences! At a certain point Wilfred’s heart would -begin to rise slowly into his throat. There she sat a yard away, and so -remote! He ached for her intolerably. Was this love? More like an -insanity. Suppose she were to cast herself suddenly into his arms, would -he know what to do with her? Would he not turn clammy? Did he ever know -what he wanted? An insanity! Being denied her, he ached and burned. -Burned, while he sat still and answered her cool remarks, coolly. Why -was he forced to go on thinking and thinking about her in her presence? -Making figments of her while the reality was at his side! - -Elaine herself never thought, though she liked to suppose that she did: -all her acts, words were struck out of her, instant and bright as fire. -How natural for her to despise one like him! She _did_ despise him -sub-consciously, though they were good friends; her speculative glance -often confessed it. That high air of hers was a continual challenge to -his masculinity, and he dared not take it up. Wilfred believed that she -was just a little higher with him than with others. It suggested that -she believed he was a coward in the presence of women. In other quarters -he had not been considered so. What good was that to him here? By -thinking him a coward she made him a coward in _her_ presence. - -Yet she had singled him out, him, the insignificant scribbler, amongst a -crowd of glittering young men who dangled after her. These hours that -Wilfred spent alone with her had been specially contrived by her. -Nothing happened by accident in Elaine’s busy life. In dealing with men, -she enveloped herself in an atmosphere of high mystery. During Wilfred’s -hour she never volunteered the least information as to how she had spent -the other twenty-three. It tormented him unbearably. He knew that other -men came to the house on other days. He had seen some of them springing -eagerly up the steps. Well, and why not? He had nothing to reproach her -with. She was always clear-eyed and candid. But she ordained how much of -herself each was to have. An hour to Wilfred twice a week perhaps, -leaving him to spend the others in torment. He suffered when he was with -her; he suffered when he was away. His only moment of happiness came -when _he_ went springing up the steps. Things had come to such a pass -with him, he could no longer do his work. - -Why had she singled him out for even these infrequent hours? That he -might talk to her. There was no secret about it. “Nobody talks to me -like you,” she had said once, while her eyes flickered with unconscious -contempt for the young man who was a talker. And Wilfred accepted it, -hating himself. They sat in front of the fire talking like disembodied -intelligences while Wilfred eyed her. - -After such a silence, Elaine said: “The trouble with me is, I don’t know -anything.” - -“Hear! Hear!” said Wilfred. - -“Oh, you needn’t get funny,” she retorted. “It’s something to know that -you don’t know anything. . . . I mean. . . . What do I mean? I mean I -don’t know anything in my head. I know lots of things by intuition. I -think I know more than you do, that way. . . .” - -“Not a doubt of it,” said Wilfred. - -“But the voice of intuition is dumb,” Elaine went on. “I act as I act -without knowing why. There is no residue. Intuition prompts you how to -act at the moment; but it doesn’t help you to lay out a course.” - -How exactly, sometimes, unconscious people can convey what is in their -minds! thought Wilfred enviously. “What about books?” he suggested. - -“Books! Pshaw! Books are a kind of dope!” said Elaine. - -“You read only novels—and those, not the best.” - -“I _do_ read the best!” she said indignantly. - -“I don’t mean the latest best,” said Wilfred. - -“I read poetry, too. . . . But poetry just lifts you up—and lets you -drop again. Oh, I suppose it’s my fault. Really serious books bore me.” - -“There are good novels,” said Wilfred. - -“They get on so slowly!” said Elaine with a sigh. “And when you do -disentangle the meaning, it’s only what you know already.” - -“What is it, exactly, that you are after?” asked Wilfred. - -“Knowledge of life,” she said promptly. “Old people pretend that they -have all the knowledge. I _feel_ that they are wrong.” - -“In what, for instance?” - -“Well, it’s a platitude amongst old people that love always dies.” - -“I don’t know of any book that would assure you that it doesn’t,” said -Wilfred, lowering his eyes. - -“Never mind books. What do you think? Does love die?” - -“What kind of love?” he asked with a sinking heart. - -“What kind?” she repeated staring. “I mean love between a man and a -woman, of course.” - -“Passion burns itself out,” said Wilfred, “but I suppose something fine -may come of it.” - -“Oh, that’s just like an old person,” said Elaine. “The cooling-off -process is hideous to me! I don’t want any left-overs!” - -“Well, what are you going to do about it?” he asked. - -“It doesn’t help to be cynical!” - -“What does your own heart tell you?” - -“My heart tells me that love dies,” murmured Elaine unexpectedly. She -was staring into the fire. “I was hoping for some reassurance.” - -“I hope it does,” said Wilfred flippantly. He observed that his teeth -were clenched together. - -She ignored this. “Even though love is transitory, should we not stake -everything on it, anyway?” she murmured. - -“Everybody must decide that for themselves,” he said composedly, feeling -like a little waxy-faced oracle. - -“But what do _you_ think?” she insisted. - -“It’s too complicated!” he said with a burst of irritation. “I could not -possibly give an answer to cover the whole question.” - -Another silence. - -“Do you believe in the devil?” asked Elaine. - -“In my own individual devil, yes.” - -“What’s he like?” - -“He’s a wet blanket!” - -Elaine laughed. “How original! Mine is a more conventional sort of -devil.” - -“Yes, I know.” - -“How do you know?” she asked quickly. - -“Can’t I have intuitions too?” - -“Well, you’re entirely wrong about _me_,” she said vivaciously. “You -have been from the first. You have a ridiculous notion that I am a sort -of cavewoman. Why, if I were, would I be talking to you like this now?” - -Wilfred smiled into the fire. - -“Oh well, if it amuses you . . . !” said Elaine, shrugging. - -“You know that big statue of Barnard’s,” she presently went on; “I Feel -Two Natures Struggling Within Me”? - -“All rot!” he said rousing himself. “I imagine that is just a little -joke of Barnard’s on the dear public. What he is really portraying is -the Triumph of Youth Over Age! It was a favorite subject during the -renaissance. . . . Two natures! Life is not so simple! That is merely a -theological distinction. Body and soul are _not_ at war with each other. -We can’t get anywhere without Body. In the complete life you would find -Body and Soul pulling in double harness.” - -“But is there ever a complete life?” asked Elaine. - -“Well . . . no! I suppose not!” murmured Wilfred, falling through space. -“It is only an ideal. . . .” - -Their eyes were suddenly drawn together. They exchanged a startled, -questioning glance like prisoners beholding each other from separate -towers. Forever solitary and wistful. They knew each other then. They -hastily looked away, laughing in an embarrassed way; each terrified lest -the other might speak of what he had surprised. But neither spoke, and -they secretly softened towards each other. - -After awhile Elaine got up, and switched on the lamps. She glanced at -the clock. “There’s a man coming directly,” she said. - -Wilfred stood up. - -“Don’t be silly!” said Elaine. “Suppose I _was_ giving you a hint to go, -why be in such haste to take it? It’s not very flattering.” - -“I’ve had my hour,” he said, trying to speak lightly. - -“You said that just like an actor! Oh, I wish I could teach you how to -deal with women!” - -“Well, if it comes to that, why is it always up to the man?” demanded -Wilfred. - -Elaine opened her eyes. “Well, women have to be won, don’t they?” - -He spread out his hands. All wrong! All wrong! But he could not dispute -her. She had stolen his strength. - -“Sit down again,” she said. “You ought to know by this time that I never -deal in hints. What I have not yet had a chance to say is, I want you to -meet this man. An unusual specimen!” - -Wilfred discovered that he still had reserves of pain. Was _that_ the -rôle he was to be called upon to play? - -Far-off in the great house Wilfred heard the buzz of the door-bell. -After an interval the front door opened and closed again with its -opulent thud. He entered quickly, thought Wilfred. There were rapid -footsteps on the stairs. Coming up two steps at a time. Wilfred’s heart -beat suffocatingly. That treacherous heart of his! - -“It’s Joe Kaplan,” said Elaine, shielding her face from the fire. - -“Oh, Joe Kaplan,” said Wilfred with an air of interest. His belly -suddenly failed him. Rising, he caught sight of the grinning, -white-faced manikin in the mirror over the fireplace, and quickly -lowered his eyes in disgust. - -“You have heard of him?” asked Elaine. - -“Who hasn’t?” said Wilfred. - -Joe swept in. “Hello, Elaine!” - -She had risen, and was helping herself to a fresh cigarette from the -mantelpiece. “Hello, Joe,” she said, without looking around. - -Having caught sight of Wilfred, Joe stopped short in his eager progress. - -“This is Mr. Pell,” drawled Elaine. “. . . Mr. Kaplan.” - -Joe jerked into motion again. “I know him,” he said. “Hello, Pell! What -the devil are you doing here?” - -It was said with a good-humored grin, though Joe’s eyes were snapping. -To Wilfred’s relief, he did not put out his hand. Perceiving enmity, -Wilfred had not sufficient self-command to match the feigned good humor. -Inside him there was howling, black confusion. Yet the necessity of good -form was strong upon him, too. All he could do was to stand grinning in -a sickly way. How craven he must appear, knuckling under to Joe at the -first word! - -Joe wasted no time on him. Elaine had reseated herself, and he plumped -into the chair that Wilfred had lately occupied. “I say, Elaine,” he -said; “I saw that blue chow to-day. He’s a sweet-tempered little beast; -but my man says if you want to show him, he’s not good enough. So I -thought we had better wait until something first-class turned up.” - -“But I liked him,” said Elaine. “And he liked me!” - -“Oh, in that case, Princess, he shall be here to-morrow!” - -So Joe has become a sporting gentleman, thought Wilfred with curling -lip. Wilfred was left standing like a clown with a witless grin daubed -on his face. What he ought to have done was to leave, he knew; but he -was incapable of making a good exit; and he would not slink out like a -whipped dog. So he stayed. He sat down on a straight-backed chair a -little to one side of the fireplace, facing the other two. The faces of -Elaine and Joe were strongly revealed in the firelight. It was nothing -to them if Wilfred watched them. - -They rattled on. It appeared that they shared a hundred small interests. -Joe had achieved the precise tone of Elaine’s world. The rattle was all -a blind, Wilfred suspected. The fact that they never looked at each -other, gave the game away. He imagined that he heard a rich quality in -their laughter, having nothing to do with the trifles they discussed. -Hidden things escaped in their laughter. Elaine’s superb nonchalance -might very well be a sham. She could get away with anything. Such a -woman recognized only one truth; the truth of her emotions. Color had -stolen into her cheeks; it was an effort to keep her lips decorous. -Secrets! secrets! between these two! Diana was only a woman of the -flesh! What a handsome male Joe was, damn him! Wilfred felt as if he -would die with the beating of his heart, and the pressure of blood -against his temples. - -Knowing himself, he strove desperately to make a stand against this -madness. You are imagining it all! You cannot honestly say that Elaine -has changed in the slightest degree. She treats Joe precisely the same -as she treated you. . . . - -Elaine sought to draw Wilfred into the talk. “Funny you two should be -acquainted,” she said. - -“Oh yes,” said Joe with a mocking laugh in Wilfred’s direction. “It’s -ten years since we first laid eyes on each other. Remember that night, -Pell?” - -“I remember,” said Wilfred, seeking Joe’s eyes in wonder. Joe’s eyes -skated laughingly away. Clever and daring as Satan! thought Wilfred. - -Joe went on to give a humorous account of the psychical evening at the -house of Wilfred’s Aunts long ago. Elaine was to infer that this was the -occasion of their first meeting. In telling the story, Joe allowed his -own soullessness to appear quite nakedly. He didn’t care; nor, -apparently, did Elaine. It was a good joke. - -Meanwhile Wilfred was working himself up to the point of going. He -finally stood up with a jerk. “Well, I must trot along,” he said in a -thin voice. - -“So long, Wilfred,” said Elaine in her boyish way. - -“Ta-ta, old man,” said Joe ironically. - -You be damned! thought Wilfred, looking straight ahead of him. - -He went out stiffly. Silence in the room behind him. Already! Already! -What if he should go back? . . . Why go back? He knew without going -back. And it wouldn’t shame _them_! . . . Elaine . . . and that soulless -blackguard! All her brave colors hauled down! Abandoning herself . . . -his practised embraces! Oh, Christ! . . . - -He hurried out of the house with a shrieking in his ears. - - - V - -After having resisted the temptation for many days, Wilfred pushed a -button at the door of one of the little flats in the Manhanset Building -on Fifty-Ninth street. He was ashamed to drag his dead and alive self -there for succor; nevertheless a feeling of thankfulness sprang up in -his breast like water in dusty earth. What a blessing it was to have a -place where you could drop in without an appointment, and be sure of -your welcome. Perhaps he could conceal from Frances Mary how far gone he -was. - -She opened the door. His eyes were gratified by the sight of her bland -and dusky fairness; her calm. Frances Mary was always the same. “Hello!” -she said with her ironical smile, while her eyes beamed with -friendliness. She had a quality of voice that worked magic with -refractory nerves. “Come in!” - -She walked away from the door, leaving Wilfred to close it and follow. -If she had read anything in his face she gave no sign of it. - -“Hope I’m not interrupting your work,” he said, trying not to sound -perfunctory. He knew he was interrupting. - -“I was ripe for an interruption.” - -At the end of a tiny hall was her general room, a mellow retreat highly -characteristic of its owner. It had two windows looking northward over -the flat roofs of dwellings below. The effect was of green and brown and -gold. Wilfred looked around him thirstily; it provided just what he -needed then. - -“This room is as right as a natural thing,” he said grinning. “Nothing -sticks out. It doesn’t ask to be admired, but to be flopped in. -Demoralizing I call it. Makes me feel tearful.” - -Frances Mary looked most ironical when she was flattered. “Want a -hanky?” she asked. - -There was a hard coal fire burning in the grate. She put a plump brass -kettle on the trivet and swung it in. - -“Don’t bother about tea,” said Wilfred; “at least not for me.” - -“I want it,” she said. They always carried through this little fiction. - -She moved about the room, bringing out the tea things. She had the gift -of getting things done without any fuss. A tall woman, of an essentially -feminine tenderness of flesh, her glance was not tender but level. The -leaf-colored room was a fit setting for her. Wilfred’s frantic feeling -passed away. How restful! How blessedly restful! Her unexpressed -sympathy was like sleep stealing on. - -He could always count on her sympathy, he reflected, though she rarely -agreed with him. There was a wholesome astringent quality in her nature. -She was not generally popular he had observed with surprise. People -complained that she seemed to mock at everything. They would not see -that her mockery was only a thin shield for her heavenly kindness of -heart. He felt that he alone understood Frances Mary. She had a slightly -invidious smile; and her gentle glance was generally veiled. In -particular, stupid women hated her for her smile. Yet she was what is -known as a woman’s woman; she had devoted friends amongst the best sort -of women. On the other hand she seemed to know but few men, and they not -the best sort of men; women’s men. - -Frances Mary was predestined to die single, Wilfred supposed, watching -her. And she so splendidly made; what a pity! Loved babies, too. But she -lacked any disturbing quality for men. Well, she was one of the rare -women who could do without a man. There would be no souring here. Not -with that serene mind. The happiest person he knew. Noble. If one had -only had the luck to fall in love with a woman like that instead of -. . . well, it would be just the difference between life and death! But -you couldn’t fall in love with Frances Mary. She was too intelligent. A -hollow laugh sounded inside Wilfred. What would be said of a man who -uttered such a sentiment in a story?—But it was true just the same. -Nature disregarded intelligence in the business of mating. Perhaps -intelligence was too modern for Nature. It was a truism that a man’s man -and a woman’s woman were the best types of each sex. What a ghastly joke -anyhow, the whole damned business of sex! The peach-like Frances Mary -doomed to shrivel, ungathered; and he to his Hell of base jealousy! - -She did not look at him while she moved about, nevertheless Wilfred felt -that he was being explored with a faculty other than sight—that -withdrawn glance of hers; that hint of a smile. In haste he said, still -in the tone of one determined not to be perfunctory—he could hear it! - -“How is your work going?” - -At the tone, her smile deepened; but she answered simply: “I’ve been -working at the ‘Æolian Harp.’ I’d like you to read part of it later.” - -“I expect I shan’t like it,” he said. “A little bird tells me you have -been niggling at it. I warned you to leave it alone. It was all right as -it was.” - -An adorable look of anxiety came into Frances Mary’s face. It gave -Wilfred a pleasant sense of power. She came to a stop; looking at him; -biting her lip. “I . . . I thought I had improved it,” she faltered. - -“Your vice is, never knowing when to leave a thing alone,” he said -severely. “You lose sight of the whole in the parts.” - -“I expect I do,” she said with a disarming humility. “Your criticism is -awfully good for me. . . . What are you doing?” - -Wilfred relapsed into the depths. “Nothing,” he said. The blackness was -real enough; but he equivocated respecting its cause. For days past he -had not even tried to write. “I’m still stuck in the middle of my -restaurant story.” - -“What’s the matter with it?” - -“Too damn sentimental!” - -Frances Mary was silent. - -Wilfred found he was not so deadened, but that he could still feel the -pin-pricks of wounded self-love. “You don’t say anything,” he said -bitterly. “You think it’s tripe, too.” - -“Oh, not as bad as that!” she said. “The sentimentality was implicit in -the original design. . . .” - -“Why didn’t you tell me so then?” - -“I tried to, but you wouldn’t have it so. . . . Why not finish it now, -frankly in a sentimental vein; and go on to something else.” - -“Why not advise me to tear it up?” - -“But it has charm. It will sell readily.” - -“You think that’s all I’m good for!” - -She shook her head. “You can be as brutal as you like, next time. Your -Rivington street story wasn’t sentimental.” - -“Ah! don’t throw that up to me! I’ve never been able to equal it!” - -“Every artist knows that feeling!” - -“You manage to maintain the level of your stuff. It makes me sore, you -write so much better than I do!” - -Frances Mary smiled somewhat dryly. “I’ve been at it longer than you.” - -“That hasn’t got anything to do with it. You have an instinct for -perfection, while I’m all over the place!” - -“Perfect stories of perfect ladies to adorn the chaste pages of our -leading family magazine!” she said, smiling still. - -“It doesn’t matter what they’re about, they’re well done!” said Wilfred. - -“I suppose I do write better than you do now,” she said, ceasing to -smile. “But my work is much the same as it was ten years ago when I -began. There is more hope in your unevenness than in my dead level.” - -“I truckle to the editors,” said Wilfred glooming. - -“So you do,” admitted Frances Mary—and laughed when he looked up -resentfully. “But as long as you know it, the case is not hopeless.” - -“I’m no good!” said Wilfred, touching bottom. - -“Have it your own way,” she said. “You are in one of your -self-accusatory moods to-day, and to argue with you only strengthens -your obstinacy. I’ll wait until you come out of it.” - -“It’s not only to-day!” Wilfred burst out. “I shall never write again! -I’ve utterly lost the knack. I can’t put together an intelligible -sentence! I have gone dead inside!” - -Frances Mary looked at him levelly before answering. Wilfred knew that -look. It was to enable her to decide if this was the mere froth that he -sometimes gave off, or if there was really something in it. He couldn’t -tell which she decided. She said: - -“Why not drop work for a while? Take a day or two off to walk in the -country. There is snow on the Connecticut roads.” - -He shook his head. “Can’t leave town just now,” he said, looking down. - -She made no comment. The tea was made. Extending a cup she said: “Try -hot tea.” - -Wilfred forgot his guard for a moment. Raising his eyes to hers, he -broke out laughing. “What a fool you must think me!” he said. - -For an instant, the veil was lifted from her glance too. By his laughter -she knew that he was in real pain. She laughed too. “Perfect!” she said. - -Her laughter; her warm glance made Wilfred feel that existence was a -little less like a vacuum. - - * * * * * - -He allowed himself to be persuaded to stay for dinner. Dinner in Frances -Mary’s flat had the effect of a miracle. Without any heat or fuss or -noise, a little table appeared in the center of the room, and was -dressed in snow and silver. She wafted in and out of the room, keeping -up the conversation from the kitchenette. An enticing odor gradually got -itself recognized, and in a surprisingly short space of time, behold! -there was the dinner on the table, an exactly right meal, never quite -the same as anybody else’s dinner. Like her room, and like her stories, -it revealed the Frances Mary touch. There was even a little bottle of -wine to grace the board. At the last moment she had made an opportunity -to go change her dress. Wilfred, who knew something about housekeeping, -always marvelled how it was done. - -He suddenly discovered a renewed zest for food. “Oh, this is good!” he -said continually; and Frances Mary trying in vain to look ironical, -smiled all over like a little girl. A tinge of color had come into her -magnolia-petal cheeks and her eyes were bright. Feeding herself -abstractedly, she eagerly watched every mouthful he took, and filled his -glass before it was half emptied. They talked shop, and Wilfred -experienced a precarious happiness. Outside of that enchanted haven the -beast might be waiting to rend him—let it wait! - -When the table was cleared they gave themselves up to talk. Frances Mary -had an insatiable curiosity concerning Wilfred’s friends, whom she had -never seen, and his daily doings. He enjoyed feeding it of course; but -was sometimes troubled by the feeling that he was inflicting himself -unduly on his friend. When he remembered to try to draw her out, she was -generally too many for him. - -“What have you been doing lately, Frances Mary?” - -“Nothing.” - -“Tell me about your friends.” - -“I can’t make them sound as interesting as you do yours.” - -“What do you do with yourself? You can’t write all the time.” - -“I ruminate,” said Frances Mary flippantly. - -Wilfred laughed. “I can see you!” he said unguardedly. “I know you so -well!” - -She looked at him quickly, started to speak, and thinking better of it, -pulled down the corners of her mouth mockingly. - -“Oh, sure, that was a fatuous thing to say,” muttered Wilfred, blushing. - -“It’s what everybody says to everybody,” she said. - -“But I ought to have known better. Nobody knows anybody, really.” - -“I don’t know,” said Frances Mary, “when two people live together they -may. Because then they have a chance to watch each other in the company -of others. But you and I travel in entirely separate orbits. The only -point of intersection is your coming here to see me. And you don’t come -very often. And if you find anybody else here you clear out -immediately.” - -“But surely we get more out of it. . . .” - -“Surely! The point I was making is that all you see is your own facet of -me.” - -“Do you mean you show a different facet to everybody?” - -“Oh, nothing so exciting. Alas! I am not different from other girls. I -am always the same—at least I think I am. What I mean is, that you only -see in me what you wish to see, and there is never anybody else around -to upset your self-pleasing notions.” - -“Oh, come!” said Wilfred. - -“It’s just as well,” said Frances Mary with her mocking smile—she was -mocking herself now. “Who wants the truth to be known about oneself? -Especially a woman. Mystery is her existence. No matter how clever she -is, she cannot escape the common fate of woman. Her own concerns are so -unreal to her! . . . Mercy, what nonsense I am talking!” - -A note of real bitterness had crept into Frances Mary’s voice, and -Wilfred felt that he was on the brink of a disclosure. But while he was -still trying to puzzle out her meaning in his mind, he discovered that -he had been hurried on to something else. It was a trick of hers. She -was now asking him about his experiences in society. - -“Oh, I couldn’t keep that up,” said Wilfred with his glib, surface mind. -“It was useful to see a few interiors, and get a line on the way those -people talk; but it’s deadly, really. You can’t let yourself go. It was -cruel hard on a child of nature like me! And Mrs. Gore’s dinners weren’t -as good as yours. Not by a damn sight.” - -“I thought perhaps you might make a friend or two.” - -“Hardly, in that milieu.” - -“That brilliant girl you told me about; Elaine Sturges; she sounded -promising.” - -This name had the effect of a cave-in under Wilfred’s feet. He dropped -sickeningly; the waters of wretchedness closed over his head. Just when -he had succeeded in forgetting it, too. He carefully made his face a -blank. The skin of it grew tight in the effort. “Oh, yes, she has -character,” he said carelessly. - -“Don’t you see her any more?” - -“She leads a crowded life,” said Wilfred. “Occasionally she vouchsafes -me an hour.” - -“How picturesque, such a life!” murmured Frances Mary. “Has she got the -imagination to conceive its picturesqueness?” - -Wilfred attended closely to his pipe. His heart swelled and seemed to -squeeze his lungs. He cautiously drew a long breath. He wondered if -Frances Mary was doing this on purpose, but dared not look at her, for -he suspected that she was looking at him. Her eyes were sharp. - -“Hardly imaginative,” he said, after a pause, as if for consideration. - -“If she isn’t imaginative, what on earth do you find to talk about?” -asked Frances Mary. - -Wilfred thought of venturing a laugh; decided against it. He shot a -glance at Frances Mary through his lashes. She was no longer looking at -him. The line of her averted face suggested the same agonized -self-consciousness that he felt. Of course, he thought, I am giving -everything away, and she feels for me. She has guessed everything. Why -not be open with her? He trembled with a horrible internal weakness. No! -he thought desperately. If I let a single word out, I should go -completely to pieces. Make a disgusting exhibition of myself; this -thing’s got to be clamped down. . . . - -“Oh, she likes me to explain her to herself,” he said lightly. - -Frances Mary let the subject drop. - - - VI - -“This only drives me crazy!” said Joe, suddenly rising. “. . . It -maddens me!” - -Elaine huddled in the big chair, turned sideways and dropped her face on -her outstretched arm. “You’re not so crazy but you’re able to stop!” she -murmured resentfully. - -Joe helped himself to a cigarette from the mantel. “The servants already -suspect,” he said. - -“What makes you think so?” - -“They tap on the door before coming in.” - -“Well, let them suspect! They’re devoted to me. Servants always are.” - -“That may be; but it won’t prevent their talking. And talk spreads from -servants.” - -“I don’t care!” - -“I _do_. If you won’t take care of yourself, I must take care of you.” - -Elaine smiled crookedly. - -“Oh, I’m not taking a moral attitude,” said Joe. “It’s just that I don’t -choose to have my wife talked about by servants.” - -“I have not said that I would marry you,” she said quickly. - -“But you will!” - -Elaine was silent, looking into the grate. She was pale; her cheeks -showed little shadowy hollows. It was a disagreeable mild day -out-of-doors; indoors the fire sulked. - -Her silence shook Joe a little. Darting an uneasy glance at her, he -asked combatively: “Why don’t you want to marry me?” - -Elaine closed her eyes and let her head fall back. Joe’s eyes fastened -on the pulse in her wan throat. “Ah, don’t let’s begin that again,” she -said in a lifeless voice. “It gets us nowhere. . . . I love you! Isn’t -that enough?” - -A spark returned to Joe’s eyes; his lips pushed out a little. “But where -is it going to land us?” he said. “We’ve got to thresh the thing out.” - -Elaine opened her eyes. “Oh for heaven’s sake give me a cigarette and -let’s stop arguing about ourselves.” - -He put the cigarette between her lips and lighted it. “Why don’t you -want to marry me?” he persisted. - -“If I marry, commonsense tells me it ought to be a man of my own -sort. . . .” - -“This is new!” put in Joe. “Where did you get it?” - -“. . . This madness will pass. What would we have then?” - -“You mean one of the slick young fellows I meet around here? How often -have you told me that their smoothness made you sick? You said it was my -commonness and coarseness and naturalness that attracted you in the -beginning.” - -“Sure, I said it; what good to remind me of it now.” - -“I’m only trying to get at your meaning.” - -“Well . . . marriage is an everyday affair—a matter of superficialities -if you like; breakfast, lunch and dinner. We have to live by little -things when this passes. . . .” - -“What makes you think this feeling we have for each other will pass?” -demanded Joe. “That is not like you.” - -“Well . . . everybody says it will pass . . .” - -“Who is everybody . . . Wilfred Pell?” - -Elaine straightened up in anger. She tossed the cigarette into the fire. -“Don’t be common and tiresome!” she said. “Do you think I would allow -Wilfred Pell to discuss my private affairs with me?—or any other man? -. . . What on earth made you think of him?” - -“I dunno,” said Joe indifferently. “I just had a hunch. . . . Just the -same, it _was_ Wilfred Pell.” - -“Oh, very well!” said Elaine hotly. “Then I am a liar!” - -There was a silence. Joe whistled softly between his teeth. - -“Not that I give a damn,” he presently said, good-humoredly. “A man like -Wilfred Pell couldn’t trouble my peace any. I know the white-faced, -hungry-eyed breed. You will always find them in a woman’s room -whispering with her. That’s as near as they get, poor devils! -sympathetic and safe!” - -“Wilfred Pell is a gentleman!” said Elaine. “He is intelligent and -good-hearted and decent!” - -“Sure!” cried Joe, grinning with an open brow. “He is all that; and I am -none of it!—But what does it all signify really, between man and -woman?” - -Elaine was silent, still angry. - -“This is just spinning words,” said Joe, his voice becoming warm. “Why -fight against the inevitable, sweetheart? I am your man! You can’t -resist me!” - -“And you?” she asked. - -“You are my woman!” he said with glittering eyes. “Look at me!” - -She dragged her eyes up to him, where he stood by the mantelpiece, a -tall, muscular figure, displaying himself. He was as finished in -appearance as any young man she knew; and he had in addition, the zest -which had always tormented her in the faces of vulgar young men. Her -eyes grew irresponsible; her face seemed to sharpen. - -“Do you doubt it?” he demanded. - -She shook her head helplessly. - -“Well, then?” - -“I can’t argue with you,” she said, low. - -“You’re the sort of woman that never loves but once,” said Joe. “If you -were to let me go . . . !” - -“Are you threatening to leave me?” she asked, with a bitter smile. - -“Frankly, I can’t stand this,” said Joe. “I must either have you -entirely, or I _will_ leave you.” - -Elaine was silent. Her eyes were hidden. Suddenly she rose, and going to -one of the windows, stood, twisting the cord of the window shade between -thumb and finger, and looking down on the squalid panorama of soiled, -half-melted snow. The old Square looked exhausted and leprous with the -patches of scant dead grass and naked earth showing amidst the snow. -Finally she murmured: - -“I am not sure that you love me!” - -“What more do you want?” cried Joe. “You know your power over me. You -have felt my heart beat against yours. You know that when I come near -you, I am lost.” - -“A power over your body,” she murmured without looking around. - -“That’s the only thing I know,” said Joe coolly. “I don’t go in for soul -states. You’ve read too many novels. For God’s sake let’s be natural -with each other. What else is there but this blind hunger we have for -each other. The big thing that comes only once!” - -“And passes!” - -“Passes? Why do you keep harping on that? Do you doubt your own power? A -woman like you! Are you afraid of common women? You will never lose me -as long as you are sure of yourself!” - -“Then I have lost you already!” she whispered to the glass. - -“What’s that?” he asked irritably. - -She would not repeat it. “I shouldn’t so much mind about you,” she said -slowly, “if I was sure that _I_ could stay mad. That’s what I most -dread, coming to myself!” - -“You needn’t fear,” said Joe smiling. “I’ll undertake to hold you.” - -Elaine continued to look out of the window. - -Presently he said: “I suspect the real reason is, you think I’m not good -enough for you . . . not that I blame you. . . .” - -“That’s not it,” she said quickly. - -“I have never put on any pretences with you. . . .” - -“Oh, no!” she said bitterly. - -“I have told you the whole of my nefarious history. . . .” - -“I wouldn’t care if you had committed a murder!” - -“I suppose people warn you against me.” - -“Oh, yes. Everybody. I don’t listen . . . I live only for the hours I -spend with you.” - -“Same here,” put in Joe. - -Elaine looked at him involuntarily. The little hollows in her cheeks -darkened; and her eyes became liquid with bitter mirth. She laughed -shakily, unaware that she was laughing; paused as if startled by the -sound; and resumed in her former toneless voice: “From the first moment -that I saw you in the field at Piping Rock I was lost. It was your -damned insolence. In half a glance you knew you had me.” - -“Insolence was your line,” said Joe laughing. - -“Then it was a kind of retribution,” she said darkly. - -“You looked at me as if I was something dirty in the road.” - -“You knew you had me!” - -“Well, you had me, too.” - -She shook her head. “There was triumph in your eyes.” - -“All a bluff,” said Joe; “a man’s supposed to look like that. . . . Why, -for weeks after that whenever we met, you went out of your way to insult -me.” - -“A fat lot you cared!” murmured Elaine. - -“And the first night I tried to kiss you,” said Joe chuckling; “Gee! -. . . Remember? Cave woman act. No man ever took worse punishment for a -kiss.” - -“You knew you had me,” murmured Elaine. “You laughed. . . . Oh, God! why -does it have to be so one-sided!” - -“Now who’s agonizing?” said Joe, going to her. “One-sided nothing! We’re -both crazy. It’s just as it ought to be. We would be as happy as kids if -it wasn’t for outside interference . . . I can see exactly what has -happened. Your folks have been keeping after you about me, until you’re -half hysterical. Well, it’s nobody’s business but our own. I am able to -take care of you. Let’s steal away by ourselves and get married. We are -free, white and twenty-one. That’s the way to stop the uproar. Nobody -bothers about a thing once it’s done. To-morrow, Princess—or to-day! -now! My car is at the door. Then good-bye to all worries. Nothing but -happiness—Oh, my God! think of it. . . . Go get your hat and coat!” - -Elaine shook her head. - -Joe drew her back from the window. Holding her within one arm, he -roughly pressed her hair back from her forehead, and kissed her eyelids. -“You can’t fight against this thing, sweetheart,” he whispered. “It’s -stronger than we are. The more you try to fight it, the stronger it -gets!” - -“Oh, don’t!” she whispered between his kisses. “I know it. . . . Oh, if -I could stay like this forever! Oh, God! if I didn’t have to think!” - -“Stop thinking, dearest dear. Come with me and stay with me forever. -Come now! . . .” - -She withdrew herself from his arm. “I will not,” she murmured. - -Joe returned to the fireplace and flung himself into one of the big -chairs. “Oh God! you do try a man’s patience!” he exclaimed. “You want -me, and you don’t want me! Where is this going to end?” - -“I’m afraid of you,” Elaine said suddenly. She had turned, and was -looking at him somberly. The fear she spoke of was not evident in her -glance. - -Joe laughed softly. “That’s flattering,” he said: “for you’re the -bravest woman I know.” - -She went a step or two towards him. She seemed to speak by a power -outside herself. “In our maddest moments your eyes are still measuring -me. You never lose yourself. . . . You should not have forced me to -speak of this. I see that all the things I ordinarily say are mere -nonsense—like the noises made by savages to keep devils off. . . . You -have roused a fever in me that is burning me up. . . . But . . . but -. . . I don’t want to have a child. . . .” - -“Oh, for Heaven’s sake!” exclaimed Joe, startled, showing his teeth. - -The jangling voice recalled her to herself, wincing. She walked unevenly -up and down. “The nonsense that they teach girls!” she murmured. “It -made a rebel of me. I had prudence and obedience and chastity thrust -down my throat until I fell in love with everything that was reckless -and bad. I understood the devil worshippers. That’s how you got -me. . . .” - -“I don’t care how I got you,” said Joe with a secret smile. - -She came to a stop. Her eyes were widely distended and quite unseeing. -She made vague passes with her hand in the effort to express the -inexpressible. “But all that stuff I laughed at . . . religion . . . all -that stuff . . . is getting back at me . . . I mean may be it is . . . -all kinds of things are working inside me . . . maybe there’s something -in it. . . .” - -“You’re talking wildly!” said Joe. - -She shook her head. “I never got so close to naming it before . . . the -thing you don’t talk about . . .” - -“Come here,” said Joe, half contemptuously. - -She shook her head inattentively. “Let me be. . . .” - -He stood up. “Come here!” he said, peremptorily. - -She looked at him reluctantly—and lost herself. A deep blush overspread -her pale skin; her face became irradiated with a confused and imploring -smile. She went to him slowly; shamed and rapturous. - -Joe had dropped back into the big chair. Placing his hands on her -shoulders, he pressed her down to her knees at his feet. “Put your arms -around my neck,” he commanded. - -She obeyed. He pressed his lips to hers. - -“Now . . . _now_ tell me if there is anything in life that matters -beside this,” he said breathlessly. - -“No! No! No!” she whispered passionately. “I want only you!” - -“You see, you’ll have to marry me!” - -“No, Joe!” - -“But I say you shall!” - - - VII - -On a mild, bright afternoon, Elaine and Wilfred ran down the steps of -the Sturges house, and turned east. Wilfred had enjoined Elaine to dress -plainly; and she was wearing a severe tweed coat, and an inconspicuous -hat bound round with a veil. Thus clad, her brave air was more apparent -than ever. Wilfred’s heart beat high. Leaving behind them the big house -which typified Elaine’s crowded exotic life, he felt for the first time -that he had her to himself. Looking at her, he thought: It is impossible -that Joe could reach his grimy paw so high! As usual, I have been -tormenting myself without reason. - -“Now elucidate the mystery,” said Elaine. “Where are we going?” - -“Into the East Side,” said Wilfred. “My stamping-ground.” - -“Slumming?” she asked, running up her eyebrows. - -“No, indeed!” said Wilfred quickly. - -“Well, I’m thankful for that. I’m no slum angel. . . . But why should we -go there then? It’s not done.” - -“I haunt the East Side for my own benefit, not for the East-Siders’,” he -said. “I want to show you something real for once.” - -“You funny man!” said Elaine. “I suppose you think you are sincere in -this nonsense.” - -Wilfred laughed. - -“I warn you it is useless to expect me to be born anew.” - -“I don’t,” he said quickly. “This is no deep-laid plot. Your life -suffocates me. I am never myself in it. I wanted to have you once where -I could breathe: to drag you down to my level if you like. It’s only for -an hour. It won’t injure you permanently.” - -“I am not afraid of being injured,” she said a little affronted. - -“You are afraid of being changed, though.” - -“Not at all!” she said stiffly. . . . “Still, I don’t see why I have to -be dragged through the slums. I shan’t like it.” - -“Oh, your conventional nose will turn up at the smells, and your eyes -avert themselves from the dirt,” said Wilfred; “but there is a grand -streak of commonness in you if one could only get at it.” - -Elaine looked at him a little startled. - -“Instead of a young lady of fashion you ought to have been a camp -follower of the Revolution,” he went on. “I can see you shaking the -Tricolor and yelling for blood!” - -She liked this picture, and showed her white teeth. “You have the -silliest notions about me!” she said scornfully. - -They made their way through St. Mark’s Place and East Tenth street to -Tompkins Square. This neighborhood, still suggesting 1860, with its -plain brick tenements of low height, and old-fashioned store-fronts was -a favorite haunt of Wilfred’s. It was still Irish-American New York, -with the descendants of the original be-Jasus bhoys standing on the -corners. It had the appeal of something doomed; for the old stores here -and there were erupting in showy modern fronts; and the Jews were -creeping in from the South. - -Elaine did not get the special character of the streets, but any comely -individual interested her. There was a stalwart young teamster unloading -his dray, who, confident of his manhood, glanced sideways at Elaine with -daring, mirthful eyes. - -“What charming, wicked eyes!” murmured Elaine, after they had passed. - -Wilfred felt a little crushed. His eyes were not wicked. - -Proceeding farther east, they turned up-town, following always the last -street on the edge of the Island. Wilfred found these forgotten streets -full of character; the utilitarian steam-roller had not flattened them -out. Actually, in the summer-time, spears of grass could be seen pushing -up between the cobble-stones. There was a group of deserted buildings -falling into ruin; and a little general store whose aspect had not -changed since the days when New York was pure American; there was a -smithy, which, lacking only a spreading chestnut tree, might have been -transported entire from up-state. There was a yard piled with junk, -which would have been fascinating to pick over; and there were high -board fences with padlocked gates concealing mysteries. The inhabitants -of the scattered dwellings in these last streets stared at the intruders -like mountain folk. - -He tried enthusiastically to convey it all to Elaine. - -Looking at him with a quizzical eye, she asked: “Would you like to live -over here?” - -“What’s that got to do with it?” demanded Wilfred. “Isn’t it refreshing -after the awful sameness of the other streets?” - -Elaine peered dubiously through a filthy archway leading into a dank, -paved court. “Well, I don’t know,” she said; “I like a place that I -know.” - -Farther up-town, they came to a wide waterside street which had lately -been laid off on made ground. On the river side a row of big new piers -had been built, sticking out into the river. As yet no sheds covered -them; and it was one of the few places in the water-engirdled town -Wilfred pointed out, where one could see the water from the street. The -great shipping interests had still to take possession of the piers; -consequently a confused throng of humble craft were tied up there; -including canal-boats; sailing-lighters (which had once been called -periguas); little old steam-boats laid up for the winter; and a rigged -ship or two, waiting for a charter. Many of these vessels revealed -family life on board. The open piers were heaped with rough cargo that -would take no damage from the elements. The whole made a scene -irresistibly entangling to the eye. - -On the landward side a raw building or two had been run up alongside the -new street to house the inevitable saloon with its colored glass and -gingerbread work; but for the most part the vista was of coal-yards, and -yards for the storage of wagons at night. These were backed by the side -walls of the tall new tenements in the cross streets—not so new but -that the white paint was scaling off the bricks, and the fire-escapes -rusting. From every floor of the tenements extended lines of flapping -clothes affixed to tall poles in the rear. Looking through between the -backs of the houses, one beheld a very blizzard of linen. The sun was -preparing to descend behind the tenement houses, and over across the -wide river, the ugly factories of the Greenpoint shore (no longer -green!) were sublimated by his horizontal rays. - -Wilfred looked around him with a kindling eye. Elaine, glancing at him -askance, said: - -“Interesting if not beautiful.” - -“Oh, I’ve quit worrying about what constitutes beauty!” said Wilfred. -“All I know is, this _bites_ me. It’s because it sums up my town; the -flapping clothes; the collection of queer craft; they could be of no -other town; it’s New York!” - -Crossing one of the streets leading away from the river, they saw a -crowd assembling before the gates of a coal-yard. Little boys appeared -from nowhere, running and crying in an ecstacy: - -“Somep’n t’ matteh! Somep’n t’ matteh!” - -“The rallying cry of New York!” murmured Wilfred. Anticipating ugliness, -he took hold of Elaine’s arm to draw her on; but she resisted. - -“Let’s see what it is,” she said. - -Wilfred had no recourse but to follow her into the side street. - -Two burly young men out of the coal-yard were fighting. It was a serious -affair. Greasy with coal-dust, their faces dehumanized, there was -nevertheless a dignity in the fighting look; hard, wary and intent. One -was a mere lad; a young bull, with round head sunk between his brawny -shoulders, and a remarkable mane of crisping black hair. The other, some -years older, was cooler and warier; not without grace. How vain this -one’s efforts! Though he was no older than Wilfred, on the plane of -savagery his day was already passing; it was marked under his eyes. He -might beat the lad now; but the lad would beat him next year. They were -well-matched; they sparred smartly; and broke away clean; just the same -there was a savage fury behind their blows. - -Wilfred was a little sickened. Yet he had the envious feeling that these -simple brutes possessed a key to life that had been taken from him, -without any other being supplied. The younger man received a blow on the -mouth that drew blood. He indifferently swept the back of his hand -across his mouth, leaving a hideous smear. Had Wilfred been alone, he -would have wished to see the affair to a conclusion, though he could not -have borne to watch it continuously. His eyes would bolt, and have to be -forced back. Now, with Elaine beside him, he was in distress, thinking -of her womanhood exposed to such a sight. - -“Come on! Come on!” he whispered urgently. - -She turned a look of scorn on him. “You wanted me to see something -real,” she said. “Can’t you stand it?” - -“I was thinking of you,” he murmured. - -She seemed to have increased in height; and her face wore a hard, bright -look; in fact, a reflection of the look on the coal-blackened faces. She -is of them; not of me! Wilfred thought sadly. She had not lost the -simple key of life—the heroic key; and alas! he was no hero. He no -longer saw the fight. Before his mind’s eye rose a picture of himself -and Elaine yoked together and hopelessly opposed. Every advantage would -be hers. It would be fatal for him to marry a woman with that strain in -her, he thought; and at the same time his desire for her was increased -tenfold, by reason of her savage, bright eyes. - -There was no conclusion to the battle. A cry of “Cheese it, the cop!” -was raised; and the two combatants, bolting through the ring that -surrounded them, disappeared within the coal-yard. The spectators were -left standing at a loss. A blue-coated officer approached with dignity -from the river front. - -“Hey! Move on there, youse!” he cried, disdaining to enquire into the -cause of the gathering. - -The people reluctantly made a pretence of moving this way and that; but -scarcely left the spot. The bluecoat, with his Olympian air, went on a -little way, and then came back again. - -Still Elaine would not be drawn away. She saw a knot of people excitedly -discussing the affair; and coolly elbowed her way in, leaving Wilfred to -follow at her skirt. - -“Hey! Move on! didn’t I tell yez!” commanded the officer, heading for -the group; and dispersing it with strong outward thrusts of his -forearms. The elegant Elaine was thrust aside with the rest. Up to this -moment nobody had taken any particular notice of her; but the policeman, -observing her dress, looked her up and down with amazement. He did not, -however, address her. Wilfred suffered acutely. Elaine, ignoring the -officer, fell into step beside a girl who seemed to be the source of -information, and Wilfred walked beside Elaine, feeling as ineffective as -a toddling child. - -“What started it?” asked Elaine, avidly interested. - -The girl was a meager little thing, not more than sixteen years old. Her -thin jacket was mended crookedly; her shoes ran over at the heel. She -wore a big black lace hat, which projected far beyond her pompadour like -a fan. She was not at all averse to talking. It was her moment. -Everybody was trying to walk alongside her, pressing close to hear; some -in front walking with heads over their shoulders; all mouths open. - -“T’at utter fella,” she said; “I mean t’ old fella; he’s too fresh, he -is. He t’inks he’s t’ hull t’ing! Me guyl friend, she lives next door to -t’ coal-yard, see? and he’s all a time flirtin’ wit’ her at t’ winda. -Just to show off to t’ utter fellas in t’ yard what a hell of a fella -_he_ was, understand?” - -“Sure, I understand,” said Elaine. - -“Well, it was all right until he begun to holler up at her,” the girl -went on. “Then me friend’s old woman, she got sore, see? If he’d come up -to her respectable in the street, like, she’d a gone out wit’ him, -maybe—but to holler up at t’ winda like t’at!” - -“No,” said Elaine; “it’s not done!” - -“You’re right! It ain’t done! . . . So I says to my friend, I says, I’d -stop by the yard when he was in on his cart, and I’d tell him real nice, -to cut it out, see? And I did ast him just as polite, to cut it out, and -he begun to get fresh wit’ me. An t’en t’ black-headed young fella he -come in on his cart, and he up and tells t’ utter fella to cut it out. -And t’ utter fella, I mean t’ old fella, he begins to cuyse. Such -language! And me standin’ right t’ere all a time! T’en t’ black-headed -young fella, he soaked him one, and t’ey went outside to settle -it. . . . T’at old fella, he’s t’ bully of t’ hull yard. But he’d a got -hisn to-day if t’ cop hadn’t a come. T’ black-headed boy’ll lay him out -cold, yet!” - -“He’s a handsome lad,” said Elaine. - -“He is so, lady! And strong! My! He ain’t but nineteen year old, -neit’er.” - -“Shall you see him again?” - -“Oh, he kin allus find me if he wants me,” she said with a toss of the -lace hat. “I don’t live far.” - -At the corner, the group broke up, and Wilfred was able to draw Elaine -away at last. In his mind he was confused and bitter. Elaine scorned -these people; yet she was able to talk to them without -self-consciousness; he loved them, and could not. All his explorations -on the East Side were conducted in silence. Not only was his tongue -tied, but he knew he had an aloof air which prevented people from -addressing him. - -Elaine guessed what was passing in his mind. She said with a smile: “You -see I am closer to them than you are.” - -Wilfred said nothing. - -“These people interest you, because they are strange to you,” she -presently went on. “They are not strange to me. Just people. . . . All -the same, I’m glad my great-great-grandfather made a lot of money! . . . -Wilfred, if you lived over here, you’d spend your time walking up and -down Fifth avenue, looking in the rich peoples’ windows, and dreaming -about _their_ lives!” - -It’s true! thought Wilfred. She has her own fire, and doesn’t have to -bother; but I can only go about warming myself at the fires of others! - - * * * * * - -They reached one of the little terraces on the East River cliffs. Elaine -swung herself up on the parapet that closed the end of a cross street; -while Wilfred standing below her, leaned his elbows on the stone. Off to -his left ran a little street of brownstone houses a block long, with -back yards dropping over the cliff. Darkness was falling; no one was in -sight. Elaine drew the tweed coat more closely around her. - -“Light a cigarette for me,” she said. “If anybody comes, I’ll hand it -back.” - -Wilfred’s lips caressed the cigarette as it left them. Fascinated, he -watched Elaine’s cool fresh lips close upon the same spot. How sweet -that vicarious kiss! He ventured to move closer to her; and at the touch -of her body, a momentary benediction descended on his agitated -breast—momentary, because he had that to say which would destroy it -forever. - -“Well, has it been a success?” he asked. - -They had walked fast, and the flags were up in Elaine’s cheeks. “The -walk, yes!” she said quickly. “But as for your East Side! . . . Well, I -prefer the middle.” She shrugged good-naturedly. “I’m not a snob. I know -these people are every bit as good as I am; but I don’t feel any call to -herd with them.” - -“Oh well, let them go!” said Wilfred, smiling. (How useless this ordeal! -But he had resolved upon it. As soon as it was dark, he had vowed.) - -Elaine, glancing at him through her lashes, moved away ever so slightly. -The move was not lost on Wilfred, but he stubbornly held to his purpose. - -Looking out over the river, Elaine said quickly: “This view makes up for -any amount of East Side!” - -Wilfred, thankful for the respite, followed her glance. The stream was -like a magical beam of twilight in the dark. It seemed to be the source -of its own blue, darkling radiance. The fading sky held no such -poignancy. The river was both still and subtly perturbed; like a smooth -breast swelling upon inaudible sighs; like a quiet face working with -obscure passions. Out in the middle rose the crouching black rocks off -the point of Blackwell’s Island; the island itself, appeared, pointing -out of the obscurity like a gigantic black forefinger. On it rose the -inhuman prison buildings. Architects are always successful in designing -prisons, Wilfred thought. Further to the left, and high against the sky -sprang the vast cantilever bridge, a rumbling portent of the Age of -Machines. - -Wilfred put his yearning hand upon hers. She snatched her hand away. - -“Oh, Wilfred! not _that_!” - -“Elaine, will you marry me?” he whispered. - -“Oh!” she breathed crossly. “You know very well I don’t love you!” - -“Yes, I know.” - -“Then why on earth . . . ?” - -“I wanted you to know that I loved you.” - -“I knew it. I am not blind.” - -“But I was forced to tell you . . . because it was so difficult.” - -“Oh, you ridiculous man! . . . I couldn’t possibly fall in love with a -man like you!” - -“I know it,” he murmured, while the iron entered slowly into his soul. - -“You knew it all along,” she said. “You are no fool. I was glad to have -you come to see me, you’re so intelligent. But I wondered why you -continued to come.” - -“I couldn’t help myself.” - -Elaine said no more, but looked out over the river, kicking her heel -impatiently against the stone of the parapet. How deeply grateful -Wilfred was, to be spared her pity. How prompt and honest had been her -response—like all her responses to life. While he backed and filled! He -was not even sure at this moment that he wanted to marry her. Was there -not a feeling of relief amidst all his pain? . . . Ah! if he might only -hold her close, close in his arms and stop thinking! - -He said: “You’ll catch cold if you continue to sit here.” - -Lifting herself on her hands, she sprang down. - -“We’ll have to walk a bit before we can hope to find a taxi,” said -Wilfred. - -“What’s the matter with the car-line?” - -“All right. The nearest is on Second Avenue.” - -They walked away from the river in a constrained silence. This was -harder for Elaine to bear than for Wilfred. After awhile she burst out -crossly: - -“Oh, bother! You’ve spoiled everything!” - -Wilfred smiled. “No,” he said. “You get me wrong. I am not bitter, -because I expected nothing.” - -“I think that’s just an attitude,” she said, looking at him shrewdly. - -“Oh well, you’ll see—if you don’t cast me off.” - -She impulsively slipped her hand through his arm. “Oh, Wilfred, I _do_ -want you for a friend!” she said. “I have nobody to talk to but you.” - -Wilfred was very happy. He thought without bitterness: I suppose I am a -poor-spirited creature. Thankful for small favors. He said: “Why not? -That thing is cleared away now. There are no bars between us. That’s why -I spoke.” - -“You have already given me three different reasons for speaking,” she -remarked acutely. - -Wilfred laughed. “All true! Life is not so simple!” - -“You’re a funny man!” - -“You know nothing about men,” said Wilfred. “You only recognize one -quality in men. You want me for your friend, yet you despise me because -I am willing to come in on that basis.” - -“Not despise!” she said quickly. - -“Well, supply your own word.” - -“I don’t mind if you scold me,” she said with unexpected humility. - -Wilfred laughed again, not very mirthfully. “I can be honester with you -now,” he said. “I have nothing to lose.” - -She stopped. “I’ll put your friendship to the test at once,” she said -abruptly. “Let’s not go home. Let’s walk for miles and miles. Have -dinner out.” - -“Oh, _will_ you!” cried Wilfred in delight. - -“Well! . . . you’re easily consoled,” she said dryly. - -“I can’t help but be happy when you are beside me!” - -She dropped his arm. - -They turned Northward again. They went down hill under the bridge -approach, and alongside the towering gas tanks. The next stage was -marked by East River Park, with its row of fancy little brick houses, -circa 1888; then through Pleasant avenue, a raw thoroughfare, belying -its name; and finally through the secluded streets around the Northeast -corner of the island, lined with gaily-painted wooden dwellings like a -village. Not until they had reached the plaza where the red trolley cars -start for the Bronx, did Elaine confess to being tired and hungry. - -“Have you got enough money?” she asked like a boy. - -Wilfred nodded. “We’ll get on the El. and ride back to Sixty-Seventh -street,” he said. “There is a restaurant on Third avenue called Joe’s, -famous in its way; I expect it’s like no place you have ever been in.” - -The neighborhood was not prepossessing; and neither was Joe’s; a -common-looking place with two rows of long tables, ended against the -wall, like a Bowery restaurant. - -Elaine looked about her with bright eyes. “I have never eaten in such a -place,” she said. “I shall love it!” - -“It’s not really as bad as it looks,” said Wilfred. “The commonness is -deliberate. It is designed to attract those who appreciate good food, -but do not like to put on style.” - -“What a good idea!” said Elaine. - -“Well, I don’t know,” said Wilfred. “Joe is a little discouraged. Style -seems to be in the ascendant; and good living on the wane!” - -“I can plant my elbows on the table, and slump down anyhow,” said -Elaine. “Do you think they will allow me to smoke?” - -“We’ll hazard it.” - -Wilfred insisted on ordering champagne. - -“How silly in such a place!” objected Elaine. - -“Oh, no!” he said. “Joe is prepared for it. . . . Besides champagne has -a special virtue. It puffs one up.” - - * * * * * - -Elaine pushed her plate away. “Wonderful food!” she said. “I’m as full -as a tick!” - -She lit a cigarette. There was no interference. Nearly all the other -diners had left now. Wilfred was sitting opposite her with a smile -etched around his lips; gazing at her with half-veiled eyes of pleasure. -Elaine’s look at him became quizzical. - -“Why shouldn’t I be happy?” he said reading her thought. “To-night I -have had the best of you. Our walk together in the dark; our confidence -in each other. If I were your husband I could have nothing better.” - -Elaine’s smile broadened; and he perceived that she regarded this as -mere sentimentalizing. Well, it didn’t matter now. He smiled on. He made -no attempt to explain that his exquisite happiness was due to the fact -that his heart was big and soft with pain. Impossible to convey such -things in words. - -“Besides, I have confessed myself to you,” he added. “I need hide no -longer.” - -“You are hiding things from me now!” she said. - -“Things, but not myself.” - -While she quizzed him, something was working behind it. Her eyes fell. -“I wish I could be happy . . . like that,” she murmured. - -An apprehension of worse to come struck through Wilfred. “You must feel -something the same as I,” he said quickly. - -“Something,” she said. “You’re a dear!” - -The word chilled Wilfred. He hastened past it. “But not content?” he -asked. - -“Happiness seems to me to leave a bad taste in the mouth,” said Elaine, -affecting lightness. - -An exclamation of dismay was forced from Wilfred. “Oh!” Obscurely he had -felt that Elaine was unhappy; but this forced it on his consciousness. -He was thrown into confusion. He could scarcely conceive the possibility -of pitying the glorious Elaine. She suffering too—but not for him! -Still . . . fellows in pain! Compassion welled up in his breast. -Compassion is most due to the strong, he felt. - -“That’s just a phase,” he said quickly. “You knew the feeling of -ridiculous happiness when you were a child.” - -“Oh yes,” she said, “and later than that. That feeling is natural to -me.” - -“It will come back.” - -“I wonder!” - -“There’s a cloud over your sun at the moment; that’s all.” - -“What do you mean?” she asked with a hard look, jealous of her secret. - -It intimidated Wilfred. “I was only speculating,” he said, his eyes -trailing away. Inwardly he was in a panic. Was it Joe? . . . It could -not be Joe. . . . But he knew that it _was_ Joe! The thought was like -the recurrence of a madness. He fought against it blindly. . . . She had -not succumbed. She was fighting. Something must be done to help her! -. . . - -Elaine said, gloomily resting her chin on her palm: “Nobody can help -anybody else, really. Each of us has his own particular hell.” - -“People _could_ help one another if they were sufficiently honest,” -Wilfred insisted. “It requires a terrifying honesty. Once or twice in a -lifetime, maybe . . . I’ve been helped.” - -Elaine’s look upon him was scarcely flattering. It said: Your case is -hardly the same as mine! - -Something must be done! Something must be done! the panic-stricken voice -cried within Wilfred. He despaired of finding the right words to say. He -said nothing. - -“When you’re faced by a serious problem, should you listen to your heart -or your head?” asked Elaine, flicking the ash off her cigarette. - -“To both,” he answered. - -“That’s merely silly,” she said with curling lip. “If they’re warring -voices.” - -Wilfred flushed. “I was wrong,” he said. “It’s confusing. . . . I never -can speak without thinking. You should listen to your heart always.” - -“Ah!” she said, with the air of one who had caught him out. “Then you -believe that passion should override everything; all considerations of -prudence; everything!” - -Wilfred felt his lips growing tight. “Passion does not always come from -the heart,” he said. “As I understand it.” - -“What do you mean?” - -“There is infatuation.” - -At that word Elaine ran up her eyebrows in two little peaks; but Wilfred -somehow found the courage to face her out. A silence succeeded, which -shook him badly. A gush of foolish, emotional speech filled his mouth -like warm blood. He grimly swallowed it, waiting. - -“Suppose one experienced a violent passion,” asked Elaine, with a casual -air which concealed nothing from the man who loved her, “how on earth -would one know whether it was love or infatuation?” - -“By the quality of the object,” he said quickly. “If it was -worthy. . . .” - -“That’s nonsense!” she said scornfully. “If you were infatuated you -would think the object was glorious anyhow.” - -Wilfred shook his head. “That’s where the heart comes in. No matter how -blinded we may be, we each have a voice in our breasts that whispers the -truth. Only we don’t want to listen.” - -“You must have a well-trained little prompter!” said Elaine. - -He looked at her. He could bear her gibes. He held his tongue, waiting -for the right word. - -She said: “I’d have to have some surer guide than mysterious inner -voices.” - -“That’s easy,” said Wilfred quickly. “If your passion is for a worthy -object you feel proud; if it is not worthy, you suffer like the devil.” - -“I wasn’t talking about _my_ passion,” said Elaine laughing; but her -long-lashed eyes were dreadfully haunted. - -“Oh, sure!” said Wilfred, grinning like a man on the rack. “That’s just -the clumsy English language!” . . . Why can’t we speak out! he cried to -himself; I love her so! - -“Well, having got thus far,” said Elaine with a sprightly air that was -almost more than he could bear; “having recognized that one is the -victim of an infatuation, how is one to set about curing oneself?” - -Wilfred shook his head helplessly. - -“What! has the doctor no remedy to offer?” - -“Leave it to time,” he murmured. - -“That might work in the case of an elastic nature,” said Elaine. “One of -those natures that snaps easily in and out of entanglements. But there’s -another kind; stubborn.” - -Wilfred could not speak. Something inside him was pressing up, and he -could not force it back. It was stopping his throat; he struggled for -breath. . . . - -“Anyhow,” said Elaine, raising her chin, “I don’t admit your absolutes -of love and infatuation. What’s the difference between them? It’s all in -the point of view. It’s not the object that matters, but the feeling!” - -The constriction within Wilfred suddenly broke. He heard with a feeling -of surprise, a low, shaken voice issuing from between his lips. “Oh, -Elaine! you couldn’t! He’s rotten! I am not quick to discover evil in -people. But this man is altogether evil. . . . Never mind about his -life. I expect he’s told you; he always does. What he’s done doesn’t -matter. It is what he is! Your nature is clear and open; you _must_ feel -it . . . !” - -Elaine after a quick glance of astonishment, listened with curving lips. -“Of whom are you speaking?” she asked. - -“You know,” he said, suddenly dashed. - -There it was out! He need not have been so terrified, because Elaine was -equal to the situation. She shrugged. “Oh well, it’s no secret that Joe -and I are pals. I should hardly come to you for a testimonial of his -character.” - -Her remote glance, full of pain, assured him that her inner self was -listening to his words. It enabled him to bear her scorn. “Worse than -positive evil,” he said. “It’s a sort of ghastly sterility. He’s a -monster! He cannot feel anything.” - -“Oh, I assure you, you are wrong about that,” said Elaine with her -tormented and contemptuous smile. - -“Lust,” he said very low, not able to look at her then. - -“Well?” she said simply. - -Wilfred was struck dumb by that query. Why not lust? Well . . . why not -. . . ? - -In a moment he went on: “You must not think that I am merely jealous. I -have no hopes. If Joe had never existed, you would not have cared for -me. Remember too, that I’ve known him for ten years. This is not -something that has sprung into my mind since I learned that you. . . . -You _must_ believe that I am honest! I love you! If it was anybody else -but him. . . . I haven’t seen Joe but about half a dozen times in my -life. From the first he has represented to me the principle of evil; -that which destroys us! I have seen how he debauches everyone with whom -he comes in contact. He calls to the evil in the natures of others. He -goes on unharmed because he feels nothing. The thought that he might -obtain a hold on you, a permanent hold. . . . Oh God! it won’t bear -speaking of! It is too horrible. . . .” - -He jumped up as if he were about to run out of the place. - -“Steady!” whispered Elaine. “People are looking. . . .” - -He dropped into his chair; his startled eyes darting around. - -After a silence, she said sullenly: “This is just emotional stuff.” She -turned her cheek on her palm, half averting her face from him. “. . . -Anyhow, I’m not engaged to him.” - -“I know the nature of the spell he exerts over you,” Wilfred went on -more calmly. “I have seen it working; I have felt it myself in a -different way. It is horrible and irresistible—yes, and delicious, too. -Delicious! I say this, because I must force you to see that I -understand. I don’t blame you for feeling it. . . . You think that I’m -something less than a man—Oh, well, never mind about me! . . . But I -want you to know that I never put you on any silly pedestal. I love you -because you’re warm and human, and of the same flesh as me. I don’t -blame you. . . .” - -“Thanks!” drawled Elaine. Her eyes were hidden from him. - -“. . . I don’t see how you’re going to resist it. A pure and passionate -woman! But marriage. . . . Oh, God! . . .” - -“What’s the alternative?” she murmured. - -“Give yourself to him,” said Wilfred quickly. - -Elaine jerked her head up, staring at him in pure amazement. - -“That startles you?” he asked somberly. - -“Not the suggestion,” she said. “I’m no bread and butter miss. But that -it should come from you . . . !” - -“Oh, leave me out of it! Look on me as a sort of disembodied -voice. . . . It would be better than marriage, wouldn’t it?” - -No answer from Elaine. - -“This thing is strong only when you oppose it. Give in to it, and you’ll -discover its insignificance. . . .” - -Elaine looked at him startled; then closely hid her eyes again. - -“. . . Bad morality, but good commonsense,” said Wilfred with a jangling -laugh. - -Elaine said in her casual voice: “They say that infatuation grows on -what it feeds upon.” - -“I don’t mean for a night,” he said bluntly. “Go away with him. Stay -with him as long as you want. He could not take anything from you that -mattered, if you were not bound. . . .” - -She gave no sign. - -“He might reject your offered sacrifice,” Wilfred went on grimly. -“Marriage with you is what he wants. It would be a fine thing for him. -You’d have to insist. . . .” Wilfred’s voice began to shake. “Ah, do not -fight yourself until you are worn out! Beware of that fatal moment of -weariness, when you are willing to give into anything!” - -“Would you take me when I came back?” asked Elaine in an ironical voice -without looking at him. - -“Like a shot!—if you wanted me. However, I have no illusions about -that. . . .” - -Elaine laughed shakily, and bestirred herself. “What a lot of nonsense -I’m letting you talk!” she said in an insincere voice. “One would think -I only had to get on a train with a man to solve all problems! The Lord -knows, I’m not squeamish; but after all, society is organized on a -certain basis; and I’m not prepared to. . . .” - -“Now who’s a coward!” cried Wilfred, facing her down. “You have accused -me of it often enough—by implication. But at least I will face things -. . . even this! . . . What do you want? The sanction and blessing of -society on such a thing?” - -She shook her lowered head. “Not really,” she said very low. “It’s just -that I doubt the efficacy of your remedy. . . .” Then lower still: “I -think . . . that you underrate the strength of such a feeling . . . in a -woman . . . well, in me!” - -“Perhaps I do,” he said with a dreadfully sinking heart. “I am not pure. -I never was pure. . . . But, Elaine, not marriage! . . . Oh, not -marriage . . . !” - -“Come on,” she said. “The waiters are fidgeting. They want to close.” - - - VIII - -She had a sweet, bell-like soprano, which commanded great applause; but -Wilfred disliked to hear her sing. A little too bell-like perhaps; a -suggestion of the metal, however silvery. He was reminded of huskier and -less admirable voices, which nevertheless had the power to bring tears -to his eyes. But of course he applauded Daisy with the rest. He had met -her three times on the occasions of Ladies’ nights at the dinners of a -little club to which he belonged. She sang for her dinner. He was not in -the least attracted to her; but in a circle of serious-minded men, -mostly married, it was up to him to prove his mettle. He could not have -allowed one of the dull fellows to carry off the only girl in their -midst. She was a girl; but not a particularly young one; fully Wilfred’s -own age. So he had taken her home each time. - -She was pretty enough to gratify his fastidiousness, especially as it -was not an obvious prettiness. She wore glasses, which gave her rather -the air of a young school-ma’am; and it was only after reaching a -certain degree of intimacy, that you discovered there were lovely blue -eyes behind the glass. She had too, an admirable straight, short nose, -and a sweet-lipped mouth, a thought too small. Her body was well enough. -She gave an impression of thinness which was illusory. She was a -coquette, and a great fool; and conversation with her was a weariness to -a young man who had a good conceit of himself, owing to her ridiculous -assumptions. But old men and unattractive men crowded around her. - -Wilfred had always found a certain stimulus in the society of a -coquette. It would make him a little indignant to see other men willing -to subserve their pretensions; and when opportunity offered, he was -eager to undertake the rehabilitation of his sex. Moreover, it was -amusing to observe the astonishment of a coquette when her queenship was -coolly questioned. Derision was devastating to coquettes. Unfortunately, -the game was too easy. There was no glory in making a conquest of a -coquette. Dethroned, she forthwith grovelled. - -Daisy lived far up-town. She shared a tiny flat with a girl who was a -trained nurse. To-night in order to make the long journey tolerable, -Wilfred set about provoking Daisy to wrath. - -“What a pretty little wife Dexter has!” he remarked. - -“Do you think so?” said Daisy melodiously. - -“Such eyes, such teeth, such hair! I don’t blame him for keeping her -close.” - -“That is just what you would do, isn’t it?” - -“You bet I would! . . . Sweet enough to eat! Think of having _that_ to -fetch your slippers!” - -“Yes, she looked like a slipper-fetcher,” said Daisy. - -“You wouldn’t fetch a man’s slippers, would you?” - -“You are merely being fatuous!” she said. - -“. . . Like a delicious kitten!” said Wilfred. “All soft and downy!” - -“They live in the Bronx, don’t they?” enquired Daisy, feeling of her -back hair. “She looks as if she had her clothes made near home.” - -Wilfred hooted. “You can’t bear to hear another woman praised!” - -“Not at all!” said Daisy with dignity. “I enjoy looking at a pretty -woman as much as a man does. I have always said so. Women are nicer to -look at than men, any day. And a woman is a far better judge of another -woman’s looks than any man is!” - -“Maybe so,” said Wilfred. “But a pretty woman isn’t pretty for women.” - -“No, only for the lords of creation, I suppose.” - -“You’re rather pretty yourself,” he said casually appraising her. - -“_Merci, monsieur!_” - -“But you give yourself such airs!” - -This line served very well for half a dozen stations on the elevated. -Daisy stiffened her back as if she had swallowed the poker; and her eyes -shot sparks of pure anger through the glasses. All very well; good fun -as long as the sparks flew; but when, at last, she began to pull down -the corners of her babyish mouth, Wilfred suddenly sickened. - -Turning her blue eyes reproachfully on him, she murmured: “Why are you -so hateful to me?” - -His eyes bolted. Why can’t she play the game? he thought ill-temperedly. -Lord! if she turned soft, she would be quite unendurable. He cast -hastily about in his mind for some expedient to tide him over the -remaining stations. He happened to remember that the trained nurse was -engaged on night duty at the time. Affecting to yawn, he said: - -“Gosh! I hate to think of the long trip back again!” - -“It’s not my fault that you live so far down-town,” she said. - -“Believe I’ll stay all night with you,” he said, very offhand. - -Daisy was electrified. “How dare you say such a thing to me!” she cried. -“How dare you . . . !” - -This was splendid! It produced the briskest quarrel they had ever had; -and the rest of the stations passed unnoticed. It carried them down the -stairs, along Columbus avenue, and around the corner to the door of the -apartment house where she lived. Wilfred was tired of it by this time; -and hailed his approaching deliverance with relief. Never again! he -promised himself. She wasn’t amusing even in her anger. What an unworthy -and trumped-up business this girl-chasing was, anyhow! - -“In all my life I have never been so insulted!” she was saying. “I never -want to see you again until you are prepared to apologize. . . .” - -This brought them to the steps of her house. They discovered that the -darkened vestibule was already occupied by a couple engaged in the -business of saying good-night. Daisy quickly caught hold of Wilfred’s -sleeve, and pulled him by. A light broke upon him. She intended that he -should stay! He trembled with internal laughter. His heart began to beat -faster. They walked on a little way in silence. Wilfred, grinning, -studied Daisy’s face in the light of a street lamp. It still bore an -expression of ferocious outraged virtue. What somersaults women could -perform without losing their faces! - -When they got back, the vestibule was empty. He followed Daisy into the -house without anything further being said; and into her own little place -on the first floor above. She closed the door, and turning around, began -in pathetic accents: - -“Now that you’ve forced your way in here, I hope. . . .” - -Wilfred laughed; and seized her rudely in his arms. An instinct told him -that she adored being treated rudely. He carefully removed her glasses, -and put them on a table. There was light enough for him to see her -charming, vague, shy eyes. He discovered that he clasped within the too -artful clothes, the body of a very nymph with slim, boyish legs, round -arms, and small firm breasts. - -“Ah, you pretty thing! you pretty thing!” he murmured, heartily enough. - -“Oh, Wilfred, spare me!” she pleaded. “Not that . . . Wilfred!” - -“What did you expect?” he asked, between his kisses. “That we’d sit here -and hold hands?” - -“But Wilfred, I’ve never . . . I’ve never. . . .” - -“Then it’s high time you did!” he said, laughing and kissing her. - -“Oh, you’re so masterful!” she breathed. - -Wilfred’s arms relaxed. Startled, he tossed his head up, and stared into -the dark. _Masterful!_ Of course, when one didn’t give a damn! What a -horrid joke this business . . . ! - -However, there she waited, expectant. And after all she was very sweet. -One couldn’t be wretched all the time. Here was a drug for wretchedness. -He kissed her again. - -“What was the matter?” she whispered. - -“I thought I heard something,” he said with a lip that curled in -self-mockery. - -“We are quite safe,” she whispered, wreathing her white arms around his -neck. - - - IX - - —— Hospital, - St. Louis. - -Dear Wilfred: - -I came here because it was a good way off, and I wanted to make a clean -break with everything. - -Besides, I was attracted by the reputation of Dr. Shales, whom they call -the greatest surgeon in the world; the superhuman butcher. He’s the -bright, particular star of this institution. It was rather a let-down to -discover that dozens of other girls from all parts of the country had -had the same idea. They flock here in droves. The majority are quickly -sent home with fleas in their ears. But I was accepted. I suppose you’d -say, you idealist, that there was something fine in this crusade of -women to serve under the banner of pure intelligence and skill. But -that’s not the half of it, dearie. There’s sex in it too. But not in my -case. There’s sex in everything, isn’t there, like those horrid little -bugs under damp wood. You’d understand what I mean if you could hear the -nurses talking amongst themselves. Our God, the doctor, is the sole -topic. But not much about his intelligence and skill. Not that you’d -notice! Oh well, I suppose he’s only human. If you were to believe them, -he’s a monster! Thank God! I’m no idealist! I’ve got no illusions to be -shattered. - -My family as you may guess, kicked up a horrid clamor at the idea of my -entering for training here. The poor dears! I suppose it _was_ a shock! -As usual, I was called absolutely hard, unfeeling, etc. However, they -did not say the final word to prevent my coming, suspecting perhaps, an -alternative even more dreadful. I didn’t tell them until my bag was -packed, and I was ready to walk out of the house. Thus the scene was -confined to one tempestuous half hour. I hadn’t told a soul else. Of -course I have been getting letters in sheaves since I arrived. -Sickening, isn’t it, how people give themselves away when they take -their pens in hand? One or two of my friends wrote praising me for the -step I had taken. Those letters infuriated me. I mean, that anybody -should have the cheek to impute pious motives to me. I wrote -deliberately insulting replies. Yet I suppose you’d call them my best -friends. You don’t need to tell me that I am acting a bad part. I know -it. How can I help myself? I have heard nothing from you. Perhaps you -didn’t know where I was, since it has been kept out of the papers. - -As a probationer they have set me to work cleaning up the diet kitchens, -dispensaries, etc. I have learned to scrub. Actually! Right down on my -marrow bones with brush and pail. If the Avenue could see me now! We -work from seven to seven. It’s a ghastly grind, because they -deliberately overwork us at first in order to weed out the weak sisters. -Well, I’m strong. I can stand it, but I’m getting as gaunt as an alley -cat. On my afternoons off, I dress up in my most flaunting clothes, and -rouge my cheeks, and sally forth.—And then I come back again! Never let -anybody persuade you that there’s any dignity in filthy labor! Nor that -it conduces to serenity of mind! I wouldn’t mind if there was any _use_ -in it. Oh, God! how I hate this place! I can’t imagine why I ever came -here. I can’t give it up either, after all the fuss that everybody has -kicked up. The girls of my lot here have made a sort of hero out of me. -They’re poor creatures. This is bad for me, because it leads me into a -swagger. I’ve been in hot water more than once. I can’t stomach these -head nurses, etc. Take a barren, starved woman, and give her authority -over a lot of blooming, sniggering girls, and the result is hellish. - -Life seems to lead us into one trap after another. You notice I blame -life. I’m so damn conceited. I suppose that’s what the matter with me. -In my heart I still think there’s nobody in the world quite like me. Yet -I hate myself too! You shook me a little, and I can’t thank you for it. -Didn’t shake me hard enough, I guess. It hasn’t done any good; it’s only -made life infinitely harder. I wish I’d never met you! Of course I don’t -quite mean that. Once I was happy. Lord! what rosy illusions I had about -life and love and playing the game. That was my slogan: To Play the -Game! I never noticed that I was apt to make the rules to fit my own -desires. Now I have flopped into a sort of sink where everything is -smeary. . . . I grind my teeth and snarl. I have discovered that I am -cowardly, too. That’s the bitterest pill of all. For if I could, I’d -shut my eyes and eat lotuses. I would! I would! I’d crawl back into my -fool’s paradise on any terms, only the crystal dome is busted. I know -there is no escape _that_ way, and I can’t face the other. - -Burn this Old Top, and forget me. - - Yours, - Elaine. - - - South Washington Square. - -Dear Elaine: - -When I read your letter my impulse was to jump on the first train. The -pull was awful! A cry for help from _you_! Very likely you would deny -now that it was a cry for help. You carefully avoided mentioning the -things that were at the back of your mind. But I could read them. Don’t -worry; I’m not going to drag them into the light. Call it just a cry of -pain, then. I know what the pressure must have been that forced it from -your lips. - -But you see I have not come; and I am not coming. From the first my -better sense warned me that it would only make things worse. If I saw -you I would only lose my head, and babble weak, emotional stuff that -would humiliate me, and disgust you. That’s the writer’s penalty. It is -my business to express vicarious feelings. When my own heart froths up I -am helpless. That arouses your contempt. What you do not consider is, -that at the center of all this flutter there may be a firm core, worthy -of your respect. I suffer horribly from the inability to express my -feelings thoughtlessly. By staying away from you, perhaps I can remain a -sort of fixed point in your confused horizon. The fact that you wrote to -me at such a time shows that you regard me in some such light. I must -take what satisfaction I can out of the assurance that you could not -have let yourself go with anybody else like that. You know these things -already. The ghastly part is, that knowing them doesn’t alter the -situation. All we can do is to make private signals to each other across -the gulf. So I am not coming. To see you now; to have you shrink from my -touch, would about finish me. I am glad you let yourself go by letter, -and not in speech. I could not have endured that! If I grovelled and -stammered at your feet, your last illusion, which is me, would be gone. - -I tried to write you last night, but I was too much confused. I was -blind. I am not the one to help you. The only way I can help you is by -being baldly honest. I had to force myself to think. Do not despise the -man who is forced to stop and think when his feelings are rushing him -away. It is the need of my nature. It is the one thing I have to hang on -to in this whirling chaos. And the feelings are not necessarily any the -less genuine. At least I am never finally deceived by the sound of my -own roaring. - -I walked all night. I don’t know that I’m any clearer in my mind this -morning because of it, but I’m dog tired. I’m beyond the point of -considering what I say. I tore up half a dozen letters last night. This -one has just got to go, and God help us both. Whatever I say, or do not -say, it will not mend the situation. One things stands out starkly: the -touch of my hand revolts you. You made that fatally clear. Therefore, -I’ve got to stay away from you. What did you write to me for? I can’t -help you. I’m a man, the same as that other. I can’t be your confessor. -You are contemptuous of my manhood. I’m not even going to try to give -you any advice. Coming from me it would sound hollow. If you did what I -told you to, you would just blame me for all the pain which followed. -There’s got to be pain anyway. You’ve got to make up your mind what to -do, and swallow the pain; just as I’ve got to swallow my pain. We -haven’t had the best of luck, either of us. Well, I won’t die of it, and -neither will you. I am in a deeper hell at this moment than you will -ever know. You, at least, have kept yourself taut, while I have been -wallowing. With no excuse; no excuse! Your letter coming at such a -moment—Oh, well, I’ve said enough. I loathe myself. - - Wilfred. - - -It was Wilfred’s newspaper that informed him of the romantic sudden -marriage in St. Louis of Miss Elaine Sturges to Mr. Joseph Kaplan, both -of New York. The popular society belle (so the account ran) tiring of -the empty round of gaiety, and determined to do something useful in -life, had gone to St. Louis without telling any of her friends of her -intention, and had quietly entered the —— Hospital as a nurse. It was -rumored that family opposition to the Boy Wonder of Wall Street may have -had something to do with her sudden decision. The Sturgeses were one of -the proudest families in New York, whereas young Mr. Kaplan was very -much the self-made man, as everybody knew. - -However that might be, Mr. Kaplan had finally learned of the whereabouts -of his lost lady, and applying the same downright methods that had -characterized his meteoric rise to fortune, had taken the first train to -St. Louis. When he called at the Hospital, he had been refused -permission to see Miss Sturges, since she was on duty. Nothing daunted, -he refused to leave the place until she was produced, and the -authorities were forced to yield. Miss Sturges was called out of the -ward. A few rapid whispered words were sufficient. All in her nurse’s -uniform as she was, Mr. Kaplan bundled her into a taxicab, and they were -driven to the nearest preacher. . . . And so on, and so on, for a column -or more. . . . All the world loves a lover! . . . The honeymoon was -being spent in Southern Pines. Later the happy pair would sail for -Italy. . . . - -Wilfred felt no surprise upon reading this, nor any strong emotion. He -had been through that. Just a bitter sickness of heart. “So _that_ is -what it comes to!” he said to himself. Well, I suppose I may consider -myself cured. - - - X - -Upon his return to town in September, one of the first persons Wilfred -met was Jessie Dartrey. She belonged to the Fifty-Ninth street crowd, -though she herself had no pretensions either artistic or literary. She -and Frances Mary Lore were great friends. Not exactly a pretty girl, -Jessie had a highly individual charm. Long, dark eyes, and a crooked -mouth of great sweetness. Wilfred liked her she was “such a little -woman.” What was the right word for her; doughty? peppery? At any rate, -discourse with her was stimulating. Wilfred had the impression that she -cherished a particular scorn for himself; but he did not mind, it was so -amusingly expressed. When Jessie was roused, she talked purest Saxon. - -He met her on the Avenue as he was returning from a fruitless call at -Frances Mary’s flat. He had found the glass in the door dusty; and a -faded card still in place, with the tenant’s summer address. - -“Hello!” said Wilfred. “I’ve just been up to see if Frances Mary was -back.” - -Jessie’s expressive mouth tightened for a flash at the mention of her -friend’s name, and Wilfred wondered what was up. Had the two quarreled? -“No,” said Jessie, readily. “She won’t be back for another month. The -hills are too fine to leave, she writes. And her work is coming well.” - -“Hard on us,” he said lightly. - -Again that flicker of intense disapproval across Jessie’s face. - -“Come and have tea somewhere,” urged Wilfred. “I’m just back myself. I’m -starving for a little town talk.” - -“So even I will do?” she said with heavy sarcasm. - -Is she jealous? thought Wilfred. What a rum start that would be! “Your -reasoning is faulty as usual,” he said. “There is great virtue in an -accidental encounter. It has changed the fate of Kingdoms!” - -“Sorry, I can’t give you the change to prove it,” said Jessie. “I’m -booked for tea at a house in Forty-Seventh street. You can walk to the -door with me if you want.” - -He turned around, and accompanied her. - -Presently she said with a sharp, sidelong glance of the sloe-black eyes: -“You’re changed since I saw you.” - -“How?” he asked, agreeably flattered. - -“More conceited than ever!” said Jessie, suddenly changing her mind. - -That was Jessie’s way. She had decided to conceal her real thought. In -order to raise a dust, she rattled on: “You always look at me as much as -to say: ‘Oh, mumma! look what the cat’s brought in!’” - -Wilfred laughed, and felt uneasy. What had she seen? Was his face thus -easily to be read in the afternoon sunshine of the Avenue? He made haste -to give Jessie a humorous account of the boarding-house in the country -that he had discovered for himself, and could not recommend. Jessie -punctuated the story with scornful little snorts of laughter, shooting -glances of her bright eyes into his face, that fairly snapped with some -feeling mysterious to Wilfred. - -Arriving before the house where she was expected, they paused at the -foot of the steps. Said Wilfred, concluding his story: - -“Above all, avoid a high-brow boarding-house. Intellectual table-talk is -no compensation for watery hash.” - -At that Jessie exploded. It was not a loud explosion, but it had force. -“You make me sick, Wilfred! Does that reach you? I’d like to smack your -grinning face . . . !” - -“Why . . . go ahead!” said Wilfred, astonished, but grinning still. - -“Don’t speak to me! Or you’ll make me say something I’ll regret! You’re -a fool, do you hear? All men are fools, and you’re the greatest! Oh, I’d -like to take you down a peg! I’d like to do something that would really -_hurt_ you! But you’ve got no feelings! You’re just a conceited grinner! -Stand there and laugh at me, do! Your mouth’s too big; why stretch it -wider? Oh, you’re such a fool it’s past all bearing!” - -And with that, she scampered up the steps without a backward look. - -Wilfred walked home thoughtfully. He was not in the least angered at -Jessie, for her tirade had touched no sore spot. There had been -something beautiful in it; a human who could let all fly like that. Oh, -Jessie was as sound as an apple! He supposed that her scorn would do him -good; there was no tinge of contempt in it. But what on earth was biting -her? He was obliged to reject the imputation of jealousy. She had -rejoiced in showing him that he had no power over _her_. He carefully -went over her words, but without obtaining any clue. Her speech had the -quality of pure vituperation, which bears no relation to the thing at -issue. “Fool” was simply a generic term for one who utterly disgusted -you. - -Then a light began to break over Wilfred, and he became more thoughtful -still. How strange if it should be _that_! he thought. . . . He slipped -into a dream. - - - XI - -When in the course of time, Frances Mary’s door was opened to Wilfred, -he experienced a disagreeable let-down. She was quite unchanged; just as -good-looking; just as comradely. It was an offense in his eyes now. It -might as well have been Stanny or Jasper; there was no thrill in it. -What a fool he had been to let himself imagine things! . . . Why was he -unable to fall in love with Frances Mary? It was because there was no -trace of sex-consciousness in her to arouse a like feeling in him. In -other words it was her finest quality which put him off. Same old -vicious circle! - -He was a little discomposed to find Jessie Dartrey sitting demurely in -the warm-colored living-room. But her manner had undergone a -metamorphosis. This afternoon the downright creature was almost -anxiously friendly. Wilfred grinned at her mockingly; but even so, could -not rouse her to battle. He interpreted her changed attitude as a plea -to allow the little scene between them to be forgotten and buried—and -especially not to let Frances Mary know about it. He was quite willing. -He liked Jessie fine. Very soon she went. - -Frances Mary brought out the tea-things; moving about the room in her -large, graceful fashion. She was telling Wilfred about her summer in the -Vermont hills. She had found a tiny shack, where she had lived alone, -doing her own housekeeping. There were three delightful children who -brought her supplies from the farmer’s nearby. Jean Ambrose and Aurora -Page had had a house in the neighborhood. Frances Mary had made a new -friend in a painter who had come to board at the farmer’s; a diffident -girl, who had come out wonderfully in the end. Other girls had visited -Jean and Aurora, who possessed a spare room. - -An Adamless Eden thought Wilfred, with a tinge of scorn. - -Frances Mary told Wilfred briefly, of the completed novel she had -brought back with her. It was the story of a woman who had married too -late. She did not suggest on this occasion that Wilfred might help her -with criticism. He felt a little jealous and sore. Will I ever have the -constancy to write a whole book? he asked himself with a sinking heart. - -In return he told her about the genteel boarding-house; and about his -long walks over the Ramapo Mountains, which had reduced his mind to a -state of comfortable vacuity. - -“How is your work?” she asked. “Hasn’t it been coming well?” - -“It’s been going well,” he answered with a laugh. “I sold four stories -in the Spring. That is how I was able to go to the country. I’ve got rid -of three more since. I’ve been reeling them off.” - -Frances Mary glanced at him, to see how this was to be taken. - -“Oh, I know they’re putrid,” said Wilfred. “I’ve discovered the -combination. You take a thoroughly nice fellow, and a thoroughly nice -girl, and you invent difficulties to separate them; then you remove the -difficulties. There are three old fables that you can work ad lib; the -Cinderella motive; the Ugly Duckling Motive; and the Prince in Disguise. -Work in a bit of novelty into the setting, and your story is hailed as -Original; a sure go! That’s the sort of thing they fill the backs of the -magazines with; they’ve got to have a lot of it.” - -Frances Mary said nothing. - -“Well, I had to be writing something,” he said; “or I’d have gone clean -off my chump. That was the best I could fish up out of myself. The old -keenness has gone.” - -“How about the mountains?” - -“The mountains did things to _me_,” he said flippantly; “but I couldn’t -throw _them_!” - -“Isn’t there good material in your social experiences last winter?” - -“No,” said Wilfred quickly. Fearful of betraying his inward shiver, he -added: “It’s been done too often. . . . There’s no lack of material. The -lack is in me.” - -She said no more on the subject. - -Wilfred was sitting beside a little table covered with a scarf of -coffee-colored Italian silk in alternate stripes, shiny and dull. On the -table were some of Frances Mary’s precious gim-cracks. She loved little -objects of all sorts, if they had beauty. On this table, a row of books -still in their paper wrappers; a white Chinese bowl, decorated with red -fish, and filled with apples; a small censer of pierced silver; an -enamelled snuffbox; some miniature ivory grotesques; a bit of cloisonné. -Wilfred knew every object in the room. - -Opposite him, sat Frances Mary by the tea-table, watching the kettle, -which at this season did its work suspended over an alcohol flame. With -her bright hair banded round her head in a style of her own; and wearing -a soft draped dress the same color as her hair, what a grateful sight to -the eye! Purely feminine; ladylike—horrible word for a lovely quality. -What was the color of her hair? Wilfred had always termed it sorrel, but -was dissatisfied with the word. Now the right word leaped into his mind; -fallow! Of course! the color of the fallow deer! Fallow! a delicious -word!—But Frances Mary’s veiled level glance and reticent lips rejected -passion. She seemed less sympathetic to him than usual. - -In the silence Wilfred saw the abyss yawning at his feet, and shutting -his eyes, leaped. His limbs were palsied; his tongue clave to the roof -of his mouth. He said stammeringly: - -“Frances Mary, how about you and I getting married?” - -She looked at him quickly, her face dimpling with laughter. “Why, -Wilfred! Just like that! . . . You’re not in love with me!” - -“I’m fed up with love!” cried Wilfred, bitterly, before he thought of -the implications of his speech. Panic seized him. “With the idea of -love,” he hastily added, becoming aware at the same moment, that he was -only making matters worse. - -Frances Mary’s lashes were lowered. Her face showed no other change. -There was a silence. Having taken the leap, and not having met with -annihilation, Wilfred began to discover resources in himself. After all, -the whole truth had to come out; and it didn’t so much matter if it came -wrong end first. - -“I don’t expect you to give me an answer out of hand,” he went on. “We -must talk it out. I know that this must appear to you like just another -of my artificial, self-conscious flights, but if you will only have a -little patience with me, I will convince you.” - -“Could one marry from conviction?” she asked lightly. - -“Yes!” he cried. “That’s the very point! The notion that passion must -decide is fatal. I know it! I know it!” - -“You may be right,” she said with a half smile that he could not -interpret. “By all means let us talk it out!” Her serene glance was -raised again; but it did not rest on Wilfred. She was looking at the -kettle, meditatively. “If you do not love me, why do you want to marry -me?” - -“I _do_ love you,” said Wilfred. “But not. . . .” - -“Not passionately,” she quickly interposed, smiling and looking at him -full; an extraordinary look of remote kindness. - -Wilfred was silent. He was being put in the wrong, though he knew he was -right. - -“Well, your reasons?” she asked. - -“You are the finest woman I know,” he said quickly. This was one of the -questions he had imagined her asking. “I respect and admire you. My -instinct tells me you will grow in my respect and admiration as long as -I live. That’s the only thing that could hold me.” - -She smiled again. He felt resentfully, that she was reading him through -and through. It wasn’t fair, because he was all at sea respecting her. -Still, everything had to come out! - -“You feel that it is essential you should be held,” said Frances Mary, -dryly. - -“Oh Fanny, you make me feel so young!” - -Again that smile from a distance. The kettle boiled; but instead of -making tea, she put out the light. She looked about her. Fetching a -little raffia basket, she commenced to sew a lace edging to a scrap of -white stuff. - -“To live with somebody you trusted!” said Wilfred, moved by his own -words. “Somebody you could be yourself with; to whom you could reveal -your innermost thoughts! To share the same tastes and pleasures! -Somebody who could help you, and whom you might help a little—you have -said it of me. Wouldn’t that be happiness?” - -“You have pictured it all out!” she said smiling. - -“Yes, I have!” he returned, goaded. “I have thought about it, and -dreamed about it! I know you laugh at my mixed mental processes, at the -way I deceive myself; well, I laugh too! Just the same you can build on -dreams as well as thoughts. The soft stuff fades; but something collects -little by little, just from one’s having been deceived so often.” - -She disregarded this. “You do not know me,” she said quietly. “Nobody -knows me. I have made a business of concealing myself. Even in my -stories. Everything I write is just . . . bravura! . . . You only -imagine those fine things about me. Nobody is any better than anybody -else—in some ways. If you thought you were getting a paragon you’d be -frightfully sold . . . so would I!” - -“Not a paragon,” said Wilfred, smiling in his turn. “I know your -faults.” - -“What are they?” she challenged. - -“You are afraid of life. You hate your own emotions. You dissect them -while they are alive. You are much too refined. Occasionally you ought -to be beaten. You have lived too long in your mind; you ought to give -your blood a chance!” - -“What makes you say that?” she demanded, startled and affronted. - -Wilfred shrugged. “I wasn’t thinking,” he said. “It just came out.” - -She quickly regained her equanimity. “Not bad as far as it goes,” she -said. “But you haven’t touched on the worst things.” - -Her quiet bitterness struck a little fear into Wilfred’s breast. _Was_ -there an unsuspected worst in Frances Mary? Oh, well, he was committed -now; no choice but to struggle on. “You have one quality that I hold to -through all,” he said; “your disinterestedness. The finest quality of -all!” - -Her smile became still more remote. “Oh, it’s easy to be disinterested -about things that don’t touch you too closely,” she said. - -This was a facer for Wilfred. He strove not to show it. “I’ll take my -chance of your soundness,” he said. - -She shook her head. “Passion, preposterous as it is, is the only -justification.” - -“I could love you—if you gave me a chance,” he said sullenly. - -Frances Mary laughed suddenly and merrily. - -“I know I’m ridiculous,” he said blushing crimson; “but I mean to see it -through. It’s all got to come out, absurdities and all.” - -“Why marry at all?” she asked. - -“I want you.” - -She looked at him. - -“Well . . . need you.” - -“As a sort of antidote to passion, I take it,” said Frances Mary softly. -All the kindness had suddenly gone out, leaving her soft face pinched -and awry. - -Wilfred was stung beyond endurance. “Yes!” he cried, jumping up. “An -antidote to passion! I’ve seen it and what it ends in. Am I criminal or -foolish to dream of something better? I looked on you as a woman above -prejudice. It’s easy enough to make a joke of me because I’m not playing -the old false game with you. You’ve got everything on your side, the -whole weight of the ages! But I won’t be so easily shut up now; my -foolishness has taught me something. There’s something to be said for my -way, though I’m alone in it. It’s my real self I’m offering you; though -I sound like a fool.” - -She had risen too, and walked away to a table between the windows where -she stood with her back turned. “I’m sorry, Wilfred,” she said in a -muffled voice. “I shouldn’t have said that.” - -When she apologized, it took all the fire out of him. “It doesn’t -matter,” he said flatly. - -Presently, she turned around; but, the light being behind her, he could -not see her face clearly. “Your position is sound,” she said, “and you -have stated it better than you think. . . . Still, what you ask is -impossible. For two reasons; first, I am not the woman you think I am; -second, I must think of myself a little.” - -The cold voice completed Wilfred’s demoralization. “I only admit the -second reason,” he said gloomily. “Of course you must think of yourself. -I am seeking _my_ good.” - -“Why should I marry you?” - -“If you put it to me, the Lord knows!” - -“I do not think you are the finest man I ever knew. In fact I have no -illusions about you.” - -“So much the better,” he mumbled. - -“Then why? why?” - -“Well, I thought. . . .” - -“You thought I loved you?” she asked quickly. - -“Not so far as that. I thought perhaps you might come to. There was -sympathy. . . .” - -She came away from the front table. Her hands were pressed against her -breast; her face tormented. To Wilfred, who was wrought up too, that -seemed natural. “Wilfred, tell me plainly what you have been doing these -last months,” she said breathlessly. - -“I’ll tell you,” he said quickly, “I . . .” - -A cry escaped her. “No! Don’t tell me. . . . !” - -But he was already under way. “I fell in love, as they put it, with a -woman who preferred Joe Kaplan to me,” he said bitterly. “You know all -about Joe Kaplan. She married him. Well, that cured that. Afterwards I -slid into an affair with a woman whom I despised. That soon ran its -course. Then I went to the country and tried to haul myself up by my own -boot-straps without succeeding. That’s all.” - -Frances Mary had returned to her chair. She was sitting forward in an -attitude unnatural to her, her head lowered. “You experienced passion -. . . for a woman you despised?” she murmured. - -“Yes,” said Wilfred. “That’s the point I was trying to make. That’s how -easy it is. . . .” - -There was a silence. Then Frances Mary said in an uncertain voice: “You -had better go.” - -Wilfred stared. “I won’t go for any such reason as that!” he said hotly. -“Are you raising the banner of conventional morality! _You_ . . . !” - -She said: “Suppose I told you that _I_ . . . !” - -“Rubbish!” cried Wilfred. “It would be better for you if you had!” - -“Your ideas are loathsome!” cried Frances Mary with unexpected loudness. - -“This is what I get for trying to be honest!” - -“_Honest!_” - -Simultaneously it struck them what exhibitions they were making of -themselves. They laughed in bitter vexation, and fell silent. They -avoided each other’s eyes. - -“I apologize for shouting at you,” mumbled Wilfred. - -Frances Mary did not apologize, though she had shouted too. - -Presently something changed in her. She looked at Wilfred queerly. -Settling back in her chair, she raised her head. “Wilfred, kiss me,” she -said in a colorless voice. - -He looked at her sharply. Her face was drawn and ugly. His instinct bade -him refuse; but she had told him to do it. He was absurdly under her -influence. He went to her with a hangdog air, and printed a cold kiss on -her lips. - -A little groan of rage was forced from Frances Mary. She sprang up so -suddenly that her chair was knocked over backwards. All in the one -movement, she fetched Wilfred such a smack on the cheek that his sight -was blotted out for a moment. He fell back, covering the place, staring -at her open-mouthed, clownishly. Frances Mary burst into tears; a -catastrophic breakdown; her face working as absurdly and uglily as a -small child’s; the tears fairly spurting from her eyes. Wilfred quickly -recovered himself. He had to repress a desire to laugh. A load was -lifted from his breast. She could feel! Frances Mary put her hands over -her face, and turned away from him. - -“Go! Go!” she murmured. - -Wilfred walked to the other end of the room, and sat down on the couch. -“I won’t go till I get to the bottom of this,” he said. - -“You see . . . you see . . .” she gasped out in her torn voice. - -She loves me! thought Wilfred in a maze. She feels passion for _me_! -What a fatuous brute I have been! . . . Still, the bars had to be -smashed down one way or another! - -“Now you see what kind of a woman I am! . . . You’d better go!” - -“I don’t think any of the worse of you,” said Wilfred, smiling to -himself. - -Careless of her ugly, tear-stained face, she flung around, and stamped -her foot. “Don’t sit there and sneer!” she cried. “It’s intolerable!” - -“Sneer . . . !” he echoed indignantly. - -“Disinterested!” cried Frances Mary. “Oh, Heavens! . . . I don’t think -much of it! Your so-called disinterestedness is revolting to me! You -talk by rote! Prating of love and passion! What do you know about -either? You’re light! What is passion to you? An interesting experience! -You have suffered, you say. You’re quite healed, aren’t you, and ready -for fresh experiments? You know nothing of the agony of repression. For -years! For years! Everything comes out of you like a child’s babbling. -You know nothing of the wolves that tear. . . . Oh, why don’t you go?” - -Wilfred recognized the element of truth in her portrait of him, but was -not dismayed. He could no longer repress the delighted grin. “I’m not -afraid of your wolves,” he said. “. . . I hail them!” - -“Be quiet!” cried Frances Mary. But the new quality in his grin arrested -her. She stared; her angry face all at a pause. - -Wilfred stood up. - -“Don’t come near me!” she cried sharply. - -He laughed outright. “All right,” he said. “I’ll go. But this is not the -end, of course.” - -She drew the old veil over her face. But it was somewhat torn now. -Picking up the fallen chair, she set it on its feet. “I’ll never marry -you now!” she said with extreme bitterness. “However it might be for -your good! Women can’t forget things as conveniently as men seem to do. -This scene would always be present with me. Even when you began to love -me—as no doubt you would! no doubt you would! having resolved upon it. -I should always be remembering how you decided beforehand that it would -be a fine thing for you if you could bring yourself to it!” - -She doesn’t mean a word of it! he thought with infinite relief and -delight. She’s no better than me! He said: “You’re talking pure romantic -nonsense! You might have got it out of one of my stories! . . . You’ve -got something to learn too!” - -“From your experience?” she asked with bitter nostrils. - - * * * * * - -Wilfred walked along Fifty-Ninth street, bemused with wonder. How -extraordinary! How extraordinary! . . . Well, after all I didn’t do so -badly, considering . . . ! - - - - - PART FIVE: HUSBANDS - - - - - PART FIVE - - - I - -Elaine Kaplan was writing a letter in the room that the servants called -Madame’s boudoir; but Elaine called it her sitting-room. Boudoir was a -word she detested. There was a knock at the door. - -“Come in!” she sang out. - -Her husband entered, smiling. - -“Oh,” she said, mildly surprised. “I thought it was Taswell. He sent -word to ask if he could see me at four. . . . You are home early. -Anything special?” - -“No,” said Joe. “I asked Fletcher to come here at four—I didn’t want -him to be seen at my office; and he’s late. So I shall let him cool his -heels for a few minutes.” - -“Something big on hand?” - -“For him, not for me. The fool wants to sell me his newspapers, now that -I’ve stolen their circulation.” - -“Am I to come down-stairs?” - -“You can if you want.” - -“Mercy! I don’t want to see old Fletcher. I just meant, is he to be -entertained?” - -“No,” said Joe curtly. “Fletcher’s on the toboggan.” - -He consulted a pocket note-book. “By the way, can you save the night of -the fourteenth for me? Awful bore, but it would be advisable for us to -appear at the reception for Sir Esme Dordress at the Union League.” - -“Surely,” said Elaine, making a note on her desk-pad. “Who’s he?” - -“A governor of the Bank of England. . . . _En grande toilette_, my dear, -which becomes you so well.” - -“Thanks. Hardly in the best taste at a club reception, is it?” - -“Of course not. But all the other women will. We can let it be inferred -that we are going on to something else, and get out early. . . . Have -one of mine?” - -“Thanks, I prefer these common ones.” - -Lighting up, Joe dropped into a deep chair, and stretched his legs -luxuriously. “Young Taswell?” he said; “how is he making out with the -kid?” - -“I can’t honestly say that he’s doing Sturges any good,” said Elaine; -“but at least he’s doing him no harm.” - -“Rather a fantastic idea, don’t you think? giving the kid a tutor at the -age of six?” - -“Well, I thought he ought not to be entirely in the hands of women. I -have read Pastor Witt’s book on education. It is wonderful what can be -done with them at such an age. But of course Sturges is different. . . . -I wasn’t thinking of education so much, as of the masculine influence -generally.” - -“I would be no good as a nursery companion,” said Joe. “No use -pretending.” - -“I wasn’t reproaching you,” said Elaine with a clear glance. - -“He’s a hard little nut, the kid,” said Joe, smiling at some -recollection. - -“So he ought to be at six,” said Elaine quickly. - -“I shouldn’t think you’d get much literature to stick.” - -“Don’t expect to. Taswell’s much more than a mere literary person. He’s -an athlete. He has a very masculine point of view.” - -“A gentleman, too,” said Joe agreeably. “Damned handsome fellow!” - -“Oh yes,” said Elaine indifferently. “. . . I like him very much,” she -went on. “He pockets his weekly wage, and keeps his head up. I have him -to lunch with me sometimes. He’s interested in so many things. We have -good talks.” - -“I know just what you mean,” said Joe. “Disgusting, isn’t it? the way -nearly everybody licks our boots. Takes all the fun out of life. I’d -like to be better acquainted with this independent young man.” - -Elaine offered no comment. - -There was a knock on the door; and in response to Elaine’s summons, the -one whom they had been discussing entered. A young man who brought with -him into everyday affairs, a sharp reminder of that which is timeless. -He was quite unconscious of it. A wary and a courteous young man, -unabashed in Elaine’s boudoir, yet conveying an intimation that his -astuteness was far from being the whole of him. The handsome older man -received him all smiles; Elaine’s half glance acknowledged his good -looks, but was annihilating in its impersonal quality. - -Taswell, seeing Joe, stopped just within the door. “Oh, if I am -intruding . . .” he began. - -“Not at all!” said Joe cordially. “The appointment is yours. I was only -warming a chair.” - -Courtesies were exchanged. Joe remained standing. - -“How are you getting along with your pupil?” he asked. - -“As well as can be expected,” said Taswell coolly. - -Joe laughed. “Are you fond of the little rascal?” he asked. - -“He’s a splendidly healthy child,” answered Taswell. - -Elaine, not looking at either man, frowned. - -“What do you do every day?” asked Joe. - -“We walk out for an hour if it’s fine,” said Taswell; “with such -conversation, improving or otherwise, as may suggest itself. If we have -to stay in, I read to him as long as he will listen; or help him to -build something.” - -“Don’t you hate to tote a kid around?” asked Joe in his friendly way. - -“Not in the least!” said Taswell, smiling. - -Joe laughed indulgently. “It’s not a job I’d fancy.” He moved towards -the door. “Got a man waiting down-stairs. Hope to see you again.” The -door closed behind him. - -Taswell’s face betrayed no expression whatever; neither did Elaine’s. -She changed from her desk to a more comfortable chair. She was wearing a -loose-sleeved black dress which revealed how full of health was her -pallor. The young man watched her, while courteously appearing not to do -so. - -“Have a cigarette,” said Elaine, waving her hand in the direction of the -big silver box. “Tea will be up directly.” - -Taswell noticed how the black sleeve fell away from the white arm. He -proceeded towards the box. “You are very kind,” he said. “I’m afraid I -cannot stay for tea.” - -“I suppose it is something special,” said Elaine, “since you asked to -see me.” - -He did not answer immediately. He was staring down at the cigarette he -had just taken. “I must give up my job, Mrs. Kaplan,” he said quietly. - -“Oh!” said Elaine, with quickly falling face. “I’m so sorry! . . . I -thought you liked it!” - -“It was a wonderful chance!” he said. “I mean, to be able to earn my -living with two hours’ work a day. You see I’m doing a book, biology, -from which I can expect no immediate return.” - -“Then why give up the chance?” - -“I am doing nothing here.” - -“But I’m satisfied. I didn’t expect a miracle!” - -“The child is too young,” said Taswell. “I cannot get hold of him. The -two hours a day is a trial to us both.” - -“Then why did you tell my husband just now that . . .” - -“Oh, he was simply baiting me,” said Taswell. - -Elaine bit her lip. - -Presently she said: “Is it because you dislike Sturges?” - -“No,” he said promptly. “I like him!” The implication of this speech -might have been had in the involuntarily warm glance which accompanied -it, but which Elaine chose not to see. - -“I mention that simply because everybody seems to dislike him,” she said -proudly. - -“He dislikes me very much,” said Taswell; “but that is quite natural. I -am the Enemy, because I will not knuckle under.” - -“I don’t knuckle under to him,” said Elaine quickly. - -“Ah, you’re his mother; and he’s obliged to recognize you as a fixture. -You must be circumvented; but I can be got rid of, if he is determined -enough.” - -“And are you content to be got rid of?” - -“I know it’s my fault,” said Taswell. “I haven’t got the right sort of -patience.” - -“I don’t set too much store by patience,” said Elaine quickly. “If he’s -naughty you ought to smack him. I would back you up. I smack him when he -is naughty.” - -“He is never naughty with you,” said Taswell with smiling lips and -speaking eyes. His words carried two meanings. - -Elaine’s answer had but one. “No! Because he knows what he would get! If -you were to . . .” - -“There is a difference,” Taswell pointed out, smiling. “Parental -smacking is orthodox.” - -Elaine got up impatiently. The young man’s eyes gleamed at the sight of -that splendid straightening. She crossed the room, and came back. “You -make him out a perfect little monster between you!” she said bitterly. - -“Not I!” said Taswell, quickly. “But it’s a great mistake to suppose -that children are not alive to things. There is a whole world of -intuitive knowledge behind those bright, watchful black eyes of his.” - -Elaine stopped short, looking at Taswell with a kind of horror. Several -seconds passed before she spoke. “He’s just an ordinary naughty little -boy!” she said breathlessly. “There’s nothing special about him! Just an -ordinary little boy!” The words seemed to be torn from her. - -Taswell’s eyes expressed a wonder at the sharpness of her tones. “Of -course!” he said. “Just a vigorous, strong-willed little boy. The real -problem lies in your situation.” - -“What do you mean?” she demanded. - -“You’re so rich!” he said. - -“What difference does that make to him?” she asked haughtily. “If he has -always lived in a big house, where the wheels are greased, and the -proper things appear at the proper times—if he has never known anything -different, how could his character be affected by it?” - -“It isn’t the big house, and the comforts. It’s being surrounded by -servants; people subservient to him.” - -“That’s why I wanted somebody like you.” - -“Exactly,” he said good-humoredly. “But . . .” He spread out his hands. - -“If you had a small son of your own,” she demanded, not without scorn, -“would you not know how to deal with him?” - -“Oh, yes!” said Taswell quickly, with a secret look of resolution and -amusement. - -Elaine was a little baffled. “Take Nurse,” she said argumentatively; “I -searched over two continents until I found the one woman who . . .” - -“An admirable person!” said Taswell. “I’m sure you couldn’t do better.” - -They exchanged a look. Elaine was the first to turn her eyes away. A -subterranean understanding was created; and because of it Elaine was -silently obliged to abandon her position. She resumed her pacing. The -young man watched her, clearly not thinking of the child. - -Presently she began to speak in a low, moved voice, more to herself than -to him. “I’ll find a way . . . somehow! Not necessarily through books -and learning. There are other ways of making a good life. . . . When -he’s a little older I will take him away. To Wyoming. There will be no -servants there. I will ride with him, and shoot with him, and go on -hikes. I can make a boy of myself . . . !” She turned on the silent -Taswell as if he were opposing her. Her deep bosom rose and fell under -the black silk; her glance made the young man think of Boadicea fronting -the Roman legions. “In spite of everything . . . _everything_. I will -make a man of him! _My_ kind of man! Nothing can stand against a -determination such as mine. Half of him is of me. I have character. I -will strike it into him!” - -Taswell had risen. His air of astuteness was gone. He gazed at her, rapt -and saddened. It was not her words, but her look of indomitable despair. -“Oh, Mrs. Kaplan . . . !” he murmured. - -The sound of his voice recalled Elaine to her usual self. Turning, and -affecting to straighten some objects on her desk, she said in a muffled -voice: “You have been awfully decent. I quite appreciate your position. -When would you like to go?” - -He roused himself. He put down the cigarette which he had never lighted. -“At your convenience,” he said, lowering his eyes. “As soon as -possible.” - -“You are quite right. There is no use dragging on with a situation once -you discover that it has become impossible. You needn’t come back to -Sturges again.” - -“Thank you,” he murmured. - -She approached him as if to say good-bye. “I shall always be glad to see -you, though. I’ll send you a check.” - -Taswell, sensible young man as he was, was hurt to the quick. “Oh, Mrs. -Kaplan . . . !” he said, very differently from the first time. - -“Why . . . what’s the matter?” asked Elaine, surprised. - -He raised his eyes full to hers. “I love you,” he said. - -Elaine turned away with a quick movement. Taswell’s eyes fastened on the -white V of her back that showed, instinct with life, under the dead -silk. After a moment or two she said coldly: “Why did you feel it -necessary to tell me that?” - -“I didn’t ‘feel it necessary’,” he said sorely. “It sprang out of -me. . . . What harm can it do? I am going.” - -“Oh, no particular harm,” she said. “But I hate to be made to appear -unfeeling. . . . All this sort of thing simply makes me impatient, it’s -so . . . so . . . I don’t know. Men feel obliged to whoop themselves up -to it, and women to simper.” She looked around at him scornfully. “What, -really, Taswell! A man of your capacity! How can you expect to do any -serious work?” - -“I can’t . . . now,” he muttered, avoiding her glance. - -“Why, I must be seven or eight years older than you.” - -“Oh!” he said painfully, sweeping away the suggestion. - -“Love . . . ! Bah! Excuse _me_!” - -The young man raised his head quickly. A dark flush was creeping up from -his neck. “I’m not ashamed of loving you, if it comes to that,” he said. - -Elaine, with a side glance at him, modified her tone. “I’m not getting -at you, Taswell. You’re an honest, generous fellow. I like you very -much. You speak my lingo. . . . Much too good a fellow to be making -love. I’m fed up with love. I’m sorry, but the mere mention of love -brings out my worst side. Ugh! these fashionable women with their sleek -lovers! There isn’t a throb of honest passion in the pack of them! I -_hate_ love . . . !” - -He raised his sullen eyes to hers again. That was just it! his eyes -said. So do I! - -“Once I suppose love was a splendid thing,” she swept on, “but since -we’ve become so civilized or self-conscious, or whatever it is, it has -turned into rather a slimy business, don’t you think? As soon as men -began to dwell on their own animal instincts, and make up fine-sounding -names for them—Ugh! what a nasty business . . . !” - -“I should like to kill him,” the young man murmured. - -Elaine instantly threw off her preoccupation with love, and gave him -undivided attention. “Now look here, Taswell, you’re simply being -carried away by an emotional tornado. Come to! Use you head, man! In -order to justify your feelings, you are pretending to yourself that I’m -a misunderstood and unappreciated woman cooped up here in my gilded -cage, and all that rot! There is nothing in it! You’ve been in and out -of the house during the last two months, and have used your eyes, I -suppose. Well, I assure you, you have seen all there is to see. There is -no horrid mystery. Nobody abuses me. Do I look like a woman who would -submit to abuse? Should I ever be neglected, it would be because I -willed it. I am happier than the run of women because I know exactly -where I stand with myself!” - -“That is worse!” he murmured. - -“You are not listening to me!” she cried angrily. “. . . What is worse?” - -“Wasted . . . ! A woman like you . . . ! Like a fire in the night . . . -!” - -“Oh my God!” cried Elaine. “Am I wasted because I choose to set my heart -on a child, instead of a man? What a little you know!” - - - II - -Wilfred raised his eyes from the typewritten sheets to ask sharply: “Are -you listening Fanny?” - -“Why of course!” she said, looking across in surprise. - -“You seemed so intent on your stocking.” - -“That’s automatic. My ears are yours. Go on.” - -Five minutes later, Wilfred turned over the last sheet. He tipped the -tin shade of the lamp in order to direct the light more fully on Frances -Mary’s side of the table; and reached for his pipe. “That’s about all I -can do to that,” he said, with an after gleam of pleasure in his eye. - -“There are beautiful things in it,” said Frances Mary. - -Wilfred was pulled up all standing. “Things?” he said, looking across at -her, flicked on the raw. “Then you don’t think . . . ?” - -“Something wrong,” she said, avoiding his glance; thoughtfully biting -the darning needle. - -“Oh, for God’s sake . . . !” said Wilfred, putting down his pipe. - -“Why throw the second girl into the man’s arms?” - -“But I’ve made it clear from the beginning that she was the right one -for him.” - -“I know; but the real business of the story is between the other two; -and the pleasant touch at the end takes the edge off its grim reality.” - -“A happy ending is not in itself inartistic,” said Wilfred combatively. - -“Of course not! But in this case . . .” - -“I could cut out their actual coming together,” said Wilfred, very -reluctantly; “and just leave the second girl in the offing . . .” - -She shook her head. “The suggestion would be the same.” - -“It wouldn’t sell,” said Wilfred sullenly. - -“This one was not supposed to be a seller,” said Fanny. “This was your -holiday.” - -“Damn it! if I cut her out altogether, I’d have to rewrite the whole -thing!” he cried excitedly. - -Frances Mary said nothing. - -“Why didn’t you say so in the beginning?” - -“It just struck me, Wilfred.” - -He jumped up, half beside himself. “All my work has gone for nothing -now!” he burst out. “I work for days and you destroy it with a word! You -know I can’t afford to spend any more time on something that wont sell!” - -He flung out of the room. Frances Mary, pricking her upper lip with the -needle, sat looking at the door as if her whole being was outside it. -She had been taught that it would make matters worse for her to follow. -For many minutes she sat listening and waiting. - -Wilfred came in again, horribly self-conscious. Marching up to his wife, -and tipping her head back, he kissed her lips. She kept her hands -squeezed together, and held her tongue; but could not help her lips from -clinging. - -“I’m sorry,” said Wilfred with a ridiculous hangdog air. “I’m so damned -ill-tempered I’m a burden to myself!” He returned to his chair, keeping -his face averted from the light. - -Frances Mary’s head was lowered, and tears dropped on the stocking; but -her mouth was happily curved. - -“You’re right about the story, of course,” said Wilfred doggedly. “It’s -hard for me to shake off the romantic stuff that I deal in every day -. . . I ought to have a job of some kind. Pegasus becomes spavined in -the milkcart. . . .” As he forced himself to speak on, it visibly became -less difficult. It was almost cheerfully that he said at last: “I wont -have to rewrite the whole thing of course. I can do it in a day if I get -an early start. It will be twice as good.” He drew a long breath, and -let it escape again. He reached for his pipe. - -When she knew by the sounds that he was intent upon filling it, Frances -Mary darted a look across. Her eyes, still wet, were lighted with fun. - -After a bit she murmured: “You’re working too hard.” - -He shook his head. “It isn’t overwork that makes me irritable. It’s the -hundreds of little distractions and interruptions; ordinary business of -life. When I’m working, it hurts like needles to be dragged back. So by -the time night comes . . .” he finished with a shrug. - -“I know,” she said. - -“But it’s nothing to worry about,” he went on. “It’s not a disease, but -a condition. It’s the inevitable result of our circumstances, and I must -just put up with it until they improve, or until the children are old -enough for school.” - -There was a silence. - -“This story ought to have your name on it, Fanny,” he said. “It’s as -much yours as mine.” - -“Nonsense! I only supplied the critical element.” - -“Oh, critical or creative, what’s the diff.? They’re interacting. You -have supplied a good half of both.” - -“I’m not being self-sacrificing,” she said, snipping the darning cotton. -“Some day I’m going to write again. When the children get bigger. In the -meantime I don’t want to be a mere tail to your kite. Far better for me -to be forgotten awhile, and come back with a bang!” - -“What a lot you have given up!” said Wilfred; “. . . for this!” He -looked around the family dining-room. - -“This room is plenty good enough as long as the children overrun it,” -said Frances Mary, a little up in arms. - -“I spoke metaphorically, my angel,” said Wilfred, smiling. - -“What! Do you think I would change back with that envious old maid?” -said Fanny with a whole smile; “me, a woman married to her man! . . . -After I have borne three children!” - -“Too many,” he said gloomily. - -She laughed. “Sure! My fault! . . . It won’t hurt me not to write for -awhile. My book is lying at the bottom of my heart, soaking.” - -“It will be far better than anything of mine,” he said. “My work has no -time to lie in soak.” - -“Don’t be so silly, or you’ll make me cry. . . . If a book should come -of it, it would be entirely due to you, wouldn’t it? You got our -children, and kept me while I bore them. That’s better than writing -three books. . . . Oh, Wilfred!” she cried in a sudden rapture, “the -children! Their little shells they got from us, but their souls are -their own! I shall never become accustomed to it!” - -An obliterating fire blazed up in Wilfred’s eyes. From across the table, -sly and shining, they sought her eyes compellingly. - -She quickly hid her eyes. The corners of her mouth were obstinately -turned up “Certainly not!” she said in wifely tones. “After what you -just told me! . . . One of us has got to show some sense!” - -There was a silence. The dining-room was full of comfort. - -“You are the one who has given up things,” said Frances Mary. “I have -found myself in marriage, and grown fat; while you . . .” - -“In seven years his face had become a little greyed; but was still -capable of lighting up wonderfully,” chanted Wilfred. - -“You goose!” - -“I needed the halter,” said Wilfred. “I was all over the place.” - -“Look here,” she said, “if by some miracle I should write a masterpiece -to-morrow, it wouldn’t hurt you nearly as much as it would seven years -ago, would it?” - -“Oh no,” he said. “Then I was raw with vanity. The mere blowing of the -wind hurt me.” - -“Well then; it won’t be written for another seven years, if ever. By -that time you will be more pleased than if you had written it yourself.” - -“Not quite that,” said Wilfred grinning; “still . . .” - -She picked up a fresh pair of socks. “You could do a little more on your -novel now,” she hazarded. - -He shook his head. - -“We’ve got nearly three hundred dollars in the bank.” - -“There’s my life insurance next month; and I have to get a little ahead -with the next payment on the house.” - -“I wish we’d never saddled ourselves with this house,” she said equably. -“We ought to be renters; free to flit.” - -“I know,” said Wilfred; “but it’s fine for the children to have a fixed -spot to grow in; a rock to fix their little tentacles to—or should it -be on?” - -“I dunno. . . . Anyhow, there are those two stories you sold in -England.” - -“They only pay on publication. It may be six months before we get the -money.” - -“It’s all right if we don’t spend it more than once. Borrow until it -comes.” - -He shook his head. “That would only be another worry.” - -“Wilfred, you don’t take chances enough,” she said. “Really, you don’t. -We always get along somehow.” - -“The children . . .” - -“Bread and milk don’t cost much. And a dish of soup and greens.” - -“Shoes do.” - -“They don’t mind patched shoes.” - -“I do.” - -“Vanity again!” - -“Sure! . . . I’m not satisfied. With this, I mean. We need so many -things. It’s important that they should have a nice place to grow up -in.” - -Fanny’s thoughts veered off. Raising her head, she smiled away in the -direction of the window. “Stephen was so funny to-day,” she said. - -Wilfred took a light from her smile, “How?” he asked eagerly. - -“When I lifted him out of the tub this morning he yelled bloody murder -as he always does, and I said: ‘Oh, for shame!’ To my astonishment he -stopped in the middle of a yell, and looked at me in such a funny, -resentful way. It was the first time I ever reached his consciousness -with words.” - -“Really!” he said, with a look of serious pleasure. “I believe he is -going to have a strong individuality.” - -“Not a doubt of it,” she said. - -Silence for awhile. - -“Well, if you’re going to start right in on the grind again,” said -Frances Mary, “you might take a little vacation; a walking-trip.” - -Wilfred shook his head. “When I get a little further ahead.” - -“That’s what you always say! One of the reasons we came out here was -because it was a good walking center; yet I can’t drive you out!” - -“Well, I might . . . !” he said, throwing up his head. “For three days. -The weather is lovely. . . . And when I come back. . . . Oh, Fan . . . -!” - -She gave him smile for smile. - -“Stanny would be keen about coming,” he went on. “If I dropped him a -line to-night, I could spend to-morrow fixing this story; and we could -start out together on the following morning.” - -Frances Mary said nothing. Her silence changed the feeling of the room; -and Wilfred looked across at her, sharply apprehensive. The silence -lengthened. - -“Oh, Fanny!” he said, “Why do you look like that?” - -“I am not looking in any particular way,” she said, darning hard. - -“You know you are! . . . Why this feeling against Stanny?” - -Frances Mary dropped the sock in her lap. “I can’t help it, Wilfred. He -dislikes me so!” - -“You’re wrong, I tell you! It is only that he is terrified of you.” - -“That’s nonsense.” - -“He’s terrified of every respectable woman.” - -“I’m not a respectable woman.” - -“Then why not show him? You stick it on for fair when he is around.” - -“It isn’t Stanny at all,” she said unhappily. “It’s you.” - -“Me?” - -“You are not open with me. These endless talks that you and Stanny have, -that break off so awkwardly when I come in!” - -“Just man-talk.” - -“Don’t tell me that again! It’s only a pretext. There’s no such thing as -man-talk or woman-talk—not with a woman like me!” - -“A good deal of it is Stanny’s talk. I’m always trying to give him a -more cheerful outlook. I never shall, of course.” - -“A good half of it is _your_ talk. Your eyes do not light up like that -when you are talking to me!” - -“Oh, but Fanny . . . ! Why . . . you and I communicate without talking.” - -“No! You keep yourself to yourself until Stanny comes! . . . I am always -perfectly open with you . . .” - -“Indeed, you’re not!” said Wilfred quickly. “There is that whole novel -at the bottom of your heart!” - -“Well, if I do keep things from you, I don’t save them up for the first -stranger!” - -“Oh, Fan!” - -“No, I won’t be Fanned, and shut up! What I say is true!” - -“Of course there’s some truth in it,” said Wilfred slowly; “but how -unfair! . . . It’s true that I can let myself go in a certain way with -Stanny, that I can’t with you. What of it? Husbands and wives need not -swallow each other. There’s nothing serious in it. Unless you make it -serious by wrong thinking. You are always for facing things. Face this, -and it will go up in smoke. . . . Stanny and I have a certain way of -gassing at each other. We’ve always done it. Speculative. Neither takes -the other seriously. It’s an enormous relief. Makes you soar for the -moment. . . . I cannot talk to you in a speculative vein, because you -always have a personal application in mind. You are jealously guarding -your own. You refer all my ideas back to our life together. That dries -me up. You get your feelings hurt. I have to be studying how not to hurt -your feelings. —I don’t mind, dear. To be forced to think of somebody -else was my saving. It’s not serious. But you see there _is_ such a -thing as man-talk. There is woman-talk too.” - -“I let my women friends go when I married.” - -“You should not have done so. A wife needs reserves . . .” - -Frances Mary’s face was tragic. “You are reproaching me now because I -. . .” - -“Now, Fanny! Isn’t that exactly what I said!” - -Her head went down. “Once you said I was disinterested,” she murmured. - -“Well, I was wrong. And you knew it at the time! . . . I’m glad I was -wrong. Disinterestedness is a good deal like soda crackers.” He reached -a hand across the table. “Fanny, old girl . . .” - -“Don’t . . . now,” she said sorely. - -He couldn’t tell whether she was blaming him now, or herself. “Write to -Jessie Dartrey,” he suggested. “She’d come out like a shot.” - -“Poor Jessie . . . !” she murmured. - -Wilfred breathed with relief. He saw that the corner was turned. - -“Wilfred, I can’t help disliking Stanny!” she said with a rush, -imploringly. - -“It doesn’t matter—if you face it out with yourself.” - -Frances Mary started busily to work on her sock again. Her expression -assumed to wipe out everything that had been said since she dropped it. -“If you don’t write to Stanny at once,” she said to Wilfred rebukingly, -“you’ll miss the last collection. . . . And oh! don’t forget to carry -your old shoes to the cobbler’s to-morrow. They wont see you through -three days’ walking . . .” - - - III - -Wilfred went to meet the nine-forty from town. The morning had broken -gloriously after rain. Oh, the new-washed sky, the glittering trees, and -the crystal air! How the group of ugly little buildings which included -the station, seemed to plume itself in that sweet clarity—like a gnome -dressed in gossamer. That awful ice-cream saloon built two years ago, -and already aged, with its cheap cotton awning disfigured by blue -lettering stained with the weather; even this was—well, one couldn’t -call it lovely, yet he approved it. It belonged. Wilfred’s heart puffed -up in his breast like a pop-over in the oven. Too much baking-powder, he -thought, grinning at himself. - -When Stanny got off the train, Wilfred saw in a glance by the down-drawn -corners of his mouth, and his wretched eyes, that he had been having one -of his bad times. Lucky I happened to write just then, he thought. -Stanny’s friendly greeting was forced. - -“Hello, Wilf!” - -“Hello, Stanny!” - -Behind Stanny, Wilfred caught sight of a taller and younger man, whose -good looks arrested him like a blow. A youth out of an antique tale; -beautiful, hard, and unselfconscious. Wilfred’s imagination galloped -off. To his astonishment, Stanny turned around to allow the young man to -come up. - -“I brought a fellow along,” Stanny mumbled. “Thought you wouldn’t mind. -His name is Taswell.” - -“Mind! Of course not!” cried Wilfred, concealing his wonder. “We’re in -luck with the weather.” - -The young fellow’s face was yellowish; his eyes and his lips cruel with -pain. He was mute, or almost so; muttered something in response to -Wilfred’s greeting, while his eyes bolted in distaste. He too! thought -Wilfred. - -Taswell was glancing around at the unfamiliar scene. - -“It’s a gashly little boro, isn’t it?” said Wilfred grinning. “Never -mind. Once we climb the hill yonder, we’ll leave the paths of progress -behind. Come on, you fellows.” - -“Shouldn’t we go to your house first?” asked Stanny, mindful of -politeness. - -“Nope! Frances Mary doesn’t expect us until we come back.” - -Stanny looked relieved. The two men came along in silence after Wilfred. - -Wilfred rattled away. “I thought we’d head first for New City—an -amusing village in spite of its name; then north through Pearl River and -Nanuet, and back to the Highlands. We can make West Point if you’re -interested in that sort of thing; but I should say, keep back from the -Hudson a mile or so. There are lovely little lakes in there, with -forgotten roads from one to another. We’ll have to come down into the -valley to find a bed . . . But of course if you don’t feel like -strenuous walking, we can stop anywhere,” he added with a glance at his -companions. - -“You can’t walk too far for me,” said Taswell, shortly. - -“Nor me!” said Stanny. - -“Gosh! I needed this!” cried Wilfred, breathing deep. “I had worked -myself to a fare-you-well!” - -Stanny looked at him with the corners of his mouth drawn down, and -Wilfred could read the sarcastic words that were not spoken. Happy Wilf! -What Stanny actually said, morosely, was: - -“What did Frances Mary think of it?” - -“Oh, she got the whole thing up,” said Wilfred, glad to score off him. - -He perceived of course that his giddy talk was falling on deaf ears; he -didn’t mind. Subsequently it struck him that there was perhaps something -cruel in it. That was the wrong way to deal with the situation. -Down-hearted people are enraged by an obvious attempt to cheer them, and -rightly so. He became silent. Better to let the sun and the sweet air -have way with them. - -They plodded along. Rounding the top of the hill, a mile-wide, shallow -valley unrolled below them. The sight made Wilfred catch his breath; but -he said nothing. It was pasture land, all green except for the dotting -farmhouses and villages; an unreal, tender green which did not suggest -grass or anything earthly. It was as if one was looking at the land -through a magical green medium. It was like a sea, tenderer than the -real sea, and rolling up in one vast gentle swell, sprinkled with white -ships. At the far boundaries it faded dreamlike into a grey void. - -Wilfred stole frequent glances at his handsome companion. Taswell strode -along stiffly, his head up, looking angrily and blindly straight ahead. -Wilfred’s sense of fitness was gratified by the sight. The noble way to -bear pain. What could have dealt him such a blow? Bye and bye a sixth -sense informed Wilfred that Stanny resented the keenness of his interest -in this new chum. It was an old grievance of Stanny’s that Wilfred was -too quick to be on with the new. So Wilfred looked directly at Taswell -no more; happy enough to be in the company of such a one. Plenty of -time! he said to himself. We have three days ahead of us. - -They descended into the valley, where the road was carried across a -clear stream upon an old stone bridge. - -“Half a moment,” said Taswell. “I’m thirsty.” - -Wilfred and Stanny waited by the parapet. - -“Look here,” said Stanny, jerkily. He refused to meet Wilfred’s eye. -“Didn’t have a chance to tell you before. I’ve been on the loose again. -Suppose you can see it. Three days. Blind. . . . Oh, you needn’t say -anything!” - -“Not going to,” said Wilfred. - -“This fellow . . .” Stanny went on. “When I came to my senses last night -I found myself in a dive up near the Harlem river. He was there, too. In -the same boat, you understand. Has had a knockout blow. I don’t know -what. Won’t talk about it. I haven’t had any knockout blow. The same -thing as usual. Nothingness. . . . My money had given out, and so had -his. We were put out of the place together. So we walked all the way -down to my place, and I took him in. By that time we were ready to shoot -ourselves. I found your letter there, so this morning I borrowed enough -from the lunch-room down-stairs to pay our fares up. We haven’t a cent.” - -“I have enough,” said Wilfred swiftly. “We can stop at night in -farmhouses. I’m damn glad you brought him.” He looked over the parapet. -“What a splendid young creature, eh, Stanny?” - -“I suppose so,” said Stanny, dismally refusing to look. “I hadn’t -thought of it. Hadn’t thought of anything at all.” - -“One could make a friend of him,” said Wilfred. - -“Oh, you could!” said Stanny, sneering. - -Wilfred flung an arm around his old friend’s shoulders, and gave him a -shake. Stanny looked pettish—a sign that he was on the way to being -mollified. - -Taswell came springing up the bank. He already felt better, but refused -to admit it. - -They walked on. Conversation did not flourish as yet; but the two men -from town took out their pipes, and that was a hopeful sign. Wilfred was -content to bide his time. Stanny had given him much to think about. -These two had been down into the depths, yet he profoundly respected -them. They were men. They were capable of descending into the depths. He -felt like a spore of thistledown alongside them. They were forthright; -they were single-minded; they would break before they bent. Whereas -he!—he was of a dozen minds, and was continually on the rebound. A -knockout blow! Once he had received a knockout blow, and had turned -around and made a happy marriage. Oh, he was all right, he thought, -smiling ironically at himself, but without bitterness; so things were! -He was sure to keep a toehold in society sufficient to obtain in the end -a respectable funeral! . . . But what of his two friends? What of Stanny -whom he knew so well? He ached with compassion. What could a man do to -save his friends? Why nothing, of course. Except to be fond of them. He -would have loved to slip an arm through one of theirs on either side; -but he suspected they wouldn’t like it. - - * * * * * - -The three friends were sitting in the general room of a miserable -village drinking-place which called itself hotel. After all, they had -not stopped at a farmhouse, because, as Wilfred knew, in a friendly -farmhouse one must pay for one’s entertainment with sociability; and -Stanny and Taswell were short of this coin at present. They had secured -a double room in this poor place for a dollar. They were the only -lodgers. - -They were seated at a bare table with glasses of beer before them. From -the bar adjoining came the sounds of loud, empty voices; but they were -alone. It was a dreary room; ugly to start with, and worth nobody’s -while to keep tidy and clean. There was the usual little desk with a -worn book, which had served as a register for many years, and was not -yet full; a rusty cigar-lighter; and a glass inkwell, caked with dried -spillings. There was another table covered with opened newspapers; and -wooden chairs standing about; “hotel” chairs with round backs. On the -soiled walls hung an old railway map and a garish calendar. - -Things were going well with the three friends. The springs of talk had -been released. Young Taswell’s face was red from walking all day in the -open; and Stanny had recovered his usual air of mournful dignity. They -were talking about Life and so forth in a disconnected way, each bent on -expressing himself without much regard for the others. - -“The world is shared by the two lots,” Wilfred was saying dreamily -“lords and slaves. The queerest thing about the situation is that the -slaves are as well pleased with their places as the Lords are with -theirs. They will fight for the privilege of remaining slaves! All the -trouble is made by a third lot, much smaller; I mean the men who wish to -be free themselves, and have no particular desire to lord it over -anybody. The other two lots join in hating them of course, for different -reasons; and never miss a chance of trying to step on them. And of -course they generally succeed, since they own the earth between them. -That is why the rarest spirits, the men with a bit of Michael or Lucifer -in them (those two are so much alike!) so often end as police court bums -or beachcombers.” - -“You seem quite cheerful about this rotten state of affairs,” remarked -Stanny. - -“Oh, the act of talking cheers you,” said Wilfred, grinning. “Thank God! -we can still talk about it!” - -“You’re a good fellow,” said Taswell, a little condescendingly, “but of -course that’s all nonsense. The best men are bound to come to the top!” - -“Oh, well, so long as I’m a good fellow . . . !” said Wilfred, laughing. - -“You talk all over the place,” objected Taswell. “You don’t follow -through. Talking just for the sake of talking; that’s nothing. You must -hold fast to certain ideas.” - -“Those fixed ideas are the rocks in the rapids on which we shatter -ourselves,” said Wilfred. - -“What have we got to hang on to, then?” demanded Taswell. - -“Nothing! We must let life carry us.” - -“Oh, look here . . . ! Nobody knows of course what the end is going to -be; but I’ve got to know what I’m doing on the way!” - -“I just enjoy the motion,” said Wilfred, smiling. - -“You don’t really mean anything you say!” said Taswell, impatiently. - -“That’s true, in a sense,” said Wilfred. “But there’s a sort of general -meaning to be collected out of the whole.” - -“That’s too misty for me!” - -Stanny suddenly sprang to Wilfred’s defense. It was one of his most -endearing qualities that he would never allow anybody else to abuse -Wilfred the way he did himself. “Wilfred is perfectly consistent,” he -insisted. “You’ll see that when you know him better. He has constructed -a sort of scheme for himself, out of movement, change, balance; give and -take; forward and back; and so on. He’s a philosophic chameleon.” - -They all laughed. - -“Just the same,” grumbled Taswell, “it destroys everything to say that -the best men go to the bottom!” - -“Your best need not be my best,” said Wilfred. - -Taswell stared at him in exasperation. - -“I like that figure about the rapids,” said Stanny, off on a tack of his -own. “That’s what life is, a rapids. And you have no boat. You are up to -your knees in it; or your waist; or your neck; just as your luck may be. -With the current tearing at you without a letup. And no shores to climb -out on. Steep walls of rock on either side. All you can do is to lean -against the current, and drag your feet up, one step at a time.” - -Wilfred experienced an actual physical pain that made him grit his -teeth. “That’s all damn nonsense!” he said, exasperated with compassion. -“The rock of a fixed idea that you’ve been knocking your head against -through life! Why insist on it, and make yourself wretched? It is -equally as true to say that one may sail downstream with life. The -purest pleasure I ever experienced was in shooting rapids in a small -boat. I didn’t know what was around the bend, either!” - -“Oh well, it’s all talk!” said Stanny, smiling and unconvinced. - -Wilfred looked at him, biting his lip. Often one longed to beat the -wrong-headed, unhappy Stanny. - -Taswell’s mind was still worrying over the original proposition. Taswell -was at a disadvantage, because in his person at this moment he was -offering a sad commentary on the optimistic philosophy that he -cherished. While he scorned Wilfred’s ideas, he was strongly drawn to -them. “According to you,” he said to Wilfred, “everything in the world -is wrong and rotten!” - -“Not everything,” said Wilfred. “Only certain human institutions.” - -“The Joe Kaplans,” suggested Stanny. - -Taswell, suddenly roused, brought down the soft side of his fist on the -table. “Oh, _damn_ him!” he said thickly. - -“Hear! Hear!” said Stanny and Wilfred. “You, too?” - -But Taswell’s eyes bolted. He pressed his lips together. - -“What brought Kaplan into your mind just then?” asked Wilfred of Stanny. - -“He’s just added ‘Truth’ to his string of newspapers and magazines,” -said Stanny. “He’s put in a stinker as art editor. I had a row with him. -I can see that I am booked to go down where it’s steep.” - -They were silent for awhile. - -“What _is_ right in the world?” asked Taswell at length. - -Wilfred, feeling shamefaced before this hard-eyed young stranger, -grinned and said: “Well, love.” - -Taswell’s eyes bolted again. They all felt inclined to blush. - -“Now he’s off on his favorite rocking-horse,” said Stanny. - -Laughter relieved the strain. - -Taswell’s laughter was brief. “Well, if you ask me,” he said harshly, -“love leads you into the blackest hole of them all!” - -Neither of the other two looked at him. - -“I don’t mean the love of women,” said Wilfred, diffidently. - -“He means general love,” said Stanny. “I know all this by heart.” - -“I never could get that idea,” said Taswell. “Sounds weak . . . -scattered to me. I can’t love everybody. I don’t want to.” - -“Well, say understanding,” amended Wilfred. “If I had been Christ I -would have put it: ‘Know ye one another!’” - -“According to your notions, do women fare any better in life?” Taswell -demanded abruptly. - -“Women or men,” said Wilfred; “we’re all in the same boat. The most -glorious ones are apt to go under.” - -Taswell was evidently lying in wait for this answer. “I deny that!” he -said quickly. “I knew a glorious woman: the real thing; like . . . like -. . . well, the real thing! She made a mess of her life—so far you’re -right; but she didn’t go under. She picked up what there was left, and -went on more glorious than ever!” - -“I knew a woman like that,” said Wilfred softly; “like a flag in the -wind . . . !” - -“Yes . . . yes!” murmured Taswell. “That’s fine . . . !” - -“And she made a mess of her life, too. What has happened to her I don’t -know. She must have gone under in the best sense, I think, though the -semblance of her is still flying.” - -“I’ve never known any woman,” said Stanny, with the silly-sounding laugh -under which men mask their most painful emotions; “except for an hour or -two.” - -The talk rambled on. They never agreed upon anything; nevertheless they -were drawn together. - - - IV - -Into a brilliantly lighted, well-filled saloon on the corner of Seventh -avenue and Thirty-fourth street, strolled Joe Kaplan. He was wearing an -overcoat of English tweed; a white Angora muffler around his neck; and a -fashionable soft hat. Evening dress was suggested beneath. Accustomed to -being stared at, his expression was bland; but could not altogether -conceal the quality of electric alertness which attracted people’s eyes, -without their knowing why. Making his way to the bar, he ordered a drink -of whiskey. He looked at nobody, but was visibly holding himself in -readiness to be hailed. Like a royal prince, he had to be prepared for -encounters in the unlikeliest places. He cultivated the note of bonhomie -in public, which encouraged hails. This was sometimes inconvenient; but -Joe argued that it was better to be hailed than to be watched unknown to -yourself. - -He was not hailed. Leaning his elbows on the mahogany rail, and -embracing the little whiskey glass within one hand, preparatory to -kissing it, he gazed with pleasure at his reflection in the mirror -behind the bar. A thoughtless pleasure, and cumulative; for it made him -exult the more, to see himself exulting. Likeness of a fellow with a -dandy appetite! The fine creases on either side of his mouth deepened. -He observed that the snowy muffler set off his pink skin and jetty black -hair with striking effectiveness. - -Swallowing his whiskey, he went out again, and turned west in -Thirty-fourth street. This neighborhood had lately taken on a -nondescript character. The building of the Pennsylvania terminal had -brought business among the sedate old dwelling-houses, and some of them -were now let out in rooms to all comers. The landlords collected their -rents in advance, and shrugged their shoulders: the tenants looked after -themselves. Joe had considered all this before hiring a room there. - -With a final glance around, to assure himself he had not been -recognized, Joe turned into one of the old houses, and mounting to a -hall room on an upper floor, let himself in. It had been a family -bedroom once; the old-fashioned wall-paper was rubbed and discolored; -the grate was full of litter; the floor smelled of dust. There was -nothing in the room now but some old clothes hanging from a row of hooks -on the back of the door, and a new kitchen chair. Without troubling to -make a light, Joe, whistling between his teeth, commenced to take off -his fine clothes replacing them with the shabby garments from the back -of the door. The chair was to enable him to change his shoes in comfort. -He spread a newspaper to protect his stockinged feet from the dusty -floor. - -In due course he issued out of the house, metamorphosed. He was now -wearing a greasy mackintosh with the collar turned up around his neck, -and a shapeless cap pulled down over his eyes. He had sloughed off more -than the fine clothes; somehow he looked ten years younger, and fifteen -pounds lighter. His glance seemed to have become narrower and more -penetrating, his nose longer, his cheeks hollower, his mouth more cruel. -His gait had become a loose-limbed slouch, full of a latent spring. He -gave the effect of a young wolf at his ease, with his tongue lolling. He -padded noiselessly along the pavement at an uneven rate, like an idle -wolf; sometimes a lighted shop window drew him to stand and gaze with -vacant, brilliant eyes. - -In another saloon he bought a bottle of whiskey, and carried it away -under the mackintosh. At Herald Square he hailed a taxicab, and had -himself driven down-town to the corner of Rivington street and the -Bowery. He walked east in Rivington street, his steps unconsciously -quickening, and becoming purposeful. He loitered no more. Turning into -one of the older tenement houses, the springs in his body seemed -suddenly to be released. Running up the stairs two at a time, he rapped -at a door on the first landing. - -There was no answer; and with a black face, he rapped again. - -From within, a woman’s voice answered coolly: “You can’t come in.” - -Joe looked like a balked wolf then. “It’s me,” he muttered. - -“I can’t help it. You’ll have to come back in ten minutes.” - -He slunk back and forth before the door, showing his teeth, and -impotently glaring at the panels. Then he went noisily down the stairs. -Outside, he kept shifting uneasily around the low stoop with his -wolflike tread, keeping his glance fixed on the entrance with a snarl -fixed in his face; yet half afraid; for suddenly he veered off across -the roadway, with his head over his shoulder. He entered a lunch-room -opposite, and ordering a cup of coffee, brought it back to the window -where he could still watch the entrance to the tenement house. Presently -a man came out. Joe had never seen the man, but by his furtive air he -knew it was the man he was waiting for. Joe, drawing behind the window -frame, watched him, snarling, and profoundly indifferent. Leaving the -coffee, he went back across the street. - -In the comfortable, clean, ugly room, with a double bed across the -front, and a gas-cooker, sink and icebox at the back, Jewel was waiting -for him, wrapped in a pink, quilted silk coat, which was beginning to -reveal its cotton stuffing. She stood motionless in the center of the -floor, dusky, solid, significantly shapeless, like a piece of sculpture -beginning to emerge from the stone. - -“What the hell . . . !” began Joe angrily. “A nice thing . . . !” - -“Aah!” she said, moving slightly. “You don’t own me!” - -“You don’t have to have them now!” he cried. - -“Sure, I don’t have to have them. But I _can_ have them, if I want.” - -Joe, cursing, flung his mackintosh on the sofa. Like a wolf, he snarled -obliquely. - -“If you’d let me know when you were coming . . .” she suggested. - -“Aah!” he snarled. “That would spoil it. I like to come on the -impulse. . . . And you like me to.” - -“Sure, I do,” she said with a slow smile. “But you can’t blame me, if -you find me engaged.” - -“Damnation!” cried Joe, flinging back and forth across the room with his -soft tread. “Oh, damnation! I might as well go, now!” - -Jewel shrugged. She moved portentously to the foot of the bed, where she -could look out of the second window. She knew quite well he had no -intention of going. Looking out of the window, she waited calmly for him -to work off the burden of his ill-temper. - -“I don’t see why you wont let me hire you a decent place up-town,” he -cried. - -“Yer on’y tahkin’,” she said. “You ought to know by this time I’ll never -take anything off you. Why, you fool, it’s on’y because you got no -strings on me that you’re still wild about coming here!” - -“How about you?” - -She gave him her slow creased smile over a shoulder. “Well, if I ever -git enough of you, I’ll let you give me a hundred thousand.” - -“But this room!” he grumbled. “On the level . . . !” - -“Suits me!” she said. “I wouldn’t change it for the Waldorf Astoria. I -fixed my bed so’s I could lie in it all day if I wanted, and look into -the street.” - -“That’s why you’re so fat,” said Joe. “Gee! you’re fat!” - -“Well, they tell me you can’t get too much of a good thing,” she said -good-humoredly. - -Joe dropped on the sofa, all of a piece. His legs and arms jerked -restlessly. There was no guard on his sharp face, and the successive -emotions flickered there, and gave place to each other, as -inconsistently as in the face of a wild being. He looked at her savagely -and cravenly. He snarled; and his whole face became suffused with a dark -delight. - -“You——!” said Joe thickly. “I’ll pay you out for this!” - -Jewel turned around. Her broad face creased into wrinkles. She laughed -richly in her throat. - -“You come here!” said Joe. - -“You come here!” she said coolly. “You don’t own me!” - -“I’ll show you!” - -She awaited him massively. He did not go to her in a straight line, but -veered; and his shoulders writhed. His darting eyes could not meet her -steady, laughing ones. His eyes were perfectly irresponsible. Deep, -fixed lines of pain and bliss were etched about his grinning lips. - -“By God! One of these days I’ll kill you!” he muttered, enraptured. - -She laughed from her capacious breast. “You talk so big!” - - * * * * * - -Raising himself on his elbow, Joe felt around on the bed for the -cigarettes. “Just the same,” he said in an aggrieved voice, “I don’t see -why you’ve got to have anybody but me.” - -“Yeah,” she said, “sit here twiddling my thumbs, eh? till you happen to -feel like coming round.” - -“I haven’t got anybody but you.” - -“So _you_ say. How do I know whether you have or not? It’s nothing to me -either way. . . . You’ve got a wife.” - -“Aah! I don’t trouble her no more. It’s better that way. As long as I -did, we used to scrap. . . . She never meant anything in particular to -me. Too high-toned.” - -“You got plenty other interests,” said Jewel. “Men are my amusement. -They come here, and talk about their wives. I listen, and thank my God -I’m no man’s wife. I’m a luxury to them, see? And you bet they have to -mind themselves around me.” - -“Just the same . . .” grumbled Joe. - -“What’s the matter with you? You never bothered about it before. Only -to-night you happened to. . . .” - -“Who was he?” - -“I shan’t tell you. He don’t cut no ice, anyhow.” - -“Well, I admit I don’t like to have my bed warmed for me.” - -“Find another bed, then. There’s no use grousing about it, and you know -it. I mean to live as I please.” - -“Aah!” he grumbled, “a person would think it was nothing at all to have -Joe Kaplan in your bed.” - -“Aah!” she retorted, “your money’s no good to you _there_!” - -She chuckled at her own joke, and the bed shook. Joe, laughing too, -tumbled her roughly. - -“Your wife must be a funny one,” she said presently. - -“She’s all right!” said Joe, carelessly. “I did a damn good day’s work -when I copped her. Year by year she gets handsomer. There ain’t a woman -in New York can wear diamonds like her. She gives my house the style of -a King’s palace.” - -“But never to quarrel with you?” - -“She’s too proud to quarrel with me. She’d go a hundred miles out of her -way to avoid a quarrel. Suits me all right. I don’t want to be bothered -around the house. It’s the same about other men. Too proud to look at -them. It’s a cinch for me.” - -“Well, pride is a cold bedfellow,” said Jewel. “I’m glad I’m not her.” - -“God! your breast is so broad and firm!” murmured Joe, pillowing his -head there. - -“You’re my kid,” she murmured, running her fingers through his thick -hair. “For me, you have never got any bigger.” - -“On’y a kid?” demanded Joe, raising his head, and grinning close in her -face. - -“Oh well, a man, too. Crazy about yourself, ain’t yeh?” - -“When I come here,” he said, dropping back on the pillow, “a weight -rolls off me, sort of. I can let myself go. I been with lots of women, -but it wasn’t the same. I was always tryin’ to make them crazy about me. -With you, you old slob! I don’t think of nothing. What ud be the use? -You know me!” - -Rolling over, he flung his arms around her body. “You’re so damn solid, -so damn solid!” he muttered. “Gee! it’s great. I don’t know why. You’re -so slow and hard to change. It’s funny, but whatever you say seems to -come right out of the middle of you. You’re never any different, only -more so. Like a tree, damn you! Rooted in the same spot!” - -He sat up on the bed, nursing his knees. “Well, here’s me, if you know -what I mean. Look at the way I’ve worked and schemed, and gone up like a -skyrocket. It’s been a hell of a lot of fun, but it don’t seem quite -real. All sparks, like the tail of the rocket. It’s been too easy, -maybe. Men are such simps. I never had no setbacks to speak of. All I -was concerned with was keepin’ out of jail. The same with women. They -fell for me so easy, there was no zip to it. I’ve cut out women. . . . - -“Here I am at the top, and I don’t find it no different. At heart I’m -the same kid that used to swipe apples offen t’ pushcarts out there. -Gee! I never found a street I liked as well as Rivington. . . . In them -days I thought it would be different to be rich. A kind of dream, like. -But everything stays just the same. Not but what I enjoy all the big -stuff at that; conferring with prominent men, and making them do what I -want; being God to thousands of little men; and living in a God-damn -palace and all. But not so much as I did. I’m used to it now. And -there’s always that feeling somehow that it ain’t quite real. I’ve got a -child, and I swear I can’t feel that he’s mine at all. . . . Funny! -. . . - -“When I was a kid, once in a while I’d wake up in my bed all in a sweat. -I don’t know . . . I can’t exactly name it. A sort of where-am-I -feeling, and not a damn thing to grab hold of. God! for a minute, it -makes you fair sick at your stomach. Well . . . that’s what I mean. Up -there on the Avenue in my fancy bed—it was Louis the something or -other’s bed, or one of those guys; I swear I have the same dream every -once in a while, and wake up sweating just the same old way. So what -have I got out of it all? Me, myself, inside, I’m just the same. I’ve -got you; but I had you when I was a kid, and hadn’t nothing else. . . . - -“It’s a funny thing, when you come to think of it. I don’t mean to be -complaining. I’ve had a hell of a good time, and still do. I have -everything a man could have. I travel light. I don’t worry about -nothing. It’s wonderful what a lot of things I don’t worry about! They -call me heartless. Well, —— them! A pack of coyotes. They used to yelp -at me in their newspapers. Well, I bought their newspapers. I’m one of -the most powerful men in New York they say. I suppose I am. But . . . -somehow it don’t seem quite real . . . !” - -He dropped down, and put his hands around her thick throat. “Only this -. . . ! By God! this is real . . . !” - -“I thought you was gonna tahk all night,” murmured Jewel sleepily. “Such -foolishness . . . !” - -Joe chuckled. - - - V - -Wilfred and Frances Mary were having tea at the Plaza. One of the -children had been sick, and a temporary nurse had been had in for the -others. The sick child was better, and this was the nurse’s last day. -Hence the jaunt to town. After all, tea is not an expensive meal. They -had come early in order to secure one of the coveted tables beside the -tall East windows, and had made the meager provender last out. The great -room was now full. - -Wilfred affected to despise this kind of a show; but what a -bursting-forth it provided in Fanny’s restricted life. Her shabby coat -was thrown back over the chair, revealing her in a pretty new dress she -had had no opportunity to wear before. Her hat was becoming. Blue was -Fanny’s color. A hint of pink warmed her dusky cheeks, and the tired -eyes were beaming. For himself, Wilfred had succeeded in putting the -unpaid bills out of mind. The child was better! It was a good moment; he -swam in it. - -“Look at that extraordinary little fat man with the party of girls,” -said Frances Mary. “He could play the Earl of Loam in Barrie’s comedy.” - -“But the Earl of Loam was a respectable husband and father,” said -Wilfred. - -“I was just thinking of his legs. They must be the same thickness all -the way down like chimney pots.” - -“I should say he’d do better as Silenus.” - -“Is it possible that a man so old can still enjoy that sort of thing?” -she speculated, looking at the girls. - -“I don’t know. He has to make believe to. With a face like that he -wouldn’t be accepted in any other part.” - -“Ah! what fun it is to watch people!” she murmured. - -Wilfred smiled at her with quick warmth. But the suggestion of gratitude -in his smile troubled Frances Mary. The roomful ceased to interest her. -“You are thinking,” she said, crumbling a bit of cake, “that it is the -only thing we can really share.” - -Wilfred’s expanding petals were slightly frost-bitten. Why would she -insist on dragging his secret thoughts out into the light? He hid the -damage as well as he could. “Not the only thing,” he said. “And anyhow, -it’s a lot!” - -She remained pensive. “We tease each other so!” she murmured. - -“What of it?” he said; “do we not also. . . .” - -“Oh, don’t start on compensation,” she said. “I must have my absolutes!” - -“You’re a little mixed,” said Wilfred. . . . “You’re welcome to -them. . . . Look here, people with such sensitive feelers as we have are -bound to find marriage full of little wounds. I think we do pretty well, -considering. The only settled grievance I have against you is that you -worry every little difficulty like a cat with a mouse. The mice are not -important.” Thrusting his feet out, he embraced hers between them -unseen. This he knew was more potent with Frances Mary than yards of -argument. “Can you imagine us not married to each other? Or childless?” - -She looked at him deeply and shook her head. - -“Well, then, what the hell . . . !” - -She sighed with appeasement; and her glance returned to embrace the room -at large. “What a glittering spectacle!” - -“Im-hym,” said Wilfred. “Glittering’s the word. Slightly unreal. Because -they’re all on parade. How wonderful if one could see a crowd of people -really letting themselves out.” - -“But where could one see such a thing?” - -“I don’t know. . . . Once I saw a festa in an Italian street here. -Little side street up-town. They had arches thrown across the roadway, -decorated with colored lamps. And all the people’s faces wore a look of -escape. They were swarming in and out of their church. . . .” - -“Look, Wilfred, here’s a distinguished-looking pair coming in.” - -Wilfred turned around in his chair—and very quickly straightened again. -Confusion came striding into his contented mind, swinging a scythe. -“Lord!” he said in an uncertain voice, “it’s Joe Kaplan and his wife. I -hope to God they don’t see us!” - -She glanced at him sharply. “They’re coming this way,” she remarked. - -Wilfred looked down. “My back is toward them. They don’t know you.” - -“So that is what she’s like!” murmured Fanny. - -“Fortunately there is no vacant table near us,” muttered Wilfred. - -As he heard steps come abreast of the table, he looked out of the -window. It was a harrowing moment. The steps ceased; recommenced; -stopped again. Then Elaine’s clear voice: - -“Wilfred! I knew the back of your head!” - -From across the table Wilfred could feel Frances Mary congeal. He looked -up with too much of a start, and rose. His face felt as if it were -turning red and green. He despairingly hoped that with the passage of -the years he had acquired a modicum of inscrutability. The sight of her -took his breath away. She had blossomed in splendor. Most beautifully -dressed, of course, but that was not it; the spirit of the woman shone -out of her array. Queenly. There was not a woman in the room who could -approach her. And an entirely good-humored queen! According to Wilfred’s -calculations, her eyes at least ought to have betrayed wretchedness; but -they were serenely clear. His whole scheme of things tottered; he felt -like a clown. - -“Hello!” he cried with a false heartiness. “What a fortunate accident! -. . . This is my wife . . . Mrs. Kaplan.” - -“How do you do?” said Elaine, putting out her hand, and looking at -Frances Mary with frank and friendly curiosity. She was likewise saying -to herself: So this is what you’re like! - -Wilfred and Joe shook hands, and Joe was duly presented to Frances Mary. -Wilfred was even more astonished at Joe’s appearance. Young, slim, -clear-skinned, at the highest point in the arc of manhood’s vigor; where -were the marks of an evil nature, of evil living, that ought to have -shown before now? Standing close to him, Wilfred observed the peachy -quality of Joe’s skin, verging into a cool grey upon his miraculously -shaven chin. In seven years Joe’s face had grown in composure; the habit -of authority had given it a high look. One of the leaders of men! -Wilfred thought with twisted bitterness. Well . . . one must face it! He -felt reluctantly drawn to Joe. For the thousandth time he wished he were -not so at the mercy of physical beauty. But presently the bitterness -passed with the thrilling thought: What regions there are in man still -to explore! - -“You still live in New York?” Elaine said to Wilfred. “How is it we -never see you?” - -“Well, we hardly move in the same circles,” said Wilfred smiling, and -immediately sensible that he could scarcely have said a worse thing. - -“This is too good a chance to be lost,” said Elaine, looking around for -a chair. “May we sit down with you for a minute?” - -“By all means,” said Wilfred, signalling to a waiter. Inwardly he cursed -the situation. Frances Mary was smiling like plate glass. It will take -me hours, days perhaps, to bring her round, he thought despairingly. - -No more did Joe welcome the situation. “My dear,” he said, “the Beekmans -have seen us. They are signalling.” - -How strangely that “My dear!” rang through the corridors of Wilfred’s -consciousness! He thought of the seven years of intimacy between these -two. Face to face, stripped of all disguise—but _had_ they ever -revealed their souls to each other? One would never know! - -Waiters had pushed up two chairs, and Elaine seated herself. She said to -Joe: “Go over and explain to them that we have unexpectedly met some old -friends. We’ll be with them in five minutes.” - -Joe marched off, rubbing his upper lip. - -The eyes of everybody in the vicinity were addressed to their table, -which was rather cruel on Frances Mary and Wilfred in their -undistinguished attire. Elaine, of course, was oblivious. She addressed -herself to Frances Mary. - -“My husband and yours have been acquainted for many years.” - -“Yes, Wilfred has spoken of it,” said Frances Mary. - -In this opening, Elaine betrayed herself to be not so candid as she -appeared. She had apprehended Frances Mary’s antagonism, and the latter -had instantly perceived it. There was nothing gauche about Frances Mary, -only the glassiness of her eyes warned Wilfred of jarring voices within. -He was painfully aware of the worn lining of his wife’s coat over the -back of the chair. Joe would mark that when he came back. Why had he -ever brought her here? They did not belong to it. Wilfred’s sympathies -were all on the side of Fanny—well, his main sympathies, the outside -part of him; the sprite was for Elaine, because Fanny had intrenched -herself, whereas Elaine was skirmishing pluckily in the open. - -Elaine was momentarily at a loss. It must have occurred to her to wonder -why she had insisted on sitting down. Like most impulses, it would not -bear a critical examination. Wilfred’s heart went out to her; it had -been a generous impulse. It was not often that she troubled to come out -of her shell like this. It was Fanny who played the grudging part. Well, -there Elaine was. She tried again. - -“You have several children, haven’t you? Somebody told me.” - -“Three,” said Frances Mary. “Two girls and a boy.” - -“I envy you,” said Elaine. “I have only one little boy. So bad for a -child not to have any brothers and sisters.” - -“Yes,” said Frances Mary politely. She looked down in her plate. The -question was between them, large, unspoken: Well, why don’t you give him -some? - -Elaine turned to Wilfred. “How does the writing go?” she asked in her -whole-hearted way. - -Wilfred, thinking of Frances Mary, shivered for the speaker. What a -false note to issue from the ringing Elaine! Once she stepped out of her -charmed circle, she was but mortal clay. It endeared her to him. - -“No better nor worse than usual,” he said, smiling unhappily. What -_could_ one answer to such a question? - -“I haven’t come across your name lately,” said Elaine, meaning well. - -This remark made the silent Fanny savage. Wilfred made haste to answer, -lightly: “You wouldn’t. There are so many underground ways of making -one’s living by the pen.” - -From his wife’s somber glance he gathered that this had not helped him -with _her_. Oh dear! Oh dear! he thought; why must everybody have so -many corns to get trodden on! - -Joe returned with a bland, blank face. He did not give a hang about -them, Wilfred saw; indeed, he had probably recalled Wilfred to mind only -with difficulty. But his politeness was perfect. It was Joe who saved -the face of the situation. - -“Beekman tells me there’s a report going the rounds that the -suffragettes tried to blow up the Houses of Parliament, and that the -news was suppressed.” - -Wilfred was grateful. He had to confess to himself that polite people -have their uses. - -“Good Heavens!” said Frances Mary. “Do you suppose it’s true?” - -Joe shrugged. “It amuses people to pass these stories round.” - -“Well, I hope they did!” said Frances Mary. - -Wilfred stared. Could this be his Fanny? - -Joe smiled deprecatingly. “I approve of their cause, but hardly of their -methods,” he said. - -“Perhaps they are the only effective methods,” said Frances Mary. - -“Oh, Englishmen could not possibly give in to intimidation,” said Joe. - -“We shall see,” said Frances Mary, smiling back. - -Elaine had scarcely listened to this. She was bent like a child on -making friends. She said to Joe: “Mr. Pell is a writer, you remember.” - -“Ah,” said Joe. “I had forgotten. . . . What is your line, Pell?” - -“Fiction,” said Wilfred. It struck him that there was something -deliciously appropriate in the word. It was his little private joke. No -other eye betrayed any consciousness of it. - -“I control several fiction magazines,” said Joe, with his deprecatory -air. “You must submit your stories to my editors.” - -Frances Mary was on the verge of an ironic speech here, but Wilfred -managed to divert it with a warning touch of his foot under the table. -“Thanks, I will,” he said pleasantly to Joe. - -“What are the children’s names?” Elaine asked of Frances Mary. - -“Mary, Constance, and Stephen.” - -“I like those names. Mary, I suppose, is . . .” - -“Six.” - -“The same age as my Sturges. . . . I wish you’d come to see me some day, -Mrs. Pell. And bring Mary. I mean it. Shall I write and set a day?” - -“Oh, thanks,” said Frances Mary, with a sky-like candor; “I should like -to come ever so much; but I’m afraid it will be impossible. We live in -Rockland County, you see; and I have no nurse. My days in town are few -and far between.” - -Wilfred gritted his teeth. Ah well, one had to endure these things. -Frances Mary’s spirit was admirable; but why need she have rebuffed the -generous Elaine? - -“I could send a car out to get you,” suggested Elaine. - -“You are too kind! I have made it a rule never to go visiting with the -children while they are small.” - -Upon that Wilfred saw that Elaine gave up. “I’m so sorry!” she said, -resuming her usual unconcerned surface. Meanwhile Joe, out of -politeness, was telling Wilfred the latest news of the government’s -Philippine policy, in which Wilfred was not the least interested. - -Presently Elaine arose. “We must be getting on to our friends. So glad -to have run into you. Good-bye. . . . Good-bye, Wilfred.” - -She went with a frank, final smile at him, that was hard to bear. If she -had gone without looking at him, he could have built on that. Her whole -attitude had been rather devastating to a man’s vanity. He could hardly -tell himself that she had lived to regret her refusal of him. Seeing his -wife there in her two-seasons-old coat, and hearing about the three -children and no help! Then Wilfred grinned inwardly at his own expense. -Incorrigible! Still prone to strut, drawing the rags of his egotism -about him! - -His eyes followed Elaine. He saw her whisper to Joe, and could read her -lips. “What a tiresome woman!” And Joe’s courteous acquiescence. . . . -Even though Elaine and Joe might be perfectly indifferent to each other, -what a beautiful picture their life made! Eighteenth century beauty. -Maybe there was a sort of peace in a loveless marriage. Was love really -worth all the wear and tear that it entailed? . . . By way of contrast, -he and Fanny returning to their jerry-built house, and their niggling -domestic cares . . . ! But no bitterness! The child was better! . . . -And anyhow, he could more fully apprehend the beauty of an elegant life -than its possessors. So was it not really his more than theirs? An -inexpensive and a comforting doctrine . . . ! One’s own life, too. -Sometimes you were able to survey it from a slight elevation. A bit of -meaning emerged from the welter. Oh yes, you gained something on the -distracting pilgrimage, though you might not realize it at the time. -Bitterness was gone. He could be thrilled by Elaine’s splendid air, -without experiencing the sting of desire. . . . He must store away this -last sight of her. How well he knew the gallant carriage of her flat -back, and the little half curls at the nape of her neck! He had -recovered her. She was glorious again! . . . - -He sat down facing the cold reality of Frances Mary. He debated how best -to deal with her; and while he was considering it, heard the mild words -coming out of his own mouth: “Why do you act so? She is nothing to me!” - -“Your eyes are full of her!” said Frances Mary, darkly. - -Wilfred sighed, and made a feeble gesture. - -“She was trying to make us feel cheap!” said Frances Mary. - -“You are quite wrong,” he said quickly. “Not until the very end, and you -forced that on her.” - -“You understand her of course,” she said. - -Wilfred experienced a sort of collapse. Of what use this endless -struggle? No advance was possible. And how tired he was! Was it _his_ -fault? Why did the onus invariably fall upon him? Oh, to be alone and at -peace, away from the pulling of all these hands, big and little! To be -at sea with men for his shipmates . . . ! - -“Let’s go,” said Frances Mary, bleakly. “We have just time to catch the -5:23.” - -Wilfred roused himself automatically. “No hurry,” he said. “We’re not -going on the 5:23. . . . It would be too ridiculous to let this accident -spoil our day; to lie down under it! Just for that, we’re going to make -a night of it now. We’re going to walk down the avenue, looking in all -the shop windows. We’re going to Mouquin’s to dinner, and afterwards to -a play. We can send a telegram to nurse. . . .” - -Frances Mary shook her head. “It would be silly to spend the money. I -shouldn’t enjoy it now. Come on. . . .” - -“You’ve damned well _got_ to enjoy it!” said Wilfred. “We’re not going -home with our tails between our legs. . . .” - -“The thought of those people. . . .” - -“Forget them . . . ! If I can only find a play with some good laughs in -it. . . .” - -She picked up her gloves. “You stay. I’d rather go home, really.” - -“Well, go ahead!” said Wilfred recklessly. “And by God! I’ll get drunk! -Sometimes it’s the only rejoinder . . . !” - -Frances Mary laid down her gloves. - - * * * * * - -They were walking down the avenue. Apropos of nothing, Frances Mary -said: “Anyway, the man was impossible! Such insolence!” - -A great rush of gratitude filled Wilfred’s breast. She was coming -’round! Cheers! He cunningly hid his joy. He did not honestly think that -Joe had been insolent, but one could concede that! “I always told you -what he was.” - -“The cheek of his pretending that he had never heard of you, when you’re -a regular contributor to one of his rotten magazines!” - -“It’s quite on the cards that he may never read his magazines,” said -Wilfred. “Indeed, I hope it may be true that I am unknown to him. That’s -why I kicked you under the table.” - -“I don’t understand.” - -“Suppose this meeting irritated him,” said Wilfred. “Mind you, I don’t -think he noticed us one way or t’other; but if it was called to his -attention that he had the power to injure me, he might write to his -editor telling him to step on my stuff hereafter. That’s the worst of -power: a man can’t always resist the temptation of making it felt, even -if there’s nothing in particular to be gained.” - -“Oh, Wilfred . . . !” - -“He and his like are our masters,” said Wilfred serenely, “and it -behooves us to step warily in their presence.” - -“How can you be so calm about it?” - -“Well,” said Wilfred, grinning sideways at her, “I have, to use that -word which you despise, compensations!” - -Fanny suddenly slipped her arm through his. - -“Oh, Wilfred . . .” she faltered. “You’re such a dear . . . ! I’m sorry -. . . ! I believe I’m going to cry. . . . Now, I’m sure I am! I can’t -keep it back . . . !” - -“That’s all right! We’ll turn down this side street. Let her fly, old -girl! . . .” - - THE END - - - - - TRANSCRIBER NOTES - -Misspelled words and printer errors have been corrected. Where multiple -spellings occur, majority use has been employed. - -Punctuation has been maintained except where obvious printer errors -occur. - - - -*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ANTENNAE *** - -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. Special rules, set forth in the General Terms of Use part -of this license, apply to copying and distributing Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic works to protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm -concept and trademark. Project Gutenberg is a registered trademark, -and may not be used if you charge for an eBook, except by following -the terms of the trademark license, including paying royalties for use -of the Project Gutenberg trademark. If you do not charge anything for -copies of this eBook, complying with the trademark license is very -easy. You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose such as creation -of derivative works, reports, performances and research. Project -Gutenberg eBooks may be modified and printed and given away--you may -do practically ANYTHING in the United States with eBooks not protected -by U.S. copyright law. Redistribution is subject to the trademark -license, especially commercial redistribution. - -START: FULL LICENSE - -THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE -PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK - -To protect the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting the free -distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work -(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase "Project -Gutenberg"), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full -Project Gutenberg-tm License available with this file or online at -www.gutenberg.org/license. - -Section 1. General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic works - -1.A. By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg-tm -electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to -and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property -(trademark/copyright) agreement. If you do not agree to abide by all -the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or -destroy all copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in your -possession. If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a -Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work and you do not agree to be bound -by the terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the -person or entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph -1.E.8. - -1.B. "Project Gutenberg" is a registered trademark. It may only be -used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who -agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement. There are a few -things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works -even without complying with the full terms of this agreement. See -paragraph 1.C below. There are a lot of things you can do with Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic works if you follow the terms of this -agreement and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg-tm -electronic works. See paragraph 1.E below. - -1.C. The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation ("the -Foundation" or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection -of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works. Nearly all the individual -works in the collection are in the public domain in the United -States. If an individual work is unprotected by copyright law in the -United States and you are located in the United States, we do not -claim a right to prevent you from copying, distributing, performing, -displaying or creating derivative works based on the work as long as -all references to Project Gutenberg are removed. Of course, we hope -that you will support the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting -free access to electronic works by freely sharing Project Gutenberg-tm -works in compliance with the terms of this agreement for keeping the -Project Gutenberg-tm name associated with the work. You can easily -comply with the terms of this agreement by keeping this work in the -same format with its attached full Project Gutenberg-tm License when -you share it without charge with others. - -1.D. The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern -what you can do with this work. Copyright laws in most countries are -in a constant state of change. If you are outside the United States, -check the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this -agreement before downloading, copying, displaying, performing, -distributing or creating derivative works based on this work or any -other Project Gutenberg-tm work. The Foundation makes no -representations concerning the copyright status of any work in any -country other than the United States. - -1.E. Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg: - -1.E.1. The following sentence, with active links to, or other -immediate access to, the full Project Gutenberg-tm License must appear -prominently whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg-tm work (any work -on which the phrase "Project Gutenberg" appears, or with which the -phrase "Project Gutenberg" is associated) is accessed, displayed, -performed, viewed, copied or distributed: - - 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. - -1.E.2. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is -derived from texts not protected by U.S. copyright law (does not -contain a notice indicating that it is posted with permission of the -copyright holder), the work can be copied and distributed to anyone in -the United States without paying any fees or charges. If you are -redistributing or providing access to a work with the phrase "Project -Gutenberg" associated with or appearing on the work, you must comply -either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 or -obtain permission for the use of the work and the Project Gutenberg-tm -trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or 1.E.9. - -1.E.3. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is posted -with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution -must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any -additional terms imposed by the copyright holder. Additional terms -will be linked to the Project Gutenberg-tm License for all works -posted with the permission of the copyright holder found at the -beginning of this work. - -1.E.4. Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg-tm -License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this -work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg-tm. - -1.E.5. Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this -electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without -prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with -active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project -Gutenberg-tm License. - -1.E.6. You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary, -compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including -any word processing or hypertext form. However, if you provide access -to or distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg-tm work in a format -other than "Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other format used in the official -version posted on the official Project Gutenberg-tm website -(www.gutenberg.org), you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense -to the user, provide a copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means -of obtaining a copy upon request, of the work in its original "Plain -Vanilla ASCII" or other form. Any alternate format must include the -full Project Gutenberg-tm License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1. - -1.E.7. Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying, -performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg-tm works -unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9. - -1.E.8. You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing -access to or distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works -provided that: - -* You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from - the use of Project Gutenberg-tm works calculated using the method - you already use to calculate your applicable taxes. The fee is owed - to the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark, but he has - agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the Project - Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation. Royalty payments must be paid - within 60 days following each date on which you prepare (or are - legally required to prepare) your periodic tax returns. Royalty - payments should be clearly marked as such and sent to the Project - Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the address specified in - Section 4, "Information about donations to the Project Gutenberg - Literary Archive Foundation." - -* You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies - you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he - does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg-tm - License. You must require such a user to return or destroy all - copies of the works possessed in a physical medium and discontinue - all use of and all access to other copies of Project Gutenberg-tm - works. - -* You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of - any money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the - electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days of - receipt of the work. - -* You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free - distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm works. - -1.E.9. If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic work or group of works on different terms than -are set forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing -from the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the manager of -the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark. Contact the Foundation as set -forth in Section 3 below. - -1.F. - -1.F.1. Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable -effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread -works not protected by U.S. copyright law in creating the Project -Gutenberg-tm collection. Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg-tm -electronic works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may -contain "Defects," such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate -or corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other -intellectual property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or -other medium, a computer virus, or computer codes that damage or -cannot be read by your equipment. - -1.F.2. LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the "Right -of Replacement or Refund" described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project -Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project -Gutenberg-tm trademark, and any other party distributing a Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all -liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal -fees. YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT -LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE -PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH 1.F.3. YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE -TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE -LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR -INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH -DAMAGE. - -1.F.3. LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a -defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can -receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a -written explanation to the person you received the work from. If you -received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium -with your written explanation. The person or entity that provided you -with the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in -lieu of a refund. If you received the work electronically, the person -or entity providing it to you may choose to give you a second -opportunity to receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund. If -the second copy is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing -without further opportunities to fix the problem. - -1.F.4. Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth -in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you 'AS-IS', WITH NO -OTHER WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT -LIMITED TO WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTABILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE. - -1.F.5. Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied -warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of -damages. If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement -violates the law of the state applicable to this agreement, the -agreement shall be interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or -limitation permitted by the applicable state law. The invalidity or -unenforceability of any provision of this agreement shall not void the -remaining provisions. - -1.F.6. INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the -trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone -providing copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in -accordance with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the -production, promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm -electronic works, harmless from all liability, costs and expenses, -including legal fees, that arise directly or indirectly from any of -the following which you do or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this -or any Project Gutenberg-tm work, (b) alteration, modification, or -additions or deletions to any Project Gutenberg-tm work, and (c) any -Defect you cause. - -Section 2. Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg-tm - -Project Gutenberg-tm is synonymous with the free distribution of -electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of -computers including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers. It -exists because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations -from people in all walks of life. - -Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the -assistance they need are critical to reaching Project Gutenberg-tm's -goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg-tm collection will -remain freely available for generations to come. In 2001, the Project -Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure -and permanent future for Project Gutenberg-tm and future -generations. To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary -Archive Foundation and how your efforts and donations can help, see -Sections 3 and 4 and the Foundation information page at -www.gutenberg.org - -Section 3. Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary -Archive Foundation - -The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non-profit -501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the -state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal -Revenue Service. The Foundation's EIN or federal tax identification -number is 64-6221541. Contributions to the Project Gutenberg Literary -Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent permitted by -U.S. federal laws and your state's laws. - -The Foundation's business office is located at 809 North 1500 West, -Salt Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887. Email contact links and up -to date contact information can be found at the Foundation's website -and official page at www.gutenberg.org/contact - -Section 4. Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg -Literary Archive Foundation - -Project Gutenberg-tm depends upon and cannot survive without -widespread public support and donations to carry out its mission of -increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be -freely distributed in machine-readable form accessible by the widest -array of equipment including outdated equipment. Many small donations -($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt -status with the IRS. - -The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating -charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United -States. Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a -considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up -with these requirements. We do not solicit donations in locations -where we have not received written confirmation of compliance. To SEND -DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any particular -state visit www.gutenberg.org/donate - -While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we -have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition -against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who -approach us with offers to donate. - -International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make -any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from -outside the United States. U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff. - -Please check the Project Gutenberg web pages for current donation -methods and addresses. Donations are accepted in a number of other -ways including checks, online payments and credit card donations. To -donate, please visit: www.gutenberg.org/donate - -Section 5. General Information About Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works - -Professor Michael S. Hart was the originator of the Project -Gutenberg-tm concept of a library of electronic works that could be -freely shared with anyone. For forty years, he produced and -distributed Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks with only a loose network of -volunteer support. - -Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks are often created from several printed -editions, all of which are confirmed as not protected by copyright in -the U.S. unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we do not -necessarily keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper -edition. - -Most people start at our website which has the main PG search -facility: www.gutenberg.org - -This website includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, -including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary -Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to -subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. |