*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 65944 ***
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BY THE SAME AUTHOR
SALT
or The Education of Griffith Adams
“Ye are the salt of the earth; but if thesalt have lost his savour, wherewith shall itbe salted?”
—Matthew V:13
BRASS
A Novel of Marriage
“Annul a marriage? ’Tis impossible!
Though ring about your neck be brass not gold,
Needs must it clasp, gangrene you all the same!”
—Robert Browning
E. P. DUTTON & COMPANY
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BREAD
BY
CHARLES G. NORRIS
AUTHOR OF “BRASS,” “SALT,” ETC.
NEW YORK
E. P. DUTTON & COMPANY
681 FIFTH AVENUE
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Copyright, 1923,
BY CHARLES G. NORRIS
All Rights Reserved, Including that of
Translation into Foreign Languages,
Including the Scandinavian
Printed in the United States of America
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DEDICATED TO
The Working Women of America
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CONTENTS
PAGE | |
Book I. | 1 |
Chapter I. | 3 |
Chapter II. | 34 |
Chapter III. | 61 |
Chapter IV. | 89 |
Chapter V. | 131 |
Chapter VI. | 152 |
Book II. | 163 |
Chapter I. | 165 |
Chapter II. | 190 |
Chapter III. | 242 |
Chapter IV. | 273 |
Chapter V. | 287 |
Chapter VI. | 320 |
Chapter VII. | 331 |
Book III. | 377 |
Chapter I. | 379 |
Chapter II. | 413 |
Chapter III. | 446 |
Chapter IV. | 470 |
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BOOK I
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BREAD
CHAPTER I
§ 1
“One and two and three and four and—one andtwo and three and four and....”
Mrs. Sturgis had a way of tapping the ivory keysof the piano with her pencil when she was countingthe beat during a music lesson. It made her littlepupils nervous and sometimes upset them completely.Now she abruptly interrupted herself and rapped thekeys sharply.
“Mildred, dearie—it doesn’t go that way at all; thequarter note is on ‘three.’ It’s one and two and threeand.... You see?”
“Mama.” A tall dark girl stood in the doorway ofthe room.
Mrs. Sturgis affected not to hear and drew a firmcircle with her pencil about the troublesome quarternote. There was another insistent demand from thedoor. Mrs. Sturgis twisted about and leaned backon the piano bench so that Mildred’s thin little figuremight not obstruct the view of her daughter. Her airwas one of martyred resignation but she smiledindulgently. Very sweetly she said:
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“Yes, dearie?” Jeannette recognized the tone asone her mother used to disguise annoyance.
“It’s quarter to six....” Jeannette left the sentenceunfinished. She hoped her mother would guessthe rest, but Mrs. Sturgis only smiled more sweetlyand looked expectant.
“There’s no bread,” Jeannette then said bluntly.
Mrs. Sturgis’ expression did not change nor did sheease her constrained position.
“Well, dearie ... the delicatessen shop is open.Perhaps you or Alice can run down to Kratzmer’s andget a loaf.”
“But we can’t do that, Mama.” There was a noteof exasperation in the girl’s voice; she looked hard ather mother and frowned.
“Ah....” Mrs. Sturgis gave a short gasp ofunderstanding. Kratzmer had been owed a littleaccount for some time and the fat German hadsuggested that his bills be settled more promptly.
“My purse is there, dearie”; she indicated theshabby imitation leather bag on the table. Then witha renewal of her alert smile she returned to the lesson.
“One and two and three and four and—one andtwo and——”
“Mama, I’m sorry to interrupt....”
Mrs. Sturgis now turned a glassy eye upon her olderchild, and the patient smile she tried to assume washardly more than a grimace. It was eloquent ofmartyrdom.
“I’m sorry to have to interrupt,” Jeannette repeated,“but there isn’t any money in your purse;it’s empty.”
The expression on her mother’s face did not alter[Pg 5]but the light died in her eyes. Jeannette realized shehad grasped the situation at last.
“Well ... dearie....” Mrs. Sturgis began.
Jeannette stood uncompromisingly before her. Shehad no suggestion to offer; her mother might haveforeseen they would need bread for dinner.
The little music-teacher continued to study herdaughter, but presently her gaze drifted to Mildredbeside her perched on a pile of music albums.
“You haven’t a dime or a nickel with you, dearie?”she asked the child. “I could give you credit on yourbill and your papa, you see, could pay ten cents lessnext time he sends me a check....”
“I think I got thome money,” lisped Mildred,wriggling down from her seat and investigating thepocket of her jacket which lay near on a chair.“Mother alwath givth me money when I goeth out.”She drew forth a small plush purse and dumped thecontents into her hand. “I got twenty thenth,” sheannounced.
“Well, I’ll just help myself to ten of it,” said Mrs.Sturgis, bending forward and lifting one of the smallcoins with delicate finger-tips. “You tell your papaI’ll give him credit on this bill.”
She turned to Jeannette and held out the coin.
“Here, lovie; get a little Graham, too.”
There was color in the girl’s face as she acceptedthe money; she drew up her shoulders slightly, butwithout comment, turned upon her heel and left theroom.
Mrs. Sturgis brought her attention once more cheerfullyback to the lesson.
“Now then, Mildred dearie: one and two and three[Pg 6]and four and—one and two and three and four and....Now you have it; see how easy that is?”
§ 2
Jeannette passed through the dark interveningrooms of the apartment, catching up her shabby velvethat from her bed, and came upon her sister Alice inthe kitchen.
There was a marked contrast between the two girls.Jeannette, who was several months past her eighteenthbirthday, was a tall, willowy girl with a smooth olive-tintedskin, dark eyes, brows and lashes, and straight,lustreless braids of hair almost dead black. She gavepromise of beauty in a year or two,—of austere stateliness,—butnow she appeared rather angular and ungainlywith her thin shoulders and shapeless ankles.She was too tall and too old to be still dressed like aschoolgirl. Alice was only a year her junior, but Alicelooked younger. She was softer, rounder, gentler.She had brown hair, brown eyes and a brown skin.“My little brown bird,” her mother had called her asa child. She was busy now at the stove, dumping andscraping out a can of tomatoes into a saucepan. Dinnerwas in process of preparation. Steam poured fromthe nozzle of the kettle on the gas range and evaporatedin a thin cloud.
“Mama makes me so mad!” Jeannette burst outindignantly. “I wish she wouldn’t be borrowing moneyfrom the pupils! She just got ten cents out of MildredCarpenter.”
She displayed the diminutive coin in her palm.Alice regarded it with a troubled frown.
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“It makes me so sick,” went on Jeannette, “wheedlinga dime out of a baby like that! I don’t believeit’s necessary, at least Mama ought to manage better.Just think of it! Borrowing money to buy a loaf ofbread! ... We’ve come to a pretty state of things.”
“Aw—don’t, Janny,” Alice remonstrated; “youknow how hard Mama tries and how people won’t paytheir bills.... The Cheneys have owed eighty-sixdollars for six months and it never occurs to them weneed it so badly.”
“I’d go and get it, if I was Mama,” Jeannette saidwith determination, putting on her hat and bending hertall figure awkwardly to catch her reflection in a lowerpane of the kitchen door. “I wouldn’t stand it. I’dcall on old Paul G. Cheney at his office and tell him he’dhave to pay up or find someone else to teach hischildren!”
“Oh, no, you wouldn’t, Janny!—You know that’dnever do. Paul and Dorothy have been taking lessonsoff Mama for nearly three years. Mama’d lose all herpupils if she did things like that.”
“Well—” Jeannette drawled, suddenly weary of thediscussion and opening the kitchen door into the hall,“I’m going down to Kratzmer’s.”
§ 3
In the delicatessen store she was obliged to wait herturn. The shop was well filled with late customers,and the women especially seemed maddeningly dilatoryto the impatient girl.
“An’ fifteen cents’ worth of ham ... an’ some ofthat chow-chow ... and a box of crackers....”
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Jeannette studied the rows of salads, pots of bakedbeans, the pickled pig’s-feet, and sausages. Everythinglooked appetizing to her, and the place smelledfragrantly of fresh cold meat and creamy cheeses.Most of the edibles Kratzmer offered so invitingly, shehad never tasted. She would have liked to begin at oneend of the marble counter and sample everything thatwas on it. She looked curiously at the woman near herwho had just purchased some weird-looking, pickledthings called “mangoes,” and gone on selecting importedcheeses and little oval round cans with Frenchand Italian labels upon them. Jeannette wondered ifshe, herself, would ever come to know a time when shecould order of Kratzmer so prodigally. She was sickof the everlasting struggle at home of what they shouldget for lunch or dinner. It was always determined bythe number of cents involved.
“Well, dearie,” her mother invariably remonstratedat some suggestion of her own, “that would cost thirtycents and perhaps it would be wiser to wait until nextweek.”
A swift, vague vision arose of the vital years thatwere close at hand,—the vital years in which she mustmarry and decide the course of her whole future life.Was her preparation for this all-important time everto be beset by a consideration of pennies and makeshifts?
“Vell, Miss Sturgis, vat iss it to-night?”
Fat Mrs. Kratzmer smiled blandly at her over theglass shelf above the marble counter. Jeannettewatched her as she deftly crackled thin paper about thetwo loaves, tied and snapped the pink string. Kratzmer[Pg 9]and his wife were fat with big stomachs and round,double chins; even Elsa Kratzmer, their daughter, whowent to the High School with Jeannette and Alice, wasfat and had a double chin. The family had probablyall they wanted to eat and a great deal more; theremust be an enormous amount of food left on the plattersand dishes and in the pans at the end of each daythat would spoil before morning. Kratzmer, his wifeand daughter must gormandize, stuff themselves nightafter night, Jeannette reflected as she began to climbthe four long flights of stairs to her own apartment.It was disgusting, of course, to think of eating thatway,—but oh, what a feast she and Alice would haveif they might change places with the trio for a nightor two!
As she reached the second landing, a thick smell ofhighly seasoned frying food assailed her. This wasthe floor on which the Armenians lived, and a pungentodor from their cooking frequently permeated theentire building. The front door of their apartmentwas open and as Jeannette was passing it, DikronNajarian came out. He was a tall young man oftwenty-three or-four, of extraordinary swarthybeauty, with black wavy masses of hair, and enormousdark eyes. He and his sister, Rosa,—she was a fewyears older and equally handsome,—often met theyoung Sturgis girls on the stairs or fumbling with thekey to the mail-box in the entrance-way below. Jeannetteand Alice used to giggle sillily after they hadencountered Dikron, and would exchange ridiculousconfidences concerning him. They regarded the youngman as far too old to be interested in either of themselves[Pg 10]and therefore took his unusual beauty and odd,foreign manner as proper targets for their laughter.
Jeannette now instinctively straightened herself asshe encountered her neighbor. Upon the instant afeminine challenge emanated from her.
“Hello,” Dikron said, taken unawares and obviouslyembarrassed. “Been out?”
For some obscure reason Jeannette did not understand,she elected at that moment to coquet. She hadnever given the young Armenian a serious thoughtbefore, but now she became aware of the effect theirsudden encounter had had upon him. She pausedon the lower step of the next flight and hung for amoment over the balustrade. Airily, she explainedher errand to Kratzmer’s.
“What smells so good?” she asked presently.
She thought the odor abominable, but it did notsuit her mood to say so.
“Mother’s cooking mussels to-night; they’re wonderful,stuffed with rice and peppers.... Have youever tasted them? Could I send some upstairs?”
Jeannette laughed hastily, and shook her head.
“No—no,—thanks very much.... I’m afraid wewouldn’t....” She was going to say “appreciatethem” but left the sentence unfinished. “I must goon up; Mother’s waiting for the bread.”
But she made no immediate move, and the youngman continued to lean against the wall below her.Their conversation, however, died dismally at thispoint, and after a moment’s uncomfortable silence,the girl began nimbly to mount the stairs, flinging overher shoulder a somewhat abrupt “Good-night.”
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§ 4
“Get your bread, dearie?” Mrs. Sturgis asked cheerfullyas Jeannette came panting into the kitchen andflung her package down upon the table. Her daughterdid not answer but dropped into a chair to catch herbreath.
Mrs. Sturgis was bustling about, pottering over thegas stove, stirring a saucepan of stewing kidneys,banging shut the oven door after a brief inspection ofa browning custard. Alice had just finished settingthe table in the dining-room, and now came in, tobreak the string about the bread and begin to slice itvigorously. Jeannette interestedly observed what theywere to have for dinner. It was one of the sameold combinations with which she was familiar, and afeeling of weary distaste welled up within her, but aglimpse of her mother’s face checked it.
Mrs. Sturgis invariably wore lace jabots during theday. These were high-collared affairs, reinforced withwires or whalebones, and they fastened firmly aroundthe throat, the lace falling in rich, frothy cascades atthe front. They were the only extravagance the hard-workinglittle woman allowed herself, and she justifiedthem on the ground that they were becoming and shemust be presentable at the fashionable girls’ schoolwhere she was a teacher, and also at Signor Bellini’sstudio where she was the paid accompanist. Jeannetteand Alice were always mending or ironing these frills,and had become extremely expert at the work. Therewas a drawer in their mother’s bureau devoted exclusivelyto her jabots, and her daughters made it theirbusiness to see that one of these lacy adornments was[Pg 12]always there, dainty and fresh, ready to be put on.Beneath the brave show of lace about her neck andover the round swell of her small compact bosom, therewas only her “little old black” or “the Macy blue.”Mrs. Sturgis had no other garments and these twodresses were unrelievedly plain affairs with plainV-shaped necks and plain, untrimmed skirts. Thejabots gave the effect of elegance she loved, and shehad a habit of flicking the lacy ruffles as she talked,straightening them or tossing them with a carelessfinger. The final touch of adornment she allowedherself was two fine gold chains about her neck. Fromthe longer was suspended her watch which she carriedtucked into the waist-band of her skirt; while the otherheld her eye-glasses which, when not in use, hung on ahook at her shoulder.
The tight lace collars creased and wrinkled herthroat, and made her cheeks bulge slightly over them,giving her face a round full expression. When she wasexcited and wagged her head, or when she laughed, herfat little cheeks shook like cups of jelly. But as soonas her last pupil had departed for the day, off came thegold chains and the jabot. She was more comfortablewithout the confining band about her neck though herreal reason for laying her lacy ruffles aside was tokeep them fresh and unrumpled. Stripped of herfrills, her daughters were accustomed to see her inthe early mornings, and evenings, with the homelyV-shaped garment about her withered neck, her cheeks,lacking the support of the tight collar, sagging loosely.Habit was strong with Mrs. Sturgis. Jeannette andAlice were often amused at seeing their mother still[Pg 13]flicking and tossing with an unconscious finger animaginary frill long after it had been laid aside.
Now as the little woman bent over the stove, herolder daughter noted the pendant cheeks criss-crossedwith tiny purplish veins, the blue-white wrinkled neck,and the vivid red spots beneath the ears left by thesharp points of wire in the high collar she had justunfastened. There were puffy pockets below her eyes,and even the eyelids were creased with a multitude oftiny wrinkles. Jeannette realized her mother was tired—unusuallytired. She remembered, too, that it wasSaturday, and on Saturday there were pupils all daylong. The girl jumped to her feet, snatched the stirringspoon out of her mother’s hand and pushed heraway from the range.
“Get out of here, Mama,” she directed vigorously.“Go in to the table and sit down. Alice and I will putdinner on.... Alice, make Mama go in there andsit down.”
Mrs. Sturgis laughingly protested but she allowedher younger daughter to lead her into the adjoiningroom where she sank down gratefully in her place atthe table.
“Well, lovies, your old mother is pretty tired....”She drew a long breath of contentment and closedher eyes.
The girls poured the kidney stew into an oval dishand carried it and the scalloped tomatoes to the table.There was a hurried running back and forth for afew minutes, and then Jeannette and Alice sat down,hunching their chairs up to the table, and beganhungrily to eat. It was the most felicitous, unhurried[Pg 14]hour of their day usually, for mother and daughtersunconsciously relaxed, their spirits rising with thewarm food, and the agreeable companionship whichto each was and always had been exquisitely dear.
The dining-room in the daytime was the pleasantestroom in the apartment. It and the kitchen overlookeda shabby back-yard, adjoining other shabby back-yardsfar below, in the midst of which, during summer, agiant locust tree was magnificently in leaf. Therewere floods of sunshine all afternoon from Septemberto April, and a brief but pleasing view of the HudsonRiver could be seen between the wall of the house nextdoor and an encroaching cornice of a building onColumbus Avenue. At night there was little in theroom to recommend it. The wall-paper was a hideousyellow with acanthus leaves of a more hideous anddarker yellow flourishing symmetrically upon it.There was a marble mantelpiece over a fireplace, andin the aperture for the grate a black lacquered irongrilling. Over the table hung a gaselier from the centerof which four arms radiated at right angles, supportingglobes of milky glass.
Mrs. Sturgis’ bedroom adjoined the dining-roomand was separated from it by bumping folding-doors,only opened on occasions when Jeannette and Alice decidedtheir mother’s room needed a thorough cleaningand airing. The latter seemed necessary much oftenerthan the former for the room had only one small windowwhich, tucked into the corner, gave upon a narrowlight-well. It was from this well, which extended cleardown to the basement, that the evil smells arose whenthe Najarians, two flights below, began cooking one oftheir Armenian feasts.
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In the center of the apartment were two dark littlechambers occupied by the girls. Neither possessed awindow, but the wall separating them was pierced byan opening, fitted with a hinged light of frosted glasswhich, when hooked back to the ceiling, permitted thenecessary ventilation. These boxlike little rooms hadto be used as a passageway. The only hall was thepublic one outside, at one end of which was a backdoor giving access to the kitchen and the dining-room,and, opposite this, a front one, opening into the large,commodious sitting-room, or studio—as it was dignifiedby the family—in which Mrs. Sturgis gave hermusic lessons.
It was this generous front room, with its high ceiling,its big bay window, its alcove ideally proportionedto hold the old grand piano, which had intrigued thelittle music-teacher twelve years before, when she hadmoved into the neighborhood after her husband’s deathand begun her struggle for a home and livelihood.Whether or not the prospective pupils would be willingto climb the four long flights of stairs necessary toreach this thoroughly satisfactory environment forthe dissemination of musical instruction was a questionwhich only time would answer. Mrs. Sturgis had confidentlyexpected that they would and her expectationshad been realized. The dollar an hour, which was allshe charged, had appealed to the more calculating oftheir parents; moreover Henrietta Spaulding Sturgiswas a pianist of no mean distinction. She was a graduateof the Boston Conservatory, was in charge of themusic at Miss Loughborough’s Concentration Schoolfor Little Girls on Central Park West, and was theaccompanist for Tomaso Bellini, a well-known instructor[Pg 16]in voice culture who had a studio in CarnegieHall. These facts the neighborhood inevitably learned,and that lessons at such a price could be had from ateacher so well equipped was confided by one shrewdmother to another. The stairs were ignored; a littleclimbing, if taken slowly, never hurt any child!
But while year after year it became more and moreadvertised that bustling, round-faced, cheerful Mrs.Sturgis did have charge of the music at Miss Loughborough’sschool on Tuesdays and Fridays of eachweek, and did play the accompaniments for the pupilsof Signor Bellini at his Carnegie Hall studio on Mondaysand Thursdays, no one suspected that sharp MissLoughborough handed Mrs. Sturgis a check for onlytwenty-five dollars twice a month and that thriftySignor Bellini paid but five dollars a day to his accompanist.Wednesdays and Saturdays were left forprivate lessons at a dollar an hour, and although Mrs.Sturgis could have filled other days of the week withpupils, Miss Loughborough and Signor Bellini representedan income that was certain, while nothing wasmore uncertain than the little pupils whose parentssent them regularly for a few months and then movedaway or summarily discontinued the instruction oftenwithout explanation. Jeannette and Alice had urgedtheir mother repeatedly to drop one or the other of herclose-handed employers and take on more pupils, butto these entreaties Mrs. Sturgis had shaken her headwith firm determination until her round little cheekstrembled.
“No—no, lovies; that may be all very well,—theymay be underpaying me,—perhaps they are, but themoney’s sure and that’s the comfort. It’s worth much[Pg 17]more to me to know that than to earn twice theamount.”
It was the dreary hot summers that Mrs. Sturgisand her daughters dreaded when Miss Loughborough’sschool closed its doors and Signor Bellini made hisannual pilgrimage to Italy, and the little pupils whohad filled the Wednesday and Saturday lesson hoursdrifted away to the beaches or the mountains. Julyand August were empty, barren months and againsttheir profitlessness some provision had to be made; alittle must be put by during the year to take care ofthis lean and trying period. But somehow, althoughMrs. Sturgis firmly determined at the beginning of eachseason that never again would she subject her girlsto the self-denials, even privations, they had enduredduring the summer, every year it became harder andharder to save, while each summer brought freshhumiliations and a slimmer purse. Even in the mostprosperous seasons the small family was in debt,always a little behind, never wholly caught up, andas time went on, it became evident that each yearfound them further and further in arrears. Theywere always harassed by annoying petty accounts.Miss Loughborough’s and Signor Bellini’s money paidthe rent and the actual daily food, and when a parenttook it into his or her head to send a check for achild’s music, the amount had to be proportioned hereand there: so much to the druggist, the dentist anddoctor; so much to the steam laundry; so much to theice company and dairy; so much for gas and fuel.
Emerging from the chrysalis of girlhood, Jeannetteand Alice were rapidly becoming young women, witha healthy, normal appetite for pretty clothes and[Pg 18]amusement. These were simple enough and might soeasily have been gratified, Mrs. Sturgis often sadlythought, if her income would keep but a lagging pacewith modestly expanding needs. It required a fewextra dollars only each year, but where could she layher hands on them? When a business expanded andits earnings grew proportionately, an employee’ssalary was sure to be raised after a time of faithfulservice. Mrs. Sturgis did not dare increase the ratesshe charged for her lessons. She felt she was facinga blank wall; she could conceive of no way wherebyshe might earn more. Skimping what went on thetable was an old recourse to which she and her childrenwere now thoroughly accustomed. She did not seehow she could possibly cut down further and stillkeep her girls properly nourished.
§ 5
She watched them affectionately now as they finishedtheir dinner, observing her older daughter’sfastidious manipulation of her fork, the younger one’sbirdlike way of twisting her small head as she ate.A fleeting wonder of what the future held in store foreach passed through her mind. Jeannette was themore impetuous, and daring, was shrewd-minded,clear-thinking, efficient, was headstrong, and actuatedever by a suffering pride; she would undoubtedlygrow into a tall, beautiful woman. Alice,—hermother’s “brown bird,”—seemed overshadowed bycomparison and yet Mrs. Sturgis sometimes felt thatAlice, with her simpler, unexacting, contented nature,her gentle faith, her meditative mind, was the more[Pg 19]fortunate of the two. She, herself, turned to Jeannettefor advice, for discussion of ways and means,and to Alice for sympathetic understanding and uncriticalloyalty. They were both splendid girls, shemused fondly, who would make admirable wives. Theymust marry, of course; she had brought them up sincethey were tiny girls to consider a successful, happymarriage as their outstanding aim in life; she hadtrained them in the duties of wives, even of mothers,but she shuddered and her heart grew sick within heras she began dimly to perceive the time approachingwhen she must surrender their bloom and innocenceand her complete proprietorship in them to some confident,ignorant young male who would unhesitatinglyset up his half-baked judgment for his wife’s welfareagainst her hard-won knowledge of life. Yet bothgirls must marry; her heart was set on that. Marriagemeant everything to a girl, and to the right husbands,her daughters would make ideal wives.
With the speed of long practice, the remains of thedinner were swept away and the kitchen set to rights.Both girls attempted to dissuade their mother fromperforming her customary dish-washing task, urgingher that to-night she must rest. But Mrs. Sturgiswould not listen; she was quite rested, she declared,and there was nothing to washing up the few dishesthey had used; why, it wasn’t ten minutes’ work! Sheinvariably insisted upon performing this dirtier, morevigorous task; Alice’s part was to wipe; Jeannette’sto clear the table, brush the cloth, put away the chinaand napkins, and replace the old square piece ofchenille curtaining which had for years done duty asa table cover. Then there was the gas drop-light to[Pg 20]set in its center, and connect with the gaselier aboveby a long tube ending in a curved brass nozzle thatfitted over one of the burners. Where this joining occurred,there was always a slight escape of gas, andit frequently gave Mrs. Sturgis or her daughters aheadache, but beyond an impatient comment from oneof them, such as “Mercy me! the gas smells horriblyto-night!” or “Open the window a little, dearie,—thegas is beginning to make my head ache,” nothingwas ever done about it. It was one of those thingsin their lives to which they had grown accustomed andaccepted along with the rest of the ills and goods oftheir days.
Mother and girls used the dining-room as the placeto congregate, sew, read or idle. They rarely satdown or attempted to make themselves comfortable inthe spacious front room. It was not nearly so agreeablyintimate, and they felt it must always be kept inorder for music lessons and for rare occasions whencompany came. “Company” usually turned out to bea pupil’s mother or a housemaid who came to explainthat little Edna or Gracie had the mumps orwas going to the dentist’s on Saturday and thereforewould not be able to take her lesson, or a messengerfrom Signor Bellini to inquire if Mrs. Sturgis couldplay for one of his pupils the following evening. Suchwas the character of the callers, but the fiction of“company” was maintained.
The group Mrs. Sturgis and her daughters madeabout the dining-room table in the warm yellow radianceof the drop-light was intimately familiar anddear to each of them. There was always a certainamount of sewing going on,—mending or darning,—and[Pg 21]hardly an evening passed without one or anotherindustriously bending over her needle. Usually theywere all three at it, for they made most of their ownclothes. Each had her own particular side of thetable and her own particular chair. They were extremelycircumspect in the observance of one another’spreferences, and would apologize profusely if one happenedto be found on the wrong side of the table orincorrectly seated. Mrs. Sturgis, on the rare occasionswhen she found herself with nothing particularto do, spread out a pack of cards before her and indulgedin a meditative solitaire; Alice had always anovel in which she was absorbed. Generally three orfour books were saved up in her room, and she consideredherself dreadfully behind in her reading unlessshe had disposed of one of them as soon as she acquiredanother. Jeannette studied the fashions in the dressmagazines and sometimes amused herself by drawingcostume designs of her own.
But dressmaking occupied most of the evenings.There was usually a garment of some kind in processof manufacture, or a dress to be ripped to pieces andits materials used in new ways. Alice acted as modelno matter for whom the work was intended. She hadinfinite patience and could stand indefinitely, sometimeswith a bit of sewing in her hands, sometimeswith a book propped before her on the mantel, indifferentand unconcerned, while her mother and sistercrawled around her on the floor, pinning, pulling anddraping the material about her young figure, or elsesitting back on their heels and arguing with eachother, while they eyed her with heads first on oneside, then on the other.
[Pg 22]
§ 6
To-night Jeannette was making herself a corsetcover, Alice was struggling over a school essay on“Home Life of the Greeks in the Age of Pericles,”and Mrs. Sturgis was darning. They had not been morethan half-an-hour at their work, when there was thesound of masculine feet mounting the stairs, a hesitatingstep in the hall, and a brief ring of the doorbell.They glanced at one another questioningly andAlice rose. Alice always answered the bell.
“If it’s old Bellini wanting you to-night....”Jeannette began in annoyance. But the man’s voicethat reached them was no messenger’s; it was politeand friendly, and it was for Alice’s sister he inquired.Jeannette found Dikron Najarian in the front room.The young man was all bashful breathlessness.
“There’s an Armenian society here in New York,Miss Sturgis. My father was one of its organizers,has been a member for years. We’re having a danceto-night at Weidermann’s Hall on Amsterdam Avenue,and my cousin, Louisa, who was going with me,is ill; she has a bad toothache. I have her ticket and... will you come in her place? Rosa’s going, ofcourse, and ... tell your mother I’ll bring you homeat twelve o’clock.”
It was said in an anxious rush, with hopeful eagerness.Jeannette, bewildered, went to consult hermother. Mrs. Sturgis hastily pinned one of her jabotsaround her neck and appeared to confront youngNajarian in the studio. She listened to the invitationthoughtfully, her head cocked upon one side, her lipspursed in judicial fashion. Janny was still very young,[Pg 23]she explained; she had never attended anything quite—quiteso grown-up, she was used only to the partiesher school friends sometimes asked her to, and Mrs.Sturgis was afraid....
Suddenly Jeannette wanted to go. She pinched hermother’s arm, and an impatient protest escaped herlips.
“Oh, please, Mrs. Sturgis....” pleaded the youngman.
A rich contralto voice sounded from the hallway ofthe floor below. The door to the apartment had beenleft open and now they could see big handsome RosaNajarian’s face through the banisters as she stoodhalfway up the stairs.
“Do let your daughter come, Mrs. Sturgis. Theyare all nice boys and girls. I will keep a sharp eyeon her and bring her home to you safely.”
“Well,” said Mrs. Sturgis, “I just wanted to feelsatisfied that everything was right and proper.”
There were some further words. Jeannette left hermother talking with Dikron and flew to the dining-room,to her sister.
“Quick, Alice dearie! Dikron Najarian’s asked meto a dance. I must fly! Help me get ready. He’swaiting.”
Instantly there was a scurry, a jerking open ofbureau drawers, a general diving into crowded closets.The question immediately arose, what was Jeannetteto wear? In a mad burst of extravagance, she hadsent her dotted Swiss muslin to the laundry. Thereremained only her old “party” dress, which had beendone over and over, lengthened and lengthened, untilnow the velvet was worn and shiny, the covering of[Pg 24]some of the buttons was gone and showed the brightmetal beneath, the ribbon about the waist was split inseveral places. Yet there was nothing else, and whilethe girl was hooking herself into it, Alice daubed themetal buttons with ink, and sewed folds of the ribbonover where it had begun to split. Jeannette borrowedstockings from her sister and wedged her feet into apair of her mother’s pumps which were too small forher. Her black lusterless locks were happily becominglyarranged, and excitement brought a warm dullred to her olive-tinted cheeks. She was in gay spiritswhen Najarian called for her some fifteen minuteslater, and went off with him chattering vivaciously.
Mrs. Sturgis stood for a moment in the open doorwayof her apartment and listened to the descendingfeet upon the stairs, to the lessening sound of gayyoung voices. She assured herself she caught RosaNajarian’s warmer accents as the older girl met herbrother and Jeannette two flights below; she still benther ear for the last sounds of the little party as it madeits way down the final flight of stairs, paused for aninterval in the lowest hallway, and banged the frontdoor behind it with a dull reverberation and a shiverof glass. As the house grew still she waited a minuteor two longer with compressed lips and a troubledfrown, then shook her round little cheeks firmly,turned back into her own apartment, and without commentbegan to help Alice hang up Jeannette’s discardedclothing and set the disordered room to rights.
§ 7
Jeannette found her mother sitting up for her whenshe returned a little after twelve. Mrs. Sturgis was[Pg 25]engaged in writing out bills for her lessons which shewould mail on the last day of the month. The oldcanvas-covered ledger with its criss-crossed pages,its erasures and torn edges in which she kept heraccounts was a familiar sight in her hands. She wasforever turning its thumbed and ink-stained leaves,studying old and new entries, making half-finished calculationsin the margins or blank spaces. She sat nowin the unbecoming flannelette gown she wore at night,her thin hair in two skimpy pig-tails on either side ofher neck, a tattered knitted shawl of a murderous redabout her shoulders, and a comforter across her knees.In the yellow light of the hissing gas above her head,she appeared haggard and old, with dark pockets underneathher scant eyebrows and even gaunt hollowsin the little cheeks that bulged plumply and bravelyduring the day above her tight lace collars.
“Well,—dear-ie!” Bright animation struggled intothe mother’s face, and her voice at once was all eagernessand interest. “Did you have a good time? ...Tell me about it.”
Immediately she detected something was amiss.There was none of the gay exhilaration and youthfulexuberance in her daughter’s manner, she had confidentlyexpected. One searching glance into the glitteringdark eyes, as the girl stooped to kiss her, toldher Jeannette was fighting tears, struggling to controla burst of pent-up feeling.
“Why, dearie! What’s the matter? ... Tell me.”
“Oh——!” There was young fury in the exclamation.Jeannette flung herself into a chair and buriedher face in her hands, plunging her finger-tips deep intoher thick coils of black hair. For several minutes[Pg 26]she would not answer her mother’s anxious inquiries.
“Wasn’t Mr. Najarian nice to you? Didn’t he lookafter you? Didn’t you have a good time? Tell Mama,”Mrs. Sturgis persisted.
“Oh, yes,—he was very nice, ... yes, he took goodcare of me,—and Rosa did, too.”
“Then what is it, dearie? What happened? Mamawants to know.”
Jeannette drew a long breath and got brusquely toher feet.
“Oh, it’s this!” she burst out, striking the gownshe wore with contemptuous fingers. “It’s these miserablethings I have to wear! There wasn’t a girlthere, to-night,—not even one,—that wasn’t betterdressed. I was a laughing-stock among them! ...Oh, I know I was, I know I was! ... They all feltsorry for me: a poor little neighbor of DikronNajarian’s on whom he had taken pity and whom hehad asked to a dance! ... Oh! I can’t and won’tstand it, Mama.”
Tears suddenly choked her but she fought themdown and stilled her mother’s rush of expostulations.
“No—no, Mama! ... It’s nobody’s fault. Youwork your fingers to the bone for Allie and me; youwork from daylight till dark to keep us in school andin idleness. I’m not going to let you do it anylonger.... No, Mama, I’m not going to let thingsgo on as they are. I needed some experience like to-night’sto make me wake up.”
“What experience? Don’t talk so wild, baby.”
“Finding out for myself I was the shabbiest dressedgirl in the room! There were a lot of other girls there,—really[Pg 27]nice girls. I didn’t expect it. I suppose Ithought I wouldn’t find any American girls like myselfat an Armenian dance. I don’t know what I thought! ...But there were only a few like Rosa and Dikron,and all the other girls were beautifully dressed.”
Jeannette broke off and began to blink hard for self-control.Her mother, her face twisted with sympathyand distress, could only pat her hand and murmursoothingly over and over: “Dearie—my poor dearie—mydearie-girl——”
“I saw one old lady sizing me up,” Jeannette wenton presently. “I could see right into her brain andI knew every thought she was thinking. She lookedme over from my feet to my hair and from my hairto my feet. There wasn’t a thing wrong or right withme that that old cat missed! She didn’t mean it unkindly;she was merely interested in noting howshabby I was.... And Mama,—it was a revelationto me! I could just see ahead into the years that arecoming, and I could see that that was to be my fatealways wherever I went: to be shabbily dressed andbe pitied.”
“Now—now, dearie,—don’t take on so. Mama willwork hard; we’ll save——”
“But that’s just what I won’t have!” Jeannette interruptedpassionately. “I’m not going to let you goon slaving for Allie and me, making yourself a drudge....What’s it all for? Just so Allie and I can marrysuitable rich young men! Isn’t that it? Ever since Ican remember, I’ve heard you talk about our futurehusbands and what kind of men they are to be. You’vebeen describing to us for years the time when we’ll begoing to dances and theatres. Going, yes, but how?[Pg 28]Dressed like this? Worn, shabby old clothes? To bepitied by other women? ... No, Mama, I won’t do it.I’d rather stay home with you for the rest of my lifeand grow up to be an old maid!”
“Oh, Janny, don’t talk so reckless. You take thingsso seriously, and you’re always imagining the worstside of everything. There are thousands of girls agreat deal worse off than you. There are thousandsof mothers and fathers and daughters in this city rightthis minute who are facing just this problem. It’sas old as the hills. But there’s always a way out,—away that’s right and proper. Don’t let it troubleyou, dearie; leave it to Mama; Mama’ll manage.”
“No, Mama, I won’t leave it to you! I’ve got eyesin my head and I see how hard you have to struggle.We’re always behind as it is,—pestered by bills andthe tradespeople. Why, this very afternoon we didn’thave a cent in the house,—not even a copper,—and youhad to borrow a dime from Mildred Carpenter to buybread! Just think of it! We didn’t have moneyenough for bread!”
“But, dearie, I’ve got Miss Loughborough’s checkin my purse.”
“Yes, and we owe ten times its amount! ... We’rerunning steadily behind. I don’t see anything betterahead. It’s going to be this way year after year,always falling a little more and a little more behind,until—until, well—until people won’t trust us anymore.”
“Perhaps we could cut down a bit somewheres,Janny.”
“Oh, Mama, don’t talk nonsense! I’m going towork,—that’s all there is about it.”
[Pg 29]
“Jeannette! ... You can’t! ... You mustn’t!”
“Well, I am just the same. Rosa Najarian is a stenographerwith the Singer Sewing Machine Company,and she gets eighteen dollars a week! ... Think of it,Mama! Eighteen dollars a week! She took a tenweeks’ course at the Gerard Commercial School andat the end of that time they got her a job. She didn’thave to wait a week! ... No, I’m not going to HighSchool another day. To-morrow I’m going down tothat Commercial School.”
“But, dearie—dearie! You don’t want to be aworking girl!”
“You’re a working woman, aren’t you?”
“But, my dear, I had no other choice. I had mygirls to bring up, and I’ve grubbed and slaved, as yousay, just so my daughters would never have to takepositions. I’ve worked hard to make ladies of you,dearie,—and no lady’s a shop-girl.... Oh, I couldn’tbear it! You and Allie shop-girls! ... Janny,—itwould finish me.”
“Well, Mama, you don’t feel so awfully about RosaNajarian—do you? You consider Rosa a lady, don’tyou?”
“She’s an Armenian, Jeannette, and I know nothingabout Armenians. Besides she is not my daughter.The kind of men I want for husbands to my girls willnot be looking for their wives behind shop counters!”
“But, Mama, stenographers don’t work behindcounters.”
“Oh, yes, they do.... Anyway it’s the samething.”
Jeannette felt suddenly too tired to continue thediscussion. Her mind began turning over the changes[Pg 30]the step she contemplated would occasion. Mrs.Sturgis’ fingers played a nervous tattoo upon hertremulous lips. She glanced apprehensively at herdaughter and in that moment realized the girl wouldhave her way.
“Oh, dearie, dearie!” she burst out. “I can’t haveyou go to work!”
Jeannette knew that no opposition from her motherwould alter her purpose. Where her mind was madeup, her mother invariably capitulated. It had been sofor a long time, and Jeannette, at least, was awareof it. As she foresaw the full measure of her mother’sdistress when she put her decision into effect, she cameand knelt beside her chair, gathered the tired figurein its absurd flannelette nightgown in her arms andkissed the thin silky hair where it parted and showedthe papery white skin of her scalp. Mrs. Sturgis benther head against her daughter’s shoulder, while thetears trickled down her nose and fell upon the girl’sbare arm. Jeannette murmured consolingly but hermother refused to be comforted, indicating her disapprovalby firm little shakes of her head which shemanaged now and then between watery sniffles.
There were finally many kisses between them andmany loving assurances. The girl promised to donothing without careful consideration, and they wouldall three discuss the proposition from every angle inthe morning. When they had said a last good-nightand the girl had gone to her room, Mrs. Sturgis stillsat on under the hissing gas jet with the red, tornshawl about her shoulders, the comforter across herknees. The tears dried on her face, and for a long[Pg 31]time she stared fixedly before her, her lips movingunconsciously with her thoughts.
The little suite of rooms she had known so intimatelyfor twelve long years grew still; the chill of thedead of night crept in; Jeannette’s light went out.Mrs. Sturgis reached for the canvas-covered ledgeron the table beside her and began a rapid calculationof figures on its last page. For a long time she staredat the result, then rose deliberately, and went into herroom. There she cautiously pulled an old trunk fromthe wall, unlocked its lid, raised a dilapidated tray, andknelt down. In the bottom was an old papier-machébox, battered and scratched, with rubbed corners. Sheopened this and began carefully to examine its contents.There was the old brooch pin Ralph had givenher after the first concert they attended together, andthere were her mother’s coral earrings and necklace,and the little silver buckles Jeannette had worn on herfirst baby shoes. There were some other trinkets: astud, Ralph’s collapsible gold pencil, a French five-francpiece, a scarf-pin from whose setting the stonewas missing. Tucked into a faded leather photographcase was a sheaf of folded pawn tickets. That was theway her rings had gone, and the diamond pin, Ralph’sjeweled cuff-links and the gold head of her father’sebony cane. She picked up the pair of silver bucklesand examined them in the palm of her hand; presentlyshe added the gold brooch and the collapsible pencilbefore she put back the contents of the trunk andlocked it. For some moments she stood in the centerof her room gently jingling these ornaments together.Then her eye travelled to her bureau; slowly she approached[Pg 32]it, and one after another lifted the goldchains she wore during the day. These she disengagedfrom her eye-glasses and watch, and wrappedthem with the buckles and the brooch in a bit of tissuepaper pulled from a lower drawer. But still she didnot seem satisfied. With the tissue-paper package inher hand, she sat on the edge of her bed, frowningthoughtfully, her fingers slowly tapping her lips.Presently a light came into her eyes. She lit a candleand stole softly through the girls’ rooms, into the greatgaunt chamber that was the studio. In one corner wasa bookcase, overflowing with old novels, magazines,and battered school-books. It was a higgledy-piggledycollection of years, a library without value save forfive substantial volumes of Grove’s Musical Dictionaryon a lower shelf. Mrs. Sturgis knelt before these,drew them out one by one, and laid them beside her onthe floor. She opened the first volume and read theinscription: “To my ever patient, gentle Henrietta,for five trying years my devoted wife, true friend, andloving companion, from her grateful and affectionatehusband, Ralph.” There was the date,—twelve yearsago,—and he had died within six months after he hadwritten those words. Her fingers moved to her tremblinglips and she frowned darkly.
She closed the book, carried the five volumes to ashelf in a closet near at hand, and tucked them out ofsight in a far corner. There was one last business tobe performed: the books in the bookcase must be rearrangedto fill the vacant place where the dictionaryhad stood. Mrs. Sturgis was not satisfied until herefforts seemed convincing. At last she picked upher wavering candle and made her way back to her[Pg 33]own room. As she got into bed the old onyx clockon the mantel in the dining-room struck three blurrednotes upon its tiny harsh gong. Only when darknesshad shut down and the night was silent, did tearscome to the tired eyes. There was then a blindingrush, and a few quick, strangling sobs. Mrs. Sturgisstifled these and wiped her eyes hardily upon a foldof the rough sheet. She steadied a trembling lip witha firm hand and resolutely turned upon her side to composeherself for sleep.
[Pg 34]
CHAPTER II
§ 1
It took all Jeannette’s young vigorous determinationto carry into effect the plan she had conceived thenight of the Armenian dance. She met with an unexpecteddegree of opposition from her mother, andeven from Alice, who was as a rule indecisive, and thevaguest of persons in expressing opinions. It was toograve a step; Janny might come to regret it bitterlysome day, and it might be too late then to go back;Alice thought perhaps it would be wiser to wait awhile.But Jeannette did not want to wait. The more shethought about being a wage-earner, and her own mistress,free to do as she pleased and spend her moneyas she chose, the more eager she was to be done withschool and the supervision of teachers. She felt suddenlygrown up, and looked enviously at the youngwomen she met hurrying to the elevated station atNinety-third Street in the early mornings on their waydowntown to business. She noted how they dressedand critically observed those who carried their lunches.She thought about what she should wear, the kind ofhat and shoes she would select, when she was one ofthem. If it meant skipping her noonday meal entirely,she decided, she would never be guilty of carryinglunch with her. Alice and her intimates at school ona sudden became drearily young to her; she was irritated[Pg 35]by their giggling silliness. She chose to treatthem all with a certain aloofness, and began to regardherself already as a highly-paid, valued secretary ofthe president of a large corporation. In the eveningsshe found excuses for visiting Rosa Najarian andeagerly listened to the older girl’s account of the businessroutine of her days.
The tuition at the Gerard Commercial School forten weeks’ instruction in shorthand and typing wasfifty dollars payable in advance, and it was her inabilityto get this sum that prevented Jeannette fromputting her plan immediately into effect. She madeherself unhappy and her mother and sister unhappyby worrying about it. Mrs. Sturgis fretted uncomfortably.She alone was aware of an easy way bywhich the money could be obtained, but since she didnot approve of her daughter’s purpose, she had noinclination to divulge it.
A five thousand dollar paid-up insurance policy froma benevolent society had become hers at the timeof her husband’s death. It represented a nest-egg, thethought of which had always been the greatest comfortto her. In sickness or in case of her death, thegirls would have something; they would not be leftabsolutely destitute. She had never mentioned thispolicy to her daughters, always being afraid she mightborrow on it, and many a time she had been sorelytempted to do so. With the knowledge of its existenceunshared with anyone, Mrs. Sturgis felt herself equalto temptation; but once taking her children into herconfidence, she feared she would soon weakly makeinroads upon it.
Now as Jeannette became restive and impatient for[Pg 36]want of fifty dollars, her mother grew correspondinglydepressed. It was to protect herself against just suchwild-goose schemes as this, she told herself over andover, that she had refrained from telling her darlingsanything about the money.
But events, unforeseen, and from her point of view,calamitous, robbed her of her fortitude, and forcedher to play into her daughter’s hands. Scarlet feverbroke out in the neighborhood; an epidemic swept theupper West Side; the Wednesday and Saturday lessons,—allof them,—had to be discontinued; MissLoughborough’s school closed its doors. Mrs. Sturgisfound some music to copy, but the money she earnedin this way was far short of the meager income uponwhich she and her daughters had depended. The daysstretched into weeks and still new cases were reportedin the district. The time came when there was actualwant in the little household, literally no money withwhich to buy food, and no further credit to be hadamong the tradespeople.
Jeannette applied for and secured the promise of ajob in a small upholsterer’s shop in the neighborhoodat six dollars a week, and in the face of her firm resolutionto accept the offer and go to work on the followingMonday morning, Mrs. Sturgis confessed hersecret. As she had foreseen, Jeannette had little difficultyin persuading her,—since now she would be compelledto borrow on her store,—to make the amount ofher loan fifty dollars additional.
“Why, Mama, I’ll be earning that much a month inten weeks, and I can pay it back to you in no time.”
“I know—I know, dearie. But I just hate to do it.”
Eventually, she gave way before her daughter’s[Pg 37]flood of arguments. It was what she had feared eversince Ralph died; there would be no stopping now theinroads upon her little capital; she saw the beginningof the end.
But Jeannette went triumphantly to school.
§ 2
After the first few days while she felt herself conspicuousas a new pupil, she began to enjoy herselfimmensely. The studies fascinated her. Hers was analert mind and she was unusually intelligent. Shehad always been regarded as an exceptionally brightstudent, but she had achieved this reputation with littleapplication. Her school work heretofore had representedmerely “lessons” to her; it had never carriedany significance. But now she threw herself withall the intensity of her nature upon what seemed toher a vital business. She realized she had only tenweeks in which to master shorthand and typing, andat the end of that time would come the test of herability to fill a position as stenographer. She darednot risk the humiliation of failure; her pride,—thestrongest element in her make-up,—would not permitit. She must work, work, work; she must utilize everyhour, every minute of these precious weeks ofinstruction!
The girl knew in her heart that she had many ofthe qualifications of a good secretary. She was pretty,she was well-mannered, intelligent, and could speakand write good English. To find ample justificationfor this estimate, she had but to compare herself withother girls in the school. These for the most part[Pg 38]were foreign-born. A large percentage were Jewesses,thick-lipped and large-nosed, with heavy black coilsof hair worn over ill-disguised “rats.” Jeannette detecteda finer type, but even to these exceptions she feltherself superior. They chewed gum a great deal, andshrieked over their confidences as they ate theirlunches out of cardboard boxes at the noon hour. Shecould not bring herself to associate with such girls,and forestalled any approach to friendliness on theirpart by choosing a remote corner to devote the leisureminutes to study. In consequence she became the buttof much of their silly laughter, and though she wincedat these whisperings and jibes, she never betrayedannoyance. There was a sprinkling of men and boysthroughout the school, but the male element was madeup of middle-aged dullards and pimply-necked rawyouths, none of whom interested her.
The weeks fled by, and Jeannette was carried alongon an undiminished wave of excitement. Everythingshe coveted most in the world depended upon her winninga diploma from the school at the end of the tenweeks’ instruction. She discovered soon after herenrollment, that while this might be physically possible,it was rarely accomplished, and most of her fellowstudents had been attending the school for months.A diploma represented to her the measure of success,and as the time grew shorter before she was to take thefinal examinations, she could hardly sleep from theintensity of her emotions.
At home, matters had materially improved. Theepidemic was over; Miss Loughborough’s school hadreopened its doors, and Mrs. Sturgis was again beginningto fill her Wednesdays and Saturdays with lessons.[Pg 39]But the problem of finances was still unsolved.There was a loan of five hundred dollars now on theinsurance policy, and Jeannette foresaw her motherwould not cease to fret and worry over that until ithad somehow been paid back. Everything, it seemedto her, depended on her success at school. There wasno hope for the little family otherwise. Alice—trusting,complacent little Alice—was not the type whocould shoulder any of the burden; her mother was perceptiblynot as strong as she had been. There wouldalways be debts, there would always be worry, therewould always be skimping and self-denial, unless she,Jeannette, got a job and went to work.
Weary with fatigue, she would drive herself at herpractice on the rented typewriter in the studio everyevening until her back flamed with fire and her fingertipsgrew sore. She made Alice read aloud to herwhile she filled page after page in her note-book withher hooks and dashes, until her sister drooped withsleep. Mrs. Sturgis protested, actually cried a little.The child was killing herself to no purpose! Therewasn’t any sense in working so hard! She was wastingher time and it would end by their having adoctor!
Jeannette shook her head and held her peace, butwhen the reward came and old Roger Mason, whohad been principal of the school for nearly twentyyears, sent for her and told her he wanted to congratulateher on the excellent showing she had made,she felt amply compensated. But none of those whoeagerly congratulated her,—not even her mother norAlice,—suspected how infinitely harder than masteringher lessons had been what she had endured from the[Pg 40]jeering, mimicking girls who had made fun of herthrough the dreadful ten weeks.
But that was all behind her now. She could forgetit. She had justified herself, and stood ready to proveto her mother and sister that she could now fill a positionas a regular stenographer, could hold it, and moreoverbring them material help. She was all eagernessto begin,—frightened at the prospect, yet confident ofsuccess.
§ 3
Graduates of the Gerard Commercial School ordinarilydid not have to wait long for a job. The demandfor stenographers was usually in excess of the supply.Little Miss Ingram, down at the school, who had inhand the matter of finding positions for Gerard graduates,was interested in obtaining the best that wasavailable for Miss Sturgis who had made such anexcellent record, and Jeannette was thrilled one morningat receiving a note asking her to report at theschool without delay if she wished employment.
Miss Ingram handed her an address on FourthAvenue.
“It’s a publishing house. They publish subscriptionbooks, I think,—something of that sort. I don’t urgeyou to take it,—something better may come along,—butyou can look them over and see how you thinkyou’d like it. They’ll pay fifteen.”
“Fifteen a week?” Jeanette raised delighted eyes.“Oh, Miss Ingram, do you think I can please them?Do you think they’ll give me a chance?”
Miss Ingram smiled and squeezed Jeannette’s armreassuringly.
[Pg 41]
“Of course, my dear, and they’ll be delighted withyou. You’re a great deal better equipped than mostof our girls.”
The Soulé Publishing Company occupied a spaciousfloor of a tall building on Fourth Avenue. Jeannettewas deafened by the clatter of typewriters as shestepped out of the elevator.
The loft was filled with long lines of girls seated attypewriting machines and at great broad-topped tablespiled high with folded circulars. Figures, silhouettedagainst the distant windows, moved to and fro betweenthe aisles. It was a turmoil of noise and confusion.
As she stood before the low wooden railing thatseparated her from it all, trying to adjust her eyes tothe kaleidoscopic effect of movement and light, a pertyoung voice addressed her:
“Who did chou want t’ see, ple-ease?”
A little Jewess of some fourteen or fifteen yearswith an elaborate coiffure surmounting her peakedpale face was eyeing her inquiringly.
“I called to see about—about a position as stenographer.”
Jeannette’s voice all but failed her; the words foggedin her throat.
“Typist or regular steno?”
“Stenographer, I think; shorthand and transcription,—wasn’tthat what was wanted?”
“See Miss Gibson; first desk over there, end ofthird aisle.” The little girl swung back a gate in therailing, screwed up the corners of her mouth, tuckeda stray hair into place at the nape of her neck, andwith an assumed expression of elaborate boredomwaited for Jeannette to pass through.
[Pg 42]
It took courage to invade that region of bustle andclamor. Jeannette advanced with faltering step, feltthe waters close over her head, and herself engulfed inthe whirling tide. Once of it, it did not seem so terrifying.Already her ears were becoming attuned to therat-ti-tat-tating that hummed in a roar about her, andher eyes accustomed to the flying fingers, the flashingpaper, the bobbing heads, and hurrying figures.
Miss Gibson was a placid, gray-haired woman, large-bustedand severely dressed in an immaculate shirtwaistthat was tucked trimly into a snug belt about herfirm, round person.
She smiled perfunctorily at the girl as she indicatedthe chair beside her desk. Jeannette felt her eyesswiftly taking inventory of her. Her interrogationswere of the briefest. She made a note of Jeannette’sage, name and address, and schooling. She thenlaunched into a description of the work.
The Soulé Publishing Company sold a great manybooks by subscription: Secret Memoirs, The Favoritesof Great Kings, A Compendium of Mortal Knowledge.Their most recent publication was a twenty-five volumework entitled A Universal History of the World. Thisset of books was supposed to contain a complete historicalrecord of events from the beginning of time,and was composed of excerpts from the writingsof great historians, all deftly welded together to makea comprehensive narrative. A tremendous advertisingcampaign was in progress; all magazines carried full-pageadvertisements, and a coupon clipped from acorner of them brought a sample volume by mail forinspection. When these volumes were returned, theywere accompanied by an order or a letter giving the[Pg 43]reason why none was enclosed. To the latter, a personalreply was immediately written by Mr. Beardsley,—MissGibson indicated a young man seated by awindow some few desks away. He dictated to a corpsof stenographers, and followed up his first letters withothers, each containing an argument in favor of thebooks.
Miss Gibson enunciated this information with aglibness that suggested many previous recitations.When she had finished, with disconcerting abruptness,she asked Jeannette if she thought she could do thework. The girl, taken aback, could only stare blankly;she had no idea whether she could do it or not; sheshook her head aimlessly. Miss Gibson frowned.
“Well,—we’ll see what you can do,” she declared.“Miss Rosen,” she called, and as a young Jewess cametoward them, she directed: “Take Miss—Miss”—sheglanced at her notes,—“Sturgis to the cloak room, andbring her back here.”
Jeannette’s mind was a confused jumble. “Theywon’t kill me,—they won’t eat me,” she found herselfthinking.
Presently she stood before Miss Gibson once more.The woman glanced at her, and rose.
“Come this way.” They walked toward the youngman she had previously indicated.
“Mr. Beardsley, try this girl out. She comes fromthe Gerard School, but she’s had no practical experience.”
Jeannette looked into a pleasant boy’s face. Hehad an even row of glittering white teeth, a small,quaint mouth that stretched tightly across them whenhe smiled, blue eyes, and rather unruly stuck-up hair.
[Pg 44]
She wanted to please him—she could please him—heseemed nice.
“Miss—Miss—I beg pardon,—Miss Gibson did notmention the name.”
“Sturgis.”
“There’s a vacant table over there. You can havea Remington or an Underwood—anything you areaccustomed to; we have all styles.... Miss Flannigan,take charge of Miss Sturgis, will you?”
A big-boned Irish girl came toward him. She wasa slovenly type but apparently disposed to be friendly.
“I’ll lend you a note-book and pencils till you candraw your own from the stock clerk. You have tomake out a requisition for everything you want, here.You’ll find paper in that drawer, and that’s a Remingtonif you use one.”
Jeannette slipped into the straight-back chair andsettled with a sense of relief before the flimsy littletable on which the typewriter stood. She was eagerfor a moment’s inconspicuousness.
“This is the kind of stuff he gives you.”
Miss Flannigan leaned over from behind and offeredher several yellow sheets of typewriting.
Jeannette took them with a murmured thanks, andbegan to read.
“... deferred payment plan. Five dollars will immediatelysecure this handsome twenty-five volumeset.... On the first of May, the price of these books,as advertised, must advance, but by subscribingnow....”
She wet her dry lips and glanced at another page.
“The authenticity of these sources of historical informationcannot be doubted.... Eliminating the[Pg 45]traditions which can hardly be accepted as dependablechronicles, we turn to the Egyptian records which arestill extant in graven symbols.”
She couldn’t do it! It was harder than anything shehad ever had in practice! She saw failure confrontingher. The sting of tears pricked her eyes, and shepressed her lips tightly together.
Blindly she picked up a stiff bristle brush and beganto clean the type of her machine. She slipped in a sheetof paper, and, to distract herself, rattled off brisklysome of her school exercises. Those other girls coulddo it! She saw them glancing at their notes, and busilyclicking at their machines. They did not seem to behaving difficulty. Miss Flannigan,—that raw-bonedIrish girl with no breeding, no education, no brains!—howwas it that she managed it?
She frowned savagely and her fingers flew.
“Miss Sturgis.”
Young Mr. Beardsley was smiling at her invitingly.She rose, gathering up her pencils and note-book.
“Sit down, Miss Sturgis. This work may seem alittle difficult to you at first but you’ll soon get on toit. Most of these letters are very much alike. There’sno particular accuracy required. The idea is to get incloser touch with these people who have written in orinquired about the books, and we write them personalletters for the effect the direct message....”
He went on explaining, amiably, reassuringly.Jeannette thawed under his pleasant manner; confidencecame surging back. She made up her mind sheliked this young man; he was considerate, he was kind,he was a gentleman.
“The idea, of course, is always to have your letters[Pg 46]intelligible. If you don’t understand what you havewritten, the person to whom it is addressed, won’teither. I don’t care whether you get my actual wordsor not. You’re always at liberty to phrase a sentenceany way you choose as long as it makes sense....Now let’s see; we’ll try one. Frank Curry, R.F.D. 1,Topeka, Kansas.... I’ll go slow at first, but if Iforget and get going too rapidly, don’t hesitate tostop me.”
Jeannette, with her note-book balanced on her knee,bent to her work. Beardsley spoke slowly and distinctly.After the first moments of agonizing despair,she began to catch her breath and concentrate on theformation of her notes. More than once she wastempted to write a word out long-hand; she hesitatedover “historical,” “consummation,” “inaccurate.”She had been told at school never to permit herselfto do this. Better to fail at first, they had said, thanto grow to depend on slipshod ways.
The ordeal lasted half-an-hour.
“Suppose you try that much, Miss Sturgis, and seehow you get along.”
She rose and gathered up the bundle of letters.Beardsley gave her a friendly, encouraging smile asshe turned away.
“How pleasant and kind everyone is!” Jeannettethought as she made her way back to her little table.
But her heart died within her as she began to decipherher notes. Again and again they seemed utterlymeaningless,—a whole page of them when the curlicues,hooks and dashes looked to her like so manyaimless pencil marks. She frowned and bent over herbook despairingly, squeezing hard the fingers of her[Pg 47]clasped hands together. What had he said! How hadhe begun that paragraph? ... Oh, she hadn’t hadenough training yet, not enough experience! Shecouldn’t do it! She’d have to go to him and tell himshe couldn’t do the work! And he had been so kindto her! And she would have to tell capable, friendlyMiss Gibson that a month or two more in school perhapswould be wiser before she could attempt to dothe work of a regular stenographer! And there wereher mother and sister, too! She would have to confessto them as well that she had failed! The thoughtstrangled her. Tears brimmed her eyes.
“Perhaps you’re in trouble? Can I help?” Agentle voice from across the narrow aisle addressedher. Jeannette through blurred vision saw a round,white face with kindly sympathetic eyes lookingat her.
“What system do you use? The Munson? ... That’sgood. Let me see your notes. Just read as faras you can; his letters are so much alike, I think Ican help you.”
Jeannette winked away the wetness in her eyes, andread what she was able.
“Oh, yes, I know,” interrupted this new friend;“it goes this way.” She flashed a paper into hermachine and clicked out with twinkling fingers a dozenlines.
“See if that isn’t it,” said the girl handing her thepaper.
Jeannette read the typewritten lines and referred toher notes.
“Yes, it’s just the same.” Her eyes shone. “I’mso much obliged.”
[Pg 48]
“It seemed to me awfully hard at first. I thoughtI never could do it.”
“Did you?” Jeannette smiled gratefully.
“Oh, yes; we all had an awful time. He uses suchoutlandish words.”
§ 4
The morning was gone before she knew it. She wentout at lunch-time, walked a few blocks up Fourth Avenueand then turned back to the office. She did noteat; she did not want any lunch; her mind was absorbedin her work; she had hardly left the buildingbefore she wanted to get back to her desk, to recopy aletter or two in which she had made some erasures.The afternoon fled like the morning.
A whirl of confused impressions spun about in herbrain as she shut her eyes and tried to go to sleepthat night. Although she ached with fatigue, she wastoo excited to lose consciousness at once. The day’sevents, like a merry-go-round, wheeled around andaround her. On the whole she was satisfied. She hadfinished all of the letters Mr. Beardsley had given her;he had beckoned her to come to him after he had readthem, had commended her, and given her back but oneto correct in which the punctuation was faulty.
“I’m sure you’ll do all right, Miss Sturgis,” he toldher. “You’ll find it much easier as soon as you getused to the work.”
And Jeannette felt she had made a real friend inMiss Alexander, the girl across the aisle who had sogenerously, so wonderfully helped her. Among theriff-raff of girls that surged in and out of the office,cheaply dressed, loud-laughing, common little chits,[Pg 49]Beatrice Alexander was easily recognizable as belongingto Jeannette’s own class. Each had discerned inthe other a similarity of thought, of taste and refinementthat drew them immediately together.
A wonderful, tremendous feeling of importance andself-respect came to Jeannette as she had made herway across crowded Twenty-third Street and encountereda great tide of other workers homeward bound;as she climbed the steep elevated station steps, andwith the pushing, jostling crowd wedged her way onboard a train; as she hung to a strap in the swayingcar and squeezed herself through the jam of peopleabout the doorway when Ninety-third Street wasreached, and as she walked the brief block and a halfthat remained before she was at last at home. Everyinstant of the way she hugged the soul-satisfyingthought that she had proven herself; now she was trulya full-fledged wage-earner, a working girl. She hadachieved, she felt, economic value.
§ 5
Life began to take on a new flavor. The futureheld hidden golden promises. Jeannette had alwayshad a protecting, proprietary attitude toward hermother and Alice, but now she was acutely aware ofit, and the thought was sweet to her; she revelled in theprospect of the rôle she must inevitably assume. Allher world was centered in her eager, hard-working,ever-cheerful, fussy little mother, and her gentlebrown-eyed sister who looked up to her with suchadoration and implicit faith. Jeannette felt she hadforever established their confidence in her by this successful[Pg 50]step into the business world. Her mother hadbeen completely won by her good fortune, and herstout little bosom swelled with pride in her daughter’sachievement. Eagerly she told her pupils about it, andeven regaled with the news fat good-natured SignorBellini and politely indifferent Miss Loughborough.
To Jeannette, the Soulé Publishing Company becameat once a concern of tremendous importance.Before little Miss Ingram had mentioned its name toher, she was not sure she had ever heard it. Now sheseemed to see it wherever she turned, heard about itin chance conversations at least once a day; it leaped ather from advertisements in the newspapers and fromthe pages of magazines. Books, she casually pickedup, bore its imprint. A great pride in the big companythat employed her came to her: it was the largest andmost enterprising of all publishing houses; it wasspending a million dollars advertising The UniversalHistory of the World; it had hundreds of employeeson its pay-roll!
If there were less roseate aspects of the concern thatpaid her fifteen dollars every Saturday, Jeannette didnot see them. She never stopped to examine criticallythe history she was helping to sell, nor to glance intothe pages of the Secret Memoirs, nor to open the leavesof the set of books labelled Favorites of Great Kings.She never thought it curious that the firm employed somany cheaply dressed, vulgar-tongued little Jewesses,and sallow-skinned, covert-eyed girls. Nor did shewonder that she never observed any important-lookingindividuals who might be officials of the company,walking about or up and down the aisles of the racketting,bustling loft. There was only Mr. Kent. The[Pg 51]others, whoever they might be, confined their activities,she came to understand, to the main offices of the Companyon West Thirty-second Street. This great loftwith its sea of life was only a temporary arrangement,—partof the great selling campaign by which a hundredthousand sets of the History were to be sold beforeMay first. Something of tremendous import wasto happen on this fateful date,—an upheaval in tradeconditions, a great change in the publishing world.Jeannette was not sure what it was all to be about, butshe was convinced that after May first, the publicwould no longer have this wonderful chance to buy thetwenty-five volumes of the History at such a ridiculouslylow price.
Behind glass partitions in one corner of the extensivefloor were the inner offices,—the “holy of holies”Jeannette thought of them,—where Mr. Edmund Kentexisted, pulled wires, touched bells, and gave ordersthat generalled the activities of the hundreds of humanbeings who clicked away at their typewriters, or deftlyfolded thousands and thousands of circulars, to tuckinto waiting envelopes that were later dragged awayin grimy, striped-canvas mail sacks. Mr. EdmundKent was the Napoleon, the great King, the Far-seeingMaster who in his awesome, mysterious glass-partitionedoffice, ruled them with arbitrary and benevolentpower. All day long, Jeannette heard Mr. Kent’sname mentioned. Miss Gibson quoted him; Mr.Beardsley decided this or that important matter mustbe referred to him. What Mr. Kent thought, said,did, was final. The girl used to catch a glimpse of thegreat man, now and then, as he came in, in the morning,or went out to a late lunch: a square-shouldered,[Pg 52]firm-stepping man with a derby hat, a straight, trimmustache, and an overcoat whose corners flapped abouthis knees. He seemed wonderful to her.
“Shhhh....” a whisper would come from one ofthe girls near by; “there’s Mr. Kent”; and all wouldwatch him out of the corners of their eyes as theypretended to bend over their work.
“Mr. Kent is President of the Company?” Jeannetteone day ventured to ask Mr. Beardsley.
“Oh, no, just the selling agent,” he replied. Thiswas perplexing, but it did not make Jeannette regardwith any less veneration the stocky figure in derby hatand flapping coat corners which strode in and out ofthe office.
There were other mysterious persons who had desksin the “holy of holies,” but Jeannette was never ableto make out who these were, nor what might be theirduties. Miss Gibson was in charge of the girls on thefloor; Mr. Beardsley was her immediate “boss.”There was a cashier who made up the pay-roll andwhose assistants handed out the little manila envelopeson Saturday morning containing the neatly foldedbills. She had no occasion to be concerned aboutanyone else.
Her “boss’s” full name was Roy Beardsley. Roy!She smiled when she heard it. He was young,—twenty-threeor-four; he was a recent Princeton graduate,was unmarried and lived in a boarding-housesomewhere on Madison Avenue. She found out somuch from the girls her second day at the office; theywere glib with information concerning any one ofthe force.
Jeannette liked her young boss, principally because[Pg 53]it soon became apparent that he treated her with acourtesy he did not accord the other girls. She was,after all, a “lady,” she told herself, straightening hershoulders a trifle, and he was sufficiently well-bred himselfto recognize that fact. He must see, of course,the difference between herself and such girls as—well—asMiss Flannigan, for instance. But more than this,Jeannette grew daily more and more convinced thathe was beginning to take a personal interest in her forwhich none of these considerations accounted. Nothingdefinite between them gave this justification.There was no word, no inflection of voice that had anysignificance, but she saw it in a quick glimpse of hisblue eyes watching her as she sat beside his desk, inthe smile of his strange little mouth that stretcheditself tightly across his small teeth when he firstgreeted her in the day and wished her “good-morning.”Some strange thrilling of her pulses beset heras she sat near him. It irritated her; she struggledagainst it, even rose to her feet and went to her deskupon a manufactured excuse to check the subtle influencethat began to steal upon her when she was nearhim. All her instincts battled against this upsettingsomething, whatever it was,—she could not identifyit by a name—which began more and more to troubleher.
Jeannette was a normal, healthy girl budding intowomanhood, with broadening horizons and rapidly increasingintimate associations with the world. Shewas growing daily more mature, more impressive inher bearing, and notably more beautiful. She wasfully conscious of this. Her mirror told her so, theglances of men on the street contributed their evidence,[Pg 54]the covert inspection of her own sex both in and out ofthe office confirmed it. She was becoming aware, too,of a growing self-confidence, of poise and power inherself that she had never suspected.
With what constituted “crushes,” “cases,” withwhat was implied in saying one was “smitten,” shewas thoroughly familiar. To a confidant she wouldnow have frankly described Roy Beardsley as havinga “crush” on her. He was not the first youth of whomshe could have truthfully said as much. Various boysat one time or another, during her school days, hadslipped notes to her as they passed her desk, orshamblingly trailed her home after school, carryingher books for her, and had hung around the doorstepof the apartment house, loitering over their leave-taking,digging the toe of a shoe into the pavement,grinning foolishly. Some of them had confided toher that they “loved” her and asked her to promiseto be their “girl.” She, herself, had had a “terriblecase” on a vaudeville dancer named Maurice Monteagle,and on a youth of Greek extraction who workedin Bannerman’s Drug Store on the corner near herhome, tended the soda-water counter there and whosename she never learned.
But in none of these affairs of her young heart hadthere been anything like this. She began by beingsomewhat flattered by Beardsley’s attention, and wasguilty of provoking him a little at first with a smileand glance. Like all girls of her age, she had beenwilling, even anxious, to whip his interest into flame.But she soon grew frightened. There was now somethingin the air, something in herself she could notquite control; she could not still the sudden throbbing[Pg 55]of her heart, the swimming of her senses. The momentcame when she actually dreaded meeting him in themornings, when the minutes she was obliged to sitbeside his desk and listen to the peculiar little twangin his voice were an ordeal. She dared not lift hereyes to meet his, but she could see his long whitefingers moving about on the desk, playing with penciland pen, and she could feel him looking at her whenhis voice fell silent. These were the moments thatdisturbed her most, when she could not—not for thelife of her—control the mounting color that begansomewhere deep down within her, and swept up intoher cheeks, over her temples, to the roots of her hair.She had to rest her hand against her note-book, to keepit from trembling. During these silences when shefelt him studying her she sometimes thought she mustscream or do something mad, unless he turned his eyeselsewhere. She seriously considered resigning andseeking another position.
§ 6
Jeannette drank deeply of satisfaction in being awage-earner. She walked the streets of the city witha buoyant tread; she gazed with pride and affectioninto the eyes of other working girls she passed; shewas self-supporting like them; she had something incommon with each and every one of them; there wasa great bond that drew them all together.
But while she felt thus affectionately sympatheticto these girls in the mass, no one of them drew the lineof social distinction more rigidly, even more cruellythan did she, herself. She felt she was the superiorof the vast majority of them, and the equal of the best.[Pg 56]She might not be earning the salary perhaps some ofthem did who were private secretaries, but she wasconfident that she would. Her experience with stenographyconfirmed this self-confidence. With threeweeks of actual practice the trick, the knack, the knowledge,—whateverit was,—had come to her of a sudden.Now she could sweep her pencil across the page of hernote-book, leaving in its wake an easy string of curves,dots and dashes, setting them down automatically,keeping pace with even the swiftest of young Beardsley’ssentences. Nothing could stop her progress inthe business world; she loved being of it, revelled inits atmosphere, realizing that she was cleverer thanmost men, shrewder, quicker, with the additional advantageof unerring intuition.
This new-born ambition told her to keep herselfaloof from other working girls. Not that she had anyinclination to associate with them; they offended her,—notonly those in the office but the giggling, simperinggirls she saw on the street, who were obviouslyof the same class, teetering along on ridiculously highheels, wearing imitation furs, and building their hairinto enormous bulging pompadours. They were thekind who did not leave the offices where they workedat the noon hour but gathered in groups to eat theirlunches out of cardboard boxes and left a litter ofcrumbs on the floor; they were the kind who crowdedChilds’ restaurant, adding their shrill voices andshrieks to the deafening clatter of banging crockery.
Jeannette, feeling that it was a working girl’s privilegeto become an habitué of Childs’, eagerly enteredone of these restaurants at a noon hour during theearly days of her employment. Accustomed as she[Pg 57]had become to the din of an office, the noise in theeating place did not distress her. But she shrank fromrubbing elbows with neighbors whose manner of feedingthemselves horrified her. A study of the price cardand an estimate of what she could buy for fifteencents, the amount she decided she might properly allowherself for lunches, completed her dissatisfaction withthe restaurant and similar places. She decided to gowithout lunch and to spend the leisure time of hernoon-hour wandering up and down Fifth Avenue andBroadway, looking into shop windows,—- Lord &Taylor’s, Arnold Constable’s and even Tiffany’s onUnion Square,—and in making tours of inspectionthrough the aisles of Siegel-Cooper’s mammoth establishmenton Sixth Avenue.
It was in the rotunda of this gigantic store, wherestood a great golden symbolic figure of a laurel-crownedwoman, that there was a large circular candycounter and soda fountain, and here the girl discoveredone might get coffee, creamed and sugared, andserved in a neat little flowered china cup, and twosaltine crackers on the edge of the saucer, for a nickel.In time, this came to constitute her daily lunch. Shecould stand at the counter, sipping her drink, and nibblingthe crackers at her ease, feeling inconspicuousand comfortable, presenting, she realized, merely theappearance of a lady shopper, who had taken a momentfrom her purchasing for a bit of refreshment.
The nourishment, slight as it was, proved sufficient.On the days she had gone lunchless, she had developedheadaches late in the afternoon, but the coffee andcrackers, she found, were enough to sustain her froma seven o’clock breakfast to dinner at six-thirty. A[Pg 58]nickel for lunch, a dime for carfare—sometimes shewalked downtown—took less than a dollar out of herweekly wage. That left fourteen dollars to spend asshe liked. She gave her mother nine and kept five forclothes. Five dollars a week for new clothes! Herheart never failed to leap with joy at the thought.Five dollars a week to save or to spend for whatevershe fancied! Oh, life was too wonderful! Just toexist these days and to plan how she would dress herself,and what else she would do with her earnings,filled her cup of joy to the brim.
Her little mother protested vehemently when sheput nine dollars in crisp bills into her hand at the endof the first week of work.
“Oh—dearie! What’s this? ... What’s all thismoney for?”
“It’s what I’m going to give you every week,Mama.”
Mrs. Sturgis for a moment was speechless, gazingwith wide eyes into her daughter’s smiling face. Shewouldn’t accept it. She wouldn’t hear of such a thing.It was the child’s own money that she had earned herselfand not one cent of it should go for any old stupidbills or household expenses. She shook her head untilher round fat cheeks trembled like cupped jelly.
But Jeannette had her way, as she knew, and hermother knew, and admiring, exclaiming Alice knewshe would from the first. That same evening, afterthe pots and pans and the supper dishes had beenwashed, Mrs. Sturgis established herself under thelight at the dining-room table with the canvas-coveredledger before her and began to figure. Thirty-six dollarsa month! Thirty-six dollars a month! Six times[Pg 59]six? That was ...? Why, they’d almost be out ofdebt in six months! And they wouldn’t need to fallbehind a cent during summer! It was wonderful! Itwas too—too wonderful! Tears filmed Mrs. Sturgis’bright blue eyes; her glasses fogged so that she hadto take them off and wipe them. She didn’t deservesuch daughters! No woman ever had better girls!
They got laughing happily, excitedly over this, anhysterical sob threatening each. They kissed eachother, the girls kneeling by their mother’s chair, theirarms around one another, and clung together. Andthen Alice said she had half a mind to go to work,too, and do her share.
But there was an immediate outcry at this fromboth her mother and sister. What nonsense! What afoolish idea! She mustn’t think of such a thing! Justbecause Jeannette had given up her schooling and goneout into the world was no reason why both sistersshould do it. There was not the slightest necessity.Alice’s place was at school and at home. Some onehad to run the house; that was her contribution. Shewas fitted for it in every way: she was domestic, sheliked to cook and she liked to clean.
A still more convincing argument that persuadedapologetic Alice that indeed she was quite wrong, andher mother and sister were entirely right, was voicedby Jeannette. Alice had much too retiring a natureto be a success in business. Assurance, self-assertiveness,even boldness were required, and Alice had noneof these qualities. This was undeniably true; they allagreed to it. It seemed to be the last word on the matter;the topic was dismissed. Mrs. Sturgis went backto figuring on her bills; Jeannette to speculating about[Pg 60]Roy Beardsley as she darned a tear in an oldshirtwaist.
“I’ve often wondered,” ventured Alice after a considerablepause, “just what I should do,—how I couldsupport myself if both of you happened to die. I mean—well,if Jeannette should go off somewhere,—toEurope, maybe,—and Mother should get sick, and Ishould have to....”
Her voice trailed off into silence before the astonishedlooks turned upon her.
“Well, upon my word ...” began Jeannette.
“Why, Alice dearie, what’s got into you?”
“You’re going to kill us both off,—is that it? I’m torun away and leave Mother sick on your hands?”
“I mean—well, I meant——” struggled the confusedAlice.
“Dearie,” said her mother, “you won’t have toworry about the future. Mama’ll take care of youuntil some nice worthy young man comes along toclaim you for his own.”
“You’ll be married, Allie dear, long before I will.You’re just the kind rich men fall madly in love with.”
“Oh, hush, Janny! ... please.”
But her sister’s thoughts were already upon a moreengaging matter. She was busy once again with RoyBeardsley.
[Pg 61]
CHAPTER III
§ 1
Spring burst upon New York with a warm breathand a rush of green. The gentle season folded thecity lovingly in its arms. Everywhere were the evidencesof its magic presence. The trees shimmeredwith green, shrubbery that peeped through iron fencegrillings vigorously put forth new leaves, patches ofgrass in the areaways of brownstone houses turnedfreshly verdant, hotels upon the Avenue took on abrave and festal aspect with blooming flower-boxes intheir windows, florist shops exhaled delicate perfumesof field flowers and turned gay the sidewalks beforetheir doors with rows of potted loveliness, the Parkbecame an elysian field of soft invitingness, withemerald glades and vistas of enchantment like tapestriesof Fontainebleau. Spring was evident inwomen’s hats, in shop windows, in the crowded topsof lumbering three-horse buses, in the reappearanceof hansom cabs, in open automobiles, in the smilingfaces of men and women, in the elastic step of pedestrians.Spring had come to New York; the very wallsof houses and pavements of the streets flashed backjoyously the golden caressing radiance of the sun.
Walking downtown to her office on an early morningthrough all this exhilarating loveliness, stepping alongwith almost a skip in her gait and a heart that danced[Pg 62]to her brisk strides, Jeannette felt rather than saw aman’s shadow at her elbow and turned to find RoyBeardsley beside her, lifting his hat, and smilingat her with his tight little mouth, his blue eyes twinkling.
“Oh!” she exclaimed, her fingers pressed hardagainst her heart. She had been thinking of him almostfrom the moment she had left home.
“Morning.... You don’t mind if I walk along? ... It’sa wonderful morning; isn’t it glorious?”
“Oh, my, yes,—it’s glorious.” She had herself inhand by another moment and could return his smile.They had never stood near one another before, andthe girl noticed he was half-a-head shorter than herself.There were other things the matter with him, seen thusupon the street while other men were passing, and withhis hat on! Jeannette could not determine just whatthey were. Glancing at him furtively as they walkedtogether down the Avenue, she was conscious of avague disappointment.
“Do you walk downtown every morning?” he asked.
“Oh, sometimes. How did you happen to be up thisway so early?”
“I take a stroll through the Park occasionally. It’swonderful now.”
“Yes, it’s very beautiful.”
“I think New York’s the loveliest place in the worldin spring.”
“Well, I guess it is,” she agreed.
“And you have to go through a long wet winter likethis last one to appreciate it.”
“Yes, I think you do.”
“I thought we’d never get rid of the snow.”
[Pg 63]
“They clean the streets up awfully quickly though;—don’tyou think so?”
“Yes, they have a great system here.”
“The poor horses have a terrible time when it’sslippery.”
“There was a big electric hansom cab stuck in thesnow for four days in front of the place where I live.They had to dig it out,” he said.
“It makes the spring all the more enjoyable whenthe change comes.”
“Yes, the people seem to take a personal pride inthe weather.”
“It’s as though they had something to do with itthemselves.”
“That’s right I noticed it the first year I washere.”
“You’re not a New Yorker, then?”
“Oh, no; my home’s in San Francisco. I only cameEast three years ago to go to college.”
“I thought you were ... one of the girls at theoffice mentioned you were a Princeton man.”
“I was, but I ... well, I flunked out at Christmas.I was tired of college, anyway. I wanted to go intonewspaper work, but I couldn’t get a job with any ofthe metropolitan dailies, so temporarily I am tryingto help sell the Universal History of the World.”
They talked at random, the man inclined to givemore of his personal history; the girl, pretending indifference,commented on the steady encroachment ofstores upon these sacred fastnesses, the homes ofthe rich. She interrupted him with an exclamationevery now and then, to point out some object of intereston the street, or something in a shop window.
[Pg 64]
It was thrilling to be walking together down the brilliantAvenue in the soft, morning sunshine. Theypaused at Madison Square before beginning to weavetheir way through the traffic of the street, and strikingacross the Park, gay with beds of yellow tulips, treesbudding into leaf, and fountains playing. Roy put hishand under the girl’s forearm to guide her. The touchof his fingers burnt, and set her pulses thrilling. Shepointedly disengaged herself, withdrawing her arm,when they reached the farther side of the Avenue.
Crossing the Square, she glanced at him criticallyonce more. He seemed absurdly young,—a mere collegeboy with his cloth hat at a youthful angle, his slimyoung shoulders sharply outlined in the belted jacket.It was possible he was a few years her senior, but shefelt vastly older.
He was commenting on the portentous date, Mayfirst, when the price of the History was to advance.The company had somehow succeeded in postponingthe fateful day for two weeks, and the public was tohave a fortnight longer in which to take advantage ofthe low prices.
“... and after that, no one knows what will happen.Perhaps we’ll all lose our jobs.”
“Oh,—do you really think so?” Jeannette wasaghast.
“Well, some of us will go; they can’t continue tokeep that mob on the pay-roll. I don’t think they’lllet you go, though, you’re such a dandy stenographer.I shall certainly recommend them to keep you, but Idoubt if they’ll have any further use for me. They’lllet me out, all right.”
[Pg 65]
He smiled whimsically. It was this whimsical smilethe girl found so appealing and so—so disconcerting.
“I shall be sorry if that happens,” she said slowly.
“Will you?”
“Why, of course.”
“But will you be really sorry if—if I’m no longerthere?”
“We-ll,—it will be hard getting used to someoneelse’s dictation; I’m accustomed to yours now.”
“Yes,—I’ll be sorry to go,” he said after a moment.“I like the work, after a fashion, ... but, of course,it isn’t getting me anywhere. I want to write; I’vealways been interested in that. If I could get any kindof work on a newspaper or a magazine, it would suit mefine. My father’s awfully sore at me for being droppedat Princeton. He’s a minister, you know,”—Beardsleylaughed deprecatingly with a glance at his companion’sface,—“and he didn’t like it a little bit. Ididn’t want to go back home like—well—like the prodigalson, so I wrote him I’d get a job in New York,and see what I could do for myself.”
“I see,” the girl said with another swift survey ofhis clean features and tight, quaint smile. There wasan extraordinary quality about him; he was patheticsomehow; she felt oddly sorry for him.
“I’d like to make good for my father’s sake....He’s only got his salary.”
“I see,” she repeated.
“But summer’s the deuce of a time to get a job ona newspaper or magazine in New York, everybody tellsme.... I don’t know what I’ll do if I don’t getsomething.”
[Pg 66]
Jeannette wondered what she would do herself. Shehad begun to enjoy so thoroughly her daily routine,and to take such pride in herself! ... Well, it wouldbe too bad....
They had reached the intersection of Fourth Avenueand Twenty-third Street where the ground was tornup in all four directions, and hardly passable.
“I’ll say a prayer of thankfulness when they getthis subway finished, and stop tearing up the streets,”Jeannette remarked.
Once again Roy caught her elbow to help her overthe pile of débris, across the skeleton framework ofexposed tracks, and again the girl felt the touch of hisyoung fingers like points of flame upon her arm. Shecaught a shining look in his eyes. Love leaped at herfrom their blueness. A moment’s giddiness seized her,and there came a terrifying feeling that somethingdreadful was about to happen, that she and this boyat her side were trembling on the brink of some dreadfulcatastrophe. Instinct rose in her, strong, combative.She turned abruptly into the open door of acandy shop and steadied herself as she bought a dime’sworth of peppermints.
Emotions, burning, chilling, conflicting, took possessionof her the rest of the day. From her typewritertable she covertly studied Beardsley, as he leanedback in his armed swivel-chair before his flat-toppeddesk, his fingers loosely linked together across hischest, his eyes unseeing, fixed on some distant pointthrough the window’s vista, dictating to the stenographerwho bent over her note-book, as she scribbledbeside him. What was it about him that moved herso strangely? What was it in his twinkling blue eyes,[Pg 67]his quaint mouth with its whimsical smile that stirredher, and set her senses swimming? He was in lovewith her. Perhaps it was just because he cared somuch that she was thus deeply stirred. There hadbeen others, she reminded herself, who had been inlove with her, but they had awakened no such emotion.
Had she come to care herself?
She asked the question with a beating heart. Wasthis love,—the feeling about which she had speculatedso long? Love,—the great love? Was she to meether fate so soon? Was her adventure among men tobe so soon over? Was this all there was to it? Thefirst man she met? She and Roy Beardsley?
She denied it vehemently. No, it was nonsense,—itwas ridiculous! Roy Beardsley was a boy,—a mereyouth who had been dropped from college. She wouldnot permit herself to become interested in him. It waspreposterous,—absurd!
She assured herself she would have no difficulty incontrolling her emotion in future, but the emotionitself continued to puzzle her. What was it, she feltfor this man? Was she in love,—really in love,—inlove at last? She looked at him a long time. Shewondered.
§ 2
That he would meet her on the Avenue next morningshe felt was almost certain. She said to herselfa hundred times it would be much wiser for her to takethe elevated train, or at least to walk down anotherstreet and avoid the possibility of such an encounter.If she were not to permit herself to become furtherinterested, it was obvious she must see him as little[Pg 68]as possible. But when morning came it was into FifthAvenue she turned.... She felt so sure of herself;she wanted to see if he would really be there.
Once or twice she thought she recognized his distantfigure coming toward her. Each time her heart cameinto her throat. She stopped and made a pretenseof studying a milliner’s window, while she wrestledwith herself. She was mad, she was a fool, she hadno business to let herself play with fire this way! Atthe next corner she would turn eastward, and go downFourth Avenue. But when she reached the crossstreet she decided to walk just one more block, and inthat interval he stepped from a doorway where hehad been watching for her, and joined her.
“Good-morning.”
“Oh—hello!”
The sudden sight of him, the sound of his voiceaffected her like fright. She hurried on, trying tostill the pounding in her breast, turning her facetoward the traffic in the street to hide her confusion.
“What’s the hurry?” he laughed. “It isn’t halfpast eight yet.”
“I have a personal letter to type before officehours,” Jeannette said abstractedly, but she lessenedher pace.
“I love these early walks on the Avenue,” he said.
“I always walk down if I have time,” she replied.“I wouldn’t miss it for anything.” She gave him aquick inspection. He was insignificant,—he had aweak, effeminate expression,—his features were smalland lacked resolution. And yet it was the same facewith its blue eyes, always brightly alight, its twistedmouth and thin lips stretched tightly over his small,[Pg 69]glittering, even teeth when he smiled, that haunted herthrough the day, pursued her to her home, gleamed ather from the blackness of her room after she had goneto bed, visited her in her dreams, and greeted her withits irresistible charm when she awoke in the mornings.She loved that irresolute face, with all its weakness,its curious eccentricities; she loved the grace of thatslight boyish figure with its square, bony shoulders,its tapering, slim waist; she loved those thin, almostemaciated white wrists, and those long chalk-huedhands and attenuated fingers. She loved the way hebore himself, the poise of his figure, the lithesomenessand suppleness of his young body. And she despisedherself for loving, and hated him for the emotion hestirred in her. She wanted to kiss him, she wanted tokill him, she wanted him in her arms, she wanted neverto see him again; she wanted him to be madly, desperatelyin love with her, and she wanted herself tobe coldly indifferent.
The spring sunlight flooded the Avenue gloriously;the green omnibuses, dragged by three horses harnessedabreast, rambled up and down; cabs teeteredon their high wheels, and weaved their way throughthe traffic at a smart clip-clap; hurrying women, withthe trimming of their flowered hats nodding to theirenergetic gait bustled upon their early morningerrands; stores were being opened, shirt-sleeved porterswere noisily folding the iron gates before thedoors back into their daytime positions; shop-girls,and stenographers, briskly on their way to their offices,half smiled at one another as they passed.
It was impossible not to respond to the infectiousquality that was in the air. Jeannette laughed happily[Pg 70]into her companion’s face, and he gazed at her eagerly,his eyes shining, his mouth twisted into its whimsicalsmile. They were exhilarated, they were enthralled,they were oblivious to everything in the world exceptthemselves.
He stopped her abruptly, a block from the office.
“I think perhaps ... I believe you would prefer it,Miss Sturgis, if—if you and I ... if you were notseen entering the building, with—with an escort. Itmight be easier, pleasanter for you, if I....”
He hesitated, floundering helplessly. They stoodstill a moment facing one another, each thinking ofimpossible things to say. Then Beardsley murmured:“Well ...” lifted his hat, and she put her hand inhis. He held it tightly in the firm grip of his thin whitefingers, until she had to free it. She laughed shakily,as she turned away.
“That was really very nice of him,” she thought asshe hurried on. “That was really very nice. I shan’tmind walking with him occasionally, if it doesn’t setthe office gossiping.”
§ 3
Love swept them tumultuously onward. There wasno time to pause, to consider, no time to calculate, noneto take stock of one’s self. In a week JeannetteSturgis and Roy Beardsley were friends, in ten daysthey were lovers. Every morning he met her on theAvenue and walked with her to within a block of theoffice, and in the evening he joined her for the tramphomeward. He begged her again and again to lunchwith him but to this she would not agree. They knewthey loved each other now, but dared not speak of it.[Pg 71]He was diffident, eager to ingratiate himself with her,fearful of her displeasure; and she,—while she confessedher love to herself,—passionately resolved heshould never guess it nor persuade her to acknowledgeit. She had an unreasonable primitive dread ofwhat might follow if Roy should speak. Their lovewas all too sweet as it was. She did not want to riskspoiling it, and trembled at the thought of its avowal.
Yet in her heart she knew what must inevitablyhappen. Their attraction for one another was strongerthan either; it was rushing them both headlong downthe swift current of its precipitous course.
On the very day the words were trembling on herlover’s lips came the staggering announcement thaton the fifteenth day of May the activities of the SouléPublishing Company in selling the Universal Historyof the World would cease, and the services of allemployees would terminate on that date.
The girls told Jeannette the news the moment shearrived at the office, and she found it confirmed on aslip of paper in an envelope on her typewriting table.
“All? Every one?” she asked blankly. She hadconfidently expected that she would be kept on,—fora month at least.
“Well, that’s what they say; Mr. Beardsley, MissGibson,—everybody.”
“Oh,” murmured Jeannette, betraying her disappointment.
“Did you think they’d keep you on the pay-roll afterthe rest of us were fired?” asked Miss Flanniganairily.
Jeannette perceptibly straightened herself andlevelled a cool glance at the girl.
[Pg 72]
“Perhaps,” she admitted.
“Oh-h,—is that so?” mimicked Miss Flannigan.“Well, you got another think coming,—didn’t you?”
Jeannette drowned the words by attacking her machine,her fingers flying, the warning ping of the tinybell sounding at half-minute intervals. But her heartwas lead within her, and her throat tightened convulsively.She was going to lose her job! She wasgoing to be thrown out of work! She was going tobe among the unemployed again! Her mother! ... AndAlice! ... That precious five dollars a week thatwas all her own!
The rest of the day was dreary, interminable.Demoralization was in the air. The girls whisperedopenly among themselves, and filtered by twos andthrees to the dressing-room, where they congregatedand gossiped. The spring sunshine grew stale, andpoured brazenly through the west windows. MissFlannigan chewed gum incessantly as she gigglednoisily over confidences with a neighbor. EvenBeardsley seemed to have lost interest for Jeannette.
Yet when she came to his desk later in the day forthe usual dictation, he handed her a paper on whichhe had written:
“You mustn’t be downhearted. There is always ademand for good stenographers. You won’t have theslightest difficulty in getting another job. I wish I wasas sure of one myself. May I walk home with youthis evening?”
She gave him no definite answer but she liked himfor his encouragement and sympathy. Whenever shesat near his desk, note-book in hand, waiting for himto dictate to her, he was to her a superior being, one[Pg 73]whose judgment and perception were above her own;he was her “boss.” It was different when she methim outside the office; he was just a boy then,—a boywho had flunked out of college. Now he, too, had losthis job. Like her, he would soon be unemployed. Nolonger need she fear his possible censure of her work,or take pleasure in his praise of it. She realized hehad lost weight with her.
After office hours that evening, he met her outsidethe building and as he walked home with her was fullof philosophical counsel.
“Why, Miss Sturgis, it’s never hard for a girl toget a job, —a,girl who’s got a profession, and who’sshown herself to be a first-rate stenographer. Theoffices downtown are just crazy to get hold of girls likeyou. You won’t have the slightest difficulty in findinganother position.... If you were me, you’d havesomething to worry about. I’ve got to get a job thatwill land me somewhere,—a job in which I can riseto something better.”
“But so have I,” said Jeannette.
“Well, yes, I know.... But girls’re different.They only want a job for a little while,—a year, twoor three years perhaps, and then they get married.Working for girls is only a sort of stop-gap.”
“No, it isn’t; not always. There’s many a girl whoperhaps doesn’t regard matrimony with such awfulimportance as you men think. I mean girls who aren’tthinking about marriage at all, and who really wantto become smart, capable business women.”
Roy smiled deprecatingly. “But I’m talking aboutthe average girl,” he said.
“And so am I. Girls have a right to be economically[Pg 74]independent, and I can’t see why they have to stopworking just because they marry,—any more thanmen do.”
“Girls have to stay home and run the house.”
“Oh, what nonsense!” cried Jeanette. “It’s nomore her home than it is the man’s.”
Roy shrugged his slight shoulders. He had nodesire to argue with her. He was more concernedwith the thought that in the future there would be nooffice to bring them together daily.
“There are only two days more. Saturday we getour last pay envelope.”
They walked on in silence.
“I hope you’ll let me come to see you. We’ve becomesuch good friends. I’d hate to....”
He left the sentence awkwardly unfinished.
“Oh,—I’d like to have you call some evening,” shesaid with apparent indifference. “I’d like to haveyou meet my mother and sister.”
“I’d love to.... I want to know them both.”
“Well, come Sunday,—to—to dinner. We have itat one o’clock. I suppose it’s really lunch, but we’reawfully old-fashioned and we always have our Sundaydinner in the middle of the day.... You mustn’texpect much; we live very simply.”
“Thanks, awfully....”
“We don’t keep any servant, you know.”
“I quite understand. You’re very good to inviteme.”
“I’m sure my mother and sister will be glad to meetyou.”
“I’m awfully anxious to know them.”
“Well, come Sunday.”
[Pg 75]
“You bet I will.”
“Of course, they’ve heard about ‘Mr. Beardsley.’”
“Have they? ... Do you talk about me sometimesto them?”
“Why, of course! ... Naturally.... What do youexpect?”
“I hope you’ve given me a good character.”
“I daresay they think you’re an old bald-headed manwith a thick curly beard.”
“Oh, no! ... They’ll be terribly disappointed!”
“I’m going to tell them you’re a gruff old codgerwith a perpetual grouch.”
“Miss Sturgis,—please!”
They were both laughing hilariously.
“Here’s your home. I had no idea we had walkedso far.... Shall I see you to-morrow? I’ll be waitingat the Seventy-second Street entrance to the Park.”
“All right.”
“At eight o’clock?”
She nodded, waved her hand to him, and ran up thestone steps. He waited until she had fitted her keyinto the lock, and the heavy glass-panelled door hadclosed behind her.
§ 4
Saturday was their first intimate little meal by awindow in a café. It had been their last morning atthe office, and by noon the activities of the Soulé PublishingCompany in selling the Universal History ofthe World had ceased. Pay envelopes had been distributedshortly after eleven, and an hour later allthe little Jewesses with their absurd pompadours andhigh heels, the Misses Rosens and Flannigans, the[Pg 76]office clerks and office boys had packed the great elevatorsfor the last time, laughing and squeezingtogether, and swarmed out of the building not to return.And Roy and Jeannette were among them.
“You will go to lunch with me?” he had written ona sheet of paper and pushed toward her as she sat athis elbow. “I’ve got a lot of things to talk to youabout, and it’s our last day here together.”
She had tried to consider the matter dispassionately,but a glimpse of his bright, eager eyes fixed on herhad sent the blood flooding her neck and cheeks, andbefore she quite knew what she had done she hadnodded.
He joined her at the street entrance and togetherthey made a happy progress toward Broadway.
A great felicity descended upon them. Their sensesthrilled to the beauty of the warm day and their beingthus together. Roy piloted her through the hurryingnoontime throng, his hand about her arm. She tingledagain at the touch of his fingers, and loved it. Thenthey entered the café of a hotel, and found a cozy tablefor two by the window where, dazzled and enthralledby their great happiness, they smiled into one another’seyes across the white cloth, glittering withcutlery and glasses.
Love was wonderful! He loved her; she loved him.They both knew it; they were drunk with the thought.This was their adventure,—theirs and theirs alone!
“I may have to go home this summer,” Roy saidwith a troubled air after he had given their order tothe waiter. He stared at the winding crowd thatsurged back and forth beneath their window. “ButI’m coming back right away. In August.”
[Pg 77]
“You mean to San Francisco?”
“My father wants me to come West for a monthor two. He sent me my ticket.... I guess he expectsme to settle down out there. Of course he wants me to.The ticket is only a one-way one. But he’s in for adisappointment. I can’t be happy in San Francisco;I want to come back to New York.”
They both fell silent, thinking their own thoughts.Jeannette was conscious of the dreariness and drabnessof life once more; it was disheartening anddepressing to be unemployed. All these people hurryingpast the window, she reflected, were intent uponsome particular errand; each one had a job; the wholeworld had jobs but herself. There would be nothingfor her to do but “apply for employment.”
“Please can you give me a position? ... Excuseme, sir, I’m looking for work.... Could you use astenographer?”
Oh, it was detestable, it was intolerable! It draggedher pride in the dust! ... And there would be no oneto sympathize, to advise her,—or help her! She wouldbe alone all summer in New York with no one interested!
Roy, watching her, guessed her thoughts.
“I’m coming back....”
She flushed warmly.
“Would you like me to come back? Would it makeany difference to you, if I did? If you’ll just say you’dlike me to come back, I will; ... I’ll promise! ... Willyou?”
The girl bent over her plate, hiding her face withthe brim of her hat. The giddiness she had experiencedthat day in the street threatened her.
[Pg 78]
“Would you want me to come back?” Roy insisted.
She raised her eyes and met his gaze; he held themwith the burning intentness of his own, and for a long,long moment they stared at one another.
“You know I love you,” he said tensely.
His lip quivered; his face was aglow.
“I love you with every fibre of my being! I’ll comeback to you,—I’ll come back from the ends of theearth. Only just say you love me, too, Jeannette....You do love me, don’t you? ... You’re the mostwonderful girl I’ve ever known, Jeannette! ... God,Jeannette, you’re just wonderful!”
Why was it that in the supreme moment of his greatavowal he seemed a little ridiculous to her? She feltsuddenly like laughing. He was so absurdly young,so juvenile, so school-boyish, leaning toward her acrossthe table in his youthful Norfolk jacket, with his unrulyhair sticking up on top his head!
§ 5
He kissed her when they parted from one anotherlate that afternoon. They had been absorbed in talk,and the hours slipped by until before they were awareit was five o’clock. He walked home with her and justinside the heavy glass doors of the old-fashionedapartment house where she lived he put his armsabout her, their faces came close together, and for thebriefest of moments their lips met. It was a shy kiss,hardly more than a touch of mouth to mouth. Foranother moment they stood raptly gazing into eachother’s eyes, their fingers interlocked. Then Jeannettefled, running up the stairs, nor did she grant him[Pg 79]another look, even when she reached the landing aboveand had to turn. But on the third flight of stairs shepaused, held her breath to still the noise of her panting,and listened. There was nothing. A cautious glanceover the balustrade down through the narrow well ofthe stairs revealed his shadow on the stone flaggingbelow. She sank to the step, and waited to catch herbreath, her ears strained for a sound. Presently sheheard him moving; there was a crisp clip of his shoes;she guessed he was searching the gloom of the stairwellfor a glimpse of her. But she would not look, andsat motionless with tightly clasped hands. After along interval she heard his hesitating step again. Thehalf-opened door swung slowly back, brightening thehallway below a moment with yellow daylight from thestreet, then closed with a dull jangle of heavy glass.She sat for a moment more, then a tiny choking soundburst from between her close-shut lips, and she buriedher glowing face in her hot hands, pressing her fingertipshard against her eyeballs until the force of themhurt her.
§ 6
That night Jeannette experienced all the exquisitejoy and fierce agony of young love. It was an exhaustingordeal; she lived over and over the thrilling hoursof the day that had terminated in that glorious, intoxicatingsecond when the boy’s thin lips were againsther own, and she had felt their warm, tingling pressure.The recollection brought to her wave upon waveof hot flushes that began somewhere deep down insideher being and flooded her with ecstasy. She stroveagainst it, yet had no wish to control her thoughts.[Pg 80]Shame,—some curious sense of wrong,—distressed her.It was not right;—it was all wrong! Instinct grappledwith desire. She wept deliciously, convulsively, buryingher head in her pillow and pressing its smotheringsoftness against her mouth to stifle her sobbing breaththat neither her mother nor Alice might hear it. Pastmidnight she rose and went noiselessly to the bathroomwhere she washed her face, carefully brushedand re-braided her hair. Her head ached and herswollen eyes were hot and painful. But she felt calmer.She studied her face for a long moment in the batteredmirror that hung above the wash-stand, and as shelooked a great quivering breath was wrung from her.
“Roy ... I can’t ... it can never be ... never,never be,” she whispered despairingly to her image.
For the moment she felt triumphant. She had conqueredsomething, she did not know what. Shedimmed the gaslight and found her way back to bed.Sleep came mercifully, and she did not wake until hermother kissed her the next morning.
§ 7
It was Sunday, the day he had promised to come todinner. Dinner, with the Sturgises on Sunday, wasalways the noontime meal. Cold meat or a levy onKratzmer’s delicatessen counters, with weak hot tea,constituted Sunday supper. Dinner, however, invariablyinvolved roast chicken and ice cream which wassecured at the last moment from O’Day’s CandyParlor, and carried home by one of the girls, packedin a thin pasteboard box. There was seldom ice inthe leaky ice-box, and Sunday dinner was therefore[Pg 81]usually a hurried affair, as mother and the girls werealways acutely conscious during every minute of itsduration of the melting cream in the kitchen.
For this Mrs. Sturgis was responsible. Her frugalitywould not allow her leisurely to enjoy her mealat the sacrifice of the ice cream. The fear of its becomingsoft and mushy pressed relentlessly upon herconsciousness.
“Now, dearie,—don’t talk! Eat your dinner. It’smuch more digestible if it’s eaten while it’s hot,” shewould urge her daughters almost with every mouthful.
No one ever spoke of the ice cream itself. Thereason for such close application to the business ofeating was never voiced. It was part of the ritual ofSunday dinner that it should not be mentioned. Notuntil Alice had piled and crowded the aluminum traywith the soiled dishes, carried these away, and returnedwith the mound of cream sagging upon its platter,could Mrs. Sturgis and her daughters allow themselvesto relax. No matter how well the rest of the dinnermight be cooked, it must be gulped down and its enjoymentwasted for the sake of a quarter’s worth offrozen cream.
It was upon these circumstances that Jeannette’srebellious thoughts centered on the morning of RoyBeardsley’s visit. She was worn out after her troublednight, and the prospect of seeing him so soonafter the tremendous occurrences of the previousafternoon and her stormy reflections upon them madeher nervous, apprehensive. She wanted time to thinkthings out, to consider matters.... Anyhow—whatwould her mother and sister think of him? Whatwould he think of them?
[Pg 82]
“Dearie—dearie!” Mrs. Sturgis expostulated morethan once. “Whatever makes my lovie so cross thismorning? ... You’ll get another position, dearie,—ifthat’s what’s troubling you.”
“Oh, you make me tired!” thought her daughter,angrily, though the words were unsaid.
“Well, I do hope we can at least have some otherkind of dessert,” she said aloud. “We always have torush so infernally through dinner; it makes me sick! ... Or,I’ll tell you what,” she went on hopefully,“we can get in a little ice.”
“It will leak all over the floor,” Alice objected.“The old thing is full of holes.”
“There’s nothing better than O’Day’s strawberrycream,” Mrs. Sturgis declared; “and there isn’t athing in the house, so I can’t make a pudding.”
Jeannette said nothing further but gloomed insilence. She elected to be furiously energetic, andundertook a thorough cleaning of the studio, strewingstrips of damp newspaper over the floor, sweepingvigorously, her head tied up in a towel. The broomshed its straw, and she discovered little triangles ofdirt in obscure corners which Alice had evidently deliberatelyneglected. The white curtains were dingy, thefront windows needed washing, and in the midst ofher cleaning, Dikron Najarian came in upon her toask her to walk with him in the afternoon. In a furyshe attempted to move the piano to pull loose a rug,and in the effort, which was far beyond her strength,she hurt herself badly. Her mother found her lyingon the floor, crying weakly.
“Dearie—dearie! What happened to you! My[Pg 83]darling! You shouldn’t work so hard; there’s nonecessity for your being so thorough.”
The girl had really injured herself. Mrs. Sturgiscalled wildly for Alice, and between them they carriedher to her room and laid her on her bed. She hadwrenched her back, but she refused to admit it. Shewouldn’t be put to bed. She was all right, she toldthem; just a few moments’ rest, and she would be herselfagain. It was twelve o’clock and Roy would bethere at one!
She lay on her bed, and gazed blindly up at the oldfamiliar discolored ceiling; presently her eyes closedand two large tears stole from under her lashes androlled down her cheeks. She knew she had hurt herselffar more seriously than she would let her mother orsister suspect. Something had given way in the smallof her back; she made an effort to sit up, and the painall but tore a cry from her. But she was determinedthey should not know; she would get up, and meet Roy,and go through with dinner as though nothing was thematter!
Struggling, with tiny explosions of pent-up breathand smothered groans, her hand at every free momentpressed to her side, she managed to dress herself. Theeffort exhausted her; a film of perspiration covered herforehead, her upper lip and the backs of her hands.She steadied herself now and then by leaning againstthe dresser, until her strength came back to her. Shedid not care, now, whether Roy Beardsley found thestudio clean or not, whether or not he was hustledthrough dinner, thought her home cheap and poor, hermother and sister commonplace and fussily solicitous.
[Pg 84]
He was ahead of time. She met him with carefulstep and a fixed smile of welcome. He was glowingwith eagerness; his hands trembled a little as he heldthem out to her. At sight of him, a moment’s waveof yesterday’s emotion swept over her, but immediatelythere came a sharp stab of pain, and she caughta quick breath from between the lips that held hersmile. His anxious questions were cut short by thebustling entrance of Mrs. Sturgis and Alice.
Jeannette’s mother was at once flatteringly hospitable,inviting the guest to sit down and make himselfcomfortable, while she established herself with an elegantspread of skirts on the davenport, and began totoss the lacy ruffles of her best jabot with a carelessfinger.
Were Mr. Beardsley’s parents living? Ah, yes,—inSan Francisco. They had fogs out there a greatdeal, she’d heard. And he had lost his mother. Consumption?Ah, that was indeed a pity! ... And hisfather was a clergyman? Eminently laudable profession.... Andhe had wanted to come East to college?Quite right and proper. Princeton was a fine college;nice boys went there.... And he had spent sometime in New York? Wonderful city,—but a very expensiveplace to live,—probably the most expensive inthe world....
Jeannette recognized a favorite theme and broke inwith an inquiry about dinner. She was suffering miserably;she wondered if she would have the strengthto get to the dining-room. Alice already had disappeared;the slam of the back door some momentsbefore had announced her departure for O’Day’sCandy Parlor. Mrs. Sturgis excused herself with[Pg 85]many profuse explanations, and departed kitchenward,whence presently there came the bang of pots in thesink and the hiss of running water.
Left together, Roy turned eagerly to Jeannettewhere she stood beside the mantel, a white hand grippingits edge.
“Dearest, I’ve been so crazy to see you! ... Isanything wrong? You’re not angry with me afteryesterday?”
Her eyes softened, but, as if to check for that dayany moment’s tenderness, there was again a sharptwinge. Involuntarily she winced.
“Jeannette! You’re not well! What’s the matter?”
She laid her hand on his arm to reassure him andsteady herself.
“Nothing,” she breathed. “I hurt my back thismorning. I must have wrenched it. It’s really nothing.Now and then it gets me.”
She managed a disarming smile.
“Mother and Allie mustn’t know a thing about it.I don’t want to alarm them; they’re so excitable. To-morrow,I’ll be quite all right again.... You musthelp me.”
“Why, surely; you know I will.... But, dearest——”
“Oh, please! Don’t make a fuss.” Her tone wassharp, and at once he fell silent, watching her faceanxiously.
“Do you love me?” he queried in a low voice.
She did not answer; she was in no mood for love-making.In a moment, she moved with difficulty to thewindow, and stood there, fighting her pain, and lookingdown vacantly into the street. Provokingly, tears rose[Pg 86]to her eyes. She was afraid she was going to cry. Shecould see Allie returning with the square paper boxheld with a finger by its thin wire handle, and presentlythe great front door of the house shut with ajangle.
Roy’s arm stole about her waist, but its touch hurther.
“Oh, please!” she begged crossly.
“I’m sorry,—awfully sorry. I forgot.... You’rein terrible pain, aren’t you? ... Shall I get a doctor? ... Don’tyou want to lie down? ... Would you likeme to go?”
She wanted to slap him.
“Just leave me alone!”
Mrs. Sturgis’ eager step was approaching, and in amoment she presented at the doorway a face reddenedfrom the heat of the stove, and moist with perspiration.
“Dinner’s ready, dearie,” she announced. “Won’tyou come this way, Mr. Beardsley? We use our bedroomsfor a passage-way, although the hall outside, Isuppose, is really better, but, you see, it’s much moreconvenient....”
Jeannette motioned him to precede her, and followed,holding on by the furniture as she made herway. Her mother was in the kitchen and Alice’s backwas turned as in anguish she got into her chair.
Dinner was endless. The soup had curdled; thepotatoes were scant; the salt-cellar in front of Royhad a greenish mold about its top; Roy, himself, keptfiddling with his silverware,—rattling knife and fork,and fork and spoon; her mother and sister had never,in Jeannette’s opinion, jumped up from the table soincessantly for errands to kitchen or sideboard. The[Pg 87]pain in her back every now and then became excruciating.She sat through the dragging meal with a setsmile upon her lips, turning her head with assumedbrightness from face to face as each one spoke. Hermother did most of the talking, keeping up a continualflow of chatter to fill the silences. Alice rarely volunteeredan observation when there was company, andJeannette’s misery made her dumb. Mrs. Sturgisrose to the occasion and supplied conversation for allthree. Jeannette, watching Roy’s face, resented hispolite show of interest. Her mother had what herdaughters described as a “company” manner. Whenit was upon her she interrupted herself every littlewhile with nervous giggles and to-day, Jeannette decided,she had never indulged in them so often. Shewas eloquent during the meal with reminiscences ofher childhood’s escapades and early cuteness, andJeannette watched the animated face with its jogging,pendent cheeks in an agony of spirit that matched herphysical misery.
“... Nettie,—we always called Janny, ‘Nettie,’when she was little,—was only six then, and she wasawfully pretty and cute. We were having dinner at arestaurant downtown,—her papa had a friend to entertain.Allie....? I don’t remember where Allie was....”; Mrs.Sturgis gazed in sudden perplexity at heryounger daughter. “I guess you were at home withNora, lovie.... At any rate, we were at this restaurantand a waiter was serving us nicely, and nobodywas paying any attention, when all of a sudden Nettiesays loud and pertly to the waiter: ‘Now that you’reup, will you please get me a glass of milk?’” Mrs.Sturgis shut her eyes and laughed until her little round[Pg 88]cheeks shook. “Imagine,” she finished, “‘Now thatyou’re up!’ ... To the waiter!” She went off intogales of mirth.
Roy laughed too, a thin, polite laugh, without a traceof spontaneity. Jeannette hated him. She hated hersister, too, for her smug complacency. Alice sat thereencouraging her mother with responsive twitteringsevery time Mrs. Sturgis threw her head back to chuckle.Jeannette felt she was suffocating; the pain dug itselfsteadily and cruelly into the small of her back; shecould not draw one adequate breath.
The platter and remains of the hacked and dismemberedchicken, and the soiled dishes eventually wereremoved; Alice brushed the table-cloth with a foldednapkin, sweeping crumbs and litter, ineffectually, asJeannette noted in utter desolation, into the palm ofher hand, carrying the refuse handful by handful tothe kitchen, until the operation was complete. Theice cream was borne in, in mushy disintegration, andher mother commented on its melted condition andthe various responsible reasons, until the girl thoughtshe would scream in protest.
She could not eat; she could not drink; lifting herhand to her lips was misery. Roy’s solicitous glancewas more and more intently fixed upon her; Alice,also, was beginning to send concerned looks in herdirection. She felt her strength rapidly ebbing fromher. She could endure but little more—but little, littlemore. Her will power was deserting her, resolutionforsaking her, she felt it going—going; it was slippingaway ... she was going to fall! ... Ah, she WASfalling....!
“Janny, dearie!” Her mother’s alarmed cry faintlyreached her dimming consciousness.
[Pg 89]
CHAPTER IV
§ 1
The following summer was one of the hottest onrecord in New York City. The thermometer persistentlyhung around ninety, and the newspapers gavedaily accounts of deaths and prostrations. Thousandsof East-siders sought Coney Island and the coolbeaches to spend their nights upon the sands. Thunderstormsbrought but temporary relief. Jeannette,slowly regaining strength and energy, declared shehad never known so many violent thunderstorms inthe space of one short summer. She hated the vivid,blinding darts and the cracking ear-splitting detonations.She could reason convincingly with herself thatthere was but the minutest atom of danger, yet themenacing crashes never failed to bring her heart intoher mouth and make her wince.
She had been in bed four weeks since the SundayRoy had dined with the family, and she had fainted atthe table. The doctor, when he arrived, had declared,after careful examination, that several ligaments hadbeen torn from the bone, and the muscles of her backhad been badly strained. She had been tightlybandaged with long strips of adhesive tape, and put tobed in her mother’s room, where she had lain for amonth, rebellious and raging, at the mercy of a hordeof disturbing thoughts.
[Pg 90]
Roy sent flowers, a box of candy, magazines. Hewrote her long letters in a boyish hand in which heboyishly expressed his concern for her condition, hisearnest hope of her speedy recovery, his tremendousdevotion. It was for the last that she eagerly lookedwhen she unfolded his scrawled pages. But his wordsnever seemed to satisfy her wholly; they were nevervehement enough. She longed for something morevigorous, aggressive, violent.
At the end of ten days he begged to be allowed tocome to see her. There was no reason why heshouldn’t, Jeannette reflected, but she could not bringherself to the point of asking her mother to arrangefor the visit. She did manage to say, with a light airof ridicule, one morning, when Mrs. Sturgis broughther breakfast tray to her bedside:
“Roy’s got the nerve to want to come to see me.”
“Why don’t you let him, dearie,—if you’d like it?He seems a right nice young fellow, and you could puton your dressing sacque, and Alice could do your hair.... I’llbe home to-morrow,—all day, you know. Itwould be quite right and proper.”
But the girl only made a grimace.
“That kid! That rah-rah boy! ... He thinks he’sgot an awful case.”
“Why do you treat Mr. Beardsley so mean, Janny?”Alice asked her a few days later, closely studying herface. “You know,” she continued slowly, “sometimesI think you’re really in love with him.”
“Love!” cried her sister. “Hah! with that kid?”
“I think he’s terribly attractive, Janny.”
“Half baked!” Jeannette said scornfully.
“Well, I think he’s charming.”
[Pg 91]
“You can have him!”
“Oh, Janny! ... You’re dreadful!”
But in the dark nights Jeannette would kiss thescrawled writing, press the stiff note-paper to hercheek, and let her thoughts carry her back to theirfirst meeting, their first encounter on the Avenue,their first kiss in the hallway downstairs, their memorablelunch together....
Ah, it was beautiful? It was all so very beautiful,—soinfinitely beautiful! Every glance, every word,every moment! She loved him! She could not denyit. Oh,—she loved him, she loved him!
He wrote he was obliged to go to San Francisco.It was impossible to find a position in New York duringmidsummer, and his father had telegraphed him tocome home. He would have to go, but he longed tosee Jeannette just once before he went. He must seeher, if only to say “good-bye.” He was coming backthe first of September, and then he would.... Butthey must talk everything over. Wouldn’t she pleaselet him come?
Jeannette still hesitated. She wanted to see himagain; yet she was afraid,—afraid of disappointment,of what her mother and sister might think, of herselfand Roy. In the end, with what seemed to her a weaknessshe despised, she wrote him, and named an afternoon;Although the doctor had said she was to remainin bed for another week, she prevailed upon her motherand sister to move her into the studio, where withpillows about her and a comforter across her knees,and her hair arranged in the pretty fashion Alicesometimes liked to dress it, she received her lover.
It was as unsatisfactory an interview as she had[Pg 92]feared. Constraint held them both. Jeannette wasintent upon not betraying the delicious madness intowhich her thoughts of Roy had led her during theempty hours of her long illness, and she sat up stiffly,unbendingly. Roy did not understand. He thoughtthe change in her was due to her illness, but there wassomething about her that troubled him. They madetheir promises to one another, they held each other’shands, they kissed good-bye, but there was nothingfervid about any of it. At the door, however, whenhe turned, hat in hand, for a final, searching look, shesaw a glitter in his eyes, his queer little mouth wasstraight and drawn harshly, unsmilingly across histeeth. It was that last look of him, that wet gleam inhis eyes which took her courage and brought her owntears in a rush. But by then he was gone. The dullboom of the hall-door closing downstairs announcedhis departure with stern finality.
§ 2
The summer bore on, hot, unalleviated. The apartmentsmelled of strange odors, was close, airless inspite of open windows. The Najarians, with muchbanging and clattering, left with their trunks andboxes for several weeks at the seashore, and on thefirst of the month old Mrs. Porter, who had occupiedthe first floor since the building was erected thirtyyears before, moved away. Only the two trainednurses, one flight down, who were rarely at home, remainedin the city during the burning weeks of Julyand August.
With the Sturgises, life became dreary and grew[Pg 93]drearier. Miss Loughborough’s school closed, SignorBellini departed for his beloved Italy, the Wednesdayand Saturday pupils became fewer and fewer and bymid-July had evaporated entirely. Mrs. Sturgis, frettingover the trivial expenses each day inevitablybrought, wore a worried, harassed air. She foundsome work to do, copying music, but this had to begiven up, as her teeth commenced to give her trouble.How long she was able to disguise her discomfortfrom her daughters, they never guessed, but hermisery eventually was discovered, and she was summarilydriven to a dentist. It developed that her teethwere in such a decayed condition they would all haveto be pulled, and replaced by an artificial set.
Poor Mrs. Sturgis wept and protested. She objectedstrenuously to anything so drastic. It wasn’t in theleast necessary! She couldn’t possibly afford it! Herdaughters urged her and argued with her until they losttheir tempers and there was almost a quarrel in thelittle household. The dentist declined to modify hisadvice. Pain—cruel, persistent pain, that robbed herof her sleep, and sapped her strength—finally compelledher to give way.
“I’ll do it,—but my girlies haven’t the faintest ideawhat they are letting me in for! It will be the deathof me!” wailed Mrs. Sturgis.
Jeannette, able to sit up now and hobble from oneroom to another, regarded her mother with frankimpatience as she rocked vigorously back and forth,weeping abjectly into a drenched little handkerchief.She felt sorry for her, she would have made any sacrificeto alleviate her pain to make matters easier forher, and yet it was obvious there was no other course[Pg 94]for her, and the sooner the teeth were out and a falseset in their place, the better it would be for them all.The girl gazed gloomily out of the window.
“And my daughter’s no comfort to me,” continuedMrs. Sturgis, piteously, conscious of Jeannette’s unvoicedcriticism. “The child that I’ve raised throughsorrow and tribulation, through hunger and self-denial,—thedaughter for whom I’ve worked and sacrificedmy life....”
Jeannette continued to stare stonily into space,locked her fingers more tightly together, but saidnothing.
Eventually there came the terrible day when Mrs.Sturgis and Alice went forth to the dental surgeon,and when the young girl brought her spent and brokenmother home in a cab. The four flights of stairs forthe exhausted woman were a dreadful ordeal. Jeannette,catching a glimpse of the labored progress, asshe gazed over the balustrade from the top landing,forgot her own weakened condition, the doctor’s caution,and hurried to her mother’s assistance. She randown the stairs and grasped the little woman’s almostfainting figure in her young arms. Together the sistersdragged and pushed her up the remaining steps, butthe older girl knew before she reached the top, thatshe had put too great a strain upon her own partiallyregained strength.
She paid for the imprudence by another three weeksin bed. It was the longest three weeks of her life.Her mother roamed about from room to room, toothlessand inarticulate, unable to eat solid food, waitingfor her lacerated gums to heal. She complained andmumbled almost incessantly, harassed by the thought[Pg 95]of doctor’s and dentist’s bills which she declared overand over she saw no way of ever paying. Jeannette,chained to her bed, had to listen unhappily. Mrs.Sturgis gave her no respite. She refused to leavethe house for fear of meeting a friend in the streetwho would discover her toothlessness. Alice went tomarket and ran the errands, while Mrs. Sturgis rockedback and forth, back and forth, beside Jeannette’s bed,picked at her darning, and complained of life. It wasnot like her mother, thought the daughter wearily; sheof indomitable spirit, who had never been afraid ofhardships, but rejoiced in overcoming them.
Letters from Roy brought the only alleviating spotsin these long, tiring days. He wrote almost every dayand there were numerous picture post-cards. Hisletters were full of assurances and young hopes.Jeannette loved his endearments, his underscored protestations,but the plans which he elaborately unfoldedseemed so uncertain, their realization so improbablethat they left her cold. She read the scrawled wordsin the immature script, and tried to conjure up a pictureof him penning them. It eluded her. The boyin the Norfolk jacket with the stuck-up hair, blue eyes,and whimsical smile, that had so strangely fired herheart, had already become hazy and remote. Her ownweak back and helplessness, her mother’s tremblingcheeks and mumbled complaints were harsh realities,very close at hand. The summer sun blazed on unsparingly,and perspiration covered her arms and neckand trickled down between her breasts. Spring andyoung love, the glittering Avenue, walks and talks andmurmured confidences that whipped the blood andcaught the breath, were of a far distant yesterday.[Pg 96]Was there ever a time when thoughts of this boy hadkept her awake at nights, a time when at the memory ofhis kiss her tears had blinded her? It was someother Jeannette,—not the one who sighed wearily andwished Alice would keep the door shut, and not letin the flies to bother her.
§ 3
Slowly Nature reasserted herself. Strength returned,old hopes revived, youth throbbed again in theveins, life once more took on a pleasing aspect. Thelate August day, that found Jeannette making a cautiousway toward the Park on her first venture fromthe house, was brilliant with warm but not too hotsunshine, and the foliage of trees and shrubbery inthe Park vistas never appeared greener or moreinviting.
Mrs. Sturgis’ false teeth had made a great improvementin her appearance, had rounded out her face,given strength to her jaw, and made her seem ten yearsyounger. The little woman was delighted with theeffect, and was now evincing a gratified interest in herappearance. Signor Bellini had returned earlier thanhe expected, had already started his Monday andThursday classes, while Miss Loughborough’s ConcentrationSchool for Young Ladies was about to openits doors, and pupils were flocking back from theirvacations. And lastly, and to the girl, most importantof all, Roy was returning to New York.
He would arrive in the city in a few days, and shewondered how she would feel toward him when theymet. As she sat upon a park bench, enjoying the sun[Pg 97]and the toddling children playing in the soft gravelof the pathway near by, she asked herself if she cared.She could not tell. Of far more interest to her wasthe prospect of work again. She had been stifled allsummer by illness and heat, but now she wanted toget back to the business world and win her independenceanew. Her ambition was afire; she was all eagernessto have a job once more.... Roy? ... Well, itwould be pleasant to have him making love to heragain, to watch him tremble at her nearness.
But she found herself thrilling on the afternoon hewas to see her. He had telephoned in the morningfrom the station, and his voice had sounded wonderfullysweet and eager. When his ring at the doorannounced him, her heart raced madly. Delicioustremors, one after another, coursed through her.
He came hurrying up the stairs and she met himin the studio. Their hands instantly found one another’s,and they stood so a moment, smiling happilyand ardently into each other’s eyes; then she driftedinto his arms, and it seemed the peace of the worldhad come.
Ah, she had forgotten how dear he was, how lovable,how sweet! It was good to have him take her to himselfthat way, and feel his thin arms about her, andhave him hold her close against his young hard breast.
Plans—plans,—they were full of them. They wereengaged now; Mrs. Sturgis and Alice must be told,the father wired, and Roy must immediately set aboutfinding a job. He had some corking letters, he toldher eagerly, and he was on the trail of a splendid positionalready. Jeannette was going to find work, too;they would both save, buy all the clothes they would[Pg 98]need, and be married,—oh, some time in the spring!Roy, holding both her hands, gazed at her with shiningeyes, his whole face glowing with excitement.
“Oh, God, Jeannette—oh, God! Just think! Youand me! Married!”
It was a wonderful prospect.
§ 4
In less than a week, he had obtained a promisingposition with the Chandler B. Corey Company, publishersof high-class fiction and the best of standardbooks. It was a new but flourishing organization withoffices on Union Square. In addition to its book business,there were two monthly magazines, The Wheelof Fortune and Corey’s Commentary, and Roy wasmade part of the staff that secured advertisements forthe pages of these periodicals. He was full of enthusiasmfor his new work. Mr. Featherstone, the advertisingmanager, who was also a member of the firm,was the jolliest kind of a man, and the other fellows inthe department, Humphrey Stubbs and Walt Chase,were “awfully nice” chaps. He was to receive fromthe start, twenty dollars a week, and Mr. Featherstonepromised him a raise of five dollars at the endof three months, if he made good. The gods were withthem. Jeannette and he could be married early inthe spring.
The girl listened and pretended to rejoice, but herheart was sick within her. Roy, getting twenty dollarsa week!—back in a job!—independent and secure oncemore!—a bright future and rapid advancement aheadof him! She was bitterly envious. She longed for the[Pg 99]old life of business hours, of office excitement, for herneatly managed if frugal lunches, for the early hoursin the mornings and the tired hours at night, for theheart-warming touch of the firm, plump little manilaenvelope on Saturday mornings, and, above all, shelonged for the satisfaction of being a wage-earneragain, of being financially her own mistress, and beingable to contribute something toward the householdbills each week.
The next day she started out to find work. She knewit would be a humiliating business, but she found itworse than she feared. The advertisements for stenographersin the newspapers which she answered, allturned out to be disappointing. The most she wasoffered was ten dollars a week, and in the majority ofcases only six or eight. She had made up her mindto accept nothing less than what she had earned before.She would walk out of an office into the glaring streetwith the prick of tears smarting her eyes, with lipsthat trembled, but she would vigorously shake herhead, and renew her determination.
She went to interview Miss Ingram of the GerardCommercial School, but Miss Ingram had no vacantpositions on her list.
“I’ve never seen anything like it,” the little teachersaid with a forlorn air; “I’ve got three girls now justwaiting for something to turn up, but all they wantdowntown are boys—boys—boys!”
Twice Jeannette had the unpleasant experience ofhaving men to whom she applied for work lay theirhands on her. One slipped his arm about her, andtried to kiss her, pressing a bushy wet mustacheagainst her face; the other placed his fat fingers[Pg 100]caressingly over hers and, leering at her, promisedhe would find her a good job, if she’d come back laterin the day. She was equal to these occasions but therewas always a sickening reaction that left her weakand trembling with a salt taste in her mouth. Shesaid nothing about them at home.
Her mother and Alice, even Roy, had urged her notto go to work again. Mrs. Sturgis reiterated heroriginal objection; Alice thought it was not necessary,that Janny had better take things easy and devote hertime to wedding preparations. Roy did not like theidea, he frankly admitted, of her associating so intimatelywith a lot of men in an office, and, besides, itdistracted her, made her nervous.
“In three months, sweetheart, I’ll be getting twenty-fivedollars a week and we can get married. A hundreda month is enough for a while. You ought to run thetable on ten dollars a week,—your mother does thatfor the three of you!—and out of the remaining sixty,we surely will have enough for rent, and a lot left overfor clothes and theatres.”
“Oh, yes,” Jeannette sighed wearily, “it’s plenty,—onlyI want—I want to earn some money myself. Ineed clothes, and I ought to have everything for ayear, at least!”
September passed, and October came with a tingleof autumn, and an early touch of yellow, driftingleaves. Jeannette missed the chance of an excellentposition in the manager’s office of a large suit andcloak manufacturer by no more than a minute or two.She saw the other applicant enter the office just aheadof her, and was presently told the place was filled.The girl who had preceded her was Miss Flannigan!
[Pg 101]
There was another position in a lawyer’s office forwhich she eagerly applied. She heard the salary wastwenty-five dollars a week, but when she was interviewed,and it was discovered she had no knowledgeof legal phraseology, she was rejected.
Desperate and discouraged, she was obliged to listenin the evenings to Roy’s glowing praise of his newassociates, to detailed accounts of small happeningsin the office, and gossip between desks. She learnedall about Mr. Featherstone, his devoted and adoringwife, his small, crippled son, his own good nature,and hearty joviality. She heard a great deal aboutHumphrey Stubbs and Walt Chase. Stubbs, she gathered,was already Roy’s enemy. He had made severalefforts to discredit the newcomer, and was on the lookoutfor things about which to criticize him to his chief.Walt Chase, on the contrary, was amiable and inclinedto be very friendly. Walt had been married less thana year, lived in Hackensack, and his wife had just hada baby.
Jeannette listened enviously, with despair in herheart, when she heard about Miss Anastasia Reubens,the editor of The Wheel of Fortune. That Miss Reubenswas forty-five and had spent all the working yearsof her life on the editorial staff of one magazine oranother made little difference to Jeannette. She hatedto inquire about her, but her curiosity was too great.
“What do you suppose she gets?” she asked Roywith a casual air.
“Oh, I don’t know; perhaps fifty or sixty a week.I’m sure I haven’t an idea. None of the folks downthere get high salaries; everyone is underpaid. Mr.Corey hasn’t more than got the business started. He[Pg 102]only began it five years ago. He tells us, we’ve gotto wait with him, until the money begins to come in,and then we’ll all share in the profits.”
“Fifty or sixty a week?” sniffed Jeannette. “Didshe tell you she got that? ... She’s lucky, if she getstwenty-five!”
Roy shrugged his shoulders. He had an irritatingway of avoiding arguments, Jeannette noticed, bylapsing silent. She considered the matter for a momentfurther, but decided it was not worth pressing.
“What kind of a man is Mr. Corey?” she asked.
“Oh, Corey? Corey’s a peach. He’s a dynamo ofenergy, and has all sorts of enthusiasm. He’s got themost magnetic personality I’ve ever seen in my life.He’s going to make a whale of a big business out of thatconcern. Every Wednesday we all lunch together,—thatis, the men in the editorial and book departments,—andwe go to the Brevoort; we’ve got a private roomdown there, and Mr. Corey always comes and talks tous about the business and we try to offer suggestionsthat will help each other. We call it ‘The Get TogetherClub.’ It’s great.”
Jeannette studied her lover’s face and for a momentfelt actual dislike for him. What did he know? Whyshould he be so fortunate? Why should everything goso smoothly for him? Why shouldn’t she have achance like that?
“Mr. Featherstone may send me to Boston Fridayto see the Advertising Manager of Jordan & Marshabout some copy. He said something about it lastnight. I’d hate to go, but, gee! it would be a greattrip!”
Jeannette rose to her feet abruptly and lowered a[Pg 103]hissing gas-jet. Oh, she was unreasonable, silly, ungenerous!But she couldn’t listen any longer. Itmade her sick.
§ 5
Mr. Abrahms, of Abrahms & Frank,—fur dealers andrepairers of fur garments,—would pay twelve dollarsa week for a first-class “stenog,” who “vood vorkfrom eight till sigs.” He was very anxious that Jeannetteshould accept his offer.
“I need a goil chust lige you, who c’n tage lettersvot I digtate an’ put ’em into nice English, and bepolide to der customers vot come in ven I am busy,”he explained.
It was a cheap little establishment, crowded into thefirst floor and basement of an old private dwelling,now devoted to similar small enterprises. A dressmakeroccupied the second floor, an electrician thenext, and a sign-painter the last and topmost. It wasfar from being the kind of employment Jeannettewanted, but it was the best that had been offered, andshe promised to report on Monday.
She went dismally home on the “L,” deriving abitter satisfaction in picturing to herself what her dayswould be like, cooped up in an ill-ventilated back officewith the swarthy, none-too-clean Mr. Abrahms, interviewingthe none-too-clean customers who would belikely to patronize such a place. Still it was a job andshe was a wage-earner again. There would be somecomfort in announcing the news to Roy and to hermother and sister.
She found a message from Roy when she reachedhome. It had been brought by the clerk in Bannerman’s[Pg 104]Drug Store. He had said, Alice repeated forthe hundredth time, that Mr. Beardsley had ’phonedand asked him to tell Miss Jeannette Sturgis to comedown at once to his office; he had said it was important.Alice didn’t know anything more than that; therewasn’t any use asking her questions; the clerk hadjust said that, and that was all.
“Perhaps he’s got a job for me!” Jeannette exclaimedwith a wild hope. “He knows how badly Iwant one!”
“I’m sure I haven’t the faintest idea.” Her sisterturned back to the soapy water in the wash-tub whereshe was carefully washing some of her mother’s jabots.
“Well, I’ll fly.”
Jeannette hurried to her room, and jerked the tissuepaper out of her best shirtwaist. Her fingers trembledas she re-dressed herself; the tiny loops that connectedwith small pearl buttons on her cuffs eluded her againand again until she was almost ready to cry with fury.She felt sure that Roy had a job for her; he wouldhave telephoned for no other reason. In thirty minutesshe was aboard the “L” again, rushing downtown.
As she crossed Union Square the gold sign of theChandler B. Corey Company spreading itself imposinglyacross the façade of an ancient office buildingmade her heart beat faster, and her rapid, breathlesswalk doubled with her excitement into almost a skipas she hurried along. Oh, there was good news awaitingher! She felt it!
The wheezy elevator bumped and rumbled as itleisurely ascended. At the fourth floor she steppedout into a reception room whose walls were covered[Pg 105]with large framed drawings and paintings. Therewere some magazines arranged on a center table. Theplace smelt of ink and wet paste. A smiling girl rosefrom a desk and came toward her.
“I’ll see if he’s in,” she said in reply to Jeannette’squery and disappeared.
Upon an upholstered wicker seat in one corner ofthe room an odd-looking woman wearing a huge cart-wheelhat was talking animatedly to another wholistened with a twisted, sour smile. They were discussingphotographs, and the woman in the cart-wheelhat was handing them out one by one from a great pilein her lap. Jeannette was forced to listen.
“This one is of some monks in a village monasteryin Korea, and this shows some of the Buddhist prayersfor sale in a Japanese shop,—did you ever see such anumber?—and here is a group of our Bible studentsat Tientsin,—could you ask for more intelligent faces? ... Wonderfulwork.... these men are sacrificingtheir lives ... twelve thousand dollars....” Thewords trailed off into an impressive whisper.
Down in the Square the trees were a mass of lovelygolden brown and golden yellow shades. Tiffany’swindows across the way sparkled with dull silver.
Roy’s quick step sounded behind her, and Jeannetteturned to meet his grinning, eager face, his smilestretched to its tightest across his small and evenwhite teeth.
“Gee, I’m glad you’ve come, Janny!” he exclaimedboyishly. “Say, you look dandy!—you look out-of-sight!”He eyed her delightedly. The woman withthe sour, twisted smile glanced toward them casually.Jeannette was all cool dignity.
[Pg 106]
“What was it, Roy? ... Why did you send forme?”
He continued to smile at her, but at last her serious,expectant look sobered him.
“I think I’ve got a job for you!” he said quickly,dropping his voice. “I only heard about it this morning.I couldn’t telephone until I went out to lunch.One of our regular stenographers is sick; she’s verysick and is not coming back. Mr. Kipps, the businessmanager, was explaining why they were short-handedupstairs and I was right there, so of course I heardabout it. I spoke to Mr. Featherstone about you, andhe sent me to Kipps, and Kipps told me to tell youto come down, so he could talk to you. I told him whata wizard you were, and he seemed awfully interested.I didn’t lose a minute; I telephoned as soon as I wentout to lunch. I had a deuce of a time making that drugclerk understand.... Gee, you look dandy! ... Gee,you look swell! ... Gee, I love you!”
He piloted her a few minutes later into the inneroffices. Jeannette gained a confused impression ofcrowded desks and clerks, the iron grilling of a cashier’scage, an open safe, a litter of paper, wire basketsof letters, and stacks of bills. Before she knew it, shefound herself confronting Mr. Kipps, and Roy hadabandoned her. She was aware of a nervous, fidgetypersonality, with a thin, hawklike face and long, thinfingers. He had unkempt hair and mustache, and woreround, black tortoise-shell glasses through which hedarted quick little glances of appraisement at the girlwho had seated herself at his invitation beside hisdesk.
He fitted his finger-tips neatly together as he questioned[Pg 107]her, lolled back in his swivel armchair, andswung himself slowly from side to side, kicking thedesk gently with his feet. He asked her to spell“privilege” and “acknowledgment,” and to tell himhow many degrees there were in a circle. He noddedwith her replies.
He would give her a trial; she could report in themorning. He dismissed her with no mention of whatsalary she would receive.
But Jeannette did not care. She was delighted andin high spirits. This was just the kind of a job shewanted, just the sort of an atmosphere she longed for;she felt certain that, whatever they paid her at first,she would soon make them give her what she wasworth.
When Roy arrived that evening there was greathilarity in the Sturgis household. He had never seenJeannette in such wild spirits, or found her so affectionatewith him. The coldness he sometimes met inher, the reserve, the unyieldingness, were all absentnow. He pulled the shabby davenport up before thefire, and they sat holding hands, watching the dyingfire flicker and flicker and finally flicker out, and whenthe light was gone she lay close against him, his armsabout her, and every now and then, as he bent his headover her, she raised hers to his, and their lips met.
§ 6
Her desk, with those of the five other stenographersemployed by the publishing company, was located onthe floor above the editorial offices. Here were alsothe circulation and mail order departments. Light entered[Pg 108]from three broad front windows but it was farfrom sufficient and thirty electric bulbs under greentin cones suspended by long wire cords burnedthroughout the day over the rows of desks and tablesthat filled the congested loft. At these were somehundred girls and women, and half a dozen men. Inthe rear, where the daylight failed almost completelyto penetrate, the cones of electric radiance flooded thedark recesses brilliantly. Old Hodgson, who was incharge of the outgoing mail, there had his domain, andit was in this quarter that the lumbering freight elevatoroccasionally made its appearance with a bangand crash of opening iron doors. Toward the front,near the windows, and separated from the rest by lowrailings, were located the desks of Miss Holland andMr. Max Oppenheim. The former was a tall, thin-facedwoman with iron-gray hair and a distinguishedvoice and manner. Just what her duties were Jeannettecould not guess. She had her own stenographerand was forever dictating, or going downstairs withsheaves of letters in her hands for conferences withMr. Kipps. Oppenheim was the Circulation Manager.He was a Jew, intelligent and shrewd, with a pallor sopronounced it seemed unhealthy, further emphasizedby a thick mop of coal-black glistening hair that sweptstraight back without a parting from his smooth whiteforehead. Jeannette thought she recognized in him atype to be avoided; but she never saw anything eitherin his manner toward her or the other girls at whichto take exception.
There was one other individual in the room who hada department to herself. This was a chubby, bespectacledlady with an unpronounceable German name who[Pg 109]presided over a huddle of desks and conducted the mailorder department. No one ever seemed to have anythingto say to her, nor did she in her turn appear tohave anything to say to anyone. She plodded on withher work, unmolested, lost sight of. SometimesJeannette suspected that Mr. Corey and Mr. Kipps andthe other men downstairs had forgotten the woman’sexistence.
The stenographers with whom she was immediatelyand intimately thrown were distinctly of a better classthan the girls who had been her associates in the SouléPublishing Company. Miss Foster was red-headedand given to shouts of infectious mirth, Miss Lopezwas Spanish, pretty and charming, Miss Bixby was atrifle hoidenish but good-natured, and Miss Pratt wasfrankly an old maid for whom life had been obviouslya hard and devastating struggle; there remained MissLa Farge, who, Jeannette suspected, was not of theworld of decent women; her be-ribboned lingerie wasclearly discernible through her sheer and transparentshirtwaists, and she was given to rouge, lavish powdering,and strong scent.
The first day in her new position was as difficult asJeannette anticipated. She knew she gave the impressionof being cold and condescending, but her shynesswould not permit her to unbend. The girls were politelydistant with her at first, but Jeannette was fullyaware that each and every one of them was alive toher presence, and everything they did and said wasfor her benefit.
She made an early friend of Miss Holland. The tallwoman stopped at her desk in passing, smiled pleasantlyat her and asked if everything was going all[Pg 110]right. Something of quality, of good breeding in theolder woman’s face brought the girl to her feet, and itwas this trifling act of courtesy that won Miss Holland’sapproval and favor, which Jeannette never wasto lose.
There were plenty of girls scattered among the tableswhere the business of folding circulars, addressingenvelopes, and writing cards went on, who were of thehigh-heeled, pompadoured, sallow-skinned variety withwhich Jeannette was already familiar, but these personscame and went with the work; few of them wereregular employees.
When a stenographer was needed in the editorialdepartment a buzzer sounded upstairs and the girlnext in order answered the summons. Miss Fosterusually took Mr. Corey’s dictation and also that of hissecretary, Mr. Smith, but the other girls went fromMr. Featherstone to Mr. Kipps to Miss Reubens andto the rest as they were required.
Mr. Kipps sent especially for Jeannette on her firstmorning. She was nervous and her pencil trembled alittle as she scribbled down her notes. She found hisdictation extremely difficult to take; he hesitated,paused a long time to think of the word he wanted,corrected himself, asked her to repeat what he hadsaid, or to scratch out what she had written and to goback and read her notes to a point where he couldrecommence. But he seemed pleased when she broughthim the finished letters.
“Very good, Miss Sturgis,—very good indeed,” hesaid without enthusiasm, tapping his pursed lips withthe tip of his penholder as he scanned her work.
She was jubilant. She looked for Roy; she was[Pg 111]eager to tell him what Mr. Kipps had said. But hewas not at his desk as she passed through the advertisingdepartment, nor was he waiting for her—asshe hoped—when five o’clock came and she startedhome.
Well, she was satisfied,—she had gotten just whatshe wanted,—she would soon make herself indispensable.... Mr.Kipps was really a lovely man, althoughone would never suspect it from his nervousmanner. She felt a sudden assurance she was goingto be very happy.
Roy found her again in her sweetest, kindest moodthat evening. They began at once to discuss everyonein the entire organization of the company from thePresident, himself, down to Bertram, the little Jewoffice boy, who was inclined to be fresh. The publishinghouse had suddenly become their entire world andeveryone in it was either friend or foe.
“I hope I make good,” sighed Jeannette.
“Make good?” repeated her lover indignantly. “Ofcourse, you’ll make good. Don’t I know how good youare? Why, say, Janny dear, you’ve got that bunch ofgirls skinned a mile!”
It was soon evident to Jeannette that Roy was right.The next day she made a point of glancing at some ofMiss Foster’s and Miss Lopez’s letters; she noted twoerrors in the former’s, and the latter’s were rubbedand full of erasures; the letters, themselves, werepoorly spaced and the sheets in several instances werefar from being clean. She was genuinely shocked atsuch slovenliness. They would not have tolerated itat the school for a minute! The girls who had beenwith her under Beardsley had done better work than[Pg 112]that!.... She paused over the thought and smiled.It was funny now to think of dear old Roy as the Mr.Beardsley who had once filled her with such awe andin fear of whose displeasure she had actually trembled.
§ 7
Her satisfaction with her new position found uttercompleteness when on her first Saturday morning herpay envelope reached her, and she discovered she wasto receive fifteen dollars a week. It was the last dropin her felicity. She flung herself into her work withall the eagerness of an intense young nature. In turnshe took dictation from Mr. Featherstone, MissReubens, Mr. Olmstead, the auditor, and young Mr.Cavendish, who edited Corey’s Commentary. Everyoneseemed to like her. Miss Reubens, having tried thenew stenographer, thereafter invariably asked for her,and while this was gratifying in its way, Jeannettewould have willingly foregone the distinction. MissReubens was not a pleasing personality for whom towork; she referred to Jeannette as “the new girl,”treated her like a machine, and kept her sitting idlybeside her desk while she sorted papers or carried onlong conversations at the telephone. She was a high-strung,perpetually agitated person, given to complaininga great deal, undoubtedly overworked, butfinding consolation in pitying herself and in bemoaningher hard lot. Jeannette recognized in her the ladywith the twisted, sour mouth who had been inspectingphotographs the day she first came to the office.
Mr. Olmstead, the auditor, was a tiresome old man,who teetered on his toes when he talked and tapped his[Pg 113]thumb-nail with the rim of his eye-glasses to emphasizehis words. He took a tedious time over his dictation,and Jeannette had to shut her lips tightly to keep fromprompting him.
Mr. Cavendish, on the other hand, was charming.He was about thirty-three or-four, Jeannette judged,handsome, with thick, very dark red hair, and a thick,dark red mustache. He was always very courteous,and had an ever-ready stock of pleasantries. She wasaware that he admired her, and she could not helpfeeling self-conscious in his company. They jokedtogether mildly and their eyes frequently held oneanother’s in amused glances. Of all the people in theoffice she liked best to take dictation from him; henever repeated himself, his sentences were neatlyphrased and to the point, and his choice of words, sheconsidered, beautiful. That he was unmarried did notdetract from her interest in him. She read some ofthe recent back numbers of Corey’s Commentary andparticularly the editorials, and told Roy she admiredthem enormously.
She was far happier in the environment of the editorialrooms than upstairs where she worked with theother stenographers in the midst of the bustle, racketand confusion of the circulation and mail order departments.She soon discovered she had little in commonwith Miss Foster or Miss Bixby; Miss Lopez was apretty nonentity; Miss Pratt, an elderly incompetent,and Miss La Farge, a vulgar-lipped grisette. The girlsrealized she looked down on them and clannishly hungtogether, to talk about her among themselves. Theywere not openly rude, but Jeannette was aware she wasnot popular with them.
[Pg 114]
Miss Holland alone on the first floor attracted her.They smiled at one another whenever their eyes met,and Jeannette enjoyed the feeling that this faded,kindly gentlewoman recognized in her a girl of herown class.
§ 8
There were a dozen other personalities in the companythat the new stenographer learned to know andwith whom she came more or less into contact. Importantamong these was Mr. Corey’s secretary, Mr.Smith, whom nobody liked. He was suspected of beinga tale-bearer, an informant who tattled inconsequencesto his chief. He was obviously a toady, and treatedeveryone in the office, not a member of the firm, withan air of great condescension. Mrs. Charlotte Innessof the book department was a regal, gray-haired personage,with many floating draperies that were evertrailing magnificently behind her as she came andwent. Miss Travers, who was cooped up all day behindthe wire grilling of the Cashier’s cage, was awaspish, merry individual, and although sometimescommon, even vulgar, was both friendly and amusing.Francis Holme and Van Alstyne spent most of theirtime on the road visiting book dealers. Van Alstynewas English and inclined to be patronizing, but Holmewas large-toothed, large-mouthed and big-eared, bluffand frank, noisy and good-hearted. And there wasalso Mr. Cavendish’s assistant, Horatio Stephens, atall, rangy young man, with rather a dreamy, detachedair, with whom Roy shared a room at his boarding-house.Jeannette found him vaguely repellent; therewas something about his long skinny hands and drooping[Pg 115]eyelids that made her creepy. And then there wasMr. Corey himself.
Chandler B. Corey was, as Roy had described him,a man of vivid personality. Although not yet in hisfifties, he had a full head of silky white hair. In sharpcontrast to this were his black bushy eyebrows and hisblack mustache which curled gracefully at the endsand which he had a habit of pulling whenever he wasthinking hard. His skin was pink and clear as a boy’s,but there was nothing effeminate in his face with itsheavy square jaw. There was a dynamic quality abouthim that communicated itself to everyone who came incontact with him, and yet with all his energy and fire,Jeannette noted there was an extraordinary gentlenessabout him, somewhat suggesting sadness.
On a day toward the end of her third week, she tooka long and important letter from him. Miss Fosterwas struggling with a pile of other work he had alreadygiven her, and Mr. Smith sent Bertram upstairs witha request for Miss Sturgis to come down.
She had never been in Mr. Corey’s office before. Atonce she was struck with its quality. Compared withthe noisy ruggedness and bare floors outside, it wasquiet, luxurious. Sectional bookcases, filled to overflowing,and many autographed framed photographslined walls that were covered with burlap. There wereone or two large leather armchairs and in the center agreat flat-topped desk heaped with manuscripts andstacks of clipped papers. A film of dust lay over manyof these, and the scent of cigar smoke was in the air.Mr. Corey’s silvery head beyond the desk appeared asa startling blot of white against the background ofwarm brown.
[Pg 116]
She was surprised to discover how tersely he dictated.There was nothing of a literary quality abouthis sentences, nothing savoring of the polish of Mr.Cavendish. He was all business and dispatch. Shefelt oddly sorry for him; more than once during thebrief quarter of an hour that she was with him agreat sympathy for him came over her. He seemedweighed down with responsibilities. A paper mill waspressing him for money; no funds would be availablefor another three months; his letter offered them hisnote for ninety days. While he dictated, the telephoneinterrupted him; something had gone wrong with thelinotype machines, and the delay would result in TheWheel of Fortune being two or three days late on thenews-stands. In the midst of this conversation Mr.Featherstone came in to report that Shreve & Bakerhad cancelled their advertisement and had definitelyrefused to renew it. An army of annoyances pressedaround on every side.
She told Roy about it when he came to see her thatnight.
“Oh, C. B.’s a wonder,” he agreed; “he carries thatwhole concern on his shoulders, and you can rest assuredthere’s nothing goes on down there that hedoesn’t know. They all depend on him.”
“He seems so over-burdened, and so—so harassed,”Jeannette said.
“I guess he’s all of that. You know he’s had anawful hard time getting a start; the business is justabout able to stand on its own feet now.”
“I don’t think Mr. Smith is much help to him. Hecould save him a whole lot if he would.”
“Oh, that fish! He’s no good. He told C. B. a most[Pg 117]outrageous lie about Mr. Featherstone; there was anawful row.”
“Then why doesn’t Mr. Featherstone have him discharged?”
“Nobody’s got anything to say down there exceptMr. Corey. He owns fifty-one per cent of the stock, Iunderstand, and if he likes Smith, Smith is going tostay.”
“I can’t see how Mr. Corey can put up with him.”
“How did C. B. like your work?”
“I don’t know. Mr. Smith took it when I brought itdownstairs, and carried it in to him. I didn’t hear aword; but he didn’t send it back to me for anything.”
“He was pleased all right. You’ve made a hit witheveryone. They’re all crazy about you; Miss Reubensalways wants you; and Cavendish, I notice, seems totake a special interest in his dictation now.”
The last was said with an amused scrutiny of herface.
“Oh, don’t be silly, Roy!”
“I’m not,” he declared sensibly. “I don’t care ifhe admires you. Men are always going to do that.Holme asked me the other day who the new queen was,and I was mighty proud to tell him you were myfiancée. I guess I appreciate the fact that the smartest,loveliest girl in the world is going to be my wife!”
“Oh,—don’t!” Jeannette repeated. There wastrouble in her face.
§ 9
Her days were packed full of interest now. She enjoyedevery moment of the time spent within theshabby portals of the publishing house. The rest of[Pg 118]the twenty-four hours were given to happy anticipationof new experiences awaiting her, or in pleasantretrospect of happenings that marked her advancement.For it was clear to her she was progressing,daily tightening her hold upon her job, making the“big” people like her, bringing herself nearer andnearer the goal she some day eagerly hoped to reach:of being indispensable to these delightful, new employers.To what end this tended, how far it wouldcarry her, under what circumstances she would achievefinal success she could not surmise. She was consciousthese days only of an intense satisfaction, a delightin knowing she was steadily, though blindly, attainingher ambition.
Often she wished during these early weeks she had adozen pairs of hands that she might take everyone’sdictation and type all the letters that left the office.She became interested in the subject and purpose ofthese letters. Cavendish wrote an urgent note to aMr. David Russell Purington, who was a regular contributorto Corey’s Commentary from Washington,telling him how extremely important it was, in connectionwith a certain article shortly to appear in themagazine, for him to obtain an exclusive interview onthe subject with the Japanese plenipotentiary at thattime visiting the capital. Miss Reubens fretted andmurmured complainingly as she worded a communicationto Lester Short, the author, explaining that it wasimpossible for The Wheel of Fortune to pay the pricehe asked for his story, The Broken Jade. Mr. Kipps,through her, informed the Typographical Union,Number 63, that under no conditions would the ChandlerB. Corey Company reëmploy Timothy Conboy[Pg 119]and that if the union persisted, the Publishing Companywas prepared to declare for an open shop.Mrs. Inness confided to her hand an enthusiastic memorandumto Mr. Corey urging him to accept and publishat once a novel called The Honorable Estate bya new writer, Homer Deering, which she declared wasof the most sensational nature.
But after typing these letters and memorandumsJeannette heard nothing more of them. She wanted toknow whether or not Mr. David Russell Puringtonsucceeded in obtaining the much desired interview,what Lester Short decided to do about the seventy-fivedollars Miss Reubens offered, how the TypographicalUnion, Number 63, replied to Mr. Kipps’ ultimatum,and if Mr. Corey accepted Homer Deering’s significantmanuscript. Her curiosity was seldom gratified; shehardly ever saw the replies to the letters she had typedwith such interest. Miss Foster, Miss Lopez, MissPratt, Miss Bixby or Miss La Farge continued the correspondence.Often she would see a letter unwindingitself from a neighboring machine at the top of whichshe would recognize a familiar name, but she had notime to read further, and there was a certain restraintobserved among the girls about overlooking one another’swork. Jeannette realized she was merely asmall cog in a machine and that her prejudices, enthusiasms,her interest and opinion were of small consequenceto anyone.
She rose early in the morning, sometimes at five, andher mother would hear her thumping and poundingwith an iron in the kitchen as she pressed a shirtwaistto wear fresh to the office, or clitter-clattering in thebathroom as she polished her shoes or washed stockings.[Pg 120]Her costume was invariably neat and smart,but she dressed soberly, with knowing effectivenessfor her working day. Her mother, yawning sleepily orfrowning in mild distress, would find her getting herown breakfast at seven.
“Why, dearie,” she would plaintively remonstrate,“whatever do you want to bother with the stove for?I’m going to get your breakfast; you leave that tome.... I don’t see,” she might add querulously,“why you have to get up at such unearthly hours.”
Alice would shortly make her appearance, and withwrappers trailing, slippers clapping and shuffling aboutthe kitchen, her mother and sister would complete thesimple preparations for her morning meal, and setabout getting their own. About the time they hadborne in the smoking granite coffee-pot again to thedining-room, and had hunched up their chairs to thetable, Jeannette would be ready to leave the house.When she came to kiss them good-bye, she would alwaysfind them there, her mother’s cheek soft andwarm, Alice’s firm, hard face, cool and smelling faintlyof soap. She would seem so vigorously alive as sheleft them, so confident and capable. There was alwaysa tremendous satisfaction in feeling well-dressed, well-preparedand early-started for her day’s work. As sheleft the house, and filled her lungs with the first breathof sharp morning air, there would come a tug ofexcitement at the prospect of the hours ahead. Sheloved the trip downtown on the bumping, whirringelevated; she loved the close contact with fellow-passengers,wage-earners like herself; she loved thebrisk walk along Seventeenth Street and across theleaf-strewn square, where she faced the tide of clerks[Pg 121]and office workers that poured steadily out of theGhetto and lower East Side, and set itself toward thegreat tall buildings of lower Fifth Avenue and Broadway,and she loved the first glimpse of the gold sign ofthe Chandler B. Corey Company, with the feeling thatshe belonged there and was one of its employees.
She would be at her desk half to three-quarters ofan hour ahead of the other girls. There would usuallybe work left over from the previous day. She likedsettling herself for the busy hours to come when noone was around and she could do so with comfort.
She would hardly be conscious of the other girls’arrival, and would often greet them with a smilinggood-morning, or answer their questions with no recollectionafterwards of having done so.
The whirlwind of office demands and the tide ofwork would soon be about her. Miss Reubens wantedher, Mr. Kipps rang for a stenographer, Mr. Featherstonehad an important letter to get off before he wentout. Would Miss Sturgis look up that letter to theGlenarsdale Agency? Would Miss Sturgis come downwhen she was free? Mr. Cavendish had an article hewanted copied as soon as possible. Miss Bixby wasbusy, Miss Foster was busy, Miss Lopez, Miss Pratt,Miss La Farge were busy; Miss Sturgis was busiestof all. She thrilled to the rush and fury of her days.There was never a let-up, never a lull; there wasalways more and more work piling up.
At noon, at twelve-thirty, at one,—whenever shewas free for a moment about that time,—she wouldslip out for her lunch. She had learned she must eat,—eatsomething, no matter how little, in the middle of theday. She still patronized the soda and candy counter[Pg 122]in the big rotunda of Siegel-Cooper’s mammoth departmentstore for her china cup of coffee and twosaltine crackers. Sometimes she spent another nickelfor a bag of peanut brittle. Somewhere she had readthat the sugar in the candy and the starch in the peanutscontained a high percentage of nutritious value.She nibbled out of the bag on her way back to the office.
She would be gone hardly more than half the hourshe was allowed for luncheon. Between one and threein the afternoon was the time she was least interrupted,and in this interval her fingers flew, and letter afterletter,—slipped beneath its properly addressed envelope,—wouldsteadily augment the pile in the wirebasket that stood beside her machine. She rejoicedwhen it grew so tall, the stack was in danger of fallingout.
In the late afternoon came the rush and the mostexacting demands. Miss Reubens had a letter thatmust go off that night without fail; Mr. Featherstonehad just returned from a conference with a big advertiserand wanted a record of the agreement typedat once; Mr. Kipps had a communication to be instantlydispatched; Mr. Corey needed a stenographer.The girls were all busy; they had too much to do already;they could not finish half the letters that hadbeen given them. Well, how about Miss Sturgis?Could Miss Sturgis manage to get out just one more?It was so important. Yes, Miss Sturgis could,—ofcourse she could; it might be late, but if the writerwould remain to sign it, she’d manage to finish it somehow.
“You’re a fool,” Miss Bixby said to her one daysourly. “Nobody’s going to thank you for it; you[Pg 123]don’t get paid a cent more; I don’t see why you wantto make a beast-of-burden out of yourself. They justuse you like a sponge in this office; squeeze every ounceof strength out of you, and then throw you away.Look at Linda Harris!”
Linda Harris was the girl who had sickened, andwhose place Jeannette now filled.
Perhaps Miss Bixby was right, Jeannette would sayto herself, riding home after six and sometimes afterseven o’clock on the lurching train, tired to the pointwhere her muscles ached and her sight was blurred.But there was something in her that rose vigorouslyto this battle of work, that made her reach down andever deeper down inside herself for new strength andnew capacity.
§ 10
Wearily, her hand dragging on the stair rail, shewould pull herself step by step up the long flights tothe top floor. Tired though she might be, her mindwould still be buzzing with the events of the day: Mr.Cavendish’s letter to Senator Slocum,—had she rememberedthe enclosures? Mr. Kipps had been shortwith her, or so he had seemed; perhaps he had beenonly vexed at the end of a long day of worry. Mr.Corey’s smile at a comment she had ventured was consoling.Then there was that friction between MissReubens and Mrs. Inness; they had had some sharpwords; she wondered which one of them eventuallywould triumph. Mrs. Inness, of course.... Andlittle Miss Maria Lopez had confided to her in thewash-room she was going to be married!
“Hello, dearie! ... Home again?” Jeannette’s[Pg 124]mother would call to her cheerfully as she pushed openthe door. Alice would turn her head with a “’Lo,Sis”; she would kiss them dutifully, perfunctorily.The kitchen would be hot and steamy; the smell offood would make her feel giddy, perhaps faint. Shewould be ravenously hungry. She would go to herdark little bedroom, light the gas, remove her hat,blouse, and skirt and stretch herself gratefully on herbed.... Would Mrs. Inness go to Mr. Corey abouther difference with Miss Reubens? ... Miss Hollandhad had a conference with Mr. Kipps all afternoon;what could it be about? ... Would Bertram be dischargedfor losing that manuscript? ... Mr. VanAlstyne had certainly been unnecessarily curt; shecordially disliked him.... And Mr. Smith had mostassuredly not given her Mr. Corey’s message; why,she remembered distinctly....
“Dinner, dearie.” She would drag herself to herfeet, rub her face briskly with a wet wash-rag, and inher wrapper join her mother and sister at table.
“Well, tell us how everything went to-day,” Mrs.Sturgis would say, busy with plates and serving spoon.
“Oh,—’bout the same as usual,” Jeannette wouldsigh. “Bertram, the office boy, lost a manuscript to-day.It was terribly important. We were awfullybusy upstairs, and Mrs. Inness sent the book out to betyped, and he left the package somewheres,—on thestreet car, he thinks. Mr. Kipps will probably firehim; he deserves it; he’s awfully fresh.”
“You don’t say,” Mrs. Sturgis would murmur abstractedly.“Drink your tea, dearie, before it getscold.”
[Pg 125]
Jeannette dutifully sipping the hot brew would considerhow to tell them of the trouble between Mrs.Inness and Miss Reubens.
“Miss Reubens,—you know, Mother,—is the editorof The Wheel of Fortune, and Mrs. Charlotte Innessruns our book department. They dislike each othercordially and I just know some day there’s going to bea dreadful row——”
“Alice, dearie,—get Mother another tea-cup,” Mrs.Sturgis might interrupt, her eye on her older daughter’sface to show she was attending. “And whileyou’re up, you might glance in the oven.... Yes,dearie?” she would say encouragingly to Jeannette.
The girl would recommence her story, but she couldsee it was impossible to arouse their interest. Theirattention wandered; they knew none of the people inthe office; it was no concern of theirs what happenedto them.
“Kratzmer had the effrontery to charge me thirtycents for a can of peaches to-day,” Mrs. Sturgis wouldremark. “I just told him they were selling for twenty-fiveon the next block and I wouldn’t pay it, and hesaid to me I could take my trade anywhere I chose,and I told him that that was no way to conduct hisbusiness, and he as much as told me that it was hisbusiness and he intended to run it the way he liked!I wouldn’t stand for such impudence, and I just gavehim a piece of my mind.” An indignant finger tossingan imaginary ruffle at her throat suggested what hadbeen the little woman’s agitated manner.
“Kratzmer’s awfully obliging,” Alice commentedmildly.
[Pg 126]
“Well, perhaps,—but the idea!”
“Mr. Corey was unusually nice to me to-day,” Jeannetteremarked.
Her mother would smile and nod encouragingly, buther eyes would be inspecting her daughters’ plates,considering another helping or whether it was time fordessert.
“I couldn’t match my braid,” Alice would murmurin a disconsolate tone. “I went to the Woman’sBazaar and to Miss Blake’s and they had nothing likeit. I suppose I’ll have to go downtown to Macy’s. Doyou remember, Mother, where you got the first piece?”
“No, I don’t, dearie,” her mother would replyslowly. “Perhaps it was O’Neill & Adams.... Howmuch do you need?”
“About three yards. I could manage with two. Doyou suppose you’d have time to-morrow, Janny, totry at Macy’s?”
“Maybe; I can’t promise. You have no idea howrushed we are sometimes.”
“You know I’ve a good mind to try Meyer’s placeover on Amsterdam; it always seems so clean. Kratzmer’sgetting too independent.”
“Kratzmer knows us, Mama, and sometimes it’sawfully convenient to charge.”
“I know. That’s perfectly true. But the idea ofhis talking to me that way!”
“They might have it at Siegel-Cooper’s. You couldask there to-morrow. It would only take you fiveminutes. I hate to go all the way downtown, andthere’s the carfare.”
“I’ve traded with Kratzmer ever since he movedinto the block. I guess he forgets I’ve been a resident[Pg 127]in this neighborhood for nearly thirteen years. Heshouldn’t treat me like a casual customer; it’s notright and proper.”
“It would be the greatest help if I could get itto-morrow. I’m absolutely at a standstill on that dressuntil I have it. Siegel’s sure to keep a big stock. I’llgive you a sample.”
“I’ve always liked the look of things at Meyer’s.All the Jewesses go there and they always know whereto get the best things to eat,—but I suppose he is moreexpensive.”
“It oughtn’t to cost more than twenty cents a yard.Do you remember what you paid for it, Mama?”
“Dearie,—it’s so long ago; I’m sorry.... I’d ratherhate to break with Kratzmer after all these years.You can’t help but make friends with the trades-people.Do you think Meyer’s would really be more high-priced,Janny?”
Jeannette would shrug her shoulders and carefullyfold her napkin. They were dears,—she loved thembest of all the world,—but they seemed so small andpetty with their trifling concerns: matching braids anddisagreeing with trades-people.
The dinner dishes would be cleared away. Jeannettewould brush the cloth, put away the salt and peppershakers, the napkins, and unused cutlery; then shewould carefully fold the tablecloth in its originalcreases, replace it with the square of chenille curtaining,and climb on a chair to fit the brass hook of thedrop-light over the gas-jet above.
Roy would arrive at eight,—he was always therepromptly,—and she would have a bare twenty minutesto get ready. She would hear her mother and sister[Pg 128]scraping and rattling in the kitchen as she dressed,water hissing into the sink, the bang of the tin dishpan,their voices murmuring.
She would be glad when her lover came. A flood ofquestions, surmises, hazarded opinions about officeaffairs, poured from her then. She was free at last totalk as she liked about what absorbed her so much;she had an audience that would listen eagerly and attentivelyto everything. What would Mr. Kipps doabout Bertram, and if the manuscript was really lost,what would Mrs. Inness do about it? ... Did he hearanything about the row between Mrs. Inness and MissReubens? Well,—she’d tell him, only she wanted firstto ask his advice about whether she should go to Mr.Corey and simply tell him that Smith had certainlynever given her his message?
Roy would meet this eager gossip with news of hisown. Mr. Featherstone had given Walt Chase anawful call-down for promising a preferred positionhe had no right to, and Stubbs was starting on a tripto Chicago and St. Louis. There was talk of puttingFrancis Holme in charge of the Book Sales Department,and Roy hoped he’d get it instead of Van Alstyne.And what did Jeannette think the chanceswould be of Horatio Stephens getting Miss Reuben’sjob if Miss Reubens quit on account of Mrs. Inness?
Roy would tire eventually of this shop talk. Helonged to reach the love-making stage of the evening;he was eager to tell her how much he adored her, andto have her confess she cared for him in return; heliked to have her nestle close against him, his armsabout her, to hold her to him and have her raise herlips to his each time he bent over her. But Jeannette[Pg 129]grew less and less inclined these days to surrender herselfto these embraces. Each time Roy mentioned love,she would tell him not to be silly, and would speak ofanother office affair. It distressed her lover; he wouldfidget unhappily, not quite understanding how sheeluded him. Again and again he would return to thequestion of their marriage. Did Jeannette thinkMarch would be a good month? It was three monthsoff. Yes, March would be all right, but did he supposeMiss Reubens was really overworked? Roy didn’tknow whether she was or not; she complained a gooddeal, he admitted. But now about where they were tolive; he had heard of a little house in Flatbush thatcould be rented for twenty dollars a month. How didshe feel about living in Brooklyn?
But marriage did not interest her for the present;she was too much absorbed in the affairs of the publishingcompany. Weddings could wait; hers could,anyhow. Just now she wanted Roy to help her guessthe salaries of everyone in the office.
And when, as ten and ten-thirty and eleven o’clockapproached, Roy, conscious of the passing minutes,would press his love-making to a point where Jeannettecould no longer divert him, she would send himhome. She would suddenly remember she had herstockings to wash out, or gloves to clean before shewent to bed. She would realize at the moment, howdreadfully tired she was, and the morrow alwayspresented a difficult day.
“You must go now, Roy,” she would say. “Yousimply must go. I’m dead and I’ve got to get somesleep. Please say good-night.”
“Not until you kiss me,” he would insist.
[Pg 130]
“... There. Now go.”
“But tell me first you love me?”
“Oh, Roy!”
“No,—you must tell me.”
“Why, of course; you know I do.”
“Lots?”
“Yes—yes.”
“And you’ll marry me?”
“Surely.”
“When?”
“Now, Roy, you must go. I tell you I’m dropping,I’m so tired.”
“But tell me when you’ll marry me?”
“Well,—whenever we’re ready.”
“You darling! Kiss me again.”
“Roy!”
“Kiss me.... Oh, kiss me good.”
“Good-night!”
“Good-night.... You darling!”
[Pg 131]
CHAPTER V
§ 1
Roy wanted to be married; he wanted Jeannette toset the date; he wanted her to make up her mind whereshe preferred to live, and to start making plans accordingly.Just before Christmas his salary was raisedfive dollars a week and the last barrier—for him—tothe wedding was removed. There was nothing toprevent their being married at once. Everyone agreed,even Jeannette herself, that a hundred dollars a monthwould be sufficient for their needs the first year.With a mysterious air, Mrs. Sturgis hinted at responsibilitiesthat might come to them, but Roy’s salarywould undoubtedly be raised more than once by thattime. She liked her daughter’s promised husband;he had such an honest, clean face, his eyes were soclear and blue. He made her think of her Ralph. Shefelt she could with safety entrust Jeannette’s happinessto him. Alice was frankly a warm admirer ofher prospective brother-in-law. She agreed witheverything he said and always sided with him in anargument. Mother, sister and future husband sharedthe opinion that the marriage must soon take place;there was no sense in Jeannette’s wearing herself todeath down there at that office; she took it all too seriously;she was undermining her health.
Jeannette, with vague misgivings, agreed. It wastoo bad; she liked the business life so much. But marriage[Pg 132]was the thing; she must make up her mind to bemarried and settle down in a little house with Royover in Brooklyn,—presumably. She thought of thedish-washing, bed-making, carpet-sweeping, cooking,and shuddered. She hated domesticity. Alice wouldhave loved it; but she was different from Alice.
Roy? ... Oh, she loved Roy, she guessed, but notwith the fluttering pulse and quickened breath he hadonce occasioned. She liked him; he was sweet andcompanionable. Sometimes she felt very motherlytoward him, liked to brush his stuck-up hair and resther cheek against his. She could see herself happywith him, knowing she would always dominate himand he was disarmingly amiable. Sometimes shethought about babies. She wouldn’t mind havingthem. She had always imagined she would like onesome day, to dandle about and cuddle close to her.Roy was sure to be a sweet-tempered father. But shesighed when she thought of the office, the progress shewas making there, her popularity, and particularly thefive dollars a week that was her own to spend just asshe pleased. She loved that five dollars; once shetouched the soft greenback to her lips.
She agreed to be married on the second of April.
§ 2
It was shortly after the beginning of the new yearthat the news went around the office that Mr. Smithwas going;—fired, everyone decided. No one knewhow the rumor got about, but there was universal andsecret rejoicing. It was whispered that, as Mr. Corey’ssecretary, he had been indiscreet.
[Pg 133]
There were to be other changes in the office. MissTravers was to take Smith’s place, Mr. Holme was tobe put in complete charge of the Book Sales department,Van Alstyne was leaving, and Miss Holland wasto go downstairs to assist Mr. Kipps.
Jeannette, excited by these readjustments, surmisedthat her own news of resignation would create its particularstir. How interested everyone would be tolearn that she and Roy Beardsley of the AdvertisingDepartment were to be married! There would be a lotof rejoicing and good wishes. The office would considerit a happy match. Her going would be regretted,—sheknew that she was valued,—but all would be gladnevertheless that she and young Beardsley were goingto be man and wife. An ideal couple!—Happy romance!—MissSturgis and Mr. Beardsley! How delightful!Well—well!
If everyone was sure to think so well of her marriage,why should she have any doubts about it?
She was pondering on this, one day, while mechanicallyfolding her letters and putting them into theirproper envelopes, when there came a summons fromMr. Corey. She found him idly thumbing the pages ofan advance dummy of one of the magazines. Whenshe had seated herself and flapped back her note-bookfor his dictation, he asked her without preamble howshe would like the idea of being his secretary. Heelaborated upon what he should expect of her: therewould be plenty of hard work, long hours sometimes,she might have to come back occasionally in the evenings,and there must be no gossiping with other employeesof the company or outside of the office.
“What goes on in here, what you learn from my letters[Pg 134]or see from my correspondence, what you come toknow of my business or private life, must be keptstrictly to yourself. Nothing must be repeated,—noteven what may seem to you a trivial, insignificant fact.I wish to have no secrets from my secretary, and I donot wish my affairs discussed with anyone, not evenwith members of the firm, such as Mr. Kipps, or Mr.Featherstone. Understand? Miss Holland thinksyou’re qualified to fill the position,—recommends youwarmly,—and Mr. Kipps has a good word for you.Personally I have a feeling you will do very well, andthat I can trust you. If you think you can do the work,we will start you at twenty-five a week.... What doyou say?”
Jeannette’s throat went dry, her temples throbbed,her face burned. Visions swift, tormenting, rose beforeher: she saw Roy, her mother, sister!—she sawherself a bride, a wife, with hair hanging about herface, bending over a steaming pan full of dirty dishes;she saw herself sitting where Mr. Smith had sat, movingabout the office, respected, looked up to, feared andconciliated. She thought of the number of times shehad said that Smith was of small help to his chief, andthe number of times, in her secret soul, she had picturedherself in some such post as his, helping, protecting,serving as she knew she could help, protect andserve. She gazed at the kind face with its crown of silverywhite, and into the dark eyes studying her, as shefelt rising up strong within her the consciousness ofhow she could work for this man, and be to him all hecould ever expect in a secretary. The sadness that surroundedhim, the big fight he was waging to make hisbusiness a success touched her imagination. She[Pg 135]sensed his need of her,—his great need of her,—andshe saw in the dim future how dependent he wouldgrow to be on her. She would have a part in his struggle;she could help him achieve his ambition as hecould help her achieve hers. Suddenly Roy’s strickenface interposed again. Rebellion rose passionately! ... Butit was too late. She was going to be married;she was going to be Roy’s wife.... Yet how desperatelyshe longed to be this big man’s secretary! Shethought of the sensation the promotion would cause,how it would stagger Miss Foster, Miss Bixby, theother girls,—how it would impress her mother, Alice,—Roy!
Her strained, hard expression brought a puzzledlook to her employer’s face. She tried to speak; herlips only moved soundlessly.
“Well, well,—you don’t have to make up your mindat once,” Mr. Corey said. “Suppose you try it for amonth or two. I don’t think you’ll find it as hard asyou anticipate. I am away for some months everyyear,—I go abroad in the spring,—and while that doesnot mean a vacation for you, the work is naturallyeasier. I would greatly appreciate loyalty and conscientiousness.I think you have just the qualities.Try it, as I suggest, until, say the first of March, andthen we’ll see how we get along together and whetheryou think the work too hard.”
She could not bring herself to tell him she was goingto be married, that she was thinking of resigning in afew weeks; she could not dash from his hand the cup,brimming with all her ambitions realized, which heheld out to her so persuasively. No,—not just yet.He suggested she try the position until the first of[Pg 136]March. There was nothing to hinder her from doingthat! The glory would be hers, even if she were toenjoy it but for six weeks. She would be “Mr.Corey’s secretary” before the office; everyone wouldknow of it, her mother, Alice, Roy,—all of them wouldsee how she had succeeded. On the first of March,—wenther swift mind,—she could talk it over with Mr.Corey, tell him the work was beyond her strength, thatshe didn’t like it,—or that she was going to be married!It wouldn’t matter then.
“Well,—what do you say?” Mr. Corey leaned forwardslightly, his shrewd eyes watching her.
She swallowed hard, and met his steady gaze.
“Yes,—I’ll try it. I—I think I can do it.”
“Good. Then we’ll start in to-morrow. Mr. Smithleaves us Saturday. He can show you about my privatefiling system and some of the ropes before hegoes.”
§ 3
Quietly she told the news to her mother and sisterthat evening. At once there was a hubbub; they werelavish with kisses, hugs and congratulations. Alice,clapping palms, exclaimed:
“That will give you seventy-five—ninety dollarsmore to spend on your trousseau! ... Oh, what willyou do with it, Janny?”
“It’s more than Roy gets,” Mrs. Sturgis commentedproudly with an elegant gesture of her hand.
“No, he was raised just before Christmas.”
“Well, it’s as much anyway. Think of it: twenty-fivedollars a week! ... For a girl! ... Why, yourfather never earned much more!”
[Pg 137]
Roy was delighted, too.
“By golly!” he exclaimed enthusiastically. “I toldyou, didn’t I? I guess I can tell a good stenographerwhen I see one. You were worrying—remember?—whenyou first went down there whether you weregoing to make good or not.... Well,—say,—isn’tthat great! ... I guess I’ve got a pretty smart girlpicked out for a wife; hey, old darling? You’re just awonder, Janny! You can do anything. I wish Iwas good enough for you, that’s all.... Poor oldC. B.! He’ll be disappointed as the deuce when youquit!”
Nevertheless, within the next few days Roy wonderedif he altogether liked the change in Jeannette’sstatus. Her manner towards him became different.She no longer would gossip about office matters, andduring business hours she treated him with cold formality.There had always been a pleased light in hereyes at a chance encounter with him and sometimes hewould find a little note on his desk she had left there.But now she held him at a distance rather pompously,he thought. She answered “I don’t know,” or “Mr.Corey didn’t say,” when he asked some casual questionabout business. She had become close-mouthed, andgave herself an air as she went about her work.
“I can’t act differently towards you than I dotowards anybody else,” she said in her defence whenhe complained. “Don’t you see, Roy, I’ve got to be akind of machine now. I’ve got to treat everybodyalike. Mr. Corey wouldn’t like it if he thought I wasintimate with you.”
“But we’re engaged to be married!”
“Yes, of course,—but he doesn’t know it. And I[Pg 138]want to make good, even if it’s only for a few weeks.You understand, don’t you, Roy?”
Perhaps he did, perhaps he didn’t. Jeannette didnot concern herself. She was absorbed in adequatelyfilling this coveted job which satisfied her heart andsoul and brain.
The hour of triumph when the news went abroad ofher promotion was as gratifying as she could possiblyhave wished. The girls crowded about her, congratulatingher, wringing her hands; Miss Foster impulsivelykissed her. Jeannette knew they envied her; sheknew that, for the time being, they even hated her; buttheir assumed pleasure in her good fortune was none-the-lessagreeable. Miss Reubens complained sourlythat the general office had lost its only efficient stenographer;Mr. Cavendish charmingly expressed his personalsatisfaction in her advancement and gave herhand a warm pressure of friendliness; Mr. Kipps andMr. Featherstone both complimented her with heartyenthusiasm. Jeannette was not cynical but she believedshe put a proper value on these felicitations,—particularlythose of these last two gentlemen. Mr. Coreywas indeed the dominant power behind them all; theirdestinies lay largely in his hands, and she was nowthe go-between, the avenue of approach between theunderlings and leader. As they had feared and dislikedSmith, so they would fear and perhaps dislike her.She hoped they would learn to like her in time, but itwas natural they should feel a great respect for PresidentCorey’s secretary, and be anxious to gain herfavor, hoping that to each of them she might prove a“friend at court.” Still they were not wholly insincere.Miss Holland, Jeannette felt, was genuinely[Pg 139]pleased. The older woman held both her hands andtold her how happy the news had made her; her eyesshone with the light of real pleasure. The girl felther to be indeed a friend.
Jeannette took her new work with the utmost seriousness.She determined at the outset to treat everyonein the office with absolute impartiality, to carrywhatever anybody entrusted to her to the President’sattention with an equal measure of fidelity, to see to itthat Mr. Kipps or Horatio Stephens would fare thesame at her hands. She planned to execute her secretarialduties automatically, disinterestedly, with the impersonalfunctioning of a machine.
But she discovered the futility of this scheme ofconduct within the first few days. Miss Reubenswished to speak to Mr. Corey. Was Mr. Corey busy?Would Miss Sturgis be so good as to tell her whenshe might see him for a few minutes? Jeannette knew,as it happened, what Miss Reubens wished to interviewMr. Corey about; Miss Reubens had already discussedit with him, and he had already advised her. Itwould be merely adding to his troubled day to go overthe matter again; nothing more would be accomplished.Besides, Jeannette knew Miss Reubens bored Mr.Corey just as she bored everybody else. The interviewdid not take place.
Again, Mr. Cavendish had promised a check to adistinguished contributor to Corey’s Commentary; hehad assured the author-statesman it would be in themail that afternoon without fail; would Miss Sturgismanage to get Mr. Corey to sign it at once? MissSturgis could and did, but a check to an engravingcompany, which Mr. Olmstead wished to be sent the[Pg 140]same day, waited until next morning for the hourwhich Mr. Corey set apart for check-signing.
Her first concern was for Mr. Corey himself. Shehad guessed he was harassed and harried, but had noidea how greatly harassed and harried until she cameto work at close quarters with him. He had tremendouscapacity, was an indefatigable worker, but shehad not observed his methods a week before she notedhe did far too much that was unnecessary. Insignificantthings engaged and held his attention; he fritteredaway his time upon trivialities. She set herselfto save him what she could and began by keeping theoffice force from troubling him. Mr. Corey had adelightful personality, was a charming and stimulatingtalker, a most pleasing companion; his secretary understoodquite clearly why every member of the staffliked to sit in an easy chair in his office and spendhalf-an-hour with him, chatting about details. He wastoo ready to squander his precious moments on anyonewho came to him. It was difficult to sidetrack thesetime-wasters but in some measure she succeeded.Memorandums that came addressed to him, she daredanswer herself; she even went so far as to lift papersfrom his desk and return them whence they came witha typed note attached: “Mr. Corey thinks you hadbetter handle this. J. S.” Her daring frightened hersometimes. It was inevitable she should run intodifficulties.
One afternoon the “buzzer” at her desk summonedher; it sounded more peremptory than usual.
“Miss Sturgis,” Mr. Corey addressed her, “Mr.Kipps left some information about our insurance onmy desk a day or two ago; have you seen it?”
[Pg 141]
“Yes, sir, I returned it to him early this morningand suggested that he take care of the matter foryou.” As she spoke she felt the color rushing to herface.
Corey’s black brows came together in an annoyedfrown. He cleared his throat with a little impatientcough, and jerked at his mustache.
“I wish, Miss Sturgis,—I wish you would not bequite so officious.”
Jeannette squared herself to the criticism, and stoodvery erect, returning his look.
“I thought Mr. Kipps could take care of the matter,without bothering you further,” she said, beginningto tremble.
There was silence in the room. The girl’s defiantfigure, tall and straight, confronted the man at thedesk, and the dark frown that bore down upon her.She was very beautiful as she stood there, with thewarm color tinging her olive-hued cheeks, her eyesclear and unwavering, her head flung back, her smallhands shut, resolute, unflinching. Perhaps Corey sawit, perhaps it occurred to him that she showed a finecourage, bearding him in this fashion, facing himwith such spirit, acknowledging her high-handednessyet defending it. As he considered the matter, it cameto him that she was right. Kipps was perfectly capableof taking care of this insurance business himself.
What was passing in the man’s mind the girl neverknew. Slowly she saw the scowl drift away, the sternface relax. He swung his chair toward the windowand contemplated the horizon. The sun was settingover the Jersey shore, and the glow of a red sky wasreflected on his face.
[Pg 142]
“Very well,” he said at last. It was ungracious, itwas curt, but there was nothing more. There was nodismissal. The girl waited a few minutes longer, thenturned and quitted the room.
There were errors—serious errors—for which shewas accountable. She incorrectly addressed envelopesin the hurry of dispatching them, she mixed letters andsent them to the wrong people, she mislaid certain correspondencethat upset the whole office, and she keptthe great Zeit Heitmüller, painter and sculptor,—ofwhom she had never heard,—waiting for more than anhour in the reception room, though Mr. Corey hadbegged him to call. Mr. Featherstone criticized hersharply when she neglected sending off some advertisingcopy after Mr. Corey had O.K.’d it, and she wasaware that Mr. Olmstead complained of her in greatannoyance when she returned to him an inventory hehad prepared after it had lain four days on Mr.Corey’s desk. At times she felt herself an absolutefailure, and at others knew she was steadily gainingground in the confidence and regard of the man sheserved. There were hard days, days when everythingwent wrong, when everybody was cross, when it wasclose and suffocating in the office, and whatever onetouched felt gritty with the grime of the dusty windthat swept the streets. There were days when Coreywas short and critical, when whatever Jeannette did,seemed to irritate him. A dozen times during a morningor afternoon she might be near to tears and wouldrehearse in her mind the words in which she wouldtell him that since she could not do the work to satisfyhim, he had better find someone else to take her place.There were other days when he chatted with her[Pg 143]in the merriest of moods, asked how she was gettingalong, inquired about herself and her family, looked upsmilingly when she stood before his desk to interrupthim, and thanked her for having protected him fromsome trifling annoyance.
Her heart swelled with pride and satisfaction thefirst Saturday she tore off a narrow strip from theneat, fat little envelope Miss Travers handed her, andfound folded therein two ten-and one five-dollar bills.Twenty-five dollars a week! She rolled the wordsunder her tongue; she liked to hear herself whisper it.“Twenty-five dollars a week!” There were hundredsand hundreds of men who didn’t earn so much, and avastly larger number of women!
Her mother, warmly seconded by Alice, refused toallow her to contribute more than ten dollars towardthe household expenses. She had her trousseau tobuy, they argued, and this was Jeannette’s own moneyand she ought to spend it just as she chose and forwhat she chose. Finances at the moment were muchless of a problem than they had been for the littlehousehold. A wealthy pupil of Signor Bellini with afine contralto voice had engaged Mrs. Sturgis as herregular accompanist, and paid her ten dollars everytime she played for her at an evening concert.
Jeannette allowed herself to be persuaded, and Saturdayafternoons became for her orgies of shopping.She priced everything; she ransacked the departmentstores. She knew what was being asked for a certaintype and finish of tailor suit on Fifth Avenue, andwhat “identically the same thing” could be bought foron Fourteenth Street. She got the tailor suit, and anew hat, a pair of smart, low walking pumps, some[Pg 144]half-silk stockings, be-ribboned underwear, a taffetapetticoat, everything she wanted. She lunched at theSt. Denis in what she felt to be regal luxury, andindulged herself in a bag of chocolate caramels afterwards.The joy of having money to spend intoxicatedher; she revelled in the glory of it; it was exciting,wonderful, marvellous. Not one of the things shebought would she allow herself to wear; everythingwas to be saved until she was married, and becameMrs. Roy Beardsley.
Her future husband took her one Sunday to inspectthe small brick house in Flatbush which could be rentedfor twenty dollars a month. The weather was undulywarm,—an exquisite day with a golden sun,—one ofthose foretastes of spring that are so beguilingly deceptive.From the janitor, who showed them over it,they learned that the house would cost them twenty-twodollars a month. It was one of a solid, unrelievedrow of fourteen others exactly like it, all warmed by acentral heating system, and supplied similarly withwater and gas. It was dark, the floors were worn andsplintery, the windows dingy; the whole place smelledof old carpets and damp plaster. Still it had three bedroomsupstairs, and a living-room, a really pleasantdining-room, and a kitchen on the ground floor. Roywatched Jeannette’s face eagerly as they stepped fromroom to room, but he failed to detect any sign ofenthusiasm. It impressed the girl as anything butcheerful. She saw herself day after day alone in thisplace, sweeping, dusting, making beds, washing dishes,getting herself a plate of pick-up lunch and eating it atthe end of the kitchen table, trying to read, trying to[Pg 145]sew, trying to amuse herself during the empty afternoonsuntil it was time to start dinner and wait forher husband to come home. After the bustle and excitementof the office, it would be insufferably dull.
As they waited a moment on the front steps for thejanitor to lock up after them, Jeannette noticed alarge, fat woman in a shabby negligée, watching themfrom the upper window of the adjoining house, herplump, pink elbows resting on a pillow, as she leanedout upon the sill, enjoying the mellowness of the afternoon.On the ground floor behind the looped lace curtainsof a front window, her husband was asleep in alarge upholstered armchair, Sunday newspapers scatteredabout him, the comic section across his round,fat abdomen.
“These would be the kind of neighbors she wouldhave!” thought Jeannette. Oh, it wasn’t what shewanted! It wasn’t her kind of a life—at all! Shewould be lonely, lonely, lonely.
Roy was getting twenty-five dollars a week; she wasgetting twenty-five dollars a week. Why couldn’t theygo on working together in the same office and have ajoint income of fifty dollars a week,—two hundreddollars a month! The idea fired her.
But she found no one to share her enthusiasm.Alice pressed a dubious finger-tip against her lips;Roy frowned and said frankly he didn’t think it wasthe right way for a couple to start in when theygot married; her mother indulged in firm little shakesof her head that set her round cheeks quivering. Whenthe heated discussion of the evening was over and Royhad taken himself home, Mrs. Sturgis came to sit on[Pg 146]the edge of Jeannette’s bed after the girl had retired,and in the darkness discoursed upon certain delicatematters which evidently her dear daughter hadn’tconsidered.
“I hope my girl won’t have responsibilities comeupon her too soon after she’s married,” she said, aftera few gentle clearings of her throat, “but, dearie, youknow about babies, and you’ll want to have one, andit’s right and proper that you should. But where wouldyou be if a—if a—you found you were going to haveone,—and you were working in an office? You mustconsider these things. Roy’s perfectly right in notwanting his wife at a dirty old desk all day.... Andthen, dearie, there are certain decencies, certain proprieties.A bride cannot be too careful; she mustalways be modest. Suppose you actually tried this—thiswild scheme of yours, and after your happy honeymoon,went back to the office among your old associates,the men and women with whom you’ve grownfamiliar; imagine how it would seem to them, andwhat dreadful thoughts they might think about youand Roy! One of the lovely things about marriage,Janny, is the dear little home waiting to shield theyoung bride.”
“Oh, but Mama ...” began Jeannette in weary protest.But she stopped there. What use was it toargue? None of them understood her; none of themwas able to grasp her point of view.
Roy voiced the only argument that had weight withher.
“I don’t think C. B. would like it; I don’t think hewould want to have a secretary who was married tosomebody in the same office.”
[Pg 147]
Jeannette felt that this would be a fact. No matterhow well she might please Mr. Corey, a secretary whowas married to another employee of the company wouldnot be satisfactory. It was highly probable that in theevent of her marriage he would be unwilling for herto continue with him.
No, it was plain that if she married Roy, she mustresign, she must let go her ambition, her hopes forsuccess in business, and she must accept Flatbush, andthe dismal little brick house, the unprepossessingneighbors, and the lonely, lonely days.
Well—suppose—suppose—suppose she didn’tmarry!
The relief the idea brought was startling. But shecouldn’t bring herself to give up Roy,—she couldn’thurt him! She loved him,—she loved him dearly!Never in the last few months since he had come backto her from California had she been so sure she lovedhim as now. Those eager blue eyes of his, that unrulystuck-up hair, that quaint smile, that supple, boyishfigure,—so sinuous and young and clean,—shecouldn’t give them up!
A battle began within her. It was the old struggle,—thestruggle of ambition and independence, againstlove and drudgery, for marriage meant that to her;she could think of it in no other way.
Daily in her work at the office, she felt a steadyprogress; daily, she beheld herself becoming increasinglyefficient; daily, more and more important matterswere entrusted to her.
“Thank you very much, Miss Sturgis.” “That’sfine, Miss Sturgis.” “Please arrange this, Miss Sturgis.”[Pg 148]“Miss Sturgis, will you kindly attend to thismatter yourself?”
These from Mr. Corey, and in the office she overheard:
“Well,—get Miss Sturgis to do that.” “Better askMiss Sturgis.” “Miss Sturgis will know.” “If youwant C. B.’s O.K., get Miss Sturgis to put it up tohim.”
It was wine to her. She felt herself growing evermore confident, established, secure.
§ 4
“Now, Janny,—what are you going to do about ahouse or an apartment or something where we canbegin housekeeping? Gee, I hate the idea of boarding!We ought to have a place we can call our home.April second is only two weeks off, and I don’t supposeit’s possible to find anything now. We’ll have to goto a hotel or a boarding-house for a while until we canlook ’round.... Do you realize, Miss Sturgis, you’regoing to be Mrs. Roy Beardsley inside of a fortnight!”
“Roy—dear!” she exclaimed helplessly.
“But, my darling,—you’ve got to make up yourmind.”
Make up her mind? She could not. She listeneddumbly, miserably while her mother and sister discussed,with the man she had promised to marry, thedetails of the wedding, and what the young couple hadbetter do until they could find a suitable place in whichto start housekeeping.
[Pg 149]
“We’ll go over to the church on Eighty-ninth Streetabout six o’clock, and Doctor Fitzgibbons will performthe ceremony and then we’ll come back here fora happy wedding supper,” planned Mrs. Sturgisconfidently.
On what was she expected to live? asked Jeannette,mutinously, of herself. Twenty-five dollars a week forboth of them? It had seemed ample when they firstdiscussed it. Her mother’s income for herself andtwo daughters had rarely been more and frequentlyless. Mrs. Sturgis paid thirty dollars a month rentfor the apartment, and Alice was supposed to have tendollars a week on which to run the table; in realityshe provided the food that sustained the three of themat an expenditure of one dollar a day. But at fortydollars a month for food and twenty or twenty-five amonth for rent and at least five dollars a week forRoy’s lunches and carfare, what was she, Jeannette,to have left to spend on clothes or amusement? Shewould be a prisoner in that dismal little Flatbushhouse, bound hand and foot to it for the lack of carfareacross the river to indulge in a harmless inspectionof shop windows! Now she was free,—now shecould get herself a gay petticoat if she wanted one, ora new spring hat in time for Easter, or take Alice andherself to a Saturday matinée and nibble chocolateswith her, hanging excitedly over the rail of the galleryfrom front row seats! And she was to relinquish allthis liberty, which now was actually hers, actually herown to enjoy and delight in rightfully and lawfully,and manacle her hands, rivet chains about her anklesand enter this prison, whose door her mother, her sister[Pg 150]and Roy held open for her, and where they expectedher to remain contentedly and happily for the rest ofher life!
It was too much! It was preposterous! It was inhuman!She didn’t love any man enough to make asacrifice so great. She was self-supporting, independent,—beholdento no one,—she could take care of herselffor life if necessary, and after her room andboard were paid for, she would always have fifteendollars a week—sixty dollars a month!—to spend asfoolishly or as wisely as she chose with no one to callher to account. She hugged her little Saturday envelopesto her breast; they were hers, she had earnedthem, she would never give them up,—never—never—never!
§ 5
She persuaded Roy to postpone the wedding. Therewas no special need for hurry. It would require a lotmore saving before they could properly furnish alittle house or an apartment; it was much wiser forthem to start in right; in a few months they could havetwo or three hundred dollars. She presented the matterto him in a rush of words one evening and, as shehad foreseen, he was overborne by her vehemence.Roy was sweet-tempered, he was amiable, he wasalways willing to give way in an argument. Often shehad felt impatient with him for this easy tractability.He didn’t have enough backbone! Even now his readinessto concede what she asked disappointed her.Something within her clamored for an indignant rejectionof her proposal. She wanted him to insistwith an oath that their marriage must take place at[Pg 151]once, that she must make good her promise withoutfurther to-do. He lost something very definite in herregard at that moment; he never meant quite so muchto her again. It was the pivotal point in theirrelationship.
Alice let her hands and sewing fall into her lapwhen her sister told her the marriage was to be postponed,and said anxiously: “Oh, Janny,—I’m awfullysorry,” but her mother unexpectedly approved.
“There’s no need of your rushing into all the troublesand worries of marriage, dearie,—until you’requite, quite prepared. I think you’re very wise to waita little while; it’s right and proper; you and Roy areshowing a lot of real common sense. You’ll have somecapital to start in with, and you can take your timeabout finding just the right kind of a place to live in.And then it means I’m going to have my darling allsummer.... Only,” she added with a reproachfulglance at the girl and a pout of lips and cheeks, “Iwish you’d give up that horrid, old office and stay athome with your mother and sister, and have a fewmonths to yourself before you fly away to be a bride.”
What a relief to know she had escaped for a timeat least the net that had been spread for her! Withhead held high, and a free heart, with eager step anda pulse tuned to the joy of living, Jeannette plungedon with her work.
[Pg 152]
CHAPTER VI
§ 1
The cold of winter clung with a tenacious grip tothe city that year until far into April. Jeannette hadeagerly looked forward to the spectacular flower-vendors’sale of spring blooms in Union Square on theSaturday before Easter but a bitter wind began toassert itself early in the day and by ten o’clock hadwrought pitiful havoc with the brave show of pottedlilies and azaleas. The Square was littered with theirbattered petals and torn leaves. Three days beforethe first of May a flurry of snow clothed the city againin white, and then, without warning, summer breathedits hot, moist breath upon the town. The air was heavywith water; a mist, thick and enervating, spread itselflike a miasma from a stagnant pool, through thestreets. A tropical heat,—the wet clinging heat of aconservatory,—enveloped New York. And in Junecame the rain, an intermittent downpour that lastedfor weeks.
It was a trying time for everyone. The office feltdamp, and there was a constant smell all day of wetrubber and damp woolens. Black streams of watermeandered over the floor from the tips of wet umbrellas,stacked in corners. On the fifth floor the roofleaked, and old Hodgson had to be moved elsewhere.In the midst of the general discomfort Mr. Corey fellsick.
[Pg 153]
It proved nothing more serious than a heavy bronchialcold, but his physician ordered him to bed, andhe was warned he must not venture into the dampstreets until the last vestige of the cold had disappeared.The doctor consented to let him see his secretaryand to keep in touch with the office by telephone.It was thus that Jeannette came to visit her employerin his own home.
Mr. Corey lived in one of three cream-painted brickhouses on Tenth Street, a hundred yards or so fromthe corner of Fifth Avenue. The houses were quaintaffairs, only two stories in height, with square-panedglass in the shallow windows and wide, deep-panelledfront doors ornamented in the center with heavy, shiningbrass knockers. They were old buildings, datingback to the early nineteenth century, and had somewhatof a colonial atmosphere about them. The Coreyfamily consisted of Mrs. Corey and two children,—aboy of eighteen, Willis Corey, in his first year at Harvard,and a girl, Helen, a year younger, who lived athome and was called “Babs.” Jeannette was disappointed,not to say disturbed, at meeting her employer’swife.
“I wasn’t aware that I had a preconceived idea ofher,” she said to Alice in recounting her impressions.“Mr. Corey seems to be devoted to her, and has a largesilver-framed photograph of her on his desk. I supposedfrom her picture and from the way he speaksabout her that she was the same kind of earnest, hard-headed,clear-thinking person as himself. But she isn’tthat way at all. In the first place, she’s very tall andstately; she’s got lots of hair,—it’s quite gray and verycurly,—and she piles it up on top of her head and[Pg 154]always wears a bandeau or a fillet to bind it. She’srather intense in her manner and a trifle theatrical.She’s a handsome woman, faded of course now, butshe has very large dark eyes, that she uses effectively,and really beautiful brows. She affects the weirdestof costumes, all lace and floating scarf, with lots ofcolor. She had several rings on her fingers and braceletsdangling and jingling on her wrists. I thoughther stupid; I mean really dense. When I got to thehouse she came out to the hall where I was waiting,led me into the parlor and made me sit down. Shesaid she wanted to have a good talk with me. Shewas so glad Mr. Smith had gone, and she went on atonce to say how she had urged ‘Chandler!’—it wasfunny to hear Mr. Corey called by his first name!—howshe had urged him to make a change for a longtime. She said he said to her: ‘Where do you thinkI could find anybody to replace him?’ and she said:‘Well, how about that clever Miss Sturgis who’s justcome to you?’ She told me she had begged him forweeks to give me a trial before he consented.
“You know, Allie, it rather puzzled me what herobject could be in romancing that way, for, of course,I don’t believe a word of it. She never heard of meuntil Mr. Corey happened to tell her he had a newsecretary! And then she went on to talk about thebusiness. My dear, it was pathetic! She wanted meto think that she knew about everything that went onat the office, that Mr. Corey kept nothing from her,and talked over every important decision with herbefore he made up his mind. I almost laughed in herface! She doesn’t know one single thing about hisaffairs. She hasn’t the faintest idea, for instance, that[Pg 155]he’s in debt, that the paper company could wind uphis affairs to-morrow if it wanted to, nor what bankhas helped to finance him from the start, nor wherethe money comes from that buys her food and clothing.She supposes, I presume, that it comes fromprofits. Profits are a negligible quantity with theChandler B. Corey Company and have been ever sinceMr. Corey launched it. It’s getting in better shape allthe time, and some day there will be profits.
“Mrs. Corey looked brightly at me with her largesoulful eyes and said: ‘Those two volumes of TheLife and Letters of Alexander Hamilton are quitewonderful, aren’t they? Such beautiful bookmaking!’and ‘We were quite successful with The Den, weren’twe?’ Imagine, Alice! ‘We!’ What she knows aboutthe business is about as much as she can gather fromthe books Mr. Corey publishes and occasionally bringshome to her! She talked a lot about the magazines,and asked me if I didn’t think Miss Reubens was makinga very wonderful periodical out of The Wheel ofFortune.
“I just nodded and agreed with her. She was tryingto impress me how well-informed she was, and I lether think she succeeded. Toward the end she gotstarted on Mr. Corey, and how hard he worked, andhow keenly I ought to feel it my duty to save him frompetty annoyances; I must consider myself a guard, asentinel, stationed at the door of his tent to keep therabble from disturbing the great man! I let her raveon, but it was all I could do to listen. I thought as Isat there that in all probability she was the noisiestand most disturbing of the lot. She wound up by tellingme what the doctor had said to her about Mr.[Pg 156]Corey having caught cold, and she wanted to urge meparticularly to guard him against draughts. Then sheasked me if Mr. Corey ever took me to lunch! Nowwhat do you think made her ask me a question likethat? You don’t suppose she’s jealous? It seems tooridiculous even to think about. My goodness! Whenyou see the kind of women some men get for wivesyou wonder how they put up with them!”
§ 2
All Mr. Corey’s personal mail passed throughJeannette’s hands; she opened and read most of it.He dictated to her his letters to his son at Cambridge,and even those to his wife and Babs when they went toKennebunkport for the summer. Jeannette learnedthat Willis had been madly in love with a marriedwoman who sang in the choir of a Fifth Avenue church,that he was given to midnight carousing, smoked fartoo many cigarettes, that his mother spoiled him, andhis father was disgusted with him. With the aid ofa “cramming” school, he had somehow wiggled himselfinto Harvard, but Mr. Corey had made him distinctlyunderstand that at the first complaint concerninghim he would have to withdraw and go to work.Jeannette came to know, too, that Babs was epilepticand that early in May she had had the first fit in twoyears, and that the day after her mother and herselfhad arrived in Kennebunkport, she had had another.Letters of a very agitated nature passed between theparents as to what should now be done. Nothing wasdecided. Likewise Jeannette learned that Mrs. Corey[Pg 157]was at times recklessly extravagant. Her husband repeatedlyhad to call her to account, and sometimesthey had violent quarrels about the matter. Just beforeMrs. Corey departed for Maine she had boughtsix hats for herself and Babs, and had charged overthree hundred dollars’ worth of new clothing. Mr.Corey had been exasperated, as only a few weeks beforehe had made a point of asking her to economizein every way possible during the coming summer.He himself, Jeannette knew, must shortly undergo amore or less serious operation, of which his familywas totally ignorant, that he was worried because hisLife Insurance Company had declined after an examinationto increase the amount of his insurance, andthat he had successfully engineered a loan to wipe offhis indebtedness to the big Pulp and Paper Company.
There was little that concerned him with which shedid not become acquainted. She knew that his houseon Tenth Street was heavily mortgaged and that onthe second loan carried by the property he was payingan outrageous rate of interest; that on the tenth ofevery month he never failed to send a check for sixty-sixdollars and sixty-seven cents to a man in Memphis,Tennessee, that his dentist threatened to sue him unlesshe settled a bill that had been owing for twoyears; that on the first of every month, Mr. Olmsteaddeposited to his account in the Chemical National Bankfive hundred dollars; that no month ever passed withouthis chief sending for the old man and directinghim to deposit an additional hundred, or two hundred,or sometimes three hundred to his account, and thatthese sums appeared on the books of the company as[Pg 158]personal indebtedness. Frequently this levy upon theCompany’s bank balance upset Mr. Olmstead, andmore than once Jeannette heard the old cashier emphaticallyassert as he rapped his eye-glasses in hisagitated fashion upon his thumb-nail:
“All right, Mr. Corey,—you’re the boss here, andI’ve got to do as you say, but I won’t answer for it,Mr. Corey. I warn you, sir, we won’t have enough fornext week’s pay-roll!”
“Oh, yes, yes, yes,” Mr. Corey would soothe him.“We’ll manage somehow; you pay the money in thebank for me and we’ll talk about it afterwards.”
There were even more intimate things about theman she served which became his secretary’s knowledge.He sometimes took the sixtieth of a grain ofstrychnine when he was unusually tired, he dyed hismustache and eyebrows, and wore hygienic underwearfor which he paid six dollars a garment. She hadcharge of his personal bank account. She drew thechecks, put them before him for his signature, andsent them out in the mail. While Mrs. Corey was inKennebunkport, she paid all the household expensesof the establishment on Tenth Street: electric light andmilk bills, grocer’s and butcher’s accounts, the wagesof the cook. She knew what were Mr. Corey’s duesand expenses at the Lotus Club, what he paid for hisclothes, what he owed at Brooks Bros., and at theEverett House where he had a charge account andsigned checks for his lunches. There were no secretsin his life that were closed to her; he had less thanmost men to conceal; she considered him the mostgenerous, the most upright, the most admirable manin the world.
[Pg 159]
§ 3
It was on a hot Saturday afternoon in July whenno one but themselves were in the office, that Jeannettetold Mr. Corey about Roy. She had not seen quite somuch of Roy lately; he had been away on a businesstrip, and Horatio Stephens had asked him to spendhis fortnight’s vacation with himself and family atAsbury Park. He had written her letters full ofendearments and underscored assertions of love, andhad returned to plead eagerly that she set the day forthe wedding and begin to plan with him how andwhere they should live. His earnestness made herrealize she could temporize no longer.
“It isn’t that I don’t care for him,” she said toMr. Corey; “it’s just that I don’t want to get married,I guess.”
The windows were open and a gentle hot windstirred the loose papers on the desk. A lazy rumbleof traffic rose from the street, punctuated now and thenby the shrill voices of children in the Square, and themerry jingle of a hurdy-gurdy.
“You mustn’t trifle with your happiness, MissSturgis,” Corey said, pulling at his mustache thoughtfully.“You know this is all very well here for a time,but you must think of the future.”
Jeannette stared out of the window and for someminutes there was silence; she spoke presently withknitted brows.
“Oh, I’ve gone over it and over it, again and again,and it seems more than I can do to give up my independenceand the fun of living my own life just yet.I—I like Mr. Beardsley; I think we’d be happy together.[Pg 160]He’s devoted to me, and he’s most amiable,”—sheglanced with a smile at her employer’s face.“My mother and my sister are eager to have me marryhim, but I just can’t—can’t bring myself to give upmy work and my life here to substitute matrimony.”
“No consideration for me, my dear girl, ought toinfluence you. I’d be sorry to lose you, of course;you’re the best secretary I ever had, and I’d be hardput to it to find anyone who could begin to fill yourplace even remotely. But you mustn’t think I couldn’tmanage; I’d find somebody. Your duty is to yourselfand living your own life.”
“It isn’t that, Mr. Corey. It’s the work that I love;I don’t want to give it up,—the excitement and thefun of it. It’s a thousand times more exhilaratingthan cooking and dish-washing.... And then there’sthe question of finances, which, it seems to me, I’mbound to consider. Mr. Beardsley’s getting twenty-fiveand I’m getting twenty-five; that’s fifty dollars aweek we earn, but if I marry him, we both would haveto live on just his salary.”
“Yes,—that’s very true,” the man admitted.
The girl threw him a quick glance, and went onhesitatingly:
“I don’t suppose we could marry and each of usgo on holding our jobs?”
Mr. Corey considered, stroking his black mustachewith a thoughtful thumb and finger.
“Well,” he said slowly, “what do you gain? If youwent on working, you’d find it difficult to keep house;you’d have to live in a boarding-house. And that isn’thomemaking. And then, Miss Sturgis, there’s the,question of children. What would you do about them?[Pg 161]You wouldn’t care to have a child as long as you camedowntown to an office every day.... No, I wouldn’tadvise it. If you love your young man well enough,I would urge you to marry him.”
“I don’t!” Jeannette said to herself violently onher way home.
But did she? Almost with the denial, she began towonder.
That night when Roy came to see her and asked heragain for the thousandth time to name the day, shetook his face between her hands and kissed him tenderly,folded his head against her breast, and witharms tight about him, pressed her lips again andagain to his unruly hair.
Later, when he had gone and she was alone, shedropped upon her knees before the old davenport wherethey had been sitting, and wept.
It was the end of the struggle. She told no one fora long time, but in her mind she knew she wouldnever marry him. Her work was too precious to her;her independence too dear; to give them up was demandingof her more than she had the strength togive.
END OF BOOK I
[Pg 163]
BOOK II
[Pg 165]
BREAD
CHAPTER I
§ 1
The Chandler P. Corey Company was moving itsoffices. A twenty-year lease had been taken on a buildingespecially designed to fit its needs in the EastThirties. The new home was a great cavernous concretestructure of eight spacious floors. On the groundfloor were to be the new presses destined to print themagazines, and perhaps some of the books in thefuture; the next two floors were to house the bindery,the composing room and typesetting machines; theeditorial rooms were to be located on the fourth floor,and above these would come in order the advertising,circulation and pattern departments, each with astratum in the great concrete block to itself. Theeighth floor was to be given over to surplus stock, andit would also serve as a store-room for paper andsupplies.
Both Corey’s Commentary and The Wheel of Fortunehad made money for their owners during the pastthree years. It was the day of the “muck-raking”magazine, and Cavendish had unearthed a Wall Streetscandal that sent the circulation of Corey’s Commentaryclimbing by leaps and bounds. The Wheel of[Pg 166]Fortune had been rechristened The Ladies’ Fortune,and its contents were now devoted to women’s interestsand fashions. The pattern business, that had beenlaunched in connection with it, had proven from theoutset immensely successful. Horatio Stephens wasnow its editor, and Miss Reubens conducted the specialdepartments appearing among the advertising inits back pages, always referred to in the office as “contaminatedmatter.” The circulation of both periodicalshad increased so rapidly that Mr. Featherstonehad been obliged to announce an advance in their advertisingrates every three months.
Other branches of the business, too, had grown andshown a profit. Francis Holme, who was head of theBook Sales Department, and now a member of thefirm, had developed the manufacture and sale of bookpremiums and school books. He sold large quantitiesof the former to the publishers of other magazines,for use in their subscription campaigns, and was evenmore successful with the latter among private schoolsand some public ones throughout the country. One ortwo recent novels had sold over the hundred thousandmark, and the general standing of the Chandler B.Corey publications had improved. It was concededin the trade they had now a better “line.” Somethingwas being done, too, in the Mail Order Department,in charge of Walt Chase, and more and moresets of standard works were being sold by circularizingmethods.
The installation and operation of their own presseshad been a grave undertaking. Mr. Kipps had strenuouslyopposed it, arguing that the new building wasenough of a responsibility, and that they should mark[Pg 167]time for awhile and see how they stood, rather thanincur a new loan of half a million dollars which thenew presses involved. Mr. Corey was convinced, however,that a tide had arrived in their affairs which demandeda rapid expansion of the business, and if heand his partners were to make the most of the opportunitythus presented, they must rise to the occasion,and show themselves able to expand with it.
“There’s no use of our trying to crowd back intoour shells after we’ve outgrown them, is there, MissSturgis?” he said to his secretary, with an amusedtwinkle in his eye, after a heated conference with theother members of the firm, during which Kipps in highdudgeon had left the room.
Jeannette smiled wisely. She believed that her chiefwas one of those few men who had far-seeing vision,and could look with keen perception and unfalteringeye into the future, and that he would carry Mr. Kipps,Mr. Featherstone, the office, his family, herself, everybodywho attached themselves to him, to fame andfortune in spite of anything any one of them might do.When he was right, he knew it, and knew it with conviction,and nothing could shake him.
He had only one weakness, his secretary felt, andthat was his attitude toward his son, Willis, who, twoyears before, had been withdrawn from the intellectualatmosphere of Cambridge, and put into the business,presumably that his father might watch him. He wasone of the sub-editors of Corey’s Commentary anddemoralized the office by his late hours, his disregardof office rules against smoking, and his condescendingattitude toward everyone in his father’s employ.
The three years that Jeannette Sturgis had been[Pg 168]Mr. Corey’s secretary had seen many changes. PoorMrs. Inness had turned out to be a dipsomaniac.Jeannette guessed her secret long before it was discoveredby anyone else, and she had been full of pityand sorrow when this gray-haired, regal woman hadto be dismissed. Van Alstyne was gone, and HumphreyStubbs as well; Max Oppenheim likewise haddeparted. The new Circulation Manager was a shrewd,keen-eyed, spectacled young Scotchman, named MacGregor,whom everyone familiarly spoke to and of as“Sandy.” Miss Holland was still Mr. Kipps’ assistant,and now most of the routine affairs of the businesswere administered by her. Besides Mr. Holme, therewas another new member of the firm, Sidney FrankAllister, who had come into the Chandler B. CoreyCompany from a rival house, and was now entrustedwith the book-publishing end of the business. It wasusually his opinion that decided the fate of a manuscript.He had his assistants: a haughty Radcliffegraduate, named Miss Peckenbaugh, whom Jeannetteheartily disliked, and old Major Ticknor, who had astiff leg since his Civil War days, and who stumped intothe office two or three times a week with his bundle ofmanuscripts and stumped out again with a fresh supply.Very rarely Mr. Corey was consulted; he franklydeclared he hated to read a book, and would only do sounder the most vigorous pressure.
“Do I have to read this, Frank?” Jeannette wouldoften hear him ask Allister, when the latter broughthim a bulky manuscript and laid it on his desk. “Youknow, I don’t know anything about literature,” hewould add, smilingly, with his favorite assumption of[Pg 169]being only a plain business man and lacking in appreciationof the arts.
“Well, Mr. Corey, this is really important,” Allisterwould say. “We don’t agree about it in my department.”
“Has Holme read it? He can tell you whether itwill sell or not.”
“Mr. Holme doesn’t think it will, but I believe thisis a very important book, and one we most assuredlyought to have on our list.”
Frequently Mr. Corey would hand the manuscriptover to Jeannette after Mr. Allister had left the room,and beg her to take it home with her, read it, and givehim a careful synopsis and her opinion. She used tosmile to herself when she would hear him quoting her,and once when he repeated a phrase she had used inher report, he winked at her in a most undignifiedfashion.
“I’m nothing but a hard-headed business man, youknow,” he would say, justifying himself to his secretarywhen they were alone together. “I haven’t anytime to read books. I can hire men to do that,—menwith much keener judgment about such things than Ihave. I’m watching the circulation of our magazines,the advertising revenues, our daily sales report, andseeing that our presses are being worked to their maximumcapacity. I’m negotiating with a mill for ayear’s supply of paper, and buying fifty thousandpounds of ink, and at the same time arranging for aloan from the bank. I haven’t got time for books.Anyhow I never went to college,”—this with a humoroustwinkle as he had a general contempt for college[Pg 170]men,—“and I don’t know anything about ‘liter-a-choor.’”
§ 2
Jeannette took a tremendous pride in the new building.She had an office to herself, now,—one adjoiningMr. Corey’s. He left the details of equipping both toher. She took the greatest delight in doing so. Shebought some very handsome furniture,—a great mahoganydesk covered with a sheet of plate glass forMr. Corey; some finely upholstered leather armchairs,a rich moquette rug, and she had the walls distempered,and lined on three sides with tall mahoganybookcases with diamond-paned glass doors. She hadall the authors’ autographed photographs reframed ina uniform narrow black molding, and hung them herself.She arranged to have some greens always on thebookcases, and a great bunch of feathery pine boughsin a large round earthenware jar on the floor in onecorner.
There had come to exist a very warm and affectionatecompanionship between the president of the publishinghouse and his secretary. Jeannette thoughthim the finest man she knew. She admired him tremendously,admired his shrewdness, his cleverness,his extraordinary capacity for work. He was impatientbeyond all reason, sometimes. She had oftenseen him jump up with a bang of a fist on his desk andan angry exclamation on his lips when an office boy haddallied over an errand, or had heard these things whenit was she who was keeping him waiting, and he wouldcome himself after the carbon of the letter, or the report,or the book he had asked for. He would stride[Pg 171]through the aisles between the desks, or across thefloor to somebody’s office with great long steps, his fistsswinging, his brows knit, intent upon putting his handsat once upon what he wanted. He could be brutallyrude, when annoyed, and he gave small considerationto anyone else’s opinion when he had a definite oneof his own. But she could forgive these shortcomings.She saw the odds against which he contended, she sawthe ultimate goal at which he aimed, and she saw thevigorous battle he was waging toward this end,—andher esteem for him knew no bounds.
She felt herself to be his only real ally though shedid not overestimate her services. Among those whocame close to him—his business associates and family—shewas the only one not an actual drag upon him.Mr. Featherstone and Mr. Kipps were of no more assistanceto him in conducting the affairs of the companythan any two of the salaried clerks. Frequentlythey hampered him, rubbing their chins or hemmingand hawing over one of his brilliant flashes of wisdom,to rob him of his enthusiasm. As the business increased,they were more and more inclined to demur atany new scheme he proposed. His family were so muchdead weight about his neck. The boy had proved himselfof small account, the daughter was epileptic, Mrs.Corey an exacting, extravagant, capricious wife.
Jeannette’s surmise upon their first meeting thather employer’s wife was already unaccountably jealousof her soon found ample confirmation. Mrs. Coreygrew more and more resentful of Jeannette’s intimateknowledge of her personal affairs, the complete confidenceof her husband which she enjoyed, the close dailyassociation with him. Jeannette was aware there had[Pg 172]been several violent quarrels over her between husbandand wife, Mrs. Corey demanding that she bedismissed, Mr. Corey firmly declining to agree. Itdid not make matters any too pleasant for the girl.Whenever Mrs. Corey encountered her, she was effusivelysweet, but her manner suggested: “You and I,my dear, we know about him,” or “We women,—hissecretary and his wife,—must stand together for hisprotection.” Jeannette was keenly conscious of theutter falseness and insincerity of this attitude. Sheknew that Mrs. Corey hated her, and would gladlysee her summarily dismissed. She would smile withequally apparent sweetness in return, and fume insilence. She considered she was often doing for Mr.Corey what his wife should have been doing, that shefilled the place of assistant, philosopher and friendonly because Mrs. Corey was utterly incompetent tofill any of these rôles. If her relation to her employerhad grown to be that of companion and helpmate, ifshe had been obliged to assume part of the provinceof a wife, none of the compensations were hers, shereflected indignantly. Mrs. Corey lived in luxury,came and went as she pleased, observed no hours, exercisedno self-restraint, posed as her husband’s partnerin life, his guide and counsellor, spent his money extravagantly,and enjoyed the satisfaction of being thewife of the president of what had now become one ofthe big publishing houses in New York, while she,Jeannette, who worked beside him eight, nine, sometimeseleven or twelve hours out of every twenty-four,got thirty-five dollars a week!
But in moments of fairer judgment she realized shereceived much more than merely the contents of her[Pg 173]pay envelope. She had an affection and a regard fromMr. Corey that he never had given his wife. She wascloser to him than anyone else in the world; she waswhat both wife and daughter should have meant tohim; he loved her with a warm paternal feeling, andher love for him in return was equally sincere, deepand devoted. She sometimes felt that she and thisman for whom she slaved and whom she served andhelped could conquer the world. There existed no sexattraction between them; each recognized in the otherthe half of an excellent team of indefatigable workers;their relation was always that of father and daughter,but their feelings could only be measured in terms oflove,—staunch, enduring, unswerving loyalty.
§ 3
There was nothing in Jeannette’s life from whichshe derived more satisfaction than the way in whichshe had deflected Roy Beardsley’s interest in herselfto her sister. There was a time after she had madeup her mind she could not marry him, when dark hoursand aching thoughts assailed her, when she felt shewas sacrificing all her happiness in life to a mere idea.But she had fought against these disturbing reflections,resolutely banishing Roy from her mind, andmaking herself think of ways in which their relationshipcould be put upon a platonic basis. She tookwalks with him, made him read aloud to her when hecame in the evenings, persuaded him to take her tolectures, and formed the habit of going with him oncea week to a vaudeville show in a neighboring theatreon upper Broadway. Her policy was always to be[Pg 174]doing things with him, never to be idle or to sit alonewith him, for this always led to intimate talk and love-making.She strove to keep the conversation impersonal.Roy was so easily managed, she sometimessmiled over it. And yet there came times when itwas hard to deny herself the firm hold of his youngarms.
What proved an immediate and tremendous help inconquering herself was a discovery she made from achance glimpse of her sister’s earnest, brown eyesfixed upon Roy’s face. The three of them were inthe studio one evening, and happened to be discussingreligion. Roy delivered himself sententiously of a tritetruism, something like: “It should be part of everyone’sreligion to respect the religion of others.” AsJeannette was considering him rather than his wordsat the moment, her gaze happened to light upon hersister’s face, and little Alice’s secret stood revealed.The girl sat with her mouth half-open, staring at Roywith wide eyes, and an adoring look, eloquent of herthoughts. Jeannette was staggered. She was instantlyaware of a great pain in her own heart, a greatlonging and hurt. It was clear Alice did not understandherself, had no suspicion that she was in love.
At once the elder sister began to readjust herself,“clean house,” as she expressed it. She marvelledagain and again about Alice; it was hard to accept theidea that love had come to her little sister, yet thelook in the rapt face had been unmistakable, and asthe days went by Jeannette found plenty of evidenceto confirm her suspicions. It was surprising how muchthe knowledge of her sister’s secret helped her toovercome any weakness for Roy that remained in her[Pg 175]own heart. She saw at once the suitableness of a matchbetween them; Alice and Roy were ideally suited toeach other, and their coming to care for one anotherwould surely be the best possible solution to her ownproblem. She could not, would not, marry him; thenext best thing, of course, would be for him to marryher sister.
She set about her schemes at once. The very nextevening it had been arranged Roy was to go with herto the theatre. They usually sat in one of the backrows of the balcony. That afternoon she left a littlenote on his desk to say she wanted to see him when hecame in, and when he appeared, told him she would beobliged to work with Mr. Corey that evening, and suggestedhe take her sister to the show in her place.When he came of an evening to see her at her home,she would send Alice out to talk to him, while she dalliedover her dressing. Whenever Alice happened tojoin her and Roy, she found an excuse to leave themtogether. She persuaded the young man frequently toinclude her sister in their jaunts or walks, and in theevenings, more and more often she complained of aheadache, took herself to bed, and left Alice to entertainhim. Poor little Alice was blindly unconscious ofthe strings that were being pulled about her, but shecame to a full and terrifying realization at last ofwhere her heart was leading her. She began to mopeand weep, to talk of going away. She spoke of wantingto be a trained nurse.
Roy was still placidly indifferent to her interest inhim. His ardor for Jeannette had cooled, but he stillfancied himself in love with her, and expected thatsome day they would be married. He no longer fretted[Pg 176]her, however, with demands or troubled her with love-making.His days were full of interests: he had hisfriends, his work at the office, his companionship withthe two Sturgis girls,—all of which was very agreeableand entertaining. Jeannette and he would be marriedsome day before long; he was content to let mattersdrift until she was ready to name the day.... Alice?Oh, Alice was a lovely girl,—a deuce of a lovely girl.She was going to be his sister-in-law soon.
Before long Mrs. Sturgis came fluttering in greatagitation to her oldest daughter. By various circumlocutions,she approached the subject which wascausing her so much distress. It was quite evidentthat Alice was not well; she was run down and gettingterribly nervous. Had Jeannette noticed anythingwrong with her? Jeannette didn’t suppose it couldbe a man, did she? The little brown bird was still hermother’s baby after all, but you never could tell aboutgirls. Alice was,—well, Alice was nineteen! And ifit was a man,—the dear child acted exactly as if therewas one,—who could it possibly be? She didn’t seeanybody but Roy; she didn’t go any place with anybodyelse. Now her mother didn’t want to say oneword to distress Jeannette, or to say anything thatwould—would upset her.... Perhaps she was allwrong about it anyway, but—but did Jeannette thinkit was possible that Alice and Roy,—that Alice,—thatAlice....
Amused, Jeannette watched her anxious littlemother floundering on helplessly. Then she suddenlytook the plump and worried figure in her arms, huggedher, and told her all about it.
Mrs. Sturgis could only stare in amazement and[Pg 177]interject breathless exclamations of “But, dearie!”“Why, dearie!” “Well, I don’t know what to makeof you!”
But the question now remaining was how to jogRoy’s consciousness awake, make him see the littlebrown flower at his feet that looked up at him so adoringly,only waiting to be plucked. Jeannette saidnothing to her mother, but she went to Roy direct.She felt sure of her touch with him.
First she made him realize that she could never besatisfied with being his wife. She explained carefullyand convincingly why it could never be, and then whilehe gazed tragically at the ground, twisting his leanwhite fingers, she spoke to him frankly of Alice.
As she talked it came over her with fresh convictionthat, had she married him, she could have doneas she liked with Roy; he was putty in her hands. Buther husband must be a man who would mold her, makeher do what he wished, bend her to his will. Only sucha man would awaken her love and keep it. She despisedRoy for his amiability.
He looked very boyish and silly to her now, as herumpled his stuck-up hair, and dubiously shook hishead. He was surprised to hear about Alice, and,—Jeannettecould see,—at once interested. She left thethought with him and confidently waited for it to takehold. Mr. Corey, she felt, would have handled thesituation in just some such fashion as she had,—direct,cutting the Gordian knot, plunging straight tothe heart of the matter.
One night at dinner she casually told her motherand sister that her engagement with Roy had beenbroken by mutual consent. She explained they both[Pg 178]had begun to realize they did not really love oneanother well enough to marry and had decided to callit off. Roy was a sweet boy, she added, and wouldmake some girl a splendid husband. She glanced covertlyat Alice. The girl was bending over her plate,pretending an interest in her food, but her face wasdeadly white. A rush of tenderest love flooded Jeannette’sheart. At the moment she would have givenmuch to have been free to take her little sister in herarms and tell her everything, assure her that the manshe loved was beginning to love her in return andwould some day make her his wife.
And that was how it turned out. A year later Royand Alice were married by the Reverend Doctor Fitzgibbonsin the church on Eighty-ninth Street in justthe way the bride’s mother had planned for her olderdaughter, and now they were living in a small butpretty four-room apartment out in the Bronx for whichthey paid twenty-five dollars a month. Happy littleMrs. Beardsley’s mother and sister were aware thatvery shortly those grave responsibilities at which Mrs.Sturgis had often mysteriously hinted were to comeupon her. Alice was “expecting” in March.
Roy was no longer an employee of the Chandler B.Corey Company. He had found another job justbefore he married and was now with The SportingGazette, a magazine devoted to athletic interests, gaming,and fishing, where he was getting forty dollars aweek as sub-editor. He had always wanted to writeand this came nearer his ambition than solicitingadvertisements. Moreover there was the increase insalary. Of course The Sporting Gazette was new andhad nothing like the circulation of the Corey publications,[Pg 179]but Roy considered it a step ahead. He hadgiven Mr. Featherstone a chance to keep him, but Mr.Featherstone had rubbed his chin and wagged hishead dubiously when asked for a raise. No,—theremustn’t be any more raises for awhile, no more increasesin salary until the company was making largerprofits; they were expanding; there was the new buildingwith the larger rent, and all those new presses tobe paid for. So Roy had gone in quest of another job,and had found it in one of three rough little roomscomprising the editorial offices of The Sporting Gazette.He considered himself extremely happy, extremelyfortunate.
The attraction Jeannette had once felt for him wasas dead as though it had never been.
§ 4
Mrs. Sturgis no longer had to work so hard. Shehad given up her position as instructor in music atMiss Loughborough’s Concentration School for LittleGirls and her work as accompanist for Signor Bellini’spupils. Jeannette had made her resign from bothplaces. With Alice married and gone, it was better forher mother to stay at home and take charge of thehousekeeping. Mrs. Sturgis gave private lessons, now,—afew hours only in the morning or afternoon,—andthese, she asserted, were a “real delight.” It lefther plenty of time for marketing and for preparingthe simple little dinners she and her daughter enjoyedat night. She took the keenest interest in these, andwas always planning something new in the way of asurprise for her “darling daughter when she comes[Pg 180]home just dead beat out at the end of the day.”Finances were no longer a problem. Jeannette contributedtwenty dollars a week to the household expenseswhile her mother earned as much and sometimesmore. She often reminded her daughter she coulddo even better than that, especially during the wintermonths, but Jeannette would not hear of her workingharder.
“But what’s the use, Mama?” she would ask.“We’ve got everything we want. I can dress as Ilike on what’s left out of my salary, and there is nosense in your teaching all day. I love the idea of yourbeing free to go to a concert now and then, and Alice’sgoing to need you a lot when the baby comes andafterwards.”
“That may be all very true, dearie, but I don’t justfeel right about having so much time to myself. Icould easily do more. There was a lady called thisafternoon and just begged me to take her little girl.You know I have all Saturday morning.”
“No,” said Jeannette decisively; “I won’t considerit.”
They were really very comfortably situated, thegirl would reflect. Once a week, sometimes oftener,Mrs. Sturgis would be asked to accompany a singerat a recital. That meant five dollars, often ten,—tenwhenever Elsa Newman sang. Then there was thetwenty she, herself, contributed weekly, and the lessonsthat brought in an equal amount. Between her mother’searnings and her own, their income was never lessthan two hundred and fifty dollars a month. Theywere rich; they lived in luxury; they need never worryagain. Jeannette knew she could remain with Mr.[Pg 181]Corey for life if she wanted to; there was no possibledanger of her ever losing her job. Her mother fussedabout the apartment, cooked delicious meals, took aninterest in arranging and managing their little homein a way that previous demands upon her time hadnever permitted. A new rug was bought for the studio,and some big easy chairs, which they had talked aboutpurchasing for years. The piece of chenille curtainingthat had done duty as a table cover so long in thedining-room was supplanted by a square of handsomermaterial; the leaky drop-light vanished and was replacedby one more attractive and serviceable. Moreparticularly Jeannette had seen to it that her mothergot new clothes. Mrs. Sturgis had always favoredlavender as the shade most becoming to her, and herdaughter bought her a lovely lavender velvet afternoondress which had real lace down the front and wastrimmed with darker lavender velvet ribbon. Somelavender silk waists followed, and a small lavender hatupon which the lilac sprays nodded most ingratiatingly.Mrs. Sturgis was radiant over her new apparel. Herextravagant delight touched the daughter. It was patheticthat so little could give so much intense enjoyment.
Once or twice a month, Jeannette took her motherto a matinée. She loved to go to the theatre herself,and studied the advertisements, read all the daily theatricalnotes and never missed a review. She wouldsecure seats for the play, weeks in advance, and alwaystook her mother to lunch downtown before the performance.These were wonderful and felicitous occasionsfor both of them. They had great argumentseach time as to where they should eat, what they should[Pg 182]select from the magnificent menus, and later about theplay itself. Jeannette liked to startle her mother byselecting some extravagant item from the bill-of-fare,or surprise her by handing her a little present acrossthe table. Sometimes as they came out of the theatreshe would pilot her without preamble toward a hansom-caband before the excited little woman knew whatit was about, would help her in, and tell the cabby todrive them home slowly through the Park.
“Oh, dearie, you’re not going to do this again!”Mrs. Sturgis would expostulate drawing back from thewaiting vehicle. She really wished to protest againstthe needless extravagance. Jeannette would smilelovingly at her, and urge her in. Later as they wererumbling through the leafless Park and met a streamof automobiles and sumptuous equipages going in theopposite direction, Mrs. Sturgis would settle herselfback with a sigh of contentment and say:
“Really, dearie, I don’t think there is anything Ienjoy quite as much as riding in a hansom. You’revery good to your old mother. We may land in thepoorhouse, but we’re having a good time while theluck lasts.”
On the occasion of the first performance of Parsifalat the Metropolitan, Jeannette, through Mr. Corey,was able to secure one ten-dollar seat for her mother.It was the greatest event in little Mrs. Sturgis’ life.She longed for Ralph, and wept all through the GoodFriday music.
Frequently on Sunday afternoons Jeannette’smother made her daughter accompany her to CarnegieHall for a concert or a recital. Then, she declared,it was her turn to treat and she would not allow the[Pg 183]girl to pay for anything. Her entertainments werenever as “grand” as her daughter’s, but she took akeen delight in playing hostess, and after the musicalways suggested tea. They were both exceedinglyfond of toasted crumpets, and Mrs. Sturgis was everon the lookout for new places where they were served.But neither of her daughters inherited her love formusic. Jeannette went to the concerts dutifully, butthe satisfaction derived from these afternoons camefrom giving her mother pleasure rather than from thejumble of sound made by the wailing strings, tootingwood-winds and blaring trumpets. She could makenothing out of it all. When there was a soloist shewas interested, especially if it was a woman, of whosecostume she made careful notes.
Mother and daughter also went to church sometimes.Doctor Fitzgibbons had made a deep impression uponMrs. Sturgis when he officiated at the marriage of Royand Alice. She had been “flattered out of her senses”when the clergyman called upon her a few weeks afterthe ceremony to inquire for the young couple. He hadtalked to her about “parish work,” and expressed thehope that she would see her way clear “to join thechurch” and become interested in his “guild.” Mrs.Sturgis had laughed violently at everything he said,and had promised all he suggested. Thereafter shereferred to him as her “spiritual adviser,” and Jeannettewas aware she called occasionally at the rectoryto discuss what she termed her “spiritual problems.”
Sunday evenings, Mrs. Sturgis and Jeannette usuallyinvited Alice and Roy to dinner, and sometimes theywere the guests of the young couple in the little Bronxapartment. Roy and Alice were like two children[Pg 184]playing at keeping house, Mrs. Sturgis said with oneof her satisfied chuckles. Jeannette, too, thought ofthem as children. Alice had always seemed youngerto her than she really was, and even when her ownthoughts had been filled with Roy, he had always impressedher as a “boy.” She often wondered nowadays,when he and his happy, dimpling, brown-eyedbride sat side by side on the sofa, their arms aroundone another, their hands linked, exchanging kissesevery few minutes in accepted newly-wed fashion,what she had ever seen in him that had made her ownsenses swim and her heart pound. He was just asweet, amiable boy to her now, with a fresh, eagermanner, and rather an attractive face. She still likedhis quaint mouth, his whimsical smile, his quick flashingblue eyes, but they no longer stirred her. Shecould kiss him in affectionate sisterly fashion withouta tremor.
Jeannette and Mrs. Sturgis took great delight inobserving the young couple together, in watching themin their diminutive but pretty home, and in discussingthem afterwards. They were ideally happy,—laughing,romping, playing little jokes upon one another,deriving vast amusement from words, signs andphrases, the meaning of which were known to themalone. Both were affectionately demonstrative, foreverholding hands, caressing one another and kissing.Jeannette said it made her sick, was disgusting, buther mother scolded when she betrayed her distaste,and reminded her it was “only right and proper.”
Roy, against the prospect of his marriage to Jeannette,had saved money; Mrs. Sturgis, urged by herolder daughter, had once again placed a loan of five[Pg 185]hundred dollars upon the nest-egg in the savings bank;Jeannette had contributed another hundred, and Roy’sfather had shipped from San Francisco a half car-loadof family furniture which had been in storage for manyyears. The wedding had awaited the arrival of thisfreight, and as soon as it came the stuff had been uncrated,and installed in the little Bronx apartment.The ceremony then followed and Roy took his blushing,laughing, excited bride from her mother’s arms, fromthe old-fashioned apartment where she had lived almostsince she could remember, and from the weddingsupper, direct to the new home in the Bronx whichtogether they had furnished with such joy and hoursof planning and discussion.
They had nearly a thousand dollars to spend, butAlice wisely decided, so her mother thought, that onlyhalf of it should go into house-furnishing. The furnitureshipped by the Reverend Dwight Beardsley wasdesigned in the style of an earlier day and much ofit was too large for the snug little rooms of the Bronxflat. A large sideboard with a marble slab top andhuge mirror could not be brought into the apartmentat all, and was sold to a second-hand furniture dealeron Third Avenue for fifteen dollars. But most of thefurniture from California was usable, and all of it goodand substantial. Alice made the curtains for the diningand living rooms herself; she and Roy, on theirhands and knees, painted the floors a warm walnuttone. They bought three or four rugs, a fine second-handsofa with a rich but not too gaudy brocadedcover, bed and table linen, and everything needed forthe kitchen. Horatio Stephens and his family sentthem a colored glass art lamp, and Mr. Corey, consulting[Pg 186]Jeannette, presented a beautiful clock withsilvery chimes.
No young husband and wife ever took greater delightin their first home. They were always “fixing”things, arranging and rearranging them, cleaning anddusting. Roy bought a Boston fern during an earlyweek of the marriage, paid three dollars for a brassjardiniere at a Turkish vendor’s to hold it, and theplant flourished on a small taboret in the front windows.They took the most assiduous care of this, wateringit several times a day and digging about its rootswith an old table knife whenever either of them had anidle moment. When one of the curling fronds beganto turn brown, they had long discussions as to whetherit should be trimmed off or not. They acquired acanary, too, which shared with the fern the youngcouple’s devotion. Alice had bought the bird becauseshe was so “miserably lonely” without Roy all day longthat she would “go out of her senses wanting him”unless there was something alive ’round the house tokeep her company. The fact that the canary neveropened his throat to make a sound,—although Alicehad been assured by the man in the bird-store that hewould “sing his head off”—did not in any wise detractfrom her love for the little feathered creature thathopped about in his cage and made a great fuss overgiving himself a bath in the mornings. They calledhim “Sonny-boy” and took turns at the pleasure offeeding him.
Alice was a good cook. She had a gift for thekitchen, and Jeannette and her mother would exclaimin admiration over the delicious meals she prepared[Pg 187]when they came to dinner. Roy would glance frommother to sister-in-law when the roast appeared orwhen a particularly appetizing-looking pudding wasbrought in, and at their exclamations of delight, hewould say:
“Guess I’ve got a pretty smart wife,—hey? GuessI know a good cook when I see one, huh? Why, Alice’sgot most women I know skinned a mile! She’s justa wonder; she can do anything. I only wish I wasgood enough for her. She’s a wonder, all right—allright.”
Jeannette was deeply moved when her sister toldher she was going to have a baby. It tore at her heartto think of little Alice, to herself so young, so immature,so tender and weak and inexperienced, bringinga child into the world. She worried about it, wonderedif Alice would die, felt with terrifying convictionthat that would be the way of it. Her mother’s pleasureand complacency about the matter reassured herbut little. Alice was having a child much too soonafter her wedding; she ought to have waited for ayear or so at least.
She watched the changes in her sister’s face andfigure with growing wonder. Child-bearing was amystery. Jeannette had never known a woman intimatelywho had had a baby; now she was both curiousand concerned. After the early months of discomforthad passed, a benign gentleness settled upon Alice;her expression became placid, serene, beautiful. Aquality of goodness transfigured her. She movedthrough the days toward her appointed time withsupreme tranquillity. Whenever Alice spoke of “my[Pg 188]baby,” Jeannette winced, while her mother maddenedher each time with the remark that it was “only rightand proper.”
One morning early in March, shortly after Jeannettehad reached the office, her mother telephonedher in a great state of excitement. She had just heardfrom Roy; Alice’s baby would arrive that day; theywere taking her right away to the hospital; she wasn’tin any pain yet, but the doctor thought it would be bestto have her there; he didn’t say when the child waslikely to be born.
There was no more news. The morning stretcheditself out endlessly. Jeannette worried and sufferedin silence; at noon she telephoned the hospital and gotRoy; there was little change; Alice was miserable,but there was no talk about when the baby would beborn; the doctor had promised to be in at three; Roywould let her know if anything happened. All afternoonthere was a meeting of the members of the firm inCorey’s office; the question of the move to the newbuilding was being discussed; it lasted until four, untilfive, until quarter to six. Jeannette was beside herself.Alice was dead and they were afraid to let her know!
At six o’clock her mother telephoned again. Alicewas having her pains with some regularity now; thebaby ought to be there about eight or nine o’clock, thedoctor said.
As soon as she was at liberty Jeannette left theoffice. She did not want to eat, but took the elevateddirect to the hospital. Her mother and Roy met herand they kissed one another again and again. Alicewas “upstairs” now. They sat with their elbowstouching on a hard leather-covered seat in the reception-room.[Pg 189]Jeannette’s head began to ache; shecounted the sixty-three squares in the rug on the floortwenty-two times; the black on the Welsbach burnerin the lamp looked exactly like two people kissing.
Towards midnight the baby was born.
When Jeannette first saw her niece, the upper partof the little head and forehead were carefully bandaged.Her mother whispered that it had been an“instrument case”; Roy was not to know for a whileat any rate. The baby was perfect,—a fine, healthy,eight-pound girl, and Alice was doing nicely.
But Alice did not leave the hospital for six weeksand was six months in recovering her old strength andbuoyancy.
[Pg 190]
CHAPTER II
§ 1
It was some three months after the publishing househad been established in its new offices, that Jeannettehad the card of Martin Devlin brought to her. It wasembossed and heavily engraved, with a small outlineof the earth’s two hemispheres in one corner andbisecting these, in tiny capitals, the words: THE GIBBSENGRAVING COMPANY. Mr. Corey was out; Jeannettetold the boy to inform the caller. In a minute ortwo the messenger returned to say that the gentlemanwould like to speak to Mr. Corey’s secretary,but Jeannette had no time to waste on solicitors ofengraving work, and sent word that she was occupied.The boy reappeared presently with another of Mr.Devlin’s cards, on the back of which was pencilled:
“Dear Miss Sturgis,—I’d be grateful for twominutes’ interview. Have a message from anold friend of yours.
M. Devlin.”
Jeannette frowned in distaste, and looked up atthe boy, annoyed. She was extremely busy, typing aspeech for Mr. Corey which he was to read that nightat a Publishers’ Banquet at the Waldorf. It wastwenty minutes past four; she expected him to returnat any minute.
[Pg 191]
“Tell the gentleman to come again, will you, Jimmy?I’m really too busy to see him to-day.”
The boy went out and she returned to her work, herfingers flying.
“The responsibility of molding public opinion,”went her notes, “rests perhaps with our press, but towhom do the discriminating readers of the nation inconfidence turn for the formation of their taste inliterature, their acquaintance with the Arts, the disseminationof those inspiring idealistic thoughts andprecepts of the fathers of our great——”
She estimated there were another three pages of it.
The door of her office opened and a young man ofsquare build, with broad shoulders, and a grin on hisface, filled the aperture.
“Beg pardon, Miss Sturgis,” he began. “I hopeyou won’t think I’m butting-in.”
He had a strong handsome face, big flashing teeth,black hair and black eyebrows.
Jeannette looked at him, bewildered. She had neverseen this man before; she did not know what he wasdoing in her office, nor what he wanted.
“I’m Martin Devlin,” he announced, advancing intothe room.
At once she froze; her breast rose on a quick angryintake, and her eyes assumed a cold level stare.
“I hope you’re not going to be sore at me.” Hesmiled down at her in easy good humor.
“Mr. Corey’s not in,” said the girl. She was staggeredby this individual’s effrontery.
“Well, that’s too bad, but I really called to have afew minutes’ chat with you,” he returned nonchalantly.“We have a friend of yours down at our office: Miss[Pg 192]Alexander, Beatrice Alexander. ’Member her? Shesays a lot of nice things about you.”
“Oh!” Jeannette elevated her eyebrows and surveyedthe speaker’s head and feet.
“I’m afraid you’re sore at me,” he said. He laughedstraight into her cold eyes, showing his big teeth.
Jeannette straightened herself and frowned. Shefelt her anger rising.
“Er—you—a——” she began, deliberately clearingher throat with a little annoyed cough. “I thinkyou’ve made a mistake. Mr. Corey is not in. As yousee, I am busy. Good-day.”
She looked down at her notes and swung her chairaround to her machine.
“Whew!” whistled Mr. Devlin. He took a stepnearer, put his hand on her desk, bent down to catch aglimpse of her face, and said with a pleading note inhis voice and with that same flashing smile:
“Aw—please don’t be sore at me, Miss Sturgis!”
The man’s sudden nearness brought Jeannette uprigidly in her seat. Her eyes blazed a moment, butthere was something in this person’s manner and inthe ingratiating quality of his smile that made herhesitate. Her first thought had been to call the porteror one of the men outside, and have him summarilyput out. Instead she said in her most frigid tone:
“Really, Mr. Devlin, you presume too far. You seethat I am busy and I’ve told you that Mr. Corey isnot in.”
“Well that’s all right, but what do you want me totell Miss Alexander? She’ll be wanting to know if Idelivered her message.”
“Miss Alexander, as I remember her, is a very[Pg 193]lovely girl. You can tell her that I’ve not forgottenher, and that I am sorry that ... that in her officethere are not more mannerly gentlemen.”
Devlin threw back his head and roared. His laughwas extraordinary.
“Say, Miss Sturgis,” he began, “please don’t besore at me. I didn’t know I’d find a girl like you inhere. Miss Alexander said you were awfully nice andI thought maybe you’d be doing me a favor one ofthese days. I took a chance on getting in to see youthe way I did. Don’t blame the kid.”
“What kid?”
“The office boy. I slipped him a quarter and toldhim to tell you I was an old friend of yours and wantedto give you a surprise.”
“Upon my word!”
“Well, you see,—we’ve all got to make our living;you, me and the office boy.”
“There are ways of doing it,” said Jeannette acidly.
“I think they’re all legitimate.”
“What,—bribing office boys?”
“Well, I didn’t bribe him exactly. I deceived him.”He laughed again. He was Irish, the girl noted, andpresumably considered he had a great deal of Irishcharm.
“At any rate, I got in to see you.”
“Much good it’s done you.”
“I have hopes for the future.”
“I wouldn’t cherish them.”
“Ah, well now, Miss Sturgis, don’t be cruel!”
“I’m not in the least interested.”
“Won’t you tell me who’s doing Corey’s engraving?”
[Pg 194]
“I will not.”
“I can find out easily enough, and I think I caninterest him.”
“I think you can’t.”
“Won’t you make an appointment for me to seehim?”
“Certainly not!”
“There’s other ways I can meet him.”
“You’re at liberty to find them.”
“Aw ... you’re awfully mean. Why don’t yougive a fellow a chance for his living?”
“You don’t deserve it.”
“Because I gave the boy a quarter to show me whichwas your office?”
“Yes, and because you’re so ... so....”
“Fresh,—go on; you were going to say it!”
“Evidently you are aware of it.”
“A fellow hasn’t a chance to think anything else.”
“Well,—you’ll have to excuse me. I’m really verybusy.”
“Can I come again when you’ve a little more timeto spare?”
“I am always busy.”
“Can I ’phone?”
“I can’t bother with ’phone messages.”
Mr. Devlin for a moment was routed.
“Oh, gosh!” he said in disgust.
Jeannette was not to be won. She nodded to him,and began to type briskly, the keys of her machinehumming. The man stood uncertainly a moment more,shifting from one foot to the other; then he swung himselfdisconsolately toward the door, and closed it[Pg 195]slowly after him. Almost immediately he opened itagain and thrust in his head.
“I’m coming back again,—just the same!” hebawled. Jeannette did not look around, and the doorclicked shut.
§ 2
The next time he called she was taking dictationfrom Mr. Corey and was unaware he had come. Whenshe finished with her employer, and picked up thesheaf of letters he had given her, she passed throughthe connecting door between the two offices, and foundDevlin waiting in her room.
“Really!” She stopped short and frowned in quickannoyance.
“Well, here I am again!” he said blandly.
“And here’s where you go out!” She walkedtowards the door that led to the outer office and flungit open.
Devlin’s face altered, and a slow color began tomount his dark cheeks.
“Aw—say——” he said in hurt tones. The smilewas gone; for the moment his face was as serious asher own.
Jeannette did not move. Devlin picked up his hatand gloves.
“My God!” he exclaimed fervently, “you’re hardas nails!”
As he went out she suddenly felt sorry for him.
But that was not the last of him. His card appearedthe next afternoon. Mr. Corey was again away fromthe office.
[Pg 196]
“I’m not in to this person,” she said to Jimmy,“and if he bribes you to show him in here, I’ll gostraight to Mr. Kipps and have you fired.”
The next day he telephoned. She hung up the receiver,and told the girl at the switch-board to find outwho wanted her before she put through any more calls.The day following brought a letter from him, but assoon as she discovered his signature, she tore it upand threw it in the waste-paper basket. Two minuteslater, she carefully recovered its ragged squares andpieced them together.
“My dear Miss Sturgis,” it read, “you must overlookmy boorish methods. I’ll not bother you again,but I beg you will not hold it against me, if I try tomake your acquaintance in some more acceptable manner.Yours with good wishes, Martin Devlin.”
He wrote a vigorous hand,—strong, distinct, individual.
Jeannette considered the letter a moment, thenuttered a contemptuous “Puh!” scooped the fragmentsinto her palm, and returned them to the receptaclefor trash.
§ 3
Toward the end of the week, she had a telephone callfrom Beatrice Alexander. She had not seen the girlfor nearly four years but remembered how exceptionallykind she had been to her that first day shewent to work, and thought it would be pleasant tomeet her again, and talk over old times. They arrangedto have luncheon together.
They met at the Hotel St. Denis. Jeannette alwayswent there whenever there was sufficient excuse; she[Pg 197]loved the atmosphere of the old place. Her luncheonwas invariably the same: hot chocolate with whippedcream, and a club sandwich. It cost just fifty cents.
Beatrice Alexander had changed but little duringthe years Jeannette had not seen her, except that nowshe wore glasses. A little gold chain dangled from thetip of one lens, and hooked itself by means of a goldloop, over an ear. It made her look schoolmarmy, butshe had the same sweet face, the same soft dovelikeeyes, and the whispering voice.
“And you never married Mr. Beardsley,” she commented.“I heard you were engaged and he certainlywas awfully in love with you.”
Jeannette explained about her sister, and how happythe two were in their little Bronx flat. Her companionexclaimed about the baby.
She had had two or three places since the old publishinghouse suspended its selling campaign of theHistory. She had been in the business office of theFifth Avenue Hotel Company until it closed its doors.Now The Gibbs Engraving Company employed her;she’d been there about a year, and liked it all right, butthe constant smell of the strong acids made her a littlesick sometimes. She and Jeannette fell presently todiscussing Martin Devlin.
“Oh, he’s all right,” Beatrice Alexander said. “Hecame there about the same time I did. He’s an awfulflirt, I guess, and he gets round a good deal. I don’tknow much about him, except that he’s always pleasantand agreeable, never, anything but terribly nice to me.Everybody likes him. He’s one of our best solicitors.I heard from one of the men in your composing room,who’s a kind of cousin of mine, that you were with[Pg 198]the Corey Company and were Mr. Corey’s private secretary,and one day I happened to hear Mr. Devlintalking to Mr. Gibbs,—Mr. Gibbs and his brother ownThe Gibbs Engraving Company,—and he said somethingabout how he wished he could land your accountbut he didn’t know a soul he could approach. Andthen I mentioned I knew you. That was all there wasto it, only he said you treated him something awful.”
Jeannette rehearsed the interview.
“He struck me as a very fresh young man,” sheconcluded.
“Oh, Mr. Devlin’s all right,” Beatrice Alexandersaid again. “He doesn’t mean any harm. He’s Irish,you know,—he was born here and all that,—and hejust wants to be friendly with everyone. I supposehe was kind of hurt because you were so short withhim.”
“I most certainly was,” Jeannette said, grimly.
“Well, he’s been begging and begging me to call youup. He wanted to take us both out to lunch, but Iwouldn’t agree to that. I told him I’d see you aboutit first.”
“I wouldn’t consider it,” Jeannette said, indignantly.“The idea! What’s the matter with him?”
“I imagine,” Beatrice Alexander said shyly, “helikes your style.”
“Well, I don’t like his! ... The impertinence!”
They finished their lunch and wandered into Broadway.It was Easter week, and the chimes of GraceChurch were ringing out a hymn.
“Let’s not lose touch with each other again,” saidBeatrice Alexander at parting. “I’ll ’phone you soon,[Pg 199]and next time you’ll have to have luncheon with me.I always go to Wanamaker’s; they have such lovelymusic up there, and the food’s splendid.”
§ 4
Jeannette had forgotten Mr. Devlin’s existence untilone day as she was typing busily at her desk she suddenlyrecognized his loud, infectious and unmistakablelaugh in the adjoining office. Mr. Corey had come infrom lunch some ten minutes before, and had broughta man with him. She had heard their feet, their voices,and the clap of the closing door as they entered. Nowthe laugh startled her. She paused, her fingers suspendedabove the keys of her typewriter, and listened.It was Mr. Devlin; there was no mistaking him. Shetwisted her lips in a wry smile. He and Mr. Coreywere evidently getting on.
She knew she would be called. When the buzzersummoned her, she picked up her note-book and pencils,straightened her shoulders in characteristic fashion,and went in.
Devlin rose to his feet as she entered, but she didnot glance at him. Her attention was Mr. Corey’s.
“How do you do? How’s Miss Sturgis?” Devlinwas all good-natured friendliness, showing his bigteeth as he grinned at her.
She turned her eyes toward him gravely, gazed athim with calm deliberation, and briefly inclined herhead.
“Oh, you two know each other? Friends, hey?”asked Mr. Corey, looking up.
[Pg 200]
“Well, we’re trying to be,” laughed Devlin.
Jeannette made no comment. She gazed expectantlyat her chief.
“The Gibbs Engraving Company,” said Mr. Coreyin his brusque businesslike voice, “wants to do ourengraving. I’m going to give them a three months’trial. I’d like to have you take a memorandum of whatthey’ve quoted us. Mr. Gibbs is to confirm this byletter. Now you said five cents per square inch online cuts with a minimum of fifty cents....”
Jeannette scribbled down the figures.
“Three-color work a dollar a square inch,” suppliedDevlin.
“Oh, I thought you said you’d give us a flat rate onour color work.”
“On the magazine covers, yes, but I can’t do thaton general color work.”
“Well, that’s all right.” The discussion continued.Presently the girl had all the details.
“Give me a memorandum of that,” Corey said, “andsend a carbon to Mr. Kipps.” He turned to the youngman. “We’ll talk it over, and let you know just assoon as we hear from you.” Devlin rose. The menshook hands as Jeannette passed into her own room.She heard them saying good-bye. Their voices continuedmurmuring, but she did not listen. SuddenlyMr. Corey opened her door.
“Mr. Devlin wants to speak to you a minute, MissSturgis.” He nodded to his companion, said “Well,good-bye; hope we can get together on this,” andshook hands once more, and left Devlin confrontingher.
“Please let me say just one word,” he said quickly.[Pg 201]“I met Mr. Corey at the Quoin Club the other dayand made a date for lunch. I’m after his business allright, and think I’ve got it cinched. I don’t want youto continue to be sore at me, if my outfit and yours aregoing to do business together. I’m sorry if I got offon the wrong foot. Please accept my apology and let’sbe friends.”
“I don’t think there is any occasion——” beganJeannette icily.
“Aw shucks!” he said interrupting her, “I’m doingthe best I can to square myself. I didn’t mean toannoy you. I didn’t care at first what you thoughtof me as long as I got in to see Mr. Corey. I confessI thought maybe I could jolly you into arranging adate for me to see him. No,—wait a minute,” heurged as the girl frowned, “hear me out. You see I’mbeing honest about it. I’m telling you frankly what Ithought at first, but that was before I even saw you.I had no idea you were the kind of girl you are. Itisn’t usual to find a person like you in an office. Oh,you think I’m jollying you! I swear I’m not. I justwant to ask you to forgive me if I offended you, andbe friends.”
There was something unusually ingratiating aboutthis man. Jeannette hesitated, and Devlin continued.He pleaded very earnestly; it was impossible not tobelieve his sincerity.
Jeannette shrugged her shoulders when he pausedfor a moment. Her hands were automatically arrangingthe articles on her desk.
“Well,” she conceded slowly, “what do you want?”
“For you to say you’ll forgive a blundering Irishboobie, and shake hands with him.”
[Pg 202]
He wrung a dry smile from her at that. She heldout her hand.
“Oh, very well. It’s easier to be friends with youthan have you here interfering with my getting at mywork.”
“That’s fine, now.” He held her fingers a moment,his whole face beaming. “You’ve a kind heart, MissSturgis, and I sha’n’t forget it.”
He took himself away with a radiant smile upon hisface.
§ 5
It was evident Martin Devlin proposed to be a factorin her life. When he came to the office to see Mr.Kipps or Miss Holland about the engraving,—and thework brought him, or he pretended it brought him,two or three times a week—he never failed to step toJeannette’s door, open it, and give her the benefit of hisflashing teeth and handsome eyes as he wished hergood-day or asked her how she was. He did not intrudefurther. His visits were only for a minute ortwo. Only once when she was looking for a letter in thefiling cabinet, he came in and lingered for a chat.He saw she was not typing, therefore ready to talk tohim since he was not interrupting her. When she wentto lunch with Beatrice Alexander a week or two laterat Wanamaker’s he joined the two girls by the elevatorsas they were leaving the lunch-room, pretending,Jeannette noticed, with a great air of surprise,that the meeting was merely a fortuitous circumstance.The subway had a few days before begun to operate.Jeannette had never ridden upon it, so Martin pilotedher down the stone steps, boarded the train, and rode[Pg 203]with her until they reached Thirty-fourth Street.Beatrice Alexander had said good-bye as they leftWanamaker’s.
Devlin had a confident, self-assured way with him. Itcould not be said he swaggered, but the word suggestedhim. He was easy, good-natured, laughing, cajoling,irresistibly merry. His good humor was contagious.Men smiled back at him; women looked at him twice.To the subway guard, to the sour-faced little Jew atthe newsstand, to the burly cop with whom they collidedas they climbed the stairs to the street, he wasfamiliar, patronizing, jocular. He called the Italiansubway guard “Garibaldi,” the Jewish newsdealer“Isaac,” the burly policeman “Sergeant.” Oneglance at him and each was won; it was impossible toresent his familiarity. Everybody liked him; he couldsay the most outrageous things and give no offense.It was that Irish charm of his, Jeannette decided,back once more at her desk and clicking away at hermachine, that made people so lenient with him.
She began to speculate about him a good deal. Itwas clear he was in hot pursuit of her, and that heintended to give her no peace. He commenced to bringlittle boxes of candy which he slid on to her deskwith a long arm when he opened her office door to say“Hello!” Then flowers put in their appearance:sweet bunches of violets, swathed in oiled paper, theirstems wrapped in purple tinfoil, the fragrant ballglistening with brilliant drops of water; there werebunches of baby roses, too, and lilies-of-the-valley, anddaffodils. One day she happened to mention she hadnever read “The Taming of the Shrew,” and the followingmorning there was delivered at her home a[Pg 204]complete set of the Temple edition of Shakespeare’splays. She protested, she threatened to throw theflowers out of the window, she begged him with hermost earnest smile not to send her anything more.She was talking into deaf ears. The very next dayshe found on her desk two seats for a Saturday matinéewith a note scribbled on the envelope: “For youand your mother next Saturday. Have a good timeand think of Martin.”
In deep distress she told her mother about him,but Mrs. Sturgis shared none of her concern.
“Well, perhaps the young man is trying to be friendswith you in the only way he knows how. I wouldn’tbe too hasty with him, dearie. You say he’s with anengraving company? Is that a good line of work?Does he seem well-off,—plenty of money and all that?”
“Oh, Mama!” cried Jeannette, in mild annoyance.
“There’s no harm, my dear, in a nice rich youngfellow admiring a pretty girl like my daughter. Ifthe young man’s well brought up and means what’sperfectly right and proper, I don’t see what you canobject to. You’ve got to marry one of these days,lovie; you must remember that. There isn’t any sensein tying yourself down to a desk for the rest of yourlife! You’ve got to think about a husband!”
“Well, I don’t want him!”
“Perhaps not. I’m not saying anything about him.But there’s plenty of nice young men in the world,and you mustn’t shut your eyes to them. A girl shouldmarry and have a home of her own; that’s what Godintended. Doctor Fitzgibbons was saying exactly thatsame thing to me only yesterday. Now this Mr. Devlin,—it’san Irish name, isn’t it?——”
[Pg 205]
“Oh, hush,—for goodness’ sakes, Mama! Don’t let’stalk any more about him.... What did Alice have tosay to-day?”
“She’s really gaining very rapidly now,” Mrs.Sturgis said instantly diverted. “She says she’s goingto let that woman go. She comes every day and doesall the dishes and cleans up and it only costs Alicethree dollars a week.”
“Why, she’s crazy,” cried Jeannette. “She isn’thalf strong enough to do her own work, yet. Youtell her I’ll pay the three dollars till she’s all rightagain. I can’t imagine what Roy Beardsley’s thinkingabout!”
§ 6
Martin Devlin begged her to allow him to take hermother and herself to dinner, and “perhaps we’ll havetime to drop in at a show afterwards,” he added.Jeannette declined. She had no wish to become onmore intimate terms with him, but he would not take“No” for an answer. He persisted; she grew angry;he persisted just the same. She considered going toMr. Corey and informing him that this representativeof The Gibbs Engraving Company was annoying her,and yet it hardly seemed the thing to do. She spokeof it again to her mother, and Mrs. Sturgis at oncewas in a flutter of excitement at the prospect of a dinnerdowntown.
“But why not, dearie?” she argued. “I could wearmy lavender velvet, and you’ve got your new taffeta....I’d like to meet the young man.”
After all there were thousands of girls, reflectedJeannette, who were accepting anything and everything[Pg 206]from men, wheedling gifts out of them, sometimeseven taking their money. Her mother wouldget much pleasure out of the event.
When Devlin urged his invitation again, she drewa long breath, and consented. There seemed no reasonwhy she should not accept; there was nothing wrongwith him; she liked him; he was agreeable and devoted;her mother would be delighted.
He called for them on the night of the party in a taxi.It was an unexpected luxury. He won Mrs. Sturgis atonce. Why, he was perfectly charming, a delightfulyoung man! What in the world was Jeannette thinkingabout? She laughed violently at everything hesaid, rocking back and forth on the hard leather seat inthe stuffy interior of the cab, convulsed with mirth,her round little cheeks shaking. He was the mostcomical young man she’d ever known!
The taxi took them to a brilliant restaurant, gay withlights, music and hilarity. Jeannette’s blue, high-neckedtaffeta and her mother’s lavender velvet weresober costumes amidst the vivid apparel and low-cuttoilettes of the women. But the girl was aware thatno matter what her dress might be, she, herself, wasbeautiful. She saw the turning heads, and the eyesthat trailed her as the little group followed the head-waiterto their table. The table had been reserved,the dinner ordered. Cocktails appeared, and she sippedthe first she had ever tasted. Her mother was ingay spirits, and preened herself in these surroundingslike a bird. Devlin seemed to know how to do everything.He was startlingly handsome in his eveningclothes; the white expanse of shirt was immaculate;there were two tiny gold studs in front, and a black[Pg 207]bow tie tied very snugly at the opening of his collar.It was no more than conventional semi-formal eveningdress, and yet somehow it impressed Jeannette asmagnificent. She had never noticed how becoming thecostume was to a man before. She realized, as sheglanced at him, he was the first young man she hadever known, who had taken her out in the evening andworn evening dress. Roy had been too poor; thetuxedo he had had at college was shabby; she hadnever seen him wear it. She studied Devlin nowcritically. His hair was coal black, coarse, a triflewavy; he wet it, when he combed it, and it caughta high light now and then. His eyebrows were heavyand bushy like his hair, the eyes, themselves, deep-setbut alive with twinkles and laughter. They were expressiveeyes, she thought, capable of subtlest meanings.His nose was straight, his mouth large and red,and his big even teeth glistened between the vivid lipswith the glitter of fine wet porcelain. He had an oval-shapedface and a vigorous pointed chin. His skinwas unblemished, but the jaw, chin, and cheeks weredark blue from his close-shaven beard. It was hisexpression, she decided, more than the regularity ofhis features, that made him so handsome. In hisevening dress he was extraordinarily good-looking.She judged him to be twenty-six or seven.
The dinner progressed smoothly. Devlin had evidentlytaken pains in ordering it, and he gave a pleasedsmile when Mrs. Sturgis waxed enthusiastic over someparticular feature, and Jeannette echoed her praise.There was, as a matter of fact, nothing spectacularabout it: oysters, chicken sauté sec,—a specialty of therestaurant,—a vegetable or two, salad with a red sauce—Mrs.[Pg 208]Sturgis thought it most curious and pronouncedit delicious—an ice. To his guests, it seemed the mostwonderful dinner they had ever eaten. The girl wasimpressed; her mother flatteringly excited.
“It’s all so good!” Mrs. Sturgis kept repeating as ifshe had made a surprising discovery.
Devlin called for the check, glanced at it, dropped alarge bill on the silver tray, and when the change wasbrought, amounting to two dollars and some cents,—asboth Jeannette and her mother noted,—waved itaway to the waiter with a negligent gesture. It waslordly; it was magnificent!
Jeannette loved such ways of doing things, she lovedthe lights and music, the excellent food, the deferentialservice, the gorgeous restaurant, the beautifullygowned women. She would like to own one rich andsumptuous evening dress like theirs, and to be able towear it to such a magnificent place as this, and queenit over them all. She knew she could do it; she coulddazzle the entire room.
Devlin guided his guests through the revolving glassdoors to the street, the taxi-cab starter blew his whistleshrilly, a car rolled up, the door was held open forthem to enter, and banged shut. The starter in hisgold-braided uniform and shining brass buttons,touched his cap respectfully, and the taxi rolled outinto the traffic. Jeannette thrilled to the luxuriousnessand extravagance of it all.
It was the same at the theatre. They had aisle seatsin the sixth row; the musical comedy was delightful,spectacular, magnificent, in tune with everything elsethat evening. After the theatre, their escort insistedupon their going to a brilliant café where the music[Pg 209]was glorious, and where Jeannette and her mothersipped ginger-ale and Devlin drank beer. Mrs. Sturgiscommented half-a-dozen times upon the peel of alemon, deftly cut into cork-screw shape, and twistedinto her glass, which gave the ginger-ale quite a delightfulflavor. It was Devlin’s idea; she had heardhim suggest it to the waiter. He was a very remarkableyoung man, —very!
They were swept home in another taxi-cab, and herefused to let them thank him for the glorious evening.He hinted he would like to call, and perhaps be askedto dinner. But of course, that was not to be thoughtof! A grand person like him coming to one of theirsimple little meals, with Mrs. Sturgis or Jeannettejumping up to wait on the table? That would be perfectlyridiculous! But he might call some time, orperhaps go with them to a Sunday concert. He wouldbe delighted, of course. He held his hat high abovehis head as he said good-night, and stood at the footof the steps until they were safely inside.
It had been a memorable evening; they really hadhad a most wonderful time; Mr. Devlin certainly knewhow to do things! Mrs. Sturgis, carefully pinning asheet about her lavender velvet preparatory to hangingit in the closet, began planning how they couldentertain him.
“Is he fond of music, do you know, dearie? I thinkwe could get seats for some Sunday afternoon concert,and then bring him home to tea. It would be muchbetter to ask him here than to go to any of those littletea-places; we could get some crumpets and toast themourselves, and might buy a few little French pastries.You could see he was dying to be asked.”
[Pg 210]
Jeannette felt vaguely irritated.
“Oh, let’s not rush him, Mama.”
“Rush him? Who’s talking of rushing him, I’d liketo know? The young man is a very delightful, presentablegentleman, and he’s evidently taken a great fancyto you, and he’s even been nice to your poor old mother.I declare, Janny, I can’t sometimes make you out!I just was proposing we extend him a little hospitalityin return for his extremely lavish entertainment. He’sbeen most kind and considerate, and the least we cando....”
Jeannette’s mind wandered. It certainly would bewonderful, went her roving thoughts, to have money,and dress gorgeously, and go about to such magnificentrestaurants, and then taxi off to the theatre, wheneverone wanted to! It would be wonderful, too, to havesomebody strong and resourceful always looking outfor one’s comfort and enjoyment, paying all the bills,never bothering one about money, consulting and gratifyingone’s slightest whim!
She went to sleep in a haze of golden imaginings.Her mother’s voice in the next room planning variousschemes, commenting upon Mr. Devlin’s attractiveness,grew fainter and fainter, and finally dwindledsilent.
§ 7
But the next morning Jeannette vigorously attackedthe subject. There had been nothing extraordinaryabout the past evening. A man in conventional eveningdress had taken her mother and herself to dinein a restaurant, and afterwards had driven them in ataxi to the theatre. What was there so remarkable[Pg 211]in that? It was being done all the time; the restaurantswere packed full of such parties night afternight. It had merely seemed wonderful to a girl andher mother unused to such entertainment.
Jeannette kept reminding herself of this throughoutthe ensuing day. She did not propose to have her headturned, as her mother’s evidently was, by a littlesplurge of money. She was not in love with MartinDevlin, she did not care a snap of her finger for him,she would not marry him if he had a million! Therewas no sense in letting him think she would even considersuch an idea. She couldn’t help it, if he was inlove with her. She had done nothing to encourage him,and she didn’t propose to begin. No, the whole thinghad better come to an end; it had gone quite farenough; she’d have to call off any silly plans hermother might be making.... What! Marry MartinDevlin and give up her job? Never in the world!
But Jeannette found she was dealing with a personalityvery different from that of Roy Beardsley.Mr. Devlin had one idea, one object: the idea wasJeannette, the object matrimony. He besieged herwith attentions, he gave her no peace, he hounded herfootsteps. Mrs. Sturgis threw herself whole-heartedlyupon his side. She was deaf to her daughter’s remonstrances;she refused to be discourteous, as shedescribed it, to a young man so attentive and considerate.Mother and daughter actually quarrelledabout the matter, refused to speak to each other fora whole day, made up with tears and kisses, but thisin no jot altered Mrs. Sturgis’ purpose of being Mr.Devlin’s friend and advocate.
Jeannette was not to be shaken. She did not desire[Pg 212]Mr. Devlin, she did not want to marry anyone, shehad no intention of abandoning her work.
“You got to marry me, Jeannette,” this purposefulyoung man said to her one day.
“Never,” said Jeannette resolutely.
“Oh, yes, you will,” he told her with equalconfidence.
“Well, we’ll see about that. I don’t care for you; Iwouldn’t marry you if I did; you are only annoyingme with your attentions. I would really like you muchbetter if you’d leave me alone.”
The very evening this conversation took place shefound a beautiful little scarab pin waiting for her whenshe got home. She mailed it back to him at The GibbsEngraving Company. The next day came perfume,and a day or two later a large roll of new magazines;he sent her candy, flowers, theatre tickets. She gavethe candy away, threw the flowers out of the window,tore up the theatre tickets and sent the torn paste-boardsback to him in a letter in which she told himfurther gifts would only anger her. They kept oncoming with undiminished regularity. She wept; hermother scolded her; Devlin called. There was no evadinghim; he was everywhere.
One day, he grabbed her, took her in his arms, beatdown her resistance, strained her to him, and kissedher savagely, hungrily on the mouth. In that instantshe capitulated; something broke within her; an overwhelmingforce rose like a great tide, welled up overher head and submerged her. She wilted in his embrace,succumbed like a crushed lily and longed forhim to trample on her.
Love, glorious, intoxicating, passionate, had sprung[Pg 213]to life in her. She resented it; she was helplessagainst it. She fought—fought—fought to no purpose.It rode her, rowelled her, harried her. MartinDevlin had conquered her heart, but her will wasanother matter.
§ 8
Jeannette became miserably unhappy. She imaginedshe had experienced all love’s emotions when RoyBeardsley possessed her thoughts. She laughed nowwhen she thought of them. She had been little morethan a school girl then, with a school girl’s capacityfor love,—a maiden’s love, virginal, immature. It wasnot to be compared with this flame that seethed withinher now. Oh, God! Her love for Martin Devlin wasan agony! For the first time in her life she knew thefull meaning of fear. She feared this man with afear like terror. Ruthlessly he obtruded himself intoher life, ruthlessly he assaulted the securest fastnessesof it, ruthlessly, she dreaded, he would strike themdown and subdue her will as easily as he had won herlove. He was in her thoughts all day and all night;she trembled when he was near her; it was tormentwhen they were apart. Again and again, she returnedto her determination to put him out of her life; hewould only cause her trouble; there was only unhappinessin store for them both. It was useless. Neitherher thoughts nor Devlin had any mercy upon her.She knew at last what love, real love, was like; it wasa raging fire, white-hot, scorifying, consuming.
His lips never again found hers after that first terriblemoment of weakness. Sometimes he caught herto him and strained her in his arms, but her cheek or[Pg 214]hair or neck received his eager kiss. She resistedthese embraces with all her strength, struggled in hisgrasp. She was mortally afraid of him; mortallyafraid of herself. Desire throbbed in all her veins.She clung desperately to the last redoubt in her defensesbehind which every instinct told her safety lay.She would allow him no avenue of approach; she wouldtolerate no moment’s weakness in her fortitude.
“Janny, you love me, and, by God, I love you.You’re the finest woman I’ve ever known, Janny.When are you going to marry me?” Martin had hisarms about her, but both her hands were pressedagainst his breast. He seemed so big and powerfulas he stood holding her; she knew his clean shavenchin was rough with his beard, firm and cold; hesmelled fragrantly of cigars.
Ah, love! That was one thing,—she had no controlover her heart,—but marriage was another. That wasvery different indeed.
“Martin dear,—I do love you,—I’m proud I loveyou. But I don’t want to get married!”
“Why not?”
Jeannette sighed wearily.
“I don’t suppose I can ever make you understand.I like to live my own life; I like to come and go as Iplease; I like to have the money I earn myself to spendthe way I like. And besides that, I love my work, Ilove being at the office. I’ve been part of this businessnow for three years; I’ve helped to build it up, I knowevery detail; it belongs to me in a way. Does thatsound unreasonable to you?”
“No, not unreasonable exactly. But I don’t thinkyou see it right; you attach too much importance to[Pg 215]it. You’ll be just as free and independent as my wifeas you are now.”
Would she? She wondered. It was of that, thatshe had her gravest misgivings.
“And then there’s Mr. Corey. I wouldn’t feel rightabout leaving him; he depends on me so much.”
“Well, for God’s sake!” exclaimed Martin. “Doyou mean to tell me you would let that stand in theway?”
“It’s a consideration,” said Jeannette honestly.Martin’s face settled grimly.
“And then there’s Mama,” went on the girl. “She’sso happy now, living with me. She doesn’t have towork so hard any more, and she goes to concerts andvisits Alice and does as she pleases. You see, if Imarried, that would have to come to an end. I don’tknow what she would do.”
“Why, she could do a lot of things,” argued Martin.“She might go and live with your sister, for instance,or come with us; she could divide her time betweenthe two of you.”
“Alice would love to have her,” admitted Jeannette.“Mama’s crazy about Etta, and of course it wouldmake it easier for Allie. But I don’t think Mamawould consent to live with either of her children.”
“I’ve always been a fan for your ma,” said Martin,“and that just shows how dead sensible she is. Yoursister’s husband and I could each send her twenty-fivedollars a month, and she could find some place to boardeasily for that.”
“Roy hasn’t got any twenty-five dollars.”
“We can fix up some arrangement that will be satisfactoryall ’round.”
[Pg 216]
“Mama would never consent to give up her teaching.It really means too much to her.”
“Well, there you are! You haven’t got a real reasonon earth for not marrying me to-morrow.”
But Jeannette felt she had, though she could findno one to agree with her.
“You’re just playing with your happiness, dearie,”her mother said to her. “Martin Devlin’s a fine youngman. You could go a long way before you’d find abetter husband. I want to see my dearie-girl in alittle home of her own like her sister’s.”
“Oh, Janny,” said Alice, “you don’t know what fun,being married is! Why, after you’ve become a wife,you feel differently about the whole world. Why, I’dmarry anybody rather than not be married at all! ...And then, Janny, you haven’t got the faintest idea howsweet it is to have a baby of your own. Etta is justthe joy of our lives. You ought to see Roy playingwith her when he comes home from the office and Iam getting her bath ready!”
Jeannette studied her sister’s radiant face curiously.There was a mystery here; something she did not understand.This was the girl who had borne her childin agony, who had endured nearly fifteen hours oflabor, who had been torn and ripped, and had lain helplesson her back for six long months, fighting her wayback to strength and normality, despairing and weaklycrying! Yet here she was talking of the joy of havinga baby, urging her sister to a like experience!
It was puzzling. How soon mothers forgot! Sixmonths of helplessness already unremembered! Ithad not passed from Jeannette’s recollection. It hadbeen terrible—terrible! ... And yet she would like[Pg 217]to have a baby of her own,—a baby without that fearfulordeal,—a little Martin Devlin. She kissed Ettaon the back of her wrinkled fat neck where it wassweetly perspiry and fuzzy with the lint from herblankets.
§ 9
Jeannette was equally sure of two things: she lovedMartin with all her soul; she would never consent togive up her position with Mr. Corey and marry him.Martin, her mother, Alice, even Mr. Corey, who soonlearned of the situation, could not persuade her.
Corey had a long talk with her about the matter.
“I don’t know very much about your young man;Gibbs speaks well of him. He tells me he’s been withthem a little more than a year, and is their star salesman.I think he has more possibilities in him thanthat. Of course you never can tell. I confess I wasimpressed when I first met him. Somebody at theQuoin Club had him there as a guest and introducedus, and he talked good business from the start. I don’tthink much of Gibbs’ engraving, but that’s no reflectionon Devlin. Personally I think you ought to marry.I advised you the same way before. Perhaps you wereright in not being too hasty in that instance. I can’tknow, of course, whether you’re seriously interested ornot. Your heart has got to tell you that. If you loveDevlin well enough and think you’ll be happy with him,you ought to marry him. I hate to see you wastingyour life down here in this office. You’re deserving abetter chance. Business is no place for a girl. Youought to be building a home and rearing children ofyour own. If you make as good a wife as you have[Pg 218]a secretary,” he ended with a smile, “your husbandwill have no occasion to find fault with you.”
But she could not bring herself to give up her independence.That was what stuck in her throat. Shecame back to it repeatedly. A little apartment likeAlice’s to share with Martin, to fix and furnish,—itappealed to her imagination, it had its attractions,—butit would be such a leap in the dark! She was sosure of her happiness living the way she was—whyalter it? Yet was there any happiness for her withoutMartin? She tried to picture it, and her heartmisgave her.
Some of the glamor that surrounded him at first hadnow disappeared. He no longer seemed a scion ofwealth, a prince, a lordling, to whistle menials to hisbeck and call, and to swagger his way in and out ofrestaurants, leaving a trail of scattered largess in hiswake. Familiarity had stripped him of the cloak ofsplendor with which he first had dazzled her. Sheliked him all the better without it, for it had only beenbluff with him, his way of trying to impress her. Sheknew him now for an ever merry soul, an amused andamusing companion, possessing rare thoughtfulness,a little vain, a little opinionated, vigorous, direct, domineering,who could, if he so desired, charm an angelGabriel to softness. He had his faults; she thoughtshe knew them all. He was happy-go-lucky, had smallregard for time, appointments, or others’ feelings;he was extravagant in all his tastes; and loved pleasureinordinately. But there was a charm about him thatmade up to her a thousandfold for these trifling short-comings.He was the handsomest of men, generousand invariably kind-hearted, he could win a smile from[Pg 219]an image, or accomplish the impossible, once his mindwas made up.
It was a satisfaction to learn that he earned onlyfifty dollars a week. She had thought him a millionaireat first. He threw money about with a prodigalitythat distressed her. His theatre tickets, his gifts, hisunceasing attentions cost money,—a great deal ofmoney. She knew his salary did not warrant it. Shewas glad he got but fifty a week,—only fifteen morethan she did, herself. Roy was getting forty. Martinseemed more human to her after she knew the size ofhis salary; he was more comprehensible.
And here, once more, was confronting her the matterof finances were she to marry. She and her mothertogether enjoyed an income that was never less thantwo hundred dollars a month. She contributed eighty,as her share towards rent and food, and had still sixtydollars a month left to spend as she chose, for clothes,for a gift to Alice, or for delightful adventures withher mother, lunches and theatres on Saturday afternoons,and the little surprises that were so delightful.Would she have anything like as much out of the twohundred dollars Martin earned if she married him?What part of his weekly pay envelope was he likelyto give her to run their house, and to spend on herself?
It was only fair, since he pressed his suit so vigorously,that this all-important matter should be broughtup and discussed. She did not consider herself mercenary.The question of the wife’s allowance in marriageseemed a vital one to her. She had tasted independence,and did not consider she should be expectedto relinquish it in marriage. Alice and Roy got alongin amiable fashion on this point. Roy kept five dollars[Pg 220]a week for himself and gave his wife the rest of hispay envelope. Sometimes toward the end of the weekhe would ask her for fifty cents or a dollar to tide himover until Saturday. That arrangement seemed toJeannette eminently fair. Roy gave all he could bereasonably expected to, she thought; five dollars aweek was about as little as he could get along on forcarfare, lunches and tobacco. Of course, his clothingand the pleasures he and his wife shared, came out ofwhat Alice was able to save from week to week,—andshe did manage to save a little. But, as Jeannette hadoften remarked, Alice was different from her. She,Jeannette, had won for herself an economic value to bemeasured in dollars and cents, and it was not fair toexpect her to forego this for a hazy, uncertain conditionin which her wishes and wants were only to be gratifiedat her husband’s whim. It was better to have a frankdiscussion and settle the matter.
Martin shouted a delighted laugh when she expoundedthis thought.
“Why, my darling,” he said, “don’t bother yourhead about it. You can have every cent I make and ifthat isn’t enough, I’ll go out and steal for you.”
“But seriously, Martin, what do you think a wifeshould have out of her husband’s income? Now, I’mnot saying I’ll marry you——”
“You darling!”
“No—no,—be sensible, Martin. I want to threshthis out. If I should consent to marry you, what wouldyou think would be a fair proportion of what you earnthat I could count on as my own?”
“What would you be wanting money for?” Martinasked, amused by her earnestness.
[Pg 221]
“What would I be wanting money for?” she repeated.“Why, what do you think? ... For clothes,for pleasures, to throw away if I liked!”
“Aw, hear her!” he laughed. “Why, my darling,I’ll buy you your clothes and everything your littleheart desires if only you’ll say ‘yes’ to me.”
“Martin, I’ll never say ‘yes’ until this is settled,”she said spiritedly, her eyes with a queer light in them.
Martin was serious for a moment.
“Sweet woman,” he said earnestly, “you can haveit all. Divide it any way you like. I don’t care inthe least. There’s plenty for the two of us.”
But Jeannette would consider nothing so indefinite.She did not want a great deal, but she wanted to feelsure of something that would be regarded as entirelyher own. With difficulty she persuaded him to talkabout the matter in earnest. They agreed that if hissalary were equally divided, and Jeannette paid all thetable expenses out of her half while he paid the rentand everything else out of his, that would be an equitablearrangement. That satisfied Jeannette; it gaveher something to think about when she consideredmarrying him.
But even with this much settled, she was no nearermaking up her mind than she had ever been. Marriagemeant giving up the office, the close affiliations she hadformed there. Propinquity had made her fellow-workersher friends; she knew them all intimately,knew something of their private lives, rejoiced or sorrowedwith them at the inevitable changes of fortune.When an eminent surgeon from Germany performed amiraculous operation on Mr. Featherstone’s little sonand gave him the use of his legs on which he had never[Pg 222]walked, she shared his father’s joy; when Mr. Cavendishmarried a charming Vassar girl who was thedaughter of a wealthy Wall Street banker, she congratulatedhim with a real pleasure; when Miss Holland’sseventeen-year-old nephew secured an appointmentat Annapolis and successfully passed the entranceexamination, she took keen satisfaction in her friend’sdelight. She was shocked and saddened when SandyMacGregor’s wife died, and when Mr. Allister wastaken ill with pneumonia no one inquired more frequentlyabout him while he struggled desperately tolive, or felt more pleasure when it was announced hehad turned the corner and would before long be backagain at his desk. She was glad when Francis Holme,Walt Chase and Sandy MacGregor each received a substantialgift of the company’s common stock at Christmas-time,and was correspondingly sorry that HoratioStephens and Willis Corey shared equally in thehonorarium. When Miss Peckenbaugh asked for araise in salary, and her request was endorsed by Mr.Allister, she took it upon herself to tell Mr. Coreycertain facts about the young lady that had becomeknown to her, and when as a result, the request wasrefused and Miss Peckenbaugh in anger resigned, shewas amused and delighted. At the same time she urgedand secured a five-dollar raise per week for old MajorTicknor who had a little blind grandchild he was helpingto maintain in a private sanitarium. Young TommyLivingston in the bindery had impressed her upon acertain occasion with his brightness and ability, andshe recommended him warmly to Mr. Corey, and hadthe satisfaction of seeing him promoted to a desk inMr. Kipps’ department. At her suggestion, window-boxes[Pg 223]filled with flowers were put along the windowsof the press-room that faced the street; she persuadedthe firm to install a lunch-room for the women employeeson the eighth floor, and it was her idea that aregular trained nurse be engaged and established in asmall but complete infirmary within the building.She induced Mr. Corey to offer a certain rising youngauthor, whose work had been her discovery and whowas showing steady improvement, an increase inroyalty percentage, and she prevented the publicationof a certain piece of fiction, which Corey had givenher to read, because she considered it vicious, despiteMr. Allister’s strong recommendation. She advisedher chief to instruct Horatio Stephens to order a seriesof articles from a woman writer whose work in anothermagazine had interested her, and she urged him notto engage a certain Madame Desseau of Paris, adesigner of women’s clothes, as the fashion editor ofThe Ladies’ Fortune. Jeannette had a hand in almostevery important step that was taken. Mr. Corey respectedher judgment, frequently consulted her, andsometimes followed her advice even when contrary tohis inclinations. He often told her that he believedher intuition was unerring and the greatest possiblehelp to him.
§ 10
That particular winter proved an exceptionallystrenuous and exacting one for Mr. Corey. He wasworn out with work and with the ever increasing demandsupon him, demands that came more and morefrom the outside.
The P. P. Prescott Publishing Company, a house[Pg 224]with a reputation of half a century of high literaryoutput, through mismanagement was in danger ofbankruptcy. While the “P P P” books were famousthe world over, the bank that had financed the concernfor years was tired of the arrangement; the totteringhouse owed the Chandler B. Corey Company nearly ahundred thousand dollars for subscription premiumsFrancis Holme had sold it, and it was a foregone conclusionthat if the Prescott Company failed, therewould be no way of collecting the debt. Mr. Coreywanted to take over the Prescott Company entirely,—itcould have been bought at the time for practicallynothing by assuming its obligations,—but this was oneof their chief’s bold and brilliant ideas that Mr. Kippsand Mr. Featherstone opposed and, to Jeannette’s intenseregret, persuaded him against. The result wasthat instead of absorbing the Prescott Company, andletting the Corey organization administer its variousactivities, Mr. Corey was forced to become chairmanof the board which undertook to put the older publishinghouse on its feet again, and to do most of the workhimself.
In addition to this he was compelled to accept theleadership of a committee appointed by the Publishers’Association to confer with the postal authorities inWashington regarding the rates on second class mailmatter which were in danger of being raised. He hadbeen obliged to make several trips to the capital. Hewas one of the directors of a large paper mill which,in conjunction with some other publishers, he had purchased.He had shown an interest in local politics andhad been put on the Republican State Central Committee;he was one of the governors of the Swanee[Pg 225]Valley Golf Club, and executor of the estate of JuliusZachariah Rosenbaum, a wealthy Jewish capitalist,whose autobiography he had published during the oldHebrew’s life. No one outside the immediate membersof the firm, with the exception of Jeannette, knewthat Rosenbaum had taken sixty thousand subscriptionsto Corey’s Commentary when the story of his life wasappearing in serial form in that magazine, and whenthe book was published he ordered twenty-five thousandcopies, presumably to distribute among his friends.Poor Rosenbaum! It was doubtful if he had a score,and when he died there was universal rejoicingthroughout the country that the most grasping ofmoneyed barons, who had consistently obstructed thewheels of progress, was gone. But he left a large sliceof his wealth in charitable endowments, and namedChandler B. Corey as one of the executors of his will.
These responsibilities weighed heavily upon Mr.Corey’s health and strength. He had been troubledwith indigestion for several months and his generalcondition was not good. In addition there were domesticcares. With the increase of their fortunes, Mrs.Corey had moved herself and her family into a stonefront house on Riverside Drive where she proceeded tomaintain an expensive order of existence. She hadbegged hard for this new home, and her husband weaklyhad given way. He never seemed able to refuse hiswife anything, Jeannette thought. He could be strongabout other matters, but where Mrs. Corey and hisson, Willis, were concerned he was foolishly irresolute.Mrs. Corey established herself in great feather in thenew house, hired four servants in addition to a liveriedchauffeur, who drove her Pope-Toledo, and began to[Pg 226]entertain lavishly. Her special victims were authors,particularly visiting ones from England, and if anyof them happened to be titled, it was always the occasionfor an elaborate affair. Mr. Corey hated theseentertainments, and to avoid them frequently wentto Washington on the plea of pressing business connectedwith the postal rates. The new order was exceedinglyexpensive. Jeannette could not understandwhy Mr. Corey put up with it.
But his wife’s reckless expenditure was a matterof small concern in comparison with his anxiety for hisdaughter. The unfortunate girl had fallen during asudden epileptic seizure, and struck her head upon abrass fender at the hearth. She had lain for threemonths in a semi-conscious condition, and though treatmentshad partially restored her mind, she was notwholly competent and would never again be able to goabout without an attendant. It was a great grief toher father. His troubles had been further augmentedat this particular time by Willis, who had been payingmarked attention to a married society woman with anunenviable reputation for many affairs with youngmen. Mr. Corey solved this particular problem bysending Willis on a hunting expedition to South Africawith Eric Ericsson, the Norwegian explorer. Ostensiblythe young man went to write articles about thetrip for Corey’s Commentary. It was announced hewas to be gone for a year. Jeannette was aware thatMr. Corey had paid Ericsson five thousand dollars totake his son with him; the money had been given, ofcourse, in the form of a contribution to scientificresearch.
It was small wonder that Corey’s physician ordered[Pg 227]a complete rest for him in the early spring of the year.The man was threatened with a nervous breakdown, hisdoctor told him; the matter of his indigestion musthave his serious attention; he must take a vacation,and he must take it immediately. Affairs at the officemade it impossible, at the moment, for this vacationto be of any length; even Jeannette realized that itwould be hazardous for the company to be left withoutMr. Corey’s guiding hand on the helm. It was decidedthat he should go to White Sulphur Springs, play golfas much as he was able, give especial attention to hisdiet, and keep in touch with the office by mail andtelegraph. He would be able, it was hoped, to get acomplete change of climate and a proper rest by thisarrangement.
“Of course, you’ll have to go with me, Miss Sturgis,”he said, wheeling round upon her when this conclusionhad been reached. “I couldn’t do a thing down therewithout you.”
“Why, certainly,” the girl answered. As their eyesmet a moment, the same thought passed through bothminds.
“We’ll take your mother along,” said Corey in hisbrisk, direct fashion.
Mrs. Sturgis at once was in a great state of agitation.
“But my pupils, dearie,—my little pupils!” shecried. “What will the darlings do without theirlessons?”
“Well, the little darlings can get along withoutthem,” Jeannette told her. “When their parents wantto take them off to the mountains or the seashore, theyjust take them, and there’s never any question aboutpaying for cancelled lessons. I guess you can do the[Pg 228]same for once in your life.... Anyhow, there’s no usearguing about it, Mama. Mr. Corey needs me, and ifyou don’t go with me, I’ll go without you. It’s perfectlyridiculous that we have to be chaperoned! He’slike my father! ... But I thought you’d enjoy thetrip. You know it isn’t going to cost either of us apenny!”
“Why, of course, dearie,—but you kind of springthis on me. I haven’t had a chance to think it over....Of course, I’d love it.”
§ 11
White Sulphur Springs was beautiful, the weatherperfection; Jeannette enjoyed every hour of her stay.She had wanted to get off by herself for some time, tothink calmly over what she must do about MartinDevlin. He had given her one of his hungry kisseswhen he said good-bye, and she felt at the moment hewas dearer to her than life itself. He was urging herwith voice, eyes and lips to be his wife. A realizationhad come to her that she could temporize with thesituation no longer; she must either agree to marryhim, or in some way bring the intimacy to an end.
Corey played golf mornings and afternoons. Jeannettewatched his mail, and answered most of it herself,only consulting him when necessary. She wouldgive him brief memorandums of what his mail contained,and show him the carbons of the letters she haddispatched, signed with his name, “per J. S.” He didnot have to give more than an hour a day to his affairs.
The doctor had warned him about his diet, and haddirected him to take a hydrochloric acid prescriptionthree times a day. Jeannette watched his food as well[Pg 229]as his mail; she studied the menus in the dining-roomand ordered his meals in advance, so that he would besure to eat the proper food; she made him take hismedicine, and persuaded him to try some electric bathsthat were operated in connection with the hotel. Shekept a chart of his weight, and when they met at thebreakfast table she would inquire about his night.She saw with satisfaction that he was improvingsteadily; his face, neck and hands were turning ahealthy bronze color, his appetite was excellent, hissleep undisturbed.
At first a problem presented itself in Mrs. Sturgis.The little woman was intensely excited at being soclosely associated with Mr. Corey. His presenceagitated her; she felt it was her duty to entertain him,to evince an interest in his comings and goings, tomaintain a pleasant and polite ripple of conversationat the table or whenever they were together. She believedit was expected of her to show an interest equalto her daughter’s in the state of his health, and that shemust always inquire how he felt and how he had passedthe night. Jeannette knew Mr. Corey hated this kindof fussy solicitude; it annoyed and irritated him. Thegirl suffered acutely whenever her mother commencedto ply him with her prim inquiries, or when she pretendedto be interested in his golf game about whichshe knew, and her daughter and Mr. Corey knew sheknew, not one thing. Jeannette suspected there weremoments when Mr. Corey could have strangled herwith delight.
There came a distressing hour eventually to motherand daughter. Jeannette had to tell her that Mr.Corey did not like her concern as to his welfare,[Pg 230]that he had come down to White Sulphur Springs torest, and that he must be spared all possible conversation.Mrs. Sturgis wept. She declared she hadnever been so “insulted” in her life, that she wasgoing to pack her trunk and go home at once.
It was in the midst of this scene that a bell-boy ofthe hotel brought Jeannette a telegram addressed toMr. Corey. She tore it open. It was from his wife.
“Dear Chandler, am lonesome without you. Wish tojoin you for rest of your stay. Wire me if I may come.Can leave at once. Love.
Rachael.”
Jeannette shut her teeth slowly as she read thewords. It was most unfortunate. Mrs. Corey wouldupset her husband, would interfere with his dailyroutine, clash with him at once over his golf, objectto the time he gave to it, find fault with Jeannette’spresence, angrily resent her supervision of his healthand meals, so that little of the hoped-for good wouldresult from these weeks of rest and recreation. AndMr. Corey would amiably agree to letting her join him!
Jeannette’s distress soon persuaded Mrs. Sturgis toforget her own grievances. Once her sympathy forher daughter was aroused, she waxed indignant overMrs. Corey’s selfishness and lack of consideration.
“Why, the woman must be crazy,” she said warmly.“He came down here just to get away from her!”
“Oh, I know,” murmured Jeannette, “and as sureas I show him her telegram he will tell me to wire herto come at once.”
“Well, I wouldn’t tell him anything about it,” declaredMrs. Sturgis.
They fell to discussing the situation. After long[Pg 231]consultation and several efforts at drafting it, theyconcocted the following answer:
“Mr. Corey is not well. I think it would be unwisefor you to join him just now. He is getting a maximumamount of rest and sleep and anything tending tointerfere with these I believe would be unfortunate.Will keep you advised of his condition.
Jeannette Sturgis.”
In the middle of the night that followed, Jeannetteawoke, and considered what she had done. As she layawake reviewing the matter, the conviction slowlycame to her that she had committed a dreadful blunder.Her mouth grew dry; a cold sweat broke out on her.She got up, went to the window and gazed out uponthe flat moonlight that filled the hotel garden belowwith evil shadows.
Mrs. Corey was certain to be wild! She would beinsane with anger! Jeannette could follow the workingsof her mind: Was her husband’s secretary to presumeto tell her what she should do where his welfarewas concerned? Was this stenographer at so much aweek to take it upon herself to tell her employer’swife she did not think her presence at her husband’sside a good thing for him? Was she implying that itwould be harmful, distressful for him? Did she havesuch entire confidence in herself and her judgment thatshe could send a telegram like that without even consultinghim? ...
Oh, the heavens were about to fall! It was an irreparablemistake! Mr. Corey, himself, would befurious with her! The mental distress she had beenanxious to save him, she had, with her own hand,[Pg 232]brought ten times more heavily upon him! She was afool,—an utter, inexcusable fool! She was—was—was——
She did not sleep the rest of the night. She rolledand tossed in her bed, and walked the floor.
In the morning she went straight to Mr. Corey andtold him what she had done. His seriousness as hefrowned, and pulled at his moustache confirmed herworst fears. He made no comment; asked a few questions;there was nothing more. Jeannette went ontalking volubly, at times incoherently, for the firsttime in all the years she had been his secretary, tryingto justify herself. Suddenly a rush of tears blindedher; she tried to check them; it was useless.
“Well, well, well, Miss Sturgis,” Corey said consolinglypatting her folded hands. “You mustn’t takeit so hard. It’s not such a serious matter. You’remaking too much of it. I guess I can square it for bothof us.”
He drew a sheet of hotel paper toward him andscribbled a couple of lines with his fountain pen.
“Here,” he said, shoving it towards her. “Send herthis telegram and see how it works.”
Jeannette read what he had written through blurredvision.
“Dear Rachael, Miss Sturgis has shown me yourwire of yesterday. I agree with her that it wouldbe a mistake for you to join me just at present. Amwriting you. Much love.
Chandler.”
The girl looked up at him with swimming eyes.Impulsively she caught his hand; his generosity overwhelmed[Pg 233]her; in a moment she had pressed the handto her lips.
§ 12
They returned to New York the end of March. Mrs.Sturgis had been in a flutter of excitement during thelast ten days of their stay; she was madly anxious toget home to see Alice, who had written she was goingto have another baby. Both her mother and sister weredistressed at the news; they felt it was unfortunateshe was going to have one so soon after her first.Little Etta was not a year old yet.
On Washington’s Birthday, which fell on a Fridaythat year, Martin Devlin had come all the way fromNew York to see Jeannette. He had brought with himin his pocket a flawless, claw-set diamond solitaire ina little plush jeweller’s box and had begged Jeannetteto allow him to slip it on her finger. She had foundherself missing him during the weeks of separationmore than she had believed it possible she could missanyone; she missed his big hands and his big voice, hisindefatigable solicitude, his joyous laugh, his unwaveringlove for her. In the months,—it was close to ayear,—that she had known him, she had grown dependentupon these; Martin was part of her life now;she could not imagine it without him; love had enrichedthe existence of both. But she was no nearermarrying him than she had ever been. During theweeks of sunshine, the hours of solitude and thinkingshe had enjoyed, it seemed to her that marriage wouldbe a terrible mistake; she believed she saw her destinylying straight ahead; she had chosen a vocation, and[Pg 234]like a nun, who renounces marriage, she too must giveup all thought of being a wife. She must pursue herlife work unhampered by domesticity. Not foreverwould she be Mr. Corey’s secretary; there were heightsbeyond she planned to attain. She told herself shehad the capacity of being a successful executive; someday she would hold a position like Miss Holland’s, havea department of her own. Walt Chase had charge ofthe Mail Order business; one of these days he would bepromoted to something more responsible, and Jeannetteintended then to ask Mr. Corey to give her hisplace. She knew she could do the work,—perhaps evenbetter than Walt Chase. She had plans already tomake it larger and to get out special literature designedto arouse women’s interest. Walt Chase was gettingseventy-five dollars a week now. She would like to beearning that much. She knew what she would do withit: she’d begin to put by a hundred a month, and investit in good securities; when she grew old or wanted totake a vacation, she would have something saved up.She had only commenced to think of these matters recently,but now the idea fired her. It would be wonderfulto have a private income of one’s own. And perhapsshe might take her mother with her on a littlejaunt to Europe! ... But matrimony? No, marriagewas too great a risk, too much of an experiment. Sheacknowledged she loved Martin Devlin as much as shecould ever love any man. Of that she was sure. Shewas not equally sure she would always be happy withhim, that she would like married life itself. Whyrisk something that might bring her untold sadness?
So Jeannette had argued before Martin arrived tosee her and so she had planned to tell him. It was a[Pg 235]familiar conclusion with her, but this time she determinedthat he should have the truth and she wouldconvince him that she could never marry him. Butwhen Martin put his big fingers around her arm anddrew her strongly to him, crushing her in his embracewhile he forced his lips against hers, she wanted toswoon in his arms and so die. The weakness was butmomentary; she fled from him, won control of herselfagain, and the bars were up once more between them.But she had not been able to bring herself to enunciateher high resolve; she had refused the ring, yet Martinhad returned to New York with the confident feelingthat some day she would wear it.
Mr. Corey had entirely regained his old buoyancyduring the six weeks’ rest. He came back to his deskwith all the dynamic energy which had so impressedJeannette when she first became his secretary. She,too, was glad to be home again, back in her own office,resuming her daily routine, gathering up the threadsof activity and influence she loved to have within hergrasp, and seeing Martin every day. Alice, with herround eyes reflecting in their depths that same curiouslight Jeannette had noticed when the first baby wascoming, welcomed her mother and sister in the gayestof spirits. She was having not nearly the same degreeof discomfort, she told them, that she had had whilecarrying Etta. She made them come to dinner thenight they arrived in New York; she wanted them tosee the baby, and to show them the sewing machine Roywas buying for her on the installment plan. Martinwas included in the party. This troubled Jeannette alittle, for it seemed to establish him in the familycircle.
[Pg 236]
She had returned from White Sulphur Springs onSunday. On Tuesday, Mr. Corey did not come to theoffice all day. Jeannette had expected him; he had saidnothing to her about being absent; she had no ideawhere he was. On Wednesday, when he came in, inthe middle of the morning, a strained white look uponhis face told her at once that something had gonewrong. He rang for her almost immediately, and indicateda chair for her, while he instructed the operatorat the telephone switch-board he was not to be disturbed.
“Miss Sturgis,” he began, working a troubled thumband forefinger at the ends of his moustache, “I havesome unhappy, news for you; it has been unhappy forme, and I fear it will be equally so for you. Mrs.Corey as you know is a high-strung, temperamentalwoman. You’ve no doubt observed she had a decidedlysuspicious nature....”
Jeannette’s heart stood still. In a flash she sawwhat was coming. A gathering roar began mountingin her ears, every muscle grew tense. She could seeMr. Corey’s mouth moving, his lips forming words andshe heard his voice, but what he was saying, was meaninglessto her; she could get no sense out of it. Suddenlyhe came to the word “divorce.” Her wholenature seemed to have been waiting for him to say it;as he pronounced it, she sat bolt upright, and a quickconvulsion passed through her. At once her mind wasclear and she was able to follow everything he wassaying.
“... wrote her a long letter from the hotel. I wasloving and affectionate in it—as affectionate as I knewhow to be, for I feared the unfortunate matter of the[Pg 237]telegrams would anger her. I think I wrote some eightor nine pages, and I tried to explain that you had beenmerely actuated by your solicitude for me. In myanxiety to placate her, I spoke very harshly of you,told her that you realised you had overstepped yourprovince, that I had given you a severe reprimand andthat you were much chagrined. I explained to her carefullyyour mother was with us, but she knew that wasto be before we left. I assured her of my devotion. Igot no answer. I suspected before we reached NewYork that she was at outs with me, but there have beenother occasions when this was so, and I had no doubtthat I could soothe her injured feelings. She hadalways resented your being my secretary; of course,you’ve known that. I did not dream, however, that shewas as angry with me as she evidently is. She has shutherself into her own apartment at home and declinesto see me; she is preparing to file against me a suit forabsolute divorce, accusing me of improper conductwith you at White Sulphur Springs, claiming that yourmother was bribed into conniving——”
“Oh!” gasped Jeannette.
“I am telling you these unpleasant details, so thatyou can fully grasp the situation. You will have toknow in any case, and I think it is only fair to you togive you the whole truth from the start. She hasgone to Leonard and Harvester and persuaded them torepresent her. I don’t know what Dick Leonard isthinking about; he has known me for twenty years.Winchell, whom I saw yesterday, has been to interviewLeonard, and he informs me that a detective agencywas employed to watch us while we were at the hotel,and that affidavits have been obtained from some of[Pg 238]the hotel employees which substantiate Mrs. Corey’sallegations.”
Mr. Corey smiled wryly.
“I don’t want to go on shocking you in this fashion.I just wish to say that Winchell showed me a copy ofthe plea, and the statements contained in it are asodious as they are false. You and I have been sparednothing.”
Again Mr. Corey paused, and a savage frown gatheredon his brow. Jeannette was trembling; she wether lips and swallowed convulsively.
“The brunt of the attack,” he resumed after a moment,“seems to be levelled against you. Leonard toldWinchell that Mrs. Corey had no desire to expose me,—thatwas the word used; she wishes to bring to animmediate termination a relationship which she cannottolerate; she declines,—so Leonard states,—to remainmy wife as long as you are my secretary. AsWinchell points out we have no way of determiningwhether or not she is in earnest. Of course she cannotprove her suit; she can prove nothing; but she seesquite clearly she can blacken your reputation beforethe world and force you out of this office by the verypublicity which is bound to be attached to the case....It makes me angry; it makes me very angry. I havebeen thinking over the situation from every angle, andI would willingly, and, I confess, with a good deal ofrelish, contest her suit, force her to retract every wordshe has said against either of us, and assist you inevery way I could in suing her for libel. All my lifemy guiding principle has been justice. I believe injustice; I believe in a square deal, and this is foul, rankand outrageously unfair. If there was any possible[Pg 239]way of obtaining justice for you I wouldn’t care anythingfor myself. I would welcome the publicity; certainlyI have no cause to dread it. But it would serveyou hard.... Take our own office here,—how many ofthose people outside there would believe in your or myinnocence, no matter how completely we were vindicated?
“But far more important that the opinion of any oneof those out there,—or that of all of them together,—isthe effect this unpleasant story would have uponyour young man. No doubt he has the same confidencein you that I have, but you will appreciate that no manlikes to have for a wife a girl who has been mixed upin a scandal.... You see, how it would be? ...Devlin is a fine fellow; I like him; he will make hismark. You have confided in me that you care forhim.... Well, Miss Sturgis, I advise you to marryhim!—marry him before this ugly story gets bruitedabroad. I am convinced it will never be told. I knowMrs. Corey and I know how she will act. As soon asshe hears you are married and no longer here, she willwithdraw her suit and be anxious to make amends. Ihave no desire for a divorce. I understand all too wellthat it will be Mrs. Corey who will suffer if we areseparated, not I, and I have the wish to protect heragainst herself. There are the children to think of, too.This is merely the act of an insane woman,—a womanblinded by jealousy. Outrageously unfair as it is toyou, and much as I shall hate to part with you, it seemsto be the wisest thing to do. Winchell advises it, andI confess when I think of your own interests and everythingthat is involved, I agree with him. What do youthink?”
[Pg 240]
Jeannette sat staring at her folded hands. Slowlythe tears welled themselves up over her lashes andsplashed upon the crisp linen of her shirtwaist. Shewas not sorrowful; she was only hurt,—hurt andcruelly shocked that anyone could believe the thingsMrs. Corey had said of her and this man who wasfather, friend, and counsellor to her, whom she lovedand respected and who, she knew, loved and respectedher in return. Their relationship during the four anda half years they had been so intimately associatedhad been above criticism; it had been perfect, irreproachable.Jeannette felt foully smirched by the baseimputation.
“Gracious—goodness!” she said at last upon a quiveringbreath, her breast rising. Tears trembled on herlashes, but for the instant her eyes blazed.
“Well,” Mr. Corey said wearily after a pause, “it’stoo bad,—isn’t it?”
Too bad? Too bad? Ah, yes, it was indeed too bad!Silence filled the book-lined room, the very room shehad taken such pains and such delight in furnishing sotastefully. She recalled Mrs. Corey had resented that!She had put some fresh pine boughs in the earthenwarepot in the corner yesterday, and the office smelled fragrantlyof balsam. The rumble of the presses below senta fine tremor through the building. Both man and girlstared at the floor. They were thinking the samethings; there was no need to voice them; both understood;it was all clear now to each.
He was right. The best thing,—the only thing forher to do was to resign. That would immediatelypacify his wife; it would avert the breach and saveCorey from an ugly scandal which could only hurt[Pg 241]him. And then there was herself to consider, her owngood name, her mother and Alice, and there was Martin!Nothing stood in the way now of her giving himthe answer for which he eagerly waited. Martin! Ah,there was a refuge for her, there was a haven readyto welcome her! He would take her to himself, protecther, shield her against these slandering tongues!
Suddenly at the thought of him, so merry and strongand confident, of his joy at the promise she was nowfree to make, the floodgates of her heart opened and,bowing her head upon her fiercely clasped hands, sheburst into convulsive sobbing.
[Pg 242]
CHAPTER III
§ 1
June sunshine streamed in through the open windowsin an avalanche of golden light and lay in brightparallelograms on the floor. Jeannette was makingthe bed. She was in the gayest of spirits and sang asshe punched the pillows to rid them of lumpiness, andsmoothed them flat. She spread the brilliant cretonnecover, with its gaudy design of pheasants, over thebed, turned it neatly back two feet from the head-board,laid the pillows in place, and folded the cretonneover them, tucking it in gently at the top. The bed-coverwas not as long as it should have been, and itrequired nice adjustment to make it lap over thepillows. It was the Wanamaker man’s fault, Jeannettealways thought, when she reached this point in hermorning’s housework; she had told him with theutmost pains how she wished the cretonne to go, andit was his mistake that it was not long enough. Shortas it was, it could be made to reach by allowing onlya scant inch or two at the bottom. She had put thesame material at the windows in narrow strips ofoutside curtaining, and there was a gathered valanceacross the top. The bedroom was “sweet,”—charmingand beautifully appointed like the rest of herdomain. Her mother and Alice had “raved” abouteverything. Martin liked it, too, though his wife wished[Pg 243]he could find the same amount of pleasure in theirlittle home that she did. Martin was like most men:he did not notice things, never commented upon herideas and clever arrangements.
To her the apartment was perfection. It was situatedin a building that had just been erected in theWest Eighties, halfway between Broadway and theDrive. It had five rooms and the rent was fifty dollarsa month, more perhaps than they ought to bepaying, but Martin had argued that ten dollars oneway or another did not make any particular differenceand if it suited Jeannette, he was for signing thelease. So he had put his name to the formidable-lookinglegal document, and the young Devlins hadagreed to pay the big rent and to live there for a year.They could remain in it for life, Jeannette declared,as far as she was concerned; she could not imagineever wanting a more beautiful or a more satisfactoryhome.
The apartment contained all the latest improvements:electric lights, steam heat, a house telephone.The woodwork was chastely white throughout; theelectrolier in the dining-room a plain dull brass; thefixtures in all the rooms were of the same lusterlessmetal; between dining-and living-rooms were glassdoors, the panes set in squares; the bathroom floor wassolid marquetry of small octagonal tiles embedded incement, and glossy tiling rose about the walls to theheight of the shoulder; the room glistened with shiningnickel and flawless porcelain; the bathtub wassumptuous and had a shower arrangement with arubber sheeting on rings to envelop the bather. Martinhad grinned when his eye took in these details. He[Pg 244]swore in his enthusiasm: by God, he certainly wouldenjoy a bathroom like that; it certainly would begreat. But Jeannette was more intrigued with thekitchen. Here were white-painted cupboards, fragrantlysmelling of new wood, and a marvellous pantryfull of neat contrivances, drawers, bins and lockers.In one of them Jeannette discovered a little sawdustand a few carpenter’s shavings; they spoke eloquentlyof the newness and cleanliness of everything. Therewas a shining gas-stove, too, with a roomy oven thathad an enamelled door and a bright nickel knob to it.There was even a gas heater connected with the boiler;all one had to do was to touch a match to the burner,—therenting agent explained,—and presto! the flamecame up, heated the coil of copper pipe and in amoment,—oh, yes, indeed, much less than a minute!—therewas the hot water!
It had seemed so miraculous to Jeannette that shehad not believed it would work, but it did, perfectly.No fault was to be found with anything connected withthe wonderful establishment.
There had been plenty of money with which tofurnish it just as Jeannette pleased. The publishingcompany had presented her with a check for two hundredand fifty dollars as a wedding gift in appreciationof her faithful services, and Mr. Corey had supplementedthis with one of his own for a like amount.
“No,—no,—don’t thank me,—please, Miss Sturgis,”he had said almost impatiently as he handed it toher. “I feel so badly about your going, and I cannever pay you for all you’ve done for me. This is apoor evidence of my gratitude and esteem. I wishI might make it thousands instead of hundreds.”
[Pg 245]
In addition, he had sent her on the day she wasmarried a tall silver flower vase that must have cost,Jeannette and Martin decided, almost as much as theamount of his check.
Her mother had borrowed five hundred upon the oldpaid-up policy, asserting that she had done so forAlice, and the older daughter was entitled to a likeamount upon getting married. And besides all this,Martin had turned over to his wife on the day the leasehad been signed, several hundreds more.
It appeared that a year before, about the very timehe had met Jeannette, his mother died. She had livedin Watertown, New York, where Martin was born, andwhere she had an interest in a small grocery business.Martin’s father,—dead for sixteen years,—had been agrocer and had run a “back-room” in connection withhis store, where Milwaukee beer had been dispensedbut never “hard” liquor. Jeannette did not give hermother these facts when she learned them; it wasnobody’s business, she contended; everybody whenhe came to America was a pioneer and began in ahumble way. Paul Devlin’s old partner, Con Donovan,who had come over from Ballaghaderreen with himin ’73, had carried on the business after his demise,and there had been money enough to send Martin toschool and to support the boy and Paul’s widow. Butwhen his mother had followed his father to the grave,Martin had no longer any interest in groceries, andhe gladly accepted the three thousand dollars ConDonovan offered him for his inherited share of thebusiness. It hadn’t been enough to do anything with,Martin explained to his wife; so he had just “blown”it. It accounted for the theatre tickets, the presents,[Pg 246]the entertainments with which he had backed hiswooing. There was nearly a thousand dollars leftafter the honeymoon to Atlantic City, and Martin hadgone to his bank and transferred the whole account tohis wife’s name upon their return, telling her to goahead and furnish the new home in any way shefancied.
Jeannette had nearly seventeen hundred dollars inthe bank when she began. She had no thought ofspending so much, but it melted away in the mostsurprising fashion. Martin, in a way, was responsiblefor this: whenever she consulted him, he was alwaysin favor of the more expensive course. She wouldhave been quite satisfied with a two-hundred-and-twenty-dollardining-room set, but he decided in favorof the one that cost three hundred and fifty. Whenshe said she would be contented with the simple white-paintedwooden bed, he had chosen a brass one andordered the box-spring mattress that had cost nearlya hundred dollars more. He had also persuaded heragainst her judgment in the matter of the big davenportand the upholstered chairs that went with it forthe living-room. Then there had been the matter ofthe two oil paintings in ornate gold frames upon whichthey had chanced in Macy’s while on a shopping tour.Jeannette had grave doubts about the oils; she did notknow whether they were good or bad. Her misgivingsin regard to them may have sprung from the fact thatthey hung in Macy’s art gallery; but there could beno questioning the handsomeness and impressivenessof the gold frames.
“Why sure, let’s have ’em,” Martin said, eyeingthem judicially as he and his wife stood together considering[Pg 247]the purchase; “they look like a million dollars,and anything I hate are bare walls! You wantto have the place lookin’—oh, you know—artistic andclassy.”
“The autumn coloring in this one is most lifelike,”the eager young salesman ventured. “It seems tome they both have a great deal of depth and quality,—don’tyou think?—and while, of course, the size hasnothing to do with the art, still I really think youought to take into consideration the fact that thiscanvas is thirty-six by twenty-seven, and the otherone is nearly as large. Now for twenty-five and thirtydollars....”
“Sure, let’s have ’em,” Martin decided in his lordly,arbitrary way, “and if I find out they’re no good,” headded to the beaming salesman, “I’ll come back hereand slap Mrs. Macy on the wrist!”
This last was most appreciated, and the very nextday, in much excelsior and paper wrappings, the twoheavily framed paintings arrived and now hung facingone another in the front room. Jeannette used tostudy them, finger on lip, wondering if they had meritor were nothing but daubs. They appeared all right;there was nothing to criticize about them as far as shecould see, but she knew they would never mean anythingto her as long as she remembered they had beenbought at Macy’s. Her mother warmly shared herhusband’s enthusiasm.
“Why, dearie, they look perfectly beautiful,” shetold her daughter, “and they give your home suchan air of distinction. I wouldn’t worry my head aboutwhere they came from, as long as they give youpleasure.”
[Pg 248]
But if Jeannette had misgivings about the pictures,she had no doubts about anything else her perfectlittle home contained. It was complete as far as shecould make it, from the service of plated flat silver herold associates at the office had clubbed together andgiven her, to the carpet sweeper that had a little closetof its own to stand in along with the extra leaves of thedining-room table. There were towels, sheets, tablelinen, chairs, pictures and rugs. She had indulgedher fancy somewhat in curtaining, had decided on plainnet at the windows with narrow strips of some brightlycolored material on either side. She had picked outa salmon-tinted, satin-finished drapery at Wanamaker’sfor the living-room, and gay cretonne for herbedroom, and she had had these curtains made atthe store.
“I’d be forever doing the work,” she had said injustifying this extravagance to Martin, “and we wantto get settled some time!”
“Sure,—have ’em made,” he had agreed genially.
The dining-room had puzzled Jeannette for a longtime, but after the dark blue carpet had been selectedand made into a rug to fit the room, she had found ablue madras that just matched its tone. It cost a greatdeal more than she felt she ought to pay, but she hadbought the twelve yards she needed, nevertheless, andhad determined she could save something by cuttingand hemming the curtains herself; she could take themout to Alice’s and use her sewing-machine.
It was all finished now, Jeannette reflected, pushingthe big brass bed into place against the wall. Theyhad been a little reckless perhaps, but now they wereready to settle down, begin to live quietly and to save.[Pg 249]They owed about two hundred dollars at Wanamaker’sbut would soon manage to pay that off.
She went on calculating expenses as she ran the carpetsweeper about the room. Martin liked a good dealof meat, so she doubted if she could manage the tableon less than twelve or maybe, thirteen dollars a week;that would take half of what he gave her on Saturdays.She needed so much for this, so much for that,and she would have to get herself some kind of a silkdress for the hot weather; still she thought she couldsave five or six dollars a week and Martin ought to beable to do the same; they would have the Wanamakerbill paid in a few months. As she went on running thesweeper under the bed and pushing it gingerly intocorners so as not to mar the paint of the baseboards,she reflected that, as a matter of fact, Martin hadreally no right to expect her to pay anything out ofher weekly money on what they owed Wanamaker;every cent of that bill had been for house furnishing,and it had been clearly understood between them thather money was for the table and herself. Still it hadbeen she who had wanted the curtains; she ought tohelp pay for them.
§ 2
When the bathroom was cleaned, Martin’s bathtowel spread along the rim of the tub to dry, his dirtyshirt and collar put into the laundry basket, his shoesset neatly on the floor of the closet, the ash receiverin the living-room emptied and the cushions on thedavenport straightened, Jeannette settled herself ina rocking-chair at the window, her basket of sewing inher lap. She hated sewing; the basket was in tangled[Pg 250]confusion, but it was always that way. Spools andyarn, papers of needles, pins, buttons, threads, tape,and scraps of material were all mixed up together ina fine snarl. She found a certain degree of satisfactionin its confusion. To-day she had a run in one of hersilk stockings to draw together, and a button to sewon Martin’s coat.
She caught the coat up first and as she held it inher hands, the song that she had been humming allmorning died upon her lips. She looked at the garmentwith softening eyes; then she raised its roughtexture to her cheek and kissed it. It smelled of itsowner,—a smell that was fragrance to her,—an odorscented faintly with cigars but even more redolent ofthe man, himself; it was strong, it was masculine, itwas Martin. There was no smell like it in the world orone half so sweet.
She mused as she searched for a black silk thread,needle and thimble. When Alice had extolled to herthe wonderful happiness of marriage, how right shehad been! Jeannette pitied all unmarried women now.There was a Freemasonry among wives, and all spinsters,old and young, were debarred from the mysticcircle. She wondered what made the difference. Unmarriedwomen were all buds that had never openedto the full beauty of the mature flower. They were ofthe uninitiated and as long as they remained so wouldnever attain their full powers. Miss Holland, now,was a fine woman, efficient, capable, executive, but howmuch more able and efficient and remarkable if she hadmarried! She might be divorced, she might be awidow. That did not make a difference, it seemed toJeannette in the full bloom of her own wifehood; it was[Pg 251]marrying that counted; it was that “Mrs.” before awoman’s name, that gave her standing, poise, positionin the world, broadened her sympathies, increased hercapabilities.
She thought her own marriage perfection; she consideredherself the happiest, most fortunate of wives;her pretty home enchanted her, and Martin was themost satisfactory of adoring husbands. He had hisfaults, she presumed, and she, no doubt, had hers, butthere were never woman and man so happy together,so ideally congenial. She thought of her honeymoon,—thefew days at Atlantic City. She had never learnedto swim, but Martin was an expert. He had lookedstunning in his bathing-suit,—straight, clean-limbed,with his big chest and shoulders and his slim waist,—thefigure of an athlete, as she indeed discovered himto be when he struck out into the sea with the freedomof a seal, flinging the water from his black mop of hairwith a quick head-toss now and then, his arms workinglike flails. They had plunged through the breakerstogether, and Martin had held her high up as the curlingwater crashed down upon them. It had been coldbut exhilarating, and a group had gathered on theboardwalk and down on the beach to watch the twobattling with the waves. Then there had been thequiet rolling up and down the boardwalk in the bigchair while the tide of Easter visitors sauntered pastthem in all their gay clothing. The weather had beenwarm, the sunshine glorious. She thought of theirroom at the hotel and the intimate times of dressingand undressing in each other’s presence. It had beenemotional, exciting, a little frightening, but there hadbeen the discovery of perfect comradeship, and all[Pg 252]the other phases of marriage,—pleasant and unpleasant,—hadbeen forgotten. Companionship,—wholehearted,unreserved, constant,—that was the outstandingfeature of marriage for Jeannette.
Her mind carried her on to contemplate the futureand what it held in store for them. Her marriage withMartin must be a success. There must be no quarrelling,no disagreements, no bickerings. There mustnever, never be any talk of divorce between them....Ah, how she hated the word divorce now! Shehad never given the subject any particular considerationheretofore; it was merely an accepted proceedingby which unhappily married people won back theirfreedom. But how differently she felt about it to-day!She would die rather than ever consent to a divorcefrom Martin! She’d forgive him anything! He wasa little spoiled, perhaps; he liked to have his own way,and he hated anything unpleasant. It must be herduty to humor and educate him; she must give a little,exact a little. A successful marriage, she believed,depended upon that. A husband and wife must becomeadjusted to one another. If necessary, she resolved,she would give more than she received. Oh, yes, shewould give and give and give!
Martin had only one serious fault, and that was hetoo much liked having a good time. It seemed to herhe was never satisfied with anything less than anepicure’s dinner; he must have the best all the time.He loved cocktails and wine and good cigars, a“snappy” show, a little bite of something afterwards,a gay place to dine, lively music, lights, color. Hewanted “to go places where there was somethingdoing,” and he didn’t want “to go places where there[Pg 253]was nothing doing.” These were familiar expressionson his lips. His wife told herself she liked a goodtime, too; she loved the theatre and to dress well, andshe liked a gay restaurant, good food and music, butshe didn’t want them all the time; she wasn’t as dependentupon them as Martin was. A husband andwife, she considered, should not indulge in too muchof that kind of frivolous living, and no later than lastevening she had had a talk with Martin about it.
“Aw,—sure my dear,—you’re dead right,” he hadassured her. “I know. We must settle down, and stayat home nights, but we’re still having our honeymoon,and I can’t get used to the idea that you’re mywife. It just seems to me we ought to celebrate all thetime.”
Martin was always so reasonable, thought Jeannette,recalling his words. She decided she would have aspecially nice dinner for him that night to show himhow much she appreciated his sweetness. She pauseda moment over the decision, as she recalled that somethingvague had been said to her mother about comingto dine with them. She knew Martin would preferto be alone and she wanted to encourage the ideaof his spending the evenings quietly with her. Shewould go to see her mother and explain matters; shewould have lunch with her; at Kratzmer’s she wouldstop and get some salad, and she’d buy some crumpetsat Henri’s and take them along with her.
Abruptly, she determined to let the run in her stockingwait. She wound the silk several times about thebutton on Martin’s coat, pushed the needle through thefabric twice, and snapped the thread close to the clothwith an incisive bite of her teeth. Then she carried the[Pg 254]work to her room, hanging Martin’s coat on a hangerin the closet.
As she proceeded to dress carefully, she consideredeach detail of her costume. Her wardrobe was delightfullycomplete; she had plenty of clothes, a suitablegarment for any demand. While an office worker,she had always dressed with certain soberness, aneye to business decorum. But as a married woman, ayoung matron who lived at the Dexter Court Apartments,she felt she could allow herself more latitude.She ran her eye appraisingly over the file of dressesthat hung neatly in her closet; their number gratifiedher; she was even satisfied with her hats. Now shelifted down her blue broadcloth tailor suit, coveredhandsomely with braid, and selected a soft white silkshirtwaist that had a V-neck and a pleated ruffledcollar; she drew on fine brown silk stockings and fittedher feet into tan Oxfords. Her ankles were trim andshapely. She never had appeared so smartly dressed;her appearance delighted her. But she was in doubtabout the hat for the day, and finally selected theLichtenberg model: a silvered straw, with a flaringbrim, trimmed in gray velvet and a curling gray cock’sfeather. As she pulled her hands into tan gloves andgave a final glance at herself in the long mirror of thebathroom door she decided that was the costume shewould wear when she went to the offices of the ChandlerB. Corey Company to pay her old friends a visit.
§ 3
Mrs. Sturgis had declared after Jeannette’s marriageshe preferred to remain in the old apartment[Pg 255]where she had been comfortable for so many years.To be sure the rent was thirty dollars a month, butshe said she could manage that. She had her musiclessons,—four or five hours a day,—and there wereother pupils to be had if she needed the income. Butit did not appear necessary. Elsa Newman’s cousin,Cora Newman, who had been studying with Bellinifor two years, had developed a truly remarkablemezzo, and she preferred Mrs. Sturgis to any otheraccompanist. The very week Jeannette was marriedCora Newman had given her first public recital, andMrs. Sturgis had been at the piano. She had had avery beautiful black dress made for the occasion andthe affair had been a great success. The critics hadpraised Miss Newman’s voice and the Tribune hadgiven a special line to the player: “The singer wassympathetically accompanied at the piano by Mrs.Henrietta Spaulding Sturgis.” Now both Elsa andCora wanted her whenever either of them sang, andthere were plans ahead for a concert tour to Quebecand Montreal. If that turned out successfully, theywere talking of an up-state trip in the fall throughRochester, Syracuse, as far as Buffalo.
“You know what I eat, lovies,” Mrs. Sturgis hadexplained to her daughters when keeping the apartmentwas being discussed among them, “is microscopic,and it won’t cost me five a week. I can alwaysget whatever I need at Kratzmer’s and a little tea andtoast is often all I want.”
“But that’s just it!” Jeannette had expostulated.“You don’t eat enough to keep a bird alive, anyhow,and if you live by yourself, you won’t eat that!”
[Pg 256]
Mrs. Sturgis had assured them she would take goodcare of herself.
“You can’t imagine me happy in a boarding-house,”she had challenged, “and I wouldn’t be able to have apiano there or give lessons!” There had been noanswer to this; boarding in one place and renting astudio in another would be even more expensive thankeeping the apartment.
§ 4
To-day Jeannette heard the familiar finger exercisesas she neared the top of the long stair-flight ofher old home: ta-ta-ta-ta-de-da-da-da-da—ta-ta-ta-ta-de-da-da-da-da,and as she noiselessly opened the backdoor kitchenward, her mother’s voice from the studio:“One-and-two-and-three-and-four-and....”
She took off her hat and gloves, laid them on hermother’s bed and went to peek in the cupboard; therewas a piece of bakery pie and a few eggs. She decidedto make an omelette and with the toasted crumpets andtea, a little jar of marmalade and the potato salad shehad brought with her, she and her mother would lunchroyally. It was ten minutes to twelve; the lesson wouldsoon be over.
They lingered over their repast until nearly two.Mrs. Sturgis had lessons from four to six,—the after-schoolhours,—but until then she was free. She hadhad half a notion, she confessed, of going down toUnion Square that afternoon to look at some new pianopieces for beginners at Schirmer’s. Jeannette toldher she would go with her,—she wanted to get analligator pear for Martin’s dinner,—but neither ofthem appeared inclined to terminate the little luncheon[Pg 257]at the kitchen table. They had finished the crumpets,but there was still marmalade left, and Mrs. Sturgisproduced some pieces of cold left-over toast withwhich to finish it.
She was full of news and her affairs. In the firstplace, Alice and Roy were going to Freeport on LongIsland for the summer. They had found a very niceplace where they could board for eighteen dollars aweek,—oh, yes, both of them and the baby, too,—Roywas going to commute every day, and the Bronx flatwas to be closed,—just turn the key in the door andleave it until they were ready to come back. Thenthere was great talk about the concert tour. Bellini,who had sailed only the day before yesterday for Italy,had thought Miss Elsa and Miss Cora had better studyanother winter before attempting it, but a most encouragingletter had been received from Montreal, andboth the girls were eager to try the experiment. Theywere in doubt as to whether they should take a violinistwith them or not; of course a violinist would bea drawing-card, but they would have his salary andall his expenses to pay, which would cut down theprofits—if there were any! Jeannette’s mother didnot think it was in the least necessary, but if theydidn’t take one, Miss Elsa had said Mrs. Sturgis hadbetter be prepared to do some solo numbers, and thatmeant she’d have to do some real hard practising asshe hadn’t done anything like that for years! Shedid not know whether to work up the MendelssohnCapricioso or the Chopin Fantaisie Impromptu; whatdid Jeannette think? Of course there was that Meditation....
But as her mother rambled on, Jeannette’s mind[Pg 258]wandered. Her thoughts were with Martin. Shewondered what he was doing at that moment; withwhom he had lunched; how she could entertain him inthe evenings and keep him from wanting to go out. Hemust have some friends whom she could invite todinner. There was Beatrice Alexander, of course, andshe had heard him speak pleasantly of Herbert Gibbs,—theyounger of the two Gibbs brothers. He was married,she remembered; his wife had a baby and theylived somewhere down on Long Island. She herselfwould have liked to have asked Miss Holland, but shewas hardly the type that would interest Martin. Therewas Tommy Livingston,—but Tommy was really tooyoung. Her mind rested on Sandy MacGregor! Hewas a widower,—his wife had been dead for over ayear,—she knew he would love to come to them, andMartin was sure to like him. The thought elated her:Sandy and Beatrice Alexander would make an excellentcombination.
She accompanied her mother downtown in gayspirits, full of determination to put this plan immediatelyinto effect.
§ 5
The dinner-party, when it took place, was not altogethera success; still it was far from being a failure.Sandy unquestionably had a good time, for he andMartin took a great liking to each other. Beatrice hadproven the unfortunate element. She had always beendiffident and the eye-glasses hopelessly disfigured her.Martin liked her because he knew her so well,—onehad to know Beatrice to appreciate her,—but Sandyhad been merely polite and amiable. He enjoyed Martin[Pg 259]and Martin’s cocktails, however,—they had one ortwo before dinner,—and each time they raised theirglasses, Sandy said: “Saloon!” which had amusedMartin vastly. The dinner itself was delicious,—evenJeannette felt satisfied. The baked onions stuffed withminced ham,—Alice had suggested that and shownher how to do them,—had been enthusiastically praised,the chicken had been tender and the iced pudding,ordered at Henri’s, could not have been more delicious.
After dinner they played auction bridge; Martinloved cards in any form and he undertook to teachJeannette; Sandy was an old hand at the game, butBeatrice Alexander was but a timid player. Afterthree or four rubbers, the men abandoned the cards,which, Jeannette could see, bored them with such partners,and began matching quarters, and Martin hadwon eighteen dollars. The last match had been for“double or nothing” and Jeannette was hardly ableto stifle the quick breath of relief that came to herlips when Martin won. She had always known Sandyto be liberal-handed and he paid his losses good-humoredly,telling Jeannette in a way that made herbelieve he meant what he said, that he had had a wonderfulevening, and would telephone shortly to ask theDevlins to dinner with him. He generously offered totake Beatrice Alexander home, and Jeannette returnedfrom the elevator, where she and Martin hadbidden good-night to their departing guests, to thedisorder and smoky atmosphere of their little homewith the feeling that it had all been worth while.
“My Lord!” Martin said that night as he lay in bedwaiting for her to wind the clock, open the window,snap out the lights and join him, “I wish you had a[Pg 260]girl out there in the kitchen to help you with all thatmess. Damned if I like the idea of my wife doingall those dirty dishes, and having to clean up everythingto-morrow. It will take you all day.”
“Well,” Jeannette answered, “I’ll hate it to-morrowmyself. But I really don’t mind very much. I lovethe idea of entertaining our friends. But we can’thave a girl yet. I’ve got to do my own work for awhileat any rate. You see, Martin, I was figuring itout....”
She had crawled in beside him and at once his armswere about her and she had nestled close to him, herhead on his hard shoulder.
“Your friend Sandy’s a corker,” he said, kissing herhair and ignoring her plan of figures and economy. “Ilike that guy fine. You can have all that eighteen dollarsI won from him.”
“Oh, Martin!”
“Sure,—of course.”
“I’ll put it in the till.”
The till was a small round canister intended for teabut converted into a savings bank.
“You’ll do nothing of the kind,” Martin told her.“You blow it in on yourself, or for something nicefor the house.”
“But, Mart,” she remonstrated, “I want to pay offthat Wanamaker’s bill! We can’t have a girl in thekitchen until we don’t owe a cent.”
“Aw, don’t worry so, Jan. You’re always scaredwe’re going to go bust or something. I’ll get a raiseas soon as summer’s over. Gibbs is bound to comethrough ’cause he knows I’ll quit if he don’t. I bringin a lot of fine business to that outfit, and all my customers[Pg 261]are dandy friends of mine. I’ll not be workingfor him at fifty per much longer.”
“Mart,” Jeannette said suddenly, “wouldn’t it bea good plan to have Herbert Gibbs and his wife todinner some night and show them how nice we areand how nice we live and what a good dinner we cangive them? You know it might help; he tells hisbrother everything, Beatrice says.”
“Great! Say, that’s a bully idea!” Martin was atonce enthusiastic. “Herb would like it fine and sowould Mrs. Herb. I’ll get some good old Burgundyand pour it into him and feed him some Corona-Coronasand he’ll just expand like a night-bloomingcereus.”
And on this happy plan, still with an arm about her,her head pillowed on his shoulder, they drifted off tosleep.
§ 6
Some six weeks after her return to New York fromAtlantic City, Jeannette arrayed herself in her braidedbroadcloth tailor suit, drew on her tan silk stockingsand tan shoes, set the gray hat at a smart angle uponher head, added the touch of a fine meshed veil thatbrought the curling gray cock’s feather close to herhair, and paid her long-deferred visit to the office.
As she turned in at the familiar portals she wasastonished at the difference between her present feelingsand those of old. A year before she had enteredthe building with a hurried step, a preoccupied manner,her mind busy as she hastened to her work withways of attacking and dispatching it. She had beenconscious then that she was the “president’s secretary,”[Pg 262]and had borne herself accordingly as she madeher way through the groups of gossiping girls, awarethey thought her haughty and unapproachable. To-day,she was Mrs. Martin Devlin,—a matron, smartlydressed,—come to pay a visit to the publishing housewith the air of a lady who had perhaps arrived toselect a book in the retail department or to enter asubscription. The dusty office atmosphere was aliento her now; the bustling, eager clerks, intent upontheir affairs, seemed pettily employed; there was somethingridiculous about it all to her. Yet less than threemonths ago this had been her world; all the vitalinterests of her life had been centered within thesesquare walls. She still loved it, loved the building, thecold cement floors, the bare ceilings studded withsprinkler valves, loved what evidences of her ownhandiwork she recognized: the window-boxes, and theminiature close-clipped trees that stood in the entrance,the name of the house in neat gold lettering onthe street windows.
Ellis, the colored elevator man, was the first torecognize her; he grinned, flashing his white teeth outof his black face, chuckling largely.
“Well, it certainly is good to see you; it certainlyis like old times to see you ’round,” he said, rollingback the clanging door.
She stepped out upon the familiar fourth floor. Itwas the same—no different: the old racket, the oldhum and confusion. A minute or two passed beforeshe was seen; then there was a general whispering,machines stopped clicking, heads turned; there weresmiles and nods from all parts of the big room. Mrs.O’Brien, Mr. Kipps’ stenographer, rose and came to[Pg 263]greet her; Miss Sylvester and Miss Kate Smith followedsuit. Presently there was a small crowd aroundher with questions, laughter, little cooing cries ofpleasure, a feminine chatter. She caught Mr. Allister’seye as he was leaving Mr. Corey’s office.
“’Pon my word!” She could not hear him say it,but she saw his lips form the phrase and noted hispleased surprise. He came forward at once, smilingbroadly, pushing his way through the women who gaveplace to him.
“Glad to see you, Miss Sturgis,” he said beaming.“Only, by Jove, you’re not ‘Miss Sturgis’ any more! ...‘Devlin,’ isn’t it? ... Does Mr. Corey knowyou’re here? He’ll be delighted, I know. Wants tosee you badly. Two or three matters have come uphe’d like to ask you about; nobody ’round here seemsto know a thing about them.... Come in; he’ll bemighty glad to see you.”
He pulled back the swing gate in the counter andwalked with her towards Mr. Corey’s office.
As Jeannette passed within a few feet of Miss Holland’sdesk and as their eyes met she mouthed:
“See you in just a minute.”
“Here’s an old friend of ours,” said Mr. Allister,opening Mr. Corey’s door.
The white head came up, and immediately a pleasedflush spread over the face of the man at the desk.
“Well—well—well,” he said, getting to his feet andcoming to take both her hands. “Miss Sturgis! It’sgood to see you again.”
“She’s not Miss Sturgis any more,” laughed Mr.Allister.
“That’s so—that’s so; it’s ‘Devlin’ of course. Well,[Pg 264]Mrs. Devlin, you surely look as though marriage agreedwith you.”
They were all laughing in good spirits. A few momentsof inconsequential remarks, and then Allisterwithdrew while Mr. Corey made Jeannette sit down.
“Oh, I must have a talk,” he insisted, “and hear allabout you.”
The door opened, and young Tommy Livingstoncame in with a question on his lips. His eyes lightedas he recognized the caller.
“My new secretary,” said Corey smiling.
“Oh, is that so?” Jeannette was pleased; the boyhad always been a protégé of hers. “Well, Tommy,this is a step up for you!”
“Yes, indeed,” he said grinning. “I’m doing thebest I know how....”
“Tommy does very well,” approved Mr. Corey.
“I didn’t know you understood dictation,” saidJeannette.
“I don’t very well. I’ve got a stenographer in myoffice,—’member Miss Bates?—and I’m going to nightschool and learning shorthand; I can run a machinefairly decently now.”
“Well, isn’t that splendid!”
Presently she was alone with Mr. Corey again. Heasked about her, about Martin, about her married life.She was frank with her answers.
“I shall never thank you enough,” she said, “forpersuading me to accept Mr. Devlin. I never wouldhave married if you hadn’t made me, and I never wouldhave known what I missed. I guess I’d’ve been herefor the rest of my days.”
She was eager for his news, too.
[Pg 265]
Yes, he and Mrs. Corey were quite reconciled. Shewas very sorry she had maligned Jeannette. He wasgoing to England in ten days and was taking her withhim. Babs was about the same; she would never beany better; they had an excellent trained nurse forher and she was to spend the rest of the summer at acamp in the Adirondacks. Willis had written a mostinteresting letter from Johannesburg; he and Ericssonwere trekking north through Matabeleland and Bulawayo;Mr. Corey did not expect to hear from him againfor three months. Affairs at the office were about asusual; they expected to publish a big novel in the fallby Hobart Haüser; Garritt Farrington Trent had lefthis former publishers and come over to them; advertisingwas bad; there was some talk of a printers’strike; The Ladies’ Fortune had been selling excellentlyon the stands; the pattern business was booming.
There were one or two matters he wanted to ask herabout: What was the arrangement with Hardy as tothe dramatic rights of Harnessed? No record couldbe found of the agreement. And did she recallfrom what concern they had bought that last stockof special kraft wrapper? And the folder containingall the correspondence with the Electrical ManufacturingCompany had disappeared. What could havebecome of it? She answered as best she could. Whenshe got up to go, he accompanied her to the door ofhis office.
“I can’t begin to tell you how we all miss you here,”he said gravely, “and how much I do especially. It’sbeen hard sledding without you. I’ve thought a hundredtimes,—oh, a thousand times!—of how much youdid for me to make the work easier and how much you[Pg 266]lifted from my shoulders. I got used to it, I’m afraid,and took a good deal for granted.... But I’m gladyou’re married; that’s where you belong: making ahome for yourself and leading your own life.”
There was moisture in Jeannette’s eyes as sheturned away. She loved Chandler Corey, she said toherself; he was a wonderful man; she knew she wasthe only person in the world who truly appreciatedhim; and she knew he loved her, too. It was thisglimpse of his affection for her that moved her.Theirs had been a rare comradeship, a fine communion,a beautiful relationship. It was ended; it was pastand done; they could no longer be together or evenfind an excuse to see one another without having theiractions misinterpreted. It had been the business, thecommon interest, that had wrought the tie betweenthem, and now that there was no longer any office, theintimacy and companionship was at an end, the bondsundered,—soon they would have but a casual interestin one another!—and she had been closer to him thananyone else in the world, like a daughter, and he afather to her. It was sad; a matter to be mourned;each going a different way, only memories of a splendidcoöperation and friendship remaining to remindthem of happy years together.
§ 7
Jeannette stopped at Miss Holland’s desk and madeher promise to take lunch with her at the noon hourwhen they could have a good talk.
As she left the scene of her former activities, herprogress through the aisles between the desks was[Pg 267]once again a succession of hand-clasps, congratulations,well-wishes, nods and smiles. It touched herdeeply; she had no idea she had been so well liked:everyone there seemed to be her friend.
Miss Holland joined her at half past twelve in thelobby of the Park Avenue Hotel, and they had a delightfulluncheon together at one of the little tablesedging the balcony about the court. News was exchangedeagerly. Jeannette’s was scant, but her companionhad endless gossip to retail. Miss Holland’snephew, Jerry Sedgwick, was a midshipman now, andon his summer cruise in Cuban waters aboard a bigbattleship. She and Mrs. O’Brien had a little apartmentdown on Waverly Place and managed quite comfortably.The office was getting dreadfully on MissHolland’s nerves; it was so different from what itused to be; in the old days everyone had done the bestthat was in him or her to make the business a success;no one had cared what the returns were to be;the idea of doing more and better work had been thethought actuating all. Now that the Corey Companyhad become one of the largest and most prosperouspublishing houses in the country, the spirit hadchanged; everyone thought about “profits.” Theyhad conferences of all the heads of departments eachweek and no one was interested in learning what wasgoing on in the different branches of the business;what commanded their attention was how much“profit” was to be shown. It disgusted Miss Holland;there was no “Get Together Club” any more. Mr.Kipps was becoming more and more critical andfault-finding; he had headaches all the time; MissHolland believed he was a sick man; he never took[Pg 268]any exercise. The pattern business had grown enormously;Mr. Cruikshanks had done wonders with it;they had had to lease a whole big building over onTenth Avenue to take care of it; The Ladies’ Fortunehad a circulation of nearly half a million; HoratioStephens had had a very substantial raise, and hadgrown awfully opinionated and disagreeable.
There was more gossip of lesser significance. MissHoggenheimer of the mailing department had goneon the stage, and had a part now in It Happened inNordland, while Miss Gleason had married that bigGeorge Robinson of the Press Room, and Tommy Livingstonwould soon be engaged,—if he wasn’t already,—toMrs. O’Brien’s little sister, Agnes, who worked inthe Mail Order Department.... Oh, yes! and hadJeannette heard what had happened to Van Alstyne?It was terrible! He was in the penitentiary at Atlantafor using the United States mail for fraudulentpurposes; he had become involved with some unscrupulousmen who advertised worthless stock and theFederal authorities had put them all in jail.... Andpoor Mrs. Inness was dead; she died at her brother’shouse in Weehawken.
Jeannette devoured these details. She sat absorbed,fascinated, listening to every word that came fromher companion’s lips; she could not get enough of thischatter about her old associates; she was hungry forevery scrap of information, fearful that Miss Hollandmight neglect to tell her everything.
She walked back with her friend to the office andwould not let her go for another ten minutes until shehad heard the final details of a violent quarrel betweenMiss Reubens and Mr. Cavendish.
[Pg 269]
Miss Holland promised to dine with her and Martinsoon, and Jeannette promised in return to come withher husband to dinner with Miss Holland and Mrs.O’Brien in the Waverly Place apartment. Theyparted with many such assurances.
Jeannette walked all the way home in a daze ofmemories, thoughts of the old times crowding upon herbrain, her interest in business affairs and personalhappenings in the Chandler B. Corey Company awakeagain, stirring with all its former keenness.
§ 8
The dinner to which Mr. and Mrs. Herbert Gibbswere invited and to which after various postponementsthey ultimately came was a dismal failurefrom Jeannette’s point of view. First of all, she waslate with the meal itself, and in hurrying, spatteredgrease on her gown; the yeast powder biscuits wouldnot rise, and the leg of lamb was underdone, the meatpink when Martin carved it. Then Martin, himself,was nervous and excited, and the cocktails he had withhis guest before they sat down went to his head andmade him talk and act sillily. Lastly, and most important,the Gibbses were hopeless! Herbert Gibbswas flat-headed and there was no curve at the backof his neck, while the hair grew down under his collarsparse and short; he had an expressionless, stupid faceand it was impossible to tell whether he was beingbored or amused at the attempt of young Mr. andMrs. Devlin to entertain him and his wife. Mrs. Gibbswas even less prepossessing. She was a plump Germangirl, with thin yellow hair done up in a knob on[Pg 270]top of her head which frankly showed her white scalpthrough wide gaps. She was irritatingly voluble, hada piercing sharp nervous laugh, and exclaimed shrillyabout whatever Jeannette said or did. She chattedunceasingly about her child, little “Herbie,” who, itseemed, was only ten months old but could alreadyboth walk and talk, and she embarrassed Jeannette byasking in a whisper how soon there was going to bea little Devlin. There was nothing spontaneous in theconversation during the whole evening, neither whilethey sat at table nor later in the living-room, whereMr. Gibbs sat stolidly puffing at cigars, sipping the redBurgundy with which Martin kept his glass filled, andMrs. Gibbs rattled on about how they had found theirhome at Cohasset Beach on Long Island, and the involvedcircumstances connected with its eventual purchase.Mercifully they were obliged to take an earlytrain home on account of “Herbie,” but did not departuntil they had warned their young hosts they wouldsoon be expected to spend a Sunday with them in thecountry.
That night, going to bed, Martin and Jeannette hadtheir first quarrel. It left her shaken and unhappy allthe next day. She ridiculed their guests and Martindefended them; she declared they were stupid andcommon; he, that she didn’t know them, that they werea very good-hearted sort, that she had been cold andpatronizing with Mrs. Gibbs, that her husband hadnoticed it, and become awfully “sore”; it would havebeen a “damn sight better,” Martin concluded stormily,if they had never been asked.
“And after all the trouble I went to!” ragedJeannette to herself, hugging her side of the bed, rebellion[Pg 271]strong within her, “cooking all day long, planningeverything out, going over to Columbus Avenuetwice, getting flowers for the table, working myselfdizzy and ruining my organdie, just so he could makea good impression on them and perhaps help himself alittle at the office!”
A tear trickled down her nose, and she wiped it offwith a finger-tip. She would never give in to him,—never!She would make him beg and beg and beg forher forgiveness! It would be a long, long time....With head aching and trying to choke down a snifflethat threatened to betray her, she fell asleep.
There was an eager reconciliation the next night;promises, vows, assurances, harsh self-accusations,and Martin carried her off after dinner to two dollarseats at the Broadway, where Jeannette whisperedpenitently, hugging his arm in the dark of the theatre,that if the Gibbses did ask them to visit them someSunday, she would go and be her nicest to both.
§ 9
The occasion when Sandy MacGregor had the youngDevlins to dine with him in style on the roof gardenof the new Astor Hotel was another affair that turnedout unfortunately. The lady whom Sandy asked tobe fourth in the party,—a Mrs. Fontella,—was not thetype with whom Jeannette had been accustomed toassociate. She was boldly handsome with great roundblack eyes, masses of auburn hair, a cavernous redmouth, and a large, prominent bust. She was noisyand coarse, and when she laughed she showed a greatdeal of gum and rows of glittering gold-filled teeth.[Pg 272]Jeannette froze into her most rigid and uncommunicativeself. Just before dessert was served, Martinand Sandy excused themselves from the table and disappeared,leaving her sitting for almost half-an-houralone with her noisy and conspicuous companion. Itwas evident when the men returned they had beendownstairs to the bar where they had had drinks andhad been shaking dice. Jeannette was thoroughly incensed,and although Sandy had seats for the theatre,she complained she was ill and insisted upon goinghome.
There was another quarrel between her husband andherself that night, but before they went to sleep hewon her forgiveness, abused himself for treating hershabbily, told her again and again he was sorry, andpromised never to be guilty of neglecting her again.
He could be irresistibly winning when he wantedto be.
[Pg 273]
CHAPTER IV
§ 1
On the Fourth of July the Gibbses asked Martin andJeannette to spend the holiday and Sunday with themat Cohasset Beach. Jeannette contemplated the visitin the gayest of spirits. She spent fully two hourscarefully packing her own and Martin’s suitcases.She had some very smart clothes for such an outingwhich she had had no opportunity of wearing sincethe happy honeymoon days at Atlantic City. The ideaof appearing in these again at such a well-known summerresort as Cohasset Beach delighted her. She wasanxious to be cordial to Mrs. Gibbs for Martin’s sake,and meant to dispel any unpleasant impression of herselfthat either Mr. Gibbs or his wife might have beenharboring. To exert herself particularly in her host’sdirection, “draw him out of his shell”—as Martin expressedit,—and make him like her, was part of herresolution.
Late Friday afternoon she manfully struggled withthe two suitcases to the Thirty-fourth Street ferry andmet Martin as agreed at the entrance of the waiting-room.They had been anxious to catch an early trainfrom Long Island City, and it had been arranged thatMr. Gibbs and Martin should come to the station directlyfrom the office and meet her at the ferry station.
“My God, Jan!” Martin exclaimed after he had[Pg 274]swung himself off the trolley-car and come runningup to where she was waiting. “My God, you look great!Say,—I never saw you look so—so swell!” Mr. Gibbswas pleasantly cordial, though suffering much discomfortfrom the excessive heat. Sweat trickled down hisexpressionless face, and continually he removed hisstraw hat to mop his forehead with a drenched handkerchief.
It was indeed hot, but the vistas up and down theriver as the ferry-boat blunted its way toward theLong Island shore were all of cool pinks, palest greensand lavenders in the late summer afternoon, while thesun, setting through a murky haze, cast an enchantedlight over the scene. In the train, Mr. Gibbs tookhimself off to the smoking car, leaving Martin andJeannette alone. They sat beside a raised window,their hands linked under a fold of her silk dress, andthe air that reached them was rich with the scent ofthe open country. The girl’s heart was overflowingwith happiness as Martin whispered endearments inher ear: she was a wonder, all right; she looked likea million dollars; gosh! he was proud of her; therewas no girl in the world like his wife! The holidaythat was beginning for them, and the knowledge thatthey were not to be separated for two whole days—nearlythree!—filled both with great felicity.
Cohasset Beach is a little village of two or threethousand inhabitants on the Sound side of the Island,some twenty-five or thirty miles from New York. TheGibbses lived in an unpretentious, white, peaked-roofedhouse, with plenty of shade trees about it, anda rather patchy, ill-kept lawn, bordered with stragglingrosebeds. There was a lattice-sided porch covered[Pg 275]with a clambering vine. The place was attractivethough shabby; the house sorely in need of paint, thefront steps worn down to the natural color of thewood, the edges of the treads frayed and splintery.A sagging hammock hung under scrawny pepper trees,and a child’s toys were scattered about, while closeto the latticed porch was a pile of play sand hauled upfrom the neighboring beach.
Jeannette was disappointed. She had pictured theGibbses’ house more of an establishment. CohassetBeach was a fashionable summer resort; the YachtClub there was famous; she had thought to find herhosts living in some style. But she was not to bedaunted; she had come prepared to have a good timeand to make these people like her; she reminded herselfof her determination not to spoil this visit for Martin.
But on encountering Mrs. Gibbs she realized afreshhow little in common she had with her hostess. Thewoman was devoid of poise, restraint, or dignity; Jeannettehad forgotten her volubility and harsh, unpleasantlaugh. Mrs. Gibbs welcomed her guest eagerly,keeping up a running fire of remarks, loosing hersqueaks of mirth in nervous fashion. She slipped herarm about Jeannette’s waist and before showing herto her room or giving her a chance to remove her hat,led her to the nursery to view little Herbie in his crib.Mr. Gibbs followed for a peep at his son before the childwent off to sleep and he brought Martin with him.They all hung over the sides of the crib and exclaimedabout the baby, who rolled his solemn, perplexed eyesfrom face to face. Jeannette noted he was exactly likehis father: flat-headed, expressionless, with no curve atthe back of his neck, but Martin seemed quite taken[Pg 276]with him and when he tickled him with a finger, thebaby opened wide his little red mouth, displayed histoothless red gums and crowed vigorously. Jeannettewas sure she detected in the sound the shrillness ofhis mother’s senseless laugh.
The guest room was on the third floor in one gableof the roof, a big room with sloping ceilings; it wasequipped with a washstand on which stood a basin andewer; the bathroom was on the floor below. Hattie,the colored cook, would bring up hot water, Mrs. Gibbssaid in her excited way as she left them, urging herguests to make themselves comfortable. Jeannettehad carefully packed Martin’s dinner clothes, and herown prettiest dinner frock, but there would evidentlybe no formal dressing in such a household. She stoodat an open latticed window that jutted out above thevine-covered porch and looked out over a ripplingbillow of tree-tops, softly green now in the fadingevening light, that tumbled down to the water’s edge.The Sound was dotted with little boats riding at anchorand there was one private yacht, gay with lightsand fluttering pennants. The lambent heavens in thewest touched the shimmering water delicately withpink. She pressed her lips resolutely together, andstared out upon the scene unmoved by its beauty.
“Great,—isn’t it?” Martin said, coming to stand besideher and putting his arm about her. “We’ll havea home like this of our own, some day,—hey, old girl?And you’ll be the boss of the show and be cookingme some of your fine dinners when I come home, andI’ll take you out sailing in the yacht on Sundays.” Helaughed his rich buoyant peal and caught her in hisarms.
[Pg 277]
“Oh, Martin,” she breathed tremulously, sinkingher face against his shoulder, “I love you so,—I loveyou so!”
As she had foreseen, there was no change of costumefor dinner at the Gibbses’ table. The meal itself hadas little distinctiveness as the host and hostess: soupand vegetables, a large steak followed by apple pieand the usual accessories. Martin, Mr. Gibbs and hiswife drank beer; it appeared that it was imported, andMartin was eloquent in its praise. There were cookiestoo, which made a special appeal to him; küchen, Mrs.Gibbs called them, but Jeannette thought them hardand tasteless. After dinner, the men walked downto the water and back, smoking their cigars, whileJeannette sat and listened to a long tale by Mrs. Gibbsof how she had happened to meet her Herbert, howher parents had objected, how they had tried to separatethem, and how love had finally triumphed.
But Jeannette went to sleep that night with a happyprospect for the morrow awaiting her: they were tohave lunch at the fashionable yacht club.
§ 2
Disappointment lay in store for her again. At noon,the next day, perplexed by the picnic baskets and shoe-boxesof lunch with which they were laden as they leftthe house, she learned it was the Family Yacht Cluband not the imposing Cohasset Beach Yacht Club forwhich they were headed. Oh, no, Mr. Gibbs explained,only the swell New Yorkers and the rich nabobs wholived down on the “Point” patronized the CohassetBeach Yacht Club; the dues there were fifty dollars[Pg 278]a month; the nice folk in Cohasset all belonged to theFamily Yacht Club; she would see herself how pleasantit was there; the steward served hot coffee andeverybody brought their own lunches. Jeannettelooked straight ahead of her to hide the blur of disappointedtears that for a moment blinded her. Martinwas behind with Mrs. Gibbs carrying Herbie in hisarms. The resolve to try and be pleasant and makethese people like her died hopelessly in the girl’sheart. Oh, it was no use! It had been dreadful fromthe moment they arrived; it would remain dreadfultill the end!
The club-house of the Family Yacht Club was a lowspreading, wind-blown, sand-battered, gray buildingthat squatted along the shore, separated from the lispingwavelets of the Sound by a strip of white, sandybeach; a long pier ran out into the water and a numberof small sail-boats and row-boats were tied to the floatat its further end. The pier, the beach, the wide verandaof the club-house were all crowded to-day; flagsflew or were draped everywhere, and bathers ran upand down along the wet sand or congregated on theraft anchored a hundred yards from shore.
“Whew!” exclaimed Martin when he viewed thescene, “isn’t this great!”
His wife threw him a look; it did not seem possiblehe was serious, but a glimpse of his delighted faceshowed her he was indeed.
There were no chairs nor benches on which to sit,but the newcomers found a clean space on the sandyshore and prepared to establish themselves there.Jeannette thought of her spotless new white fibre-silkskirt, and in sad resignation sank into place. About[Pg 279]them were a dozen or so of similar groups, preparingfor the midday meal or already enjoying it. Theywere all neighbors of the Gibbses, residents of CohassetBeach, who knew one another intimately, andhailed each new arrival, bandying Christian names. Aman some distance away shouted in the direction of theGibbs party, brandishing a bottle of beer.
“Hey, Gibbsey,” he yelled, “hey there! How’s theold stick-in-the-mud?”
Mrs. Gibbs shrieked across the stretch of sand at thewoman beside him.
“How’s the baby?”
“Fine,” came the answer. “Mama’s got him.”
“That’s Zeb Kline over there,” Mrs. Gibbs informedher husband; “it’s the first time he’s been out since hewas sick.... And those folks with Doc French certainlylook like his sister-in-law and that cousin of hers,Mrs. Prentiss.”
A burst of music and the report of a cannon camedistinctly from farther down the shore. Jeannette,craning her neck, could see a large, glistening whitebuilding with a red roof, gaily decorated with flags;there were loops of bunting about the railings of itsporches.
“That’s the Cohasset Beach Yacht Club,” said Mr.Gibbs; “the Commodore’s just come to anchor; that’shis yacht out there; there’ll be some fine racing thisaft; the Stars are going out.”
“Ham or cheese?” Mrs. Gibbs inquired, profferingsandwiches. She was busy with the lunch, snappingstrings, opening boxes, squeezing wrapped tissue-paperpackages with her fingers, shaking them, hazardingguesses as to their contents.
[Pg 280]
“I wonder what Hattie’s got in here,” she keptsaying.
“Do have some sauerkraut; I made it myself. Ithought maybe you’d like it. Don’t you fancy mustarddressing? ... Well, try the stuffed eggs. Hope youthink they’re good. The cake’s Hattie’s; I think herchocolate’s splendid.... Mr. Devlin, some mustardpickles? Some eggs? ... Goodness gracious, papa!Look out for Herbie! He’ll get himself all sopping!”
“Say, Mr. Gibbs, this beer is great! How do youmanage to have it so cold?” Martin asked.
“I bring it down a day or two ahead of time andthe steward puts it on the ice for me; just half a dozenbottles, you know; doesn’t put him to too muchtrouble.”
“Well, this is a great little Club all right.”
“We think it’s nice. Just a few of us that have childrengot together and organized it. The CohassetBeach has a big bar, and there always is a good dealof drinking going on down there. The New Yorkers,you know, come down for a good time. No place foryoung folk.”
“No, you bet your life.”
Jeannette, in spite of herself, found she was hungry.The fried chicken in the oiled tissue paper was delicious,and she loved the liverwurst sandwiches. Mrs.Sturgis and her girls had always been extremely fondof liverwurst; Kratzmer kept it, and many a luncheonJeannette, her mother and sister had made with littleelse. The hot cup of coffee, that Mrs. Gibbs pouredfrom the tin pot the Club steward brought and setdown in the sand, put life into her. The pleasant heatof the day, the sunshine, the life and frolicking in sand[Pg 281]and water, forced enjoyment upon her. But she wouldnot go in swimming when Martin urged her. Oneglance at the crude bath-house with its gray boardsand canvas roof was sufficient to decide her on thispoint. She sat stiffly beside Mrs. Gibbs, who hadrocked Herbie to sleep in her arms, and now movedso her shadow would keep the sun off the child’s face,while she watched Mr. Gibbs and her husband disportthemselves in the water. Martin’s swimming alwaysattracted attention and when he made a beautiful swandive from the end of the pier, there was a ripple ofapplause. She felt proud of him, proud of his finefigure, the beauty of his young body, his prowess, hisunaffectedness.
“Who’s that young fellow doing all the fancy divingout there?” a man sauntering up asked Mrs. Gibbs.
“S-ssh,” breathed that lady, indicating her sleepingchild. “His name’s Martin Devlin,” she whispered;“he works for Herbert in the city.”
Works for Herbert in the city! Jeannette felt theblood rush to her face. Works for Herbert! Indeed!Well, he wouldn’t be working for Herbert much longer.She’d have something to say about that. The idea!The impertinence! Giving the impression that herwonderful Martin was merely an employee of HerbertGibbs!
Her husband, wet and dripping, came up to her andflung himself down panting upon the sand.
“Gee,” he said boyishly, “that water’s great!Never had a better swim in my life. It’s a shameyou didn’t go in, Jan.”
He looked at her, sensing something was amiss, butshe smiled at him and pressed his wet, sandy hand.
[Pg 282]
Late in the afternoon they prepared to go home.As they were about to leave the Club, a man climbinginto his automobile offered a lift. Martin and Jeannettebegged to be allowed to walk and persuaded theirhosts on account of the baby to take advantage of thecar. Left to themselves, they commenced a leisurelyreturn.
Along the tree-bordered roads that fringed theshore, other groups in white skirts and flannels werewending their way homeward; flags flew from polesor were draped over doorways; the strains of a waltzdrifted seductively from the Cohasset Beach YachtClub; the blue water of the Sound was dotted withglistening triangles of sails, heeled over and headedin one direction.
“Those are the Stars,” Martin exclaimed; “the raceis finishing; number seven seems to have it cinched.That steam yacht over there with all the flags is thejudges’ boat.”
They watched for a moment longer. Far out in midstream,one of the Sound steamers was passing; alreadylights were beginning to twinkle in her cabins.
“Wonderful day,” commented Martin, giving hiswife’s hand, as it rested in the crook of his elbow,a squeeze with his arm. They wandered onward. “I’dlove to have a home with you in a place like this, withthe sailing and swimming and tennis and all this outdoorfun. It’s my idea of living. A fellow Mr. Gibbsintroduced me to out on the raft belongs to the CohassetBeach Club, too. He told me they’ve got someswell tennis courts over there and he was after me toplay with him to-morrow.”
[Pg 283]
“And will you?” Jeannette asked, listlessly.
“Well, I guess I can’t. Mr. Gibbs said somethingabout some friends of theirs asking us all to go sailingto-morrow.”
“That will be nice,” said his wife, still in a lifelesstone, but Martin did not notice.
“By George, I think this is a great place. I was askingMr. Gibbs about rents, and he tells me we couldget a fine little eight-room house for forty a month,and it’s only three-quarters of an hour from town.”
“And what would you do without your theatres andyour shows and your little dinners downtown?” smiledJeannette.
“Oh—they could go hang!”
The smile upon his wife’s face twisted skeptically.She knew Martin better than he knew himself.
“And don’t you think the Gibbses ’re awful nicefolks? They don’t put on any airs but ’re friendlyand simple. They’d take us under their wing and ’dbe darned nice neighbors.”
Jeannette shut her mouth. It was not the time toshatter his enthusiasm; he was having a good time,imagined these people wonderful; it wouldn’t be kindof her to show him now how vulgar and cheap andhorrid they and their friends and their little ridiculousClub were. No,—it would only hurt him, andunder the influence of the day and the good time, itwould lead to a quarrel,—and she was sick of quarrels.She reminded herself she was out of sorts fromthe long day of boredom and disappointment; it wouldbe madness to say a word now. The time when shecould make him see the Gibbses, their house, their[Pg 284]friends, their tiresome pleasures and cheap environmentas she saw them would come, and she must bideher time.
“... not so particularly interesting,” Martin wassaying, “but a darned good sort, and he’s got a shrewdbusiness head. I think he likes me first-rate, and Iwas mighty glad to see you and Mrs. Gibbs pullingtogether. She told me she thought you were great,said all manner of nice things about how swell youlooked. She’s not much of a looker, herself, but shecertainly has got the right feeling of hospitality.Know what I mean, Jan? She gives you the bestshe’s got, and makes you feel at home and that she’sglad you’re in her house. I think that’s bully....And isn’t that kid a corker? Golly, I think he’s slick!You know, I carried him all the way down from thehouse to the Club and he had his arms round my neckthe whole way. He made funny little sounds in my ear,you know, as though he was kind of enjoying himself! ...Gee, he’s a great baby!”
That flat-headed, vacant-faced child? ... Well,Martin was hopeless! He must be crazy; there wasno use talking to him!
§ 3
In the morning Jeannette vigorously renewed herresolution not to mar her husband’s pleasure. Forthe first time, since her marriage, she felt oddly estrangedfrom him. There was a rent somewhere inthe veil through which he had hitherto appeared sohandsome, so considerate, so wonderfully perfect, andthe glimpse she had of him now through the rift wasdisconcerting and a little shocking. While they were[Pg 285]dressing, he smoked a cigarette although he well knewthe fumes of it before breakfast made her giddy; atthe table he was unnecessarily noisy, laughed tooloudly, with his mouth wide open and full of muffin,and after breakfast on the ill-kept lawn, he rolled aboutwith the Gibbs baby, making a buffoon of himself andstreaking his white trousers with grass green anddirt. They were to go sailing at ten o’clock,—theWebsters were to call for them,—and it was thoughtlessof Martin, and indicated all too clearly his utterindifference to her feelings. He looked a sight in hisdirtied flannels! ... But she would be sweet! Shewould be amiable! She would not undo whatever goodhad been accomplished. At four o’clock they wouldtake the train back to the city; there remained lessthan seven hours more of this dreadful visit! Martinhad completely captivated Mrs. Gibbs; his enthusiasmfor the baby had been the last compelling touch; sheshrieked at everything he said, thought him “perfectlykilling.” Both she and Mr. Gibbs had been cordialto Jeannette. Grimly, the girl determined she wouldhold herself in leash for the few short hours that remained,would smile and smirk and simper and dowhatever they wanted!
But it was the ten-forty train that night which sheand Martin were able to catch back to town. The Websters’yacht had been becalmed, and all day the boathad rocked upon the slow oily swells of the Sound, thesail flapping dismally, the ropes creaking and strainingin the blocks. The women had huddled togetherin the scant shade of the sail, while the men sprawledhelplessly in the flagellating sun. Herbie had wailedand whimpered for hours before his mother had been[Pg 286]able to quiet him off to sleep. She had kept repeatingin a sort of justification for his ill temper: “Why, hewants his bottle; the poor darling wants his bottle;’course he’s cross, he wants his bottle.”
At four in the afternoon a motor-boat had comewithin hailing distance and generously offered a tow.Fifteen minutes later they were underway in its wake,when something suddenly went wrong with the motor-boat’sengine, and both vessels slowly heaved fromside to side on the oily swells. Mrs. Webster frankly becameseasick. The men shouted to one another acrossthe strip of water between the boats, but none of thesuggestions of either party brought results. Themotor-boat being equipped with oars, it was decidedto row for assistance,—a matter of two miles’ steadypull. Martin had wanted to go along and lend a hand,but Jeannette tugged at his arm and sternly forbadehim to leave her.
Effective aid finally appeared towards eight o’clockin the evening when the gathering darkness had begunto make their position really perilous, and an hourlater the party clambered out on the float in front ofthe Family Yacht Club, cramped, hungry, but profoundlythankful. By the time Martin and Jeannettehad reached the Gibbses’ house and made ready fortheir return to town, the ten-forty had been the earliesttrain they could catch back to the city. Their hostsbegged them to remain for the night, but Jeannettewas inflexible in insisting upon returning home. Shefeared another hour spent at Cohasset Beach woulddrive her stark, raving mad.
[Pg 287]
CHAPTER V
§ 1
When Martin went on his honeymoon to AtlanticCity, he had taken his annual two weeks’ vacation.During the hot weather of summer, therefore, he andJeannette were obliged to remain in the swelteringcity. But Jeannette did not mind the heat. Adventuringin married life was too utterly absorbing; she lovedher new home, and each day found new delight inmanaging it. She and her husband considered themselvesdeliriously happy. Nights on which they did notgo to the theatre, they roamed the bright upperstretches of Broadway, sauntered along RiversideDrive as far as Grant’s Tomb, or meandered into thePark, where electric lights cast a theatrical radianceon trees and shrubbery. On Sundays they made excursionsto the beaches, and one week-end they wentto Coney Island on Saturday afternoon and stayedthe night at the Manhattan Beach Hotel. Jeannettelong remembered the glorious planked steak they enjoyedfor dinner on that occasion, sitting at a littletable by the porch railing, listening to the big militaryband, while all about them a gay throng chatted andlaughed at other tables, and crowds surged up anddown the boardwalk as the Atlantic thundered a dullrhythmical bourdon to the stirring music of trumpetand drum.
[Pg 288]
Her mother departed the first of August for Canada.The concert tour having been finally decided upon,—withoutthe violinist,—every day or so cards arrivedfrom Mrs. Sturgis post-marked “Montreal,” “Quebec,”“Toronto.” The venture could hardly be considereda financial success, she wrote, but she and thegirls were having just too wonderful a time! TheCanadians were extraordinarily hospitable!
Alice, Roy, and the baby returned from Freeport thelast of September; she expected to be confined early inNovember. The Devlins visited them one Sunday duringthe last weeks of their stay on Long Island, andJeannette wondered how her sister could be happy insuch an environment. The room the Beardsleys occupiedwas under the roof and, during the day, like anoven. Etta, Alice told her, woke up sometimes as earlyas five or five-thirty, and nothing would persuade thechild to go to sleep again. As soon as she was awake,she began to fret, and her wails disturbed the otherboarders at that hour. Either father or mother wouldfind it necessary to get up, dress, and wheel the childout in her carriage, pushing her around and around theblock until she could be brought safely back to thehouse. On Sundays when breakfast was not until nineo’clock, these hours of the early silent mornings were along, wearisome, hungry trial. Jeannette thought thefood at the boarding-house was markedly meager, andAlice had to admit that as the season was drawing to aclose, there were evidences of retrenchment on the partof the landlady, but at first, she assured her sister, thetable had been plentiful and good. The effect of all thisupon Jeannette had been a determination to order herown life along safer lines. Two or three times Alice[Pg 289]had come up to the city during the summer to spend thenight. On these occasions Roy slept at his own flatin the Bronx, as there was only a narrow couch availableat the Devlins’. To this Martin had been relegated,and the two sisters occupied the bed together.Alice was very large. It worried Jeannette; she wasonce more full of apprehensions. She made up hermind that for herself she did not want a baby for along time, not until she and Martin were out of debt,and had saved something so that she could be sure ofa certain amount of comfort and care.
Martin’s attitude about money distressed her. Hedid not seem to take the matter of their finances withsufficient seriousness. He was ever urging her toengage a maid to attend to the dish-washing and cleanup after dinner. He hated kitchen work, himself, andequally hated to have his wife do it. When he finishedhis dinner and rose from the table, rolling a cigar aboutbetween his teeth and filling his mouth with good,strong inhalations of satisfying tobacco smoke, he feltcontented, replete, ready for talk and relaxation. Tohave Jeannette disappear into the kitchen and beginbanging around out there with pans and rattling dishesannoyed him. He could not bring himself to help her;something in him rebelled at such work. His wifereadily understood how he felt; she sympathized withhim, and did not want him to help her, but she had herown aversion to letting the dishes stand over night andhaving them to do after breakfast the following day.It took the best part of her morning, and meant shecould never get downtown until afternoon. But Martinwas willing to concede nothing; he answered her[Pg 290]arguments by reiterating his advice to her to hire agirl.
“Good God, Jan,” he would say in characteristicvigorous fashion, “she would cost you fifteen or twentydollars a month, and then you could get out as early asyou wanted to in the mornings and we could have ourevenings together.”
It was just that fifteen or twenty dollars a monthwhich Jeannette wanted to save to pay on her bills.She had inherited a sense of frugality; it worried herto be in debt. Martin, on the other hand, was blandlyindifferent. He was willing to deny himself very little,his wife often felt, to help her contribute to the “till.”They had many arguments about the matter but neverreached a conclusion. Their creditors,—they owed alittle less than three hundred dollars,—were kept satisfiedby a small remittance each month but somethingmore always had to be charged. Jeannette was baffled.She talked it over with Alice. The Beardsleys livedmore simply than the Devlins; they did not entertainnor go out to dinner so often nor to the theatre, andthey paid only half as much rent. Their whole scaleof expenditure was more economical. That was theanswer, of course. When Jeannette told Martin theywere living beyond their means, he grew angry.
“Damn it,” he answered her, “if there is one thingI hate more than another, it’s a piker! What do youwant to crab about the bills for? Haven’t we goteverything we want? Aren’t we getting along allright? Who’s kicking?”
Jeannette heaved a sigh of weariness. Some daybefore long she would have to persuade him to her wayof thinking.
[Pg 291]
§ 2
Alice’s boy was born in October and was christenedRalph Sturgis Beardsley by the Reverend Doctor Fitzgibbons,much to Mrs. Sturgis’ tearful satisfaction.Alice had a comparatively easy time with the birth ofher second child, but again there was an aftermathwhich kept her weak and anæmic and necessitated anoperation just before Christmas.
It was just before Christmas that Jeannette urgedMartin to ask for a raise. Several circumstances encouragedher: she had learned through Miss Hollandthat Walt Chase was getting eighty-five dollars a week,—abig mail order concern out in Chicago had madehim an offer and Mr. Corey had been obliged to raisehis salary in order to keep him; Martin had met JohnArchibald of the Archibald Engraving Company, thelargest color engravers in the city, and Mr. Archibaldhad bought Martin a drink at the bar in the Waldorfand presented him with a cigar; lastly, her husbandhad landed a new engraving account a few weeks beforeand had brought in considerable holiday business.Martin heeded her advice and had a talk with HerbertGibbs, who promised to take the matter up with hisbrother, Joe, and seemed disposed to recommend theincrease. In the wildest of spirits, Martin came home,waltzed his wife around the apartment, kissed her adozen times, told her again and again she was a wonder,insisted she stop her preparations for dinner, andcarried her off to a café downtown where he ordereda pint of champagne and toasted her.
His elation, however, was not fully justified. Martinhad asked for a substantial increase and a commission[Pg 292]on all new accounts. It was evident that in discussingthe matter, the brothers had decided this was too much.They agreed to give him three thousand a year on atwelve months’ contract.
“I always detested that flat-headed pig,” Jeannetteexclaimed inelegantly when Martin brought home thenews. “Think of how we tried to entertain him andthat stupid wife of his, and how we went down to visitthem and let them bore us to death! I knew he wasthat kind of a creature!”
“Aw, come, come, Jan,” Martin remonstrated; “youwant to be fair. Herb did the best he could; it was oldJoe who kicked. Three thousand a year isn’t so bad;that’s two hundred and fifty a month. Not so rottenfor a fellow twenty-seven.... Now I hope to Godyou’ll get a girl in here to help run the kitchen.”
“Well,—all right,” Jeannette conceded, “onlyyou’ve got to go on helping me save. I want to pay offevery cent we owe.... I suppose I get my half asusual.”
“Sure. I’ll be paid now twice a month: first andfifteenth.”
“Let’s see; ... that’s a hundred and twenty-five.I get sixty-two fifty; that’s really five dollars more aweek, isn’t it?”
“You’re a little tight-wad,—do you know that,darling?”
“No, I’m not,” Jeannette defended herself. “I’monly trying to run things economically and systematically,and to do that you’ve got to plan ahead. Thetrouble with you, Mart, is that you never do!”
The raise led to the appearance of Hilda in thekitchen. Hilda was a big-boned, good-natured Swedish[Pg 293]girl, willing, but a careless cook, often exasperatinglystupid. Jeannette paid her fifteen dollars a month, andestablished her in the vacant bedroom not hithertofurnished, which involved an outlay of nearly a hundreddollars.
In spite of the additional income, money continued tobe a problem. Jeannette still felt that she and Martinwere living too extravagantly, and that her husbanddid not do his share in helping to retrench. She hadbeen entirely satisfied in the old days before she marriedto go to the theatre in gallery or rear balconyseats, but Martin scorned these locations. When hewent to a show, he said, he wanted to enjoy himself,and sitting in the cheap seats robbed him of any pleasurewhatsoever. It was the same whenever they wentdowntown to dinner; he preferred the expensive hotelsand restaurants; when he bought new clothes he wentto a tailor and had the suit made to order; he tippedeverywhere he went far too generously. If there wasany economizing to be done, it was always Jeannettewho must do it, and what made it all the harder wasthat he did not thank her for the self-denial. He spent,—hiswife had no way of knowing how much,—a greatdeal for drinks, and for the gin and vermuth he broughthome. Once a week, sometimes oftener, he would arrivewith a bottle of each, carefully wrapped up innewspaper, under his arm. Every time they entertained,she knew it meant more gin and more vermuthfor cocktails. Martin was not a tippler. Frequentlyseveral days or a week would go by without his evensuggesting a cocktail. He did not seem to want one,unless there was company, or he happened to comehome specially tired. Jeannette had never seen him[Pg 294]intoxicated, although on the last day of the year anumber of the men at his office had gathered in thelate afternoon at a neighboring bar, and wished eachother “Happy New Year” over and over. Martin arrivedhome, glassy-eyed and noisy, wanting her to kissand love him. She hated him when he had been drinking;she even loathed the odor of liquor on his breath;it made it strong and hot like the breath of a panther.Another expense was his cigars of which he consumedhalf-a-dozen a day. She knew they cost money, andshe knew Martin well enough to feel sure that the kindhe liked was not the inexpensive variety.
There was also his card playing to be taken into account.Sandy MacGregor had a circle of friends whoplayed poker together generally once a week, on Fridaynights. At first Jeannette had urged Martin to gowhen Sandy had rung him up, asking if he would liketo “sit in.” She considered it part of a good wife’srôle: a man should not be expected to give up masculinesociety, or an occasional “good time with the boys”merely because he was married. She did not entirelyapprove of poker, but Martin loved it. Whenever hewon, he woke her up when he came home and announcedit triumphantly; when he lost he said nothing about it,and she felt she had no right to ask questions. She suspectedhe did not tell her the truth about the size ofthe stakes for which he played, realizing she wouldworry, so she never inquired, and if Martin came homeand put seven or eight dollars on her dressing-table,exultingly telling her that it was half his winnings, shethanked him with a bright smile and a kiss for hisgenerous division, even though she was confident hehad won a great deal more.
[Pg 295]
On the first and fifteenth of the month he gave hersixty-two dollars and fifty cents. She had to apportionthe money among the tradespeople, the bills “downtown,”and keep enough for Hilda’s wages and incidentaltable expenses for the ensuing fortnight. It lefther very little to spend on herself, for clothes andamusements,—far from enough. For years she hadbeen independent, her own mistress, with the disposalof her entire earnings; it was hard for her now to haveto economize and compromise and resort to makeshiftsbecause of her husband’s indifference and improvidence.It brought back disturbing memories of olddays when she and Alice and their mother had had toskimp and struggle in order to eke out the simplestorder of existence. It was just what she feared mighthappen when she had considered marrying.
A month arrived when Jeannette found upon hergrocer’s bill a charge for gin and vermuth and forhalf a box of cigars: nine dollars and twenty-five cents!It precipitated an angry quarrel between her husbandand herself. Martin had been encroaching in variousways upon her half share of his salary, and she proposednow to put a stop to it. He argued that thecocktails and cigars had been for her friends wheninvited to dinner; she retorted that neither cocktailsnor cigars had had any share in the entertainment sheprovided, and if he chose to have them on hand andoffer them, it was his own affair. She taxed him withthe whole score of his extravagance, while Martinchafed and twisted under her sharp criticisms, sworeand grew sulky. He hated unpleasantness and tried toevade the issue: he’d pay for the booze and cigars andbuy her a hat or anything else she fancied, if she’d[Pg 296]only “forget it” and quit “ragging” him. But Jeannettefelt that the question of an equal division of theirfinancial responsibility was vital to the success of theirmarriage, the happiness of both, and she refused to bedeflected. He finally stormed himself out of the apartment,viciously banging the door shut behind him. Twodays of misery followed for them both, when they metwith the exchange of monosyllables only, though theirthoughts pursued one another through every hour.Their reconciliation was terrific, each willing to concedeeverything, eager to make promises and to assurethe other of utter contriteness.
From Jeannette’s point-of-view matters improved.Twice Martin gave her an extra ten dollars out of hishalf of his salary.
§ 3
When the year’s lease on the apartment neared itsend, Martin was not for renewing it. Herbert Gibbshad been talking to him about Cohasset Beach, urginghim to move there. Summer was approaching, Gibbspointed out, with all its good times of swimming andboating, and even in winter, he assured Martin, therewas plenty of outdoor sport: skating, tobogganing,even skiing. In particular, his employer counselled,there was a remarkable little house,—a bungalow,—withfloors, ceilings and inside trim of oak that had justbecome vacant through the death of its owner, whichcould be had for fifty dollars a month. It was a greatbargain for the money. Martin was enthusiastic.Gibbs had promised he would be at once elected to theFamily Yacht Club, and had described the good timesits members had: dances every Saturday night and in[Pg 297]summer, swimming, yachting, picnics. The “bunch,”he assured the young man, was a “live” one,—the pickof “good fellows.”
Jeannette listened to her husband’s glowing recitalwith a cold tightening at her heart.
“He says, Jan,” Martin told her eagerly, “thatevery once in awhile they have masquerade partiesdown at the Club, and everybody goes all dressed up,with masks on, you know, so nobody recognizes you,and they just have a riot of fun. Then about a dozenor fifteen of the fellows are going to get sail-boats thisyear. There’s a ship-yard near there, and the ship-builderhas designed the neatest little sail-boat youever saw in your life. He calls it the A-boat, andthey are only going to cost ninety dollars apiece. Justthink of that, Jan: ninety dollars apiece! A sail-boat,—alittle yacht,—for that sum! Gee whillikens! Canyou imagine the fun we’ll have? Everybody, you know,starts the same with a new boat. Gibbs was crazy tohave me order one,—the Club is anxious to give theship-builder as big an order as possible so’s to get theprice down,—so I fell for it and told him to put medown. I thought maybe I’d call her the Albatross?”
“You—what?” asked Jeannette blankly.
“Sure, I told him to put me down. You know, itmade a hit with him; he’d ’ve been awfully sore if Ihadn’t; and it’s up to me to keep in with old Gibbsey.I can sell it if we don’t like it. Gibbs put my name upfor membership in the Yacht Club.”
“He did?” Jeannette said blankly again.
“Well, darling, it’s only thirty dollars a year and Iguess that’s not going to break us; the initiation fee istwenty-five,—something like that. Why the Club is[Pg 298]just intended for young married folks like us; there’rethe dances for the ladies, and the card parties and picnics,and there’re the sports for the men. Gee,—I thinkit will be great! And Gibbsey tells me that by specialarrangement this year the Cohasset Beach Yacht Clubis going to let us use its tennis courts!”
Jeannette looked into his excited eyes, and a dullexasperation came over her.
“The poor, poor simpleton,” she thought. “Hethinks he’ll like it; Gibbs has filled him full. He’ll hateit as I hate it now inside of a fortnight. He neverwould be contented in such a place; what would hedo without his theatres and the gay night life he loves?It’s hard enough for us to live as we are,—we have tostruggle and struggle to make ends meet,—and herehe is mad to try an even more expensive method ofliving, involving clubs and club dues, yachts and commutationfares! ... And in such a community withsuch people! The flat-headed Gibbses and their awfulfriends picnicking there on the sand that terribleFourth of July! And Martin proposes I exchange themand their vulgar dreadful society, their masqueradesand card parties, for my beautiful little apartmentwhich I’ve tried to make perfect, which everyone admires,and which is my joy and delight!”
There was a dangerous, fixed smile on her face asshe rose from the dinner table where they had beenlingering over their black coffee, and rang the littlebrass bell for Hilda to clear away.
“Well, what do you think, Jan? Don’t you believewe’d both come to love the country? Don’t you thinkwe’d have a pack of fun down there?”
[Pg 299]
She eyed him with a cold stare a moment before sheanswered slowly:
“I won’t consider it.”
His face fell.
“What’s more,” she added briefly, “I think you’rea fool.”
His expression darkened; he glowered at her, hurtto the quick. She ignored him and went about the living-roomstraightening objects, lowering shades, adjustinglights. All the time she was steeling herselfto the wrangle she knew was coming. She would beequal to it; she would give him straight talk; she’d lethim have a piece of her mind and make him realize howabsurd he was, how utterly insane. Buying yachts andjoining clubs! What did he think he was, anyway? Amillionaire?
The storm when it broke was the most violent theyhad yet known; it was even worse than she had anticipated.Martin, usually noisy, cursing, was quickto recover, while she rarely lost control of speech oraction. But now the thought of giving up her littlehome, as he calmly proposed, infuriated her. He hadnot the faintest conception of how she loved it; he hadnever done one single thing to improve or beautify itbeyond buying those frightful Macy daubs!
For the first time in their quarrels she could notcontrol her tears. Convulsed with sobbing, Martinthought she had capitulated. He waited several minutesin distressed silence and then came to where shelay upon the couch to put his arms about her and drawher to him, but she turned on him with a fury that wasshocking. Rebuffed, he stared at her savagely, then[Pg 300]snatched his hat and coat and left her with a violentbang of the door.
Jeannette never for one moment thought she couldnot swing Martin to her wishes. She could not conceiveof herself weakening; Martin had always beeneasy-going, good-natured. But she had forgotten howpurposeful he could be when his intent was hot; shehad forgotten his perseverance, his patience, his indefatigabilitywhen he wooed her; she had forgottenhis winningness, his persuasiveness. He brought allthese qualities into play now; there was no side-trackinghim, no gainsaying him. His mind was lockedagainst the renewal of their lease, and set upon CohassetBeach. He argued, he cajoled, he pleaded, hecoaxed. Never had she known him so irritating orso winning. If she grew cross, he was amiable; ifshe grew sorrowful, he was consoling and tender;if she advanced arguments that brooked no reply,he was loving and answered her with kisses. Buthe was determined; nothing swerved him from hispurpose.
Once again, Jeannette found no comforting supportin anybody. Her mother said she ought to give in toher husband if he was so set upon the plan; it was thewife’s place to give way. Alice thought it would bedelightful to live in the country, and assured her sistershe would come to love it; she and Roy had been talkingall winter about moving to some place on LongIsland or in New Jersey, but it was hard to find anythingreally nice for twenty-five dollars a month withincommuting distance of the city; they were going toboard at Freeport again for the summer and they intendedto look around and see what they could find[Pg 301]there. It would be ideal for the children.... Wasthere any hope ... any prospect ...?
“No, thank Heaven,” Jeannette answered fervently.She had enough to bother her without the complicationof a baby just now.
On the anniversary of her wedding day she surrendered.Martin had been so sweet and gentle withher, so anxious to please, so considerate, every impulsewithin her prompted her to do the thing he wanted.She could see how eager he was for his sail-boat, hisnew club and the country; he was mad to have them;her heart was full of love for him. She reminded herselfthat when she had entered into this marriage shehad been determined to give more, if need be, than hedid, to make their union a success. Here was an opportunity.It meant a great sacrifice for herself; shehad no faith in the experiment, but felt sure she wouldlearn to hate all the people and the place, and Martinwould soon tire of it and them and share her feelings.But now it was the thing above all else he wanted, andit was her chance to be generous.
She extracted from him two promises, however. Itwas a foregone conclusion, she told him, that shewould not be happy at Cohasset Beach, but if sheagreed to go and live there with him, it must be understoodbetween them that she was to be free to comeinto New York as often as she pleased, to shop or tovisit her mother and Alice, or do anything she liked.He must also understand that he was to keep a closerwatch upon their finances. With commutation, railroadfares and club dues added to their expensesthey would have to practise a much more rigid economy.She wanted to get the table expenditures down to[Pg 302]fifteen dollars a week, and that would be out of thequestion if he expected her to entertain. As soon asthey were out of debt and had a little ahead, she wouldbe more than willing to have him invite people to visitthem.
He promised everything. He was only too anxiousand willing, he said, to agree to all she asked, to showhis deep gratitude.
§ 4
The bungalow at Cohasset Beach, at first sight,consoled her in some degree for giving up the apartment.The little house was charming, and charminglysituated. It had been built a few years before by arich old lady, an invalid, who had been compelled topass her days in a wheel-chair which she operated herself.Because of the chair, the house had been plannedbungalow-fashion, though there was an upstairs oftwo small bedrooms and an extra bath, and the doorwaysbetween rooms had been made particularly wideto permit the easy passage of the chair. Inside therewere oak floors throughout, a spacious fireplace, and anoak-timbered ceiling in a generous-sized living-room,off which opened two bedrooms and, opposite, the dining-room.There was an acre or so of unkempt groundabout the house with some gnarled old apple trees, inblossom when Jeannette first saw them, and at the rearthe ground sloped down to a rush-bordered pool inwhose rippleless surface all the colors of the sky, blossomingtrees and bordering reeds were intensified inglorious reflection. A white cow stood upon her owninverted image at the farther side. There was no viewof the Sound,—the bungalow was a good mile from the[Pg 303]water,—but it was picturesquely set, and Jeannettefelt, since she had been forced to abandon the city, shecould not have found a home in the country that suitedher better.
The move from town was accomplished without ahitch; even Hilda was successfully transplanted. Jeannetteset herself determinedly to work to fit herself andher furniture into the new environment, and was surprisedto discover how easily both were accomplished.Expenses alone distressed her. The vans whichbrought down the household effects cost more than shehad expected, and she was obliged to order more furnitureand rugs to make the new home attractive. Unfortunately,the bungalow had casement windows andthis necessitated cutting and remaking all her curtains.Some in addition, too, were needed for the living-room,and Jeannette had decided that scrim would be bothpractical and economical, but the clerk in the store hadshown her a soft, lovely material, stamped with adesign of long green grasses and iris, which he assuredher was “sunfast.” The pale purple and greenin the goods had appealed to her as so unusually beautifuland effective that she had not been able to resistgetting it. She decided to plant iris about the house inthe long narrow strips of flower-beds, and to carry irisas a motif throughout the place. In a Fifth Avenueshop there was some china that had a pattern of fleur-de-lisin its center, and her heart was set on some dayacquiring it for her new home.
Martin was immediately elected to the Family YachtClub; the Gibbses had him and his wife to dinner andinvited the Websters and another couple to make theiracquaintance; Mrs. Rudolph Drigo and Mrs. Blum, who[Pg 304]were neighbors, called, also Doctor Vinegartner of theEpiscopal Church. Alice, Roy, and the children spent aSunday with her sister and Alice was enthusiasticabout everything. She told Roy they would have tofind a house of their own at Cohasset Beach withoutdelay. Summer had arrived before Jeannette was halfaware of its approach.
The weather turned glorious; the dogwood came andwent; the country was full of sweet scents; robins andthrushes sang with open throbbing throats in the appletrees and hopped about in the shade; the frogs shrilledmusically at evening in the pool, but Jeannette did notfind the happiness for which she hoped. She tried tobe content; she sought for joy in her new life andsurroundings. She found none. Too many thingswere wrong. Over and over again she decided it washopeless.
First of all, there was the Family Yacht Club whichMartin loved and she despised. She had known beforehandwhat it was going to be like, and closer acquaintanceproved her premise to have been correct. All-year-roundresidents of Cohasset Beach made up itsmembership. There were less than three thousand peoplein the Long Island village during the winter; it wasonly in summer that the place became fashionable.Among those who belonged to the little yacht club,Jeannette soon discovered, were Tim Birdsell, the villageplumber; Zeb Kline, a contractor, hardly betterthan a carpenter; Fritz Wiggens, who kept an electricalequipment store on Washington Street; Steve Teschemacherand Adolph Kuntz, who were real estate agentsand were interested in a development known as “CohassetPark”; then there were the local dentist and his[Pg 305]wife, the local attorney and his helpmate, and the localdoctor, who seemed to be of a better sort than the restand was fortunately unmarried. The ladies took anactive part in the social life of the yacht club and ’StelTeschemacher, Chairwoman of the EntertainmentCommittee, went early to call upon the new member’swife to invite her to come to the “Five Hundred Club”meeting on the following Friday afternoon. Therewas a sprinkling of others who boasted of a slightlymore exalted social status: Mrs. Drigo’s husbandoperated a large ice plant in New York City. Mrs.Blum was the wife of the well-known confectioner, andPercy Webster was connected with an advertisingagency. If there were more interesting members theykept themselves aloof,—at least Jeannette did not meetthem. Once when she was describing to her motherwith a good deal of relish the type of people who belongedto this club, and was referring to the list ofmembers in the club’s annual booklet, she was surprisedto come upon the name of Lester Short and thatof a prominent magazine editor well-known to her.
She asked Herbert Gibbs about these people at anearly opportunity but elicited nothing more satisfactoryfrom him than: “Oh, they come round occasionally.”If such was the case, Jeannette was unable toidentify them. She was interested to learn later thatLester Short and his wife had six children and livedabout half-a-mile beyond the village in the regionknown as the “Point.”
Martin had no fault to find with his new friends. Hewas welcomed into their hearts; he charmed them all;he was acclaimed immediately the most popular member,and was appointed by the Commodore, old Jess[Pg 306]Higgenbothen, affable, decrepit and rich, and ownerof most of the acres Teschemacher and Kuntz were tryingto sell as choice lots in Cohasset Park, to serve onthe entertainment committee with ’Stel Teschemacher.Martin was enchanted with the cordiality with whichhe was accepted; he thought Zeb Kline, Fritz Wiggens,young Doc French “corking good scouts”; Zeb andFritz were a little rough perhaps but they were regularfellows; Steve Teschemacher was as “funny as acrutch” and his partner, Adolph Kuntz, had about assharp and shrewd a mind as Martin had ever encountered.
“Why, you ought to hear Adolph talk politics!” hetold his wife enthusiastically. “He knows more aboutwhat’s going on up in Albany right this minute thanall the newspapers in New York. You ought to hearhim tell some of his experiences in the RepublicanParty!”
He might be interesting and clever, everything Martinsaid of him, but to Jeannette he seemed uncouth,ill-bred, a spitter of tobacco juice.
§ 5
When the Yacht Club formally opened its summerseason, Jeannette put on her prettiest frock and wentwith her husband to the dance with which it was inaugurated.It was one of the efforts she made to adaptherself to the village life. She loved to dance. Swimming,sailing, tennis did not appeal to her, but fromthe dances in the club-house she hoped she might derivea certain amount of genuine pleasure. On the nightof the affair, after studying the reflection in her mirror[Pg 307]she had decided she had never looked so well; withtruth she could say she was a beautiful woman, and inthis estimate of herself, she found ample confirmationin Martin’s eyes. They hired a hack and drove overto the club.
But for the young wife it proved a dismal experience.The yokels,—the plumber, the electrician, thecarpenter, the dentist and real estate agents,—wereafraid to approach her,—not that she wanted them to,—andshe had been left to the favor of Herbert Gibbs,Doc French, and the old Commodore. The womeneyed her covertly, whispered about her and hergown, and made no advances. Herbert Gibbs dancedwith her once, twice; Martin was three times her partner;Commodore Higgenbothen had passed his “gallivanting”days; Doc French, whom she liked and towhom she would have been glad to be cordial, did notdance at all. The floor was rough and uneven; themusic lugubrious; three small boys kept up a fearfulracket playing with some folding chairs stacked in acorner. She watched Martin whirling and wheelingabout the floor, his face a broad grin, his eyes andteeth flashing, talking, laughing, exchanging an endlessbanter with other couples, answering here, there andeverywhere to calls of “Martin” and “Mart.” Athalf-past ten she could stand no more of it. Sheknew she was dragging her husband away from ahilarious good time, but she was bored, disgusted withthe whole evening and the hoidenish, loud-voiced villagefolk. She would never make the mistake of goingto another of their wretched dances. Martin could goif he wanted to; if he liked to hobnob with such people,he could do so to his heart’s content: she wouldn’t[Pg 308]raise one word of objection, but wild horses wouldn’tdrag her there again!
In a fortnight, there was another dance at the club,and this time Martin took himself to the party alone,while Jeannette went to bed with a magazine. Hewoke her up when he came home a little after twelve,and told her he had had a wonderfully good time, andthat Lester Short, his wife and their two older childrenhad been present. But Jeannette had no regrets. TheShorts and her husband could enjoy the society of theplumbers and carpenters and their wives if they choseto do so; she felt satisfied that if she had gone shewould have been miserable.
§ 6
Besides the Yacht Club there were other things inthe new order of existence that proved annoying. Meatand vegetables cost considerably more at CohassetBeach than in the city, and everything else was proportionallydearer. Jeannette had thought she mightsave a little on her marketing in the country, and itwas discouraging to discover that this was quite impossible.She certainly had not expected to find thatprices were actually higher. Then there was not nearlythe same variety from which to choose in the storeshere as there had been in the groceries and particularlythe meat markets of Amsterdam and Columbus Avenues.She and Martin were especially fond of lambkidneys which she used to buy at the rate of three forfive cents in New York. Pulitzer’s at Cohasset Beachnever seemed to have them. And even more exasperating[Pg 309]was the fact that fish could only be had on Thursdayswhen the fish-man came around blowing his horn.
The neighborhood, too, was a source of discomfort.Jeannette discovered, within a few days after they hadmoved into the bungalow, that the reason so attractivea house had been for rent at such a figure, with itsacre and more of ground, its apple trees and pondand picturesque setting, was that it was situated onthe wrong side of town, beyond the railroad tracks, amile from the water. The desirable, residential sectionof Cohasset Beach was that in which the HerbertGibbses lived, on the hill overlooking the Sound. Ablock from the bungalow, their rear yards abuttingupon the railroad tracks, was a row of shabby cottagesoccupied by laborers, Polacks mostly, who worked inthe quarries down on the “Point.” Here fencessagged and refuse littered the roadway, dirty childrenscrambled about and screamed at one another, dryinglaundry fluttered from clothes-lines, and fat darkwomen in calicoes and shuffling shoes gossiped fromdoorstep to doorstep. On Saturday nights therewere invariably celebrations among these people atwhich, from the singing and general racket, it was evidentthat red wine flowed freely, and the dolefulwhine of an accordion accompanying hoarse masculinevoices rose dismally from sundown until the earlymorning hours, interrupted by shouts of rollickinglaughter. Martin assured his wife that these peoplewere simple creatures, peasants transplanted but afew years from their native soil, celebrating after aweek of toil, in a harmless jovial way after the fashionto which, in the old country, they had been accustomed.[Pg 310]But Jeannette found it disturbing, not a littlefrightening, especially on those nights when Martinwent off to the Yacht Club and left her alone withonly Hilda in the house.
Lastly mosquitoes, germinated in the pond withina hundred yards of her own door, made their appearancein hungry numbers early in July. The pool waspractically stagnant,—without visible outlet,—and theneighbor who owned it and who operated a small dairy,refused to oil it as his cows watered there. The bungalowwindows were unscreened. Jeannette did not understandhow she had failed to notice the fact whenshe first inspected the premises. The matter had tobe remedied immediately, or life would be insupportable.The landlord declined to do anything; Martinthought perhaps they could endure the nuisance untilcold weather came, but his wife declared that unthinkable.If the windows were shut with the lightson, the bungalow became insufferably hot and stuffy;if left open, moths, winged bugs, every kind of flyinginsect of the night together with the pests bred inthe stagnant pool, flew in to buzz about the globesand torment those beneath them. Zeb Kline agreedto equip the bungalow with screens,—the frames wouldhave to be fitted to the insides of the windows on accountof their being casement,—for sixty-five dollars,and Jeannette, angered by Martin’s complacent acceptanceof the circumstances, and his indifferentattitude towards that for which she felt him largelyresponsible, told the carpenter to go ahead.
There were days when in the seclusion of her ownbedroom she gave way freely to her tears. Shewanted to be happy; she wanted to be a good manager[Pg 311]of her house, a good wife to Martin. Life often seemedto demand more from her than she was capable ofgiving. Concede—concede—concede! It was all concessionfor her; Martin gave nothing.
§ 7
There came another Fourth of July, one year fromthe time of the visit to the Gibbses. Doc French wasa member of the Cohasset Beach Yacht Club as well asof the Family Yacht Club. There was to be a wonderfulparty at the former on the evening of theFourth; it was the Club’s annual show. A dinner wasto be followed by a vaudeville entertainment providedby a number of talented actors from the Lambs Club,and after that a dance which would probably last allnight. Doc French invited Martin Devlin and his wifeto be his guests; he was giving a little dinner partyfor his sister-in-law, Lou, and her cousin, Mrs. EdithPrentiss, who were spending the holiday with him.
Jeannette was overjoyed at the prospect. She spenta day shopping in New York, and bought herself silversatin slippers, a pair of gray silk stockings to wearwith a silver dress,—part of her trousseau,—which shehad had no occasion to put on since she moved to thecountry. It promised to be a delightful affair andMartin shared her excitement.
It turned out to be all she expected. The spaciousdining-room, the dancing floor, even the awningedporches were crowded with tables, gay with flowersand patriotic decorations. There was a beguiling atmosphereof soft lights, color and music, smart andlovely women, elaborate costumes, attractive men.[Pg 312]Jeannette felt that she herself bloomed with beauty,that she appeared tall, statuesque, superb. People atother tables threw appraising glances and occasionallyshe saw a lorgnette levelled in her direction. DocFrench was admiring and attentive; she liked his sister-in-lawand particularly Mrs. Prentiss; the vaudevilleshow on an improvised stage at one end of thelong room was one of the best she had ever witnessed.Some of the actors were head-liners in their profession;with songs and stories, they kept the audience rockingwith laughter and stirred it to roars of applause. Oneof the entertainers particularly drew Jeannette’s interest,—ayoung actor, named Michael Carr. An unusuallyattractive youth, renowned for his good looks,a matinée idol, he had held the boards on Broadway allwinter as the leading attraction in a Viennese opera.Jeannette thought he sang delightfully, and had a mostcharming personality.
Towards midnight the chairs and tables were clearedaway and the dancing began. Doc French did notdance, himself, but he had no difficulty in securing partnersfor his guests, and Jeannette floated around thegaily decorated ball-room through the soft colors ofcalcium lights thrown upon the dancers, in an intoxicationof pleasure. Men, young and old, seemed anxiousto know her and ask her to dance; she was in demandevery moment, and in one of these dizzying whirls shewas interrupted by Doc French to introduce MichaelCarr. The actor had asked to be presented; could hehave a dance? The next was promised, but he couldhave it just the same, she said with shining eyes. Shedrifted away in his arms presently, a sweet giddinessenveloping her senses, rocking her in sensuous delight.[Pg 313]They glided from the dance and wandered out uponthe long pier over the water. The lisping waveslapped the piles and rhythmically beat upon the pebbledshore, the music of the dance reached them plaintively,yachts white and ghostly stood sentinels at theirmoorings, their cabins pin-pricked with lights, theirstarboard lanterns glowing green. The night air wascaressing, gay voices floated toward them, there wassmothered laughter from hidden corners, the heavenswere a myriad of golden stars. Quite simply MichaelCarr took the slim silver figure in his arms, she meltedinto his embrace and their lips clung to one another’slong and lovingly. It was a night of love, a night forlovers.
The brilliantly lit ball-room, the music drew themback. Jeannette had no sense of guilt; the mood of thehour still wrapped her; for the moment she loved thisman whole-heartedly; he was divine, a super-man, agod. No thought of Martin came to distress her. Shewas supremely content, supremely happy; it was rapture,bliss, enchantment. In her ear he kept whispering:
“You are wonderful, you are beautiful, you areadorable.”
Doc French was beckoning to her, but she onlysmiled amiably at him as she passed and floated onin Michael’s arms, bending and undulating with himin perfect symmetry of motion. There was no suchthing as time or space; she shut her eyes, and seemedto be floating—floating—floating—— Doc Frenchstopped them with a hand on the actor’s arm.
“Sorry to interrupt,” he said, “but I fear I must.Your husband, Mrs. Devlin.... May I speak to youa moment?”
[Pg 314]
Carr said, “Oh, I beg pardon,” and stepped aside,but Jeannette’s thoughts followed him.
“What is it, Doc?”
“Martin had better go home, Mrs. Devlin. He’sbeen downstairs at the bar, and I guess he’s had a bittoo much. I was going to take him home myself butI didn’t know how to get into your house.”
“Martin?”
“He’s been downstairs at the bar, and I’m afraidthe fellows there wouldn’t let him get away.”
“Martin?”
Reality came blindingly upon her with a glare ofhideous white light. Her dream shattered. Uglinessobtruded,—things naked and angular, harshness andcold cruelty! She felt as if she were being jerked fromenchanted slumber by a rude and horrid hand.
She clutched at her heart as if to tear out the painthat had already stabbed her there.
“Martin!” she breathed again, gasping a little, theblood draining from her face.
“He’s all right, Mrs. Devlin,—quite all right, I assureyou. Nothing’s happened to him—nothingwrong. There’s been no accident.”
“Accident?” Her eyes widened with sudden fear.
“No—no; it’s all right. He’s just drunk a little toomuch, and I thought he’d better go home.”
“Oh, surely—right away. Where is he?”
“Well, we’ve got him out in my car.”
“Let’s go—let’s go then; let’s go quickly. I’ll getmy wraps.” She started for the dressing-room.
“Good-night,” Michael’s voice called after her butshe did not turn her head.
Doc French led her to the motor car. Martin lay[Pg 315]huddled in the back, insensate, a long string of salivatrailing from his under lip. A strange man supportedhim.
A trembling, whispered exclamation escaped Jeannette.Her companion kept on reassuring her.
“There’s nothing—nothing the matter,” he repeated.“He’s had too much to drink, that’s all....Get in the front seat with me and I’ll drive you straighthome and we’ll put him to bed.”
They bumped over the car-tracks in WashingtonStreet and the dusty uneven ground in front of thestation. The dawn was coming up angry and on firein the east.
Before the bungalow, Jeannette jumped from themotor car and struggled to insert the twisted latch-keyin the lock, but her fingers shook so much it took hersome time to manage it. Behind her, Doc French andthe strange man were lifting Martin from the car. Asthey wrenched him free he groaned painfully.
Jeannette flew into the house, flung on lights, toreback the gay-figured cretonne cover of the bed. Herunderclothes lay upon the chair where she had tossedthem when she had been so happily dressing. She gatheredthese with one swift reach and threw them tothe floor of a closet. The stumbling feet were coming;the men were carrying Martin head and feet.With a concerted effort they heaved him upon thebed and he lay there inertly, sprawling, just as hehad fallen.
“Can I help you, Mrs. Devlin?” asked the Doctor,dusting off his hands.
“Oh, no,—thank you very much,” Jeannette answeredin a strained voice.
[Pg 316]
“Don’t you think we’d better undress him? He’spretty heavy for you to manage alone.”
Jeannette looked at the helpless figure flung outacross the bed, ungainly postured like a child’s discardeddoll, purple lips parting with each breath, thehair damp and tousled. One of his garters hadloosened and dangled now from the wrinkled hosethat covered a patent-leather pump.
“No,” she said again slowly, “thank you very muchfor all your kindness, Doc,—but it’s my—my job; hebelongs to me; I’ll take care of him.”
§ 8
Three hours later she walked out on the back porch.The heat of the Sunday morning was moist and tropical,giving promise of a scorching day. The bells ofthe Catholic Church on the “Point” road were ringingsweetly for the children’s mass. Her eyes feltburnt out from lack of sleep: two black holes in herhead. Hilda was making a small fuss in the kitchen,rattling pans, droning hoarsely to herself. Jeannettestood at the porch railing and looked off across thequiet country, misty with the early heat. Emotionswere at war in her heart, and there was pain—pain—pain.
She had not been to bed; she had not even lain down.The silver gown had been put away, her finery discarded,and now she wore the striped velveteen wrapperin which she usually did her morning’s work. Shehad undressed her husband, removed his shoes, drawnoff his dress suit, tugging at its arms, rolling him fromone side to another to free the clothing. She had[Pg 317]washed his face with a cold wet rag and brushed therumpled hair from his eyes. Then she had put theroom in order, opened the casement windows, drawnthe shades, closed the door and left him to peace andsleep. The house had needed straightening and to thisshe had turned her attention, adjusting rugs, pushingchairs into position, emptying ash receivers, carryingaway newspapers, arranging magazines and books inneat piles, using broom and dust-pan, wiping the furniturewith a dust cloth. Hilda had given her somecoffee at eight o’clock and she had drunk it black andcrunched some thin slices of buttered toast. Now nothingremained to be done and the thoughts to whichshe had resolutely shut her mind clamored for admittanceto her weary brain. Remorse and reproach,censure and repugnance, disillusionment, humiliation,grief and regret,—they swarmed upon her like so manyblack flies.
The hours of the morning ticked themselves away.She could not sleep; she could not rest. Over and overher thoughts turned to the incidents of the night, givingher no peace, no surcease. Every little while shewould go softly to Martin’s door and silently look inupon him; he lay as she had left him. In spite of theopened windows the room reeked of alcohol.
Towards noon she fell asleep on the couch in theliving-room, and the afternoon light was waning whenshe opened her eyes. The sound of water woke her;Martin was running a bath, and when presently sheentered the bedroom, she found him shaving. She wasshocked at his appearance; his face was dead white,the eyes bloodshot, and his hand trembled as he heldthe razor, but it was Martin, restored to life and sanity.
[Pg 318]
They avoided one another’s glance, and constraintheld them silent. She could see that physically he wasweak, his nerves still shattered and that his mind wassick with remorse, and fear of her displeasure. Hecould not guess she wanted only to take him in herarms, to kiss and comfort him, wanted only to be kindand good to him, to restore him to health and strengthagain, wanted to utter no word of reproach but togive him all the love she could and so ease the painand shame within herself.
§ 9
Three weeks later, Doc French drove up in frontof the bungalow door in his lumbering motor car. Itwas late in the afternoon. There had been a heavythunderstorm about two o’clock but now the sun wasglittering on all the dripping trees and drenched shrubberyand the air was fragrant with sweet grassy andwoodland smells.
There was to be another dance at the CohassetBeach Yacht Club the following Saturday night.Doc’s sister-in-law and Mrs. Prentiss were comingdown for it and would stay with him over the week-end;it happened to be Lou’s birthday and he wantedMartin and Jeannette to help celebrate the event at asmall dinner he was arranging at the Cohasset Beachclub-house before the dance.
Jeannette thanked him and said that, no, she wassorry but she and Martin had another engagement;Doc was very kind to think of them but it would haveto be another time.
[Pg 319]
When her husband came home on the five-twenty,she told him about it.
“Oh, you bet you,” he agreed. “No more of thatkind of stuff for this young fellow. We’re out of ourclass at that club, Jan.”
“I thought,” suggested Jeannette, “we might go tothe other club that night. There’s always a dancethere, and it would be our excuse to Doc French. Itoccurred to me that perhaps after we got to knowthose people a little better, we might like it.”
Martin’s face beamed with pleasure.
“Would you? Would you really go?” he askedeagerly. “Say, Jan, that’ll be fine. Say, if you onlywouldn’t be so standoffish and proud, you’d learn tolike that gang and they’d learn to like you. They’reawfully good-hearted.”
“Well, I’ll try,” said his wife.
[Pg 320]
CHAPTER VI
§ 1
It was quite an undertaking to go from CohassetBeach to Freeport, on the opposite side of Long Island.One had to take the steam train to Jamaica and changecars there; the connections were bad; it took thebetter part of two hours. But Alice had written hersister week after week begging her and Martin tospend a Sunday with them and finally a date had beenset. It was the end of the Beardsleys’ stay at Freeport,and the visit could not be further postponed ifthe Devlins were to accomplish it at all. Jeannettewas eager to go, but to Martin it meant the loss ofhis one day in the week of yachting. There wereraces every Sunday afternoon and since Martin hadacquired his little A-boat, there was no joy in lifefor him equal to the pleasure of sailing it. But itheld no joy for Jeannette; she resented the boat andeverything connected with it; to her it only meantninety dollars’ worth of extravagance and it took herhusband away from her every week-end. He spentSaturday afternoons “tuning up,” as he described it,for the race on Sunday. She saw little of him on thesedays; he was always at the yacht club and would oftenbe half-an-hour to an hour late for dinner. He neverhad had any sense of time.
So she had patiently urged the expedition to Freeport[Pg 321]and had made him promise weeks in advance thatthis particular date should be dedicated to the visit.
The day was a glorious success. Martin was in hissweetest, merriest mood and no regret over his lostsport lingered in his heart. There was only a faintstirring of wind and little indication that it wouldfreshen, as previous days had been marked by calm;he was consoled, therefore, in thinking that in all probabilitythere would be no race that afternoon.
Alice, Roy, and the children met them at the FreeportStation. They were all going on a picnic overto the beach it was announced; a launch would takethem to a sandy reef that was their own discovery;it left a little after eleven; they just had time.
The beach when they reached it was totally deserted.No one ever came there, Alice explained; it was a narrow,hummocky strip of sand, a mile or more in lengthwith no habitation on it but a gray weather-beatenshack falling into ruins. A rickety one-board pierjutted out into the lagoon that separated this reef fromthe island shore and the launch stopped there a momentto let the little party disembark before it wentchug-chugging on its way to Coral Beach farther alongthe coast, where a small tent colony was springinginto being. The launch would return for them aboutfive o’clock.
A sandy tramp of a few hundred yards over thedunes and sparse gray sea-scrub brought them to thelunching spot. Here, half covered over with driftingsand, was a long padlocked pine box. Roy produceda key and opened it. This was the cache, the Beardsleysexplained; they and the children came here everySunday and they kept a few things stowed away in[Pg 322]the box. Nobody ever disturbed them. This was theirown little sandy domain, and they referred to it alwaysas San Salvador. The box disclosed a tall faded,beach umbrella which was immediately unfurled andplanted upright in the sand; then there was a pieceof clean canvas, some straw cushions, and an iron grill.The canvas was spread under the umbrella; Roy madeJeannette seat herself on one of the cushions, and hepropped a board at an angle behind her so that shemight lean back against it and be comfortable; thenshe was given Ralph to hold and to feed from his bottle.The others proceeded to busy themselves withpreparations for lunch. Etta was quite able to lookout for herself, Alice assured her sister, and the babywould be off in ten minutes.
An expedition for driftwood was inaugurated andpresently a large pile of smoothly rounded bleachedsticks, branches and blocks of wood was heaped nearat hand. The lunch consisted of hot cocoa and chopswhich were to be grilled, and some round flat bakerybuns to be split in half and toasted. In a few momentsthere was a brisk, snapping fire leaping up throughthe bars of the grill; a large saucepan and the milkappeared, the buns impaled on the points of stickswere set to toasting; at the last moment the chopswere to be put on to broil.
A heavenly felicity stole over Jeannette as she satin the shade of the umbrella, the baby in her arms,watching the scene. The Atlantic thundered in in greatarcs of green water, foamed-crested, which crashedmagnificently in round curling splathers of spray, andslid swiftly, smoothly, reachingly up the flat beach toslink back again upon themselves as if deriding these[Pg 323]harmless, picnicking people were not the victims forwhich they sought. Seaweed littered the beach in longwhip lashes and bulbous bottles, and seabirds pickedtheir way about in it, and pecked at sand fleas; gullssoared in wide circles above their heads, squawkingugly cries, or skimmed the wave-tops hunting fish.Far out upon the bosom of the ocean a steamer lefta long scarf of smoke against an azure sky. The saltair from the sea was scented with the fragrant odorof the beachwood fire.
Little Ralph lay inertly in Jeannette’s arms suckinggreedily at his bottle until the last of it had to be tiltedup against his mouth. At this stage his eyelids beganto drift shut and his head to hang heavily in the crookof her elbow. He was a cunning child, his auntthought, critically studying him. He resembled hisfather with a closeness that was ludicrous: a smallreplica, with the same small mouth, the same whimsicalsmile and unruly, tawny hair. His skin was likesatin,—delicately tinted,—and against its faint pinknesshis long-fringed lashes lay like tiny featheryfans. His weight against her breast felt pleasant toher; he seemed so trusting, so certain of protection, ashe lay sleeping thus, a scrap of humanity confident ofthe world’s love. A sudden tenderness came to thewoman; she bent down and kissed the damp foreheadat the edge of the child’s yellow hair.
The entrancing smell of crisply broiling meat andtoasting bread assailed her.
“Uuum—m,” she said hungrily, and raising herhead she observed Martin watching her. Puzzled amoment by the intentness of his gaze, her eyes widenedinquiringly, but he only shook his head at her pleasantly[Pg 324]and grinned. There was love in his look and itthrilled her as evidence of any affection from himnever failed to do.
She gently laid the baby on the strip of canvas, arrangeda rumpled little pillow beneath his head, spreada square of netting over him to keep flies frombothering him, weighing down its corners with a fewbeach pebbles, and joined the others about the fire,where presently they were all munching with gluttonouscries of delight. Never was there better food!Never was there anything so delicious! A bite ofgrilled chop and a bite of crisp buttery bun! Theirappetites were on edge; they grunted in satisfyingthem. Another cup of hot cocoa, please,—and, yes,—anotherchop,—just one more,—but this must positivelybe the last!
As the fire died away, they lay back upon the sand,replete, heavy with food, bathed in pleasant warmth.Etta, stripped of all clothing but a diminutive under-shirt,played in the sand and squatted on her heelson the edge of the wave-rips, uttering gurgling criesof fright when her toes were wet. Drowsiness andbodily comfort wrapped the others’ senses; a feelingof openness,—sky, land and ocean,—beguiled them;the breakers pounded and swished musically up thebeach; sea-birds lifted plaintive cries; the faint breezewas redolent of salt and kelp; the sun’s heat warm andcaressing.
Jeannette awoke deliciously; Martin was bendingover her; he had kissed her, and now he was smilingdown at her.
“Come on,” he said, “we’re all going swimming.”
[Pg 325]
“Oh,” protested Jeannette, yawning, with a greatstretch of limbs, “must we?”
“Oh, yes, Janny,” Alice urged, coming up, “we alwaysgo swimming; that’s the best part of the fun.”
“I didn’t bring a bathing suit,” objected Jeannette,sleepily.
“I’ve got an old one of mine for you and Roy borroweda suit at the boarding-house for Martin.”
They dragged her to her feet and as she looked atthe emerald waves curling toward her, they suddenlyseemed inviting.
In a few moments they were into their bathing suitsand ran down to the water together,—the four of them,—holdinghands, laughing and shouting. The rushingtide swirled about their knees and leaped up againsttheir thighs.
“Come on!” urged the men, dragging their wivesinto the frightening turmoil.
A wave engulfed them, quickening their breath, sendingtheir hearts knocking against their throats with itscold sharpness.
“Oh-h-h!” screamed Jeannette, “isn’t it glorious?”
Martin caught her, lifted her high, as a combercrashed down upon them, burying him in white foam.The water fled past.
Jeannette caught him about the neck and theypressed their lips and wet faces together.
“Mart—Mart!” she cried. “It’s just like ourhoneymoon, isn’t it?”
He strained her to him, kissing her dripping hairand cheeks, his arms entwined about her, his facestretched wide with laughter and excitement.
[Pg 326]
“My God, Jan,” he said with almost a groan of feeling,“my God, I love you when you’re this way!You’re just wonderful!”
Her shining eyes were his answer, and he caughther to him again to kiss her fiercely.
A wave suddenly plunged over them. Jeannettefelt herself wrenched from his embrace, felt himstumbling on the sand in the big effort he made tokeep his footing. Even in that brief frightening moment,when she was totally submerged and they werebeing dragged apart, she was conscious of the greatstrength of the man, of arms suddenly taut as steelcables, of fingers and hands that gripped her like grapplinghooks of iron and pitted their might against themight of the sea. The tumultuous plunge of waterrushed headlong on its course, but Martin stood firmand pulled her to him.
They clung together once more, and laughing likechildren faced another menacing attack of the ocean.
§ 2
Later as she lay prone upon the hot, hard sand,baking in the sun’s delicious heat, her hair spread outbehind her on a towel to dry, she watched her husbandwith Etta in his arms again encountering the waves.The little girl’s arms were tight around his neck andshe screamed with excitement whenever the waterfoamed and welled up about them. The child was notfrightened; it was remarkable to observe the unusualconfidence the little girl had in her uncle. A fine figureof a man, mused his wife; his limbs had the form ofsculpture and his body, shining now with the glitter[Pg 327]of wet bronze, showed every muscle rippling beneaththe skin like writhing snakes. He was indeed a husbandto be proud of, a husband any woman might envyher. She must never let his love for her grow less; hemust always be in love with her, not merely have anaffectionate regard for her as most men had for theirwives. He was lying on the beach, now, and Etta wascovering him with sand, screaming shrilly each time hestirred and cracked the mold she was patting intoshape about him.
“You bad, Uncle Martin,” came the child’s pipingvoice; “you be a good man and lie still.”
He had the child on his back presently and on handsand knees crawled a hundred yards down the beach,sniffing at whatever came into his path and growlingfiercely. Etta’s shrieks reached them above the roarof the surf. She had a stick now and was belaboringher steed vigorously.
“No, no, Etta, no—no!” called her mother. Martinwaved a reassuring hand and pretended to sufferdeath. “It’s wonderful the way Martin has with children,”commented Alice; “they seem to take to himnaturally.”
Everyone did, thought his wife affectionately. Hewas truly exceptional; children,—boys and girls,—menand women,—everybody felt his irresistible attraction.
A shrill tooting announced the arrival of the launch.There was a mad scramble; no one was dressed. Roywent off to tell the boat to wait while the others hurriedinto their clothes, gathered plates, forks and otheraccessories of the lunch into baskets, and flung umbrella,canvas, grill and cushions back into their keeping-place.[Pg 328]Everyone was laughing helplessly whenRoy came springing back to tell them to take their timeas the old captain had admitted he was half-an-hourearly.
Fifteen minutes later they clambered aboard thepuffing motor-boat, and Martin and Jeannette foundthemselves sitting side by side in the stern. His handfound hers as it lay upon the seat between them andtheir fingers linked themselves together; their eyesshone as they looked at one another.
“Wonderful day, Jan.”
“Ah, wonderful indeed,” she answered.
§ 3
It was late that night after they were in bed thatMartin said to her:
“Jan, old girl, wouldn’t you like to have a baby?You looked so sweet to-day sitting there under theumbrella with little Ralph in your arms,—really youmade a beautiful picture: mother and child, you know;I haven’t been able to get it out of my mind since....I think it would be a lot of fun to have a kid.”
Jeannette was silent. She had often thought abouthaving a child. Martin continued:
“Seems to me, Jan, you’d love a baby after it came.I know it’s a pretty tough experience, and you don’twant one so awfully badly, but Gee Christopher! Ithink a baby would be swell; one of our own, you know,one that belonged to us, that was ours,—and youwould, too. I often look at Herbert Gibbs’ kid andwish to goodness he was mine. Herb’s always talkingabout him and I know damn well I’d be just as looney[Pg 329]about a son of my own.... Now take Roy and Alice,for example: see what fun they get out of their children,and that Etta sure’s a heart-breaker! And she’sso jolly, too! Did you ever see a pluckier kid thanthat? You’d like a little daughter like her, wouldn’tyou, Jan? I think a baby would be a lot of fun, don’tyou?”
Still she said nothing and he asked his questionagain, giving her a little squeeze in the circle of hisarm.
“I was just thinking about it,” she said vaguely.“It means a good deal for a woman.”
“That’s right, of course. I know it does,—but youwouldn’t be scared, would you, Jan?”
“Oh, no, that wouldn’t bother me—much,” she saidslowly. “It’s the ties that bind one afterwards that Iwas thinking of.”
“Well-l, you want a baby some time, don’t you?You don’t want to grow old and be childless, do you?”
“No; certainly not.”
“Then what’s the good of waiting?”
“A baby’s an expense, and we’re terribly behind. Ithink we ought to be out of debt first, don’t you?”
“Yes-s,—I guess so.”
They went off to sleep at this point, but Martinbrought the subject up again a few days later. Duringthe interval, however, Jeannette had made up hermind: they were over five hundred dollars in debt anduntil that was cleaned up or at least very materiallyreduced, it would be very foolish indeed for them toconsider having a child. If Martin wanted a baby,he must do his share in getting out of debt.
“But Jan, don’t you think that a baby would help[Pg 330]us save? I mean if there was one in the house, I don’tbelieve you and I would want to gad so much.”
His wife eyed him with a twisted smile and an elevatedbrow.
“Oh—hell,” he said, disgustedly, and went to finda cigar.
[Pg 331]
CHAPTER VII
§ 1
September brought an end to the yacht-racing anda few weeks later Martin’s beloved A-boat was towedwith a number of others a mile or two down the Soundto be housed in winter quarters. Jeannette earnestlyhoped that this would mean her husband would spendmore time with her at week-ends. He was gone fromMonday till Friday all day, and she felt that at leastpart of his Saturday afternoons and Sundays shouldbe hers. But Martin always wanted to do things onthese days; he wanted some active form of amusement,some excitement, a “party,” as he called it;he was never content to sit at home and read or gofor a walk with his wife. He asserted he needed theexercise, and if he missed it between Saturday noonand Sunday night, he was “stale” for the rest of theweek. Sometimes Jeannette came into the city bytrain on a Saturday, met him after the office closed atnoon, and together they went to lunch and later toa matinée. Then the alternative presented itself ofeither remaining in town for dinner and going to anothershow or of taking a late afternoon train back toCohasset Beach. Such a program, of course, costmoney, but unless Jeannette did this, Martin would gooff to the Yacht Club Saturday afternoon, and returnthere in the evening after dinner to play poker. The[Pg 332]Saturday night dances gave place at the close of theyachting season to “smokers” which only the menattended. A certain group called itself “the gang,”and prominent in it were such club lights as HerbertGibbs, Zeb Kline, Fritz Wiggens, Steve Teschemacherand Doc French. Martin Devlin was warmly hailedas one of them. They played poker every Saturdaynight and the “session” lasted until an early hourSunday morning.
Jeannette came to hate these men; she resented theirtaking her husband from her; she begrudged hisgambling when he could not afford to lose. When sheprotested, the only answer from him was a testy:“Quit your crabbing.” He almost invariably wonand divided his winnings with her, or at least dividedwhat purported to be his winnings. His wife despisedherself for taking the money; it made her want himto win, though she wished to be indifferent to his card-playing,since she did not approve of it. She tried tojustify her acceptance of the money on the groundthat it went to pay off some of their bills. But sometimesshe bought a small piece of finery for herselfwith it. She was becoming very shabby in appearance.She reminded herself almost daily that she hadnot bought any new clothes since she was married, andthe bride’s wardrobe, though ample, was now wornand much depleted.
§ 2
It was towards the end of summer, when alreadythere was a brisk touch of fall in the air, that RoyBeardsley fell ill with typhoid and for three weeks[Pg 333]was a desperately sick man. Martin, who had varioustalks with the physician, told Jeannette that therewas small hope of his recovery; certain phases of thecase made it appear very grave.
Jeannette took Etta and Ralph to stay with her inthe country and Mrs. Sturgis moved out to the flat inthe Bronx to help Alice fight for Roy’s life. Jeannette,from the first, believed he was going to die; destiny, itseemed to her, had ordained it. For the first time inmany years she got down on her knees in her bedroomand prayed. She realized more clearly than anyoneelse in the family what a tragedy Roy’s death would beto them all,—to helpless Alice and his helpless children,to her little mother, to Martin, to herself. She did notknow what would become of Alice and her babies!How would they live? She and Martin would have toshoulder the responsibility, and they had difficulty inmaking ends meet as it was! Where would Martin getfifty or even twenty-five dollars a month to send Alice?And how could Alice and the children manage on sosmall a sum? Roy, she knew, had a three thousanddollar life insurance policy,—hardly more than enoughto bury him decently! Alice could not go to work; shehad not the faintest notion of how to earn a living. Shewas clever with her needle, but that was all. It wasimpossible to imagine her a seamstress! But shewould either have to go into that work and let Jeannettekeep the children, or she would have to live withher mother, while Mrs. Sturgis and Martin,—betweenthem,—would have to contribute what they were ableto their support! It was a terrible prospect in anycase. Jeannette was ridden with fear of the catastrophe.How different it would be, she reminded herself,[Pg 334]were she in Alice’s situation,—she with her professionand her experience in business! She had nothingto fear on that score; she could always take careof herself. Poor Alice!—poor little brown bird!—therewould be nothing for her to do; she could not supportherself, not to mention her two children! Jeannette rememberedthat once she had begged to be allowed tofollow her sister’s example and go to work, and sherecalled how she and her mother had vigorously opposedher. She wondered now if that had been right.Perhaps every woman ought to have a profession orat least a recognized means of earning her livelihood.How secure Alice would feel now in that case if Roydied! Grief-stricken, yes, but with the comfortingknowledge that neither she nor her children need bedependent on anyone!
All day long as Jeannette watched Etta and Ralphplaying under the apple trees, which had begun to shedtheir yellow leaves and the scant weazened fruit fromtheir scraggy branches, she thought of Roy’s possibledeath and her sister’s plight. Any one of the familygroup could be spared better than he! Yes, even Alice! ...Oh, it would be a calamity,—a dreadful, horriblecalamity if Roy died! ... Twenty times a dayshe closed her eyes and thought a prayer.
She enjoyed having the children with her. Etta wasan affectionate, ebullient child, always ready with hugsand kisses; little Ralph placidly viewed the world withreposeful solemnity, made no demands, was amiablysatisfied with any arrangement his elders or even hisbig sister thought wise, and in his gentleness wasextraordinarily appealing.
Late in the afternoons, Jeannette would dress them[Pg 335]in clean rompers, pull on their sweaters and set themout on the lower step of the front stoop to wait forMartin. There they would sit for sometimes an hour,or even longer, watching for him and at the firstglimpse, Etta would run screaming to meet him witharms flung wide, Ralph following as best he could.Martin was particularly in love with the boy, and hewould hold the baby in his lap for long periods, neitherof them making a sound; or the child would grasp hisfinger and toddle beside him, see-sawing from oneslightly bowed leg to another, to inspect the pool andperhaps capture a frog.
Only a miracle would stay Death’s hand, the doctorhad said, but the miracle happened; very slowly thetide began to turn and inch by inch the flood of lifecame back to the wasted body of Roy Beardsley. Jeannetteshed tears of gratitude when it was definitelyasserted he would get well. She left the children inHilda’s care and went to the city to rejoice with hermother and sister. They clung together the way theyused to do before either of the girls was married, weptand sniffled and kissed one another again and again.Roy’s blue eyes seemed enormously large and darkwhen his sister-in-law saw him; his lip was drawntight across his teeth and these protruded like the fangsof a famished dog. His cheeks were sunk in greathollows beneath his cheek-bones, and his hands werethe hands of the starved. He was a living skeleton,but his great eyes acknowledged her presence and hersmile, and there was a faint twitching of the tight-drawnlip. Although she had been prepared, she couldnot keep from betraying the shock his altered appearancegave her; he was indeed ghastly.
[Pg 336]
The averted tragedy sobered them all. Roy wouldbe many weeks getting back his health and he musttake particular care of himself during the approachingwinter, the doctor cautioned. No one ever whisperedthe word “tuberculosis” but each knew it was thatwhich Roy must guard against. If it could be managed,he ought to be taken to a warmer climate, the physicianadvised, and he must make no effort, but rest, drinkmilk and eat nourishing food for a long time until hehad entirely regained his strength. His father eagerlywrote him to come to California; Jeannette and Martinasked to keep the children; everyone urged Alice totake her husband to the Golden State. So just beforethe first snow of the year, she and Roy departed westward,waving good-bye through the iron grill at thestation to the little group behind it, who waved vigorouslyin return until “All aboard” was shouted, theporter helped Alice up into the vestibule and the trainbegan slowly to move.
§ 3
The winter was hard. It was unusually cold andsnow lay heavy in great mounds along the edges of thevillage streets, and beaten trails of it meanderedthrough the frozen fields. Soot from the trains blackenedthe white drifts and the road-beds were rutted insharp ridges, and gray ice, that crackled and shiveredlike glass underfoot, formed in the hollows. The leaflesstrees spread their branches in black nakednessagainst the bleak sky and the wind blew chilly acrossthe bare countryside from the icy waters of the Sound.
Yet Jeannette knew her first happiness at Cohasset[Pg 337]Beach. Her days were full of the care of her smallniece and nephew. They were endearing mites, exacting,but warmly affectionate. She had had no experiencein bringing up children but her mother came downto stay with her for a while, and Mrs. Drigo, who liveda hundred yards or so down the street, and had fourhealthy youngsters of her own, gave counsel in emergencies.Jeannette devoted herself to her task. Sheattacked the problem much as she would have met someuntoward circumstance in business. She consideredherself efficient, set great store by efficiency, and proposedto apply it to the care of her sister’s children.She devised a system and adhered to it.
In the cold mornings when the children woke, theymight look at their picture-books until she came in todress them. They must not make any noise and Martinmust not go in to play with them or even open theirdoor to say “Hello” when he got up early to fix thefurnace. They had their “poggy” and milk at eightand immediately thereafter were bundled into theirwoolly leggings, sweaters, hooded caps and mittens andsent out to play in the snow. They were to amuse themselvesuntil eleven, when, furred and properly shod,their aunt appeared to take them with her to market,wheeling Ralph in his go-cart, while Etta trailed alongbeside them. Upon returning, the children had theirluncheon, always a good full meal of baked potato,cut-up meat and vegetables, and a little dessert. Jeannettebelieved small children should have light suppers,and that their “dinner” should come at midday.After they had eaten, it was nap-time, and this was theblessed interval of relaxation for herself. Her chargesmust stay in bed until three o’clock, when they were[Pg 338]re-dressed in their woolly leggings, sweaters and caps,and permitted to go out again to play in the snow. Forthe rest of her life, bits of watery ice stuck to the finehairs of woollen garments always brought back toJeannette with poignant emotion the memory of thesedays. When the children stamped into the house at theend of their play, their skins hard and coldly fresh,their breaths puffs of vapor, their cheeks crimson, thelittle sweaters and leggings would be encrusted withhard, icy snow. Jeannette would have a log fire going,and she would undress them before its crackling blazeand hang their damp outer garments on the fire screento dry. The little naked figures dancing in the warmroom in the flickering firelight was always a delightfulsight to her. They were their merriest at this hourand said their cutest things with which she rememberedlater to regale Martin. Upstairs the oil heaterwould be warming the bathroom which Hilda had madeready and presently there would come a mad dashinto the dining-room and up the cold stairway to thegrateful temperature of the little room. And herebegan a great splashing with shrieks and admonitions,and here Jeannette dried their sweet little bodies andslipped them into their cotton flannel double-gowns.Then downstairs once more before the replenished logfire to sit on either side of her and empty their warmedbowls of crackers and milk and listen to the story sheeither read or told them until Martin came in to findthem so. Then followed kisses and hugs all round andimmediately thereafter the children were dispatchedto bed with a final warning from their aunt that theremust positively be no talking.
Thus it was day after day, always the same, relentlessly[Pg 339]the same, undeviating monotony. Martinalways praised Jeannette, her mother praised her,even the neighbors praised her. Alice wrote lovingmessages of deep gratitude. She responded to thegeneral approval, delighted in the applause. Thethought that she was proving herself equal to thisunfamiliar rôle, that she was doing her job efficiently,comforted and inspired her. Revelling in her righteousduty, she threw herself passionately into its perfectexecution. She gave it all her energy, thought andtime. She told her husband and mother with muchemphasis that Etta and Ralph were far better behavednow than they ever had been with their own father andmother.
“It’s routine, I tell you,” she would say. “Childrenrespond to routine and this business of deviating froma strict schedule is demoralizing. A little firmness isall that is necessary in making children good. Theyreally are very adaptable. I confess I was surprised.They learn so quickly! The minute Etta and Ralphsaw when they first came that I wouldn’t stand forany foolishness, they were as meek as lambs....I declare! Alice is so soft and easy-going with them,I hate to think of their being spoilt when they go back.”
It was another surprise to Jeannette to discoverhow little the presence of the children in the housedisturbed Martin. She had thought he would growrestless after a time and that they would be certainto annoy him. She had been sure he would soon objectto ties which would chain her to the house. Martinloved children—loved them particularly well for aman, perhaps—but he was often unreasonable whereher time and movements were concerned, and had[Pg 340]always rebelled at restraint. Now he mildly acceptedthe new element in their lives without protest and astime passed continued amiable. If she could notgo out with him or accept an invitation, he did notreproach or even urge her, but praised her for herdevotion, and often stayed at home to keep her company.Saturday nights, however, when the “gang”gathered at the Yacht Club, he went off to join them,but since the children were with her, Jeannette didnot mind being alone in the house.
“Come home early,” she would say to him. “It’ssuch fun to have you in the house on Sundays and thechildren love it. I hate to have you wake up tired andhollow-eyed, and you know, Martin, when you get onlytwo or three hours’ sleep you are sometimes a littlecross and the children notice it.”
“You’re dead right,” he would agree with herreadily. “I’ll tell the boys I’ve got to quit at midnight.They can begin the rounds then; there’s nosense in our sitting up until three or four o’clock inthe morning.”
And often he kept his word.
§ 4
Alice and Roy had planned to stay six months inCalifornia, but in April Jeannette received a letterfrom her sister with the news that they had decidedto return the first of May; Roy was in fine shape,—hewas even fat!—they both were mad to see theirchildren.
The letter left Jeannette feeling strangely blank.What was she to do without Etta and Ralph? She[Pg 341]had talked a great deal about the fearful responsibility,the exacting care these youngsters involved and whata relief it would be to her when their mother camehome to take them off her hands. She had aired theseviews to her own mother and to Mrs. Drigo, Mrs.Gibbs, and particularly to Martin. Yet now that Alicewas coming a month, even six weeks sooner than sheintended, she had none of the expected elation. Asadness settled upon her. She wondered how shewould occupy herself when the babies were gone.
“What do you suppose Roy intends to do?” sheasked Martin one day. “He hasn’t got a job. I don’tsee how he’s going to manage for Alice and the children....He might leave them with us for awhile....No,—I suppose Alice will want them back immediately! ...It will be some time before he getssettled.”
“Oh, he’ll find something to do, right away,” Martinanswered her cheerfully.
That was one of Martin’s irritating qualities, reflectedhis wife. He was always so optimistic, soconfident, never appreciating how serious things sometimeswere. Roy and Alice were facing a grave situation;it might be desperate. Martin refused to regardit as important.
“I wonder if Mr. Corey would take him back at theoffice?” Jeannette hazarded. Very probably he would.It was a brilliant idea and, acting upon it at once, shewent the following day to see her old employer.
The visit to the publishing house was strangely disquieting.She was struck by the number of new faces,the many changes. The counter which formerly definedthe waiting-room on the fourth floor had been[Pg 342]removed and now the space, walled in by partitions,was converted into a retail book store with shelveslined with new books and display tables. A gray-hairedwoman inquired her name with a polite, indifferentsmile, and when she brought back word that Mr.Corey would see Mrs. Devlin, undertook to show Jeannettethe way to his office!
There were changes behind the partitions as well.It was amazing the differences two years had wrought.There was none of the flutter of interest her appearancehad caused at her previous visit. One or two ofher old friends came up to shake her hand and to askabout her, while a few others nodded and smiled. Shedid not see Miss Holland anywhere, and Mr. Allisterof whom she caught a glimpse in a distant corner accordedher a casual wave of the hand. She was forgottenalready, she, who had once enjoyed so muchrespect, even affection, who had been the president’ssecretary, had been known to have his ear and oftento have been his adviser! Miss Whaley, whom sheremembered as having been connected with the MailingDepartment, she met face to face on her way to Mr.Corey’s office, but the girl had even forgotten hername!
But there was nothing wanting in her old chief’sreception. Mr. Corey rose from his desk the instantshe entered his room, and reached for both her hands.He was the same warm, cordial friend, eager to heareverything about her. How was she getting on? Howwas that good-looking husband of hers? Where werethey living? He reproached her for not having beenin to see him, appeared genuinely hurt that she hadneglected him so long. He had changed, too, Jeannette[Pg 343]noticed; his face sagged a little and he no longerbore himself with his old erectness. She observed hestill dyed his mustache; a little of the dyestuff wassmeared upon his cheek.
News of himself and his family was not particularlycheerful. Babs was in a private sanitarium at Nyack;Mrs. Corey was badly crippled with rheumatism,—avirulent arthritis,—and, in the care of a trained nurse,had gone to Germany to try to get rid of it; Willishad picked up an African malarial fever while he hadbeen exploring, and although he was home again, recurrentattacks of it kept him in poor health. Jeannettenoted a gentleness in Mr. Corey’s voice as hespoke of his son; he blamed himself for Willis’ condition;that African trip on which he had sent him wasresponsible for the boy’s broken constitution. As forbusiness, things were in bad shape, too. The publicdid not seem to be buying books any more; theyweren’t interested; The Ladies’ Fortune was doingpretty well, but the increased cost of productionknocked the profits out of everything; the office wasdemoralized, the “folks” did not seem to coöperate asthey had done in the old days; he, himself, found dailyreasons to regret the hour when Jeannette had ceasedto be his secretary; he hadn’t had any sort of efficienthelp since she left; recent secretaries all had provena constant source of annoyance to him. Tommy Livingstonhad got married and asked for one raise afteranother until Mr. Corey was obliged to let him go;he believed he was doing very well for himself in thenews photograph business; Mr. Corey finally had hadto take Mrs. O’Brien away from Mr. Kipps, but evenshe was far from competent. There were other details[Pg 344]about the business that awoke the old interest inJeannette. Something in this office atmosphere firedthe girl; it brought buoyancy to her pulse, it stimulatedher, it put life into her veins. How happy shehad been here! Never so contented, she said to herself.
She hastened to tell Mr. Corey the object of hervisit, and he promised to find a place somewhere inthe organization for Roy.
“I have only a hazy recollection of the young man,”he said, “but I’ll do whatever you want me to, on youraccount, Miss Sturgis.”
Jeannette smiled. She would always be “MissSturgis” to Mr. Corey. She liked it that way; hermarried name meant nothing to him, never would. Shethanked him warmly and promised to come to see himagain.
As she made her way out through the crowded aislesof the general office, amid the familiar rattle of typewritersand hum of work, past old faces and new, herheart tugged in her breast. She was still part of it;some of herself was implanted eternally here in thistide of work, in the busy, preoccupied clerks, in thehustle and bustle, in the smell of ink and paste andpencil dust, in the very walls of the building.
§ 5
The good news she had to tell Roy of the job shehad secured for him warmed her heart. There wasno time to write, but she treasured it to herself andimagined a dozen times a day, as he and Alice werespeeding homeward, how she would break it to him.
Martin was unable to be present when they arrived[Pg 345]at the Grand Central Station, but Mrs. Sturgis, Jeannetteand the two children were there waiting for themto emerge from the long column of passengers thatstreamed in a hurrying throng from the Chicago train.There were screams of joy and wet lashes as the parents’arms caught, hugged and kissed the childrenagain and again. Mrs. Sturgis had a cold luncheonprepared at home, and with bags and children, thefour adults bundled themselves into a taxi and droveto Ninety-second Street, laughing excitedly, interruptingone another with inconsequences after the mannerof all arriving travellers.
Roy indeed had put on weight; the emaciated lookhad entirely disappeared. His plumpness alteredhis expression materially and his sister-in-law wasnot quite sure she liked it. There could be noquestion about his splendid health. His face wasround and there were actually folds in his neck whereit bulged a trifle above his collar. Alice looked prettierthan ever and as Jeannette studied her, she realizedhow much she had missed her sister during the pastfew months and how much she loved her. Yet whenthe children climbed into their mother’s lap and triedawkwardly to twine their short arms about her neck,Etta announcing shrilly that she loved her “bestestin all the world,” Jeannette experienced a cruel pangof jealousy. Now Alice would immediately begin tospoil them and undo all her good work! ... It wasgoing to be very hard,—very hard, indeed.
She was anxious to tell her good news. Roy mustbe worrying about the future and it was not fair tokeep him in the dark. But when she told him triumphantly,he and his wife only looked at one another[Pg 346]with a significant smile. They had good news of theirown: they were going back to California and meant totake the children with them; they intended to live outthere for a year or two in a place called “Mill Valley,”just across the bay from San Francisco, with Roy’sfather. Dr. Beardsley was a dear old white-headedman,—the dearest on earth, Alice declared,—and hewas rector of a little church in Mill Valley and livedin the most adorable redwood shake house up on theside of a mountain just above the village. The housewas a roomy old place and Dr. Beardsley had talkedand talked to them about coming to California andmaking their home with him for two or three yearsuntil Roy had gained a start, for it appeared that Roywanted to write,—he had always wanted to write,—andwhile he had been convalescing out in California underthe big redwoods, he had written a book,—not a bigone,—but a story about an old family dog the Beardsleyshad once owned, and he had sent it to a magazineand they had paid three hundred dollars for the serialrights and there was a very good chance that somepublisher would bring it out in book form! The moneywas not very much of course, but it was unquestionablyencouraging and Dr. Beardsley felt that he and Aliceought to combine forces and give Roy a chance at theprofession he hungered to follow. He had never hadan opportunity to show what he could do with his pen,and it was not fair to have him give up this ambitionmerely because he had a wife and two children on hishands. Dr. Beardsley had three or four thousand dollarsin the bank and he declared he had no particularneed of the money and was ready to invest it in hisson’s career as a promising speculation in which he,[Pg 347]himself, had faith. He believed, he had said, he wouldget a good return on his money! He had urged Aliceand Roy to come with their two children and maketheir home with him for a while, live the simplest kindof life,—living was extraordinarily cheap in MillValley; Mama wouldn’t believe how cheap after NewYork!—and wait until Roy was on his feet with a well-establishedmarket for his work.
“So we talked it over and said we would,” concludedAlice with her soft brown eyes shining confidently ather husband, “only it’s going to be awful hard to leaveyou Mama, and Sis.”
Mrs. Sturgis promptly grew tearful.
“No—no, dearie,” she said between watery snifflesand efforts to check herself, “I don’t know why I’mcrying! It’s quite right and proper for you and Royto accept his father’s kind offer. There’s no questionin my mind he’ll be a great writer, and I think you’revery wise, and it will be lovely and healthy for thechildren and I approve of the whole idea thoroughly,only—only California seems so terribly far away!”A burst of tears accompanied the last. Jeannette feltirritated. Her mother would soon be reconciled toAlice and the children being in California,—but inher own heart there was already an ache she knewwould not leave it for many months.
§ 6
The end of May, when the dogwood was again powderingthe new-leafed woods with its white featheriness,when the Yacht Club had formally opened itsseason, and Martin had towed his adored A-boat out[Pg 348]of winter storage, had pulled it with a row-boat thetwo-and-a-half miles to its summer moorings, Alice,Roy and the children departed, and Jeannette faced anempty home with what seemed to her an empty life.
It was inevitable she should reach out for distraction.During the spring, Doc French had married Mrs.Edith Prentiss, a rich widow, whom Jeannette hadliked from their first meeting. The new Mrs. Frenchwas her senior by only a year or two, and much thesame type: tall and dark with beautiful brows and skinand masses of glistening black hair. She had a greatdeal of poise, and dash, and dressed handsomely. Atthe opening of the season for the Cohasset BeachYacht Club, when there was a dinner and dance, theDevlins were Doctor and Mrs. French’s guests andhad a particularly good time. Jeannette bought herselfa new dress for the occasion. She would not havebeen able to go otherwise, she told Martin, as she hadabsolutely nothing to wear! All the pretty clothesthat had formed her trousseau were completely gonenow; she did not have a single decent evening frockleft!
The affair led to the young Devlins being asked to aSunday luncheon on board the new Commodore’ssumptuous yacht and this had been another happyevent. Martin had been in high feather, and hadproven himself unusually amusing and entertaining.The Commodore’s wife had singled him out for attention;the Commodore, himself, and Doc French hadurged him to allow his name to be put up for membershipin the Yacht Club.
It was a great temptation for both the young husbandand wife, but it was out of the question for them[Pg 349]to belong to two yacht clubs, and Martin resolutelyrefused to resign from the Family. No, he said, therewere too many “good scouts” in the little club, andhe wouldn’t and couldn’t “throw them down.” Jeannettedid not urge it, although it was hard to declinethe invitation to join the Cohasset Beach Club. Yetshe felt that membership in it was beyond their meansand would lead to other extravagances, while speciallywas she afraid of the free drinking that went on there.Martin had a mercurial temperament; one drink excitedhim; more made him noisy and silly; he was notthe type that could stand it. Better the Family YachtClub as the lesser of the two evils. She would havebeen satisfied if he never entered either.
She voiced her complaint to her mother, with a gooddeal of vexation:
“It makes me so mad! Martin won’t economize,won’t help me save and insists upon being a member ofthat cheap little one-horse organization with its cheapcommon members, spending his time and money in aplace he knows I detest and where I never set my feetthat I don’t regret it. And if he would only help meget out of debt and would behave himself when therewas liquor around, we might be able to join theCohasset Beach and associate with nice, decent peopleof our own class and enjoy some kind of social life.It’s unfair—rottenly unfair! I’ve been struggling allwinter taking care of my sister’s babies, and of courseit’s been expensive and we haven’t been able to put bya cent. I’ve done my level best to economize; I haven’tbought myself so much as a pair of shoes since lastyear, ... and look at me!”
She held out her foot and showed her mother where[Pg 350]the stitching along the sole had parted. Mrs. Sturgisshook her head distressfully, and made “tut-tutting”noises with her tongue.
“And what does he expect me to do?” Jeannettewent on, her voice rising as her sense of injustice grewupon her. “Here’s Doc French and his wife, Edith,—she’sreally a stunning girl, Mama, and I like her somuch!—anxious to be nice to me, wanting me to gowith them to the smart Yacht Club all the time, askingme to their house for dinner and cards, or to go motoringwith them in their beautiful new car, and Commodoreand Mrs. Adams inviting me to luncheon onThe Sea Gull, and I haven’t a decent stitch to my back!If I complain to Martin, he says I’m ‘crabbing’ or tellsme to get what I need and charge it! And that’s justmadness, Mama,—you know that. He denies himselfnothing and expects me to do all the self-sacrificing.I declare I’m sorely tempted sometimes to take him athis word, to go ahead just as I like, get whatever Ineed and let him meet the bills as best he can. That’swhat most wives would do! I’ve never known suchhumiliation since I went to that Armenian dance withDikron Najarian. In all the time I was supportingmyself, I was never so shabbily dressed as I am rightthis minute! It does seem to me that Martin couldmanage better. I know I did when I was earningmy own money and financing my own problems.Martin makes just about what you and I used to havewhen we were living together, and you know perfectlywell, Mama, we had money to throw away then. Whywe used to go to the theatre and everything! I haven’tbeen inside a theatre in—in—well, since last Septemberand that’s nearly a year! I don’t know what he[Pg 351]does with his money! He swears he doesn’t gambleany more, but he’s always broke and I have the hardesttime getting my sixty-two fifty out of him on the firstand the fifteenth. He tried to borrow some of it backfrom me last month! I tell you, he didn’t get it! Henever takes me into his confidence about money mattersand he never comes and gives what’s coming tome out of his pay envelope of his own accord! Ialways have to ask him for it! Think of it, Mama,having to ask him to give me what’s my right! I neverhad to go to Mr. Corey and ask him for my salary onSaturday mornings, and I work ten thousand timesharder for Martin Devlin than I ever did for Mr.Corey! ... I was no shrinking violet when Martinmarried me! I was a self-supporting, self-respectingbusiness woman and when we married we made abargain, and I intend he shall live up to it. I don’tpropose he’s going to welch on me merely because I’ma woman. He’s got to give me just as much considerationas he would a man with whom he’s made acontract. Our marriage was an honorable agreementwith certain specified provisions, and if he doesn’t liveup to them, neither shall I!”
“Oh, Janny, Janny!” cried her mother in alarm;“don’t talk so reckless, dearie! What on earth doyou mean?”
“Walk out on him!” flashed Jeannette. “I’ll goback to my job and run my own life the way it suitsme!”
§ 7
Martin spent every Saturday afternoon at the FamilyYacht Club, “tuning up” his boat. He loved to[Pg 352]tinker about her, adjusting this, tightening that; hewas never finished with her; there was always somethingstill remaining to be done. He and Zeb Klinesailed the Albatross together in the races; they constitutedher crew.
As soon as Martin reached Cohasset Beach from thecity on the last day of the week, he hurried directlyfrom the station to the yacht club. He kept his outingclothes,—they consisted of little more than a shirt, apair of duck pants and “sneakers,”—in a locker at theclub. By two o’clock he was squatting in the cockpitof the teetering little boat, busy with wrench, knife,or rag, thoroughly happy. If there was sufficient windlater in the afternoon, he and Zeb might take a shortsail up the Sound, round the red buoy, and homeagain, or over two legs of the course. The afternoonwas all too short; it was six,—seven, before a realizationof the passing time came to him. He wanted aquick swim then before re-dressing himself, and ifsomeone did not give him a lift, there was the longhike homeward.
He would be sure to find one of three situations whenhe opened the door of the bungalow upon reachinghome: Jeannette would be there, coldly unresponsive,resentful of his tardiness; she would be dressing fora dance at the Cohasset Beach Yacht Club in frivolousmood, or she would have already departed to dine withDoc and Edith French, having left word with Hildafor him to follow if he cared to. He came to acceptthese circumstances. He did not particularly like thembut he did not know how to go about changing them.To dress and join his wife was generally too mucheffort after his long afternoon on the water. He either[Pg 353]found his own amusements or else, thoroughly weary,went to bed.
At an early hour on Sunday he was usually astir andoften left the house while Jeannette was still asleep,or else they breakfasted together about nine o’clockand made polite inquiries as to one another’s plansfor the day. Every Sunday afternoon during thesummer there was a race and Martin would not havemissed one for any consideration. As soon as hecould leave the house, he was off to the club and Jeannettedid not see him again until he came stumblinghome late in the evening, sunburnt and thoroughlyexhausted.
One Saturday night it was nearly eight o’clock whenthe flickering acetylene lamps of Steve Teschemacher’sbig brass-fitted motor car swept into the circular drivewaybefore the Devlins’ home, and Martin got out,called “Good-night and many thanks!” and openedthe door of his house. Dishevelled, his hair blown, hisshirt open at the throat, carrying his cravat and collar,he walked in upon a dinner party his wife was giving.The four people at his table were all in immaculateevening dress. He recognized Doc French and Edith,but the remaining person in the quartette was a manhe had never seen before.
“Mr. Kenyon, my dear,” said Jeannette, introducinghim. “Our little party was quite impromptu. Ididn’t know how to get you. I telephoned the clubtwice but Wilbur said you were out on the water.”
Doc French welcomed him, clapping him on the back.
“Get a move on, Mart,” he said, jovially, “yourcocktail’s getting cold.”
Martin hurried. The blankness passed that had[Pg 354]come to him as, unprepared, he arrived upon the scene.His good-nature asserted itself; he was always readyfor a good time. In fifteen minutes he was entertaininghis wife’s guests with an Irish story, told with inimitablebrogue, and had them all roaring with laughter.
Kenyon he did not fancy. The man was too perfectlydressed, his white silk vest had a double row ofgold buttons and fitted his slim waist too snugly; themovements of his hands were too graceful, too studied;his heavily lashed eyes squinted shut when he laughed,and the eyes, themselves, were glittering and glassy.
Martin went with the party to the Cohasset BeachYacht Club for the dance to which they were bound.Since he had declined to become a member he felthe ought not to go at all to the club, but Doc Frenchon this particular night would not listen to him, andcarried him off with the others. There were the usualdrinks, the usual gay crowd, the usual music and theusual dance; Martin, pleasantly exhilarated, had hisusual good time. He saw his wife here and there uponthe dancing floor during the evening, and thought herunusually vivacious and pretty, but it was not untilthree or four days later that a casual happeningbrought back to him a disquieting recollection thateach time he had caught a glimpse of her that night,her partner had been Kenyon.
The incident that stirred this memory was thechance discovery of two cigarette stubs in a little glassash tray on the mantel above the fireplace. Jeannettedid not smoke. She explained readily that GeraldKenyon had been to tea the previous afternoon. ButMartin was not satisfied. Kenyon was a type of richman’s son,—idler and trifler,—whom Martin thought[Pg 355]he recognized; Jeannette had said nothing about havinghad him to tea and the circumstance was toounusual for her to have forgotten to mention it; nowhe recalled the matter of the dance.
One of their old angry quarrels followed. It leftboth shaken and repentant, and in the reconciliationthat followed, much of their early warm love and confidencein one another returned. Many differenceswere settled, many concessions and promises weremade, and better harmony existed between them thereafterthan they had known for a long time.
§ 8
It was then that Jeannette seriously consideredhaving a baby. Martin was anxious for a child, andshe knew how happy one would make him, how gratefuland tender he was sure to be to her. She dreadedthe ordeal more than most women; she was fearfulof the agony that awaited her at the end of the long,dreary, helpless nine months; Alice’s hard labor, andthe following weakness from complications that hadkept her practically bedridden for half-a-year, hadmade a grave impression on Jeannette’s mind. Sheshuddered at the idea of being torn, at being manhandledby doctors, at being pulled and mauled andtreated like an animal. It represented degradation toher, but she was prepared to go through with it. Shewanted a child; she wanted one as much as Martin did;she wanted more than one. Her husband had accusedher once of not loving children, but after the devotionshe had lavished upon Etta and Ralph during the longmonths of the past winter, she felt she had convincedhim that such a reproach was wholly unjustified. Far[Pg 356]more than the agony of childbirth, Jeannette apprehendedthe fetters that maternity would forge abouther feet. Once a mother she knew her liberty was over.She would be bound then by the infant at her breast, byties of duty and maternal instinct, and above all bylove. She hated the thought of restriction; she hatedthe thought of giving up her independence; she rebelledat inhibitions which would prevent her fromgoing her own way, living her own life, being her ownmistress.
Once again the question of money obtruded itself.What did the years ahead hold in store for her asMartin’s wife? How would she fare at her husband’shands when she was thirty, forty, fifty? The infatuationof the bride for the man she had married, wasgone now; she saw him in a cold, critical light. Sheloved him; she loved him truly and honestly; she lovedhim more than she had ever thought to love any man.Never was she so happy as when they two were alonetogether and in sympathy. She liked often to recallthe happy day they had spent with Alice and Roy onthe sand reefs off Freeport. Martin had been so sweet,and splendid and dear that day! No woman could lovea man more than she did, then; he had been everythingthat stirred her admiration. But that was a year agoand he wasn’t the same; he and she had drifted apart.Perhaps it was as much her fault as his; perhaps theirgrievances against one another were no more thanthose of any average couple. She realized that bothwere strong-willed and opinionated; it was inevitablethat they should sometimes clash. But if Martin differedwith her, he could pursue his own way independentof his wife, while she must wait upon his[Pg 357]pleasure. She did not—could not trust Martin withthe old confidence he had once inspired. Perhaps thatwas the experience of all wives. Most women put upwith it, had to put up with it, made the best of conditions,lay with what equanimity they could in the bedthey had chosen in the first flush of love. But withher,—and always with this thought ever since she hadbeen a wife, Jeannette had breathed a prayer of gratitude,—therewas a way out! The girls that hadmarried blindly out of their father’s and mother’shouse had no alternative if their marriages proved unsatisfactorybut to endure them or seek divorce. Butshe and all other women who had achieved a livelihoodof their own in the world of business, who had wonfor themselves an economic value that could bemeasured in dollars and cents, could go back to work!They did not have to appeal to the law, the disreputabledivorce courts, to free them from an intolerablealliance, or compel a reluctant man to support themwith alimony gouged from his unwilling pocketbook!
Ever since she had become Martin’s bride, Jeannetterealized she had hugged this thought to herselfand always found consolation in it. It had even beenin her mind when she considered marriage; she hadsaid to herself in those uncertain days, that if theexperiment did not prove satisfactory, there was astenographer’s job waiting for her somewhere in theworld. Now this knowledge that she could be independentagain if she chose had a vital bearing on thequestion of her having a child. Once a mother, thedoor of escape from a situation which might some daybecome intolerable would be forever closed. She couldnot leave a baby as she could leave a husband.
[Pg 358]
Should she risk it? Should she take the plunge,leave the safe return to shore behind her and strikeout into unknown waters, placing faith in her husband’sdevotion and his ability to take care of her?Ah, if she could only be sure! If she could only beconvinced of Martin’s dependability! She did notcare a snap of her finger for Gerald Kenyon, EdithFrench or the Cohasset Beach Yacht Club or anything!All she wanted was that Martin should be good to her,should protect and provide for her with as muchthought and care as she had given herself when shehad been a wage-earner and her own mistress! IfMartin would stand back of her, she would welcome ababy, she would bear him half-a-dozen,—all that herstrength was equal to! She would banish her fear ofthe ordeal!
She told him so passionately. She showed him thereasonableness and righteousness of her stand, and headmitted the truth of what she said. He promised todo anything she wanted.
“You’re dead right, Jan,” he said with a gravitythat went straight to her heart, “I see your point.I’ll do the best I can. And golly! won’t it be greatwhen there’s a kid in the family,—you know,—a kidthat’s our own? Why, you were never so happy orso pretty, and you never were so good to me and Inever loved you more than when Etta and Ralph weretoddling round here.”
But she would agree to nothing until he had demonstratedto her that he had changed and was as muchin earnest about the matter as she proposed to be.
“Mart, you’ve got to show me; you’ve got to convinceme you’ve turned over a new leaf. I want to[Pg 359]be satisfied that I am always going to be glad I’m yourwife before I anchor myself to you for the rest of mylife. Now we’re in debt. While I’ve been out ofsympathy with you, I’ve done some charging in town,—newclothes I had to have in order to go about withEdith French. If we have a baby it’s going to costmoney, and we’ve got to be out of debt first,—don’tyou think so? You can reëstablish my faith in you byshowing me now how you can help me save. If we cutdown and put our minds to it, we can save a thousanddollars by the first of the year. Now I’ll let Hilda goand do my own work, if you’ll resign from the FamilyYacht Club!”
It was a challenge and Martin’s startled eyes foundhers.
“And sell my A-boat?” he asked blankly.
“And sell your A-boat,” Jeannette repeated firmly.
“Well-l, my God,—that’s kind of tough,” he saidslowly. “But all right,—if you say so, I’ll get out,I’ll sell it and quit.”
“Do you really mean it, Mart?”
“Yes, I’ll—I’ll resign.... Only, Jan, can’t I finishthe season? Zeb and I’ve got a swell chance for thecup and all the A-boats have been invited over toLarchmont for their annual regatta, and Zeb knowsthat course, and we’re all going to be towed over theday before....”
He was like a little boy pleading for a toy. Shecould not find it in her heart to refuse him.
“Very well,” she conceded slowly, “only as soon asthe season’s over you’ll positively resign?”
“Sure. I’ll tell the fellows to-morrow that it’s mylast year, and I’ll quit after the final race.”
[Pg 360]
§ 9
June, July and August passed, Labor Day came andwent, the yachting season closed with gala festivities,special boat races, a big dance at each of the clubs,and one day Martin announced that Zeb had paid himsixty dollars for the Albatross, and that he had sentin his letter of resignation to the board of directors.It was then that Jeannette told Hilda she would beobliged to let her go. She had grown fond of the girland was sorry to lose her, but in the face of this evidenceof her husband’s good faith, she felt she mustbegin to carry out her part of their bargain.
Apart from this, there were other considerationswhich made her welcome this new régime of curtailmentand self-denial. She was not satisfied with therecent order of her life; her conscience troubled her;there had been certain evenings during the past summer,memories of which were not altogether pleasant.
Hardly a week had gone by without Doc and EdithFrench inviting her to go with them to a dance at theCohasset Beach Yacht Club or on a jaunt to some road-houseon Long Island, and Gerald Kenyon invariablyhad been along. He had made love to her, flatteringlove to her, and she had been diverted. She liked him;he danced well, he was rich and a prodigal host, hewas agreeably attentive. She would have early senthim to the right-about had it not been he proved aconvenient escort. Martin was rarely on hand toaccompany her; Gerald was eager to go with her anywhereshe wished. She suffered his attentions, remindingherself that it was only for a few weeks,—justuntil the end of the summer,—and it was her last fling[Pg 361]at gaiety. She would rid herself of him by Septemberand prepare her household and her life for the time ofretrenchment. Nothing of serious significance hadhappened on any of these merry evenings; Martincould not have found fault with her; Gerald had neverso much as kissed her cheek, but the atmosphere thathad prevailed was disturbing to Jeannette. Geraldoften imbibed too freely, but he was never offensive.He and the Frenches sometimes grew noisy and therewas a good deal of loose talk. A drink or two had amarked effect on Edith, and Jeannette wondered sometimesat the things she said and did. Not that herwords and actions were in themselves particularlyshocking, but coming from a woman of her graciousnessand refinement they sounded rough. Jeannettewas ready, now, to be quit of these intimates. Theirsociety was not healthy, and in her soul she was consciousshe did not belong in it. Her innate sense ofrectitude took offense at such behavior.
Thus it was that she turned to the period of self-denialwith willingness, even zeal. She threw herselfwhole-heartedly into the program of her new existence.She wanted to clean her soul as well as her life.
She was happy in the changed order of her days;she liked doing her own work since it meant penancefor her as well as saving; she liked to think she waspreparing herself for her child. She figured outhow long it would take them to be out of debt: lessthan a year if they saved only fifty dollars a month.
“Now, Martin,” she reminded her husband, “I’mnot going through with this unless you stand backof me. You’ve got to save penny for penny with me,and you’ve got to show me you’re deadly in earnest.”
[Pg 362]
She said this because he did not seem as enthusiastic,now, as he had been when the plan was first discussed.The eagerness was missing, and he was rather sourabout it. She knew he grieved over the sale of hisboat, and it was bitter hard for him to give up his club.But this time she was determined. She had renouncedher frivolous, expensive friends; he must renouncehis; she proposed to get along without the luxury of aservant, he must deny himself, too.
“Well, damn it!” he growled at her implied reproach,“ain’t I doing everything you want? Theboat’s gone, and I’ve sent my letter in to the club!What more do you want me to do?”
“Martin! that’s no way to speak to your wife!You’re not doing it for me!”
She sighed in discouragement. He had a long wayto go.
His efforts to divert himself about the house onSaturday afternoons and Sundays were pathetic. Hestarted vigorously to spade up a bit of ground whichhe declared would make an admirable vegetable bedin the spring. The spading lasted half a day and allwinter Jeannette saw the snow-covered shovel stickingupright in the ground where he had left it. He wasbored by inactivity. Books did not interest him; hescorned the solitaire she suggested and in which sheherself could find amusement; likewise he grew impatientat walks in the woods now full of autumn tints.Jeannette tried her best to entertain him. Severaltimes she asked the Drigos over for auction bridgebut Mrs. Drigo and her husband quarrelled so muchwhen the cards ran against them, that Martin declaredhe did not care to play with them. Jeannette tried[Pg 363]“Rum” but that, too, bored him; there was no pleasurein the game, he told her, without stakes and onecouldn’t gamble with one’s wife. At the end of herresources, she shrugged her shoulders and let him seekout his own amusements as best he could. His attitudenettled her. He ought to face the new life, she felt,with the same fortitude, conscientiousness and willingnessthat she displayed. She told him so with a gooddeal of rancor one day: he was acting like a spoiledboy; he wasn’t being a good sport about it. He onlyglowered at her in reply and stalked out of the house.
She had her own suspicions where he went, but shedid not reproach him. In her heart she was sorryfor him; his empty evenings and his week-ends hungheavy on his hands. She hoped he would get usedto the idea and by and by be moved to follow herexample.
But as the weeks and then the months began to goby, and she saw that it was only she who was makingthe sacrifices,—cleaning, cooking, washing dishes, denyingherself clothes and even trips to the city to seeher mother,—a dull anger kindled within her. Thisburst into flame when she learned by chance that Martinwas still a member of the Yacht Club. ’StelTeschemacher telephoned her one day to remind herto be sure and come to a bridge tournament the ladiesof the club had arranged for the following Wednesdayafternoon. Jeannette explained with some relish thatshe feared she was not eligible to participate since herhusband was no longer a member of the club, but ’StelTeschemacher assured her that such was not the case.
“Oh, no, you’re mistaken, Mrs. Devlin. He’s stilla member and a very valued one. The Directors refused[Pg 364]absolutely to accept your husband’s resignation;they just positively made him reconsider it.... Why,we couldn’t get along without Mr. Devlin! He’s justthe life of the club!”
Jeannette said nothing to Martin. She was bitter,feeling he had tricked her, was not playing fair. Shedecided she would go to New York and pour out hergrievance in a stormy recital to her mother. It wouldrelieve her mind. On the train she met Edith Frenchand when the city was reached, her friend triumphantlycarried her off to lunch at the Waldorf.
§ 10
Not very long after this, she learned that Martin hadbeen playing poker, and had lost. He had had a badstreak of luck and was obliged to confess to her he didnot have enough money to pay the rent without makinga levy upon her share of his salary; she must counton only forty dollars when his next pay-day fell due.
At that her resentment burst forth. She had deniedherself consistently since the first of September. Withher own hands she had made the little Christmas presentsshe had sent Alice and the children, and evenwhat she had given her mother, in order to save a fewdollars, and here was Martin gambling away at thecard table money that was hers!
“You’re no more fit to be a father than a husband,”she told him, her anger blazing. “You expect me tobear a child to a man like you! You’re no better thana common thief!”
“Aw, cut that out, Jan,” he answered, a dull crimsonreddening his neck; “I’ll admit I’m in wrong and[Pg 365]that you’ve got every right to be sore at me, but what’sthe use in accusing me of being dishonest?”
“Dishonest?—dishonest?” she repeated furiously,her hands clenched. “Half of every dollar you earnbelongs to me,—and don’t you forget it! It’s mineby right of being your wife; it’s mine by right of yourdefinite promise when I married you that we shouldshare and share alike. I made a financial sacrificethen because I thought you and I were going to builda house and rear a family. I used to earn a hundredand forty dollars a month,—let me tell you,—andevery cent of it I spent as I chose and for what I chose.I’ve never seen that much or anything like that much,since I married you. Don’t fool yourself you giveme a penny! You work in your office and I work hereand we both earn your salary. When you take mymoney and gamble with it and lose it, you’re doingexactly the same as if you put your hand in HerbertGibbs’s cash drawer and helped yourself! It’s justplain thievery!”
Martin was on his feet, his face congested.
“If you were a man, I’d knock your damned headoff.”
“If I were a man,” retorted his wife, “you’d beafraid to!”
§ 11
It was in this mood of fury, with her grievance seethingwithin her, that she gladly agreed to accompanyEdith French on a day of shopping in the city. Edithtelephoned she had been invited by a certain famousFifth Avenue importer to witness, at a private showing,the opening of some sealed trunks just received[Pg 366]from Paris containing the new spring models. Shewanted Jeannette to go with her, and the two womenarranged to leave for town on an early morning train.
It was a cold, glittering winter’s day when the crispnessin the air set the blood tingling; snow was piledin the street and there was a general scraping of ironshovels on stone and cement. Edith and Jeannettefeasted their eyes on the new styles as they eagerlydiscussed clothes and fashions. Edith, stimulated byher privileged glimpses, bought herself a new hat,which Jeannette declared to be the most beautifulthing she had ever seen in her life! Edith, it seemedto her companion, was free to purchase anything thattook her fancy. If a garment or bauble attracted her,she got it without hesitation. Jeannette’s heart wassick with longing. She watched her companion enviously.In a reckless moment, urged by her friendto whom she had confided at luncheon the tale of Martin’sperfidy, and who had been gratifyingly sympathetic,she selected and charged a long woolly, loosetan coat that had a deep collar of skunk. The coathad been “on sale” and Edith had been so full ofadmiration for the way Jeannette looked in it, thatshe offered to buy it and give it to her as a present.To this Jeannette would not agree, but later, wrappedin its soft ampleness and with a glowing satisfactionthat it was the most becoming garment she had everowned, she did not press an objection when Edithproposed to telephone Gerald Kenyon and ask him totake them to tea. At five o’clock sitting against thecrimson upholstered wall-seats of a glittering café,sipping her hot tea and nibbling her thin, butteredtoast, listening to the music and the pleasant chatter[Pg 367]of her companions, conscious of Gerald Kenyon’s admiringeyes, Jeannette decided that it was the firsthappy moment she had known in months, and that ifMartin chose to go his way, she had ample justificationto go hers.
A madness descended upon her. She was near totears most of the time but went dry-eyed upon herway, shutting her ears to the voice of conscience,refusing to allow her better nature to assert itself. Onand on she stumbled into the forest of imprudence,allowing herself to give no heed to the gatheringshadows, taking no thought of how she should ever findher way out of the gloom when the hour came for herto turn back,—for, of course, she must some time turnback!
Little by little she was beguiled into doing the thingsshe had foresworn. She allowed Edith to persuadeher into going almost daily with her to the city; shespent here and there the dollars she had so hardlysaved; she began heedlessly to charge again: shoes,silk stockings, a smart French veil, gloves. The twofriends fell into the habit of lunching or taking teawith Gerald Kenyon and sometimes going to a matinéewith him, and the day came—as he had carefullyplanned it should come,—when Jeannette lunchedwith him alone. And over the small table at whichthey sat so intimately, still in the grip of the insanitythat fogged her sense of righteousness and values,she confided to his eager, understanding ears the storyof her husband’s selfishness, and listened to his persuasivevoice as he offered to help her out of herdifficulties.
“Why, listen here, Jeannette,” he said, bending toward[Pg 368]her earnestly across the littered luncheon cloth,“I can make five thousand dollars for you over night.There’s no sense in your troubling yourself aboutmoney matters. If you’re in debt, I can show you away that will pull you out of the hole and give youall the spending money you need! The old man, youknow, is in steel. He’s on the inside and there’s nothingthat goes on down in Wall Street that he doesn’tknow. He gave me a tip the other day: a sure-fire tip.Did you ever hear of Colusium Copper? Well, it’s oneof the subsidiary companies of the United States SteelCorporation, and its stock’s going right up. The oldman telephoned me to come down and see him, and hesays to me: ‘Gerald, put what you can lay your handson on Colusium Copper; it’s due to go to seventy-fiveand you want to get out about seventy-two or three.’It was fifty-eight then; it’s about sixty-six to-day.Why, look here,—it went up a couple of points yesterday.”He showed her the figures convincingly ina newspaper he drew from his pocket. “Now you justlet me buy a few of those shares for you this afternoonbefore the market closes, and I’ll hand you acheck for five hundred to-morrow when you meet mefor lunch. You don’t have to put up the money; Ican fix that for you; I’ll just telephone my brokersyou want to buy a few shares and that I’ll O.K. thedeal. It’s a sure-fire proposition, Jeannette. Youwon’t be risking a cent.”
He was very earnest, very persuasive; his voicewas gentle and so kindly. Five hundred dollars!thought the girl; it would wipe out all those little purchaseshere and there that she had had charged to heraccount about which Martin knew nothing!
[Pg 369]
Gerald was a dear! He was really a most generous,warm-hearted friend! It was wonderful of him to takesuch an interest in her trifling financial problems.
And the next day he showed her the check: $515.60beautifully made out,—W. G. Guthrie & Company,Stock Brokers,—and it was drawn in her name. Herfingers trembled a little as she took the stiff bankpaper in her hands.
“You see what I told you!” Gerald said with atriumphant smile. “Why, say, I could have made itfive thousand just as easy if you had only said theword. The old man knows when anything like this iscoming off in the Street. You have to laugh at theway the public runs in and lets the big guns fleecethem. The big fellows stick up the bait and the poorfools rush after it and then chop—chop go the axes! ...Any time, Jeannette, you want a bit of changejust let me know and I can fix it for you. I’ll justgive the old man a ring and ask him what’s good....Now, for Heaven’s sake don’t get the idea that whatI’m able to do for you on a little flier down in WallStreet is anything in the nature of a present or anythinglike that. I’m just slipping you a little piece ofinside information,—savvy, dearie?”
The endearment was unfortunate. It suddenly remindedJeannette of her mother and she rememberedshe had not been to see her in weeks. Besides, it wasthe first time Gerald had addressed her with any suchfamiliarity.
“I don’t think I’d better take this,” she saidabruptly, tossing the folded check at him. She leanedback in her chair and drew her hands close to herbreast.
[Pg 370]
He picked it up, tapped his fingers gently with itand began to argue. He argued long and eloquently:the money did not belong to him, it was hers, it representedthe profits of her own little deal, he hadn’ta right to a cent of it, it was impossible for him totouch it. But now no word from him could reachJeannette. Fear was awake in her; she began to bevery frightened; her panic grew. Suddenly shewanted to get up from the table and run into thestreet. She wanted to go to her mother; she wantedher mother badly. She felt she must get out of therestaurant, must get into the air, must get away fromthat table and this man at any price. She was likeone who stands with her back to a precipice and, turningaround, finds herself within a few inches of itsedge, a chasm yawning at her feet. Fright made hergiddy, her mouth was dry, her throat closedconvulsively.
“If I can only stand it for ten minutes more,” shesaid to herself, gripping tight her folded hands beneaththe table, “and keep my head and not let him suspect! ...I must go on and pretend.... Just ten minutesmore.”
She managed it badly. The experienced eye of hercompanion guessed all that was passing in her mind,and he cursed himself for having been too precipitous.The wary hare that he had been at such pains to coaxto his side for so many months had taken flight at thefirst lift of his finger. He would have to begin all overagain, and this time proceed more leisurely. For thepresent, he knew his cue was to withdraw.
He let her make her escape without remonstrance.[Pg 371]He asked if she would not allow him as a friend tomail her the check, and when with more vehemencethan she meant to display, she refused, he tore thepaper neatly into bits and let the fragments flutterfrom his finger-tips to the table.
“Well,—it’s too bad,” he said with a shrug that eloquentlyexpressed his hurt. “Sorry. My only objectwas to try and help a bit.”
He left her at the door of the restaurant with agraceful lift of his hat, saying he hoped to see hersoon again. It was lost upon the girl. She hurriedto a telephone booth in a drug store at hand and triedto reach the apartment on Ninety-second Street, butthere was no answer. She thought of Martin but therewas the uncomfortable confession she would have tomake to him of her recent extravagances. Her recklessness,she realized, had robbed her of the righteousnessof her quarrel with him; reproach he could meetwith reproach.
She longed then for her sister,—her quiet, brown-eyedsister,—who had never judged her harshly in herlife, but Alice was in far-away California. There wasnobody, nobody in the world to whom she could turnfor comfort, for sympathy and counsel, and then comingtoward her with a pleased and smiling recognitionin his face she saw Mr. Corey. She fluttered to himwith almost a sob, and put both her hands in his; as hegreeted her affectionately she wanted desperately tolay her head against his shoulder and give way to thefury of tears that fought now to find escape. In thatmoment, everyone seemed to have failed her,—mother,sister, husband,—but this staunch, loyal, rock-solid[Pg 372]friend who believed in her, who knew only the best ofher, whose faith in her was unbounded, who knew heras she really was.
He was talking but she listened not to his wordsbut to her own heart that told her here was the havenfor which she sought, here was the counsellor,the friend who would help her without cavil or reproach.
“Tell me about yourself,” he was saying. “Youpromised you’d come in to see me once in awhile,—andthat brother-in-law of yours? I thought we weregoing to find a job for him? What happened?”
Jeannette attempted to explain: Roy was trying tobecome an author, his first story was appearing as aserial and he and his wife and babies were in California.As she spoke of Alice, her voice suddenlygrew husky and when she tried to clear her throat,the hot prick of tears sprang to her eyes, and shewas obliged to stop and press her lips together. Mr.Corey’s brows met sharply.
“What’s the matter? You’re in trouble?” Hewaited for her to speak but she could only shake herhead helplessly and blink her swimming eyes.
“Come in here with me,” he said in the old authoritativevoice she still loved to obey. They turned fromthe crowded street where they were being jostled, intothe drug store she had just quitted. It was crowdedin here, too, with a swarm of elbowing people beforethe soda fountain. Corey guided the girl to the rearand they stopped by a deserted counter.
“Now what is it? Tell me about it,” he said shortly.“Can I help you?”
She tried again to answer him but she was still[Pg 373]too shaken; at any effort to speak her tears threatened.
“Please,” she managed, gulping.
He left her, went to the soda counter and returnedwith a glass of water. She drank it gratefully; thecold drink steadied her.
“I’ve just been acting foolishly,” she said at last,dabbing her eyes with a corner of her handkerchief.“It’s all my fault, I guess.”
By degrees he pried her story from her: Martinhad been treating her badly; he had been very unfairto her; their marriage was a hopeless failure; shecouldn’t make it a success alone; she had struggledand struggled and she didn’t believe it was any use;he was fearfully extravagant and she had to do all thesaving to keep them out of debt; she had done withouta servant just so they could get a little ahead, but tryas she would, they kept falling behind, and Martindidn’t care....
She had no intention of misrepresenting her caseto Mr. Corey, but hungered for his sympathy, for hisjustification and approval, for his censure of herhusband.
He heard her with furrowed brows, his keen eyeswatching her face, and when she fell silent, he waiteda long moment.
“Life’s hard on young people,” he said at lengthwith a deep breath and a dubious shake of his head.“It’s hard enough for them to get adjusted to oneanother without having to worry over money matters.I’m sorry your marriage has not turned out well. Ifeel particularly badly because I urged you into it.Devlin seemed a likely fellow to me.”
[Pg 374]
They both considered the matter, studying the floor.Jeannette felt as she stood there her life was breakingto pieces.
“If you’re in debt,” said Mr. Corey at length, “andit’s merely a question of money to tide you overpresent difficulties; you must let me lend you what youneed.”
“Oh, no, thank you,” she said quickly.
“Oh, yes, but you must,” he insisted.
With firmness she declined. She wasn’t begging;she just had had one man try to give her money; shecouldn’t accept financial assistance from anyone. No,it was her own problem,—she could work it out herselfwithout anyone’s help.
“Very well, then,” he suggested, “come back andwork for me awhile. I’ve an abominable person assecretary now; I intended to fire her anyhow, and itwill give me tremendous satisfaction to do so at once,for I never needed efficient help more desperately thannow.”
The words of polite thanks on Jeannette’s lips died.She raised her eyes and fixed them on the face of theman before her, a light breaking slowly in them.
“You mean ...?” she began. Her face was likeradiant dawn.
“I mean exactly what I say: come back for as longas you wish. Stay until you’ve earned what you need,and be free to go when you’re ready: three months,six months, whenever you like.... It will be good tosee you back even for a short time at your old desk.”
Her intent gaze leaped from pupil to pupil of hissmiling, earnest eyes. Her thoughts raced: there wasMartin; he would say “No” of course; he wouldn’t[Pg 375]consider letting her do this; he’d be furious, but Martinwould have to be won over, and if not ... wellthen ... there was her mother and her own old roomwaiting for her in the apartment on Ninety-secondStreet!
“Well?” said Mr. Corey amused, at the glowingcolor in her face.
“Mrs. Corey?” Jeannette faltered.
“She’s in Germany and a very sick woman. It’srheumatism, you know, and she’s been crippled a longtime. I doubt anyhow if she’d care.”
Somewhere up above like pigeons fluttering forthfrom heaven’s dome came happiness winging downupon the girl.
“Oh, yes,—if you’ll have me,—indeed I’ll come back....I’ll be there Monday morning! ... Oh, it will bewonderful!”
END OF BOOK II
[Pg 377]
BOOK III
[Pg 379]
BREAD
CHAPTER I
§ 1
The cat was crying to get in. Jeannette, deep inslumber, was irritated by persistent mewings. Everyonce in awhile the outside screen door at the back ofthe apartment shut with a small clap as the animal,sinking its claws into the wire mesh, tried to pull itopen. The noise awoke Jeannette finally and she satup with a start.
It was morning. Gray light filled the room. Shepeered at the alarm clock, blinking her eyes, and sawthere were still twenty minutes before she had to getup. In the next room, the sound of a closing windowannounced that Beatrice Alexander was alreadyastir.
“She’s put Mitzi out,” thought Jeannette, drawingthe bed clothes over an exposed shoulder. “Iwish she’d remember to leave the door ajar.”
Presently Beatrice’s steps passed in the hall andin another moment the annoyance ceased. Jeannettedropped gratefully back to sleep. But it seemed shehad hardly lost consciousness when the whirring clockbell aroused her again. Though still drowsy, she immediatelygot up; she never permitted herself to remain[Pg 380]in bed after the moment arrived for rising; indulgenceof this kind was weakness of character, andshe despised weakness in herself or in others. Asshe dressed, she heard Beatrice in the kitchen busywith breakfast preparations. From the window aglimpse of the street showed the sun’s first rays strikingobliquely through the haze of early morning.
The apartment in Waverly Place had now been herhome for seven years; she and Beatrice Alexanderhad taken it together a month after her mother’sdeath, and life for the two women as time rolled onhad become undeviating in its routine. There wassmall variation in their days.
It was Beatrice’s business to prepare breakfast.She rose at seven; Jeannette half-an-hour later. Themeal was always the same: fruit, boiled eggs, fourpieces of toast, and a substitute for coffee,—cubes ofa prepared vegetable material dissolved in hot water.Beatrice set the table daintily, with a small Japaneselunch cloth and a yellow bowl filled with bright redapples in its center. Knives, forks and spoons werenicely arranged and she never neglected to put tumblersof drinking water beside the triangularly folded,fringed napkins, and finger-bowls at each place witha bit of peel sliced from the bottoms of the grapefruitsor oranges which began the breakfast. Beatricewas a fastidious person, Jeannette often thoughtgratefully; she liked “things nice.”
While her friend was busy in kitchen and dining-room,Jeannette dressed with her usual scrupulouscarefulness. She gave but meager attention to householdaffairs; these were Beatrice’s province; it wasBeatrice who did the ordering, paid the bills and managed[Pg 381]the small establishment. Jeannette’s companionwas much like Alice and these duties came naturallyto her. Besides, during the years Mrs. Sturgis andher daughter had lived together, it had been hermother who attended to such matters; Jeannette hadgrown accustomed to leaving household details tosomeone else. She took pains to explain this to Beatricewhen they discussed the project of an apartmenttogether and the latter had assured her it would bequite satisfactory. There had never been the slightestfriction between the two women; Beatrice Alexander,with her soft, whispery voice and shy manner, was oneof the sweetest-tempered persons in the world.
The years had dealt not unkindly with Jeannette.At forty-three, she was still a handsome woman,—nolonger graceful and willowy, perhaps,—but erect, aggressive,substantial-looking. There was a solidarityabout her now; her arms were big and round, hershoulders broad and plump, her bosom well-developed;she was thirty pounds heavier, and walked with asturdy tread. There was gray in her hair, too, and acertain settled expression about her mouth that proclaimedmiddle age, but she was a fine looking womanwith clear eyes and skin, an impressive carriage, andmuch that was commanding in poise. She dressedsmartly and was always meticulously neat. Everymorning she donned a fresh shirtwaist, crisply laundered.It was a matter of concern to her that thisshould set so snugly and correctly where it joined theplain dark tailored skirt that closely fitted her back, theeffect should be of the skirt holding the blouse trimlyin place. When she had completed her toilet, she wasthe embodiment of trigness and trimness, from her[Pg 382]dark lusterless hair with its streaks of gray, whichshe now wore in a smooth sweep encircling her headlike a bird’s unruffled wing, to her tan-booted feet insheer brown silk stockings. She always had taken agreat deal of pains in the matter of attire, and herhats, shoes and garments were of the latest approvedstyles and the best materials, and came from the mostexclusive shops in New York. She still observed thestrictest simplicity in the matter of clothes when shedressed for the office.
She surveyed herself now in the mirror with approval,and as she noted her fine tall figure, the breadthof her shoulders, the round, neat, firm waist line, hercalm, strong face,—shrewd, capable, resourceful,—shecould understand the awe and respect with whichthe girls in her department regarded her. A hint of asmile touched her resolute lips as she thought that tothem she must appear a super-woman, a sort of queen,the fount of all wisdom, justice and power. She likedthe idea.
She flung back the covers to let her bed air duringthe day, and righted the flagrant disorder in her roomwith a few effective movements. As she opened hercloset door or bureau drawers, the scrupulous neatnessof their contents pleased her; the row of dresses in thecloset suggested the orderliness of a company of soldiers;her shoes and slippers, each pair equippedpunctiliously with boot-trees, ranged themselves ona shelf in effective array, her lingerie was carefully be-ribboned,folded in piles, and a scent of sachet arosefrom its lacy whiteness.
As she busied herself she came upon a muss of facepowder that had been spilled upon the glass top of[Pg 383]her bureau. A small sound of annoyance escaped her.She crossed the hall to the bathroom, returned withthe moistened end of a soiled towel, resurrected fromthe laundry basket, and wiped up the offending littervigorously.
About to quit the room she paused a moment withher hand on the door-knob for a final inspection, andturned back to make sure the lower bureau drawerwas locked and that she had put the key in its hidingplace under the rug; she raised the window an inchhigher; a white thread on the floor attracted her eyeand she picked it up with thumb and finger to depositin the waste-basket before she joined Beatrice Alexanderin the dining-room. A glance at her wrist watchassured her she was on time to the minute.
“Morning, Beat,” she said saluting her companion.“What was the matter with Mitzi this morning?”
“I let her out early; she was clawing the carpet andgrowling. She wouldn’t stop, so I just had to get upand put her out.”
“Strange,” commented Jeannette, eyeing the catwho blinked at her comfortably from beside an emptysoup plate that had held her bread and milk. Shebegan to talk baby talk to the pet:
“Mitzi-witzi! Yes, oo was,—oo went out to see afeller,—ess oo did....”
The two women sat down to the breakfast table together.Jeannette spread her World out beforeher; Beatrice propped the Times against a waterpitcher. They picked at their fruit, raised egg spoonsto their lips delicately, broke off bits of toast and insertedthem in their mouths, sipped their coffee withlittle fingers extended. Silence reigned except for the[Pg 384]small noises of cup and spoon, and the crackle ofnewspapers.
“I do think France ought to be more lenient withGermany,” Beatrice remarked at length, adjusting hereye-glasses.
“I’d make her pay to the last mark she’s got,” assertedJeannette. She folded back her newspapercarefully to another page.
“They had quite an accident in the subway,” Beatriceobserved.
“So I see.... Does seem to me the papers areawfully hard on the Interborough. I should thinkthey ought to be permitted to charge an eight-centfare; everything else is going up in price.”
“Do you suppose that Hennessy woman will getoff?” asked Beatrice after an interval.
“Well, I’d like to see her.”
“Senator Knowles died, they think, from drinkingwhiskey that had wood alcohol in it.”
“Served him right. I wish they all would.”
§ 2
At twenty minutes past eight, Jeannette put on herhat carefully before the mirror, drew about her shouldersher tipped fox scarf, jerked her hands vigorouslyinto stout tan gloves, and proceeded down the twoflights of stairs to the street. As she descended shenoted with customary pleasure the effect of the cream-paintedwoodwork in the halls, the width of the stairs,and the flood of light from the skylight above the stair-wellwhich effectively illuminated the interior of thehouse. She and Beatrice had indeed been fortunate in[Pg 385]finding a home in such a pleasant, well-arranged building.It was the same apartment Miss Holland andMrs. O’Brien had occupied for so many years, untilthe latter married again, and the former went to livewith her nephew, Jerry,—who was a Commander now,had a wife and babies, and was stationed at the BrooklynNavy Yard. The trend of Jeannette’s thoughtsreminded her she had not been to see Miss Hollandfor nearly two months; she resolved upon a visit inthe immediate future.
The street was filled with morning sunshine as Jeannettestepped out upon the stone flagging of the lowerhall, closed the inner door behind her, and felt in herpurse with gloved fingers for the key to the mail-box.
She found two letters for herself: one from Alicesaying that Etta was going to town on Saturday,would love to lunch with Aunt Jeannette and be eternallygrateful to her if she’d help her pick out thedress; the other was a circular from Wanamaker’s. Itwas the latter rather than the former communicationthat started the train of thought which occupied Jeannette’smind as she firmly stepped along the Avenue.Her walk to the office took twenty-three minutes andas she passed Fourteenth Street she noted by a clockin front of a jeweller’s store that she was a minuteahead of time. The Wanamaker circular set forth theadvantages of a sale of women’s suits, yet it was notthe attractive prices nor the smart models that occasionedJeannette’s thoughts. The envelope containingthe circular was addressed to “Mrs. Martin Devlin.”No one called her by that name any more.When she went back to work as Mr. Corey’s secretary,she had been welcomed as “Miss Sturgis.” “Miss[Pg 386]Sturgis” had meant something in the affairs of theChandler B. Corey Company; no significance was attachedto “Mrs. Devlin.” It seemed wiser to dropher married name,—and after the break with Martin,she had no desire to keep it.
Odd to have been a man’s wife, to have belongedto someone! It would be hard to think of herself asa “Mrs.” again, to call herself “Mrs. Martin Devlin.”How many years ago had it been? Fifteen? Sixteen?Something like that. Had there really ever been aninterval of four years in her life when she had been amarried woman? It seemed to her she had alwaysbeen part of the Chandler B. Corey Company,—or theCorey Publishing Company as it now was called,—partof it without a break since those days of long agowhen it had occupied three floors in a clumsy old officebuilding and had looked out, with Schirmer’s MusicStore and Tiffany’s, upon Union Square. What aslim, tall, ignorant, ill-equipped young thing she hadbeen that day she went eagerly to meet Roy at the officeand had watched Miss Reubens looking at photographsin the reception room! Jeannette smiled nowat the memory of herself. It strained the imaginationto believe that the present Miss Sturgis of the MailOrder Department had been that awkward girl so longago.
The years—the years! The changes they hadwrought! Jeannette thought of her last painful interviewwith Martin and the shadow of a frown cameto her brow. She had gone over every detail of it amillion times. It had indeed been harrowing. PoorMartin! He had pleaded so hard for her to come backto him, he had offered to do anything she wanted, but[Pg 387]it was too late then; she couldn’t make him see it. Shereminded him again and again that he had talked justthe same way when he begged her to marry him; shehad doubtfully agreed then, had consented to givetheir union a trial, and it had turned out a failure,—ahopeless failure. No, she didn’t blame him; she toldhim so over and over and admitted it was as much herfault as his; she was no more fitted to be a wife thanhe a husband; many people were constituted thatway; they weren’t suited to married life. She pointedout to him that unless a marriage was happy, it wasa mistake, and neither he nor she had been happy asman and wife. Why, she had never been for one minuteas happy married to Martin Devlin as she had beensince she became her own mistress again! She lovedher independence, she told him, too much to surrenderit to any man. And he? Well, it had been clearlydemonstrated that he liked the society of men and enjoyedoutdoor sports more than he did being a husband.She tried hard not to reproach him, had evensaid she saw no reason why they, two, could not goon being friends, occasionally seeing one another, butat that point Martin got angry,—a sort of madnessseemed to take hold of him and he had said all sortsof terrible things to her, even called her names,—unforgettableones. It had ended in a dreadful scene,a terrible scene,—dreadful and terrible because inspite of the fury and bitterness that gripped them, theyknew love still remained. Jeannette would never forgetthe storm of tears, the abject grief that had come toher at their parting. Love Martin though she did, sherealized she loved her re-won independence more, andshe would not,—could not return to him. Mr. Corey[Pg 388]had taken her in; she had promised to work for himfor a while at least, and it was utterly impossible forher to tell him, after he had discharged his other secretary,that she was going back to her husband again. IfMartin had only given her a year or two she mighthave been willing to be his wife once more, and she hadtold him as much, but Martin refused to listen; he hadthrown down his challenge and forced her then andthere to choose between her job and himself. There wasnothing else for her to do; she had made her decision,and Martin had gone his way. She had never regrettedit, she said to herself now; she was far betteroff to-day, far happier and more contented than sheever would have been as Mrs. Martin Devlin. As hiswife she would have had ties and known sickness; sheand he would have quarrelled and there would havebeen everlasting recriminations; she would have losther looks, and her clothes would have become shabby;she would have grown familiar with poverty and havehad to fight for herself and family the way Alice did,—poor,deserving, hard-working Alice, with her five childrenand unsuccessful husband! No doubt she, Jeannette,had missed much in life, but hers had been thesafe course, the prudent and sure one. She was nowin charge of the Mail Order Department of the CoreyPublishing Company, she was earning fifty dollars aweek, had five Liberty bonds all paid for, and was beholdento no one.... Of Martin she had not heardfor years. On a visit to Alice at Cohasset Beach,she had one Sunday encountered ’Stel Teschemacherand that lady had informed her that Zeb Kline, whileon a brief visit to Philadelphia, had seen Martin, andMartin had an agency for a motor-car there and was[Pg 389]doing quite well. Jeannette would have liked to hearmore, but she did not care to have ’Stel Teschemachersuspect she was interested.
It was ’Stel’s husband who sold the Beardsleys theirhome at Cohasset Beach. The purchase had followedthe death of Roy’s father and the return of Roy andhis family to New York. Dr. Beardsley had not livedlong enough to make a writer’s career for his sonpossible. His death had sadly broken up the smallhome in Mill Valley, and Roy and Alice had deemedit wiser to put the little money the clergyman left theminto a home of their own than spend it in paying rent,butchers’ and grocers’ bills on the chance that Roy’spen might some day earn a livelihood sufficient fortheir needs. He had been only moderately successfulas an author. His dog story had been published andhe had placed several short stories but these had beenfew and far between and then little Frank had cometo add his chubby countenance to the family circle andhis parents decided a writer’s career was too precariousfor a man with a family. A job on a newspaperor magazine would insure a steady income. So withgrief over their bereavement and disappointment intheir hearts for the abandoned profession, Roy andhis wife returned to New York and then in quick successionhad come the finding of his position on theQuart-z-Arts Review which carried with it a moderatesalary, the purchase of the house at CohassetBeach, and in time the arrival of the small Jeannette,—’Nettieshe was called to distinguish her from heraunt,—and Baby Roy, who was seven years old nowand had recently asserted his manhood by resentingthe identifying adjective by which he had been known[Pg 390]since birth. Jeannette paused a moment in her retrospectivethoughts to calculate: Twenty-two years!Yes,—Alice and Roy had been married twenty-twoyears! They were an old married couple now.
§ 3
She realized abruptly she had reached the office.Men and women, up and down the street, were convergingin their courses toward the doors of the publishingcompany. The great concrete block of eightstories, crowded now to the limit of its capacity, withthe thundering presses on the lower floors, had oftenseemed to her a monster that sucked in through its tinymouth each morning a small army of workers, mulledthem about all day between its ruminating jaws, fed ontheir juices and spewed them forth at evening to gotheir ways and gather new strength during the nightto feed its hungry maw again upon the morrow.
Though the picture was grim and repellent, shecherished no hostility toward the institution that employedher. With the exception of the four-year interludeof adventuring in matrimony, she had been anemployee of the self-same concern since she waseighteen; for nearly twenty years her name had appearedupon its pay-roll; in November she could makethat very boast. More than any building in the worldthis block of steel and concrete was bound up with herdestiny; she had spent most of the days of her lifewithin it; she had seen its beginnings, had watched itspring into being, had had a hand in altering andadapting it to the needs of business, had observed itsalmost barren floors slowly fill year after year with[Pg 391]human activity until now the use of every square footof space was a matter of debate; she was one of thehalf dozen still gleaning a livelihood within its wallsto-day who could speak of a time before its existencehad even been conceived.
Most of those early associates on Union Squarewere gone now,—dead or following other lines of endeavor.Old Kipps still pottered about in the manufacturingdepartment, Mr. Cavendish white-haired,gray-moustached and rosy, still edited Corey’s Commentary;Miss Travers, her merry face now linedwith many criss-crossed wrinkles, had succeeded Mr.Olmstead and while not accorded the title of Auditor,which he had enjoyed, was known as the Cashier. Thenthere was Sidney Frank Allister, who, while he didnot date back to the Union Square days, was still tobe reckoned among those early associated with thefortunes of the publishing company, and now verymuch identified with them since he had become Presidentand sat in the seat of Chandler B. Corey.
For Mr. Corey was dead. He had died the yearJeannette lost her mother and had followed his son,Willis, to the grave after a few months. Mrs. Coreyhad left him a widower many years before. There remainedonly his daughter, Babs, in an Adirondacksanitarium for the insane, to inherit his wealth andfifty-one per cent of the stock of the business he hadcreated. He died a rich man and his will providedthat his worldly possessions should be divided equallybetween his two children, their heirs and assigns, andof these last there were none, for Willis had never marriedand Babs could not. Jeannette often used tomuse upon the futility of human ambition when she[Pg 392]thought of the man she had served so long as secretary.She knew it had been the great desire of hislife to found a publishing house that should becomeidentified with the growth of American literature andpass on down the years in the hands of the Coreyfamily, father and son succeeding one another afterthe fashion of some of the great English houses.
One day while sitting in his office intent upon affairsof business, his head dropped forward andbanged on the hard surface of his desk before him,and he was dead. His heart had suddenly growntired of its work. Even before he was laid away atWoodlawn, there had begun the mad scramble for thecontrol of stock which would elect his successor. Jeannettenever learned how Mr. Allister succeeded in obtainingit, but Mr. Featherstone had shortly beeneliminated entirely from the affairs of the companyand it was whispered that Mr. Kipps had played adouble game. However that may have been, SidneyFrank Allister was by far the best man to fill Corey’splace, in Jeannette’s opinion. He was not so shrewdnor so far-seeing, but he had certain literaryqualifications which fitted him for the position. Mr.Featherstone, Jeannette had early come to regard asa blustering blow-hard, while Mr. Kipps was hardlygrammatical in speech or in letters, and had growninto a fussy old man. Francis Holm or Walt Chasemight have proven themselves even better material,but three years prior to Mr. Corey’s death, both theseyoung men had broken away from the old organization;Holm had launched forth into the publishing businessfor himself, and Walt Chase had gone to Sears,Roebuck & Co. in Chicago at a salary, it was rumored,[Pg 393]of ten thousand a year, and Jeannette had succeededhim as head of the Mail Order Department.
Much as she had enjoyed being secretary to Mr.Corey, she was forced to realize as the years rolledby, that the position held no future for her. She wouldalways be the president’s secretary as long as Mr.Corey lived but against the congenial work and easyrôle her ambition had protested. Recollections ofearly resolutions she had made on entering the businessworld returned to disturb her complacency. Sheremembered vowing then she would go to the very topand some day become herself an executive instead ofa secretary. She saw no reason why she should notfollow in Walt Chase’s footsteps and be worth tenthousand a year, if not to the Corey Company then tosome other. She had great confidence in herself, feltespecially qualified to do mail order work, and was sureshe could increase sales and manage the departmentbetter than Walt Chase. It was a pet idea of hers thatwomen, not men, bought books by mail, and she wasconfident that attacks directed at women, written froma feminine standpoint, would show results. When theoffer from Chicago came and Chase announced he wasgoing, she determined suddenly to seize the opportunityand asked Mr. Corey for Chase’s place; she hadplayed secretary long enough, she told him,—shewanted her chance at bigger work.
There had been a great deal of demurring and discussionbefore she was allowed to try her hand. Mr.Kipps and Mr. Featherstone had vigorously opposedthe plan, arguing that while Miss Sturgis had provenherself an incomparable secretary, there was no indicationshe would be equally successful in charge of[Pg 394]the Mail Order Department. Walt Chase had builtup a steady sale for the company’s publications, andhad been, doing many thousands of dollars’ worth ofbusiness a year. Mr. Kipps and Mr. Featherstoneshared the opinion that a woman was not competentto manage affairs involving so much money,—theywere too large for the feminine mind to grasp. Theycontended, too, that she had had no experience in mailorder affairs, and that a young man, named Owens,who had been Chase’s assistant for over a year, washis logical successor, and had been led to expect thepromotion; it was doubtful, they said, whether he andMr. Sparks, and old Mr. Harris and the one or twoother men who had been under Walt Chase would consentto remain if a woman was placed in charge ofthem; this particular branch of the business had becomeexceedingly profitable and it was pointed out toMr. Corey that he was in great danger of demoralizingit by permitting a girl to assume its management.
Jeannette had stood firm and resolutely pressed herrequest in the face of opposition which she consideredstupid and which angered her. Mr. Corey finallyagreed to give her a trial although it was clear he hadhis misgivings. But during the nine years in whichJeannette had filled the coveted position, she had amplydemonstrated to everyone’s satisfaction her faithin herself to be warranted, and this in spite of the factthat Owens and Sparks had promptly resigned as predictedby Mr. Featherstone and Mr. Kipps, and for atime the work had been demoralized indeed.
Yet she triumphed, as she knew she would, and theideas she had long cherished for conducting mail ordercampaigns had borne fruit. Last year she had the[Pg 395]satisfaction of stating in her annual report that thebusiness of her department had doubled in size sinceshe had taken it in charge. It had been a long strugglefraught with interference and constant criticism ofher methods. It had been particularly hard at firstwhen Mr. Kipps supervised everything she did andvetoed some of her pet projects. He had hampered herin every way he could, not because he had any personalfeeling against her but because she was a woman andhe had no faith in a woman’s judgment. That wasthe way he had always treated Miss Holland; but nowsince Miss Holland had resigned and gone to live withher nephew in Brooklyn, he was willing at any minuteto wax eloquent in praise of her extraordinary ability:ah, yes,—yes, indeed,—Miss Holland was a remarkablewoman,—fitted in every way for business,—brainlike a man’s,—wonderfully clear-sighted, excellentjudgment; they didn’t “make” many womenlike Miss Holland,—she was the exception, one in amillion!
Jeannette had to contend against such prejudice forthe first year or two, but eventually she overcame it.Mr. Corey helped her whenever possible. She strove tokeep the affairs of her department to herself and whenforced to seek higher authority, made a practice ofgoing directly to the President who had been the firstto be convinced of her ability. As time went on, Kippsand the other members of the firm inclined to questionher gradually allowed her to go her way. It hadtaken nearly a decade to win their confidence but therewas satisfaction in the thought that at last it was hers,the victory was complete. Of course old Mr. Kippswould always purse his lips and frown dubiously about[Pg 396]anything she proposed for he would never be completelyconvinced of her ability until she followed inMiss Holland’s footsteps, but Kipps was stooped andaged now and little attention was paid to what he saidor did. The Board of Directors was satisfied withthe generalship of Miss Sturgis whose monthly reportsof sales and profits confirmed their confidence.When some other department reported a loss, or whenbusiness in general was poor, the Mail Order Departmentcould be depended upon to show a consolingprofit.
§ 4
One section of the sixth floor was Jeannette’s domain.She had tried for years to have her departmentwalled off by partitions but the best she had been ableto obtain for herself and her girls was a line ofscreens and bookcases. She had twenty-four clerksunder her now, although the number fluctuated, particularlyduring October when the fall campaign wasin progress. Then her force often swelled to over ahundred and the extra help was quartered temporarilyin neighboring vacant lofts and offices, rented for afew weeks. She then had her lieutenants to superintendthe work, which for the most part consistedmerely of folding and inserting circulars in envelopes,sealing and stamping.
Her department was well organized; the work hadbeen so systematized that it now moved with perfectsmoothness. Old Sam Harris,—who represented allthat was left of Walt Chase’s régime,—supervised thecard catalogues; Miss Stenicke was in charge of thegirls; the “inquiries” were checked and answered by[Pg 397]Mrs. M’Ardle, while orders were entered and forwardedto the stock room for filling by little MissLacy. Jeannette devoted herself to the preparationof copy for letters, circulars and advertisement. Thiswas the most important part of the work, and she believedher time and brains could not be better employed.She kept huge scrap-books in which shepasted circulars and letters issued by other mail orderhouses and spent hours poring over them.
§ 5
Her desk stood on a low platform and from thisvantage-point she could overlook her department asa school teacher surveys her schoolroom. Sheprided herself she could tell at a glance what any particulargirl ought to be doing; if ever in doubt shepromptly summoned Mrs. M’Ardle to her desk andinquired. All the girls respected and admired her;they knew her to be fair-dealing and straightforward,though swift in censure where merited. She liked tohave them think of her in this way and cultivated theidea.
“You’re conscientious and you try hard,” she wouldsay in admonishing some unfortunate bungler. “Iwant to be just to you. In conducting the affairs ofthis department, I want to be as lenient as I can. Istrive to forget personalities and think only of myassistants,—or perhaps I had better say ‘associates,’—asco-helpers in a big machine, each one functioningto the best of her ability at her particular pieceof work. I’ve explained my ideas to Mr. Allister repeatedly.I want the girls in the Mail Order Department[Pg 398]to be every one her own boss, to come and goas she pleases, and feel responsible—not to me but tothe work.... I want to be a ‘big sister’ to everygirl under me. I’m placed here to help, advise anddirect, not to scold. But if you fail to perform properlythe work assigned you, if you’re clumsy and carelessand haphazard in your methods, then it is myduty to call the fact to your attention.... I want tobe fair to everyone; I have no favorites....”
The lecture might continue at some length particularlyif Miss Stenicke, Mrs. M’Ardle or little MissLacy was within earshot.
For a long time this Mail Order branch of the businessof which she was the head had called forth Jeannette’sgreat pride. She had felt it was all hers,—herwork. But of late, she had been stirred less and less.After all what had been accomplished? For nearlyten years she had bent her energies to making thisphase of the activities of the Corey Publishing Companyaboundingly successful. There no longer remainedany question as to whether or not she hadachieved her purpose. A year or two ago a recalcitrantspirit among her girls had immediately arousedin her a determination to break it; the discovery ofan error at once had challenged her to trace it to itssource; the questioning of her authority or trespassingupon her prerogatives had stirred her upon the instantto battle. One of the keenest pleasures of herdays had been to draft laws that should govern hergirls and to see that these were enforced. She hadbegun to detect in herself within the last year or twoan increasing indifference to all such things,—she didnot care as she once had cared. She was no longer[Pg 399]hampered or troubled by those “downstairs”; her assistantsand her girls gave her small occasion forsupervision; the work of the department ran on well-oiledwheels. With opposition eliminated, the task oforganization perfected, the maximum volume of businessattained, there remained nothing to fire her spiritor brain, to stimulate fresh effort. And she was distressedby a suspicion that more and more persistentlyobtruded itself upon her consciousness that perhapsshe was getting old, that the indifference to whatwent on about her and to her work was merely a signof approaching age!
She rebelled at the idea; she put it from her vigorously;she refused to entertain it. Why, she was onlyforty-three! She was in the heyday of her powers.Her judgment, her mind, her capacities were neverso keen as now. She was equal to far more exacting,more difficult work. Disturbed by this fear, she decidedto look about her for fresh fields of endeavor. Therewas no higher position in the Corey Publishing Companyopen to her; more important places were allfilled by members of the firm, and it was not likely thatany one of them would step aside and give her a chanceat his work. No,—though proud of her long years ofservice and her record with the publishing company,—shedecided that neither was of sufficient importanceto keep her indefinitely on its pay-roll until she wasready to follow in Miss Holland’s footsteps. She letit be known in mail order circles that she was lookingfor a job.
Of Walt Chase she continued to think enviously.She had heard he was now one of the big men in Sears,Roebuck & Company, a fact that exasperated her,[Pg 400]because she felt herself to be cleverer than he, moreable in every respect. He was getting ten thousand—twelvethousand—fifteen thousand,—whatever it was,—ayear and climbing the ladder of success rung afterrung, while she was doing the work he had left behindhim at the Corey Publishing Company in a far moreefficient, economical, and profitable way and was beingpaid fifty dollars a week!
One day she learned of a vacancy in the AmericanSuit & Cloak Company, where they were looking forsomeone familiar with mail order work. She wroteand applied for the position. A conference with theGeneral Manager followed. It developed he was insearch of a man,—a woman, it was feared, was notqualified to do the work,—but the Manager admitted heknew Miss Sturgis by reputation and would be gladto make a place for her in his organization if she wasdissatisfied where she was,—and he could promise her,—well,he could pay her thirty-five dollars a week.Jeannette declined and eased her mind by writing acoldly worded letter of thanks and regret; the GeneralManager of the American Suit & Cloak Companymust have a poor opinion of her sense of values, if heexpected her to resign from a position where she wasthe head of a department and receiving fifty dollars aweek to accept an underling’s place at a smallersalary! But fifty dollars a week from the Corey PublishingCompany was far below what she was worth,Jeannette considered. It infuriated her to think thatwhile Mr. Allister and those “downstairs” were glibwith their commendation of her work, there was neverany talk of expressing this appreciation by a raise insalary.
[Pg 401]
§ 6
Her first business in the mornings upon reachingher desk was to fasten a sheet of paper about eachof her wrists and pin another to the front of her shirtwaistas a protection against dirt. It was almost impossibleto go through half a day and keep one’s linenclean without these shields. Dust from the street filteredin through the windows, that must be kept openat the top for ventilation and occasionally little featheryballs of soot made their appearance. Contact withoffice furniture always held the risk of a smudge. Jeannettehad her desk and chair thoroughly wiped off byone of her girls before she reached the office in themorning and again when she went to lunch but in anhour or two after these protective measures, she wouldbegin to feel grit under the tips of her fingers andobserve a fine gray layer on the surfaces of whitepaper.
She usually arrived five or ten minutes before nineo’clock at which hour the business of the day was supposedto begin. Never late herself, she had trainedher girls to be equally punctual. It was a matter ofpride with her that in the Mail Order Departmentwork began promptly on the stroke of the hour. Therewas no formality about the way it commenced. Withoutsign or sound from Jeannette the girls set abouttheir various duties with simultaneous accord, thenoise of chatter and laughter died away, there was ageneral scraping of chair legs on the cement floor, andthe buzz of typewriters, like the chirping of marshfrogs, began slowly to gather volume.
First Jeannette turned her attention to her “Incoming”[Pg 402]basket, neatly stacked the clipped correspondence,memorandums and communications before her,and, armed with a thick blue pencil, began their disposal,marking certain letters and papers a vigorous“No” or “O.K.-J.S.”—pinning a sheet of scratch padto others and scribbling thereon a brief direction orquery. Most of the pile before her disappeared intoher “Outgoing” basket, but in an upper corner of herdesk was a folder inscribed: “Mr. Allister,” and intothis she would occasionally slip a letter or memorandum.Its contents would go to him by boy later in theday; once in a while she carried some important matterto him herself but she troubled him as little aspossible. She tried to keep the affairs of her departmentto herself; the less she attracted the attention ofthe Directors, the less they were likely to ask for reportsor feel called upon to supervise or investigateher work; she preferred to let the monthly statementsof sales speak for her.
By ten o’clock the “Incoming” basket would beempty, and she could begin the preparation of copy foran advertisement, a circular letter, or the arrangementof a leaflet setting forth the features of a new set ofbooks. This was the work she loved best to do, knowingshe was unusually good at it; there were daily evidencesher copy “pulled,” that the touches she gaveher advertisements were productive of sales. No one“downstairs” appreciated how clever she was, thoughthere were the reports of sales to attest to her ability.
She often wished there was more of this particularkind of ad-writing and circular-preparing to be done,but the books of the Corey Publishing Company sold bymail, year after year, varied little in type: These were[Pg 403]a standard dictionary, a Home Library of Living Literature,a set of handbooks for Garden and Kitchen,and then there were the dressmaking books issued inconnection with the pattern department: “How toSew,” “How to Knit,” “How to Embroider.” Inaddition to the circularizing for these was that for subscriptionsto the magazines, offered in conjunctionwith some particular premium.
When a special letter had to be prepared, Jeannettepreferred to write it at home or come back to the officeat night when she could be alone and undisturbed.There was continual interruption during the day; sherarely enjoyed five minutes of consecutive thought.One source of distraction and a great annoyance washaving personally to initial every request for supplies,no matter how trifling. This was one of Mr.Kipps’ schemes. He had made it a rule that heads ofdepartments must O.K. all such requisitions. A paperof pins, a pot of paste, a pad of paper could not be issuedby the stock clerk to any of her girls withoutJeannette’s initials being affixed to the request. Allday long she was interrupted by: “C’n I have a pencil,Miss Sturgis?” “Please O.K. my slip for somepaper, Miss Sturgis.” “’Xcuse me for interruptin’you, Miss Sturgis, but I need some pen points.” Mr.Kipps’ idea was to prevent waste, but Jeannette frequentlyrealized with exasperation that her time wasof a great deal more value to the company than pencils,pens or paper, and there was a far greater wastein interrupting a line of constructive thinking than intrying to conserve the supplies of the stock room.
The telephone at her desk was continually at herear: the composing room wanted the cut for Job 648;[Pg 404]the engraver didn’t have the “Ben Day” she hadspecified; Mr. Sanders, Mr. Kipps’ assistant, wishedto know if she could use a Five-and-a-quarter envelopejust as well as a Number Six; she had requisitionedfive thousand two-cent stamps and they had not beendelivered; she needed a hundred thousand more “Dictionary”circulars, and would like Stamper & Bachellorto submit her some “m.f. laid, 24 by 36” in varioustints; the stencil machine was out of order and shewanted to borrow one from the mailing department.
One thing followed another all day long.
“If we insert that return postal, we can’t mail thisattack under two-cent postage.”
“Hello, Miss Sturgis,—say, Events can only giveus a half page; will you prepare new copy for thesmaller space? They’re waiting to go to press.”
“Miss Sturgis, we’re running short on ‘How toKnit.’”
“Miss Sturgis, we’ll have to get in some extra girlsif you want those letters signed by hand.”
“Miss Sturgis, do you want these mimeographed orprinted?”
“Miss Sturgis, Mr. Allister’d like to see you.”
“Miss Sturgis, c’n I have some pins?”
At a quarter past twelve she went to lunch. Shemade a point of going promptly. There was a time,some years back, when she had fallen into the habitof letting her lunch hour lapse over into the afternoon,allowing the demands upon her further and furtherto postpone it, and it had been two o’clock, sometimesthree before she went out. As a result, indigestionand headaches commenced seriously to trouble her,and the doctor advised a regular hour for lunch. At[Pg 405]twelve-fifteen, therefore, she compelled herself to dropwhatever she had in hand and leave the office; one ofthe girls was instructed to call her attention to thetime.
She always went to the Clover Tea Room for herluncheon. This was a little basement restaurant operatedby two elderly sisters. It was prettily appointedwith yellow lights, yellow candles, yellow embroideredtable doilies and yellow painted furniture.Jeannette had her own special table daily reserved forher. Lunch cost sixty-five cents and consisted generallyof a small fruit cocktail, a chop, a little fish, or anindividual meat pie, with an accompanying dab ofvegetable, and a dessert.
She was accustomed to enter the Tea Room attwelve-twenty almost to the minute: a tall, fine-figured,handsome woman in her dark tailor-made, her modishhat and fur scarf. She would proceed directly to hertable, exchanging a smile and a word of greeting withthe elder Miss Hanlon as she passed her desk. Unbuttoningher gloves and drawing them from herhands, she would study the handwritten menu:
Minnie would presently come for her order.
“Morning, Miss Sturgis; what’s it to-day? Stewlooks good.”
“Good morning, Minnie. Well, if you say so, I’llhave the stew. And don’t forget to bring lemon withmy tea.”
The Tea Room would be but partially filled whenJeannette entered, but as she waited for her lunchother people began to arrive. Ah, here was MissHogan of Lyman & Howell, and here was that prettyMiss Thompson of Altman’s; Mr. Crothers of the[Pg 406]Stationers’ Supply was late,—no, here he was; Mrs.Diggs had that funny looking hat on again; this personwas a stranger and that couple, busily talking,were quite evidently shoppers. A gray-haired womanin the corner appeared at the Tea Room several timesof late; Jeannette decided she must ask Miss Hanlonwho she was, and find out where she was employed.
At quarter to one or perhaps ten minutes before thehour, Jeannette would pour a little drinking waterfrom her tumbler over her finger-tips into her emptydessert saucer, moisten her lips, wipe them on the littleyellow napkin, and draw on her gloves nicely. Shealways left ten cents for Minnie and paid her check atMiss Hanlon’s desk on her way out. Usually she hadthe better part of half-an-hour before it was time toreturn to the office. Between the Tea Room and thecorner of the Avenue, she almost invariably encounteredMiss Travers, the Cashier, who likewise patronizedthe little restaurant. They would nod and smileat one another as they passed but neither had time topause for words. Jeannette frequently had a smallerrand to perform: gloves to get at the cleaners’, hershoes polished, a bit of shopping, a book to exchangeat the library. When there was nothing speciallypressing, she would pay a visit to a bustling FifthAvenue store, where she would make her way throughcrowds of jostling women, and inspect counters, examining,even pricing the merchandise that attractedher. In the long years she had been an office-worker,she had spent many a luncheon hour in this fashion;she never grew tried of such visits, nor of acquaintingherself with the new fads, novelties and latest stylesin feminine apparel.
[Pg 407]
Just one hour after she had left it, she would beback at her desk, readjusting her paper cuffs, and re-pinningthe sheet at her breast. At once the demandsupon her would recommence:
“Miss Sturgis, while you were out, engravers’phoned and said they can’t find that cut.”
“Miss Sturgis, Mr. Kipps wants to know how manycopies of Garden and Kitchen we sold up to Novemberfirst last.”
“Miss Sturgis, Miss Hilliker went home sick.”
“Miss Sturgis, will you sign my requisition for a boxof clips?”
“Miss Sturgis, c’n I have a pencil?”
Thus it would continue for the rest of the day. Theafternoon light would shine bleak and garish throughthe fireproofed windows with their meshed wire embeddedin the glass, the dust would settle on desks andpapers, the thundering presses on the lower floorswould send fine vibrations through the building,typewriters would maintain a clicking droning,a buzz of small noises would harass the ear, therewould be a continual flash of paper and of white handsat the folders’ tables, while pervading everythingwould be the thick sweet smell of ink emanating fromstacks of new print matter fresh from the press-room.
Five o’clock always surprised Jeannette. Her workabsorbed her; if she threw a hasty glance at the neatsmall mahogany-cased clock on her desk, it was toascertain if there was time enough to complete onemore task that day, or to begin preparations for anew one. The ringing gong that sounded “quittingtime” invariably startled her into a blank sensationof discouragement. She would wish at that moment[Pg 408]for another hour to finish the matter in hand,—justa little longer and she would have it out of the way!The commotion among the girls which instantly followedthe gong never failed to annoy her. In lessthan five minutes,—save for Mrs. M’Ardle, little MissLacy, Miss Stenicke, and old man Harris,—her departmentwould be empty. These assistants remaineda little later to clean up the day’s work and preparefor the morrow’s. In another quarter of an hour,they too would begin to bang desk drawers shut, andprepare to depart. Presently Jeannette would bealone. She usually was the last to leave. It was thenthat a feeling of fatigue, a weariness of soul, a distasteof life would begin to assert themselves. Reactionfrom the racing events of morning and afternoonwould close down upon her and of a sudden her work,her days, her whole life, would seem drab, colorless,profitless. What did it matter if a few more copies ofthe Dictionary were sold, what difference did it makeif the new attack was a success, whether or not littleMiss Lacy was inclined to be careless, or that Mr.Kipps had attempted to interfere with her again? Ofwhat importance was the Mail Order Department ofthe Corey Publishing Company anyway? Or the concernitself? Mr. Corey had worked hard all his lifeand then had died and left it behind him! What goodhad it ever done him? This racketing building representedsuch trivial enterprise after all! It seemedridiculously trifling.... She would get to her feetwith a great sigh of apathy, disgust for her work andlife rising strong within her. Frequently with a sweepof an impatient hand she would scoop the papers before[Pg 409]her into the top drawer of her desk, or thrustthem back into her “Incoming” basket. They couldwait until the morrow; to-night they bored her; shewanted to get away; to shut them out of her mind! ...Ah, it was all so petty! No one would thankher for working after hours! She was sick to deathof it!
She would adjust her hat with her usual care beforethe mirror in the dressing-room, tucking her hairneatly beneath its brim, don fur and gloves, and proceedto the elevator.
On the way out she might encounter Mr. Kipps orMr. Allister.
“Good-evening, Miss Sturgis.”
“Good-evening, Mr. Allister.”
The street would be blue with gathering dusk, andcrowded with dark hurrying figures homeward bound.Lights here and there streamed from office windows,dabs of brilliant yellow in the purple scene. Motortrucks and delivery wagons backed to the curb werebeing piled with crates and packages by hustling, callingmen and boys. The tide of workers let loose fromdesk and counter set strongly in conflicting currents.Long lines of traffic filled the congested thoroughfareand waited for the signal to move forward. A dullclamor, a pulsing bass note, a sound of feet, voices,motor horns, a banging and bawling, a thumping andhubbub, clatter and rumble, throbbed persistently.There was a sense of hurry and dispatch in the air.No one had any time to waste; it was the hour ofhome-going, the end of the day’s toil, the feeding timeof the great army of workers.
[Pg 410]
§ 7
Dinner had still to be prepared by the time Jeannettereached the apartment in Waverly Place. Beatrice,who was employed by a manufacturer of soapsand toilet waters a few blocks from where she lived,was usually in the kitchen when her friend arrived.Beatrice did the marketing at her lunch hour, or ingoing to and from her office. Mrs. Welch, who liveddownstairs, obligingly took in packages and kept aneye on Mitzi, well qualified, however, to look afterherself. The cat mysteriously disappeared during theday to present herself bright-eyed, hungry and affectionatethe instant Jeannette’s or Beatrice’s stepssounded in the hall.
The dinners the two working women shared wereusually simple. Very seldom they ate meat. Eggs inany form were popular and the evening meal,—ninetimes out of ten,—began with a canned soup served incups. From the delicatessen on Sixth Avenue avariety of canned food was obtainable. Jeannette andBeatrice were particularly fond of canned chicken ála King, which had merely to be heated, seasoned andpoured over toast. Sometimes they made their dinnerof soup, a can of asparagus tips, tea and crullers.The asparagus tips made frequent appearances.Beatrice kept in the ice-box a little jar of mayonnaise,which she usually whipped together on Sundays.Macaroni salad was another prime favorite, and therewere also tuna fish, creamed or made into a salad, andfish balls whenever they could be obtained.
Once in a while on a Sunday or on one of thoserare occasions when company was expected Beatrice[Pg 411]struggled with meat and potatoes for a three-coursemeal, but in these ventures she received small encouragementfrom Jeannette. The latter was forever proclaimingshe “despised” to cook and was thereforeaverse to betraying any interest in plans for an elaboratemeal; the odor of meat cooking in the housesmelled the place up horribly, she declared.
Punctiliously, however, she performed her share ofthe work in cleaning up after dinner. She dried thedishes, gathered the small luncheon cloth by its fourcorners and gave it a quick shake out of a rear window,put away the silverware, and restored to the sideboarddrawer the two fringed napkins in their red lacquerrings, rearranged the table and pushed back the chairsagainst the wall. Beatrice meanwhile would be busyfussing in the kitchen, washing the one or two pansshe had used, the tea-pot and few dishes, feeding Mitzithe remnants of the can of soup and perhaps a bit offish or a little fried liver. By half past seven dinnerwould be a thing of the past and the little home inorder again.
Jeannette made it a practice to spend the ensuinghour or two in the seclusion of her own room. In manyways, this was the happiest time of the day for her.She was alone finally and could count upon being unhurriedand undisturbed. First she made her bed withcare: the undersheet must be stretched tight and tuckedwell under the mattress, there must be no wrinklesand the covers must be folded in loosely at the bottom;she affected a baby pillow which twice a week must beslipped into a fresh embroidered case. Five minutesfollowed with the carpet sweeper; the room was tidied,—everythingput in its right place. When all was[Pg 412]done, she would feel free to turn her attention to herself.If there was mending, she next disposed of it;distasteful though sewing had always been to her, shehad grown dexterous with her needle. She spentfifteen minutes manicuring her nails, and an equaltime brushing her hair and rubbing a tonic into herscalp. The gray was very thick over the right templeand Beatrice had urged her to have it “touched up”but Jeannette rather liked it as it was; she consideredit added a distinguished touch. There were other intimateoffices she performed at this hour with great thoroughness,her vigorousness increasing as time carriedher into middle age. Twice a week, sometimes oftener,she took a hot bath about nine o’clock. Great preparationswere attached to this performance, and she indulgedherself in perfumed bath salts, perfumed soap,and delicately scented powder. When Mehitablebrought home the “wash” on Friday nights, Jeannettedevoted half-an-hour to running pink satin ribbonsthrough her chemises and brassières. The ribbonsshe carefully steamed herself once a month andpressed with the electric iron in the kitchen. But thosenights on which she did not bathe, when her room wasin order and her toilette completed, she would don akimona, and, with hair hanging in pig-tails down herback, her feet in Japanese wicker sandals, shuffle herway to the front room, with a book under her arm, tojoin Beatrice for perhaps an hour’s chat or readingbefore finally retiring. Neither she nor her companionever went to the movies, and seldom to the theatre.Saturday afternoons Jeannette spent in tours ofshrewd and calculated shopping, and on Sundays shewent to Cohasset Beach to spend the day with Aliceand the children.
[Pg 413]
CHAPTER II
§ 1
Jeannette, on her way to Cohasset Beach, let herSunday newspaper drift indifferently into her lap, andturned her attention to the October landscape throughthe car window. The train was filled with Sunday visitorslike herself, bound for friends and relatives in thesuburbs. They would enjoy a hearty meal around acrowded table at one o’clock, would inspect the localcountry club for a view of the links or the golfersin their “sports” clothes, indulge, perhaps, in a motortrip to gain further aspects of the autumnal foliage,or, complaining of having over-eaten and demurringat any effort, establish themselves at the card table towhile away the rest of the afternoon at bridge. At fiveo’clock the swarm that had filtered into the country allmorning through the Pennsylvania Station would decidewith one accord to return to the city, the carswould be jammed and every seat taken long before thewestbound trains reached Cohasset Beach. It wasalways a noisy crowd with crying, tired babies wrigglingin parents’ laps, golfers arguing about theirscores and the adjustment of their bets, silly girlsconvulsed at one another’s confidences or lifting shrillpipes of mirth at the hoarse whispered comments fromslouching male escorts, returning ball teams of youthfulenthusiasts who banged each other over the head[Pg 414]and vented their high spirits in rough jibes or horse-play.
Sunday travel was a bore, thought Jeannette inmild vexation. Even the outbound trains during themorning, which were never more than comfortablyfilled, stopped at every station along the line, no matterhow insignificant. It took ten minutes longer toget to Cohasset Beach on Sundays than on any otherday of the week; the express trains that left the citylate in the afternoons from Monday to Saturdaylanded Roy home in nineteen minutes. It used to takea weary forty-five, Jeannette remembered, when theEast River had first to be crossed by ferry and therest of the way travelled in the old racketing, shabby,plush-seated, puffing steam trains from Long IslandCity.
She fell to musing as she idly watched the countryflying past. She recalled the time when she and Martinhad paid their first visit to Cohasset Beach asguests of the Herbert Gibbses and had gone picnickingon the shore at the Family Yacht Club. The Gibbsesowned a handsome home on the Point to-day, and thelittle Yacht Club had been merged into the CohassetBeach Yacht Club, which, since the fire that had laidit in ashy ruins, was now housed in a large, imposingedifice of brick and stone. The town itself,—thenhardly more than a summer resort for “rich NewYorkers,” a few hundred houses scattered carelesslyover some wooded hills,—had grown within the lastdozen years into a flourishing community with banks,brick business blocks, and fireproof schools, with pavedstreets, and rows upon rows of white painted houseswith green shutters and fan-shaped transoms above[Pg 415]panelled colonial doorways. The woods were gone; thesycamores and gnarled old apple trees had given placeto spindling elms set at orderly intervals on eitherside the carefully graded streets and to formal littlegardens and close-cropped patches of lawn. The dilapidatedwooden station had been supplanted by asubstantial concrete affair, surrounded with cementpavements, and provided with comfortable, steam-heatedwaiting-rooms. The whirring electric trainsswept on to other thriving villages further down theIsland, and paused, coming or going, but a minuteor two at the older town which had once been the terminal.There were now blocks and blocks of thesetrimly-built, neatly-equipped houses at CohassetBeach, each with its garden, its curving cement walksand contiguous garage, and Messrs. Adolph Kuntz andStephen Teschemacher had built stone mansions forthemselves in the center of Cohasset Beach Park, to-daythe “court” end of town.
Alice and Roy lived in humbler quarters: the oldframe house Fritz Wiggens and his paralytic motherhad once occupied. It was yellow and gabled, rustyand blistered, and spread itself out in ungainly fashionover a none-too-large bit of ground. It had, by nomeans, been a poor investment, although the buildinghad needed a steady stream of repairs since theBeardsleys acquired it. Roy had been offered threetimes what he paid for it on account of its desirablelocation overlooking the waters of the Sound. Everynow and then he and Alice discussed selling the placebut invariably reached the same conclusion: Rentswere prohibitive and no other house half as satisfactorycould be purchased for the money without assuming[Pg 416]a mortgage, an additional financial burden not to beconsidered; their problem was to devise ways of reducingexpenses rather than increasing them.
§ 2
Jeannette had decided to walk to her sister’s house,but on the platform as she descended from the trainshe unexpectedly encountered Zeb Kline and his wife,awaiting the arrival of Sunday guests. Zeb had marriedNick Birdsell’s daughter and gone into partnershipwith his father-in-law; Birdsell & Kline, GeneralContractors, had built most of the new houses in CohassetBeach, and now Zeb had a fine stucco one ofhis own, and his wife drove about in her limousineand kept a chauffeur.
At the time Jeannette and Martin separated, theformer had been aware that the sympathy of the communitywas with her genial, amusing, good-lookinghusband. The townsfolk considered she had treatedhim “shamefully”; only Edith French and the Docwere acquainted with the true facts of the case and haddefended her, but the Doc and his wife had movedaway within a year after Jeannette returned to work,and she had lost touch with them. Word reached herthat they had settled in St. Louis, that the Doc hadhad his right hand amputated as the result of an infectionfrom an operation, and that he was runninga drug store there. Later Jeannette heard that Edithhad left him and married an actor.
Suspecting a hostile attitude among these friendsand acquaintances of her married years, Jeannette had[Pg 417]kept herself carefully aloof from all of them whenRoy and Alice selected Cohasset Beach for their home.She would avert her eyes when passing any of themon the street, or would bow with but a brief, unsmilinginclination of the head when forced to acknowledgerecognition.
Now, as she came face to face with Zeb Kline andhis wife, Zeb, a trifle flustered, lifted his cap andgreeted her by name, and Jeannette, also taken unawares,responded with more cordiality than she felt.She was somewhat perturbed by the incident and wasconscious of Kitty Birdsell Kline’s appraising eye followingher as she made her way across the stationplatform.
It was this trifling occurrence that induced her toalter her intention and ride to Alice’s. Mrs. Klinemight be admiring her,—her clothes and carriage,—orshe might be sneering. In either case, the scrutinywas unwelcome, and, straightening her shoulders,Jeannette directed her steps toward one of the shabby,waiting Fords, and climbed in. She had no intentionof letting the Klines sweep by her in their limousinewhile she trudged along the sidewalk.
Established in her taxi and rattling over the familiarroute to her sister’s home, a pleasant thought of Zebcame to her. After all, he was the best of that roughand common group; he had always been polite to her,honest and straightforward; she remembered how kindhe had been about the construction of the screens forthe bungalow’s windows, hurrying their making andcharging her practically no more than they had cost.She wondered if he had been to Philadelphia recently[Pg 418]or had heard anything more of Martin. If she shouldchance to meet Zeb in the street some day, she debatedwhether or not she should ask him for news.
Baby Roy, clad in his Sunday corduroy “knickers”and a white shirt, which Jeannette knew well had beenput upon him clean that morning, was sprawled on thecement steps of the Beardsleys’ home as her vehiclestopped before it. The cleanly appearance had departedfrom Baby Roy’s shirt, the trousers had becomedivorced from it, his collar was rumpled, and thebow tie, which his aunt suspected Etta’s hurried fingershad tied before church, was bedraggled and askewover one shoulder. He lay on his back, his head uponthe hard stone, his fair hair in tousled confusion, gazingstraight upward into the sky, his arms wavingaimlessly above him. He made no move at the soundof the motor-car and only stirred when Jeannettereached the steps.
“Hello, Aunt Jan,” he drawled in his curious, indolentvoice.
“Well, I declare,” said Jeannette, surveying himwith puzzled amusement, “will you kindly tell me whatyou’re doing there? What are you looking at? Whatdo you think you see?”
Baby Roy smiled foolishly, and with open mouth,twisted his jaw slowly from side to side.
“Aw,—I was just thinking,” he answered in awkwardembarrassment. He got to his feet and put hisarms around his aunt’s neck as she stooped to kisshim.
His cheek was soft and warm, and he smelled ofdirt and sunburn.
“You’re a sight,” she told him; “your mother will[Pg 419]be wild. Why don’t you try to keep yourself cleanone day a week at least?”
“Ma won’t care,” the youngster observed, “and Etwon’t say nothin’.”
“Pronounce your ‘g’s, Baby Roy,—say ‘noth-ing.’Why will Etta say nothing?”
“’Cause she’s got her feller.”
“Who? That pimply-faced Eckles boy?”
The child nodded and then irrelevantly added:
“Nettie’s got appendicitis.”
“Good gracious!” exclaimed Jeannette. “Wheredid she get that?”
Further information was not forthcoming. Thewoman’s mind flew to the possible complications sucha calamity would precipitate as she opened her bagand felt among its contents for the nickel package oflemon drops she had purchased at the PennsylvaniaStation while waiting for her train. She shook threeof the candies out into Baby Roy’s dirt-streaked palm,and was admonishing the recipient that they were to beeaten one by one, when there was a clatter of hardshoes on the porch and a boy of thirteen catapultedout of the house.
“Dibs on the funny paper!” he yelled.
Jeannette eyed him with assumed disapproval.
“There’s no necessity for such a racket, Frank; it’sSunday, remember, and your sister’s sick and everything.”
She proceeded at once, however, to unfold her newspaperand to hand him the comic section.
“I brought you one out of the American, too.”Frank seized the papers and grunted his thanks.
“How is Nettie?” inquired his aunt.
[Pg 420]
She had to repeat her question for the boy’s attentionwas already absorbed by the colored pictures.
“Oh, she’s all right, I guess,” he answered carelessly.
“Is she really sick?”
“I dunno.”
Reproof was on Jeannette’s lips but she checkedherself. Frank was her favorite among her sister’schildren; he was the only one of them, she was at painsto declare frequently, who had any “gumption.” Therest were like their easy-going, amiable parents.Frank had some of her own energy; he was like herin many ways. It was clear he was destined to bethe mainstay of his father’s and mother’s old age. Hewas sure to get on, make money, be successful nomatter in what direction he turned his energies. Afine, clever boy, she considered him, with some “get-up-and-get”in his composition.
She left the two brothers seated side by side on thesteps, poring over the “comics.” Their voices followedher as she entered the house.
“Go on, read it to me;—go on, read it to me. Don’tbe a dirty stinker.”
“Aw, shut up, can’t yer? Wait till I get throughfirst.”
Jeannette met Alice in the hallway and her firstquestion was of the sick child. Alice kissed her withaffection and hugged her warmly.
“I don’t think anything’s the matter,” she said reassuringly.“Nothing in the world but an old-fashionedstomach-ache; something she’s eaten,—that’sall. I thought it wiser to keep her in bed for to-day,—giveher insides a good rest.”
[Pg 421]
“Why, Baby Roy said it was appendicitis!”
“Oh, nonsense! The child isn’t any more sick thanI am!”
“Well, it gave me quite a turn.”
“Of course!” agreed Alice.
Jeannette eyed her sister a moment in suspicion.Allie’s vehement rejection of the idea that anythingmight be seriously the matter suggested Christian Science.Jeannette had heard Mrs. Eddy’s teachings discussedmore or less frequently of late by her sisterand brother-in-law. She suspected they both leanedtoward that faith but lacked courage to come outopenly and declare themselves. She wondered how farthese idiotic principles had laid hold of them, and now,with a searching glance, she asked:
“Has error crept in?”
Alice blushed readily and laughed.
“I don’t know anything about that. If she’s anyworse to-morrow, I’ll send for the doctor.
“I should hope so,” Jeannette approved warmly.
“Etta’s delighted with her dress,” Alice said withan abruptness that suggested a desire to change thesubject. “You were a dear to help her out.”
“It was nothing at all,—less than five dollars. Itseemed a shame not to get something that was becoming,and there’s real value in that garment.”
“Oh, yes, indeed. I could see that.”
Great thumping, banging and scraping were goingon somewhere down below.
“Roy and Ralph are cleaning the furnace,” explainedAlice in answer to her sister’s puzzled look.“It hasn’t been fired,—oh, I don’t think since lastMarch.... Come upstairs and lay your things on[Pg 422]Etta’s bed. I’ve got Nettie in mine; it’s so muchpleasanter in our room.”
The two women mounted the creaking stairs. Inthe front room a little girl was propped up in bedwith several pillows; she was cutting out pictures frommagazines and the bed clothes and carpet were litteredwith scraps and slips of paper; a thin, plaid shawlwas about her shoulders, fastened clumsily across herchest with a large safety-pin. She was not a particularlypretty child; her face was too long and too pale,but her hair, soft and rippling, had the warm browncolor that had distinguished her mother’s, and hereyes were of the same hue.
“Look, Moth’, I put a new hat on this lady andshe looks a lot nicer.” The child held up a waveringsilhouette for inspection. “Oh, hello, Aunt Janny,”she cried as her aunt appeared in her mother’s wake;“was that you in the taxi?”
There was a note of real pleasure, Jeannette felt,in the little girl’s greeting, and she put some feelinginto her kiss as she bent down to embrace her.
“I brought you some lemon drops, Nettie, but sinceyou’re upset perhaps you’d better not have them.”
“Oh, I’m quite all right,” said the little girl brightly.“I’m not the least bit sick.”
Here was the cloven hoof of Christian Science again,thought her aunt darkly; the child had been coached,no doubt! It was a great pity if that rigmarole wasgoing to be taken up by Alice and Roy to make themall miserable!
“Well, I think I wouldn’t eat candy till to-morrow,”advised Jeannette. “What I think you need is a gooddose of castor-oil,” she added firmly with a glance at[Pg 423]her sister. “But here,—I have something here, Iknow you’ll like much better,” she went on, searchingin her bag. She brought to light a gold-colored,metal pencil about three inches long with a tiny ringat one end, and gave it to the child.
“Oh, thank you, Aunt Janny,—thank you awfully,”cried the invalid, immediately beginning to experimentwith the cap which, in turning, shortened or lengthenedthe lead.
“Where’s Etta?”
“Gone to church,” Alice replied.
“Heavens! ... What for?” Jeannette turned inquiringeyes upon the girl’s mother. It was not thatshe lacked sympathy with any religious observanceon her niece’s part, but church-going for Etta was unusual.The younger children were sent dutifully toSunday school but the rest of the family were rathercasual about attending divine services. Alice smiledsignificantly in answer to the query, elevated a shoulder,and indulged in a slight head-shake.
“I suppose that means a boy again,” Jeannette said,interpreting the look and gesture. “Doesn’t she seeenough of them afternoons and evenings? I declare,Alice, I don’t know what you’re going to do with thatgirl. Yesterday afternoon, all she could talk about wasthe movies, and she even stopped me in front of aphotographer’s show-case to ask me if I didn’t thinka man in it was perfectly stunning! ... He was oldenough to be her father!”
“Well, all the girls are like that nowadays.”
“It was decidedly different when we were that age.”
“Oh, indeed it was,” agreed Etta’s mother. “I wasthinking only yesterday how we used——”
[Pg 424]
“You made a great mistake,” interrupted Jeannette,“in letting her bob her hair. It’s affected herwhole character. She was never quite so frivolousbefore.”
“That was her father’s doing,” said Alice mildly.
“Oh, well,—he’d let her do anything she wanted!She has but to ask! ... What do you intend to dowith her? Let her run round this way indefinitely?I’d make her take up sewing or cooking or learn somelanguage.”
“Etta can sew quite nicely,” said her motherloyally, “and she’s a good cook. She wants to go towork,—you know that. She thinks you’d have nodifficulty in getting her a position at the office.”
“Well, perhaps I would, and perhaps I wouldn’t.But I don’t approve of the idea! She’d much bettergo to Columbia or Hunter College.”
“But, Janny dear, we’ve been all over that, timeand time again. That costs money. It would take severalhundred a year to send Etta to college, and wehaven’t got it. Roy thinks it’s much more importantthat Ralph should follow up his engineering at someuniversity.”
Jeannette tapped her pursed lips with a meditativefinger.
“When’s he ready?”
“This is his last year in High School.”
“It would be wiser to send him to business college.”
“Roy’s heart is set on Princeton, but if we can’tafford that,—and I don’t see how we possibly can!—thenColumbia. He could commute, you know.”
Voices and the sound of feet on the porch announced[Pg 425]arrivals. Jeannette drew aside a limp window curtainand gazed down at the front steps.
“It’s that pimply Eckles youth,” she announced.
“His dog has nine puppies and he’s promised one tome,” came from the bed.
“I hope Etta doesn’t ask him to stay to dinner,”Alice remarked, “it’ll make Kate furious.”
“No, he’s going.... I must take off my things.”
Etta running upstairs a moment or two later foundher aunt before the mirror in her room, powderingher nose.
“Oh, darling!” The girl rushed at her and flungher arms about her enthusiastically.
“Careful,—careful, dearie,—I’ve just fixed myself.”Jeannette held Etta’s arms to the girl’s sidesand implanted a brief kiss on her forehead. Theenthusiasm of her niece was in nowise crushed.
“Didn’t we have fun yesterday, Aunt Jan? Oh, Ijust love going shopping with you! You know everything!”
Jeannette smiled complacently. She was a dearchild, this! So responsive and appreciative!
Suddenly she glanced at her sharply, whipped ahandkerchief from the bureau, and before unsuspectingEtta could guess what she was about, gave thegirl’s lip a quick rub. There was a tell-tale smudgeof red on the white linen. Jeannette held forth theevidence accusingly and her niece began to laugh,hanging her head like a little girl half her years.
“I tell you, Etta, it doesn’t become you! Your lipsare red enough without putting any of that Jap pasteon them! When you rouge them, it makes you look[Pg 426]cheap and common.... I don’t care what the othergirls do!”
She surveyed the girl critically: a handsome childwith a lovely mop of dark brown hair that clung inrich clusters of natural curls about her neck and ears;her eyes were unusually large and of a deep, velvetyduskiness, though there was a perpetual merry lightin them, and her mouth, too, had a ready smile; herteeth were glistening white, but her complexion wasbad, given to eruptions and blotches.
“And I wish,” continued Jeannette, “you’d stopeating candy and ice-cream sodas, and leave cake andpastry alone. Your skin would clear out in no time.It’s a shame a girl as pretty as you has to spoil herlooks by injudicious eating.”
“Isn’t it the limit?” agreed Etta. Her face cloudedand she went close to the mirror to study her reflectionnarrowly.
“I never knew it to fail!” she said in disgust.“Wednesday night, Marjorie Bowen’s giving a bridgeparty, and she’s invited a boy I’m just dying to meet!And there’s a blossom coming right here on my chin!I always break out if there’s anything special doing!”
“Well, I tell you!” exclaimed her aunt. “Youwouldn’t have those things if you’d diet with a littlecare. Massaging won’t help a bit; you’ve got to rememberto stop eating sweets.... Who’s the newbeau you’re ‘dying to meet’?”
“Oh, he’s a high-roller,—lives down on the Point,—drivesa Stutz and everything! The girls are all madabout him. He’s been at Manlius for the last twoor three years, and now he’s freshman at Yale....Name’s Herbert Gibbs!”
[Pg 427]
“Goodness gracious!” ejaculated her aunt.
“What’s the matter?”
“Well, ... nothing....”
“Oh, tell me please, Aunt Jan!—Please tell me!”
“Don’t be foolish! I knew his father, that’s all, andI once saw your ‘high-roller’ in his crib when he wasless than a year old.... Isn’t he rather expressionlessand flat-headed?”
“No; I think he’s perfectly stunning. He wearsthe best-looking clothes and he’s an awful sport!”
“Well, you’d never expect it, if you’d known hisfather,” her aunt said dryly.
There was an ascending tramp of feet on the stairs,and Roy with his eldest son appeared, dishevelledand sooty.
“That was a dirty job, all right,” declared Roy afterhe had greeted his sister-in-law and kissed her with thetips of his lips for fear of contaminating her. “Idon’t think she’s been cleaned for years. We shovelledout a ton of soot. Ralph did all the hard work.”
He seemed a little ridiculous, a little pathetic toJeannette, as he stood before her with his smirchedand blackened face, and his tight, wan smile, the upperlip drawn taut across his row of even teeth. Hisstuck-up hair was still unruly, and had begun to recedeat the temples and to thin on top; his face waslined with tiny wrinkles and he wore spectacles withbifocal lenses and metal rims,—an insignificant man,industrious, conscientious, weighed down with thecares and responsibilities of a large family. Life haddealt harshly with him, and somehow, remembering theboy with the whimsical smile who had once made suchearnest love to herself in the flush of youth, Jeannette[Pg 428]could not but regard the result as tragic. She wasfond of Roy, nevertheless; he was always amiable,always good-tempered and cheerful, but she wonderedat this moment as she took stock of him what sortof a man he would have become if she, and not Alice,had married him. Different, no doubt, for she wouldhave pushed him into material success; she would nothave been as easy-going with him as Alice; he hadwanted to write; well, if she had been his wife, hewould probably have turned out to be a very successfulauthor for he had ability.
Roy’s oldest son, Ralph, was in many ways like hisfather. He had the same sweet, obliging nature andwas even gentler. His voice had the quality of BabyRoy’s: indolent, drawling, dragging, and he spokewith a leisureliness that was often irritating. He wasslight of build, narrow-chested and stoop-shouldered,a student by disposition, forever burrowing into a bookor frowning over a magazine article. Jeannette wouldhave considered this highly commendable had Ralphever shown any evidence of having gleaned somethingfrom his reading, or displayed any knowledge as a resultof it. What he read seemed to pass through hismind like water through a sieve.
She had brought down an advanced copy of theforthcoming issue of Corey’s Commentary for him,and he accepted this now, with an appreciative word.
She always made a point of bringing presents toher sister’s children whenever she visited them; sheliked the reputation of never coming empty-handed.The gifts, themselves, might be trifling,—indeed shethought it becoming that they should be,—but shestrove to make them sufficiently appropriate to indicate[Pg 429]considerable thoughtfulness in their selection.She regarded herself as very generous where her niecesand nephews were concerned. Yesterday she hadenabled Etta to buy a more expensive dress than waspossible with the money her mother had given her, andlast week she had sent Frank a fine sweater from a saleof boys’ sweaters she happened upon in a departmentstore. Of all her sister’s children, Frank baffled her.He treated her casually, almost with indifference.While the other children swarmed about her witheffusive gratitude and affection, whenever she gavethem anything, Frank either grunted his thanks orfailed to express them at all. She loved him by far thebest, and was continually making him presents or defendinghim from criticism. Her partiality was sonoticeable she was mildly teased about it by the rest ofthe family; but it drew no recognition from the boy.His aunt, eyeing him with great yearning in her heart,would often wonder how she could bribe him to put hisstout, rough arms about her neck and kiss her once withwarmth and tenderness. She was never able to stirhim to the faintest betrayal of sentiment.
Her benevolence toward her sister’s family frequentlywent further than presents for the children.At Christmas-time she was munificent to them all, andshe never forgot one of their birthdays. Once a yearshe took Nettie, Frank and Baby Roy to the Hippodrome,and on the occasional Saturdays that Alice orEtta came to the city, she always had them to lunchwith her, accompanied them on their shopping trips,and contributed, here and there, to their small purchases.Not infrequently when she knew Alice wasworrying unduly about some vexatious account, she[Pg 430]would press a neatly folded bill into her hand. Sheliked the power that money gave her where they wereconcerned; she delighted in their gratitude and deferenceto her opinions; she was an important factor intheir lives and she enjoyed the part.
§ 3
At one o’clock dinner was announced. There waslittle ceremony about the Beardsleys’ meals; the importantbusiness was to be fed. Kate, the cook andwaitress,—a big-bosomed, wide-hipped Irish woman,with the strength of a horse and the disposition of abear,—had scant regard for the preferences of anyone member of the family she served. Her attentionwas concentrated upon her work; indeed, it requireda considerable amount of clear-thinking and planningto dispatch it at all, and she brooked no interference.Roy, Alice, and the children were franklyafraid of her; even Jeannette admitted a wholesomerespect.
“Oh, Kate’s in an awful tantrum!” the whisperwould go around the house and the family would deportitself with due regard to Kate’s mood.
She piled the food on the table, rattled the bell anddeparted kitchenward, leaving the Beardsleys to assembleas promptly or as tardily as they chose. Therenever were but two courses to a meal: meat and dessert.Kate had no time to bother with soup or salad.Her cooking was good, however, and there were alwaysgreat dishes of potatoes and other vegetables as wellas a large plate of muffins or some other kind of hotbread. Jeannette firmly asserted that Kate’s meat[Pg 431]pie with its brown crisp crust could not be surpassedin any kitchen.
To-day there were but seven at table as Nettie remainedupstairs in bed. She would have crackers andmilk later, her mother announced.
“Milk toast,” Jeannette suggested. But Alice shookher head and made a motion in the direction of thekitchen.
“She doesn’t like anyone fussing out there,” shewhispered, “and I don’t like to ask her to do it herself;it’s extra work no matter how trivial. TheGraham crackers will do just as well; Nettie’s quitefond of them.”
It was a cheerful scene, this gathering at the tableof Roy, his wife, and their children. Tongues waggedconstantly; there was happy laughter and loud talk,much clatter of china and clinking of silverware. Roystood up to carve and he served generously; plateswere passed from hand to hand around the table toAlice who sat opposite him and she added heapingspoonfuls of creamed cauliflower or string beans, andmashed potatoes. The pile of food set down in frontof each seemed, by its quantity, unappetizing to Jeannette,but the others evidently did not share her feeling,for they cleaned their plates, while Frank andBaby Roy almost always asked for more. The remarksthat flew about the board had small relevancy,but she found them interesting, liked to lean back inher chair, with wrists folded one across the other inher lap, and listen comfortably.
“Mr. Kuntz tells me he’s sold the Carleton place;the Hirshstines bought it,” Roy might observe.
“Oh, golly,—those kikes!”
[Pg 432]
“Frank, you mustn’t speak that way; Mrs. Hirshstine’sa nice woman, and Abe Hirshstine’s verypublic-spirited.”
“They may be Jews all right, but I wouldn’t considerthem ‘kikes’; there’s a lot of difference.”Ralph’s drawl often had that irritating quality hisaunt disliked.
“Well, she’s certainly a dumb-bell, if there ever wasone.” Jeannette would infer this was of the daughter.
“That’s because Buddy Eckles’s after her!”
Etta with curling lip would dismiss this withoutcomment.
“He likes to drive her Marmon,—that’s what he’safter.”
“She spoke about taking us all over to Long Beach,Saturday, and Buddy’s going to drive.”
“Hot dog!”
“You can’t go, smarty!”
“Why?—Why can’t I go?”
“’Cause you’ve got to go to the dentist’s.”
“Aw,—cusses!”
“Do you think I’d better have the storm windowsput up to-morrow, Roy, when that man comes to fixthe radiators?”
“I wouldn’t hurry about it; it isn’t November firstyet.”
“I know, but it keeps the house so much warmer, andI was thinking about Nettie....”
“Ralph and I can do it when you need them.”
“We get Barthelmess at the Plaza Friday andSaturday!”
“Oh, c’n I go, Moth’?”
“We’ll see; perhaps your father will take you.”
[Pg 433]
“Do you let the children go to the movies much,Alice?”
“Depends on the picture. Barthelmess is alwaysclean and good.”
“Friday I’ll be late coming home, and Saturdaynight I’m afraid I’ll have to go to the Civic Improvementmeeting.”
“Bet I’m gypped!”
“Don’t worry, Baby Roy; I’ll let you go by yourself,Saturday afternoon, if you’re a good boy.”
“Pulitzer’s closing out his meat market; going tohandle nothing but groceries from now on.”
“Well, I guess he’s made money. He’s a good citizen,all right. He subscribed two hundred and fifty forthe district nurse.”
“Did you get on to my classy hair part, Aunt Jan?All the women-getters at school do their hair this waynow.”
“Really, Frank! Your language ...! I don’tknow where or how you pick up such phrases.”
“Don’t be too critical, Alice. He attaches no significanceto them. You know what boys are.”
There was an endless stream of such talk, Roy andhis wife frequently maintaining one conversation betweenends of the table, while their children carriedon another across it.
Kate crammed the soiled dishes on the oval, black,tin tray, piled them high, and grasping the tray withstrong arms, bore it to the kitchen, kicking the swingdoor violently open as she passed through.
Dessert made its appearance, usually a deep applepie, a chocolate pudding or a mound of flavored jellyin which slices of banana careened at various angles.[Pg 434]Kate refused flatly to bother with ice-cream. Oncein a while she condescended to make a layer cake.
During the meal it was customary for the telephoneto ring several times. Instantly at each summons, Ettawould be upon her feet and make a quick dash forthe instrument. Long conversations would ensue inwhich Etta’s voice would drift down to the dining-room.
“Well, I didn’t.... Well, you tell him I didn’t....Well, you tell him I didn’t say anything of the kind....I never did.... He’s just crazy.... I neversaid anything of the kind.... Well, you tell him Ididn’t....”
“Etta!” her father would call presently. The voicewould continue unfalteringly, and Roy at intervalswould repeat her name until finally the long-windedparley would be brought to an end.
By two o’clock on this particular day the meal wasover, and there was a general breaking-up of thegroup. Alice went out into the kitchen to prepare Nettie’stray. Frank vanished in pursuit of his ownaffairs, which usually took him to the house of “Chinee”Langlon, whose parents were wealthy and hadlavished everything they could think of on their oneson, including an elaborate wireless outfit. BuddyEckles arrived a few minutes past the hour, plantinghimself on the front steps, and waited ostensibly forEtta to go walking with him. Jeannette had her ownideas as to where they actually went. She suspectedthey made their way without delay to the home ofsome girl friend, whose parents were absent or hadlax ideas about the Sabbath, and there, having carefullypulled down the window-shades, out of deference[Pg 435]to the possible prejudices of passers-by, they rolledback the rugs, turned on the Victrola, and with othercouples as frivolous as themselves, danced until withina minute or two of the time when it was necessary toreturn to their respective families. Ralph disappearedup into his den,—a wretched, ill-lighted,cramped chamber he had built himself in the attic.He kept the door of this apartment carefully lockedat all times, and when within by the light of a kerosenelamp, read what his aunt earnestly hoped wasentirely edifying literature, and where, she was thoroughlypersuaded, he indulged secretly in cigarettes.Baby Roy wandered amiably and uncomplaininglyabout, listening to his elders’ conversation, or tookhimself off into the scraggy garden where he hid instrange nooks and told himself stories in a droningvoice which always ended in frightening him. Jeannetteregarded him the strangest of her sister’s children;she frankly declared she did not understand himand thought Alice outrageously lenient where he wasconcerned.
§ 4
To-day’s visit was an unusually happy one for Jeannette.Nettie drifted off to sleep while her motherand aunt established themselves in shabby grass-rockerson the side-porch and had a long, comfortabletalk. The day had turned unexpectedly warm andthere was a reviving touch of dead summer in the air.In a neighbor’s garden, chrysanthemums and cosmoswere still in bloom, and the brilliant colors made theBeardsleys’ own unkempt little yard appear gay andluxuriant. A mechanical piano tinkled pleasantly[Pg 436]somewhere, and every now and then there came thevibrant hum of a passing motor-car. Kate marchedpast her mistress and her mistress’s sister presently,clad in sober town clothes and wearing one of Jeannette’sdiscarded hats which the giver thought, at themoment, became her nicely. Kate was off for the restof the day, and Alice with Etta’s help would managethe cold supper for the family at half-past six. Astillness on this midafternoon settled about the houseusually teeming exuberantly with life. Through anopen window near at hand, the women on the porchcould hear an occasional rustle of papers as Roy,prone upon the leather-covered couch in the living-room,read the Sunday news.
Alice drew a deep sigh of weary comfort.
“I ought to get at my sewing, I suppose, but I don’tlike bringing it out on the porch Sunday; people cansee you from the street.... It’s so pleasant out here,I hate to go in.”
“Sit awhile,” encouraged Jeannette. “You’re alwaysworrying yourself about something, Alice.”
“I have to. Frank’s stockings have got to be darnedor he can’t go to school to-morrow; Baby Roy’s cap istorn and I noticed his school suit needs cleaning.”
“You ought to make Etta do these things.”
“Etta does enough,” her mother defended her;“she’s only young once, you know, and Sunday oughtto be as much of a holiday for her as it is for otheryoung folks.... And there’re some letters I mustwrite, one to Nettie’s teacher for Frank to take toschool with him in the morning.... Mercy! there’snever any let-up to it. I’ve got to go over this month’sbills with Roy some time to-day and decide what we’re[Pg 437]going to do about them. You know, I just won’t botherhim about money matters when he comes home alltired out at night, and I have to wait until Sunday.”
“How are you off this month? Any worse thanusual?”
“Roy’s premium falls due. I’ve got the money allright, but some of the monthly bills will have to wait....You know, Jan, I’m sick to death of this ever-constantworry about money; I’ve had it all my life,ever since I was a little girl. I wish to goodness Icould earn something on the side. When the childrenwere little, I couldn’t spare the time, but that isn’ta consideration now. Etta could perfectly well takecare of the house, and I could devote several hours aday to some kind of work that would bring in money.I thought I’d knit a few sweaters and see if I couldinduce some shop in the city to handle them; it wouldonly cost me the wool. If I’d learned typing, I thinkI could get some copying to do. You know it makesme ashamed to realize how little I could earn if Iwas obliged to get out and seek my living. I’d beworth about ten dollars a week. That would be whatthey’d call my ‘economic value.’ ...”
“‘Economic value!’” cried Jeannette. “What doyou mean? The mother of five children has an economicvalue of ten dollars a week! Why, Alice, youtalk like a crazy woman!”
“I may be worth a great deal more than that to thenation, but that’s all I’d be worth to a business man.”
“The Government ought to give you an annual incomethe rest of your life for every child you bringinto the world; that would represent your economicvalue!”
[Pg 438]
“Well, there’s no likelihood of their doing it,”laughed Alice. “I wish I had a definite way of earningmoney,—I mean a profession like a stenographeror a nurse. I’ve always claimed, Janny, that everywoman, married or single, ought to learn a trade orprofession. You have no idea how I envy you, sometimes.You’re independent, you’re beholden to noone, you’re utterly free of all these cares and responsibilitiesthat harass me from morning to night.”
Jeannette shook her head emphatically.
“You don’t know, Alice,” she said. “If you envyme my life, I envy you a hundred times more. I envyyou these very cares and responsibilities of which youcomplain; I envy you your husband and your childrenand all those things that go to make a home.... Oh,I think sometimes, I was a blithering fool to have leftMartin!”
His name had not crossed her lips for months, andfor a little time there was silence on the porch.
“Do you ever hear from him?” asked Alice in alower key.
“No. I understand he’s in Philadelphia in the automobilebusiness. You know as much about him asI do.”
“And he’s never married?”
“We’ve never been divorced.”
Again there was an interval of silence.
“Would you go back to him, Jan?”
Jeannette stared out into the warm sunshine, andher rocker ceased its slow movement.
“I’ve thought about it,” she admitted. “I’d like ahome. I’m so tired of the office. There’s nothing to[Pg 439]work for in the business any more. I’ve got as faras they’ll let me go; there’s no future for me.”
“Why don’t you write him?” Alice suggested,watching her sister’s serious face. “He may be aslonely as you are.”
“It’s fourteen years,” mused Jeannette. “We’veboth changed. He may be very different.”
“He may still be thinking of you and blaming himselffor having treated you so unkindly.... Whydon’t you write him and just say you’d be glad toknow how he’s getting on?”
“I don’t know his address.”
“Well, that could be found out easily enough.”
There was a sound within, and Roy came stumblingout on the porch to stretch himself, luxuriously.
“Whew!” he said, enjoying a great yawn. “Inearly went to sleep in there.”
“Why didn’t you? A nap would have done yougood.”
“I don’t like to miss a single minute of my one dayat home. It’s too pleasant out here.”
Alice began to fidget, clearing her throat nervously.
“Do you feel like going over some bills with me,Roy?” she ventured with obvious reluctance.
“Sure,” he agreed good-naturedly.
He sat down on the steps, while his wife went indoorsand presently returned with a sheaf of bills,a pad and pencil. She established herself next to him.
“Now you see, Roy,” she began, “in the first place,there’s the two hundred and forty that’s due on thefifth. I’ve got one hundred and fifty saved up, andthat means I must take ninety out of next week’s[Pg 440]salary. It’s going to leave me precious little, andthere’s your commutation for next month that’s got tocome out right away. I figure we owe about,—well,it’s not over six hundred; I’m not counting Frank’steeth nor Gimbel’s; they can wait. But here’s the firstof the month coming and Pulitzer, you know, won’tlet you charge unless you pay up by the tenth. NowI was thinking....”
The voices went on murmuring, and Jeannettemused. Here it was again: the eternal war againstwant, the fight for existence, the battle for bread.There was never any end to it; it was perpetual, incessant,unending. In all the houses within the rangeof her vision, in all the trim, orderly, little dwellingsthat made up Cohasset Beach, in all the thousands andthousands of homes that dotted Long Island, in themillions that were scattered over the United States,and over the world, this struggle was going on. Itwas easy in some; it was bitter hard in others. Alice,who was among the most readily satisfied and uncomplainingof women, had protested against the everlastingdrudgery, a moment ago! ... Well, she, Jeannette,had solved that particular problem for herselfpretty much to her satisfaction. It was many yearssince she had had to worry about a bill; her incomemore than covered her expenses; she had saved andwas going on saving; she had nearly enough moneyin the bank to buy another bond. In a few years shewould have ten thousand dollars securely invested.Then, she would resign from the Corey PublishingCompany,—they would pay her something, part salary,as long as she lived, the way they did Miss Holland,—andperhaps she would travel, or perhaps make her[Pg 441]home with Roy and Alice. They would not want herparticularly, but theirs might be the only place towhich she could go; she knew their loyalty and affectionwould make them urge her to come to them....And there was Frank! She would like to do somethingfor that boy: pay his way through college ormake him some kind of a handsome present that wouldrender him eternally grateful to her. But she supposedhe would be getting married as soon as he wasgrown up and would have no eyes nor time for anybodyexcept the fluffy-haired doll he would select fora wife! ... Love was a funny thing! ... Her minddrifted to Martin,—Martin, with his youth, his charm,his good looks, his winning personality. Ah, he wasa man of whom any woman might be proud! Well,she had been proud of him; she had always admiredhim; he had always had a particular appeal for her....It was the selfsame thing that was agitating Royand Alice to-day, that had caused her disagreementwith Martin,—this struggle for money, for the meansto pay bills, for the wherewithal to buy bread! ...Ah,—and they had had enough, more than enough,if Martin only had been reasonable! ... Undoubtedlyhe was very successful now; an agency for amotor-car in Philadelphia indicated success; he was,in all likelihood, a rich man. She wondered whatwould have happened to him and to her if she hadstuck to him! ...
Her mind wandered into strange speculations. Shehad once viewed the streets of Philadelphia from acar window on her way to Washington. She thoughtof the city as blocks and blocks of small brick houses,with pointed roofs, standing close together, row after[Pg 442]row, each with a little square bit of lawn beside brownstone front steps. She imagined herself and Martinin one of these; she was keeping house again, and shehad a cook and perhaps a maid, and of course shewould have an automobile, since Martin had the agencyfor one. Her life was full of friendships; she wasable to dress beautifully; Martin’s associates admiredher, thought her handsome, regal; she took a keeninterest in her children’s schooling,—for, of course,there would be children,—a twelve-year-old Frank, andperhaps a younger Frank, as well, and one daughter,a girl different from either Etta or Nettie, a tall girlwith a fine carriage, gracious, dignified, beautiful.How she would enjoy dressing her, and how proudMartin would be of his children, and of herself,—herpoise and beauty, her fine clothes and the way shewore them, her graciousness to his friends and hercapable management of his home....
“No man ever had a better wife than I have; noman was ever prouder of his wife and children; noman was ever more grateful. You’re a wonder, dear,—havealways been a wonder! Other men envy me,—envyme your beauty and your goodness and yourdevotion. Everything I’ve amounted to in this life Iowe to you; you’ve made me what I am; you’ve madeour home what it is! My friends look at you andthink how lucky I’ve been. I look back on all thehard years we’ve been together, on all the toughtimes we’ve had and somehow pulled through, and Iknow it’s to you, and not to me, the credit belongs.Oh, yes, it does! You’ve made my home for me,you’ve given me my children, you’ve taken the burdenof everything on your shoulders, you’ve carried[Pg 443]us both along and made our venture as man and wife,as father and mother, successful. I owe everythingin the world to you, and to me you’re the loveliestand dearest woman in the world....”
It was Roy’s voice that she heard in the hush ofthe warm Sunday afternoon, and it blended with thequeer thoughts of the woman who sat so still in herrocker as to be thought asleep.
“No—no, Roy,” Alice interrupted him. “We’vedone it together. Money doesn’t count with me,—reallyit doesn’t. Sometimes I protest a bit when Ithink of what the children have to do without, butthere is nothing that can take the place of the lovewe all share. We’re a little group, a little clan that’salways clung together, and I’d rather be cold andhungry and see the children shabby and needy thanhave one less of them, or have discord amongst us.You and I have had our trials and our disagreements,but we’ve always loved each other and loved thechildren....”
Alice was crying now, softly crying with her headagainst her husband’s shoulder and his arm about her,and the hot prick of tears came to Jeannette’s eyesand a burning trickle ran down the side of her nose.She dropped her forehead into her hand and shieldedher face with her palm.
“We’ll weather this difficulty as we’ve weatheredmany another,” Roy said consolingly. “I’ll go intothe insurance company’s office to-morrow and fix it upwith them; we’ll pay them half on the fifth, and I’msure they’ll give me thirty days on the balance. Thenyou can settle what’s most pressing and give the othersa little on account.... Why say,—we’ve faced worse[Pg 444]times than this! Do you remember that Christmaswhen Ralph was only three and we’d been out tryingto find the kids some cheap presents and I lost thatten-dollar bill out of my pocket? And do you rememberwhen I was so rotten sick with pneumonia andthe doctor thought I was going to get T.B.? And doyou remember the time when Baby Roy was comingand you fell downstairs and broke your collar-bone? ...I tell you, Alice, we’ve lived, you and I! Wehaven’t had very much to do it on, but we’ve lived!”
“You’re such a comfort, Roy. You’re always sosweet about everything and you always put heart intome. You’re wonderful!”
“It’s you that are the wonder, Alice,—the most wonderfulwife a man ever had!”
Their heads turned toward one another in mutualinclination and their lips met lovingly. They sat onfor awhile in silence, Alice’s head once more againsther husband’s shoulder, their hands linked, the man’sarm about his wife.
There came a faint sound from somewhere in thehouse.
“That’s Nettie,” Alice said, immediately arousingherself and getting to her feet. “I’ll go up. Thechild’s slept quite a while; it’s almost four o’clock.”
She crossed the porch with careful tread not to disturbher sister, and in another minute her voice andher daughter’s, alternately, floated down from an upstairswindow. Roy produced a pipe from his coatpocket, and proceeded to empty, fill and light it withattentive deliberation. When he had it briskly going,he rose and leisurely crossed the strip of lawn to hisneighbor’s yard, vaulted the low wire fence, and was[Pg 445]lost in a moment beyond the cosmos and chrysanthemums.
Jeannette remained as she was, head in hand, thinking,thinking. The tears had dried upon her face, hereyes were staring, and there was an empty hungerin her heart that she recognized at last had been therefor a long, long time.
[Pg 446]
CHAPTER III
§ 1
“Etta! Is that you?”
“Yes,—it’s me, Aunt Jan.”
“Say ‘it’s I,’ dear. What brings you to the city,Sunday?”
“I stayed in town last night. There was a dance atMarjorie Bowen’s cousin’s house and Moth’ said Icould go. We had a perfectly divine time! Her auntchaperoned us and I slept with Marj. I thought maybeyou’d be going down to Cohasset Beach this morning,and we’d go together. So I got up, left the girlsin bed, had my breakfast, and took a ’bus to comedown to see you. I want to talk to you about something.”
“But, dear,—I wasn’t going to the country to-day.I promised an old friend of mine who lives at theNavy Yard in Brooklyn, I’d go to see her this afternoon.”
Etta’s face fell and she frowned disconsolately atthe carpet. Her aunt suspected something was troublingher.
“Couldn’t you tell me what’s on your mind, now?”
“Oh, it wasn’t anything particular; I wanted to askyour advice, and I thought we’d have a talk as we wentdown in the train.”
A bright light suddenly came into the girl’s face.
[Pg 447]
“Is it Miss Holland you’re going to see, AuntJanny? Won’t you let me go with you? RememberI met her that day she was here to lunch? She’sperfectly sweet! I’d just love to visit the NavyYard!”
“Well, I don’t think you’ll find many ensigns orlieutenants hanging about on Sunday.”
“Oh, but it would be lots of fun, just the same! I’ll‘phone Moth’ I’m with you and take a late train thisaft! Please say yes, Aunt Janny,—please say yes!”
The girl was jumping up and down in eagerness.
“Well-l,” her aunt said with an amused but doubtfulsmile, “I don’t see what you’d get out of it, particularly.”
“I’d just love the trip, and I’d like being with you,Aunt Janny,—really I would!”
Jeannette narrowed her lids and eyed her skeptically.She was pleased, nevertheless. Her niece’s excessiveebullition and high spirits never failed to diverther; she liked the child’s company; the girl had agreat respect for her worldly judgment, much morethan she had for her mother’s or father’s, and theolder woman found it an engaging business to expoundher theories of life and her views of affairs to theyounger one.
“I’m not going until after lunch,” she said, stillwith a vague hesitancy in her manner.
“I don’t mind waiting a bit.”
“Can you amuse yourself until noon? I have someoffice work to do that will take me about an hour. MissAlexander’s gone to church but she’ll be back directly.”
“Could I make some egg muffins? We could have[Pg 448]’em for lunch, an’ they’re awfully nice and I’m reallygood at them.”
Jeannette noted the child’s palpitant eagernessagain with mild amusement.
“I think that would be lovely,” she consented, herfine eyes twinkling. “But don’t get things out therein a mess; Miss Alexander won’t like it if she comeshome and finds everything upset.”
“I’ll be ever and ever so careful,” agreed Etta, alreadyskipping toward the kitchen.
Jeannette took herself back to the cold front room,seldom used by either herself or Beatrice, and broughther thoughts once more to the construction of thehalf-finished circular letter which must be ready forthe composing room early Monday morning.
She heard Beatrice come in presently, and an hourlater, as she was completing the last revision of herwork, Etta appeared breathlessly to announce lunch.
The egg muffins were excellent and received enthusiasticpraise. Jeannette ate them with the heatedcanned tamales, and sipped her tea, one eye on theclock, for she was anxious to make an early start ifEtta was to catch, at any seemly hour, a train back toCohasset Beach.
It was after two before she and her niece foundthemselves seated in the thundering subway.
“Well, now, tell me your troubles, my dear,” Jeannettebegan; “I want to hear all about them.”
But Etta had to be coaxed before she would becomecommunicative.
“Oh, it’s this!” she finally burst out, striking herskirt with disdainful fingers. “It’s my clothes, AuntJan! I was horribly ashamed last night. There[Pg 449]wasn’t a girl there at Marjorie’s cousin’s party whowasn’t a lot better dressed than I! I felt awful andwas so embarrassed! One of the girls’ older sisterwas there and I saw her taking an inventory of everythingI had on! I just wanted to sink through thefloor! Moth’ does everything she possibly can to seethat I look decent, and I know better than anyone elsewhat she does without so that I can have things! ButI don’t want that! I don’t want Moth’ and Dad denyingthemselves on my account. I want to be able totake care of myself and buy my own clothes, earn myown living and be independent! ... Aunt Jan, won’tyou get me a job at your office? Won’t you back meup with Moth’ and Dad, and urge them to let me goto work? I don’t want to stay at home and just helpMoth’ here and there with the housework and do nothingelse but go to the movies and dance jazz! Theycall me a ‘flapper,’ and I suppose I am one,—but whatelse is there for me to be? I hate it, Aunt Jan,—Ihate being a flapper! I want to be something differentand better; I want to make my own way in theworld and not be obliged to stick round home untila man with enough money comes along and asks meto marry!”
It was the old familiar cry, the cry of youth callingfor self-expression, the cry of budding life eager forexperience, the cry of young womanhood demandingindependence, emancipation.
The words rang familiarly in the older woman’sears, and she smiled sadly with a sorry head-shake.
“Why, what’s the matter, Aunt Jan?” asked thegirl after a troubled scrutiny of her companion’s face.“Don’t you think I have a right to earn my own living[Pg 450]if I want to?” She renewed her arguments with characteristicvehemence. There was nothing new in themfor Jeannette; she had voiced them all herself twenty-fiveyears ago. A memory of her patient, hard-workinglittle mother came to her, and she saw her onceagain with the comforter over her knees, the knittedred shawl pinned across her shoulders, thin of hair,with trembling pendent cheeks, bending over thecanvas-covered ledger, figuring—figuring—figuring.And she saw herself, the impatient eighteen-year-old,striking her faded velvet dress with angry fingers, protestingagainst the humiliation her shabby attire occasionedher, asking to be allowed to work, to earn themoney that would permit her to dress as other girlsdressed, and be her own mistress, self-supporting.How well, she, Jeannette, could now sympathize withthat earnest, tearful, little mother!
She looked at Etta and, in her mind, saw her anxiouslytaking dictation from some frowning businessman, saw her white flying fingers busy at some switch-boarddisentangling telephone cords, pictured herperched on a tall stool, bending over a great tome,making careful entries, saw her folding circulars, writingcards, filing letters, giving her youth, her eagernessand beauty to the grim treadmill of business life, andher heart filled with pain.
“... and there’s no reason on earth,” Etta wassaying, “why I shouldn’t help out at home. Dad andMoth’ have given all their lives to us children; they’vedenied themselves and denied themselves just so wecan have clothes for our backs, enough to eat and goto school! It isn’t fair. It’s time I helped. I couldgo to business college, take a course, and in three[Pg 451]months, I could learn to be a stenographer and earnfifteen or twenty dollars a week....”
“Hush, child,—hush! You don’t know what you’retalking about!” Jeannette broke in, suddenly stirredto speech. “I threw away my life, talking just thatkind of nonsense. To learn to earn her own livingis a dangerous thing for a young girl.”
“Why, how do you mean, Aunt Jan?”
“Its effect is poison; it’s like a drug, a disease! I’vepaid bitterly for my financial independence. I sacrificedeverything that was precious to me because Iwanted to be self-supporting. Etta dear, life is a hardgame for women at best, but waiting within the shelterof her own home for the man she’ll some day come tolove and who will love her is the best and wisest coursefor a girl to follow.”
“But I hate the kind of life I’m living! There’snothing ahead of me but marriage, unless I go towork! You wouldn’t want me to marry just because Iwas bored at home,—and I’ve known lots of girls todo that! I never meet any attractive men,—only HighSchool kids and rah-rah boys out of college. Wouldn’tI have a much better chance to meet a finer class ofyoung men around business offices,—I mean serious-minded,ambitious young men? It seems to me I’dhave much more opportunity to meet a man I’d admire,and who might want me to marry him if I wentto work than I ever will waiting stupidly at home.”
“It doesn’t make any difference where you meethim, whether it is in business or at a High Schooldance,” Jeannette answered. “He’s bound to findyou, and you him.... I hate to see you go to work.You pay a fearful penalty in doing so. It makes you[Pg 452]regard marriage lightly, and prejudices you againsthaving children——”
“Oh, I shall want children!” exclaimed Etta,promptly. She proceeded to outline just what wereher requirements in a husband, and to give her viewson the subject of having children. Her aunt was somewhatdisconcerted to discover that she had these matters,as far as they concerned herself, entirely settledin her own mind. “Oh, yes, indeed,” Etta repeated,“I shall want children. Perhaps not such a lot of themas Moth’ and Dad have. They would have had a mucheasier time of it, if they’d had only one or two. Insteadof always being poor and having to struggle,they could have lived in considerable comfort, andnow there would be no question about their beingable to send me to Bryn Mawr or Vassar. I think twochildren are enough for any couple. Now, my idea,Aunt Janny,——”
“Oh, for Heaven’s sakes, Etta!” Jeannette interruptedwith impatience; “you don’t know what you’retalking about! What does your education or Ralph’seducation amount to in comparison with the lives ofFrank, Nettie, and Baby Roy? You’ll have a greatdeal more worth-while education pounded into you byhaving brothers and sisters and by having to help yourmother take care of them, than you would ever getat Bryn Mawr. More than that, just living in thesame house with them, being brought up with them andlearning to deny yourself, now and then, for theirsake has taught you unselfishness, forbearance thatwill make you a far better wife and mother than tenyears’ of college education! ... Your father andmother with you children about them, with the hard[Pg 453]problems you present, with the ever-pressing questionof ways and means before them, with the solving ofthese problems,—for there is always a solution,—areamong the most enviable people in the world. Therewas a time when I used to feel sorry for your mother,but now I look at her with only admiration and jealousy.You think of her as poor! Well, I think of heras rich! And I attribute much of the happiness shehas had out of life to the fact that she never wentinto business.... Stay out of it, Etta my dear, whateveryou do! It’s an unnatural environment for agirl, and in it her mind and soul as surely becomecontaminated as if she deliberately went to live in asmallpox camp.... Look at me, my dear! I’ve giventwenty years of my life to business and what have Ito show for it? Nothing but a very lonely and selfishold age!”
“Oh, Aunt Jan!” cried the girl, shocked into protesting.“How can you say such things! Why I thinkyou’re one of the handsomest, happiest, most enviable,smartest-dressed women in the world!”
Jeannette laughed.
“Well, I didn’t mean to deliver a ‘curtain’ lecture!I just hated the thought of your following in my footsteps.It makes me actually shudder even to think ofit. But I didn’t mean to get started the way I did——
“Here,” she suddenly cried, gathering her thingstogether and hurriedly getting to her feet, “this is theBridge! We have to get off here and change cars.”
§ 2
The house just inside the high iron fence of theNavy Yard in which Commander Jerome Sedgwick[Pg 454]lived was a three-story, square, dirty cream-paintedcement affair, which bore his name in a small, neat signon the third step of the front stairs. Across the streetfrom it, children racketed upon a city play-ground, andin its rear some green-painted hot-houses leaned haphazardlyagainst one another, their backs turned upona quadrangle where several orderly tennis courts werelocated. Jeannette had visited Miss Holland heremany times, and one summer a few years ago, hadspent her two weeks’ vacation keeping her old friendcompany, while the nephew, Jerry, was enjoying amonth’s leave with his family, fishing among theMaine lakes.
A little girl of five, just tall enough to reach theknob, opened the door a few inches and stared upunsmilingly at the visitors.
“How do you do, Sarah?” said Jeannette, recognizingthe child. “Is your mama at home?”
Sarah continued to stare stolidly a moment, thenturned and disappeared, leaving the door hardly morethan ajar. Jeannette and Etta could hear the soundof her shrill, piping voice, and her small running feetwithin.
Mrs. Sedgwick came rustling to greet the callerspromptly, and in her wake limped Miss Holland.
“Oh, you dear!” exclaimed the latter, catching sightof Jeannette. “I’m so glad you came; I’ve been hungeringfor a sight of you for weeks.” She kissed herfriend warmly on both cheeks. Etta was presented.
“The child begged to be allowed to come,” explainedher aunt. “She wanted a glimpse of the Yard.”
“Why, certainly,” exclaimed Mrs. Sedgwick cordially.“I’m delighted you brought her. Jerry unfortunately[Pg 455]isn’t home but I have to take Sarah andJunior out shortly, and I’ll be charmed to show yourniece about, and leave you two to gossip by yourselves.”
Miss Holland, her thin, knuckly, white hand on Jeannette’sforearm, drew her into the sitting-room.
“Take off your things down here, my dear; I can’tclimb stairs very well on account of my knees, and noone’s coming in.”
“How is your rheumatism?” inquired Jeannette.
“’Bout the same; it keeps me rather helpless, andthe doctor is actually starving me to death. What withthe things he says I can’t eat and the things I don’tlike, my menus are rather limited.”
The two women settled themselves before the small,glowing coal fire in an old-fashioned grate, and begantalking in low tones. Mrs. Sedgwick excused herselfto make the children ready to go out, while Etta stoodat the window, gazing with absorbed interest at anyevidence of Navy life that came within the range ofher vision.
“’Xcuse me, Miss Holland,” she interrupted presentlywith her usual breathlessness, “do you happento know, or did you ever hear Commander Sedgwickmention a young ensign named White?”
Miss Holland looked doubtful.
“My friend, Marjorie Bowen, knew him, or knewhis sister, I think, while he was at Annapolis.”
“Well, I’m afraid ...” began Miss Holland.
Etta proceeded hastily to another observation.
“There was a destroyer in Cohasset Bay last summer,—anchoredright off the Yacht Club,—and I sawtwo of the officers on shore one day.... I don’t know[Pg 456]what their names were, of course, but during the warI knew several of the boys in the reserves. AsaPulitzer was a boatswain’s mate; ... I think that’swhat he was.”
Jeannette turned an indulgent smile upon Miss Holland.
“Asa Pulitzer is the local grocer’s son.”
“Well, I don’t care if he is!” protested Etta. “Hemade good——”
Mrs. Sedgwick rustled downstairs at this moment,making a timely entrance. She carried Etta off, withassurance of returning in time for tea.
“Well-l,” said Jeannette comfortably, as the pleasanthour of companionship and confidences began.“You don’t look as if you’d been ill!”
“Not ill exactly; it’s this wretched rheumatism thatwill not get better.”
Miss Holland’s tone was not complaining; indeedshe always spoke with remarkable placidity. Jeannetteregarded her with all her old admiration. Therewas an unusual aristocratic quality about Miss Hollandthat never failed to stir her. She was white-haired,now, fragile and thin looking, and there wasan uncertainty about her movements, but she still boreherself with distinction,—a gentlewoman to her finger-tips.Even more than the air of gentility that surroundedher, Jeannette esteemed the shrewd brain,nimble wit and judgment of this woman. It seemeda sad and sorry thing to her that so splendid a personality,so fine an intellect should have had so littleopportunity for self-expression in the world, and thatat sixty, Miss Holland should be no more than whatshe seemed: an old maid, growing yearly more and[Pg 457]more crippled, passing what days remained to herwith her nephew and her nephew’s family, somewhatof a problem, somewhat in the way! Of course theyloved her; Jeannette knew that Commander Sedgwickwas devoted to his aunt and treated her with as muchrespect and affection as ever son did his mother, but,after all, on the brink of old age, Miss Holland’s coursewas run, and how little she had to show for all heryears of toil and faithfulness! She had spent her lifeat an underling’s desk and given her wisdom and herstrength to a business that had paid her barely enoughto support herself and make it possible for her togive her nephew his profession!
“Miss Holland,” Jeannette asked impulsively,“what did the Corey Company pay you towards theend of your employment there?”
“Fifty dollars a week for the last five years I waswith them.”
“And altogether, you were there?”
“Twenty-five years.... Why do you ask?”
“I was thinking how little they appreciated you.”
“Mr. Kipps told me,” Miss Holland said with areminiscent smile, “that it would never do to paywomen employees more than fifty a week; theywouldn’t know what to do with the money.”
“He didn’t!”
“Oh, yes! He claimed it would demoralize them.He used to say they would be sure to throw it awayon ‘fripperies.’ ‘Fripperies,’ you remember, was agreat word of his.”
“It still is!”
“Mr. Kipps’ attitude is typical, I think, of theaverage employer of women. This is a man-made[Pg 458]world, as perhaps you’ve noticed, my dear. Did youever stop to consider the injustice to which workingwomen are subjected? Do you realize there are abouttwelve million working women on pay-rolls in theUnited States, that twenty dollars a week is a veryhigh wage for any one of them to receive, and sixmillion of them, or half of the entire number, earnbetween ten and twelve a week? ... I happen tohave the statistics issued by the woman’s bureau ofthe Department of Labor.”
Miss Holland pushed herself up erect from her chair,and her face showed the pain the effort cost her.
“Can’t I get it for you?” offered Jeannette hastily.
“No—no; thanks very much; it’s right here. I canput my hand on it in just a minute.” From a desknear at hand she produced a government report.
“I came across this the other day, and I saved itbecause it proves what I have always felt about theunfairness with which women are treated in business.They may perform equal work with men but very fewof them are paid as well. The average annual earningpower of the male industrial worker now is at therate of a thousand dollars a year; that of the womanindustrial worker five to six hundred. Among officeworkers the disparity is much greater. When I wasgetting fifty dollars a week as Mr. Kipps’ chief assistant,there was a youth helping me who was being paidsixty.”
“I know,” agreed Jeannette. “When Tommy Livingstonfollowed me as Mr. Corey’s secretary, he didnot do the work half as competently as I had done,—Mr.Corey often told me so,—and yet he was paid moreat the very start, and asked for and received one raise[Pg 459]after another, until Mr. Corey was paying him nearlytwice what he formerly had paid me; but when I wentback to work after I left Martin, Mr. Corey startedme in again at the old salary of thirty-five, and neversuggested a higher rate. Walt Chase was gettingeighty-five dollars weekly as head of the Mail OrderDepartment, and when I took charge, I received onlyforty. Although I have doubled the amount of businessthe Corey Publishing Company does by mail, Iam to-day being paid but fifty a week. Mr. Allistertold me when I asked for my last raise, that it was thelast he would ever give me.”
“Almost all employers underpay their womenworkers,” affirmed Miss Holland. “In generalwomen are receiving to-day from a half to two-thirdswhat men are who do identically the same kind ofwork. I was discussing this question once with Mr.Kipps, and he defended himself by stating that themajority of girls who fill office positions only workfor ‘pin money.’ ... ‘Pin money?’ What is ‘pinmoney’? Dollars and cents, I take it, with which tobuy clothes and some amusement. Don’t men need‘pin money,’ too? Doesn’t everyone? When theCorey Publishing Company employs a young man,—aHigh School or College graduate,—what he is paidper week is never spoken of as ‘pin money,’ yet hespends it for exactly the same things as girls do....I’ve often wondered if Mr. Kipps considered the salarieshe paid you and me, Mrs. O’Brien, and Miss Travers,Miss Whaley, Miss Foster, Miss Bixby, Miss KateSmith, old Mrs. Jewitt, Mrs. M’Ardle, and MissStenicke as ‘pin money!’ Most of those women notonly supported themselves but their old mothers and[Pg 460]fathers, their younger brothers and sisters or somehelpless relative. Mrs. O’Brien had two daughters shekept at Ladycliff for nine years; Miss Travers has abed-ridden sister; Miss Whaley, her mother; Mrs.Jewitt, a tubercular husband; and Kate Smith is puttingher young brother through dental college——”
“Yes,” interrupted Jeannette, “Mrs. M’Ardle hastwo children of her own she is taking care of, and oneof her sister’s, and she’s getting only forty dollarsa week.”
“How does she do it!” exclaimed Miss Holland.
“I’m sure I don’t know.... Beatrice Alexanderhas been sending thirty dollars a month to her helplessold aunt in Albany for the past fifteen years.”
“That’s where the ‘pin money’ goes!” declaredMiss Holland with a note of scorn in her voice.“These silent, uncomplaining, hard-working womenwho give their lives to the grind of business! I feelkeenly the rank injustice that is being done them!”
There was a moment’s silence, and Miss Hollandcontinued:
“Mr. Kipps’ great argument was always that girlswho came seeking employment did so with the intentionof working only a year or two, and then gettingmarried. He argued that a concern could not regardthese women as permanent employees to be trainedto fill important positions; they could not be dependedupon to remain with a business and grow up withit——”
“I must say,” broke in Jeannette with fine sarcasm,“that great inducements are offered them to do so!At the end of twenty and twenty-five years’ faithful[Pg 461]and efficient work in such positions as you filled andas I fill to-day, they are paid fifty dollars a week!”
“I answered him,” Miss Holland went on, after anappreciative nod, “that neither could the men he employedbe considered as fixtures. I reminded him ofVan Alstyne, Max Oppenheim, Humphrey Stubbs,Walt Chase, Tommy Livingston and Francis Holm.There are a hundred others. How many boys startingin to business, do you suppose, stick for the balance oftheir lives with the concern for which they first beganto work?”
“Not many.”
“Few indeed! It’s to keep and hold these same boysand young men that the large corporations to-day areoffering to sell them stock at advantageous rates.”
“Of course, it is the girls living at home,” observedJeannette, “partially supported by their fathers andmothers or some relative, willing to work for smallsalaries to buy themselves a few extra clothes and ameasure of amusement, that are keeping down thesalaries paid to women entirely dependent on theirearnings.”
“During the war,” observed Miss Holland, “a hundredthousand women were employed by the railroadsto perform the work which the men formerly did beforethey went into the army. Women cleaned locomotives,tended stock-rooms of repair shops, sold tickets,took charge of signal stations, worked as carpenters,machinists, and electricians; women took the placesof men in the steel mills, in the munition plants, inthe foundries and even in coal mines. The NationalWar Labor Board, headed by William H. Taft, undertook[Pg 462]to protect the women workers, and laid down theprinciple that women doing the work formerly performedby men should receive the same pay. In otherwords, the pay was to be fixed by the job and not bythe sex of the employee. Employers throughout thenation followed the ruling of the Labor Board.”
“But that was a war-time measure,” said Jeannette,“and we all did things, then, that were altruistic andpatriotic.”
“If women had the physical strength of men,” MissHolland asserted, “and could defend their principlesby force, there would be a speedy end of injustices.Why do male waiters in our restaurants get higherwages than waitresses? Certainly they don’t workany harder, or give better service. Suppose all thewomen workers in New York City formed unions, andstruck for what they decided adequate pay, a uniformscale of salaries, and could use the same methods thatmen would use in preventing women who had notjoined the ranks from taking their places! Think whatwould happen! The work in every office, every bank,every corporation in this city would come promptlyto a standstill; the strike would last forty-eight,seventy-two hours, and then the demands of the womenwould be conceded.... You want to remember onething, my dear: women never banded together sincehistory began, and asked anything that was unfair orunjust!”
“I was having a very interesting talk with my nieceas we were coming here,” broke in Jeannette; “Ettawants to go to work, wants a position as stenographerin some office, not only to earn extra money with whichto help out at home, but to acquire an interest in life[Pg 463]that will fill her days. There are a hundred thousandyoung girls like her in this city to-day. Consider whateffect a job would have on an immature character likeEtta’s! I’ve been all through the bitter mill, and Ispeak from experience. Financial independence is adangerous thing for such young girls. It makes themregard marriage with indifference. There is many agirl who has declined to marry a young man to whomshe undoubtedly would have made a good wife merelybecause his income, which would have to do for both ofthem, was no more, or perhaps only a little more, thanwhat she was earning herself.”
Jeannette’s lips closed firmly a moment and shestared out of the window at the bleak prospect of theYard’s quadrangle bordered by closed and silent brickwarehouses.
“But suppose the girl office-worker decides to givematrimony a trial,” she continued, “as I did, her mindhas been distorted by having known what it means tobe financially her own mistress. Instead of bringingto her job of wifehood the resolute determination tomake a success of it, from the first she is critical, andon the constant lookout for hardships in her new life,comparing them with the freedom of her old. I shouldhave made Martin a much better wife, Miss Holland,if I had brought to my problem of being his partnerthe passionate determination that was mine in wantingto make good as Mr. Corey’s secretary. I alwayshugged to myself the thought that if the time camewhen I wouldn’t like Martin any more or like being awife, I could go back to my job,—and that is exactlywhat this thought led me to do. Making any marriagea success is the hardest work I know about both for[Pg 464]men and women, and there should be no avenue ofeasy escape from it for either of them. I’d neverhave left Martin, I’d have endured his unkindness andlack of consideration,—or at least what seemed hisunkindness and lack of consideration to me then,—ifthere hadn’t been an easy way out for me, and we’dhave gone on together and made a home for ourselvesand our children. All I had to do was to walk out ofMartin’s house and go back to my job. That’s whatevery wife who has once been a self-supporting wage-earnersays to herself from the day she marries. Shedoesn’t even have the trouble of getting a divorce todeter her.... It’s wrong, I tell you, Miss Holland!It’s all wrong! The more I live, the more I am convincedthat women have no place in business. No,—pleaselet me finish,” she said earnestly as her friendstarted to interrupt. “There’s one other angle to thisquestion: the girl who has once tasted independencebut who decides to give matrimony a trial may go sofar as to consent to be a wife, but she stops at becominga mother! She dreads children. And why? Becauseshe realizes that once a baby is at her breast,she’s bound hand and foot to her husband and herhome. She can’t leave her child with the nonchalanceshe can her husband. In the homes of women whohave achieved economic independence before theymarry, you will find few children, and in the majorityof cases, none at all. I know a score of girls, at onetime in office jobs, who quit them to be married, buthave drawn the line at babies.
“It seems to me this is of national significance. Thecountry is being deprived of homes and children becauseof this great invasion of women into business[Pg 465]during the last twenty or thirty years. When I wentto work twenty-four years ago, it was the exceptionfor nice girls to go into offices. I remember how mymother fretted over my wanting to do it and how bitterlyshe opposed me. Now, every girl, rich or poor,desires a year or two of business life. Women aredevised by Nature to be home-builders and mothers.Anything tending to deflect them from fulfilling theirdestiny is contrary to Nature and is doomed to failureor to have bound up in it its own punishment. Whenwomen compete with men in fields in which they donot belong, they are acting against Nature, and assurely as one gets hurt by leaning too far out of awindow, so surely do such women pay a penalty fortheir deeds. Man was condemned in Genesis to ‘workby the sweat of his brow’; there is nothing said aboutwomen having to work; she was given her own punishment.And here is an obvious fact, Miss Holland:No man likes to work under a woman boss. When Itook charge of the Mail Order Department, three menwho had been with Walt Chase resigned rather thanwork under me. I didn’t blame them. It was as repugnantto me to give them orders as it was for themto take them.
“Now that is a biological obstruction in the way ofwoman’s progress in business that you cannot getaway from, and which you cannot lay to man’s door.Men don’t like to work for women, and women don’tlike to have men assistants, and since man is intendedby God and Nature to be the worker, and woman isordained to bear children, I say again that womenhave no place in business.”
“But Miss Sturgis, Miss Sturgis!” cried Miss Holland.[Pg 466]“Do you mean to tell me that women have notthe right to earn their own living? Do you mean totell me that you and I and all the women in the worldmust always look to some man to support us? Do youmean to tell me that widows with children to take careof, and women whose husbands are incapacitated orwho desert them or who turn out to be drunkards orbrutes, and women who are adrift in the world, andperhaps have never married because they’ve neverbeen wooed, haven’t a right to turn their brains toaccount and earn their livelihoods?”
“Well, it might be a good plan to limit the womenworkers to just the classes you mention,” Jeannetteanswered. “Certainly I won’t concede to you thatevery eighteen-year-old flapper like my niece or yoursweet young college-graduate has the right to plungeinto business and unfit herself for wifehood andmotherhood, driving at the same time some needy soulof her own sex out of employment. Comeliness, a faircomplexion have much to do with securing a job for awoman and with helping her to retain it. The plaingirl or, more particularly, the middle-aged woman withtwo children to support, whose beauty has long sincedeserted her, has small chance against the pink-skinnedeighteen-year-old with the bobbed hair and the roguisheye who may only have one-tenth of her ability. Noemployer ever hires a good-looking young man in preferenceto a homely one whose years of experience andability are known. The more faded a woman becomes,the less she is wanted about an office. Looks play animportant part in the rôle of the business woman.She should be judged, I think, not by her appeal to theeye, but by her industry. This is one more reason why[Pg 467]I believe women under thirty should be debarred fromgoing to work. If women workers were limited, confinedto thousands, let us say, instead of millions, thenthose privileged to work could earn a proper livingwage, and dictate the terms under which they should beemployed. There are certain professions and callingsto which women are recognizably better suited thanmen; nursing and dressmaking are but two of them.If the supply of women for these vocations were limited,the demand would soon fix an adequate wage.
“It has occurred to me many times,” perseveredJeannette, “that it would perhaps solve the problem,—orhelp solve it,—if certain professions and certainkinds of work were restricted by law to women. I’vebeen told that in Japan only those who are blind maybe embalmers of the dead. It restricts this vocationto a class of unfortunates which otherwise would havegreat difficulty in earning its living, and as a consequencethere are no blind mendicants in Japan. Iwould advocate legislation in this country that wouldrestrict certain occupations solely to women, and thenI would limit the women who were eligible to fill themto widows or to those who could prove they must supportthemselves.”
“There is little doubt that becoming wage-earnerstends to keep women out of matrimony,” Miss Hollandsaid thoughtfully. “I know it did with me.There was a young professor of archæology from Wesleyanwho wanted me very earnestly to marry him, andI should have liked to have done so, but I was workingthen, and had taken Jerry to live with me,—he wasonly eight,—and the professor’s salary was not largeenough for the three of us.”
[Pg 468]
“And think what a wonderful wife you would havemade!”
“I don’t know about that,” smiled Miss Holland,“but I was interested in his work and I should haveenjoyed helping him.”
“Exactly!” cried Jeannette. “I have no doubt youwould have helped him very materially, whereas yougave your wits and your life in helping Mr. Kipps overthe rough parts of his business days for a considerationof fifty dollars a week!”
“He could have found somebody else who could havehelped him just as well.”
“But that doesn’t make it any fairer,” insistedJeannette. “What have you got to show for yourtwenty-five years of helping Mr. Kipps? ... This!”She spread out her hands significantly.
“Well, I have my old age provided for,” said MissHolland, with an indulgent smile. “I get my checkfor half-salary from the office regularly the first ofevery month. I suppose I’ll continue to get that untilmy rheumatism or my heart carries me off.”
“But is that any reward for twenty-five years ofslavery and drudgery? How many thousand and tensof thousands of dollars have your brains saved theCorey Publishing Company?”
“That isn’t all of it. You must remember I haveJerry.”
§ 3
Yes, she had Jerry, said Jeannette to herself, lyingawake that night for long aching hours of whirlingthoughts after she was in bed. Miss Holland’s old[Pg 469]age was rich in the love this nephew, his wife andchildren bore her.
And it came to the sleepless woman in the bed thatit was not the love Miss Holland received that mattered;it was what she gave and had given that madeher life, in spite of old age, rheumatism and growinghelplessness, glorious with complete and satisfyinghappiness.
[Pg 470]
CHAPTER IV
§ 1
“Dent—Department—Derrick—Desmond—Deutsch—Deveraux—Deverley—DeVinne—Devlin....”
There it was: “Martin Devlin, Motor Cars,—NorthBroad Street.” Jeannette’s polished finger-nail restedbeneath the name and her lips formed the words withouta sound. She closed the Philadelphia Directory,turned from the telephone desk in the big New Yorkhotel, and walked slowly out into the bright autumnglare of the street.
Thanksgiving was next week; there would be no difficultyin securing leave at the office to be absent fromWednesday night until Monday morning.
“I’d just like to see,” she kept repeating to herself.“There’d be no harm in seeing what kind of a place hehas. I could learn so much just walking by.”
An odd excitement took possession of her. She sawherself in the train, she saw herself in a large, comfortableroom at the Bellevue-Stratford, saw herselfin her smartest costume, sauntering up Broad Street.
“I’ve a good mind to do it,” she whispered. “Itcould do no possible harm. I’d just like to see.”
She was unable to reach any definite conclusion, butshe inspected her wardrobe carefully, deciding exactlywhat she would wear if she went to Philadelphia, andthen did a very reckless thing: she bought herself a[Pg 471]sumptuous garment, a short outer jacket of broadtailand kolinsky, a regal mantle fit for a millionaire’s wife.A giddy madness seemed to settle upon her after this;her savings in the bank,—the savings which were tobuy another bond,—were almost wiped out, and shedeliberately drew a check for what remained. Somepower outside of herself seemed to take charge of heractions; she moved from one step to another as ifhypnotized; she spoke to Mr. Allister about two extradays at Thanksgiving, she bought her ticket and chair-carreservation at the Pennsylvania Station, she wrotethe Bellevue-Stratford to hold one of their best outsiderooms for her, she explained with simulated carelessnessto Beatrice Alexander that there was a Book-Dealers’Convention in Philadelphia which the firmhad requested her to attend, and the four o’clock trainon the afternoon of the holiday found her bound forthe Quaker city.
As she sat stiffly upright in her luxurious armchair,staring out upon the dreary New Jersey marshes,panic suddenly came upon her.
What was she doing? Was she crazy? Was MissSturgis of the Mail Order Department this woman, soelegantly clad, speeding toward Philadelphia? Andon what mad errand? After years of careful living,after years of prudent saving, was it actually she,Jeannette Sturgis, who had recklessly flung to the fourwinds the bank account of which she had been soproud? Oh, she must be mad, indeed!
She grasped the arms of her chair and instinctivelyglanced from one end to the other of the palatial car.She was seized with a violent impulse to get off.There was Manhattan Transfer; she could take a[Pg 472]train back to the city from there. Determinedly, shegazed out upon the empty, cold-looking platform whenthe train reached the station, but she made no move,and as the wheels commenced to rumble beneath heronce more, she sank back resignedly into her seat, anda measure of calmness returned.
She was not committing herself merely by going toPhiladelphia and walking past Martin’s place of business!Suppose she did meet him! Suppose they actuallyencountered one another, face to face! Whatthen? There was nothing compromising in that! Shecould explain her presence in Philadelphia in a thousandways should he be interested. She blessed thejudgment that had prompted her to confide in no one;Beatrice believed she was attending a Book-Dealers’Convention, Alice that she was having her Thanksgivingdinner with Miss Holland.
§ 2
As she left the overheated parlor car at BroadStreet Station her composure was thoroughly restored.There was a tingling nimbleness in the air;the clear, November day was bright with metallic sunshine.Jeannette tipped the “red-cap” for carryingher bags, climbed into a taxi-cab and with a casual airthat seemed to spring from familiarity with such proceedings,directed to be driven to her hotel.
The cold bare streets, deserted on account of the holiday,the brilliant foyer of the Bellevue, the urbaneroom-clerk, the gilded elevator cage, the large high-ceilingedbedroom with its trim, orderly furniture, itsdouble-bed, glistening with white linen, its discreet engravings[Pg 473]of Watteau ladies in the gardens of Versailles,followed in quick succession. Then she wasstanding at the window looking down into the wide,dismal gray street far below, and the departing bell-boysoftly closed the door behind him.
She was here; she was in Philadelphia; she wouldhave that to remember always. If nothing else happened,she could never forget she had come this far....Somewhere in the city was Martin; he was preparingto eat his Thanksgiving Dinner; it was a quarterpast six, he was probably dressing! ... Supposehe elected to eat the meal with friends in the maindining-room of her hotel! Her throat tightened convulsivelyand her fingers twitched. Well, she wouldbe equal to facing him if he saw her; she would not befrightened into abandoning the course that wasnatural for her to follow. If it had been actually thecase that she was here in Philadelphia to attend aBook-Dealers’ Convention, she would put on her blacksatin dinner frock and go down to dinner with herbook; she did not propose to allow herself to do differently....It would be ridiculous to eat herThanksgiving dinner upstairs in her rooms!
She bathed, she did her hair with unusual success,she powdered her neck and arms, she donned the blacksatin with the square neck and jet trimming, and withher book beneath her arm, mesh bag in her hand, descendedto the dining-room at half past seven. Therewas an instant’s terror as she stood in the curtaineddoorway of the brilliantly-lit dining-room. Thererushed upon her impressions of flowers, music, theodor of food, a wave of heat, the flash of napery, thegleam of cutlery, faces, faces everywhere,—heads[Pg 474]turning,—eyes following,—whispers,—a hush as shemade her way in the wake of the obsequious head-waiter.
Steeling her nerves, measuring every movement, sheseated herself with deliberation, deliberately set herbag and book at her right hand, deliberately turned herattention to the menu, deliberately raised her eyes,and gazed about the room as she deliberately ordered.
But there was nothing! There was nobody! Noone was looking at her; no one had noticed her entrance!The music was wailing in waltz measure, thediners were talking and laughing, attendants hurryingto and fro. He was not there; there was no one faintlyresembling him in the room.
She cleared her throat and raised a tumbler of waterto her lips, but as she did so, her teeth chattered aninstant against the thin glass.
§ 3
Philadelphia awoke the next day with the bustle ofbusiness. Feet clip-clipped on the pavements, taxieschugged and honked, trucks bumped and rattled,street-cars rumbled and clanged their bells. Life,teeming, bustling, rushing, burst from every cornerand doorway.
Mechanically Jeannette moved through her earlymorning routine; she dressed, breakfasted, read hernewspapers; she drew upon her shoulders the handsomefur jacket, as, gloved, hatted and gaitered, shestepped out on the street.
“Taxi, lady?” No, she preferred to walk. Hernumber was only a few squares away.
[Pg 475]
An intent and hurrying tide of pedestrians setagainst her, congested traffic choked the street. Shewas an interested observer, and made but a leisurelyprogress, stopping at the shop windows, studying theirdisplays. Nothing unusual in any of them attractedher; New York was more up-to-the minute in fads andfancies; the merchants there were more enterprising;they knew what was what; these Philadelphia shop-keepersmerely aped their ways and followed theirleads. There was no city in the world, she thoughtwith pride, where merchandising was such a fine artand where novelties so quickly caught on as in NewYork. She wondered why people lived in Philadelphiawhen they could just as well live in New York. Shepassed a theatre and read the announcement on thebill-board; the play had been in New York six monthsago!
She captured her wandering thoughts and lookedabout her, wondering how far she had walked.
“Vine Garden?”
“The next cross-street, Madam.”
Her pulses stirred and unconsciously she quickenedher pace. She was presently in the neighborhood ofthe number she sought. It ought to be right here....She edged her way towards the curb and gazed up atthe façades of stores and buildings. Strange,—therewas nothing here that resembled an automobile agency!That building was a piano store, and in the next sewingmachines were sold.... Suddenly the nameleaped at her in a window’s reflection. It was acrossthe street! She wheeled about and there it was:Martin Devlin—Motor Cars. The name was in flowingscript, the letters rounded and bright with gold,[Pg 476]and the sign tilted out slightly over the sidewalk. Herheart plunged and stood still. That was her husband’splace of business! There it was: Martin Devlin—MotorCars!
The appearance of the agency impressed her.Across its front were four large plate-glass windows,two on each side of the entrance. On these also appearedMartin’s name in the same style of flowingscript, and beneath, in Roman type, the name of theautomobile he handled. The show-room was spaciousand softly illuminated with reflected light from alabasterbowls hung from the ceiling by brass chains.There were a half dozen models of the motor car,ranged within, three on a side, their noses pointing towardone another obliquely. The high polish of nickeland varnish, here and there, reflected the bright electricradiance above. The place had the air of elegance.
Curious, but with galloping pulses, Jeannette pickedher way across the street, and slowly strolled past.Through the plate-glass windows she could see twoyoung men standing, their arms folded, talking.Neither was Martin. She turned and retraced hersteps, swiftly inspecting. Every moment her confidenceincreased. She noted the walls of the show-roomwere of cream-tinted terra-cotta brick, the floorof smooth cement with rich rugs defining the aisles;in the rear was a balcony where she could see yellowelectric lights burning over desks, and make out thefaces and figures of two or three girls. That waswhere the offices were located, no doubt, where Martinwould have his desk.
[Pg 477]
Was he in? Would she risk a meeting? Did shehave nerve enough to go inside and say: “MissSturgis would like to see Mr. Devlin!” ... It was extraordinary,amazing! ... How utterly overcome hewould be! ... To have his wife, whom he hadn’tseen for fourteen years, walk in upon him that way! ...It wasn’t fair to him, after all. She had bettergo back to the hotel and write him,—or perhaps itwould be better to telephone.
Emotions, impulses, strange and contradictory,pulled her one way and another. The apprehension,the misgivings of yesterday were absent now. Therewas no longer any question in her mind as towhether or not she wanted to see Martin; she knewshe wanted to see him very much; in fact, her mindwas made up, she must see him. It would be a thrillingexperience, after so many years.... When theyparted, it had not been because they had ceased to befond of one another. They had liked,—yes, even lovedeach other, at the very moment of separation....How was it to be managed? How could she arrangeto meet him with propriety? Her appearance, shewas aware, would make an impression upon him; thateffect would be lost in writing or telephoning....Perhaps she had better go back to the hotel and thinkit over, but then she might never again find thecourage which was hers at that moment.... Shemust do something; she could not stand there indefinitelygazing through the window at the motor carsinside! The young men within, she observed, had noticedher.
With heart that hammered at her throat, she stepped[Pg 478]to the heavy door; it swung back at her touch. Therewas a pleasant warmth within. One of the young mencame hurrying forward, rubbing his hands, one overthe other, bowing politely, a beaming smile upon hisface.
“Good morning, Madam. Interested in theParrott?”
Jeannette swept the show-room with a quick lookbefore answering. There was no one there remotelylike Martin.
“I was thinking about one,” she admitted.
“Most happy to arrange a demonstration at anytime.... What model did you fancy?”
Jeannette moved about the cars, peering into theinteriors of their tonneaus, commenting upon the upholsteryand finish, pretending an attention to theyoung salesman’s glib explanations.
“Shift here is automatic ... cylinders ... compression... hundred-and-eighteen-inch wheel-base,... equipment just as you see it, ... rear tire extra,of course, ... lovely car for a lady to drive ...rides like a gazelle ... just like a gazelle ... youwouldn’t know you were moving.... Lovely engine,isn’t it, Madam? ... A child could easily take it apart.”
Jeannette nodded and appeared interested. All thetime she was thinking: “I wonder if he’s up there—Iwonder if he’s up there.”
“Mr. Devlin ...?” she hazarded.
“Oh, you know Mr. Devlin?” The possibilityseemed to fill the salesman with rare pleasure; it wasa discovery, unexpected, delightful.
“I—I used to know him years ago,” Jeannettefaltered.
[Pg 479]
“He’s a splendid man, isn’t he?” glowed the youth.“Wonderful personality,—a regular ‘good fellow.’He’s made quite a record with the Parrott, you know.Unfortunately he’s out just now, but he’s expected.I’m sure he’ll be glad to know you called, and I’ll bevery pleased to tell him. You didn’t mention....May I ask the name?”
Jeannette hesitated. This was not the way shewould have him hear of her.
“No,—I’ll call again; I’ll come in later. I’m—- I’mstopping at the Bellevue; it isn’t far.”
“Couldn’t I arrange a demonstration for you thisafternoon? At any hour you say. I’d like to showyou the way the Parrott rides,—just like a gazelle.I’ll have our driver come with the limousine, or perhapsyou’d prefer the landaulet model.... Youmight like to pay some calls this afternoon; it wouldgive you a chance to test the Parrott and see how youlike it.... Ah, here’s Mr. Devlin!”
The heavy glass front door opened. Jeannette feltthe cold air from the street. She gave a quick glanceas she turned her back, her heart plunging. It wasMartin all right, but what a changed and differentMartin! So much older, so much larger than sheremembered him! He wore a Derby hat and had acigar.
The salesman had left her side and was communicatingher presence to his employer. Jeannette stoodwith both hands pressed tightly against her heartand fought for self-possession.
She heard Martin speak. That voice ...! Thatvoice ...! It suffocated her. An avalanche ofmemories and forgotten emotions swept down upon[Pg 480]her.... He was coming! She even recognized hisstep!
“’Morning, Madam,”—there was the old briskness,and alertness in his tone!—“what can I——”
She straightened herself and turned regally.
“Good morning, Martin,” she said smiling. Hercolor was high, she was trembling, her pulses racing.
There was a quick jerk of his head,—a well-rememberedmannerism,—and a lightning survey of herfeatures.
“Good God! ... Jan!”
Emotions played in his face, his eyes darted abouther, his color faded and flamed darkly. His confusiongave her composure. He was handsome still, smooth-shavenand clean; his cheeks were fuller, a trifleflorid, he had a well-defined double-chin, his black,thick hair was streaked with wiry, white threads; hehad grown stouter, had acquired a girth, but his fatnesswas robust and healthy. He had gained in presence,in firmness of feature, in polish,—a man of businessand affairs, energetic, a leader.
“Are you surprised to see me, Martin?”
“Well, of course, ... well, ... I should say!”
She was conscious that her beauty and stateliness,her costume, her fashionableness overwhelmed him.
“I’ll be ... I’ll be damned!” he enunciated. “Excuseme, Jan,—but I’ll be ... I’ll be damned!”
An amused sound escaped Jeannette. She wassmiling broadly; she felt she had the situation well inhand.
“I’m sorry I startled you, Martin. I happened tobe passing and I saw your name and thought I’d dropin.... How’ve you been after all these years?”
[Pg 481]
“Oh,—all right, I guess. Sure, I’ve been fine....And you? I guess there’s no need of asking.”
“I’ve been quite well. I’m never sick. I came downto Philadelphia to attend a Book-Dealers’ Convention....I’m stopping at the Bellevue.”
“Well—er, you going to be in town long?”
“Oh,—two or three days. I’m going back to NewYork Sunday, I guess. I think I can get away by thattime.... This is a fine car you handle; its lines arereally very beautiful.”
“It’s a good car, all right. I had a big year thisyear,—and last year, too.”
“Well, that’s good; I’m glad to hear it.... I neverheard of the Parrott before.”
“You didn’t? ... Well, we think we advertise agood deal. It ranks up among the best.... Are you—areyou married or anything like that?”
Jeannette laughed richly.
“Not since an experience I had some fourteen yearsago that didn’t take!”
Martin echoed her amusement. He was regaininghis ease; she could see he was beginning to enjoy himself.
“You know I took my maiden name when I wentback to work; everybody knew me there as ‘Miss Sturgis’;it seemed easier.”
“Yes, I see,” Martin agreed.
“I’m still with the old company.”
“What,—the same old publishing outfit?”
“Yes; I’m in charge of the Mail Order Departmentnow.... We do quite a business.”
“Is that so? And how do you like it?”
“Oh, I like it all right. They think a lot of me there,[Pg 482]and I do about as I please.... I’m thinking of resigningthough; one of these days, pretty soon, I’llquit. It gets on your nerves after awhile, you know.”
“Yes, I guess it does.”
A momentary embarrassment came upon them.
“Well, it was pleasant to catch a glimpse of you,again, Martin. If you’re ever in New York, ring meup. You know the office——”
“Well, say,—I don’t like to have you go away likethis! I’d like to see something of you while you’rein town,—and talk over old times. There’s a lot ofthings I’ll bet we’d find interesting to tell oneanother.”
“I shouldn’t wonder,” she said lightly.
“I got a business engagement for lunch unfortunately”;he scowled in troubled fashion. “I can’tvery well get out of it.... You’re at the Bellevue? ...Well, how about dinner? Couldn’t we get togetherfor dinner?”
“Why, I guess so. Yes,—that would be lovely,”said Jeannette with an air of careful consideration.
“I’ll bring my wife; Ruthie will be glad to meet you.You knew I married again, didn’t you?”
Jeannette’s expression did not alter by the quiverof an eyelash; she continued to regard Martin withsmiling eyes.
“No, I hadn’t heard.... I didn’t suppose....So you married, again?”
“Yes, I married a widow,—a widow with two kids:girl and a boy,—splendid youngsters.... Say, yougot to see those kids; they’re Jim-dandies!”
“That’s ... that’s fine.”
“And I think you’ll like Ruthie, too, Jan. She[Pg 483]isn’t your style exactly, but she’s all right. There’sno side to Ruthie. I think you’ll like her; she’s afine little woman and a great little mother. You’lllike her, I’ll bet a hat.”
“I’m sure I shall.”
“Then it’s all right for to-night? Ruthie’ll join medowntown and we’ll come over to the hotel, and thethree of us will have a great little dinner together andchew the rag about old times.... Say, d’you eversee that old ragamuffin, Zeb Kline?”
“Oh, yes, indeed. I saw him two or three weeksago. He’s quite successful, now, you know; he’s madea great deal of money; married Nick Birdsell’sdaughter.”
“Is that so! Well, is that so! He was a card allright, a great old scout.... And d’you ever seeany of the rest of the old gang: Adolph Kuntz,an’ Fritz Wiggens, an’ Steve Teschemacher an’ oldGibbsy?”
“Oh, yes, occasionally.”
“Say, what’s old Gibbsy doing? He was a wormylittle rat, all right, wasn’t he?”
“He’s got a very fine place, now, down on the Point,—quitean estate.”
“Well, wouldn’t you know it! He’d be just thekind of a little tightwad that would build himself aswell house! ... And what happened to old DocFrench?”
Jeannette’s countenance changed and she shook herhead.
“Don’t bother to tell me now. Save it up for to-night.We’ll have a great talk-fest.... Ruthieand I will show up at the hotel,—what time? Let’s[Pg 484]make it early so we can have all evening. Six-thirty?How’s that?”
Jeannette smiled assent.
“We’ll be there at six-thirty, and say, Jan, youknow this is going to be my party all right—all right.”
He accompanied her to the door, knocking the Derbyhat nervously against his knee, his cigar gone out.
“Then we’ll see you to-night, Jan. Six-thirty, hey? ...Gee, I’m glad you dropped in! We’ll have agreat little old talk-fest.”
“To-night, then.”
“Sure. At the Bellevue. We’ll be there. Six-thirty.”
§ 4
Married? Married? It couldn’t be possible! Why,they had never been divorced! ... How could he bemarried again?
A great weariness came over Jeannette. It was disgusting!What had he wanted to get married againfor? Pugh! It was most disappointing.... Anotherwoman! ... She had never imagined anything likethis.... Was he living with her without a ceremony?Probably. She must be a cheap sort of creature....But it didn’t make any difference whether shewas legally his wife or not; it was the same thing.The fact remained he had taken up with someone else.No doubt she was known as “Mrs. Devlin.”
Jeannette went back to the hotel and upstairs toher room, laid aside her beautiful fur jacket, her hat,took off her dress, put on her kimona. Her mind, likea squirrel in a cage, went around and around over the[Pg 485]same ground. How could he be married? Why, theyhad never been divorced!
The prospect of the evening suddenly palled uponher. Even though he had married, a dinner and chatalone with Martin would have had some piquancy; itwould have been quite exciting and amusing to haverecalled old friends, old memories. But there wouldbe no spontaneity in their talk with another womanbeside them, a bored and critical listener! It wouldbe dreadful! An intolerable situation! ... Shethought of a hurried return to New York, a telephoneto Martin that she had been unexpectedly called home.Yet that seemed undignified; he would be sure toguess her reason, or if he did not, “Ruthie” could bedepended upon to enlighten him. She shook her headin distaste. She was committed to this unpalatableprogram, now; she would be obliged to see it through,—butoh, how she was going to hate it! How she wasgoing to despise every moment of it!
She considered the other woman, trying to imaginewhat she would be like.... Well, Ruthie might becomfortably established in her place, but she shouldhave no ground for believing she was envied!
A reflection of herself at this moment in the mirrorforced a smile from Jeannette’s lips as she detectedupon her face a look of haughty condescension. Shehad been fancying the encounter with Ruthie and hadunconsciously assumed the expression that would suitthat moment.... Well, Ruthie would have the benefitof that withering, imperious glance; she would realizethe minute she saw Jeannette Sturgis that herewas a woman that would brook no patronizing airsfrom her, and in the course of the evening she would[Pg 486]have it pointed out to her, in a manner which wouldleave no room for misunderstanding, that it was she,Jeannette, who had left Martin; hers had never beenthe rôle of the deserted wife; as far as “leavings”were concerned, Ruthie had them and welcome! ...Ah! She hated her!
The telephone trilled. Jeannette’s heart plungedas she heard Martin’s voice.
“Hello, Jan! Say,—I ’phoned Ruthie and she saysfor me to bring you out to our house to-night; shesays it will be much pleasanter there and we can talka whole lot better. I rang her up and explained aboutour having dinner with you at the Bellevue, but sheinsists that you come on out to our house. She saidby all manner of means to bring you. She said she’d’phone you, herself, but I said I didn’t think that wasnecessary.”
“Why-y,—I’m afraid——”
“You know we live out at Jenkintown; it’s an awfulpretty suburb. I’d like you to see it and I’m crazy tohave you see the kids. They’ll still be up by the timewe get there. I’ll call for you a little after six anddrive you out.”
Jeannette’s mind worked rapidly. There wasnothing for her to do but to accept, and to acceptgraciously.
“That will be lovely, Mart. As you say it will bemuch nicer in the country. I shall really like to seeyour home and to meet—” she cleared her throat,—“Mrs.Devlin.”
“Well, that’ll be fine, Jan,—that will be great. Say,you couldn’t make that five-thirty just as well, couldyou? You see the office closes at five, and I’ll just[Pg 487]have to bum ’round here doing nothing until it’s timeto call for you,—and then besides you’ll have a littlelight left so you c’n see something of the country, andI want to tell you, Jan, Jenkintown’s a swell littlesuburb.”
“Why, yes, Martin. Five-thirty will be perfectly allright for me.”
“That’s fine then; I call for you at five-thirty.”
She hung up the receiver and bent forward so thather brow rested lightly against the mouthpiece of theinstrument, her eyes closed, and after a moment shesqueezed them tight shut.... Ah, what pain! ...What heart stabs! ... The prick of tears stung hereyeballs like needle points.
§ 5
She powdered her shoulders and did her hair; shered-lipped her mouth; she hooked the black satin dressabout her; she hung her generous string of artificialpearls around her neck and screwed the large artificialpearl ear-rings upon her ears. At five o’clock she wasready, and for the ensuing thirty minutes she studiedher reflection in the glass, turning first to one side,then to the other, noting various effects. She woreno hat, but to-night her hair, with its distinguishedtouch of white, was dressed high, and thrust into itsthick coil at the back of her head were three largebrilliant, rhinestone combs.
Promptly at the half-hour, Martin was announced,and slipping on the marvellous jacket, rolling the furluxuriously against her neck, Jeannette descended inthe elevator and met him in the foyer. The glance he[Pg 488]gave her satisfied her; she knew Martin; he had notchanged. There remained only Ruthie, and in thatinstant it came to Jeannette a cold, disdainful mannerwould put herself, bound and helpless, at Ruthie’smercy. They were two shrewd and clever women,—sheassumed Ruthie would be shrewd and clever,—meetingone another under strange and difficult circumstances;any hint of condescension, any suggestionof a patronizing air, and Ruthie would be laughingat her. No, the part for her to play was one of allsweetness and amiability; graciousness was her onlysalvation.
Martin guided her out of the hotel, his fingers ather elbow. A limousine swept up to the door. It wasa Parrott, and there was a liveried chauffeur at thewheel.
“Get right in, Jan.”
He stooped through the doorway and sank heavilyagainst the upholstered cushions beside her. The“starter” touched his cap, and banged the door.Memories swept back upon Jeannette, memories ofanother motor-car, a taxi-cab, and another “starter”who had banged shut an automobile door upon thetwo of them, and of a night pulsing with high emotions,hopes and young love. Her little excited mother withher pendent, trembling cheeks, dressed in her lavendervelvet, had been with them on that other night,and she had sat beside her daughter where Martinnow was sitting, and Martin had occupied the smallcollapsible seat opposite, and had balanced himselfthere with his knees uncomfortably hunched up, tokeep his feet out of the way!
“... what we call the Parrott Convertible; it’s[Pg 489]just out this year,” Martin was explaining. “Yousee with a little manipulation of the glass windowsand seats you can turn it from a limousine into aSedan and drive it yourself.”
“How clever!” she said. “You know, Martin, itdelights me to think of your being so successful. Itwas coming to you. You were born to be a good salesman,and I’m glad you’ve gotten into a line of businesswhere your talents count for something. Youwere entirely out of your element with that EngravingCompany; they didn’t begin to appreciateyou.”
“They didn’t, did they? That younger Gibbs,—HerbertGibbs,—he was certainly a little rat, if thereever was one. You know I had a terrible row with himafter—after....”
“And I’m glad, too,” proceeded Jeannette hastily,“that you’ve married again and ’ve got your sonand daughter. You were always crazy about children.Remember how you used to rave about Alice’s Ettaand Ralph when they were babies?”
“You bet you. How are——?”
“And then you were much too fine and too goodfor that Cohasset Beach crowd——”
“They were a bunch of good scouts, all right.”
“Weren’t they?” Jeannette said veering quickly.“Every one of them has made good. Steve Teschemacher’squite wealthy.”
“Tell me about him,—tell me about ’em all. Say,do you ever go down to Cohasset Beach any more?”
“Oh, yes; frequently. Alice and Roy bought there,you know.”
“The deuce they did! You don’t mean to say so?[Pg 490]Well, say, Jan, who’s living in the bungalow? ...Say, Janny, I often think....”
They were busy in reminiscences, interrupting oneanother, laughing, ejaculating, now and then arrestedby a memory that was not altogether mirth-provokingand unexpectedly stirred them. At times Martinswayed in his seat and pounded his knee.
“By God!” he would shout gleefully, “by God, I’dforgotten that!—by God, that was a hot one, all right!Say,—that had gone completely out of my mind.You’re a wonder for remembering little things, Jan! ...By golly!”
The car rolled smoothly out over the paved highwaythat circled through the hills. Large, handsomehouses with lights shining here and there from windows,and surrounded by tall, gaunt, leafless trees,alternated on either side of the road and fled past.Their own vehicle was but one link in a long chain ofnimble bugs with glowing antennæ which crawled hardupon one another along the winding course.
There came an abrupt turn, the motor car swungup a steep driveway, slid on to crunching gravel, andstopped.
“Here we are!” exclaimed Martin. The chauffeurleaped from his seat and attentively opened the cardoor.
A large frame house of gracious lines, with exteriorstone chimneys, many windows, and a precipitouslawn that swept down to the roadway a hundred feetor more below.
“We get a splendid view of the valley here,” saidMartin, coming to stand beside Jeannette as shelooked out across the country. The landscape was[Pg 491]shrouded in dusk, pricked with a myriad of lights;there was a jagged silhouette of distant tree-tops andbeyond a pale, mother-of-pearl sky touched faintlywith dying pink.
They turned to the house and as Martin stooped toinsert his latch-key there was the quick run of smallfeet within, the door was flung open and a little girlhurled herself upon him with a violent silent hug.
“Well, well,” said Martin, “how’s my darling?”He kissed her with equal vigor, his hat knocked at anangle upon his head.
“This is ‘Tinker,’” he said, smiling at Jeannette.“Everybody calls her ‘Tinker,’ but her real name’s‘Elizabeth.’ Where’s your brother, Tinker?”
An answering clatter and rush came from an interiorregion, and a small boy flung himself upon the man.
“And this is Joe, Janny. He has a nickname, too;sometimes we call him ‘Josephus,’—don’t we, old blunderbuss?”
There was another vigorous embrace.
The two children regarded Jeannette with shy butfriendly glances. The little girl was about nine, theboy two or three years younger. Tinker was brownof skin and brown of eye; her hair was short andtawny and swept off her face in an old-fashioned way,held back by an encircling comb that reached fromone temple to the other. She was freckled and had analert, engaging expression, while her brown eyes weresharp as shoe buttons, and twinkled between longtawny eyelashes. Simply, she approached Jeannetteand held up her brown arms as she offered her lips.The boy was diminutive and wiry with furtive glanceand grinning mouth that displayed a gaping hole left[Pg 492]by two missing front teeth. He hung his head as heheld out his small hand, but as Jeannette took it, hedarted a quick upward look into her face and gave hera friendly elfish grin.
Jeannette was moved, captivated at once by thecharm of both.
“They’re darlings!” came involuntarily from her,and then there was the sound of descending feet uponthe stairs and Jeannette straightened herself from thecrouching position in which she had greeted the childrento face their mother.
“A pretty woman—and sweet—younger than I expected,”went Jeannette’s thoughts; “nothing to fearhere.”
Ruthie was in truth a pretty woman, pretty withoutbeing either beautiful or handsome. Her expressionwas bright, alert, eager, her manner friendly andeffusive. She resembled her small son.
“This is Ruthie, Jeannette——” began Martin.
“How do you do?” said Ruthie, hurrying forward,leaving no doubt of her cordiality. “It was very niceof you to come to us to-night.”
“Not at all,” Jeannette responded with her bestsmile. “It was nice of you to want me.”
“I was anxious to know you,” said Ruthie.
She could afford to be gracious thought Jeannette.She had everything: the home, the children, money,position,—she had Martin! ... Was it possible theywere really married? Or did Ruthie merely think shewas his wife?
Jeannette was piloted upstairs to a large, pleasantbedroom. The chairs, the tables, the bureau and[Pg 493]chiffonier, the twin beds were all of bright bird’s-eyemaple; rose hangings were at the windows, rose silkcomforters were neatly folded at the foot of each bed,rose shades on the wall lights diffused a soft rosyradiance. The dressing-table glittered with silvertoilet articles, and Jeannette noticed they were allmonogramed “R.T.D.” Flanking them were largesilver-framed photographs, one of Martin,—a handsome,fierce-looking Martin in evening dress,—theother of the two children, Tinker with her arm abouther brother. Domesticity radiated everywhere.
“I never looked better,” Jeannette thought consolinglyas she caught a full-length reflection of herselfin the long mirror impanelled in the bathroom door.Her hair pleased her; her high color was most becoming;she knew herself to be beautiful. She went downstairs,serene and confident, sure of being able to carryoff the evening with lightness and ease.
“I thought it would be quieter and perhaps a littlepleasanter without the children at table,” said Ruthiebrightly as Jeannette joined her, “so I arranged togive them an early supper, and now Martin’s beenscolding me. He thinks you’ll be disappointed.”
“Oh, it doesn’t matter,” Jeannette murmured.
“Martin’s almost unreasonable about them; hewants them all the time,” continued Ruthie. “I tellhim if he had them on his hands all day, perhaps hewouldn’t be quite so enthusiastic!” She laughed anamused little laugh like the twittering of a bird. “Hecouldn’t be fonder of them if they were his own,” sheadded.
There was a moment’s pause.
[Pg 494]
“You see, I’d lost my first husband before I metMartin,” Ruthie continued thoughtfully. “My firstmarriage wasn’t very successful.”
She did think she was married then!
“You were divorced?” asked Jeannette. If therewas a barb to the question it failed in effect.
“No; Mr. Mason was killed. He was—was ratherintemperate, and there was an accident. I met Martinsome time afterwards and he was wonderful to me.”
“You’ve known him long?”
“Let me see. About seven years. Joe was only ababy, and we were living in Scranton. Martin and Imarried about a year after my husband’s death. Iwas having a very hard time of it; Mr. Mason carriedbut very little life insurance and I took up manicuring;I had to; there was no other way for us to get along.”
She smiled at the last.
He was sorry for her, thought Jeannette; that wasthe way of it.
“That had been your—your profession formerly?”Jeannette asked with an innocent air.
“No, I had to learn it,” Ruthie said, unruffled. “Ihad to do something. I only did private work, youknow.” She cast a quick glance at Jeannette’s face.“Martin and I didn’t meet in a barber shop!” sheadded with a bright laugh.
Jeannette could think of nothing to say to this, soshe nodded, and gazed into the red coals of the grate-firebefore which the two women were standing.
“Here he is!” Ruthie said, suddenly.
Martin’s step could be heard approaching and ina moment he entered the living-room. Jeannette noticedhe had changed into dinner clothes.
[Pg 495]
“Well, Jan, it’s mighty darned nice to see you here,”he said advancing, rubbing his hands. He appearedwell-groomed, was freshly shaved, his clothes fittedhim to perfection, his thick neck and swarthy skinseemed clean and wholesome.
“Have a little cocktail?” he suggested. “I’ve got acracker-jack bootlegger that brings me the stuff directfrom New York,—real old Gordon! If this damnedgovernor of ours has his way, we’re not likely to getany more of it. This prohibition stuff makes me sick,doesn’t it you?”
“It doesn’t bother me, Martin,” Jeannette answeredlightly. “I never drink anything.”
“Well, how about having a little cocktail to-night?Just by way of celebration? Huh? What d’you say?”
“No-o, thank you, Martin; not to-night. I reallynever touch it, but don’t let me stop you two.”
“Ruthie doesn’t drink either. She’s a plumb tee-totaler,—believesin it! What do you know aboutthat?”
Martin laughed good-naturedly. His mirth had theold-time extraordinary infectious quality.
“Don’t bother about mixing a cocktail to-night,Martin dear,” Ruthie said in a persuasive voice. “Ittakes you so long with the ice and everything, anddinner’s late, now.”
“I’ll have a little of the straight stuff, then,” hesaid, still rubbing his hands in high good humor.
They went together into the dining-room throughthe double glass doors, curtained in shirred folds ofpink silk. The table was glittering with polished silverwareand sparkling glass; in the center was a lowfern in a metal fern-dish. Martin unlocked a door in[Pg 496]the sideboard, took out a whisky bottle, held it upa moment to the light to inspect the measure of itscontents, and poured himself an inch into a tumbler.
“D’you remember that guy who used always tosay ‘Saloon’ when he was taking a drink?” askedMartin, grinning at Jeannette. “He was a card allright? ... Well, ‘saloon!’”
He drained the drink in two gulps, followed it witha draught of water, and sat down, smacking his lips.
A maid appeared, bearing a tureen of soup, andpresently passed cheese straws. Jeannette observedher spotless white bibbed apron and black dress, andshe took note of the fine sprays of celery and olives inside dishes on the table, twinkling with ice. The dinnerproceeded comfortably,—well-served, well-cooked,stereotyped: a roast of beef, with potatoes browned inthe pan, canned French peas, a salad of chopped applesand nuts, a dessert of cake and ice-cream. She recalledwith a sharp twinge the “company” dinnersshe had struggled so hard to prepare for Martin andhis friends, and the effort she had made to serve himthings he liked so as to make him want to stay athome.... Ah, she had tried, she reminded herself, shehad really tried hard to be a good wife to him! ...It was all so much easier for Ruthie; she had her cook,her waitress, and there was even the chauffeur. Soeasy to sit still and merely tell them what to do! ...And Martin? ... Well, he had matured, he hadsettled down, was more seasoned, more reasonable,more disciplined.... She noticed for the first timea jagged white scar on his right temple; it had notbeen there when she had known him!
Throughout dinner he was in the gayest of spirits;[Pg 497]Ruthie turned bright alert eyes from one face to theother; Jeannette felt the last vestige of constraint slipfrom her. The talk was all of Tinker and Josephus,of the good schools of Jenkintown, of motor cars andthe future of the automobile industry, of traffic lawsand Philadelphia and things in general. Every oncein awhile a chance remark would sound a personal note,but the three with one accord would veer away fromit and pursue another topic. There was no tellingwhere rocks of disaster might be hidden.
But after dinner, when Martin stood before thesucking coal fire in the living-room, stirring his coffee,a fresh cigar tilted up in the corner of his mouth, hishead twisted to one side to avoid the smoke, it wasevident the moment had arrived when he wanted tohear news of his old friends and start recalling oldtimes. Tinker and her brother presented themselvesto say good-night and their mother made them an excusefor leaving her husband and her guest together.
“She’s far smarter than one would ever suspectfrom that affected bright expression,” thought Jeannettesmiling at the children as they tumbled themselvesout of the room.
Ruthie did not reappear until nearly ten o’clock,and then came in with many apologies for having beendetained. Martin, by that time, had heard all the news,had heard of Roy and Alice, of poor unfortunate DocFrench, of ’Dolph Kuntz, and Fritz and Steve, andeven of some of the changes in the publishing companywhich interested him. He was far from satisfied,however, and wanted to go over it all once more.
“Say, do you remember that night, Jan, you and Iand that Scotch friend of yours and that awful fright[Pg 498]he took along with him had dinner up on the Astorroof? What became of that guy?”
And——
“D’you ’member that time we got stuck out in theSound aboard the Websters’ yacht? ... Say, dothey have any more racing down there? ... What’sbecome of all the little A-boats?”
But Jeannette knew the time for leave-taking hadcome. She rose smiling.
“I’m sorry, Martin; I shall have to say good-night.I really must be going. My day’s very fullto-morrow.”
He was loud in protest, a little unnecessarily loud,Jeannette thought. She tried to dissuade him fromaccompanying her back to the hotel, but he insisted.
“I wouldn’t think of you riding back all by yourself,Jan! That wouldn’t do at all. The car’s righthere; the man’s waiting. He’ll run me in and runme out again in less than an hour; I’ll be home againin no time.”
Ruthie urged, too.
“Oh, yes,” she insisted brightly. “You must letMartin take you back to town; it won’t hurt him abit, and you two have such a lot to talk over togetherabout old times and everything.”
The little woman’s face was wreathed with smiles;she was confident, solicitous. She was sure of herself;sure of Martin; her concern had every semblance ofsincerity. Jeannette felt baffled, vaguely irritated.
The two women said good-night to one another withappropriate phrases and amiability. Ruthie stood inthe shining arch of the doorway as the motor car sweptup to the steps, crunching on the fine gravel of the[Pg 499]drive, and Jeannette and Martin got in. She even manageda little wave of the hand as its door slammed andthe car started.
Jeannette hated her. It was impossible to guesswhat thoughts were behind that alert expression ofinnocent pleasure.
“You’ve come on in the world, Martin,” she observed.
“Yes, I’ve made a little money, but I’m going tomake more,—a good deal more. You know, I oftenthink of the old man and the old woman up there inWatertown settling down forty, or I guess it’s fifty,years ago, to running that little grocery business oftheirs, and I can’t help wishing sometimes they wereround to see how good I’ve made. They’d get aneyefull, all right! But I’ve worked for my success,Jan,—that is, I’ve worked hard the last five years.You know I was down and out for awhile?”
“Were you? I didn’t know that. How did thathappen?”
Martin cleared his throat and twisted a little in hisseat so as to talk more directly at her.
“I was pretty badly cut-up, Jan, when you ran outon me!”
“Were you?”
“You bet I was, and I began hitting her up there forawhile; I let things go to the devil and I was boozinga good deal. There were two or three years therewhen I wasn’t much better than a bum.”
“Martin!”
“Well, I was sore at the world,—and sore, I guess,at you. Yes, pretty damn sore. You know, Jan, Ididn’t think you treated me quite right, and then I[Pg 500]blamed myself an awful lot for the way I treated you.”
“It was too bad,” Jeannette said slowly. “I thinkmaybe we were both wrong. We were very youngand inexperienced, Mart.”
“Yes, that’s right. We pulled the wrong way.”
“I’m sorry you took it so badly. I didn’t feel extragood about it myself. I’ve often wished since....”
“Oh, there’s no use going over the old ground now.It’s all over and done with, but I was mighty fond ofyou, Janny.”
“Don’t, Martin.”
“You bet I was. I took it pretty hard when youleft me; I didn’t care what happened to me.”
“I’m sorry. It wasn’t easy for me either. If you’donly come back,—or sent word....”
“You don’t understand, Jan. I was down and outthen. I had nothing to offer you. I’d punchedGibbsy’s face and I’d lost my job and I was drivinga truck,—that is, when I was working at all.”
“Martin!”
“Oh, what’s the use of going back over old times!”he said with sudden harshness. “You’ve changed andI’ve changed. I’m married now,—got a home andfamily,—and I’m happy, Jan. Ruthie’s a good littlewoman.”
“When did you marry, Mart?”
“In—let’s see!—in 1917; just before we got into thewar. I got a job as a salesman in an automobile agencyin Scranton. Tinker and her mother were living nextdoor to my boarding-house; it was Tinker that caughtmy eye first; she and I used to have great times together;I was crazy about that kid, and then I metRuthie.”
[Pg 501]
“And after that you were married?”
“Well, not right away. I had to get free first. Youwere awfully decent about not contesting the suit,Jan, but then I was pretty sure you wouldn’t.”
“And was there a suit?”
“Why, sure. I got a decree in New York. Theygave it to me. You never showed up.”
“I don’t remember,” said Jeannette vaguely.
“You were served with a summons; we had the testimonyof the process server! You let the case go bydefault.”
“Did I? ... I can’t ... I don’t seem to remember.What were the grounds? I thought in New YorkState you had to prove——”
Martin leaned forward in his seat and stared at herthrough the dimness in the car, trying to see her face.
“Say, what is this?” he asked. “Are you trying tokid me,—rub it in, or something like that?”
“No, Martin,” she answered earnestly. “I don’tknow what you’re talking about. I never supposedwe’d been divorced.”
“Good God! Did you think we were still married?”
“Why, certainly.”
The man dropped back against the upholstery witha short explosion of breath.
“Tell me about it, Martin.”
“You make it damned hard, Jan. If you’re tryingto rub it in, you’re certainly doing a nifty job.”
“No, Martin, truly. I’m quite honest.”
He was silent and Jeannette had to plead again forenlightenment.
“I don’t understand this,” he said, troubled.
“But tell me. I want to know.”
[Pg 502]
“Well, you know I was damned sore at you,” hebegan at length. “I wanted to get married; Ruthie,Tinker and the baby needed me. She was up againstit and was having a tough time trying to make endsmeet. I wanted to help out but she wouldn’t let meand the only thing for it was to get married. So Iwent to a lawyer there in Scranton and asked him ifhe’d fix it so I could get a divorce from you. He gotin touch with a firm in New York and they dug up allthat rot about you and Corey——”
“Oh, my God!” gasped Jeannette in a whisper.
“Oh, I knew it was the bunk; you’d told me thestory and I knew you’d given me the straight dope.But there was the evidence and the sworn affidavitsof the hotel employees that Corey’s wife had secured.It made enough of a case. I’m damned ashamed of itnow, Jan. I wish to God, I’d never done it, but I wassore, remember, and I wanted to get married toRuthie.”
There was painful silence in the swaying car. Jeannettesat very still, two fingers of each hand pressedagainst either cheek.
“I was pretty certain you’d let it go by default,”Martin went on after awhile in a distressed voice.“It was no case you’d want to contest, and I thoughtyou probably wanted your freedom as much as Idid.... I thought surely you’d married long ago.”
Silence reigned again, Jeannette struggling withherself, Martin concerned at her voicelessness.
“By God, Jan, I thought you knew all about it,—Iswear to God I did! The process server stated incourt he’d handed you the summons, and saw you pick[Pg 503]it up; I heard him say it with my own ears. The refereewarned him about perjury, thought he smelledcollusion, or something of that sort; he ragged mesomething fierce.... It was rotten the way it turnedout, for the case came up right after your friend Coreydied, and I felt pretty mean blackening a man’s characterwhen he wasn’t more ’an cold in his grave, ’speciallyas I knew it was a frame-up.”
A pent-up breath escaped Jeannette like a moan.A scene flashed before her mind: a dark street,—thestreet just in front of the office—it was late and thecrowd of clerks and workers was pouring out of thedoorway, hurrying homeward with gravity in theirhearts and the news on their lips that Chandler B.Corey, the president of the company, had that daydropped dead at his desk. And among these soberedmen and women walked herself, shocked and shaken,trying to realize that the best friend she had in theworld was gone, and would never be at hand againto advise her nor be interested in what befell her. Asshe stepped into the street a man in a slouch hatconfronted her, demanding to know if she was Mrs.Martin Devlin, thrust a folded paper at her, and disappeared.She remembered drawing back, frightenedand affronted, and after the man had made off, rescuingthe paper from the sidewalk at her feet where ithad fallen. It was dark in the street,—too dark toread. She recalled holding the paper up to decipherwhat was printed on the first page, and then, indifferent,her heart and mind heavy with the tragedy ofthe day, had thrust it into her muff and sorrowfullymade her way homeward. Days later, when she remembered[Pg 504]the incident and searched her muff, thepaper had disappeared. It had fallen out; it was gone;and she dismissed the matter from her mind.
Now she realized the folded paper had been thesummons bidding her come to court to defend herselfagainst calumny, and to show reason why Martin Devlinshould not be free to take unto himself anotherwife!
Suddenly something very precious died within herdismally. The excitement of the night dwindled anddeparted; the piquancy of her adventure drooped andfaded; her interest in a situation that had up to thatminute stirred pulse and imagination, shrivelled andevaporated. She was weary and bored; she felt disgustedand sick; she wanted to be quit of the wholeaffair, of smiling, alert, complacent Ruthie, of thehomely, clumsy children, of this sleek, fat, selfish manbeside her! ... Ah, she had been a fool ever to think... ever to imagine.... A woman of her position,sensible, capable, independent,—stout, settled, middle-agedand gray! ... Oh, it was detestable,—it washumiliating,—insufferable!
They were at the hotel.
“You don’t want to let what I told you bother you,Jan. I never stopped to think how you’d feel aboutit. And you want to remember that those things neverget out; they’re all kept strictly Q.T. It happened sixor seven years ago and there isn’t a soul—Here, I’mcoming in with you.”
“You needn’t bother, Martin.”
“That’s all right. I’ll see you inside.”
They moved through the revolving glass doors andmounted the steps into the brilliant lobby.
[Pg 505]
“Well, it’s been great to see you, and I surely haveenjoyed talking over old times. By God, it’s been agreat evening.”
“Yes, indeed. It’s been very amusing.”
“I’m awfully glad you looked me up.... Andsay, Jan, you like Ruthie, don’t you? Don’t you thinkshe’s a nice little woman? Not your style exactly,—noside, or anything like that,—but she’s a damnedagreeable little person, hey? ... You’re not sore atme now, are you, for that rotten trick I played onyou? I’d never have done it if it had been up to me.It was the lawyers, you know. They dug up the storyand put it over. I’d never have done it,—I swearto God, Jan, I wouldn’t! I’m—I’m sorry as the devil,now; by God, I am!”
“Let’s not talk about it, Martin; it’s all past andforgotten.”
“Well, that’s damned white of you, Jan,—damnedwhite! I always said you were a sensible woman.”
Jeannette turned and held out her hand.
“Aw, say,” Martin protested, “aren’t you going into the café with me and have some ginger ale or something?I hate to say good-night so soon. There’s alot of things I want to ask you. I’d like to keep thisevening going forever.”
But Jeannette’s one desire was to end it. Shewanted her room, to have the door shut and lockedbehind her, to be alone.
“I’m sorry, Martin——”
“Just a small glass of ginger ale?” he pleaded.
“Thank you, no, Martin; I think I’d better go up.”
“Well, am I not to see you again? You’re not going,until Sunday, are you?”
[Pg 506]
“I shall be busy to-morrow; I’m engaged all day.”
“How about to-morrow night?”
“I’m not free then either.”
A frown settled on the man’s face.
“Damn it ...” he began disgustedly. She continuedto smile pleasantly but offered no suggestion.
“Well, I’ll see you in New York some time soon,”he asserted finally; “I have to go up there once inawhile.”
“Yes, do that,” Jeannette said without enthusiasm.
“I’ll ’phone you? I’ll give you a ring at the office.”
“Yes, do that,” she repeated.
“Well, then, I guess I’d better say good-night.”
“Good-night, Martin.”
She turned toward the elevators, giving him a nodand a brief smile over her shoulder. As the gate ofthe cage slid shut, she caught another glimpse of him,standing where she had left him, perplexed, frowning,disconsolate,—staring after her.
§ 6
The train was crowded. Jeannette had chosen oneat midday, thinking to have her lunch in the dining-carand so beguile away part of the tedium of thetrip. It was Saturday; she had decided to return homeat once rather than wait until Sunday; there wasnothing to hold her in Philadelphia and she wasanxious to get back to the little apartment in WaverlyPlace. Many other travellers had apparently conceivedthe same idea of having the noon meal on theway, and Jeannette discovered there were no seatsleft in the chair-car, so she was obliged to share one[Pg 507]in a day coach with a short, plump lady with a prominentbust and short fat arms who sat up very straightbeside her and wheezed audibly at every breath.Jeannette’s heavy suit-case was stowed in front ofher, and pressed uncomfortably against her knees,while there was no place for her hat-box except inthe aisle where it was stumbled over and cursed byevery passing passenger. There were cinders embeddedin the plush covering of the seat, the car wasbadly ventilated and smelled of warm, crowdedhumanity. At Trenton, feeling dirty and dishevelled,she made a swaying progress toward the dining-caronly to find twenty people ahead of her. Disheartened,she returned to her seat, concluding to wait untilshe reached the city before she lunched. Perhaps shewould go directly home and persuade Beatrice to makeher some tea and toast.
The day was leaden, the country forlorn and dreary;the trees stood bare and black upon bare and blackenedground; the houses seemed cold, desolate andgrimy. It began to rain as the train slowed downthrough smoky Newark, and long diagonal streaks ofwater slashed the dirty window-panes. Waiting travellerson platforms huddled under station sheds orbent their heads and umbrellas against the sharp windand driving drops as they struggled toward the cars.The train grew steadily more crowded; people stoodin the aisles, swayed and were pitched against thosein the seats. Jeannette’s head began to ache dullyand at every knock or kick her offending hat-box receivedshe winced as though struck. In the tube beneaththe Hudson River, the train came to a standstilland there was a long wait; women grew nervous, and[Pg 508]a man said in a loud, laughing voice to a neighbor:
“Say, Bill, it’d be some pickings, all right, if theriver came in on us while we were stuck here.”
“Oh, Jesus Mary!” gasped the woman next to Jeannette,and for some minutes the wheeze of her breathingrose to a higher key.
Finally, with much whirring, jerking and dancing oflights, the train rolled into the Pennsylvania Station.
“I’ll go home and get into bed, and Beatrice willbring me some tea and toast,” Jeannette whispered toherself, cramped and weary, fighting the pain in herhead that grew steadily worse. She stumbled into ataxi-cab and went bumping and racketing down SeventhAvenue. The rain was now coming down in a forestof lances, and was driven in through the three-inchopening at the top of one of the windows. Jeannettetried to close it; her attempt was pitiful. The taxiskidded violently into Eighth Street and she wasthrown to her knees, her hat jammed against the oppositeside of the car.
“That’s all right, lady; nothin’ happened!” yelledthe driver.
“In five minutes!” breathed Jeannette, one handpressed hard against her breast.
Ah, here she was! Here she was, at last!
Her fingers shook as she fumbled with the key to thestreet door.
“Thank you, so much,” she said to the taxi-driverwho brought her bags up to the landing. She handedhim his fare. “Keep the change; I can manage therest.”
Inside, she grasped her luggage with either hand,and resolutely mounted the two long flights of stairs,[Pg 509]forcing herself to go to the top without pausing. Shewas panting, then, her head splitting.
She tried the apartment door; it was locked.
“Beatrice! Beatrice!” she called, rapping impatientlyupon the panels.
A faint mewing came to her ears. There was noother answer.
“Oh, God,—she’s out!” Her cry was almost a sob.Of course! it was still the Thanksgiving vacation;Beatrice would be with her cousins in Plainfield; shewouldn’t be home until Sunday night!
Jeannette fumbled for her door-key. There waslittle light and she was obliged to kneel before shecould find the hole in the lock. With a gasp she finallythrew open the door and stumbled into the flat. It wascold, unaired, deserted. Mitzi, tail on end, welcomedher with shrill, complaining cries.
“Oh, you baby you,” Jeannette said aloud, blinkingthrough her own distress and eyeing the cat.“You’ve been shut up in here since the day before yesterdayand you’re just about starving.”
Mitzi confirmed this with a wail. Jeannette scoopedthe animal up with a long arm and carried her into thekitchen. It was cold and bleak in here, too, smellingfoully of Mitzi’s incarceration.
A groan was wrung from Jeannette’s lips.
In the ice-box she found only a bowl half full ofpickled beets, a plate of butter, two rather shrivelledbananas, and a few pieces of dried toast. Sheclapped the kettle on the stove, lighted the gas, andstood caressing the cat until the water had warmed;then she moistened the toast and set it in a soup plateon the floor.
[Pg 510]
“Here, you poor critter, eat that until I get yousomething decent.” Mitzi leaped at the meal, jerkingthe food into her mouth, growling gluttonously.
Jeannette put her fingers to her head and watchedthe performance, breathing hard.
“I must,” she said aloud. “It won’t kill me.”
She went into her own room, laid aside her fur coat,put on an old mackintosh and felt hat, once more wentout into the rain, and presently dragged herself upthe stairs again with a bottle of milk and a bag ofprovisions.
Her temples throbbing and little streaks of paindarting through her eyeballs, she moved resolutelythrough the next few minutes. While the kettle washeating, she got herself into her kimona, and braidedher hair. Then she returned to the kitchen, mixed alarge bowl of bread and milk for the cat, and dutifullymade herself tea which she drank, munching betweensips some saltine crackers warmed in the oven.
Peace gradually descended upon her. Mitzi, repleteand satisfied, licked milk-stained whiskers, and eyedher comfortably from the floor. The pain in Jeannette’shead was less violent, but she was very cold.
“I’ll get a hot-water bottle and go to bed,” she said.“I think I’ll go crazy if I keep on this way.”
She proceeded to her room, made her bed, then commencedto unpack her bags and put away her things.When she was about finished, she came upon the furcoat where she had left it on a chair. She picked it upand stared at it, observing its brilliant silk lining, itssmooth, plushy surface, the soft texture of its fur collar.Suddenly she flung it from her into a far corneron the floor, and for a moment stood a tragic figure[Pg 511]with clenched hands, flashing eyes and heavingbreast.
There was a diversion,—a sound close at hand thatstartled her. Mitzi had jumped on the bed, and wasgazing up at her with head twisted to one side, glassyeyes fixed inquiringly upon her face, long tail alert,the tip waving gently. The cat opened her mouth andmewed plaintively. Jeannette relaxed, gathered theanimal into her arms, and slowly sank down upon thebed. Mitzi, nestling comfortably against her, beganto purr rhythmically. A slow trembling came to thewoman, and her fingers shook as they stroked Mitzi’sback. She fought desperately to check the gatheringtempest within her, and for a moment struggled withfirm pressed lips and shut teeth as the tears welledup into her eyes, rolled down her cheeks, and splashedupon her hand. Then suddenly the floodgates of herheart burst, grief overwhelmed her, and she sank sidewayson the bed, carrying the cat to her neck, cuddlingand stroking it, while burying her face against thesoft fur, and passionately sobbing:
“Oh, Mitzi—Mitzi! I love you so—I love you so!”
THE END
Transcriber's Notes:
A number of typographical errors have been corrected silently.
Second section numbered 11 of Chapter II of Book II renumbered to section 12.
Table of Contents was augmented with chapter numbers.
*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 65944 ***