Chapter XI
On a corner a glass-fronted building shed a yellow glare upon the
pavements. The open mouth of a saloon called seductively to
passengers to enter and annihilate sorrow or create rage.
The interior of the place was papered in olive and bronze tints of imitation
leather. A shining bar of counterfeit massiveness extended down the
side of the room. Behind it a great mahogany-appearing sideboard
reached the ceiling. Upon its shelves rested pyramids of shimmering
glasses that were never disturbed. Mirrors set in the face of the
sideboard multiplied them. Lemons, oranges and paper napkins,
arranged with mathematical precision, sat among the glasses. Many-hued
decanters of liquor perched at regular intervals on the lower shelves. A
nickel-plated cash register occupied a position in the exact centre of the
general effect. The elementary senses of it all seemed to be
opulence and geometrical accuracy.
Across from the bar a smaller counter held a collection of plates upon which
swarmed frayed fragments of crackers, slices of boiled ham, dishevelled bits of
cheese, and pickles swimming in vinegar.
An odor of grasping, begrimed hands and munching mouths pervaded.
Pete, in a white jacket, was behind the bar bending expectantly toward a quiet
stranger. "A beeh," said the man.
Pete drew a foam-topped glassful and set it dripping upon the bar.
At this moment the light bamboo doors at the entrance swung open and crashed
against the siding. Jimmie and a companion entered. They
swaggered unsteadily but belligerently toward the bar and looked at Pete with
bleared and blinking eyes.
"Gin," said Jimmie.
"Gin," said the companion.
Pete slid a bottle and two glasses along the bar. He bended his head
sideways as he assiduously polished away with a napkin at the gleaming
wood. He had a look of watchfulness upon his features.
Jimmie and his companion kept their eyes upon the bartender and conversed
loudly in tones of contempt.
"He's a dindy masher, ain't he, by Gawd?" laughed Jimmie.
"Oh, hell, yes," said the companion, sneering
widely. "He's great, he is. Git onto deh mug on deh
blokie. Dat's enough to make a feller turn hand-springs in 'is
sleep."
The quiet stranger moved himself and his glass a trifle further away and
maintained an attitude of oblivion.
"Gee! ain't he hot stuff!"
"Git onto his shape! Great Gawd!"
"Hey," cried Jimmie, in tones of command. Pete came along
slowly, with a sullen dropping of the under lip.
"Well," he growled, "what's eatin' yehs?"
"Gin," said Jimmie.
"Gin," said the companion.
As Pete confronted them with the bottle and the glasses, they laughed in his
face. Jimmie's companion, evidently overcome with merriment, pointed
a grimy forefinger in Pete's direction.
"Say, Jimmie," demanded he,
"what deh hell is dat behind deh bar?"
"Damned if I knows," replied Jimmie. They laughed
loudly. Pete put down a bottle with a
bang and turned a formidable face toward them. He disclosed his
teeth and his shoulders heaved restlessly.
"You fellers can't guy me," he said. "Drink yer stuff
an' git out an' don' make no trouble."
Instantly the laughter faded from the faces of the two men and expressions of
offended dignity immediately came.
"Who deh hell has said anyt'ing teh you," cried they in the same
breath.
The quiet stranger looked at the door calculatingly.
"Ah, come off," said Pete to the two men. "Don't pick
me up for no jay. Drink yer rum an' git out an' don' make no
trouble."
"Oh, deh hell," airily cried Jimmie.
"Oh, deh hell," airily repeated his companion.
"We goes when we git ready! See!" continued Jimmie.
"Well," said Pete in a threatening voice, "don' make no
trouble."
Jimmie suddenly leaned forward with his head on one side.
He snarled like a wild animal.
"Well, what if we does? See?" said he.
Dark blood flushed into Pete's face, and he shot a lurid glance at Jimmie.
"Well, den we'll see whose deh bes' man, you or me," he said.
The quiet stranger moved modestly toward the door.
Jimmie began to swell with valor.
"Don' pick me up fer no tenderfoot. When yeh tackles me yeh
tackles one of deh bes' men in deh city. See? I'm a
scrapper, I am. Ain't dat right, Billie?"
"Sure, Mike," responded his companion in tones of conviction.
"Oh, hell," said Pete, easily. "Go fall on
yerself."
The two men again began to laugh.
"What deh hell is dat talkin'?" cried the companion.
"Damned if I knows," replied Jimmie with exaggerated contempt.
Pete made a furious gesture. "Git outa here now, an' don' make
no trouble. See? Youse fellers er lookin' fer a scrap an'
it's damn likely yeh'll fin' one if yeh keeps on shootin' off yer mout's. I
know yehs! See? I kin lick better men dan yehs ever saw
in yer lifes. Dat's right! See? Don' pick me up fer no
stuff er yeh might be jolted
out in deh street before yeh knows where yeh is. When I comes from
behind dis bar, I t'rows yehs bote inteh deh street. See?"
"Oh, hell," cried the two men in chorus.
The glare of a panther came into Pete's eyes. "Dat's what I said!
Unnerstan'?"
He came through a passage at the end of the bar and swelled down upon the two
men. They stepped promptly forward and crowded close to him.
They bristled like three roosters. They moved their heads
pugnaciously and kept their shoulders braced. The nervous muscles
about each mouth twitched with a forced smile of mockery.
"Well, what deh hell yer goin' teh do?" gritted Jimmie.
Pete stepped warily back, waving his hands before him to keep the men from
coming too near.
"Well, what deh hell yer goin' teh do?" repeated Jimmie's ally. They
kept close to him, taunting and leering. They strove to make him
attempt the initial blow.
"Keep back, now! Don' crowd me," ominously said Pete.
Again they chorused in contempt. "Oh, hell!"
In a small, tossing group, the three men edged for positions like frigates
contemplating battle.
"Well, why deh hell don' yeh try teh t'row us out?" cried Jimmie and
his ally with copious sneers.
The bravery of bull-dogs sat upon the faces of the men. Their clenched fists moved like eager
weapons.
The allied two jostled the bartender's elbows, glaring at him with feverish
eyes and forcing him toward the wall.
Suddenly Pete swore redly. The flash of action gleamed from his
eyes. He threw back his arm and aimed a tremendous, lightning-like
blow at Jimmie's face. His foot swung a step forward and the weight
of his body was behind his fist. Jimmie ducked his head,
Bowery-like, with the quickness of a cat. The fierce, answering
blows of him and his ally crushed on Pete's bowed head.
The quiet stranger vanished.
The arms of the combatants whirled in the air like flails. The faces of the
men, at first flushed to flame-colored anger, now began to fade to the pallor
of warriors in the blood and heat of a battle. Their lips curled
back and stretched tightly over the gums in ghoul-like
grins. Through their white, gripped teeth struggled hoarse
whisperings of oaths. Their eyes glittered with murderous fire.
Each head was huddled between its owner's shoulders, and arms were swinging
with marvelous rapidity. Feet scraped to and fro with a loud
scratching sound upon the sanded floor. Blows left crimson blotches
upon pale skin. The curses of the first quarter minute of the fight
died away. The breaths of the fighters came
wheezingly from their lips and the three chests were straining and
heaving. Pete at intervals gave vent to low, labored hisses, that
sounded like a desire to kill. Jimmie's ally gibbered at times like
a wounded aniac. Jimmie was silent, fighting with the face of a
sacrificial priest. The rage of fear shone in all their eyes and
their blood-colored fists swirled.
At a tottering moment a blow from Pete's hand struck the ally and he crashed to
the floor. He wriggled instantly to his feet and grasping the quiet
stranger's beer glass from the bar, hurled it at Pete's head.
High on the wall it burst like a bomb, shivering fragments flying in all
directions. Then missiles came to every man's hand. The place had
heretofore appeared free of things to throw, but suddenly glass and bottles
went singing through the air. They were thrown point blank at
bobbing heads. The pyramid of shimmering
glasses, that had never been disturbed, changed to cascades as heavy bottles
were flung into them. Mirrors splintered to nothing.
The three frothing creatures on the floor buried themselves in a frenzy for
blood. There followed in the wake of missiles and fists some unknown
prayers, perhaps for death.
The quiet stranger had sprawled very pyrotechnically out on the sidewalk. A
laugh ran up and down the avenue for the half of a block.
"Dey've trowed a bloke inteh deh street."
People heard the sound of breaking glass and shuffling feet within the saloon
and came running. A small group, bending down to look under the
bamboo doors, watching the fall of glass, and three pairs of violent legs,
changed in a moment to a crowd.
A policeman came charging down the sidewalk and bounced through the doors into
the saloon. The crowd bended and surged in absorbing anxiety to see.
Jimmie caught first sight of the on-coming interruption. On his feet
he had the same regard for a policeman that, when on his truck, he had for a
fire engine. He howled and ran for the side door.
The officer made a terrific advance, club in hand. One comprehensive
sweep of the long night stick threw the ally to the floor and forced Pete to a
corner. With his disengaged hand he made a furious effort at
Jimmie's coat-tails. Then he regained his balance and paused.
"Well, well, you are a pair of pictures. What in hell yeh been
up to?"
Jimmie, with his face drenched in blood, escaped up a side street, pursued a
short distance by some of the more law-loving, or excited individuals of the
crowd.
Later, from a corner safely dark, he saw the policeman, the ally and the
bartender emerge from the saloon. Pete locked the doors and then
followed up the avenue in the rear of the crowd-encompassed policeman and his
charge.
On first thoughts Jimmie, with his heart throbbing at battle heat, started to
go desperately to the rescue of his friend, but he halted.
"Ah, what deh hell?" he demanded of himself.
Chapter XII
In a hall of irregular shape sat Pete and Maggie drinking beer. A
submissive orchestra dictated to by a spectacled man with frowsy hair and a
dress suit, industriously followed the bobs of his head and the waves of his
baton. A ballad singer, in a dress of flaming scarlet, sang in the
inevitable voice of brass. When she vanished, men seated at the
tables near the front applauded loudly, pounding the polished wood with their
beer glasses. She returned attired in less gown, and sang
again. She received another enthusiastic encore. She
reappeared in still less gown and danced. The deafening rumble of
glasses and clapping of hands that
followed her exit indicated an overwhelming desire to have her come on for the
fourth time, but the curiosity of the audience was not gratified.
Maggie was pale. From her eyes had been plucked all look of
self-reliance. She leaned with a dependent air toward her
companion. She was timid, as if fearing his anger or
displeasure. She seemed to beseech
tenderness of him.
Pete's air of distinguished valor had grown upon him until it threatened
stupendous dimensions. He was infinitely gracious to the girl. It
was apparent to her that his condescension was a marvel. He could appear to
strut even while sitting still and he showed that he was a lion of lordly
characteristics by the air with which he spat.
With Maggie gazing at him wonderingly, he took pride in commanding the waiters
who were, however, indifferent or deaf.
"Hi, you, git a russle on yehs! What deh hell yehs lookin' at?
Two more beehs, d'yeh hear?"
He leaned back and critically regarded the person of a girl with a
straw-colored wig who upon the stage was flinging her heels in somewhat awkward
imitation of a well-known danseuse.
At times Maggie told Pete long confidential tales of her former home life,
dwelling upon the escapades of the other members of the family and the
difficulties she had to combat in order to obtain a degree of
comfort. He responded in tones of philanthropy. He pressed her arm with an air of reassuring
proprietorship.
"Dey was damn jays," he said, denouncing the mother and brother.
The sound of the music which, by the efforts of the frowsy-headed leader,
drifted to her ears through the smoke-filled atmosphere, made the girl
dream. She thought of her former Rum Alley environment and turned to
regard Pete's strong protecting fists. She thought of the collar and
cuff manufactory and the eternal moan of the proprietor: "What een hell do
you sink I pie fife dolla a week for? Play? No, py
damn." She contemplated
Pete's man-subduing eyes and noted that wealth and prosperity was indicated by
his clothes. She imagined a future, rose-tinted, because of its
distance from all that she previously had experienced.
As to the present she perceived only vague reasons to be
miserable. Her life was Pete's and she considered him worthy of the
charge. She would be disturbed by no particular apprehensions, so
long as Pete adored her as he now said he did. She did not feel like
a bad woman. To her knowledge she had never seen any better.
At times men at other tables regarded the girl furtively. Pete, aware of it, nodded at her and grinned. He
felt proud.
"Mag, yer a bloomin' good-looker," he remarked, studying her face
through the haze. The men made Maggie fear, but she blushed at
Pete's words as it became apparent to her that she was the apple of his eye.
Grey-headed men, wonderfully pathetic in their dissipation, stared at her
through clouds. Smooth-cheeked boys, some of them with faces of
stone and mouths of sin, not nearly so pathetic as the grey heads, tried to
find the girl's eyes in the smoke wreaths.
Maggie considered she was not what they thought her. She
confined
her glances to Pete and the stage.
The orchestra played negro melodies and a versatile drummer pounded, whacked,
clattered and scratched on a dozen machines to make noise.
Those glances of the men, shot at Maggie from under half-closed lids, made her
tremble. She thought them all to be worse men than Pete.
"Come, let's go," she said.
As they went out Maggie perceived two women seated at a table with some
men. They were painted and their cheeks had lost their
roundness. As she passed them the girl, with a shrinking movement,
drew back her skirts.
Chapter XIII
Jimmie did not return home for a number of days after the fight with Pete
in the saloon. When he did, he approached with extreme caution.
He found his mother raving. Maggie had not returned home. The parent
continually wondered how her daughter could come to such a pass. She
had never considered Maggie as a pearl dropped unstained into Rum Alley from
Heaven, but she could not conceive how it was possible for her daughter to fall
so low as to bring
disgrace upon her family. She was terrific in denunciation of the
girl's wickedness.
The fact that the neighbors talked of it, maddened her. When women
came in, and in the course of their conversation casually asked, "Where's
Maggie dese days?" the mother shook her fuzzy head at them and appalled
them with curses. Cunning hints inviting confidence she rebuffed
with violence.
"An' wid all deh bringin' up she had, how could she?" moaningly she asked of her
son. "Wid all deh talkin' wid her I did an' deh t'ings I tol'
her to remember? When a girl is bringed up deh way I bringed up
Maggie, how kin she go teh deh devil?"
Jimmie was transfixed by these questions. He could not conceive how
under the circumstances his mother's daughter and his sister could have been so
wicked. His mother took a drink from a
squdgy bottle that sat on the table. She continued her lament.
"She had a bad heart, dat girl did, Jimmie. She was wicked teh
deh heart an' we never knowed it."
Jimmie nodded, admitting the fact.
"We lived in deh same house wid her an' I brought her up an' we never
knowed how bad she was."
Jimmie nodded again.
"Wid a home like dis an' a mudder like me, she went teh deh bad,"
cried the mother, raising her eyes.
One day, Jimmie came home, sat down in a chair and began to wriggle about with
a new and strange nervousness. At last he spoke shamefacedly.
"Well, look-a-here, dis t'ing queers us! See? We're
queered! An' maybe it 'ud be better if I--well, I t'ink I kin look 'er up
an'--maybe it 'ud be better if I fetched her home an'--"
The mother started from her chair and broke forth into a storm
of passionate anger.
"What! Let 'er come an' sleep under deh same roof wid her
mudder agin! Oh, yes, I will, won't
I? Sure? Shame on yehs, Jimmie Johnson, for sayin' such a
t'ing teh yer own mudder--teh yer
own mudder! Little did I t'ink when yehs was a babby playin' about
me feet dat ye'd grow up teh say sech a t'ing teh yer mudder—yer own mudder. I
never taut--"
Sobs choked her and interrupted her reproaches.
"Dere ain't nottin' teh raise sech hell about," said Jimmie. "I
on'y says it 'ud be better if we keep dis t'ing dark, see? It queers
us! See?"
His mother laughed a laugh that seemed to ring through the city and be echoed
and re-echoed by countless other laughs. "Oh, yes, I will, won't
I! Sure!"
"Well, yeh must take me fer a damn fool," said Jimmie, indignant at
his mother for mocking him. "I didn't say we'd make 'er inteh a
little tin angel, ner nottin', but deh way it is now she can queer
us! Don' che see?"
"Aye, she'll git tired of deh life atter a while an' den she'll wanna be
a-comin' home, won' she, deh beast! I'll let 'er in den, won'
I?"
"Well, I didn' mean none of dis prod'gal bus'ness anyway," explained
Jimmie.
"It wasn't no prod'gal dauter, yeh damn fool," said the
mother. "It was prod'gal son, anyhow."
"I know dat," said Jimmie.
For a time they sat in silence. The mother's eyes gloated on a scene
her imagination could call before her. Her lips were set in a
vindictive smile.
"Aye, she'll cry, won' she, an' carry on, an' tell how Pete, or some odder
feller, beats 'er an' she'll say she's sorry an' all dat an' she ain't happy,
she ain't, an' she wants to come home agin, she does."
With grim humor, the mother imitated the possible wailing notes of the
daughter's voice.
"Den I'll take 'er in, won't I, deh beast. She kin cry 'er two
eyes out on deh stones of deh street before I'll dirty deh place wid her. She
abused an' ill-treated her own mudder--her own mudder what loved her an' she'll
never git anodder chance dis side of hell."
Jimmie thought he had a great idea of women's frailty, but he could not
understand why any of his kin should be victims.
"Damn her," he fervidly said.
Again he wondered vaguely if some of the women of his acquaintance had
brothers. Nevertheless, his mind did not for an instant confuse
himself with those brothers nor his sister with theirs. After the mother had,
with great difficulty, suppressed the neighbors, she went among them and
proclaimed her grief. "May Gawd forgive dat girl," was her continual
cry. To attentive ears she recited the whole length and breadth of
her woes.
"I bringed 'er up deh way a dauter oughta be bringed up an' dis is how she
served me! She went teh deh devil deh first chance she
got! May Gawd forgive her."
When arrested for drunkenness she used the story of her daughter's downfall
with telling effect upon the police justices.
Finally one of them said to her, peering down over his spectacles:
"Mary, the records of this and other courts show that you are the mother
of forty-two daughters who have been ruined. The case is
unparalleled in the annals of this court, and this court thinks--"
The mother went through life shedding large tears of sorrow. Her red face was a
picture of agony.
Of course Jimmie publicly damned his sister that he might appear on a higher
social plane. But, arguing with himself, sumbling about in ways that
he knew not, he, once, almost came to the conclusion that his sister would have
been more firmly good had she better known why. However, he felt
that he could not hold such a view. He threw it hastily aside.
Chapter XIV
In a hilarious hall there were twenty-eight tables and twenty-eight women
and a crowd of smoking men. Valiant noise was made on a stage at the
end of the hall by an orchestra composed of men who
looked as if they had just happened in. Soiled waiters ran to and
fro, swooping down like hawks on the unwary in the throng; clattering along the
aisles with trays covered with glasses; stumbling over women's skirts and
charging two prices for everything but beer, all with a swiftness that blurred
the view of the cocoanut palms and dusty monstrosities painted upon the walls of
the room. A bouncer, with an immense load of business upon his
hands, plunged about in the crowd, dragging bashful strangers to prominent
chairs, ordering waiters here and there and quarreling furiously with men who
wanted to sing with the orchestra.
The usual smoke cloud was present, but so dense that heads and arms seemed
entangled in it. The rumble of conversation was replaced by a
roar. Plenteous oaths heaved through the air. The room rang with the
shrill voices of women bubbling o'er with drink-laughter. The chief
element in the music of the orchestra
was speed. The musicians played in intent fury. A woman
was singing and smiling upon the stage, but no one took notice of her. The rate
at which the piano, cornet and violins were going, seemed to impart wildness to
the half-drunken crowd. Beer glasses were emptied at a gulp and
conversation became a rapid chatter. The smoke eddied and swirled like a
shadowy river hurrying toward some unseen falls. Pete and Maggie
entered the hall and took chairs at a table near the door. The woman
who was seated there made an attempt to occupy Pete's attention and, failing,
went away.
Three weeks had passed since the girl had left home. The air of
spaniel-like dependence had been magnified and showed its direct effect in the
peculiar off-handedness and ease of Pete's ways toward her.
She followed Pete's eyes with hers, anticipating with smiles gracious looks
from him.
A woman of brilliance and audacity, accompanied by a mere boy, came into the
place and took seats near them.
At once Pete sprang to his feet, his face beaming with glad surprise.
"By Gawd, there's Nellie," he cried.
He went over to the table and held out an eager hand to the woman.
"Why, hello, Pete, me boy, how are you," said she, giving him her
fingers.
Maggie took instant note of the woman. She perceived that her black
dress fitted her to perfection. Her linen collar and cuffs were
spotless. Tan gloves were stretched over her well-shaped
hands. A hat of a prevailing fashion perched jauntily upon her dark
hair. She wore no jewelry and was painted with no apparent
paint. She looked clear-eyed through the stares of the men.
"Sit down, and call your lady-friend over," she said cordially to
Pete.
At his beckoning Maggie came and sat between Pete and the mere boy.
"I thought yeh were gone away fer good," began Pete, at once.
"When did yeh git back? How did dat Buff'lo bus'ness turn
out?"
The woman shrugged her shoulders. "Well, he didn't have as many
stamps as he tried to make out, so I shook him, that's all."
"Well, I'm glad teh see yehs back in deh city," said Pete, with
awkward gallantry.
He and the woman entered into a long conversation, exchanging reminiscences of
days together. Maggie sat still, unable to formulate an intelligent
sentence upon the conversation and painfully aware of it.
She saw Pete's eyes sparkle as he gazed upon the handsome
stranger. He listened smilingly to all she said. The
woman was familiar with all his affairs, asked him about mutual friends, and
knew the amount of his salary.
She paid no attention to Maggie, looking toward her once or twice and
apparently seeing the wall beyond.
The mere boy was sulky. In the beginning he had welcomed with
acclamations the additions.
"Let's all have a drink! What'll you take, Nell? And
you, Miss what's-your-name. Have a drink, Mr. -----, you, I
mean."
He had shown a sprightly desire to do the talking for the company and tell all
about his family. In a loud voice he declaimed on various
topics. He assumed a patronizing air toward Pete. As Maggie was silent, he paid no attention
to her. He made a great show of lavishing wealth upon the woman of
brilliance and audacity.
"Do keep still, Freddie! You gibber like an ape, dear,"
said the woman to him. She turned away and devoted her attention to
Pete.
"We'll have many a good time together again, eh?"
"Sure, Mike," said Pete, enthusiastic at once.
"Say," whispered she, leaning forward, "let's go over to
Billie's and have a heluva time."
"Well, it's dis way! See?" said Pete. I got dis
lady frien' here."
"Oh, t'hell with her," argued the woman.
Pete appeared disturbed.
"All right," said she, nodding her head at him. "All
right for you! We'll see the next time you ask me to go anywheres with
you." Pete squirmed.
"Say," he said, beseechingly, "come wid me a minit an' I'll tell
yer why."
The woman waved her hand.
"Oh, that's all right, you needn't explain, you know. You
wouldn't come merely because you wouldn't come, that's all there is of
it."
To Pete's visible distress she turned to the mere boy, bringing him speedily
from a terrific rage. He had been debating whether it would be the
part of a man to pick a quarrel with Pete, or would he be justified in striking
him savagely with his beer glass without warning. But he recovered
himself when the woman turned to renew her smilings. He beamed upon
her with an expression that was somewhat tipsy and inexpressibly tender.
"Say, shake that Bowery jay," requested he, in a loud whisper.
"Freddie, you are so droll," she replied.
Pete reached forward and touched the woman on the arm.
"Come out a minit while I tells yeh why I can't go wid yer.
Yer doin' me dirt, Nell! I never taut ye'd do me dirt, Nell. Come
on, will yer?" He spoke in tones of injury.
"Why, I don't see why I should be interested in your explanations,"
said the woman, with a coldness that seemed to reduce Pete to a pulp.
His eyes pleaded with her. "Come out a minit while I tells
yeh."
The woman nodded slightly at Maggie and the mere boy, "'Scuse me."
The mere boy interrupted his loving smile and turned a shriveling glare upon
Pete. His boyish countenance flushed and he spoke, in a whine, to
the woman:
"Oh, I say, Nellie, this ain't a square deal, you know. You
aren't goin' to leave me and go off with that duffer, are you? I
should think--"
"Why, you dear boy, of course I'm not," cried the woman,
affectionately. She bended over and whispered in his ear. He smiled
again and settled in his chair as if resolved to wait patiently.
As the woman walked down between the rows of tables, Pete was at her shoulder
talking earnestly, apparently in explanation.
The woman waved her hands with studied airs of indifference.
The doors swung behind them, leaving Maggie and the mere boy seated at the
table.
Maggie was dazed. She could dimly perceive that something stupendous had happened. She
wondered why Pete saw fit to remonstrate with the woman, pleading for
forgiveness with his eyes. She thought
she noted an air of submission about her leonine Pete.
She was astounded.
The mere boy occupied himself with cock-tails and a cigar. He was
tranquilly silent for half an hour. Then he bestirred himself and
spoke.
"Well," he said, sighing, "I knew this was the way it would
be."
There was another stillness. The mere boy seemed to be musing.
"She was pulling m'leg. That's the whole amount of it," he
said, suddenly. "It's a bloomin' shame the way that girl
does.
Why, I've spent over two dollars in drinks to-night. And she goes
off with that plug-ugly who looks as if he had been hit in the face with a
coin-die. I call it rocky treatment for a fellah like me. Here, waiter, bring me a cock-tail and make
it damned strong."
Maggie made no reply. She was watching the
doors. "It's a mean piece of business," complained the
mere boy. He explained to her how amazing it was that anybody should
treat him in such a manner. "But I'll get square with her, you
bet. She won't get far ahead of yours truly, you know," he
added, winking. "I'll tell her
plainly that it was bloomin' mean business. And she won't come it
over me with any of her 'now-Freddie-dears.' She thinks my name is
Freddie, you know, but of course it ain't. I always tell these
people some name like that, because if they got onto your right name they might
use it sometime. Understand? Oh, they don't fool me
much."
Maggie was paying no attention, being intent upon the doors. The mere boy
relapsed into a period of gloom, during which he exterminated a number of
cock-tails with a determined air, as if replying defiantly to fate. He
occasionally broke forth into sentences composed of invectives joined together
in a long string.
The girl was still staring at the doors. After a time the mere boy
began to see cobwebs just in front of his nose.
He spurred himself into being agreeable and insisted upon her having a
charlotte-russe and a glass of beer.
"They's gone," he remarked, "they's gone." He
looked at her through the smoke wreaths. "Shay, lil' girl, we
mightish well make bes' of it. You ain't such bad-lookin' girl,
y'know. Not half bad. Can't come up to Nell,
though. No, can't do it! Well, I should shay
not! Nell fine-lookin' girl! F--i--n--ine. You
look damn bad longsider her, but by y'self ain't so bad. Have to do
anyhow. Nell gone. On'y you left. Not half
bad, though."
Maggie stood up.
"I'm going home," she said.
The mere boy started.
"Eh? What? Home," he cried, struck with
amazement.
"I beg pardon, did hear say home?"
"I'm going home," she repeated.
"Great Gawd, what hava struck," demanded the mere boy of himself,
stupefied.
In a semi-comatose state he conducted her on board an up-town car,
ostentatiously paid her fare, leered kindly at her through the rear window and
fell off the steps.
Chapter XV
A forlorn woman went along a lighted avenue. The street was
filled with people desperately bound on missions. An endless crowd
darted at the elevated station stairs and the horse cars were thronged with
owners of bundles.
The pace of the forlorn woman was slow. She was apparently searching
for some one. She loitered near the doors of saloons and watched men
emerge from them. She scanned furtively the faces in the rushing
stream of pedestrians. Hurrying men, bent on catching some boat or
train, jostled her elbows, failing to notice her,
their thoughts fixed on distant dinners.
The forlorn woman had a peculiar face. Her smile was no
smile. But when in repose her features had a shadowy look that was
like a sardonic grin, as if some one had sketched with cruel forefinger
indelible lines about her mouth.
Jimmie came strolling up the avenue. The woman encountered him with
an aggrieved air.
"Oh, Jimmie, I've been lookin' all over fer yehs--," she began.
Jimmie made an impatient gesture and quickened his pace.
"Ah, don't bodder me! Good Gawd!" he said, with the
savageness of a man whose life is pestered.
The woman followed him along the sidewalk in somewhat the manner of a
suppliant.
"But, Jimmie," she said, "yehs told me ye'd--"
Jimmie turned upon her fiercely as if resolved to make a last stand for comfort
and peace.
"Say, fer Gawd's sake, Hattie, don' foller me from one end of deh city teh
deh odder. Let up, will yehs! Give me a minute's res',
can't yehs? Yehs makes me tired, allus taggin' me. See? Ain' yehs got no sense. Do yehs
want people teh get onto me? Go chase yerself, fer Gawd's sake."
The woman stepped closer and laid her fingers on his arm. "But, look-a-here--"
Jimmie snarled. "Oh, go teh hell."
He darted into the front door of a convenient saloon and a moment later came
out into the shadows that surrounded the side door. On the
brilliantly lighted avenue he perceived the forlorn woman dodging about like a
scout. Jimmie laughed with an air of relief and went away.
When he arrived home he found his mother clamoring. Maggie had returned. She stood shivering beneath the
torrent of her mother's wrath.
"Well, I'm damned," said Jimmie in greeting.
His mother, tottering about the room, pointed a quivering forefinger.
"Lookut her, Jimmie, lookut her. Dere's yer sister, boy. Dere's yer sister. Lookut
her! Lookut her!"
She screamed in scoffing laughter.
The girl stood in the middle of the room. She edged about as if
unable to find a place on the floor to put her feet.
"Ha, ha, ha," bellowed the mother. "Dere she
stands! Ain' she purty? Lookut her! Ain' she
sweet, deh beast? Lookut her!
Ha, ha, lookut her!"
She lurched forward and put her red and seamed hands upon her daughter's
face. She bent down and peered keenly up into the eyes of the girl.
"Oh, she's jes' dessame as she ever was, ain' she? She's her
mudder's purty darlin' yit, ain' she? Lookut her,
Jimmie! Come here, fer Gawd's sake, and lookut her."
The loud, tremendous sneering of the mother brought the denizens of the Rum
Alley tenement to their doors. Women came in the
hallways. Children scurried to and fro.
"What's up? Dat Johnson party on anudder tear?"
"Naw! Young Mag's come home!"
"Deh hell yeh say?"
Through the open door curious eyes stared in at Maggie. Children ventured into
the room and ogled her, as if they formed the front row at a
theatre. Women, without, bended toward each other and whispered,
nodding their heads with airs of profound
philosophy. A baby, overcome with curiosity concerning this
object
at which all were looking, sidled forward and touched her dress, cautiously, as
if investigating a red-hot stove. Its mother's voice rang out like a
warning trumpet. She rushed forward and grabbed her child, casting a
terrible look of indignation at the girl.
Maggie's mother paced to and fro, addressing the doorful of eyes, expounding
like a glib showman at a museum. Her voice rang through the
building.
"Dere she stands," she cried, wheeling suddenly and pointing with
dramatic finger. "Dere she stands! Lookut
her! Ain' she a dindy? An' she was so good as to come
home teh her mudder, she was! Ain' she a beaut'? Ain' she
a dindy? Fer Gawd's sake!"
The jeering cries ended in another burst of shrill laughter.
The girl seemed to awaken. "Jimmie--"
He drew hastily back from her.
"Well, now, yer a hell of a t'ing, ain' yeh?" he said, his lips
curling in scorn. Radiant virtue sat upon his brow and his repelling
hands expressed horror of contamination.
Maggie turned and went.
The crowd at the door fell back precipitately. A baby falling down
in front of the door, wrenched a scream like a wounded animal from its
mother. Another woman sprang forward and picked it up, with a
chivalrous air, as if rescuing a human being from an oncoming express train.
As the girl passed down through the hall, she went before open doors framing
more eyes strangely microscopic, and sending broad beams of inquisitive light
into the darkness of her path. On the second floor she met the
gnarled old woman who possessed the music box.
"So," she cried, "'ere yehs are back again, are
yehs? An' dey've kicked yehs out? Well, come in an' stay
wid me teh-night. I ain' got no moral
standin'."
From above came an unceasing babble of tongues, over all of which rang the
mother's derisive laughter.
Chapter
16
Chapter XVI
Pete did not consider that he had ruined Maggie. If he had thought
that her soul could never smile again, he would have believed the mother and
brother, who were pyrotechnic over the affair, to be responsible for it.
Besides, in his world, souls did not insist upon being able to smile.
"What deh hell?"
He felt a trifle entangled. It distressed
him. Revelations and scenes might bring upon him the wrath of the
owner of the saloon, who insisted upon respectability of an advanced type.
"What deh hell do dey wanna raise such a smoke about it fer?"
demanded he of himself, disgusted with the attitude of the family. He saw no necessity for anyone's losing
their equilibrium merely because their sister or their daughter had stayed away
from home.
Searching about in his mind for possible reasons for their conduct, he came
upon the conclusion that Maggie's motives were correct, but that the two others
wished to snare him. He felt pursued.
The woman of brilliance and audacity whom he had met in the hilarious hall
showed a disposition to ridicule him.
"A little pale thing with no spirit," she said. "Did
you note the expression of her eyes? There was something in them
about pumpkin pie and virtue. That is a peculiar way the left corner
of her mouth has of twitching, isn't it? Dear, dear, my cloud-
compelling Pete, what are you coming to?"
Pete asserted at once that he never was very much interested in the
girl. The woman interrupted him, laughing.
"Oh, it's not of the slightest consequence to me, my dear young man. You needn't draw maps for my
benefit. Why should I be concerned about it?"
But Pete continued with his explanations. If he was laughed at for
his tastes in women, he felt obliged to say that they were only temporary or
indifferent ones.
The morning after Maggie had departed from home, Pete stood behind the
bar. He was immaculate in white jacket and apron and his hair was
plastered over his brow with infinite correctness. No customers were in the
place. Pete was twisting his napkined fist slowly in a beer glass,
softly whistling to himself and
occasionally holding the object of his attention between his eyes and a few
weak beams of sunlight that had found their way over the thick screens and into
the shaded room.
With lingering thoughts of the woman of brilliance and audacity, the bartender
raised his head and stared through the varying cracks between the swaying
bamboo doors. Suddenly the whistling pucker faded from his
lips. He saw Maggie walking slowly past. He gave a great
start, fearing for the previously-mentioned eminent respectability of the
place.
He threw a swift, nervous glance about him, all at once feeling
guilty. No one was in the room.
He went hastily over to the side door. Opening it and looking out,
he perceived Maggie standing, as if undecided, on the corner. She was searching the place with her eyes.
As she turned her face toward him Pete beckoned to her hurriedly, intent upon
returning with speed to a position behind the bar and to the atmosphere of
respectability upon which the proprietor insisted.
Maggie came to him, the anxious look disappearing from her face and a smile
wreathing her lips.
"Oh, Pete--," she began brightly.
The bartender made a violent gesture of impatience.
"Oh, my Gawd," cried he, vehemently. "What deh hell
do yeh wanna hang aroun' here fer? Do yeh wanna git me inteh
trouble?" he demanded with an air of injury.
Astonishment swept over the girl's features. "Why, Pete! yehs
tol' me--"
Pete glanced profound irritation. His countenance reddened with the
anger of a man whose respectability is being threatened.
"Say, yehs makes me tired. See? What deh hell deh
yeh wanna tag aroun' atter me fer? Yeh'll git me inteh trouble wid
deh ol' man an' dey'll be hell teh pay! If he sees a woman roun'
here he'll go crazy an' I'll lose me job! See? Yer
brudder come in here an' raised hell an' deh ol' man hada put up fer
it! An' now
I'm done! See? I'm done."
The girl's eyes stared into his face. "Pete, don't yeh
remem--"
"Oh, hell," interrupted Pete, anticipating.
The girl seemed to have a struggle with herself. She was apparently
bewildered and could not find speech. Finally she asked in a low
voice: "But where kin I go?"
The question exasperated Pete beyond the powers of endurance. It was a direct attempt to give him some
responsibility in a matter that did not concern him. In his
indignation he volunteered information.
"Oh, go teh hell," cried he. He slammed the door furiously
and returned, with an air of relief, to his respectability.
Maggie went away.
She wandered aimlessly for several blocks. She stopped once and
asked aloud a question of herself: "Who?"
A man who was passing near her shoulder, humorously took the questioning word
as intended for him.
"Eh? What? Who? Nobody! I
didn't say anything," he laughingly said, and continued his way.
Soon the girl discovered that if she walked with such apparent aimlessness,
some men looked at her with calculating eyes. She quickened her step,
frightened. As a protection, she adopted a demeanor of intentness as
if going somewhere.
After a time she left rattling avenues and passed between rows of houses with
sternness and stolidity stamped upon their features. She hung her head for she
felt their eyes grimly upon her.
Suddenly she came upon a stout gentleman in a silk hat and a chaste black coat,
whose decorous row of buttons reached from his chin to his
knees. The girl had heard of the Grace of God and she decided to
approach this man.
His beaming, chubby face was a picture of benevolence and kind-heartedness. His
eyes shone good-will.
But as the girl timidly accosted him, he gave a convulsive movement and saved
his respectability by a vigorous side-step. He did not risk it to save a
soul. For how was he to know that there was a soul before him that
needed saving?
Chapter XIX
In a room a woman sat at a table eating like a fat monk in a picture.
A soiled, unshaven man pushed open the door and entered.
"Well," said he, "Mag's dead."
"What?" said the woman, her mouth filled with bread.
"Mag's dead," repeated the man.
"Deh hell she is," said the woman. She continued her
meal. When she finished her coffee she
began to weep.
"I kin remember when her two feet was no bigger dan yer t'umb, and she
weared worsted boots," moaned she.
"Well, whata dat?" said the man.
"I kin remember when she weared worsted boots," she cried.
The neighbors began to gather in the hall, staring in at the weeping woman as
if watching the contortions of a dying dog. A dozen women entered
and lamented with her. Under their busy hands the rooms took on that
appalling appearance of neatness and order with which death is greeted.
Suddenly the door opened and a woman in a black gown rushed in with
outstretched arms. "Ah, poor Mary," she cried, and
tenderly embraced the moaning one.
"Ah, what ter'ble affliction is dis," continued she. Her
vocabulary was derived from mission churches. "Me poor Mary,
how I feel fer yehs! Ah, what a ter'ble affliction is a disobed'ent
chil'."
Her good, motherly face was wet with tears. She trembled in
eagerness to express her sympathy. The mourner sat with bowed head,
rocking her body heavily to and fro, and crying out in a high, strained voice
that sounded like a dirge on some forlorn pipe.
"I kin remember when she weared worsted boots an' her two feets was no
bigger dan yer t'umb an' she weared worsted boots, Miss Smith," she cried,
raising her streaming eyes.
"Ah, me poor Mary," sobbed the woman in black. With low,
coddling cries, she sank on her knees by the mourner's chair, and put her arms
about her. The other women began to groan in different keys.
"Yer poor misguided chil' is gone now, Mary, an' let us hope it's fer deh
bes'. Yeh'll fergive her now, Mary, won't yehs, dear, all her
disobed'ence? All her t'ankless behavior to her mudder an' all her
badness? She's gone where her ter'ble sins will be judged."
The woman in black raised her face and paused. The inevitable
sunlight came streaming in at the windows and shed a ghastly cheerfulness upon
the faded hues of the room. Two or three of the spectators were
sniffling, and one was loudly weeping. The mourner arose and
staggered into the other room. In a moment she emerged with a pair
of faded baby shoes held in the hollow of her hand.
"I kin remember when she used to wear dem," cried she. The women
burst anew into cries as if they had all been stabbed. The mourner turned to
the soiled and unshaven man.
"Jimmie, boy, go git yer sister! Go git yer sister an' we'll
put deh boots on her feets!"
"Dey won't fit her now, yeh damn fool," said the man.
"Go git yer sister, Jimmie," shrieked the woman, confronting him
fiercely.
The man swore sullenly. He went over to a corner and slowly began to
put on his coat. He took his hat and went out, with a dragging,
reluctant step.
The woman in black came forward and again besought the mourner.
"Yeh'll fergive her, Mary! Yeh'll fergive yer bad, bad,
chil'! Her life was a curse an' her days were black an' yeh'll
fergive yer bad girl? She's gone where her sins will be
judged."
"She's gone where her sins will be judged," cried the other women,
like a choir at a funeral.
"Deh Lord gives and deh Lord takes away," said the woman in black,
raising her eyes to the sunbeams.
"Deh Lord gives and deh Lord takes away," responded the others.
"Yeh'll fergive her, Mary!" pleaded the woman in
black. The mourner essayed to speak but her voice gave
way. She shook her great shoulders frantically, in an agony of grief. Hot
tears seemed to scald her quivering face. Finally her voice came and
arose like a scream of pain.
"Oh, yes, I'll fergive her! I'll fergive her!"