[Illustration: HE CAPERED THROUGH THE MELODY OF DVORÀK'S, WHICH IS ASIRONIC AS A GRINNING MASK]

 HUMORESQUE

 A LAUGH ON LIFE WITH A TEAR BEHIND IT

 By FANNIE HURST

 1920

CONTENTS

HUMORESQUEOATS FOR THE WOMANA PETAL ON THE CURRENTWHITE GOODS"HEADS"A BOOB SPELLED BACKWARDEVEN AS YOU AND ITHE WRONG PEW

HUMORESQUE

On either side of the Bowery, which cuts through like a drain to catchits sewage, Every Man's Land, a reeking march of humanity and humidity, steams with the excrement of seventeen languages, flung in _patois_ fromtenement windows, fire escapes, curbs, stoops, and cellars whose wallsare terrible and spongy with fungi. 

By that impregnable chemistry of race whereby the red blood of theMongolian and the red blood of the Caucasian become as oil and water inthe mingling, Mulberry Street, bounded by sixteen languages, runs itsintact Latin length of pushcarts, clotheslines, naked babies, dryingvermicelli; black-eyed women in rhinestone combs and perennially bigwith child; whole families of buttonhole-makers, who first saw theblue-and-gold light of Sorrento, bent at home work round a single gasflare; pomaded barbers of a thousand Neapolitan amours. And then, justas suddenly, almost without osmosis and by the mere stepping down fromthe curb, Mulberry becomes Mott Street, hung in grillwork balconies, themoldy smell of poverty touched up with incense. Orientals whose feetshuffle and whose faces are carved out of satinwood. Forbidden women, their white, drugged faces behind upper windows. Yellow children, incongruous enough in Western clothing. A draughty areaway with anoblique of gaslight and a black well of descending staircase. Show-windows of jade and tea and Chinese porcelains. 

More streets emanating out from Mott like a handful of crooked rheumaticfingers, then suddenly the Bowery again, cowering beneath Elevatedtrains, where men burned down to the butt end of soiled lives pass inand out and out and in of the knee-high swinging doors, a veiny-nosed, acid-eaten race in themselves. 

Allen Street, too, still more easterly, and half as wide, is straddledits entire width by the steely, long-legged skeleton of Elevatedtraffic, so that its third-floor windows no sooner shudder into silencefrom the rushing shock of one train than they are shaken into chatter bythe passage of another. Indeed, third-floor dwellers of Allen Street, reaching out, can almost touch the serrated edges of the Elevatedstructure, and in summer the smell of its hot rails becomes an actualtaste in the mouth. Passengers, in turn, look in upon this horizontal oflife as they whiz by. Once, in fact, the blurry figure of what mighthave been a woman leaned out, as she passed, to toss into one AbrahmKantor's apartment a short-stemmed pink carnation. It hit softly onlittle Leon Kantor's crib, brushing him fragrantly across the mouth andcausing him to pucker up. 

Beneath, where even in August noonday, the sun cannot find its way by achink, and babies lie stark naked in the cavernous shade, Allen Streetpresents a sort of submarine and greenish gloom, as if its humanity wereactually moving through a sea of aqueous shadows, faces rather bleachedand shrunk from sunlessness as water can bleach and shrink. And then, like a shimmering background of orange-finned and copper-flanked marinelife, the brass-shops of Allen Street, whole rows of them, burnflamelessly and without benefit of fuel. 

To enter Abrahm Kantor's--Brasses, was three steps down, so that hiscasement show-window, at best filmed over with the constant rain of dustground down from the rails above, was obscure enough, but crammed withcopied loot of khedive and of czar. The seven-branch candlestick sobiblical and supplicating of arms. An urn, shaped like Rebecca's, ofbrass, all beaten over with little pocks. Things--cups, trays, knockers, ikons, gargoyles, bowls, and teapots. A symphony of bells in graduatedsizes. Jardinières with fat sides. A pot-bellied samovar. Aswinging-lamp for the dead, star-shaped. Against the door, an octave oftubular chimes, prisms of voiceless harmony and of heatless light. 

Opening this door, they rang gently, like melody heard through water andbehind glass. Another bell rang, too, in tilted singsong from a pulleyoperating somewhere in the catacomb rear of this lambent vale of thingsand things and things. In turn, this pulley set in toll still anotherbell, two flights up in Abrahm Kantor's tenement, which overlooked thefront of whizzing rails and a rear wilderness of gibbet-lookingclothes-lines, dangling perpetual specters of flapping union suits in amid-air flaky with soot. 

Often at lunch, or even the evening meal, this bell would ring in onAbrahm Kantor's digestive well-being, and while he hurried down, napkinoften bib-fashion still about his neck, and into the smouldering lanesof copper, would leave an eloquent void at the head of hiswell-surrounded table. 

This bell was ringing now, jingling in upon the slumber of a still newerKantor, snuggling peacefully enough within the ammoniac depths of acradle recently evacuated by Leon, heretofore impinged upon you. 

On her knees before an oven that billowed forth hotly into her face, Mrs. Kantor, fairly fat and not yet forty, and at the immemorial task ofplumbing a delicately swelling layer-cake with broom-straw, raised herface, reddened and faintly moist. 

"Isadore, run down and say your papa is out until six. If it's acustomer, remember the first asking-price is the two middle figures onthe tag, and the last asking-price is the two outside figures. See once, with your papa out to buy your little brother his birthday present, andyour mother in a cake, if you can't make a sale for first price. "

Isadore Kantor, aged eleven and hunched with a younger Kantor over anoilcloth-covered table, hunched himself still deeper in a barter for alarge crystal marble with a candy stripe down its center. 

"Izzie, did you hear me?"

"Yes'm. "

"Go down this minute--do you hear? Rudolph, stop always letting yourbig brother get the best of you in marbles. Iz-zie!"

"In a minute. "

"Don't let me have to ask you again, Isadore Kantor!"

"Aw, ma, I got some 'rithmetic to do. Let Esther go!"

"Always Esther! Your sister stays right in the front room with herspelling. "

"Aw, ma, I got spelling, too. "

"Every time I ask that boy he should do me one thing, right away he getslessons! With me, that lessons-talk don't go no more. Every time you getput down in school, I'm surprised there's a place left lower where theycan put you. Working-papers for such a boy like you!"

"I'll woik--"

"How I worried myself! Violin lessons yet--thirty cents a lesson out ofyour papa's pants while he slept! That's how I wanted to have in thefamily a profession--maybe a musician on the violin! Lessons for you outof money I had to lie to your papa about! Honest, when I think of it--myown husband--it's a wonder I don't potch you just for remembering it. Rudolph, will you stop licking that cake-pan? It's saved for your littlebrother Leon. Ain't you ashamed even on your little brother's birthdayto steal from him?"

"Ma, gimme the spoon?"

"I'll give you the spoon, Isadore Kantor, where you don't want it. Ifyou don't hurry down, the way that bell is ringing, not one bite do youget out of your little brother's birthday cake tonight!"

"I'm goin', ain't I?"

"Always on my children's birthdays a meanness sets into this house!Rudolph, will you put down that bowl! Izzie--for the last time I askyou--for the last time--"

Erect now, Mrs. Kantor lifted an expressive hand, letting it hover. 

"I'm goin', ma; for golly sakes, I'm goin'!" said her recalcitrant one, shuffling off toward the staircase, shuffling, shuffling. 

Then Mrs. Kantor resumed her plumbing, and through the little apartment, its middle and only bedroom of three beds and a crib lighted vicariouslyby the front room and kitchen, began to wind the warm, the golden-brownfragrance of cake in the rising. 

By six o'clock the shades were drawn against the dirty dusk of AllenStreet and the oilcloth-covered table dragged out center and spread byEsther Kantor, nine in years, in the sturdy little legs bulging overshoe-tops, in the pink cheeks that sagged slightly of plumpness, and inthe utter roundness of face and gaze, but mysteriously older in thelittle-mother lore of crib and knee-dandling ditties and in the ropylength and thickness of the two brown plaits down her back. 

There was an eloquence to that waiting, laid-out table, the print of thefamily already gathered about it; the dynastic high chair, throne ofeach succeeding Kantor; an armchair drawn up before the paternalmustache-cup; the ordinary kitchen chair of Mannie Kantor, who spilledthings, an oilcloth sort of bib dangling from its back; the little chairof Leon Kantor, cushioned in an old family album that raised his chinabove the table. Even in cutlery the Kantor family was not lacking invariety. Surrounding a centerpiece of thick Russian lace were Russianspoons washed in washed-off gilt; forks of one, two, and three tines;steel knives with black handles; a hartshorn carving-knife. Thick-lippedchina in stacks before the armchair. A round four-pound loaf of blackbread waiting to be torn, and tonight, on the festive mat of cottonlace, a cake of pinkly gleaming icing, encircled with five pinklittle candles. 

At slightly after six Abrahm Kantor returned, leading by a resistingwrist Leon Kantor, his stemlike little legs, hit midship, as it were, bynot sufficiently cut-down trousers and so narrow and birdlike of facethat his eyes quite obliterated the remaining map of his features, likethose of a still wet nestling. All except his ears. They poised at thesides of Leon's shaved head of black bristles, as if butterflies hadjust lighted there, whispering, with very spread wings, their message, and presently would fly off again. By some sort of muscular contractionhe could wiggle these ears at will, and would do so for a penny or awhistle, and upon one occasion for his brother Rudolph's dead rat, sodevised as to dangle from string and window before the unhappypasser-by. They were quivering now, these ears, but because the entirelittle face was twitching back tears and gulp of sobs. 

"Abrahm--Leon--what is it?" Her hands and her forearms instantly outfrom the business of kneading something meaty and floury, Mrs. Kantorrushed forward, her glance quick from one to the other of them. "Abrahm, what's wrong?"

"I'll feedle him! I'll feedle him!"

The little pulling wrist still in clutch, Mr. Kantor regarded his wife, the lower half of his face, well covered with reddish bristles, undershot, his free hand and even his eyes violently lifted. To thosewho see in a man a perpetual kinship to that animal kingdom of which heis supreme, there was something undeniably anthropoidal about AbrahmKantor, a certain simian width between the eyes and long, rather agilehands with hairy backs. 

"Hush it!" cried Mr. Kantor, his free hand raised in threat of descent, and cowering his small son to still more undersized proportions. "Hushit or, by golly! I'll--"

"Abrahm--Abrahm--what is it?"

Then Mr. Kantor gave vent in acridity of word and feature. 

"_Schlemmil!_" he cried. "_Momser! Ganef! Nebich!_" by which, in smitingmother tongue, he branded his offspring with attributes of apostate andne'er-do-well, of idiot and thief. 

"Abrahm!"

"Schlemmil!" repeated Mr. Kantor, swinging Leon so that he described alarge semicircle that landed him into the meaty and waiting embrace ofhis mother. "Take him! You should be proud of such a little _momser_ fora son! Take him, and here you got back his birthday dollar. A feedle!Honest--when I think on it--a feedle!"

Such a rush of outrage seemed fairly to strangle Mr. Kantor that hestood, hand still upraised, choking and inarticulate above the nowfrankly howling huddle of his son. 

"Abrahm, you should just once touch this child! How he trembles!Leon--mamma's baby--what is it? Is this how you come back when papatakes you out to buy your birthday present? Ain't you ashamed?"

Mouth distended to a large and blackly hollow O, Leon, betweenterrifying spells of breath-holding, continued to howl. 

"All the way to Naftel's toy-store I drag him. A birthday present for adollar his mother wants he should have, all right, a birthday present! Igive you my word till I'm ashamed for Naftel, every toy in his shelvesis pulled down. Such a cow--that shakes with his head--"

"No--no--no!" This from young Leon, beating at his mother's skirts. 

Again the upraised but never quite descending hand of his father. 

"By golly! I'll 'no--no' you!"

"Abrahm--go 'way! Baby, what did papa do?"

Then Mr. Kantor broke into an actual tarantella of rage, his hands palmsup and dancing. 

"'What did papa do?' she asks. She's got easy asking. 'What did papado?' The whole shop, I tell you. A sheep with a baa inside when yousqueeze on him--games--a horn so he can holler my head off--such a knifelike Izzie's with a scissors in it. 'Leon, ' I said, ashamed for Naftel, 'that's a fine knife like Izzie's so you can cut up with. All right, then'--when I see how he hollers--'such a box full of soldiers to havewar with. ' 'Dollar seventy-five, ' says Naftel. 'All right, then, ' Isays, when I seen how he keeps hollering. 'Give you a dollar fifteen for'em. ' I should make myself small for fifteen cents more. 'Dollarfifteen, ' I says--anything so he should shut up with his hollering forwhat he seen in the window. "

"He seen something in the window he wanted, Abrahm?"

"Didn't I tell you? A feedle! A four-dollar feedle! A moosicer, so weshould have another feedler in the family for some thirty-centslessons. "

"Abrahm--you mean--he--our Leon--wanted a violin?"

"'Wanted, ' she says. I could potch him again this minute for how hewanted it! _Du_--you little bum you--_chammer_--_momser_--I'llfeedle you!"

Across Mrs. Kantor's face, as she knelt there in the shapelesscotton-stuff uniform of poverty, through the very tenement of her body, a light had flashed up into her eyes. She drew her son closer, crushinghis puny cheek up against hers, cupping his bristly little head in herby no means immaculate palms. 

"He wanted a violin! It's come, Abrahm! The dream of all my life--myprayers--it's come! I knew it must be one of my children if I waitedlong enough--and prayed enough. A musician! He wants a violin! He criedfor a violin! My baby! Why, darlink, mamma'll sell her clothes off herback to get you a violin. He's a musician, Abrahm! I should have knownit the way he's fooling always around the chimes and the bells inthe store!"

Then Mr. Kantor took to rocking his head between his palms. 

"Oi--oi! The mother is crazier as her son. A moosician! A _fresser_, youmean. Such an eater, it's a wonder he ain't twice too big instead oftwice too little for his age. "

"That's a sign, Abrahm; geniuses, they all eat big. For all we know, he's a genius. I swear to you, Abrahm, all the months before he was bornI prayed for it. Each one before they came, I prayed it should be theone. I thought that time the way our Isadore ran after the organ-grinderhe would be the one. How could I know it was the monkey he wanted? WhenIsadore wouldn't take to it I prayed my next one, and then my next one, should have the talent. I've prayed for it, Abrahm. If he wants aviolin, please, he should have it. "

"Not with my money. "

"With mine! I've got enough saved, Abrahm. Them three extra dollarsright here inside my own waist. Just that much for that cape down onGrand Street. I wouldn't have it now, the way they say the wind blowsup them--"

"I tell you the woman's crazy--"

"I feel it! I know he's got talent! I know my children so well. A--afather don't understand. I'm so next to them. It's like I can tellalways everything that will happen to them--it's like a pain--somewhereshere--like in back of my heart. "

"A pain in the heart she gets. "

"For my own children I'm always a prophet, I tell you! You think Ididn't know that--that terrible night after the pogrom after we got outof Kief to across the border! You remember, Abrahm, how I predicted itto you then--how our Mannie would be born too soon and--and not rightfrom my suffering! Did it happen on the ship to America just the way Isaid it would? Did it happen just exactly how I predicted our Izziewould break his leg that time playing on the fire-escape? I tell you, Abrahm, I get a real pain here under my heart that tells me what comesto my children. Didn't I tell you how Esther would be the first in herconfirmation-class and our baby Boris would be redheaded? At only fiveyears, our Leon all by himself cries for a fiddle--get it for him, Abrahm--get it for him!"

"I tell you, Sarah, I got a crazy woman for a wife! It ain't enough wecelebrate eight birthdays a year with one-dollar presents each time andcopper goods every day higher. It ain't enough that right to-morrow Igot a fifty-dollar note over me from Sol Ginsberg; a four-dollar presentshe wants for a child that don't even know the name of a feedle. "

"Leon, baby, stop hollering. Papa will go back and get the fiddle foryou now before supper. See, mamma's got money here in her waist--"

"Papa will go back for the feedle _not_--three dollars she's saved forherself he can holler out of her for a feedle!"

"Abrahm, he's screaming so he--he'll have a fit. "

"He should have two fits. "

"Darlink--"

"I tell you the way you spoil your children it will some day come backon us. "

"It's his birthday night, Abrahm--five years since his little headfirst lay on the pillow next to me. "

"All right--all right--drive me crazy because he's got a birthday. "

"Leon baby--if you don't stop hollering you'll make yourself sick. Abrahm, I never saw him like this--he's green--"

"I'll green him. Where is that old feedle from Isadore--thatseventy-five-cents one?"

"I never thought of that! You broke it that time you got mad atIsadore's lessons. I'll run down. Maybe it's with the junk behind thestore. I never thought of that fiddle. Leon darlink--wait! Mamma'll rundown and look. Wait, Leon, till mamma finds you a fiddle. "

The raucous screams stopped then, suddenly, and on their very lustiestcrest, leaving an echoing gash across silence. On willing feet of hasteMrs. Kantor wound down backward the high, ladder-like staircase that ledto the brass-shop. 

Meanwhile to a gnawing consciousness of dinner-hour had assembled thehouse of Kantor. Attuned to the intimate atmosphere of the tenementwhich is so constantly rent with cry of child, child-bearing, delirium, delirium tremens, Leon Kantor had howled no impression into the motleydin of things. There were Isadore, already astride his chair, leaningwell into center table, for first vociferous tear at the four-poundloaf; Esther, old at chores, settling an infant into the high chair, careful of tiny fingers in lowering the wooden bib. 

"Papa, Izzie's eating first again. "

"Put down that loaf and wait until your mother dishes up, or you'll geta potch you won't soon forget. "

"Say, pop--"

"Don't 'say, pop' me! I don't want no street-bum freshness from you!"

"I mean, papa, there was an up-town swell in, and she bought one of themseventy-five-cent candlesticks for the first price. "

"_Schlemmil! Chammer!_" said Mr. Kantor, rinsing his hands at the sink. "Didn't I always tell you it's the first price, times two, when you seeup-town business come in? Haven't I learned it to you often enough aslummer must pay for her nosiness?"

There entered then, on poor, shuffling feet, Mannie Kantor, so marred inthe mysterious and ceramic process of life that the brain and the soulhad stayed back sooner than inhabit him. Seventeen in years, in the downupon his face and in growth unretarded by any great nervosity of system, his vacuity of face was not that of childhood, but rather as if hislight eyes were peering out from some hinterland and wanting so terriblyand so dumbly to communicate what they beheld to brain-cells closedagainst himself. 

At sight of Mannie, Leon Kantor, the tears still wetly and dirtily downhis cheeks, left off his black, fierce-eyed stare of waiting long enoughto smile, darkly, it is true, but sweetly. 

"Giddy-app!" he cried. "Giddy-app!"

And then Mannie, true to habit, would scamper and scamper. 

Up out of the traplike stair-opening came the head of Mrs. Kantor, disheveled and a smudge of soot across her face, but beneath her arm, triumphant, a violin of one string and a broken back. 

"See, Leon--what mamma got! A violin! A fiddle! Look! The bow, too, Ifound. It ain't much, baby, but it's a fiddle. "

"Aw, ma--that's my old violin. Gimme. I want it. Where'd you find--"

"Hush up, Izzie! This ain't yours no more. See, Leon, what mamma broughtyou. A violin!"

"Now, you little _chammer_, you got a feedle, and if you ever let mehear you holler again for a feedle, by golly! if I don't--"

From his corner, Leon Kantor reached out, taking the instrument andfitting it beneath his chin, the bow immediately feeling, surely andlightly, for string. 

"Look, Abrahm, he knows how to hold it! What did I tell you? A childthat never in his life seen a fiddle, except a beggar's on the street!"

Little Esther suddenly cantered down-floor, clapping her chubby hands. 

"Lookie--lookie--Leon!"

The baby ceased clattering his spoon against the wooden bib. A silenceseemed to shape itself. 

So black and so bristly of head, his little clawlike hands hovering overthe bow, Leon Kantor withdrew a note, strangely round and given upalmost sobbingly from the single string. A note of warm twining quality, like a baby's finger. 

"Leon--darlink!"

Fumbling for string and for notes the instrument could not yield up tohim, the birdlike mouth began once more to open widely and terribly intothe orificial O. 

It was then Abrahm Kantor came down with a large hollow resonance ofpalm against that aperture, lifting his small son and depositing himplop upon the family album. 

"Take that! By golly! one more whimper out of you and if I don't makeyou black-and-blue, birthday or no birthday! Dish up, Sarah, quick, orI'll give him something to cry about. "

The five pink candles had been lighted, burning pointedly and withslender little smoke wisps. Regarding them owlishly, the tears dried onLeon's face, his little tongue licking up at them. 

"Look how solemn he is, like he was thinking of something a millionmiles away except how lucky he is he should have a pink birthday-cake. Uh--uh--uh! Don't you begin to holler again. Here, I'm putting thefeedle next to you. Uh--uh--uh!"

To a meal plentifully ladled out directly from stove to table, theKantor family drew up, dipping first into the rich black soup of theoccasion. All except Mrs. Kantor. 

"Esther, you dish up. I'm going somewhere. I'll be back in a minute. "

"Where you going, Sarah? Won't it keep until--"

But even in the face of query, Sarah Kantor was two flights down andwell through the lambent aisles of the copper-shop. Outside, she brokeinto run, along two blocks of the indescribable bazaar atmosphere ofGrand Street, then one block to the right. 

Before Mattel's show-window, a jet of bright gas burned into ajibberwock land of toys. There was that in Sarah Kantor's face that wasactually lyrical as, fumbling at the bosom of her dress, she entered. 

To Leon Kantor, by who knows what symphonic scheme of things, life was achromatic scale, yielding up to him, through throbbing, living nerves ofsheep-gut, the sheerest semitones of man's emotions. 

When he tucked his Stradivarius beneath his chin the book of life seemedsuddenly translated to him in melody. Even Sarah Kantor, who stillbrewed for him, on a small portable stove carried from city to city andsurreptitiously unpacked in hotel suites, the blackest of soups, and, despite his protestation, would incase his ears of nights in an oldhome-made device against their flightiness, would oftentimes bleedinwardly at this sense of his isolation. 

There was a realm into which he went alone, leaving her as detached asthe merest ticket purchaser at the box-office. 

At seventeen Leon Kantor had played before the crowned heads of Europe, the aching heads of American capital, and even the shaved head of aSouth Sea prince. There was a layout of anecdotal gifts, from the molartooth of the South Sea prince set in a South Sea pearl to ablue-enameled snuff-box incrusted with the rearing-lion coat-of-arms ofa very royal house. 

At eighteen came the purchase of a king's Stradivarius for a king'sransom, and acclaimed by Sunday supplements to repose of nights in anivory cradle. 

At nineteen, under careful auspices of press agent, the ten singingdigits of the son of Abrahm Kantor were insured at ten thousand dollarsthe finger. 

At twenty he had emerged surely and safely from the perilous quicksandswhich have sucked down whole Lilliputian worlds of infant prodigies. 

At twenty-one, when Leon Kantor played a Sunday-night concert, there wasa human queue curling entirely around the square block of theoperahouse, waiting its one, two, even three and four hours for theprivilege of standing room only. 

Usually these were Leon Kantor's own people pouring up from the lowlylands of the East Side to the white lands of Broadway, parched formusic, these burning brethren of his--old men in that line, frequentlycarrying their own little folding camp-chairs, not against weariness ofthe spirit, but of the flesh; youth with Slavic eyes and cheek-bones. These were the six-deep human phalanx which would presently slant downat him from tiers of steepest balconies and stand frankly emotional andjammed in the unreserved space behind the railing which shut them offfrom the three-dollar seats of the reserved. 

At a very special one of these concerts, dedicated to the meager pursesof just these, and held in New York's super opera-house, theAmphitheater, a great bowl of humanity, the metaphor made perfect bytiers of seats placed upon the stage, rose from orchestra to dome. Agigantic cup of a Colosseum lined in stacks and stacks of faces. Fromthe door of his dressing-room, leaning out, Leon Kantor could see agreat segment of it, buzzing down into adjustment, orchestra twittingand tuning into it. 

In the bare little room, illuminated by a sheaf of roses, just arrived, Mrs. Kantor drew him back by the elbow. 

"Leon, you're in a draught. "

The amazing years had dealt kindly with Mrs. Kantor. Stouter, softer, apparently even taller, she was full of small new authorities that couldshut out cranks, newspaper reporters, and autograph fiends. Afitted-over-corsets black taffeta and a high comb in the graying hairhad done their best with her. Pride, too, had left its flush upon hercheeks, like two round spots of fever. 

"Leon, it's thirty minutes till your first number. Close that door. Doyou want to let your papa and his excitement in on you?"

The son of Sarah Kantor obeyed, leaning his short, rather narrow form insilhouette against the closed door. In spite of slimly dark eveningclothes worked out by an astute manager to the last detail in boyisheffects, there was that about him which defied long-haired precedent. Slimly and straightly he had shot up into an unmannered, a short, even abristly-haired young manhood, disqualifying by a close shave for theolder school of hirsute virtuosity. 

But his nerves did not spare him. On concert nights they seemed toemerge almost to the surface of him and shriek their exposure. 

"Just feel my hands, ma. Like ice. "

She dived down into her large silk what-not of a reticule. 

"I've got your fleece-lined gloves here, son. "

"No--no! For God's sake--not those things! No!"

He was back at the door again, opening it to a slit, peering through. 

"They're bringing more seats on the stage. If they crowd me in I won'tgo on. I can't play if I hear them breathe. Hi--out there--no morechairs! Pa! Hancock--"

"Leon, Leon, ain't you ashamed to get so worked up? Close that door. Have you got a manager who is paid just to see to your comfort? Whenpapa comes, I'll have him go out and tell Hancock you don't want chairsso close to you. Leon, will you mind mamma and sit down?"

"It's a bigger house than the royal concert in Madrid, ma. Why, I neversaw anything like it! It's a stampede. God! this is real--this is whatgets me, playing for my own! I should have given a concert like thisthree years ago. I'll do it every year now. I'd rather play before themthan all the crowned heads on earth. It's the biggest night of my life. They're rioting out there, ma--rioting to get in. "

"Leon, Leon, won't you sit down, if mamma begs you to?"

He sat then, strumming with all ten fingers upon his knees. 

"Try to get quiet, son. Count--like you always do. One--two--three--"

"Please, ma--for God's sake--please--please!"

"Look--such beautiful roses! From Sol Ginsberg, an old friend of papa'she used to buy brasses from eighteen years ago. Six years he's been awaywith his daughter in Munich. Such a beautiful mezzo they say, engagedalready for Metropolitan next season. "

"I hate it, ma, if they breathe on my neck. "

"Leon darlink, did mamma promise to fix it? Have I ever let you play aconcert when you wouldn't be comfortable?"

His long, slim hands suddenly prehensile and cutting a streak of upwardgesture, Leon Kantor rose to his feet, face whitening. 

"Do it now! Now, I tell you. I won't have them breathe on me. Do youhear me? Now! Now! Now!"

Risen also, her face soft and tremulous for him, Mrs. Kantor put out agentle, a sedative hand upon his sleeve. 

"Son, " she said, with an edge of authority even behind her smile, "don'tholler at me!"

He grasped her hand with his two and, immediately quiet, lay a closestring of kisses along it. 

"Mamma, " he said, kissing again and again into the palm, "mamma--mamma. "

"I know, son; it's nerves!"

"They eat me, ma. Feel--I'm like ice! I didn't mean it; you know Ididn't mean it!"

"My baby, " she said, "my wonderful boy, it's like I can never get usedto the wonder of having you. The greatest one of them all should bemine--a plain woman's like mine!"

He teased her, eager to conciliate and to ride down his own state ofquivering. 

"Now, ma--now--now--don't forget Rimsky!"

"Rimsky! A man three times your age who was playing concerts before youwas born! Is that a comparison? From your clippings-books I can showRimsky who the world considers the greatest violinist. Rimsky herubs into me!"

"All right, then, the press-clippings, but did Elsass, the greatestmanager of them all, bring me a contract for thirty concerts at twothousand a concert? Now I've got you! Now!"

She would not meet his laughter. "Elsass! Believe me, he'll come to youyet! My boy should worry if he makes fifty thousand a year more or less. Rimsky should have that honor--for so long as he can hold it. But hewon't hold it long. Believe me, I don't rest easy in my bed till Elsasscomes after you. Not for so big a contract like Rimsky's, butbigger--not for thirty concerts, but for fifty!"

"_Brava! Brava!_ There's a woman for you. More money than she knowswhat to do with, and then not satisfied!"

She was still too tremulous for banter. "'Not satisfied'? Why, Leon, Inever stop praying my thanks for you!"

"All right, then, " he cried, laying his icy fingers on her cheek;"to-morrow we'll call a _mignon_--a regular old-fashioned Allen Streetprayer-party. "

"Leon, you mustn't make fun. "

"Make fun of the sweetest girl in this room!"

"'Girl'! Ah, if I could only hold you by me this way, Leon. Always aboy--with me--your poor old mother--your only girl. That's a fear Isuffer with, Leon--to lose you to a--girl. That's how selfish the motherof such a wonder-child like mine can get to be. "

"All right! Trying to get me married off again. Nice! Fine!"

"Is it any wonder I suffer, son? Twenty-one years to have kept you by mea child. A boy that never in his life was out after midnight except tocatch trains. A boy that never has so much as looked at a girl and couldhave looked at princesses. To have kept you all these years--mine--is itany wonder, son, I never stop praying my thanks for you? You don'tbelieve Hancock, son, the way he keeps always teasing you that youshould have a--what he calls--affair--a love-affair? Such talk is notnice, Leon--an affair!"

"Love-affair poppycock!" said Leon Kantor, lifting his mother's face andkissing her on eyes about ready to tear. "Why, I've got something, ma, right here in my heart for you that--"

"Leon, be careful your shirt-front!"

"That's so--so what you call 'tender, ' for my best sweetheart thatI--Oh, love-affair--poppycock!"

She would not let her tears come. 

"My boy--my wonder-boy!"

"There goes the overture, ma. "

"Here, darlink--your glass of water. "

"I can't stand it in here; I'm suffocating!"

"Got your mute in your pocket, son?"

"Yes, ma; for God's sake, yes! Yes! Don't keep asking things!"

"Ain't you ashamed, Leon, to be in such an excitement! For every concertyou get worse. "

"The chairs--they'll breathe on nay neck. "

"Leon, did mamma promise you those chairs would be moved?"

"Where's Hancock?"

"Say--I'm grateful if he stays out. It took me enough work to get thisroom cleared. You know your papa how he likes to drag in the whole worldto show you off--always just before you play. The minute he walks in theroom right away he gets everybody to trembling just from his ownexcitements. I dare him this time he should bring people. No dignity hasthat man got, the way he brings every one. "

Even upon her words came a rattling of door, Of door-knob, and a voicethrough the clamor. 

"Open--quick--Sarah! Leon!"

A stiffening raced over Mrs. Kantor, so that she sat rigid on herchair-edge, lips compressed, eye darkly upon the shivering door. 

"Open--Sarah!"

With a narrowing glance, Mrs. Kantor laid to her lips a forefinger ofsilence. 

"Sarah, it's me! Quick, I say!"

Then Leon Kantor sprang up, the old prehensile gesture of curvingfingers shooting up. 

"For God's sake, ma, let him in! I can't stand that infernal battering. "

"Abrahm, go away! Leon's got to have quiet before his concert. "

"Just a minute, Sarah. Open quick!"

With a spring his son was at the door, unlocking and flinging it back. 

"Come in, pa. "

The years had weighed heavily upon Abrahm Kantor in avoirdupois only. Hewas himself plus eighteen years, fifty pounds, and a new sleek pompositythat was absolutely oleaginous. It shone roundly in his face, doublingof chin, in the bulge of waistcoat, heavily gold-chained, and in eyesthat behind the gold-rimmed glasses gave sparklingly forth his estate ofwell-being. 

"Abrahm, didn't I tell you not to dare to--"

On excited balls of feet that fairly bounced him, Abrahm Kantor burstin. 

"Leon--mamma--I got out here an old friend--Sol Ginsberg. You remember, mamma, from brasses--"

"Abrahm--not now--"

"Go 'way with your 'not now'! I want Leon should meet him. Sol, this ishim--a little grown up from such a _nebich_ like you rememberhim--_nu_? Sarah, you remember Sol Ginsberg? Say--I should ask you ifyou remember your right hand! Ginsberg & Esel, the firm. This is hisgirl, a five years' contract signed yesterday--five hundred dollars anopera for a beginner--six rôles--not bad--_nu_?"

"Abrahm, you must ask Mr. Ginsberg please to excuse Leon until after hisconcert--"

"Shake hands with him, Ginsberg. He's had his hand shook enough in hislife, and by kings, to shake it once more with an old bouncer like you!"

Mr. Ginsberg, not unlike his colleague in rotundities, held out a short, a dimpled hand. 

"It's a proud day, " he said, "for me to shake the hands from mine oldfriend's son and the finest violinist livink to-day. My littledaughter--"

"Yes, yes, Gina. Here, shake hands with him. Leon, they say a voice likea fountain. Gina Berg--eh, Ginsberg--is how you stage-named her? Youhear, mamma, how fancy--Gina Berg? We go hear her, eh?"

There was about Miss Gina Berg, whose voice could soar to thetirra-lirra of a lark and then deepen to mezzo, something of the actualslimness of the poor, maligned Elsa so long buried beneath the buxomnessof divas. She was like a little flower that in its crannied nook keepsdewy longest. 

"How do you do, Leon Kantor?"

There was a whir through her English of three acquired languages. 

"How do _you_ do?"

"We--father and I--traveled once all the way from Brussels to Dresden tohear you. It was worth it. I shall never forget how you played the'Humoresque. ' It made me laugh and cry. "

"You like Brussels?"

She laid her little hand to her heart, half closing her eyes. 

"I will never be so happy again as with the sweet little people ofBrussels. "

"I, too, love Brussels. I studied there four years with Ahrenfest. "

"I know you did. My teacher, Lyndahl, in Berlin, was hisbrother-in-law. "

"You have studied with Lyndahl?"

"He is my master. "

"I--Will I some time hear you sing?"

"I am not yet great. When I am foremost like you, yes. "

"Gina--Gina Berg; that is a beautiful name to make famous. "

"You see how it is done? Gins--berg. Gina Berg. "

"Clev--er!"

They stood then smiling across a chasm of the diffidence of youth, shefumbling at the great fur pelt out of which her face flowered so dewily. 

"I--Well--we--we--are in the fourth box--I guess we had better begoing--Fourth box, left. "

He wanted to find words, but for consciousness of self, could not. 

"It's a wonderful house out there waiting for you, Leon Kantor, andyou--you're wonderful, too!"

"The--flowers--thanks!"

"My father, he sent them. Come, father--quick!"

Suddenly there was a tight tensity seemed to crowd up the little room. 

"Abrahm--quick--get Hancock. That first row of chairs--has got to bemoved. There he is, in the wings. See that the piano ain't dragged downtoo far! Leon, got your mute in your pocket? Please, Mr. Ginsberg--youmust excuse--Here, Leon, is your glass of water; drink it, I say. Shutthat door out there, boy, so there ain't a draught in the wings. Here, Leon, your violin. Got your neckerchief? Listen how they're shouting!It's for you--Leon--darlink--Go!"

The center of that vast human bowl which had shouted itself out, slim, boylike, and in his supreme isolation, Leon Kantor drew bow and a firstthin, pellucid, and perfect note into a silence breathless toreceive it. 

Throughout the arduous flexuosities of the Mendelssohn E minor concerto, singing, winding from tonal to tonal climax, and out of the slowmovement which is like a tourniquet twisting the heart into the spirited_allegro molto vivace_, it was as if beneath Leon Kantor's fingers thestrings were living vein-cords, youth, vitality, and the very foam ofexuberance racing through them. 

That was the power of him. The vichy and the sparkle of youth, so that, playing, the melody poured round him like wine and went down seethingand singing into the hearts of his hearers. 

Later, and because these were his people and because they were dark andSlavic with his Slavic darkness, he played, as if his very blood wereweeping, the "Kol Nidre, " which is the prayer of his race foratonement. 

And then the super-amphitheater, filled with those whose emotions lienext to the surface and whose pores have not been closed over with awater-tight veneer, burst into its cheers and its tears. 

There were fifteen recalls from the wings, Abrahm Kantor standingcounting them off on his fingers and trembling to receive theStradivarius. Then, finally, and against the frantic negative pantomimeof his manager, a scherzo, played so lacily that it swept the house inlightest laughter. 

When Leon Kantor finally completed his program they were loath to lethim go, crowding down the aisles upon him, applauding up, down, aroundhim until the great disheveled house was like the roaring of a sea, andhe would laugh and throw out his arm in widespread helplessness, andalways his manager in the background gesticulating against too much ofhis precious product for the money, ushers already slamming up chairs, his father's arms out for the Stradivarius, and, deepest in the gloom ofthe wings, Sarah Kantor, in a rocker especially dragged out for her, andfrom the depths of the black-silk reticule, darning his socks. 

"Bravo--bravo! Give us the 'Humoresque'--Chopin Nocturne--Polonaise--'Humoresque. ' Bravo--bravo!"

And even as they stood, hatted and coated, importuning and pressing inupon him, and with a wisp of a smile to the fourth left box, Leon Kantorplayed them the "Humoresque" of Dvorák, skedaddling, plucking, quirking--that laugh on life with a tear behind it. Then suddenly, because he could escape no other way, rushed straight back for hisdressing-room, bursting in upon a flood of family already there: IsadoreKantor, blue-shaved, aquiline, and already graying at the temples; hisfive-year-old son, Leon; a soft little pouter-pigeon of a wife, too, enormous of bust, in glittering ear-drops and a wrist watch of diamondshalf buried in chubby wrist; Miss Esther Kantor, pink and pretty;Rudolph; Boris, not yet done with growing-pains. 

At the door Miss Kantor met her brother, her eyes as sweetly moist asher kiss. 

"Leon darling, you surpassed even yourself!"

"Quit crowding, children. Let him sit down. Here, Leon, let mamma giveyou a fresh collar. Look how the child's perspired. Pull down thatwindow, Boris. Rudolph, don't let no one in. I give you my word ifto-night wasn't as near as I ever came to seeing a house go crazy. Noteven that time in Milan, darlink, when they broke down the doors, was itlike to-night--"

"Ought to seen, ma, the row of police outside--"

"Hush up, Roody! Don't you see your brother is trying to get hisbreath?"

From Mrs. Isadore Kantor: "You should have seen the balconies, mother. Isadore and I went up just to see the jam. "

"Six thousand dollars in the house to-night, if there was a cent, " saidIsadore Kantor. 

"Hand me my violin, please, Esther. I must have scratched it, the waythey pushed. "

"No, son, you didn't. I've already rubbed it up. Sit quiet, darlink!"

He was limply white, as if the vitality had flowed out of him. 

"God! wasn't it--tremendous?"

"Six thousand, if there was a cent, " repeated Isadore Kantor. "More thanRimsky ever played to in his life!"

"Oh, Izzie, you make me sick, always counting--counting!"

"Your sister's right, Isadore. You got nothing to complain of if therewas only six hundred in the house. A boy whose fiddle has made alreadyenough to set you up in such a fine business, his brother Boris in sucha fine college, automobiles--style--and now because Vladimir Rimsky, three times his age, gets signed up with Elsass for a few thousand morea year, right away the family gets a long face--"

"Ma, please! Isadore didn't mean it that way!"

"Pa's knocking, ma! Shall I let him in?"

"Let him in, Roody. I'd like to know what good it will do to try to keephim out. "

In an actual rain of perspiration, his tie slid well under one ear, Abrahm Kantor burst in, mouthing the words before his acute state ofstrangulation would let them out. 

"Elsass--it's Elsass outside! He--wants--to sign--Leon--fiftyconcerts--coast to coast--two thousand--next season! He's got thepapers--already drawn up--the pen outside waiting--"

"Abrahm!"

"Pa!"

In the silence that followed, Isadore Kantor, a poppiness of stare anda violent redness set in, suddenly turned to his five-year-old son, sticky with lollipop, and came down soundly and with smack against theinfantile, the slightly outstanding and unsuspecting ear. 

"_Momser!_" he cried. "_Chammer! Lump! Ganef_! You hear that? Twothousand! Two thousand! Didn't I tell you--didn't I tell you topractise?"

Even as Leon Kantor put pen to this princely document, Franz Ferdinandof Serbia, the assassin's bullet cold, lay dead in state, and let slipwere the dogs of war. 

 * * * * *

In the next years, men, forty deep, were to die in piles; hayricks offields to become human hayricks of battle-fields; Belgium disemboweled, her very entrails dragging, to find all the civilized world herchampion, and between the poppies of Flanders, crosses, thousand uponthousand of them, to mark the places where the youth of her allies fell, avenging outrage. Seas, even when calmest, were to become terrible, andmen's heart-beats, a bit sluggish with the fatty degeneration of asluggard peace, to quicken and then to throb with the rat-a-tat-tat, therat-a-tat-tat of the most peremptory, the most reverberating call toarms in the history of the world. 

In June, 1917, Leon Kantor, answering that rat-a-tat-tat, enlisted. 

In November, honed by the interim of training to even a new leanness, and sailing-orders heavy and light in his heart, Lieutenant Kantor, ontwo days' home-leave, took leave of home, which can be crudest when itis tenderest. 

Standing there in the expensive, the formal, the enormous French parlorof his up-town apartment de luxe, from not one of whose chairs would hismother's feet touch floor, a wall of living flesh, mortared in blood, was throbbing and hedging him in. 

He would pace up and down the long room, heavy with the faces of thosewho mourn, with a laugh too ready, too facetious, in his fear for them. 

"Well, well, what is this, anyway, a wake? Where's the coffin? Who'sdead?"

His sister-in-law shot out her plump, watch-encrusted wrist. "Don't, Leon!" she cried. "Such talk is a sin! It might come true. "

"Rosie-posy-butter-ball, " he said, pausing beside her chair to pinch herdeeply soft cheek. "Cry-baby-roly-poly, you can't shove me off in awooden kimono that way. "

From his place before the white-and-gold mantel, staring steadfastly atthe floor tiling, Isadore Kantor turned suddenly, a bit whiter and olderat the temples. 

"I don't get your comedy, Leon. "

"'Wooden kimono'--Leon?"

"That's the way the fellows at camp joke about coffins, ma. I didn'tmean anything but fun! Great Scott! Can't any one take a joke!"

"O God! O God!" His mother fell to swaying softly, hugging herselfagainst shivering. 

"Did you sign over power of attorney to pa, Leon?"

"All fixed, Izzie. "

"I'm so afraid, son, you don't take with you enough money in yourpockets. You know how you lose it. If only you would let mamma sew thatlittle bag inside your uniform, with a little place for bills and alittle place for the asafoetida!"

"Now, please, ma--please! If I needed more, wouldn't I take it? Wouldn'tI be a pretty joke among the fellows, tied up in that smelling stuff!Orders are orders, ma, I know what to take and what not to take. "

"Please, Leon, don't get mad at me, but if you will let me put in yoursuit-case just one little box of that salve, for your finger-tips, sothey don't crack--"

Pausing as he paced to lay cheek to her hair, he patted her. "Threeboxes, if you want. Now, how's that?"

"And you won't take it out so soon as my back is turned?"

"Cross my heart. "

His touch seemed to set her trembling again, all her illy concealedemotions rushing up. "I can't stand it! Can't! Can't! Take my life--takemy blood, but don't take my boy--don't take my boy--"

"Mamma, mamma, is that the way you're going to begin all over again, after your promise?"

She clung to him, heaving against the rising storm of sobs. "I can'thelp it--can't! Cut out my heart from me, but let me keep my boy--mywonderboy--"

"Oughtn't she be ashamed of herself? Just listen to her, Esther! Whatwill we do with her? Talks like she had a guarantee I wasn't comingback. Why, I wouldn't be surprised if by spring I wasn't tuning up againfor a coast-to-coast tour--"

"Spring! That talk don't fool me. Without my boy, the springs in my lifeare over--"

"Why, ma, you talk like every soldier who goes to war was killed!There's only the smallest percentage of them die in battle--"

"'Spring, ' he says; 'spring'! Crossing the seas from me! To live throughmonths with that sea between us--my boy maybe shot--my--"

"Mamma, please!"

"I can't help it, Leon; I'm not one of those fine mothers that can be sobrave. Cut out my heart, but leave my boy! My wonder-boy--my child Iprayed for!"

"There's other mothers, ma, with sons!"

"Yes, but not wonder-sons! A genius like you could so easy get excused, Leon. Give it up. Genius it should be the last to be sent to--theslaughter-pen. Leon darlink--don't go!"

"Ma, ma--you don't mean what you're saying. You wouldn't want me toreason that way! You wouldn't want me to hide behind my--violin. "

"I would! Would! You should wait for the draft. With my Roody and evenmy baby Boris enlisted, ain't it enough for one mother? Since they gotto be in camp, all right, I say, let them be there, if my heart breaksfor it, but not my wonder-child! You can get exemption, Leon, right awayfor the asking. Stay with me, Leon! Don't go away! The people at homegot to be kept happy with music. That's being a soldier, too, playingtheir troubles away. Stay with me, Leon! Don't go leaveme--don't--don't--"

He suffered her to lie, tear-drenched, back into his arms, holding herclose in his compassion for her, his own face twisting. 

"God! ma, this--this is awful! Please--you make us ashamed--all of us! Idon't know what to say. Esther, come quiet her--for God's sakequiet her!"

From her place in that sobbing circle Esther Kantor crossed to kneelbeside her mother. 

"Mamma darling, you're killing yourself. What if every family went onthis way? You want papa to come in and find us all crying? Is this theway you want Leon to spend his last hour with us--"

"Oh, God--God!"

"I mean his last hour until he comes back, darling. Didn't you just hearhim say, darling, it may be by spring?"

"'Spring'--'spring'--never no more springs for me--"

"Just think, darling, how proud we should be! Our Leon, who could soeasily have been excused, not even to wait for the draft. "

"It's not too late yet--please--Leon--"

"Our Roody and Boris both in camp, too, training to serve their country. Why, mamma, we ought to be crying for happiness. As Leon says, surelythe Kantor family, who fled out of Russia to escape massacre, shouldknow how terrible slavery can be. That's why we must help our boys, mamma, in their fight to make the world free! Right, Leon?" trying tosmile with her red-rimmed eyes. 

"We've got no fight with no one! Not a child of mine was ever raised toso much as lift a finger against no one. We've got no fight withno one!"

"We have got a fight with some one! With autocracy! Only this time ithappens to be Hunnish autocracy. You should know it, mamma--oh, youshould know it deeper down in you than any of us, the fight our familyright here has got with autocracy! We should be the first to want toavenge Belgium!"

"Leon's right, mamma darling, the way you and papa were beaten out ofyour country--"

"There's not a day in your life you don't curse it without knowing it!Every time we three boys look at your son and our brother Mannie, bornan--an imbecile--because of autocracy, we know what we're fighting for. We know. You know, too. Look at him over there, even before he was born, ruined by autocracy! Know what I'm fighting for? Why, this whole familyknows! What's music, what's art, what's life itself in a world withoutfreedom? Every time, ma, you get to thinking we've got a fight with noone, all you have to do is look at our poor Mannie. He's the answer. He's the answer. "

In a foaming sort of silence, Mannie Kantor smiled softly from his chairbeneath the pink-and-gold shade of the piano-lamp. The heterogeneoussounds of women weeping had ceased. Straight in her chair, her greatshelf of bust heaving, sat Rosa Kantor, suddenly dry of eye; IsadoreKantor head up. Erect now, and out from the embrace of her daughter, Sarah looked up at her son. 

"What time do you leave, Leon?" she asked, actually firm of lip. 

"Any minute, ma. Getting late. "

This time she pulled her lips to a smile, waggling her forefinger. 

"Don't let them little devils of French girls fall in love with my dudein his uniform. "

Her pretense at pleasantry was almost more than he could bear. 

"Hear! Hear! Our mother thinks I'm a regular lady-killer! Hear that, Esther?" pinching her cheek. 

"You are, Leon--only--only, you don't know it!"

"Don't you bring down too many beaux while I'm gone, either, MissKantor!"

"I--won't, Leon. "

_Sotto voce_ to her: "Remember, Esther, while I'm gone, the royaltiesfrom the discaphone records are yours. I want you to have them forpin-money and--maybe a dowry?"

She turned from him. "Don't, Leon--don't--"

"I like him! Nice fellow, but too slow! Why, if I were in his shoes I'dhave popped long ago. "

She smiled with her lashes dewy. 

There entered then, in a violet-scented little whirl, Miss Gina Berg, rosy with the sting of a winter's night, and, as usual, swathed in thehigh-napped furs. 

"Gina!"

She was for greeting every one, a wafted kiss to Mrs. Kantor, and then, arms wide, a great bunch of violets in one outstretched hand, her glancestraight, sure, and sparkling for Leon Kantor. 

"Surprise--everybody--surprise!"

"Why, Gina--we read--we thought you were singing in Philadelphiato-night!"

"So did I, Esther darling, until a little bird whispered to me thatLieutenant Kantor was home on farewell leave. "

He advanced to her down the great length of room, lowering his head overher hand, his puttee-clad legs clicking together. "You mean, MissGina--Gina--you didn't sing?"

"Of course I didn't! Hasn't every prima donna a larynx to hide behind?"She lifted off her fur cap, spilling curls. 

"Well, I--I'll be hanged!" said Lieutenant Kantor, his eyes lakes of herreflected loveliness. 

She let her hand linger in his. "Leon--you--really going? How--terrible!How--how--wonderful!"

"How wonderful'--your coming!"

"I--You think it was not nice of me--to come?"

"I think it was the nicest thing that ever happened in the world. "

"All the way here in the train I kept saying, 'Crazy--crazy--running totell Leon--Lieutenant--Kantor good-by--when you haven't even seen himthree times in three years--'"

"But each--each of those three times we--we've remembered, Gina. "

"But that's how I feel toward all the boys, Leon--our fightingboys--just like flying to them to kiss them each one good-by. "

"Come over, Gina. You'll be a treat to our mother. I--Well, I'm hanged!All the way from Philadelphia!"

There was even a sparkle to talk, then, and a letup of pressure. After awhile Sarah Kantor looked up at her son, tremulous, but smiling. 

"Well, son, you going to play--for your old mother before--you go? It'llbe many a month--spring--maybe longer, before I hear my boy againexcept on the discaphone. "

He shot a quick glance to his sister. "Why, I--I don't know. I--I'd loveit, ma, if--if you think, Esther, I'd better. "

"You don't need to be afraid of me, darlink. There's nothing can give methe strength to bear--what's before me like--like my boy's music. That's my life, his music. "

"Why, yes; if mamma is sure she feels that way, play for us, Leon. "

He was already at the instrument, where it lay, swathed, atop the grandpiano. "What'll it be, folks?"

"Something to make ma laugh, Leon--something light, something funny. "

"'Humoresque, '" he said, with a quick glance for Miss Berg. 

"'Humoresque, '" she said, smiling back at him. 

He capered through, cutting and playful of bow, the melody of Dvorák's, which is as ironic as a grinning mask. 

Finished, he smiled at his parent, her face still untearful. 

"How's that?"

She nodded. "It's like life, son, that piece. Crying to hide itslaughing and laughing to hide its crying. "

"Play that new piece, Leon--the one you set to music. You know. Thewords by that young boy in the war who wrote such grand poetry before hewas killed. The one that always makes poor Mannie laugh. Play it forhim, Leon. "

Her plump little unlined face innocent of fault, Mrs. Isadore Kantorventured her request, her smile tired with tears. 

"No, no--Rosa--not now! Ma wouldn't want that!"

"I do, son; I do! Even Mannie should have his share of good-by. "

To Gina Berg: "They want me to play that little arrangement of mine fromAllan Seegar's poem. 'I Have a Rendezvous.... '"

"It--it's beautiful, Leon. I was to have sung it on my programto-night--only, I'm afraid you had better not--here--now--"

"Please, Leon! Nothing you play can ever make me as sad as it makes meglad. Mannie should have, too, his good-by. "

"All right, then, ma, if--if you're sure you want it. Will you sing it, Gina?"

She had risen. "Why, yes, Leon. "

She sang it then, quite purely, her hands clasped simply together andher glance mistily off, the beautiful, the heroic, the lyrical prophecyof a soldier-poet and a poet-soldier:

 "But I've a rendezvous with Death On some scarred slope of battered hill, When spring comes round again this year And the first meadow-flowers appear. "

In the silence that followed, a sob burst out, stifled, from EstherKantor, this time her mother holding her in arms that were strong. 

"That, Leon, is the most beautiful of all your compositions. What doesit mean, son, that word, 'rondy-voo'?"

"Why, I--I don't exactly know. A rendezvous--it's a sort of meeting, anengagement, isn't it, Miss Gina? Gina? You're up on languages. As if Ihad an appointment to meet you some place--at the opera-house, forinstance. "

"That's it, Leon--an engagement. "

"Have I an engagement with you, Gina?"

She let her lids droop. "Oh, how--how I hope you have, Leon. "

"When?"

"In the spring?"

"That's it--in the spring. "

Then they smiled, these two, who had never felt more than the merestbutterfly wings of love brushing them, light as lashes. No word betweenthem, only an unfinished sweetness, waiting to be linked up. 

Suddenly there burst in Abrahm Kantor, in a carefully rehearsed gale ofbluster. 

"Quick, Leon! I got the car down-stairs. Just fifteen minutes to makethe ferry. Quick! The sooner we get him over there the sooner we get himback! I'm right, mamma? Now, now! No waterworks! Get your brother'ssuit-case, Isadore. Now, now! No nonsense! Quick--quick--"

With a deftly manoeuvered round of good-bys, a grip-laden dash for thedoor, a throbbing moment of turning back when it seemed as though SarahKantor's arms could not unlock their deadlock of him, Leon Kantor wasout and gone, the group of faces point-etched into the silencebehind him. 

The poor, mute face of Mannie, laughing softly. Rosa Kantor crying intoher hands. Esther, grief-crumpled, but rich in the enormous hope ofyouth. The sweet Gina, to whom the waiting months had already beguntheir reality. 

Not so Sarah Kantor. In a bedroom adjoining, its high-ceilinged vastnessas cold as a cathedral to her lowness of stature, sobs dry and terriblewere rumbling up from her, only to dash against lips tightlyrestraining them. 

On her knees beside a chest of drawers, and unwrapping it fromswaddling-clothes, she withdrew what at best had been a sorry sortof fiddle. 

Cracked of back and solitary of string, it was as if her trembling arms, raising it above her head, would make of themselves and her swaying bodythe tripod of an altar. 

The old twisting and prophetic pain was behind her heart. Like thepainted billows of music that the old Italian masters loved to do, there wound and wreathed about her clouds of song:

 But I've a rendezvous with Death On some scarred slope of battered hill, When spring comes round again this year And the first meadow-flowers appear. 

OATS FOR THE WOMAN

That women who toil not neither do they spin might know the feel offabrics so cunningly devised that they lay to the flesh like the innerpetals of buds, three hundred and fifty men, women, and childrencontrived, between strikes, to make the show-rooms of the KesslerCostume Company, Incorporated, a sort of mauve and mirrored Delphi wherebuyers from twenty states came to invoke forecast of the mood of skirts, the caprice of sleeves, and the rumored flip to the train. Before theseflips and moods, a gigantic industry held semi-annual pause, destiniesof lace-factories trembling before a threatened season of strictlytailor-mades, velvet-looms slowing at the shush of taffeta. When womanwould be sleazy, petticoat manufacturers went overnight into an oblivionfrom which there might or might not be returning. The willow plume wavedits day, making and unmaking merchants. 

Destiny loves thus to spring from acorn beginnings. Helen smiled, andTroy fell. Roast pork, and I doubt not then and there the apple sauce, became a national institution because a small boy burnt his fingers. 

That is why, out from the frail love of women for the flesh and itshumors, and because for the webby cling of chiffon too often no price istoo high, the Kessler Costume Company employed, on the factory side ofthe door, the three hundred and fifty sewers and cutters, not one ofwhose monthly wage could half buy the real-lace fichu or thepainted-chiffon frock of his own handiwork. 

On the show-room side of the door, painted mauve within and not without, _mannequins_, so pink finger-tipped, so tilted of instep, and so bred inthe thrust to the silhouette, trailed these sleazy products of thickringers across mauve-colored carpet and before the appraising eyes oftwenty states. 

Often as not, smoke rose in that room from the black cigar of the OmahaStore, Omaha, or Ladies' Wear, Cleveland. In season, and particularlyduring the frenzied dog-days of August, when the fate of the newwaist-line or his daring treatment of cloth of silver hung yet in thebalance, and the spirit of Detroit must be browbeaten by the dictum ofthe sleeveless thing in evening frocks, Leon Kessler himself smoked aday-long chain of cigarettes, lighting one off the other. 

In the model-room, a long, narrow slit, roaringly ventilated by awhirling machine, lined in frocks suspended from hangers, and just wideenough for two very perfect thirty-sixes to stand abreast, August fellheavily. So heavily that occasionally a cloak-model, her lot to shownext December's conceit in theater wraps, fainted on the show-dais; or acloth-of-gold evening gown, donned for the twentieth time thatsweltering day, would suddenly, with its model, crumple, a glitteringhuddle, to the floor. 

Upon Miss Hattie Becker, who within the narrow slit had endured eight ofthese Augusts with only two casual faints and a swoon or two nipped inthe bud, this ninth August came in so furiously that, sliding out of hersixth showing of a cloth-of-silver and blue-fox opera wrap, a shiveringthat amounted practically to chill took hold of her. 

"Br-r-r!" she said, full of all men's awe at the carbon-dioxide paradox. "I'm so hot I'm cold!"

Miss Clarice Delehanty slid out of a shower of tulle-of-golddancing-frock and into an Avenue gown of rough serge. The tail of a veryarched eyebrow threatened, and then ran down in a black rill. 

 "If Niagara Falls was claret lemonade, You'd see me beat it to a watery grave. "

"That'll be enough canary-talk out of you, Clare. Hand me my shirt-waistthere off the hook. "

"Didn't Kess say we had to show Keokuk the line before lunch?"

"If the King of England was buying ermine sport coats this morning, Iwouldn't show 'em before I had a cold cut and a long drink in me. Hurry!Hand me my waist, Clare, before the girls come in from showing thebridesmaid line. "

Miss Delehanty flung the garment down the narrow length of the room. 

"Minneapolis don't know it, but after this showing he's going to blow meto the frappiest little lunch on the Waldorf roof. "

Miss Becker buttoned her flimsy blouse with three pearl beads down itsfront, wiping constantly at a constantly dampening brow. 

"You'd shove over the Goddess of Liberty if you thought she had her footon a meal ticket. "

"Yes; and if I busted her, you could build a new one on the lunch moneyyou've saved in your time. "

"Waldorf! You've got a fine chance with Minneapolis. You mean theAutomat, and two spoons for the ice-cream. "

Miss Delehanty adjusted a highly eccentric hat, a small green velvet, outrageously tilted off the rear of its _bandeau_, and a wide blackstreamer flowing down over one shoulder. It was the match to theexplosive effect of the _trotteur_ gown. She was Fashion's humoresque, except that Fashion has no sense of humor. Very presently Minneapoliswould appraise her at two hundred and seventy-five as is. Miss Delehantyherself came cheaper. 

"Say, Hattie, don't let being an old man's darling go to your head. Thegrandchildren may issue an injunction. "

A flare of crimson rushed immediately over Miss Becker's face, spreadingdown into her neck. 

"You let him alone! He's a darn sight better than anything I've seen yougirls picking for yourselves. You never met a man in your life whosename wasn't Johnnie. You couldn't land a John in a million years. "

Miss Delehanty raised her face from over a shoe-buckle. A stare began toset in, as obviously innocent as a small boy's between spitballs. 

"Well, who said anything about old St. Louis, I'd like to know?"

"You did, and you leave him alone! What do you know about a real man?You'd pass up a Ford ride to sit still in a pasteboard limousineevery time!"

"Well, of all things! Did I say anything?"

"Yes, you did!"

"Why, for my part, he can show you a good time eight nights in the weekand Sundays, too. "

"He 'ain't got grandchildren--if you want to know it. "

"Did I say he had?"

"Yes, you did!"

"Why, I don't blame any girl for showing grandpa a good time. "

"You could consider yourself darn lucky, Clarice Delehanty, if one halfas good ever--"

"Ask the girls if I don't always say old St. Louis is all to the good. Three or four years ago, right after his wife died, I said to Ada, I said--"

A head showed suddenly through the lining side of the mauve portières, blue-eyed, blue-shaved, and with a triple ripple of black hairtrained backward. 

"Hurry along there with fifty-seven, Delehanty! Heyman's got to see theline and catch that six-two Chicago flier. "

Miss Delehanty fell into pose, her profile turned back over oneshoulder. 

"Tell him to chew a clove; it's good for breathless haste, " she said, disappearing through portières into the show-room. 

Miss Becker thrust herself from a hastily-found-out aperture, patting, with final touch, her belt into place. 

"Have I been asking you for five years, Kess, to knock before you pokeyour head in on us girls?"

Mr. Leon Kessler appeared then fully between the curtains, letting themdrape heavily behind him. Gotham garbs her poets and her brokers, heremployers and employees, in the national pin-stripes and sack coat. Except for a few pins stuck upright in his coat lapel, Mr. Kessler mighthave been his banker or his salesman. Typical New-Yorker is the pseudo, half enviously bestowed upon his kind by _hinter_ America. It signifiesa bi-weekly manicure, femininely administered; a hotel lobbyist who canoutstare a seatless guest; the sang-froid to add up a dinner check;spats. When Mr. Kessler tipped, it did not clink; it rustled. Intheater, at each interval between acts, he piled out over ladies' kneesand returned chewing a mint. He journeyed twice a year to a famousSouthern spa, and there won or lost his expenses. He regarded MissBecker, peering at her around the fluff of a suspended frock ofpink tulle. 

"What's the idea, Becker? Keokuk wants to see you in the wrap line. "

Miss Becker swallowed hard, jamming down and pinning into a smalltaffy-colored turban, her hair, the exact shade of it, escaping inscallops. Carefully powdered-out lines of her face seemed to emergesuddenly through the conserved creaminess of her skin. Thirty-four, inits unguarded moments, will out. Miss Becker had almost detainedtwenty's waistline and twenty-two's ardent thrust of face. It was onlythe indentures of time that had begun to tell slightly--indentures thatpowder could not putty out. There was a slight bagginess of throat wherethe years love to eat in first, and out from the eyes a spray of finelines. It was these lines that came out now indubitably. 

"If you want me to lay down on you, Kess, for sure, just ask me to showthe line again before lunch. I'm about ready to keel. And you can't putme off again. I'm ready, and you got to come now. "

He dug so deeply into his pockets that his sleeves crawled up. 

"Say, look here. I've got my business to attend to, and, when my trade'sin town, my trade comes first. See? Take off and show Keokuk a fewnumbers. I want him to see that chinchilla drape. "

She reached out, closing her hand over his arm. 

"I'll show him the whole line, Kess, when we're back from lunch. I gotto talk to you, I tell you. You put me off yesterday and the day before, and this--this is the last. "

"The last what?"

"Please, Kess, if you only run over to Rinehardt's with me. I got totell you something. Something about me and--and--"

He regarded her in some perplexity. "Tell it to me here. Now!"

"I can't. The girls'll be swarming in any minute. I can't get youanywheres but lunch. It's the first thirty minutes of your time I'veasked in five years, Kess--is that little enough? Let Cissie showKeokuk the blouses till we get back. It's something, Kess, I can't putoff. Kess, please!"

Her face was so close to him and so eager that he turned to back out. 

"Wait for me at the Thirty-first Street entrance, " he said, "and I'llshoot you across to Rinehardt's. "

She caught up her small silk hand-bag and ran out toward the elevators. Down in Thirty-first Street a wave of heat met, almost overpowering her. New York, enervated from sleepless nights on fire-escapes and inbedrooms opening on areaways, moved through it at half-speed, huggingthe narrow shade of buildings. Infant mortality climbed with thethermometer. In Fifth Avenue, cool, high bedrooms were boarded andempty. In First Avenue, babies lay naked on the floor, snuffing out forwant of oxygen. 

Across that man-made Grand Cañon men leap sometimes, but seldom. Motherswhose babies lie naked on the floor look out across it, damning. 

Out into this flaying heat Miss Becker stepped gingerly, almostimmediately rejoined by Mr. Leon Kessler, crowningly touched with thecorrect thing in straw sailors. 

"Get a move on, " he said, guiding her across the soft asphalt. 

In Rinehardt's, one of a thousand such _Rathskeller_ retreats designedfor a city that loves to dine in fifteen languages, the noonday cortègeof summer widowers had not yet arrived. Waiters moved through the dim, pink-lit gloom, dressing their tables temptingly cool and white, dipping ice out from silver buckets into thin tumblers. 

They seated themselves beneath a ceiling fan, Miss Becker'staffy-colored scallops stirring in the scurry of air. 

"Lordy!" she said, closing her eyes and pressing her finger-tips againstthem, "I wish I could lease this spot for the summer!"

He pushed a menu-card toward her. "What'll you have? There's plentyunder the 'ready to serve. '"

She peeled out of her white-silk gloves. 

"Some cold cuts and a long ice-tea. "

He ordered after her and more at length, then lighted a cigarette. 

"Well?" he said, waving out a match. 

She leaned forward, already designing with her fork on the table-cloth. 

"Kess, can you guess?"

"Come on with it!"

"Have you--noticed anything?"

"Say, I'd have a sweet time keeping up with you girls!"

She looked at him now evenly between the eyes. 

"You kept up with me pretty close for three years, didn't you?"

"Say, you knew what you were doing!"

"I--I'm not so sure of that by a long shot. I--I was fed up with themost devilish kind of promises there are. The kind you was too smart toput in words or--or in writing. You--you only looked 'em. "

"I suppose you was kidnapped one dark and stormy night while thevillain pursued you, eh? Is that it?"

"Oh, what's the use--rehashing! After that time at Atlantic Cityand--and then the--flat, it--it just seemed the way I felt about youthen--that nothing you wanted could be wrong. I guess I knew what I wasdoing all right, or, if I didn't, I ought to have. I was rotten--or Icouldn't have done it, I guess. Only, deep inside of me I was waitingand banking on you like--like poor little Cissie is now. And you knewit; you knew it all them three years. "

"Say, did you get me over here to--"

"I only hope to God when you're done with Cissie you'll--"

"You let me take care of my own affairs. If it comes right down to it, there's a few things I could tell you, girl, that ain't so easy tolisten to. Let's get off the subject while the going's good. "

"Oh, anybody that plays as safe as you--"

He raised his voice, shoving back his chair. "Well, if you want me toclear out of this place quicker than you can bat your eye, you just--"

"No, no, Kess! 'Sh-h-h-h!"

"If there ever was a girl in my place had a square deal, that girl'sbeen you. "

"'Square deal!' Because after I held on and--ate out my heart for threeyears, you didn't--take away my job, too? Somebody ought to pin aCarnegie medal on you!"

"You've held down a twenty-dollar-a-week job season in and season out, when there've been times it didn't even pay for the ink it took towrite you on the pay-roll. "

"There's nothing I ever got out of you I didn't earn three times over. "

"A younger figure than yours is getting to be wouldn't hurt the lineany, you know. It's because I make it a rule not to throw off the oldgirls when their waist-lines begin to spread that makes you so grateful, is it? There's not a firm in town keeps on a girl after she begins toheavy up. If you got to know why I took you off the dress line and putyou in the wraps, it's because I seen you widening into a thirty-eight, and a darn poor one at that. I can sell two wraps off Cissie to one offyou. You're getting hippy, girl, and, since you started the subject, youcan be darn glad you know where your next week's salary's coming from. "

She was reddening so furiously that even her earlobes, their tipsescaping beneath the turban, were tinged. 

"Maybe I--I'm getting hippy, Kess; but it'll take more than anything youcan ever do for me to make up for--"

"Gad!" he said, flipping an ash in some disgust, "I wish I had aten-cent piece for every one since!"

"Oh, " she cried, her throat jerking, "you eat what you just said! Youeat it, because you know it ain't so!"

"Now look here, " he said, straightening up suddenly, "I don't know whatyour game is, but if you're here to stir up the old dust that's beenlaid for five years--"

"No, no, Kess! It's only that--what I got to tell you--I--it makes adifference, I--"

"What?"

"There's nothing in these years since, I swear to God, or in the yearsbefore, that I got to be ashamed of!"

"All right! All right!"

"If ever a girl came all of a sudden to her senses, it was me. If ever agirl has lived a quiet life, picking herself up and brushing the dustoff, it's been me. Oh, I don't say I 'ain't been entertained by thetrade--I didn't dodge my job--but it's been a straight kind of atime--straight!"

"I'm not asking for an alibi, Becker. What's the idea?"

"Kess, " she said, leaning forward, with tears popping out in her eyes, "I. W. Goldstone has asked me to marry him. "

He laid down his roll in the act of buttering it, gazing across at herwith his knife upright in his hand. 

"Huh?"

"Night before last, Kess, in the poppy-room at Shalif's. "

"Are you crazy?"

"It's the God's truth, Kess. He's begging me for an answer by to-night, before he goes back home. "

"I. W. Goldstone, of Goldstone & Auer, ladies' wear?"

She nodded, her hand to her throat. 

"Well, I'll be strung up!"

"He--he says, Kess, it's been on his mind for a year and a half, eversince his spring trip a year ago. He wants to take me back with him, Kess, home. "

"Whew!" said Mr. Kessler, wiping his brow and the back of his collar. 

"You're no more surprised than me, Kess. I--I nearly fell off theChristmas tree. "

"Good Lord! Why, his wife--he had her in the store it seems yesterday!"

"She's been dead four years and seven months, Kess. "

"Old I. W. And you!"

"He's only fifty-two, Kess; I'm thirty-four. "

"I. W. Goldstone!"

"I know it. I can't realize it, neither. "

"Why, he's worth two hundred thousand, if he's worth a cent!"

"I know it, Kess. "

"The old man's stringing you, girl. His kind stop, look, and listen. "

"He's not stringing me! I tell you he's begging me to marry him and goback home with him. He's even told his--daughter about me. "

"Good Lord--little Effie! I was out there once when she was a kid. Stopped off on my way to Hot Springs. They live in a kind ofpark--Forest Park Street or something or other. Why, I've done businesswith Goldstone & Auer for fifteen years, and my father before me!Good Lord!"

"What'll I do, Kess?"

"So that's the size of the fish you went out and landed!"

"I didn't! I didn't! He's been asking me out the last three trips, andpost-cards in between, but I never thought nothing of it. "

"Why, he can't get away with this!"

"Why?"

"They won't stand for it out in that Middle West town. He's the head ofa big business. He's got a grown daughter. "

"He's got her fixed, Kess--settled on her. "

"Hattie Becker, Mrs. I. W. Goldstone! Gad! can you beat it? Can't youjust see me, when I come out to St. Louis pretty soon, having dinner outat Mrs. I. W. Goldstone's house? Say, am I seeing things?"

"What'll I do, Kess? What'll I do?"

"I tell you that you can't get away with it, girl. The old man's gettingchildish; they'll have to have him restrained. Why, the woman he wasmarried to for twenty years, Lenie Goldstone, never even seen askirt-dance. I remember once he brought her to New York and thenwouldn't let her see a cabaret show. He won't even buy sleeveless modelsfor his French room. "

"I tell you, Kess, he'll take me to Jersey to-morrow and marry me, if Igive the word. "

"Not a chance!"

"I tell you yes. That's why I got to see you. I got to tell himto-night, Kess. He--goes back to-morrow. "

He regarded her slowly, watching her throat where it throbbed. 

"Well, what are you going to do?"

"I--I don't know. "

"Where do you stand with him? Sweet sixteen and never been kissed?"

"He--he don't ask questions, Kess. I--I'm his ideal, he says, ofthe--kind of--woman can take up for him where his wife left off. He sayswe're alike in everything but looks, and that a man who was happy inmarriage like him can't be happy outside of it. He--he's sized up prettywell the way I live, and--and--he knows I don't expect too much out oflife no more. Just a quiet kind of team-work, he puts it--pullingtogether fifty-fifty, and somebody's hand to hold on to when old fellowTime hits you a whack in the knees from behind. But he ain't old when hetalks that way, Kess; he--he's beautiful to me. "

"Does he wear a mask when he makes love?"

"He's got a fine face. "

"So that's the way you're playing it, is it? Love-stuff?"

"Oh, I've had all the love-stuff knocked out of me. Three years ofeating out my heart is about all the love-stuff I can handle for awhile. He don't want that in a woman. I don't want it in him. He's justa plain, good man I never in my life could dream of having. A good homein a good town where life ain't like a red-eyed devil ready to hit indeep between the shoulder-blades. I know why he says he can see his wifein me. He knows I'm the kind was cut out for that kind of life--home andkitchen and my own parsley in my own back yard. He knows, if he marriesme, carpet slippers seven nights in the week is my speed. I never wantto see a 'roof, ' or a music-show, or a cabaret again to the day I die. He knows I'll fit in home like a goldfish in its bowl. Life made amistake with me, and it's going to square itself. It's fate, Kess;that's what it is--fate!"

She clapped her hands to her face, sobbing down into them. 

He glanced about him in quick and nervous concern. 

"Pull yourself together there, Becker; we're in a public place. "

"If only I could go to him and tell him. "

"Well, you can't. "

"It's not you that keeps me. Only, I know that with his kind of man andat his age, a woman is--is one thing or another and that ends it. With agrown daughter, he wouldn't--couldn't--he's too set in his ways to knowhow it was with me--and--what'll I do, Kess?"

"Say, I'm not going to stand in your light, if that's what's eating you. If you can get away with it, I don't wish you nothing but well. Looks tome like all right, if you want to make the try. I'll even come and breakbread with you when I go out to see my Middle West trade pretty soon. That's the kind of a hairpin I am. "

"It's like I keep saying to myself, Kess. If--if he'd ask me anything, it--it would be different. He--he says he never felt so satisfied that awoman had the right stuff in her. And I have! There's nothing in theworld can take that away from me. I can give him what he wants. I know Ican. Why, the way I'll make up to that little girl out there and loveher to death! I ask so little, Kess--just a decent life and rest--peace. I'm tired. I want to let myself get fat. I'm built that way, to get fat. It was nothing but diet gave me the anaemia last summer. He says hewants me to plump out. Perfect thirty-six don't mean nothing in his lifeexcept for the trade. No more rooming-houses with the kitchenette in thebath-room. A kitchen, he says, Kess, half the size of the show-room, with a butler's pantry. He likes to play pinochle at night, he says, next to the sitting-room fire. He tried to learn me the rules of thegame the other night in the poppy-room. It's easy. His first wife wasdeath on flowers. She used to train roses over their back fence. Heloved to see her there. He wants me to like to grow them. He wants totake me back to a home of my own and peace, where life can't look to agirl like a devil with horns. He wants to take me home. What'll I do, Kess? Please, please, what'll I do?"

He was rather inarticulate, but reached out to pat her arm. "Go--toit--girl, and--God bless you!"

 * * * * *

Forest Park Boulevard comes in sootily, smokestacks, gas-tanks, andlarge areas of scarred vacant lots boding ill enough for its destiny. But after a while, where Taylor Avenue bisects, it begins to retrieveitself. Here it is parked down its center, a narrow strip set out inshrubs, and on either side, traffic, thus divided, flows evenly up anddown a macadamized roadway. In summer the shrubs thicken, halfconcealing one side of Forest Park Boulevard from its other. Housessuddenly take on detached and architectural importance, often as not agravel driveway dividing lawns, and out farther still, where the streeteventually flows into Forest Park, the Italian Renaissance invades, somebody's rococo money's worth. 

I. W. Goldstone's home, so near the park that, in spring, the smell oflilacs and gasolene hovers over it, pretends not to period or dynasty. Well detached, and so far back from the sidewalk that interlocking treesconceal its second-story windows, an alcove was frankly a bulge on itsred-brick exterior. Where the third-floor bath-room, an afterthought, led off the hallway, it jutted out, a shingled protuberance on the leftend of the house. A tower swelled out of its front end, and all yearround geraniums and boxed climbing vines bloomed in its three stories. 

Across a generous ledge of veranda, more vines grew quite furiously, reaching their height and then growing down upon themselves. Behindthose vines, and so cunningly concealed by them that not even the whitewrapper could flash through to the passerby, Mrs. I. W. Goldstone, in achair that would rock rhythmically with her, loved to sit in the firstdusk of evening, pleasantly idle. A hose twirling on the lawn spun upthe smell of green, abetted by similar whirlings down the wide vista ofadjoining lawns. Occasionally, a prideful and shirt-sleeved landedproprietor wielded his own hose, flushing the parched sidewalk orshooting spray against hot bricks that drank in thirstily. 

As Mrs. Goldstone rocked she smiled, tilting herself backward off theballs of her feet. The years had cropped out in her suddenly, surprisingly, and with a great deal of geniality. The taffy cast to herhair had backslid to ashes of roses. Uncorseted and in the whitewrapper, she was quite frankly widespread, her hips fitting in tightbetween the chair-arms, and her knees wide. 

A screen door snapped sharply shut on its spring, Mr. I. W. Goldstoneemerging. There was a great rotundity to his silhouette, the generousoutward curve to his waist-line giving to his figure a swaybackerectness, the legs receding rather short and thin from the bay ofwaistcoat. 

"Hattie?"

"Here I am, I. W. "

"I looped up the sweet-peas. "

"Good!"

He sat down beside her, wide-kneed, too, the smooth top of his head andhis shirt sleeves spots in the darkness. 

"Get dressed a little, Hattie, and I'll get out the car and ride you outto Forest Park Highlands. "

She slowed, but did not cease to rock. 

"It's so grand at home this evening, I. W. I'm too comfortable to evendress myself. "

He felt for her hand in the gloom; she put it out to him. 

"You huck home too much, Hattie. "

"I guess I do, honey; but it's like I can never get enough of it. Thefirst year I was a home body, and the second and third year I'm twoof 'em. "

"That's something you'll never hear me complain of in a woman. There'sa world of good in the woman who loves her home. "

"It's not that, I. W. It's because I--I never dreamed that therewas anything like this coming to me. To live around in rooms, yearin and year out, in the lonesomest town in the world, and then, allof a sudden, a home of your own and a hubby of your own and a daughterof your own, why--I dunno--sometimes when I think of them days it'slike life was a big red devil with horns and a tail that I'd got awayfrom. Why, if it was to get me again, I--I dunno, honey, Idunno--I--just--dunno. "

"You're a good woman, Hattie, and you deserve all that's coming to you. I wish it was more. "

"And you're a good man--they don't come no better. "

"I'm satisfied with my bargain. "

"And me with mine, honey, if--if you don't mind the talk. "

"S-ay, this town would talk if you cut its tongue out. "

"You're my nice old hubby!"

"If I ever was a little uneasy it was in the beginning, Hattie--thegirl--those things don't always turn out. "

"It's her as much as me, I. W. She's the sweetest little thing. "

"Never seen the like the way you took hold, though. I'll bet there's notone woman in a hundred could have worked it out easier. "

"That's right--kid me to death. "

"'Kid, ' she says, the minute I tell her the truth. "

"Put on your cap, I. W. ; it's getting damp. "

He felt under the chair-cushions, drawing out and adjusting a blackskull-cap. 

"Want to go to the picture-show awhile, Hattie?"

"No. When Lizzie's done the dishes, I want to set some dough. "

"Let's walk, then, a little. I ate too much supper. "

"Just in the side yard, I. W. It's a shame the way I don't dressevenings. "

"S-ay, in your own home, shouldn't you have your own comfort? You cantake it from me, Hattie, no matter what Effie tells you, you're twicethe looking woman with some skin on your bones. I want my wife when shesits down to table she should not look blue-faced when the gravy ispassed. Maybe it's not the style, but if it suits your old man, weshould worry who else it suits. "

"It's not right, I. W. , but I love it--this feeling at home for--forgood. " She rose out of the low mound she had made in the chair, tuckingup the white wrapper at both sides. "Come; let's walk in the side yard. "

A narrow strip of asphalt ran across the housefrontage, turning in agenerous elbow and then back the depth of the lot. They paced it quietlyin the gloom, arm in arm, and their voices under darkness. 

"Next month is my New York trip. All of a sudden Effie begs I shouldtake her. We'll all go. What you say, Hattie? It'll do us good. "

"You take the kid, I. W. Lizzie needs watching. Yesterday I had to makeher do the whole butler's pantry over. She just naturally ain't clean. "

"You got such luck with your roses, Hattie; it's wonderful!"

They were beneath a climbing bush of them that ran along, glorifying awooden fence. 

She pulled a fan of them to her face. "M-m-m-m!"

"I must spray for worms to-morrow, " he said. 

They resumed their soft walking in the gloom. "Where's Effie?"

"Telephoning. "

"I ask you, is it a shame a child should hang on to the telephone anhour at a time? Fifty minutes since she was interrupted from suppershe's been there. "

"What's the harm in a young girl telephoning, I. W. ? All young folkslike to gad over the wire. "

"What can a girl have to say over the telephone for fifty minutes?Altogether in my life I never talked that long into the telephone. "

"Let the child alone, I. W. "

"Who can she get to listen to her for fifty minutes?"

"Birdie Harberger usually calls up at this time. "

"Always at supper-time! Never in my life has that child sat down at thetable it don't ring in our faces. The next time what it happens you cantake sides with her all you want, not one step does she move till she'sfinished with her supper. "

"As easy with her as you are, I. W. , just as unreasonable you can get. "

"On the stairs-landing for an hour a child should giggle into thetelephone! I'm ashamed for the operators. You take sides with her yet. "

"I don't, I. W. ; only--"

"You do!"

A patch of light from an upper window sprang then across their path. 

"She's in her room now, I. W. !" cried Mrs. Goldstone. "She hasn't beentelephoning all this time at all. Now, crosspatch!"

"You know much! Can't you see she just lit up? Effie!"

A voice came down to them, clear and with a quality to it like the ringof thin glass. 

"Coming, pop!"

The light flashed out again, and in a length of time that could onlyhave meant three steps at a bound she was around the elbow of theasphalt walk, a coat dangling off one arm, her summery skirts flyingbackward and her head ardently forward. 

"You'll never guess!"

She flung herself between the two of them, linking into each of theirelbows. 

"By my watch, Effie, fifty minutes! If it happens again that you getrung up supper-time, I--"

"It was Leon Kessler, pop; he didn't leave on the six-two. Can you beatit? Down at the station he got to thinking of me and turned back. Oh, mygolly! how the boys love me!"

She was jumping now on the tips of her toes, her black curls bouncing. 

"You don't tell me!" said Mr. Goldstone. "To-day in the store he sayshe must be back in New York by Monday morning. "

She thrust her face outward, its pink-and-white vividness very close tohis. 

"Is my daddy's daughter going out in a seventy horse-power to DelmarGarden? She is!"

"Them New York boys spend too much money on the girls when they come. They spoil them for the home young men. "

"Can I help it if he couldn't tear himself away?"

"S-ay, don't fool yourself! I said to him to-day he should stay overSunday. After the bill of goods I bought from him this morning, and theway he only comes out to see his trade once in five or six years, heshould stay and mix with them a little longer. That fellow knows goodbusiness. "

She turned her face with a fling of curls to the right of her, linkingcloser into the soft arm there. 

"Listen to him, Mamma Hat! Let's shove a brick house over on him. "

When Mrs. Goldstone finally spoke there was a depth to her voice thatseemed to create sudden quiet. 

"Effie, Effie, why didn't you let him go?"

"Let him? Did I tie any strings to him? I said good-by to him in thestore this afternoon. Can I help it that the boys love me? Why didn't Ilet him go, she says!"

Her father pinched her slyly at that. "_Echta_ fresh kid, " he said. 

To her right, the hand at her arm clung closer. 

"Effie, you--you're so young, honey. Leon Kessler's an old-timer--"

"I hate kids. Give me a _man_ every time. I like them when they've gotenough sense to--"

"Why didn't you let him go, Effie? Ain't I right, I. W. ? Ain't I right?"

"S-ay, what's the difference if he likes to show her a good time? If Iwas a young man, I wouldn't pass her up myself. "

"But, I. W. , she's--so young!"

"Who's young? I'm nineteen, going on--"

"You've been running with him all the three days he's been here, honey. What's the use getting yourself talked about?"

"Well, any girl in town would be glad to get herself talked about ifLeon Kessler was rushing her. "

"Effie, I won't let you--I won't--"

Miss Goldstone unhinged her arm, jerking it free in anger. 

"Well, I like that!"

"Effie, I--"

"You ain't my boss!"

"Effie!"

"But, papa, she--"

There was a booming in Mr. Goldstone's voice and a suddenly projectedvibrancy. 

"You apologize to your mother--this minute! You talk to your mother theway you know she's to be talked to!"

"I. W. , she didn't--"

"You hear me!"

"I. W. ! Don't holler at her; she--"

"She ain't your boss? Well, she just is your boss! You take back themwords and say you're sorry! You apologize to your mother!" Immediatesobs were rumbling up through Miss Goldstone. 

"Well, she--I--I didn't do anything. She's down on him. She--"

"Oh, Effie, would I say anything if it wasn't for your own good?"

"You--you were down on him from the start!"

"Effie darling, you must be mad! Would I say anything if it wasn't forour girl's good to--"

"I--oh, Mamma Hat, I'm sorry, darling! I never meant a word. I didn't! Ididn't, darling!"

They embraced there in the shrouding darkness, the tears flowing. 

"Oh, Effie--Effie!"

"I didn't mean one word I said, darling! I just get nasty like thatbefore I know it. I didn't mean it!"

"My own Effie!"

"My darling Mamma Hat!"

In the shadow of a flowering shrub Mr. Goldstone stood by, mopping. Mrs. Goldstone took the small face between her hands, peering down into it. 

"Effie, Effie, don't let--"

Just beyond the enclosing hedge, a motor-car drew up, honking, at thecurb, two far-flung paths of light whitening the street and a disusediron negro-boy hitching-post. Miss Goldstone reared back. 

"That's him!"

"Effie!"

"Let me go, dearie; let me go!"

"But, Effie--"

"Say, Hattie, I don't want to butt in, but it don't hurt the childshould go riding a little while out by Delmar Garden--a man that canhandle a car like Leon Kessler. Anyways, it don't pay to hurt the firm'sfeelings. "

There was a constant honking now at the curb, and violent throbbing ofengine. 

"But, I. W. --"

"Popsie darling, I'll be back early. Mamma Hat, please!"

"Your mother says yes, baby. Tell Kess he should come for Sunday dinnerto-morrow. "

She was a white streak across the grass, her nervous feet flying. Almostinstantly the honk of a horn came streaming back, faint, fainter. 

Left standing there, Goldstone was instantly solicitous of his wife, feeling along her arm up under the loose sleeve. 

"It don't pay, Hattie, to hurt Kessler's feelings, and, anyhow, what'sthe difference just so we know who she's running with? It's like thishouse was a honey-pot and the boys flies. "

She turned to him now with her voice full of husk, and even in the darkher face bleached and shrunken from its plumpness. 

"You oughtn't to let her! You--hadn't the right! She's too young andtoo--sweet for a man like him. You oughtn't to let her!"

He stepped out in front of her, taking her by the elbows and holdingthem close down against her sides. 

"Why, Hattie, that child's own mother that loved her like an angelcouldn't worry no more foolishly about her than you do. Gad! I think youwimmin love it! It was the same kind of worrying shortened her mother'slife. Always about nothing, too. 'Lenie, ' I used to say to her, just toquiet her, 'it was worry killed a Maltese cat; don't let it kill you. 'That child is all right, Hattie. What if he does like her pretty well?Worse could happen. "

"No, it couldn't! No!"

"Why not? He 'ain't seen her since a child, and all of a sudden he comesWest and finds in front of him an eye-opener. "

"He's twice her age--more!"

"The way girls demand things nowadays, a man has got to be twice her agebefore he can provide for her. Leon Kessler is big rich. "

"He--he's fast. "

"Show me the one that 'ain't sowed his wild oats. Them's the kind thatsettle down quickest into good husbands. "

"He--"

"S-ay, it 'ain't happened yet. I'm the last one to wish my girl off myhands. I only say not a boy in this town could give it to her so good. Fifteen years I've done business with that firm, and with his fatherbefore him. A-1 house! S-ay, I should worry that he ain't aSunday-school boy. Show me the one that is. Your old man in his youngdays wasn't such a low flier, neither, if anybody should ask you. " Hemade a whirring noise in his throat at that, pinching her cold cheek. She was walking rapidly now toward the house. "Well, since our daughtergoes out riding in a six-thousand-dollar car, to show that we're sports, lets her father and mother take themselves out for a ride in theirsix-hundred-dollar car. I drive you out as far as Yiddle's farm for somesweet butter, eh?"

"No, no; I'm cold. It's getting damp. "

"S-ay, you can't hurt my feelings. On a cool night like this, abrand-new sleeping-porch ain't the worst spot in the world. "

They were on the veranda, the hall light falling dimly out and overthem. 

"She's so young--"

"Now, now, Hattie; worry killed a Maltese cat. Come to bed. "

"You go. I want to wait up. "

"Hattie, you want to make of yourself the laughingstock of theneighborhood. A grown-up girl goes out riding with a man like LeonKessler, and you wants to wait up and catch your death of cold. If wehad more daughters, I wouldn't have no more wife; I'd have a shadow fromworry. Come!"

"I'll be up in a minute, I. W. "

He regarded her in some concern. 

"Why, Hattie, if there's anything in the world to worry about, wouldn'tI be the first? Ain't you well?"

"Yes. "

"Then come. I'll get a pitcher of ice-water to take up-stairs. "

"I'll be up in a minute. "

"I don't want, Hattie, you should wait up for that child and take yourdeath of cold. Because I sleep like a log when I once hit the bed, don't you play no tricks on me. "

"I'll be up in a minute, I. W. "

He moved into the house and, after a while, to the clinking of iceagainst glass, up the stairs. 

"Come, Hattie; and be sure and leave the screen door unhooked for her. "

"Yes, I. W. "

An hour she sat in the shrouded darkness of the elbow of the veranda. Street noises died. The smell of damp came out. Occasionally a motor-carsped by, or a passer-by, each step clear on the asphalt. The song ofcrickets grated against the darkness. An infant in the right-side houseraised a fretful voice once or twice, and then broke into a sustainedand coughy fit of crying. Lights flashed up in the windows, silhouettesmoving across drawn shades. Then silence again. The university clock, amile out, chimed twelve, and finally a sonorous one. Mrs. Goldstone layhuddled in her chair, vibrant for sound. At two o'clock the long, high-power car drew up at the curb again, this time without honking. Shesat forward, trembling. 

There followed a half-hour of voices at the curb, a low voice ofundeniable tensity, high laughter that shot up in joyous geysers. It wasa fifteen-minute process from the curb to the first of the porch steps, and then Mrs. Goldstone leaned forward, her voice straining to keepits pitch. 

"Effie!"

The young figure sprang around the porch pillar. 

"Mamma Hat! Honey, you didn't wait up for me?"

Mr. Kessler came forward, goggles pushed up above his cap-visor. 

"Well, I'm hanged! What did you think--that I was kidnapping the kid?"

"How--how dared you! It's after two, and--"

Miss Goldstone began then to jump again upon her toes, linking her armin his. 

"Tell her, Leon! Tell her! Oh, Mamma Hat! Mamma Hat!"

She was suddenly in Mrs. Goldstone's arms, her ardent face burningthrough the white wrapper. 

Mr. Kessler removed his cap, flinging it upward again and catching it. 

"Tell her, Leon!"

"Well, what would you say, Becker, what would you say if I was to comeout here and swipe that little darling there?"

"Oh, Leon--kidder!"

"If--what?"

"I said it!"

"Tell her, Kess; tell it out! Oh, mommie, mommie!"

He leaned forward with his hand on the back of the turbulent head ofcurls. 

"You little darling, I'm going to put you on my back and carry you offto New York. "

"Oh, mommie, " cried Miss Goldstone, flinging back her head so that herface shone up, "he asked me in Delmar Garden! We're going to live in NewYork, darling, and Rockaway in summer. He don't care a rap about theNew York girls compared to me. We're going to Cuba on our honeymoon. I'mengaged, darling! I got engaged to-night!"

"That's the idea, Twinkle-pinkle. I'd carry you off to-night if Icould!"

"Mommie Hat, ain't you glad?"

"Effie--Effie--"

"Mommie, what is it? What's the matter, darling? What?"

"I--it's just that I got cold, honey, sitting here waiting--the surpriseand all. Run, honey, and get me a drink. Crack some ice, dearie, andthen run up-stairs in the third floor back and see if there's somebrandy up there. Be sure to look for--the brandy. I--I'll be all right. "

"My poor, darling, cold mommie!"

She was off on the slim, quick feet, the screen door slamming andvibrating. 

Then Mrs. Goldstone sprang up. 

"You wouldn't dare! Such a baby--you wouldn't dare!"

"Dare what?"

"You can't have the child! You can't!"

"What do you mean?"

"What do I mean?"

He advanced a step, his voice and expression lifted in incredulity. 

"Say, look here, Becker, are you stark, raving crazy? Is it possible youdon't know that, in your place, nobody but a crazy woman would openher mouth?"

"Maybe; but I don't care. Just leave her alone, Kess, please! Thatlittle baby can stand nothing but happiness. "

"Why, woman, you're crazy with the heat. If you want to know it, I'mnuts over that little kid. Gad! never ran across anything so full of zipin my life! I'm going to make life one joy ride after another for thatjoy baby. That kid's the showpiece of the world. She's got me so hippedI'm crazy, and the worst of it is I like it. You don't need to worry. Asthe boys say, when I settle down, I'm going to settle hard. "

"You ain't fit to have her!"

"Say, the kind of life I've lived I ain't ashamed to tell her ownfather. He's a man, and I'm a man, and life's life. "

"You--"

"Now look here, Becker. That'll be about all. If you're in your rightsenses, you're going to ring the joy bells louder than any one aroundhere. What you got on your chest you can just as well cut your throat astell; so we'll both live happy ever after. There's not one thing in mylife that any jury wouldn't pass, and--"

"I've seen you drunk. "

"Well, what of it? It took three of us to yank old I. W. Out from underthe table at my sister's wedding. "

"You--What about you and Cissie and--"

The light run of feet, and almost instantly Miss Goldstone waspirouetting in between them. 

"Here, dearie! There wasn't anything like brandy up in the third floor. I found some cordial in the pantry. Drink it down, dearie; it'llwarm you. "

They hovered together, Miss Goldstone trembling between solicitude andher state of intensity. 

"Kessie darling, you've got to go now. I want to get mommie up-stairs tobed. You got to go, darling, until to-morrow. Oh, why isn't it tomorrow?I want everybody to know. Don't let on, Mamma Hat. I'll pop it on popsieat breakfast while I'm opening his eggs for him. You come for breakfast, Leon. You're in the family now. " He lifted her bodily from her feet, pressing a necklace of kisses round her throat. 

"Good night, Twinkle-pinkle, till to-morrow. "

"Good night, darling. I won't sleep a wink, waiting for you. "

"Me, neither. "

"One more, darling--a French one. "

"Two for good measure. "

"Sleep tight, beautiful! Good night!"

"Good night, beautifulest!"

She stood poised forward on the topmost step, watching him betweenbackward waves of the hand crank, throw his clutch, and steer off. Thenshe turned inward, a sigh trembling between her lips. 

"Oh, Mamma Hat, I--"

But Mrs. Goldstone's chair was empty. Into it with a second and moretremulous sigh sank Miss Goldstone, her lips lifted in the smile thathad been kissed. 

When Mr. Goldstone slept, every alternate breath started with a rumblesomewhere down in the depths of him and, drawn up like a chain from awell, petered out into a thin whistle before the next descent. Besidehim, now, on her knees, Mrs. Goldstone shook at his shoulder. 

"I. W. ! I. W. ! Quick! Wake up!"

He let out a shuddering, abysmal breath. 

"I. W. ! Please!"

He moaned, turning his face from her. 

She tugged him around again, now raising his face between her hands fromthe pillow. 

"I. W. ! Try to wake up! For God's sake, I. W. !" He sprang up in aterrified daze, sitting upright in bed. 

"My God! Who? What's wrong? Effie! Hattie. "

"No, no; don't get excited, I. W. It's me--Hattie!"

"What?"

"Nothing, I. W. Nothing to get excited about. Only I got to tell yousomething. "

"Where's Effie?"

"She's home. "

"What time is it?"

"Three. "

"Come back to bed, then; you got the nightmare. "

"No, no!"

"You ain't well, Hattie? Let me light up. "

"No, no; only, I got to tell you something! I 'ain't been to bed; I beenwaiting up, and--"

"And what?"

"She just came home--engaged!"

"My God! Effie?"

He blinked in the darkness, drawing up his knees to a hump under thesheet. 

"Engaged--how?"

"I. W. , don't you remember? Wake up, honey. To Kess, to Leon Kessler thatshe went automobiling with. "

"Our Effie engaged--to Leon Kessler?"

"Yes, I. W. --our little Effie!"

A smile spread over his face slowly, and he clasped his hands in anembrace about his knees. 

"You don't tell me!"

"Oh, I. W. , please--"

"Our little girl. S-ay, how poor Lenie would have loved this happiness!Our little girl engaged to get married!"

"I. W. , she--"

"We do the right thing by them--eh, Hattie? Furnish them up as manyrooms as they want. But, s-ay, they don't need help from us. He's alucky boy who gets her, I don't care who he is. Her papa's little Effie, a baby--old enough to get engaged!"

"I. W. , she's too--young. Don't give him our little Effie; she's tooyoung!"

"I married her mother, Hattie, when she wasn't yet eighteen. "

"I know, I. W. , but not to Leon Kessler. She's such a baby, I. W. He--didn't I work for him nine years, I. W. --don't I know what he is!"

"I'm surprised, Hattie, you should hold so against a man his wild oats. "

"Then why ain't oats for the man oats for the woman? It's the men thatsow the wild oats and the women--us women that's got to reap them!"

"S-ay, life is life. Do you want to put your head up against a brickwall?"

"A wall that men built!"

"It's always hard, Hattie, for good women like you and like poor Leniewas to understand. It's better you don't. You shouldn't even thinkabout it. "

"But, I. W. --"

"If I didn't know Leon Kessler was no worse than ninety-nine goodhusbands in a hundred, you think I would let him lay a finger on theapple of my eye? I don't understand, Hattie; all of a sudden thisevening, you're so worked up. Instead of happiness, you come like with afuneral. Is that why you wake me up out of a sleep? To cry about it?Don't think, Hattie, that just as much as you I haven't got the good ofmy child at heart. Out of a sound sleep she wakes me to cry because ahappiness has come to us. Leon Kessler can have any girl in this town hewants. Maybe he wasn't a Sunday-school boy in his day--but say, show meone that was. "

She drew herself up, grasping him at the shoulders. 

"I. W. , don't let him have our little Effie!"

"Nonsense!" he said, in some distaste for her voice choked with tears. "Cut out this woman foolishness now and come to bed. Is this somethingnew you're springing on me? I got no patience with women who indulgethemselves with nervous breakdowns. I never thought, Hattie, you hadnothing like that in you. "

Her voice was rising now in hysteria, slipping up frequently beyond hercontrol. 

"If you do, I can't stand it! I can't stand it, I. W. !"

He peered at her in the starlight that came down through the screened-intop of the sleeping-porch. 

"Why?" he said, suddenly awake, and shortly. 

"I worked for him nine years, I. W. I--I know him. "

"How?"

"I know him, I. W. She's too good for him. "

"How do you know him?"

"I--the girls, I. W. One little girl now, Cissie--I--I hear it all frommy friend Delehanty--sometimes she--she writes to me. I--the modelsand--the girls and--and the lady buyers--they--they used to gossip inthe factory and--I--I used to hear about it. I. W. , don't! Let go! Youhurt!" His teeth and his hands were very tight, and he hung now over theside of the bed and toward her. 

"He--I. W. --he--"

"He what? He what?"

"He--ain't good enough. "

"I say he is!"

"But he--I. W. --she--she's such a baby and he--he--. You hurt!"

"Then tell me, he what?"

"I. W. , you're hurting me!"

"He what--do you hear?--he what?"

"Don't make me say it! Don't! It--it just happened--with him meaning onething all the time and--me another. I was thrown with that kind of acrowd, I. W. , all my life. All the girls, they--It don't make me worsethan it makes him. With me it was once; with him it's--it's--I didn'tknow, I. W. My mother she died that year before, and--I needed the job, and I swear to God, I. W. , I--kept hoping even if he never put it inwords he'd fix it. Kill me, if you want to, I. W. , but don't throw ourEffie to him! Don't! Don't! Don't!"

She was pounding the floor with her bare palms, her face so distortedthat the mouth drawn tight over the teeth was as wide and empty as amask's, and sobs caught and hiccoughed in her throat. 

"I didn't know, I. W. ! Don't kill me for what I didn't know!"

She crouched back from his knotted face, and he sprang then out of bed, nightshirt flapping about his knees, and his fists and his bulging eyesraised to the quiet stars. 

"God, " he cried, "help me to keep hold of myself! Help me! You--you--"

His voice was so high and so tight in his throat that it stuck, leavinghim in inarticulate invocation. 

"I. W. !"

"My child engaged to--to her mother's--you--you--"

"I. W. ! Do you see now? You wouldn't let him have her! You wouldn't, I. W. ! Tell me you wouldn't!"

"I want him if he touches her to be struck dead! I want him to be struckdead!"

"Thank God!" said Mrs. Goldstone, weeping now tears that eased herbreathing. 

Suddenly he leaned toward her, his voice rather quieter, but hisforefinger waggling out toward the open door. 

"You go!" he said, and then in a gathering hurricane of fury, "go!"

"I. W. , don't yell! Don't! Don't!"

"Go--while I'm quiet. Go--you hear?"

She edged around him where he stood, in fear of his white, crouchedattitude. 

"I. W. !"

He made a step toward her, and, at the sound in his throat, she ran outinto the hallway and down the stairs to the porch. In the deep shade ofthe veranda's elbow a small figure lay deep in sleep in the wickerrocker, one bare arm up over her head and lips parted. 

In a straight chair beside her Mrs. Goldstone sat down. She wasshuddering with chill and repeating to herself, quite aloud and over andover again:

"What have I done? What have I done? What have I done?"

She was suddenly silent then, staring out ahead, her hands clutching thechair-arms. 

To her inflamed fancy, it was as if, beyond the hedge, the old disusedhitching-post had become incarnate and, in the form of her naive andhorned conception, was coming toward her with the whites of his eyesbloodshot. 

A PETAL ON THE CURRENT

Were I only swifter and more potent of pen, I could convey to you all inthe stroke of a pestle the H2O, the pigment of the red-cheeked apple, the blue of long summer days, and the magnesia of the earth for whichStella Schump was the mortal and mortar receptacle. 

She was about as exotic as a flowering weed which can spring so stronglyand so fibrously from slack. And yet such a weed can bleed milk. IfStella Schump was about fourteen pounds too plump, too red of cheek, andtoo blandly blue of eye, there was the very milk of human kindness inher morning punching up of her mother's pillows and her smoothing downof the gray and poorly hair. She could make a bed freshly, whitely, herstrong young arms manoeuvering under but not even jarring the poor oldform so often prone there. 

There was a fine kind of virile peasantry in the willing hands, whiteenough, but occasionally broken at the nails from eight hours of thisbox in and that box out in a children's shoe department. 

Differing by the fourteen pounds, Watteau would have scorned and Rubenshave adored to paint her. 

She was not unconscious of the rather flaxen ripple of her hair, whichshe wore slickly parted and drawn back, scallop by scallop, to a roundand shining mat of plaits against the back of her head. But neither wasshe unconscious that she thereby enhanced the too high pitch of hercheek-bones and the already too generous width between them. It was whenStella Schump opened wide her eyes that she transcended the milkyfleshliness and the fact that, when she walked rapidly, her cheeksquivered in slight but gelatinous fashion. Her eyes--they were the colorof perfect June at that high-noon moment when the spinning of thehumming-bird can be distilled to sound. Laura and Marguerite and StellaSchump had eyes as blue as Cleopatra's, and Sappho's and Medea's musthave been green. 

For reading and occasional headaches, she wore a pair of horn-rimmedspectacles prescribed but not specially ground by the opticaldepartment, cater-corner from the children's shoes. Upon the occasion oftheir first adjustment, Romance, for the first time, had leaned brieflyinto the smooth monotony of Miss Schump's day-by-day, to waft a scented, a lace-edged, an elusive kerchief. 

"You ought to heard, mamma, that fellow over in the specs, when he gimmethe test for the glasses. "

"What?"

"Tee-hee!--it sounds silly to repeat it. "

"You got the Schump eyes, Stella. I always used to say, with his bigblue ones, your poor father ought to been a girl, too. "

"'Say, ' he said to me, he said, just like that, 'I know a society whowill pay you a big fat sum if you'll sign over them eyes forpost-mortem laboratory work. Believe me, Bettina, ' he said, just likethat, 'those are some goo-goos!'"

"'Goo-goos'?"

"Yes, ma--the way I look out of them. "

"See, Stella, if you'd only mix with the young men and not be sostiff-like with them. See! Is he the sober, genteel kind who could sitout an evening in a self-respectin' girl's front parlor?"

"I--I can't ask a fellow if he didn't ask me, can I? I can't make apusher out of myself. "

"A girl don't have to make a pusher out of herself to have beaus; it'snatural for her to have them in moderation. I don't want my girl shutout of her natural pleasures. "

"'Believe me, Bettina, ' he said, 'those are some goo-goos'--just likethat, he said it. "

"Before I'd let a girl like Cora Kinealy have all the beaus! I bet_she'd_ ask him. "

"It--it just ain't in me, ma. The other girls do, I know--you ought toheard the way Mabel Runyan was kiddin' a fellow in the silks to-day--itjust ain't in me to. "

"Nowadays, young men got to be made to feel welcome. "

"I just don't seem to take. "

"'I'll be pleased to have you call of a Saturday night, Mr. So-and-so. 'No one could say there's anything but the genteel in that. Those arejust the words I used to say to your poor father when he was courtin'. "

"If only I--I wouldn't turn all red!"

"I bet Cora Kinealy would have asked him. " "I--I'll ask him, ma. "

When Stella Schump was adjusting her black sleevelets next morning, somewhat obviously oblivious of the optical department across the aisle, a blond, oiled head leaned out at her. 

"Mornin'. Goo-goo!"

A flush that she could feel rush up and that would not be controlledthrew her into a state of agitation that was almost abashing to behold. 

"Tee-hee!"

"Believe me, Bettina, those are some goo-goos!"

"I'd be pleased to have you--come--to--"

"I told the little wifey last night, 'Angel Face, I've found a pair ofgoo-goos that are a close runner-up to yours. '"

Miss Schump turned to her first customer of the day, the flush recedingas suddenly as it had come to scorch. 

"Copper toes for the little boy? Just be seated, please. "

Thus did the odor of romance lay for the merest moment upon the staleair of Miss Schump's routine. 

Evenings, in the high-ceilinged, long-windowed, and inside-shutteredlittle flat in very West Thirteenth Street, tucked up in the top storyof one of a row of made-over-into-apartments residences that boastedeach a little frill of iron balcony and railed-in patch of front lawn, they would sit beside an oil-lamp with a flowered china shade, Mrs. Schump, gnarled of limb and knotted of joint, ever busy, except on themost excruciatingly rheumatic of her days, at a needlework so cruel, sofine that for fifteen years of her widowhood it had found instant marketat a philanthropic Woman's Exchange. 

Very often Miss Cora Kinealy, also of the children's shoes, would rockaway an evening in that halo of lamplight, her hair illuminated tocopper and her hands shuttling in and out at the business of knitting. There were frank personal discussions, no wider in diameter than thelittle circle of light itself. 

MISS KINEALY (_slumped in her chair so that her knee rose higher thanher waist-line_): I always say of Stella, she's one nut too hard for meto crack, and I've cracked a good many in my life. Why that girl 'ain'tgot beaus galore--well, I give up!

MRS. SCHUMP (_stooped for an infinitesimal stab of needle_): She don'tgive 'em a chance, Cora. You can't tell me there is not many a nice, sober young man wouldn't be glad to sit out a Saturday evening with her. She's that bashful she don't give 'em a chance. I tell her it's almostas much ruination to a girl to be too retiring as to be too forward. Shedon't seem to have a way with the boys. 

MISS SCHUMP (_in a pink, warm-looking flannelette kimono and brushingout into fine fluff her flaxen-looking hair, and then, in the name ofto-morrow's kink, plaiting it into a multitude of small, tight-lookingbraids_): You can talk, mamma. You, too, Cora, with a boy like ArchieSensenbrenner and your wedding-day in sight. But what's a girl goin' todo if she don't take; if she ain't got an Archie?

Mrs. Schump (_riding her glasses down toward the end of her nose tolook up sharply over them_): Get one. 

"There you go again! Honest, you two make me mad. I can't go out andlasso 'em, can I?"

"She doesn't give 'em a chance, Cora; mark my word! The trouble is, she's too good for most she sees. They ain't up to her. "

"I can't understand it, Mrs. Schump. I always say there ain't a finergirl on the floor than Stella. When I see other girls, most of 'em freshlittle rag-timers that ain't worth powder and shot, bringing down thefinest kind of fellows, and Stella never asked out or nothing, I alwayssay to myself, 'I can't understand it. ' Take me--what Arch Sensenbrennerever seen in me, with Stella and her complexion working in the samedepartment--"

"You got a way, Cora. There's just something about me don't take withthe boys. Honest, if I could only see one of you girls alone with afellow once, to see how you do it!"

"Just listen to her, Mrs. Schump, with her eyes and complexion and all!"

"There's not a reason my girl shouldn't have it as good and better thanthe best of them. She's a good girl, Cora. Stella's a good girl to me. "

"Aw, mamma--"

"Don't I know it, Mrs. Schump! I always say if ever a girl would makesome nice-earning, steady fellow a good wife, it's--"

'"Good wife'! That ain't the name! Why, Cora, for ten years that childhas lifted me on my bad days and carried me and babied me like I was aqueen. It's nothing for her to rub me two hours straight. Not a daybefore she leaves for work that she don't come to me and--"

"Fellows don't care about that kind of thing. A girl's got to have pepand something besides complexion and elbow-grease. I'm too fat. "

"She's always sayin' she's too fat. With one pound off, would shelook as good, Cora? If I hadn't been as plump as a partridge in mygirl-days--and if I do say it myself, I was as fine a lookin' girlas my Stella--do you think Dave Schump would have had eyes for me?Not if I was ten times the woman I was for him. "

"Sure she ain't too fat, Mrs. Schump. I always tell her it's herimagination. I know a girl bigger than she is that's keeping companywith an expert piano-tuner. Why, I know girls twice her size. Stella'sgot a right good figure, she has. "

"Lots of good it does me! I--It's just like my brains to go right to myhands, once you put me with a fellow. That time your brother Ed calledfor me for that party at your house--honest, I couldn't open my mouthto him. "

"Can't understand it! 'Honest, ' I says to Ed that time after the party, I says to him, 'Ed, why don't you go over and call on Stella Schump andtake her to a movie or something? She's my idea of a girl, Stella is. 'Think I could budge him? 'Naw, ' was all I could get out of him. Just, 'Naw. ' Honest, I could have shook him. But did he run down to thatlittle flirt of a Gert Cobb's the very same night? He did. Honest, likeI said to Arch, it makes me sick. Is it any wonder the world is filledwith little flips like Gert Cobb, the way the fellows fall for 'em?"

"I never could be fresh with a boy. Take that time at your party. I betyour brother Ed would have liked me better if I'd have got out in themiddle of the floor with him, like he wanted me to and like Gert did, tosee who could blow the biggest bunch of suds off his stein. I nevercould be fresh with a fellow. "

"That's just the trouble, Mrs. Schump. Stella don't see the differencebetween what's fresh and what's just fun. Is there anything wrong aboutone stein of beer in a jolly crowd? A girl can be nice without beinggoody-good. If there's anything a fellow hates, it's a goody-good. Takea fellow like Arch--you think he'd have any time for me if I wasn't agood-enough sport to take a glass of beer with him maybe once a weekwhen he gets to feeling thirsty? Nothing rough. Everything inmoderation, I always say. But there's a difference, Mrs. Schump, betweenbeing rough and being a goody-good. "

"There's something in what you say, Cora. I've had her by me so much, maybe I've tried to raise her a little over-genteel. There ain't onesingle bad appetite she's got to be afraid of. It's not in her. I usedto tell her poor father, one glass of beer could make him so crazy loonyhe never had to try how two tasted. "

"I'm bashful, and what you goin' to do about it?"

"Say, you and Ed's foreman ought to meet together! Honest, you'd be apair! Ed brought him to the house one night. Finest boy you ever seen. Thirty-five a week, steady as you make 'em; and when they put in girlsto work down at the munitions-plant where him and Ed works, Ed said itwas all they could do to keep him from throwing up his job from fright. Whatta you know? A dandy fellow like him, with a dagger-shaped scarclear down his arm from standing by his job that time when the wholesouth end of the plant exploded. A fellow that could save a whole plantand two hundred lives afraid to face a few skirts! Crazy to get married. Told Ed so. Always harping on his idea of blue eyes and yellow hair, andthen, when he gets the chance, afraid of a few skirts!"

"That's me every time with fellows. I get to feelin' down inside of mesomething terrible--scary--and all. "

"Say, I'll tell you what! I'll get Ed to bring him down to Gert Cobb'sparty next Saturday night, and you come, too. "

"I?"

"There's two of a kind for you, Mrs. Schump. A fellow that's more afraidof girls than explosions, and a girl that's afraid to blow a little foamoff a glass of beer! Them two ought to meet. Me and Arch and Ed'll fixit up. How's that for a scheme? Now say I ain't your friend! Areyou game?"

"I don't go out tryin' to meet fellows that way. "

"You see, Mrs. Schump, the way she puts a gold fence around herself?"

"Cora's puttin' herself out for you, Stella. There's no harm in aSaturday night's party in the company of Cora and some genteel friends. "

"Gert Cobb don't know I'm on earth. "

"You hear, Mrs. Schump? Is it any wonder she don't get out? All I got todo is say the word, and any friend of mine is welcome in GertCobb's house. "

"I'll make you up them five yards of pink mull for it, Stella. It's ashame that pretty dress-pattern from your two birthdays ago has neverhad the occasion to be made up. It's nice of Cora to be puttin'herself out. "

"Look at 'er, like I was asking her to a funeral!"

"There's such a pretty sash I been savin' to make up with that mull, Cora. A handsome black-moiré length of ribbon off a beaded basque herfather gimme our first Christmas married. "

"I'll lend her my pink pearls to wear. Honest, I never knew a girl couldwear pink like Stella. "

Miss Schump leaned forward in the lamplight, the myriad of tight littlebraids at angles, but her eyes widening to their astounding blueness. 

"Not your--pink beads, Cora?"

"You heard me the first time, didn't you? 'Pink' was what I said. "

"Ma!"

"Now ain't that nice of Cora?"

"Quick--are you game?"

"Why, yes--Cora. "

 * * * * *

There is a section of New York which rays out rather crazily from oldJefferson Market and Night Court in spokes of small streets that seemto run at haphazard angles each to the other--that less sooty part ofGreenwich not yet invaded by the Middle West in search of bohemia. Anindescribable smack of Soho here, tired old rows of tired old housesgoing down year by year before the wrecker's ax, the model tenementrising insolently before the scar is cold. 

It is that part of the Latin Quarter which is literally just that, lyingslightly to the south and slightly to the west of that odd-fellow's landof short-haired women and long-haired men. Free love, free verse, freethought, free speech, and freed I. W. W. 's have no place here. For threeblocks a little Italy runs riot in terms of pastry, spaghetti, andplaster-of-Paris shops, and quite as abruptly sobers and becomes Sohoagain. A Greek church squats rather broadly at the intersection of threeof these streets. 

There intervened between Stella Schump's and the six-story modeltenement adjoining the Greek church which Miss Gertrude Cobb calledhome, a rhomboid of park, municipally fitted with playground apparatus, the three-block riot of little Italy, the gloomy barracks of oldJefferson Market and Night Court, and a few more blocks of still intact, tired old rows of tired old houses. 

On a spring night that was as insinuatingly sweet as the crush of a roseto the cheek there walked through these lowly streets of lower ManhattanMr. Archie Sensenbrenner, bounded on the north by a checked, deep-visored cap; on the south by a very bulldogged and very tan pair ofnumber nines; on the east by Miss Cora Kinealy, very much of theoccasion in a peaked hood faced in eider-down and a gay silk bag ofslippers dangling; on the west by Miss Stella Schump, a pink scarfentwining her head like a Tanagra. 

"Honest, Cora, I feel just like I'm intruding. "

"'Intrudin'! Would I have invited her if we didn't want her, Arch?"

"Naw. "

"'There's always room for one more, ' is my motto. I believe it alwayscomes home to the girl that don't share her good times. If me and Archcouldn't call by for a girl on our way to a party, I'd feel sorry forus. Give her your arm, Arch. "

"Here! I tried once to, and she wouldn't take it. "

Miss Schump hooked a highly diffident hand into Mr. Sensenbrenner'ssharply jutted elbow. 

"You two go on and talk together. I've chewed Arch's right ear offalready. "

"It's a grand evenin'--ain't it, Mr. Sensenbrenner?"

At that from Miss Schump, Miss Kinealy executed a very soprano squealthat petered out in a titter of remonstrances. 

"Arch Sensenbrenner, if you don't stop pinching me! Honest, my arm'sblack and blue! Honest! What'll Stella think we are? Now cut it out!"

They walked a block in silence, but, beside her, Miss Schump could feelthem shaking to a duet of suppressed laughter, and the red in her facerose higher and a little mustache of the tiniest of perspiration beadscame out over her lip. The desire to turn back, the sudden ache for thequietude of the little halo of lamplight and the swollen finger-jointsof her mother in and out at work, were almost not to be withstood. 

"I--You--you and Mr. Sensenbrenner go on, Cora. I--me not knowin' GertieCobb and all--I--I--feel I'm intruding. You and him go on. Please!"

Miss Kinealy crossed to her, kindly at once and sobered. 

"Now, Stella Schump, you're coming right to this party with me and Arch. We can't do more than tell her she's welcome, can we, Arch?"

"Sure. "

"I promised your mother I'm going to see to it that you get away fromher apron-strings and out among young folks more, and you're comingright to this party with me and Arch. Ain't I right, Arch?"

"Sure. "

"You mustn't feel bad, honey, that Ed couldn't get John Gilly to comearound and call after you. Ed says he'd never get him to steam up hisnerve enough to call at a girl's house after her; but ain't it enoughhe's coming to Gert's to-night just to meet you? You ought to heard himwhen Ed got to telling him what kind of a girl you was. 'Gee!' Ed sayshe says. 'Big blue eyes like saucers sounds good to me! Well, ' he says, Ed says he says, 'if my nerve don't lay down on me, I'll show up therewith you. ' That's something, ain't it, for a fellow like John Gilly todo just to meet a girl? Ain't it, Arch, for that fine, big fellow, Ed'sforeman, you seen up at our house that night? You know the one I mean, the one with his arm scalded up from the explosion. "

"Sure. "

"Honest, if I wasn't already tagged and spoken for, I'd set my cap forhim myself. "

"'Mother, mother, mother, pin a rose on me!'" cried Mr. Sensenbrenner, with no great pertinence. 

Miss Kinealy threw him a northwest glance. "Ain't he the cut-up, Stella?"

"He sure is. "

"Br-a-a-y!" said Mr. Sensenbrenner, again none too relevantly. 

"Oh, show her the way the zebra in the Park goes on Sunday morning, Arch!"

He inserted two fingers, splaying his mouth. "Heigh-ho!He-e-e-e-e-e-e-e!"

"Ain't that lifelike, Stella?"

"It sure is. "

"Oh, look! Up there--the third story--see--those are the Cobbs'windows, all lit up! Oh, gee! I just can't make my feet behave. Waltz mearound again, Archie! No; you got to take the first dance with Stella. "

"Oh no, Cora; he wants--"

"You hear, Arch?"

"Sure; only, I can't force her if she don't want to. "

"Sure she wants to! Hurry! I hear Skinnay Flint's ukulele. Gee! I justcan't make my feet be-have!"

They entered an institutional, sanitary, and legislation-smelling box offoyer and up three flights of fire-proof stairs. At each landing werefour fire-proof doors, lettered. The Cobbs' door, "H, " stood open, anepicene medley of voices and laughter floating down the long neck ofhallway on the syncopated whine of a ukulele. 

There was an immediate parting of ways, Mr. Sensenbrenner hanging hiscap on an already well-filled rack of pegs and making straight for thesound of revelry by night. 

The girls made foray into a little side pocket of bedroom for thechanging of shoes, whitening of noses, and various curlicue preambles. 

"Stella, your hair looks swell!"

"Ma plaited it up last night with sugar-water. "

"Here, just this speck on your lips, just a little to match yourcheeks!--See--all the girls use it. "

"Ugh--no--"

"There, just a stroke. Fine! Say, wasn't Arch killing to-night when hecalled my cheeks naturally curly?"

"You look grand, Cora. Sure you don't want your pink beads?"

"I'll throw 'em down and step on 'em if you take 'em off. "

"I just love that changeable silk on you. "

"Does the split under the arm show?"

"Notta bit. "

"Come on, then!"

"Oh, Cora--"

"Come on!"

In the Cobb front room a frightened exodus of furniture had taken place. A leather-and-oak "davenbed" had obviously and literally been dragged tothe least conspicuous corner. An unpainted center of floor space showedthat there had been a rug. Camp-chairs had been introduced against allavailable wall space. Only a fan-shaped, three-shelved cabinet ofknickknacks had been allowed its corner. Diagonal from it, the horn of atalking-machine, in shape a large, a violent, a tin morning-glory, wasdirected full against the company. 

Not a brilliant scene, except by grace or gracelessness of state ofmind. But to Stella Schump, neither elected nor electing to walk ingreater glory, there was that about the Cobb front room thus lighted, thus animated, that gave her a sense of function--a crowding around theheart. The neck of hallway might have been a strip of purple, awninged. 

There were greetings that rose in crescendo and falsetto. 

"Cora Kinealy! Hello, Cora! How's every little thing?""Baby-shoes--tra-la-la!" "Oh, you changeable-silk kiddo! Turn green forthe ladies. " "Come on over here, Cora, and make Arch tell fortunes!"

"Gertie, this is my girl friend, Stella, from the shoes, I brought. Y'know? I told you about her. Ed's bringing down a gentleman friendfor her. "

Miss Gertie Cobb, so blond, so small, so titillating that she resemblednothing so much as one of those Dresden table-candelabra under a pinkglass-fringed shade with the fringe always atinkle, laughed upward in avoice eons too old. 

"Make yourself right at home. At our house, it's what you don't see askfor. Skin-nay Flint, if you don't stop! Make him quit, Cora; he's beenticklin' me something awful with that little old feather duster hebrought along. Whatta you think this is--Coney Island? E-e-e-e-e-e!"

There ensued a scramble down the length of the room, Miss Cobb with herthin, bare little arms flung up over her head, Miss Kinealy tugging andthen riding in high buffoonery over the bare floor, firmly secured toMr. Flint's coattails. 

"Leggo!"

"Quit--ouch--e-e-e-e-e! That's right; give it to him! Cora--go toit--e-e-e-e-e--"

Lips lifted to belie a sinkage of heart, Miss Schump, left standing, backed finally, sinking down to one of the camp-chairs against the wall. The little glittering mustache had come out again, and, sitting there, her smile so insistently lifted, the pink pearls at her throat rose andfell. The ukulele was whanging again, and a couple or two, locked cheekto cheek, were undulating in a low-lidded kind of ecstasy. Finally, CoraKinealy and Archie Sensenbrenner, rather uglily oblivious. 

A youth, frantic to outdistance a rival for the dancing-hand of MissGertie Cobb, stumbled across Miss Schump's carefully crossed ankles. 

"'Scuse, " he said, without glancing back. 

"Certainly, " said Miss Schump, through aching tonsils. 

There was an encore, the raucous-throated morning-glory taking up wherethe ukulele had left off. Miss Schump sat on, the smile drawn more andmore resolutely across her face. Occasionally, to indicate a state ofsocial ease, she caught an enforced yawn with her hand. 

After a while Mrs. Cobb entered, quietly, almost furtively, handswrapped muff fashion in a checked apron, sitting down softly on thefirst of the camp-chairs near the door. She had the dough look of thecomfortable and the uncorseted fat, her chin adding a scallop as, watching, her smile grew. 

"It's great to watch the young ones, " she said, finally. 

Miss Schump moved gratefully, oh, so gratefully, two chairs over. 

"It sure is, " she said, assuming an attitude of conversation. 

"Like I tell Gert, it makes me young again myself. "

"It sure does. "

"Give it to 'em in the house, I say, and it keeps 'em in off thestreet. "

"Your daughter is sure one pretty girl. "

"Gert's a good-enough girl, if I could keep her in. I tell 'er of all myyoung ones she's the prettiest and the sassiest. Law, how that girlcan sass!"

"Like my mother always says to me about sass, sass never gets a girlnowheres. "

"Indeed it don't! It's lost her more places than my other two, marriednow, ever lost put together. You work in the Criterion?"

"Yes'm. Children's shoes. "

"I bet you're not the kind of a girl to change places every week. "

"No'm. Criterion is the only place I ever worked at. I started there asCash. "

"I bet you give up at home out of your envelop. "

"Yes'm. "

"Father?"

"No'm. He was a night watchman and got shot on duty. "

"Mother?"

"Yes'm. "

"Brother?"

"No'm. "

"Sister?"

"No'm. "

"Only child, huh?"

"Yes'm. "

Then Miss Cobb blew up in a state of breathless haste and bobbing ofcurls. 

"Eats, maw--eats! The crowd's thirsty--spittin' cotton. What's the idea?My tongue's out. Eats! Quick, for Gawsakes--eats!"

Mrs. Cobb, wide and quivery of hip, retreated precipitately into theslit of hallway. Almost immediately there were refreshments, carried inon portentous black tin trays by a younger Cobb in pigtails and by Mrs. Cobb, swayback from a great outheld array of tumblers and bottles. 

A shout went up. 

The tray of sandwiches, piled to an apex, scarcely endured one round ofpassing. The fluted tin tops of bottles were pried off. Tumblersclicked. There were the sing of suds and foamy overflowings. 

Enter Mr. Ed Kinealy, very brown and tight of suit, very black andpomaded of hair. 

"Oh, Ed!" This from Miss Kinealy between large mouthfuls of sandwichand somewhat jerkily from being dandled on Mr. Sensenbrenner's knee, "Where's your friend--where's John Gilly?"

"Oh, Ed!" "Naouw, Eh-ud!" "I'll give you a slap on the wrist. " "Naouw, Ed!" Delivered by those present in a chorus of catcalls and falsettoimpersonations of Miss Kinealy in plaintive vein. 

"Now tell me--where is he, Ed? Shut up every body! Where is he, Ed?"

Mr. Kinealy shot a pair of very striped cuffs. 

"That guy had sense. One whiff of this roughhouse and he bolted downagain, six steps at a jump. He slipped me so easy I was talking tomyself all the way up-stairs. That guy had sense. Petticoat shush-shushcan't put nothing over on him. "

"Aw, Ed!"

CHORUS: Aw, Eh-ud! Aw, Eh-ud! Naouw--

"And him dated for Stella! Honest, it's a rotten shame!" Suddenly MissKinealy flashed to her feet, her glance running quick. "Where is she?Well, Stella Schump, sitting over there playing chums with yourself!Honest, your name ought to be Chump! Whatta you think that is--the amencorner? You're a fine bunch of social entertainers, you fellows are!Bring her up a chair. Gee! you are! Honest, Gertie Cobb, I wouldn't wantmy cat to be company to you! Bring 'er up a chair, Ed. Here, next to me!Honest, it's a rotten shame! Give 'er a sandwich. Open 'er up a bottle. Gee! you're a fine crowd of fish, you are!"

There was a general readjustment of circle and scraping of chairs. MissSchump, scarlet, drew up and in, Mr. Kinealy prying off a flutedtop for her. 

"Have this one on me, Stella!" he cried. "Your guy bolted of stagefright; but I'm here, and don't you forget it!"

"Aw--tee-hee!" she said, wiping at her upper lip. 

"Here!"

She regarded the foam sing down into amber quiet. 

"I'm on the water-wagon, " she said, essaying to be light of vein, crossing her hands and feet and tilting her glance at him. 

"Say, here's a girl won't blow the foam off a fellow's glass for fearshe'll get soapsuds in her eyes!"

"Wash her face with 'em!"

MISS KINEALY: Aw, now, Stella; can't you be a good fellow for once? Doit, if it hurts you. Honest, I hate to say it, but you're the limit, youare! My God! limber up a little--limber up!

"Here, now--open your mouth and shut your eyes. "

"Open it for her, Ed. "

"Aw, no; don't force her if she don't want it. "

"Gowann, Stella; be human, if it hurts you. "

Redly and somewhat painfully, the observed of all observers, Miss Schumptilted her head and drank, manfully and shudderingly, to the bitter endof the glass. 

"Attaboy! Say, tell it to the poodles and the great Danes! That Jane'sno amachure!"

Eyes stung to tears, pink tip of her tongue quickly circling her lips, Miss Schump held out to Mr. Kinealy the empty tumbler. 

"Now, there!"

"More?"

"I'm game. "

"Don't give 'er a whole glass, Ed. "

She drank, again at one whiff. 

"That's more like it! Didn't kill you, did it? Now eat that Swiss-cheesesandwich and come over next to me and Arch while he tells fortunes. "

Miss Schump rose, rather high of head, the moment hers. 

Miss Kinealy stretched her hand out into the center of the closing-incircle of heads. 

"I said palm-reading, Arch, not hand-holding. Leave that part to Ed andGert over there. Now quit squeezing--"

Mr. Sensenbrenner bent low, almost nose to her palm. 

"I see, " he began, his voice widening to a drawl--"I se-e a fellow aboutmy size and complexion entering your life--"

To Miss Schump, her hand on Miss Kinealy's shoulder and her head peeringover, the voice seemed to trail off somewhere out into infinitudes ofspace, off into bogs of eternity, away and behind some beyond. 

"Gee! it's hot in here!" she muttered, no one heeding or hearing. "Surehot. Whew!"

"Going on a long journey, and a fellow about my size and complexion isgoing along with you, and there's money coming--"

"Sure hot!" It was then Miss Schump, with fear of a rather growing andsickening sense of dizziness and of the wavy and unstable outline ofthings, slipped quietly and unobtrusively out into the hallway, hercraving for air not to be gainsaid. The door to the little bedroom stoodopen, her pink scarf uppermost on the cot-edge. She stood for an instantin the doorway, regarding and wanting it, but quite as suddenly turned, and down the three flights gained the dewy quiet of out-of-doors, fighting muzziness. 

The street had long since fallen tranquil, the Greek church castingimmense shadow. The air had immediate and sedative effect upon MissSchump's rather distressing symptoms of unrest, but not quite allaying acertain state of mental upheaval. She had the distinct sensation of thetop of her head lifted off from the eyebrows up. Her state oflight-headedness took voice. 

"Gimme, " she said, lifting the pink-mull, ankle-length skirt as if ittrailed a train and marching off down-street; "now you gimme!"

An entirely new lack of self-consciousness enhanced her state ofgiddiness. A titter seemed to run just a scratch beneath the surfaceof her. 

The passing figure of a woman in a black cape and a bulge of bundleelicited a burst of laughter which her hand clapped to her mouthpromptly subdued. Awaiting the passing of a street-car, she was againprone to easy laughter. 

"Oh, you!" she said, quirking an eye to the motorman, who quirked back. 

Crossing the street, she came down rather splashily in a pool of water, wetting and staining the light slippers. 

"Aw!" she repeated, scolding and stamping down at them. "Aw! Aw! You!"

Across from the gloomy pile of old Jefferson Market, she stood, readingup at an illuminated tower-clock, softly, her lips moving. 

"Nine--ten--e-lev-hun--"

A dark figure slowed behind her elbow; she turned with a sense of thatnearness and peered up under the lowering brim of a soft-felt hat. 

"Hoddado?"

"Hello!" she answered, slyly. 

"Hello!"

She peered closer. 

"Got a girl?"

"Nope. "

"Blow suds?"

"Where?"

"Cora's. "

He flung back his coat, revealing a star. 

"You're under arrest, " he said, laconically. "Solicitin'. Come on; nofuss. "

Her comprehension was unplumbed. 

"O Lord!" she said, pressing inward at her waistline to abet laughter, following him voluntarily enough, and her voice rising. "You make melaugh. You make me laugh. "

"That'll do, " he said. 

"Whoop la-la!"

"Now, you get noisy and watch me. "

He turned in rather abruptly at a side door of the dark-red pile ofbuilding which boasted the illuminated tower-clock and a jutting ellwith barred windows. 

She drew back. 

"No, you don't! Aw, no, you don't! Whatta you think I yam? Cora's! Tellit to the poodles and the great Danes!"

He shoved her with scant ceremony beyond the heavy door. She entered inone of the uncontrollable gales of laughter, the indoor heat immediatelyinducing the dizziness. 

"Whatta you think I yam? Tell it to the poodles and the great Danes!"

Thirty minutes later, in a court-room as smeared of atmosphere as adirty window, a bridge officer, reading from a slip of paper, singsongedto the sergeant-at-arms:

"Stella Schump. Officer Charles Costello. "

How much more daringly than my poor pen would venture, did life, all ofa backhanded, flying leap of who knows what centrifugal force, transcendfor Stella Schump the vague boundaries of the probable. 

The milky-fleshed, not highly sensitized, pinkly clean creature of aninnocence born mostly of ignorance and slow perceptions, who thatmorning had risen sweet from eleven hours of unrestless sleep beside amother whose bed she had never missed to share, suddenly here inslatternliness! A draggled night bird caught in the aviary of nightcourt, lips a deep vermilion scar of rouge, hair out of scallop anddragging at the pins, the too ready laugh dashing itself against whatmust be owned a hiccough. 

Something congenital and sleeping subcutaneously beneath the surface ofher had scratched through. She was herself, strangely italicized. 

A judge regarded her not unkindly. There were two of him, she would keepthinking, one merging slightly into his prototype. 

She stood, gazing up. Around her swam the court-room--rows of faces;comings and goings within her railed area. And heat--the dizzying, theexciting heat--and the desire to shake off the some one at her elbow. That some one was up before her now, in a chair beside the judge, andhis voice was as far away as Archie Sensenbrenner's. 

"And she says to me, she says, your Honor, 'Got a girl?'"

"Were those her exact words to you?"

"Yes, your Honor. "

"Proceed. "

"And I says to her, I says, 'No, ' and then she comes up close and saysto me, she says, 'Buy me a drink?'"

"Were those her exact words?"

"Yes, your Honor, as near as I can remember. "

"Go on. "

"And I says to her, 'Where do you want to go?' and she says to me, giving me a wink, 'Cora's. '"

"Cora's?"

"Yes, your Honor; the Cora Jones mulatto woman that was cleaned out lastweek. "

"She suggested that you accompany her to the house of the Jones woman?"

"Beg pardon, your Honor?"

"She suggested this resort?"

"Yes, your Honor. 'Cora Jones, ' she said. "

Through the smoke of her bewilderment something irate stirred withinMiss Schump, a smouldering sense of anger that burst out into a brieftongue of flame. 

"You! You! You're no amachure! Cora Jones! Cora Kinealy! Go tell it tothe great Danes! Say it again! Gimme leave! Gimme leave!" The immediateperemptoriness of the gavel set her to blinking, but did not silence. "'Gimme leave, ' was what I said--"

"Come to order in the court!"

"Aw!"

A new presence at her elbow grasped her sharply. She subsided, but stillmuttering. 

"Proceed, officer. "

"And then, when she starts off with me, I says to her, I says, 'You'reunder arrest, ' and brought her over. "

"That'll do. "

"Does the defendant wish to take the chair?"

From her elbow, "His Honor asks if you want to state your case. "

"Huh?"

"Do you wish to state your case from the witness-chair? Since you didnot employ counsel, do you wish to state your own case?"

"Nit. "

"Look up here, my girl. I am the judge, trying to help you. "

"Aw!"

"Is this your first offense?"

"Well, it's my offense, ain't it?"

"Address the court properly. Are you intoxicated or only slightlydizzy?"

"He lied about Cora Kinealy. He lied--that little skunk lied. "

"Didn't you ask him to go there with you?"

"Sure; but he's no amachure. "

"Are you?"

"What?"

"An amateur?"

"No, this Jane ain't. "

"Will you go quietly into the next room with the matron and tell her allabout it? The court does not want to have to deal too harshly with agirl like you. Do you want to engage counsel and have your case go over?If there is a chance, I don't want to have to send a girl likeyou away. "

"Aw, you--you're a poodle and a great Dane!"

"Ten days, " said the judge, rather wearily. 

The bridge officer took up the next slip from the pile of them, hisvoice the droning quality of a bee bumbling through sultry air:

"Maizie Smith. Officer Jerry Dinwiddie. "

 * * * * *

Spring and her annual epidemic of aching hearts and aching joints hadadvanced ten days and ten degrees. The season's first straw replacementof derby had been noted by press. The city itched in its last days ofwoolens and drank sassafras tea for nine successive mornings. A commuterwore the first sweet sprig of lilac. The slightly East Sixties took toboarding up house-fronts into bland, eyeless masks. The very EastSixties began to smell. 

When a strangely larger-eyed, strangely thinner, a whitened and somehowa tightened Stella Schump drew up, those ten days later, before thelittle old row with the little old iron balconies, there was already inthe ridiculous patches of front yards a light-green powdering of grass, and from the doorbell of her own threshold there hung quite a littlespray of roses, waxy white against a frond of fern and a fold of black. Deeper within that threshold, at the business of flooding its floor witha run of water from a tipped pail and sweeping harshly into it, was thevigorous, bony silhouette of Mrs. O'Connor, landlady. 

For the second that it took her presence to be felt, Miss Schump stoodthere trembling, all of a sudden more deeply and more rapidly. Then, Mrs. O'Connor leaned out, bare arms folded atop her broom. 

"So!" she said, a highly imperfect row of lower teeth seeming to jutout, and her voice wavy with brogue and vibrant to express all itsscorn. "So!"

"Mrs. O'Connor--"

"So! Ye've come back in time for the buryin'! Faith, an' it's a foinetoime for the showin'-up of the chief mourner! Faith now it is!"

"Mrs. O'Connor--"

"Ain't ye ashamed? Ain't ye ashamed before the Lord to face your Maker?"

"Please--please--Mrs. O'Connor--what--what--"

"The pasty-faced lyin' ways of ye! I can see now how ye look what yeare! I'd have believed it as soon of my own. It's the still water thatrun deep in ye, is the way your girl friend put it. The hussy under thatwhite complexion of yours! Your sainted mither! Oh, ain't ye ashamed inthe name of the Lord to face your Maker?"

"O God--please what--"

"Your sainted mither! Niver, after that letter from ye the next nightafter her scourin' the city, a whimper more out of her--"

"I wrote--I wrote--they gimme a stamp--I wrote--how--Where is she?"

"A cousin had called ye sudden-like for sickness was how she put it. Faith and me niver once a-smellin' the mice, the way she lay there, waitin', waitin' day after day, doubled up in the joints and waitin' forthim ten days to pass--"

"O God!"

"I found her in bed yisterday, a-clutchin' the letter, or niver to myown dyin' would I have known the shameful truth of it. It's screw openher poor hands I had to, for the readin' of the letter that had beeneatin' 'er for all them days of waitin'. Ye hussy! Ye jailbird--and meniver thinkin' but what it was the sick cousin! Me niver smellin' themice! Your own girl friend, neither. Ye hussy! Jailbird!"

"Oh! Oh! Oh!"

"It's only because she was sainted I'm lettin' ye up in on her. Shelayin' up there, waitin'. Strangers that crossed her poor hands on herpoor breast and strangers that laid her out. Niver even a priest calledin on her. She a-layin' up there, waitin'--the Lord have mercy on yoursoul! If ye ain't afraid before the Lord to look on her, come up. It'sthankin' God I am she can't open her eyes to see ye. "

Hands clutching her throat, Miss Schump remained standing there on thesun-drenched steps, gazing after the figure receding into the mustygloom of the hallway. She wanted to follow, but instead could only standthere, repeating and repeating:

"O my God! O my God! God! God! What have I done? What have I done?Mamma--mamma--mamma! O my God! What? What--"

 * * * * *

In the pyramidal plot-structure of this story the line of descent is byfar the sheerer. Short-story correspondence-schools would call it thebrief downward action leading to dénouement. 

With Stella Schump it was almost a straight declivity. There were daysof the black kind of inertia when to lift the head from its sulleninclination to rest chin on chest was not to be endured. There wasactually something sick in the eyes, little cataracts of gray cloudseeming to float across. She would sit hunched and looking out of themso long and so unseeingly that her very stare seemed to sleep. 

She had removed the stick or two that remained unsold to a little rearroom high up in a large, damp-smelling lodging-house on West TwentiethStreet, within view of a shipping-pier. There was a sign inserted in thelower front window:

ROOMS. LIGHT HOUSEKEEPING. 

INQUIRE WITHIN. 

She would sit in that room, so heavy with its odor of mildew, her windowclosed against the long, sweetly warm days, hunched dumbly on thecot-edge and staring into the stripe and vine, stripe and vine of thewall-paper design, or lie back when the ache along her spine began toset in. There were occasional ventures to a corner bake-shop for raisinrolls and to the delicatessen next door for a quarter-pound of Bolognasausage sliced into slivers while she waited. She would sit on thecot-edge munching alternately from sliver to roll, gulping through athroat that was continually tight with wanting to cry, yet would notrelax for that relief. 

There was little attempt for employment except when the twenty dollarsleft from the sale of effects and funeral expenses began to dwindle. Shewould wake up nights, sweaty with the nightmare that her room was somefar-off ward for incorrigibles and that one of the strange, veiny-nosedinmates was filching her small leather bag from beneath her pillow. 

When her little roll had flattened finally down to five one-dollar billsshe took to daily and conscientiously buying morning papers and scanningwant-advertisements as she stood at the news-stand, answering firstthose that were within walking-distance. 

She would make a five-block détour of the Criterion rather than passthe nearer to it. 

Once, returning after a fruitless tour of the smaller department stores, and borne along by the six-o'clock tide of Sixth Avenue, her heartleaped up at sight of Miss Cora Kinealy, homeward bound on her smarttall heels that clicked, arm in arm with Mabel Runyan of the notions. Standing there with her folded newspaper hugged to her and the smallhand-bag dangling, Stella Schump gazed after. 

It was not only the lack of references or even of experience thatconspired against her every effort at employment. It was the lackof luster to the eye, an absolutely new tendency to tiptoe, afurtive lookout over her shoulder, a halting tongue, that, uponthe slightest questioning, would stutter for words. Where there wereapplication-blanks to be filled in she would pore inkily over them and, after a while, slyly crunch hers up in her hand and steal out. She wasstill pinkly and prettily clean, and her hair with its shining mat ofplaits, high of gloss, but one Saturday half-holiday, rather than breakinto her last bill, she ate a three-cent frankfurter-sausage sandwichfrom off a not quite immaculate push-cart, leaning forward as she bitinto it to save herself from the ooze of mustard. Again she had thesense of Cora Kinealy hurrying along the opposite side of the street onthe tall heels that clicked. She let fall the bun into the gutter andstood there trembling. 

She obtained, one later afternoon, at the instance of a window-card, theswabbing of the tiled floor of an automobile show-room. She left beforeher first hour was completed, crying, her finger-tips stinging, twonails broken. 

Finally came that chimera of an hour when she laid down her last coinfor the raisin rolls. She ate them on the cot-edge. And then, becauseher weekly dollar-and-twenty-five-cent room rent fell due that evening, she wrapped two fresh and self-laundered waists, some white but unlacyunderwear, a mound of window-dried handkerchiefs, a little knittedshoulder-shawl so long worn by her mother, her tooth-brush and tube ofpaste, and all her sundry little articles no less indispensable, into awhite-paper package. There were left a short woolen petticoat, toocumbersome to include, the small wooden rocker and lamp with the chinashade which she had rather unexplainably held out from the dealer'sinventory. She closed the door softly on them one evening and, parcel inhand, tiptoed down the stonily cold halls and out into a street of long, thin, high-stooped houses. Outside in the May evening it was as black, as softly deep, as plushy as a pansy. She walked swiftly into it as ifwith destination. But after five or six of the long cross-town blocksher feet began to lag. She stood for a protracted moment outside adrug-store window, watching the mechanical process of a pasteboard manstropping his razor; loitered to read the violent three-sheet outside aThird Avenue cinematograph. In the aura of white light a figure in asweater and cap nudged up to her. 

"Lonesome?"

She moved on. 

In Stuyvesant Square were a first few harbingers of summer scatteredhere and there--couples forcing the gladsome season of the dim parkbench; solitary brooders who can sit so long, so droop-shouldered, andso deeply in silence. On one of these benches, beside a slim, scant-skirted, light-spatted silhouette, Stella Schump sat finally down. It was ten o'clock. There was a sense of panic, which she felt mostly ather throat, rising in her. Then she would force herself into a state ofquiet, hand on bundle, nictitating, as it were--eyes opening, eyesclosing. The figure beside her slid over a bit, spreading the tiny widthof skirt as if to reserve the space between them. 

"Workin'?"

"Huh?"

"Lord!" she said, indicating Second Avenue with a nod. "The lane's likea morgue to-night. "

"Cold, ain't it?" said Stella Schump, shivering with night damp. 

A figure with a tilted derby came sauntering toward them. 

"Lay off my territory. I seen him first. "

"Oh--sure--yes--all right. "

The place in between them was filled then, the tilted derby well forwardand revealing a rear bulge of head. There was an indeterminate moment ofsilence broken by the slim-skirted silhouette. 

"Where you goin'?"

Straightening, Miss Schump could hear more. 

"No place. Where you goin'?"

"I'm cold. "

"Buy you a drink?"

In the shaft of arc-light Miss Schump could see the little face framedin the wan curls lift and crinkle the nose to smile. 

"Come on. "

She watched them recede down the narrow asphalt of the parkway. Ateleven o'clock, to lessen her stiffening of joints, she walked twice thecircumference of the fenced-in inclosure, finally sitting again, thistime beneath a gaunt oleander that was heavy with bud. 

"O God!" she kept repeating, her stress growing. "O God! God! God!"

With the lateness, footfalls were growing more and more audible, thegong of a street-car sounding out three blocks down. 

"O my God!" And then in rapid succession, closing her eyes and diggingher finger-nails into her palms: "Mamma! Mamma! Mamma!"

She wanted and wanted to cry, but her throat would not let her, and soshe sat and sat. 

There were still occasional figures moving through the little lanes anda couple or two deep in the obscurity of benches. After another while, at the remote end of her own bench, a figure sat down, lighting a pipe. She watched him pu-pu-pup. At half after eleven she slid alongthe bench. 

"Where you goin'?"

He turned to look down. 

"Eh?"

"Where you goin'?"

"No place. "

"I'm cold. "

"Pu-pu-pup. "

"I am. "

"Pu-pu-pup. "

She leaned around, trying to bring her face to front his and to lift hernose to a little wrinkly smile. 

"Aw, you!"

"Go home and go to bed, " he said. "A nice-appearin' girl like you oughtto be ashamed. "

"I--ain't. "

"Run along. "

"Where?"

"You're barkin' up the wrong tree. "

She fell silent. A chill raced through her. 

"O God!" she began, under her breath. "O God! God!" Then: "Mamma! Mamma!Mamma!"

"You _are_ cold, " he said, reaching out to pinch her jacket sleeve. "That's a warm coat. Where do you live?"

"Lemme alone, " she said, staring out before her as if she were seeingthe stripe and vine, stripe and vine. 

"You got the shivers, " he said. "Better go home. "

"Lemme alone. "

"Ain't there no way you girls can learn to behave yourselves?Here"--digging down into his pocket--"here. "

"No. "

"Where you live?"

"I dunno. I dunno. "

"You surely know where you live. "

She looked up at him in one of the rare moments of opening wide hereyes. 

"I tell you I dunno. "

"What's in there?"

"My--my clothes. "

"Let's see. "

She plucked at the knot, drawing back for him to lean to see the toplayer of neatly folded waist. 

"Don't, " she said, withdrawing it quickly from his touch. 

"Why, " he said, "you poor little kid! What's got you into this mess?"

At that in his voice, such a quick, a thick, a hot layer of tears sprangto her eyes that she could not relax her throat for words. 

"What got you in?"

"I--I--I dunno. "

"Aw, now, yes, you do know. Try to think--take your time--what got youin?"

"I--I--can't--"

"Yes, you can. Go on; I ain't lookin' at you. "

He turned off to an angle. 

Her first sob burst from her, tearing her throat and ending in a tremoloof moans in her throat. 

"Now, now, " he said, still in profile; "that won't do. Not for asensible little girl like you. Easy--easy--take your time--"

"You see, mister--you see, it was my--my mamma--my beautiful, darlingmamma--O God!--"

"Yes, yes; it was your mamma--and then what?"

"It was my mamma, my beautiful, darling mamma! What'll I do, mister? Ican't make it up to her. No way--nohow. She's gone--she's gone--"

"Easy--easy--try to keep easy. "

"I used to kiss her hands when they was embroiderin'. I used to grease'em for her all night when she screamed with the pain of 'em. I used toscream at night, too, when I was doin' my time--her there waitin'--shedied alone--there waitin'--the letter they gave me the stamp for--I--Iwas crazy with scare when I wrote it--O God!--mamma--mamma--mamma!"

"'Sh-h-h! 'Sh-h-h! Try to keep easy. "

"It was this way--O God, how was it?--it was this way--you see, me andmy mamma and sometimes a friend--Cora Jones--no--no--no--CoraKinealy--we used to sit in the lamplight--no--no--first, I was in theshoes--the children's shoes--they used to come in, little kiddies withtheir toes all kicked out wantin' new shoes--cute little baby-shoes thatI loved to try on 'em. My friend--Cora--my friend--O God!--"

"Now, now, like a good girl--go on. "

"My friend Cora--my darling little mamma--I never knew nothing aboutanything except me and my mamma, we--it worried her that I didn't haveit like--like other girls--I--you see--you see, mister?"

"Yes, yes, I see. "

Her voice, so jerked up with sobs, quieted down to a drone finally, to alow drone that talked on and on through an hour, through two. There werelarge, shining beads of tears flowing constantly from her cheeks, butshe wiped at them unceasingly with her handkerchief and talked evenlythrough a new ease in her throat. 

"She died, mister, " she ended up finally, turning her salt-bitten eyesfull upon him; "she died of that letter written when I was so full of ascared craziness from bein' in--in that place--that terrible, terribleplace--but she didn't die believin' me bad. I never seen her alive againto hear it from her, but there in her--her little coffin I--I seen it inher little face, all sunk, she didn't believe it--she didn't diethinkin' me bad. Mister, did she? Did she?"

He did not answer, sitting there, drooped forward for so long thatfinally she put out her hand to touch his. 

"Did she?"

He did not turn his face, but reached around, inclosing her wrist, pressing it, gripping it. 

"Did she, mister?"

"No, no, " he said, finally, "no, Stella; she didn't die thinkin' youbad. "

She sighed out, eyes closing, and her quivering lips falling quiet. 

"Do you think I'm bad, mister?"

"No, Stella! No! No! No! My God, no!"

"I'm cold. "

"Come. "

"Where?"

"I'm goin' to take you across the street there to the Young Women'sShelter Home for to-night. Just across there. See the sign? Don't beafraid, Stella. Please don't be afraid. "

"I ain't. "

He retied the white-paper package, tucking it up under one arm. 

"Come, Stella. "

She rose, swaying for the merest second. His arm shot out. 

"I'm all right, " she said, steadying herself, smilingly, shamefacedly, but relaxing gratefully enough to the flung support. 

"Don't be afraid, Stella, " he said. "I'm here. I'm here. "

His forearm where the cuff had ridden up bore a scar, as if molten leadhad run a fiery, a dagger-shaped, an excoriating course. 

WHITE GOODS

On a slope a white sprinkling of wood anemones lay spread like a patchof linen bleaching in the sun. From a valley a lark cut a swift diagonalupward with a coloratura burst of song. A stream slipped its ice andtook up its murmur where it had left off. A truant squelched his toes inthe warm mud and let it ooze luxuriantly over and between them. 

A mole stirred in its hole, and because spring will find a way, evendown in the bargain basement of the Titanic Store, which is far belowthe level of the mole, Sadie Barnet, who had never seen a wood anemoneand never sniffed of thaw or the wet wild smell of violets, felt theblood rise in her veins like sap, and across the aisle behind thewhite-goods counter Max Meltzer writhed in his woolens, and SadieBarnet, presiding over a bin of specially priced mill-ends out mid-aislebetween the white goods and the muslin underwear, leaned toward him, andher smile was as vivid as her lips. 

"Say, Max, guess why I think you're like a rubber band. "

Classic Delphi was never more ready with ambiguous retort. 

Behind a stack of Joy-of-the-Loom bed-sheets, Max Meltzer groped fororacular divination, and his heart-beats fluttered in his voice. 

"Like a rubber band?"

"Yeh. "

"Give up. "

"Aw, give a guess. "

"Well, I don't know, Miss Sadie, unless--unless it's because I'm stuckon you. "

Do not, ascetic reader, gag at the unsocratic plane. True, Max Meltzerhad neither the grain nor the leisure of a sophist, a capacity fortenses or an appreciation of Kant. He had never built a bridge, led aBible class, or attempted the first inch of the five-foot bookshelf. Buton a two-figure salary he subscribed an annual donation to askin-and-cancer hospital, wore non-reversible collars, and maintained asmile that turned upward like the corners of a cycle moon. Remember, then, ascetic reader, that a rich man once kicked a leper; Kant's ownheart, that it might turn the world's heart outward, burst of pain; andin the granite cañon of Wall Street, one smile in every three-score andten turns upward. 

Sadie Barnet met Max Meltzer's cycle-moon smile with the blazing eyes ofscorn, and her lips, quivering to a smile, met in a straight line thatalmost ironed out the curves. 

"'Cause you're stuck on me! That's a swell guess. Gee! you're as funnyas a sob, you are. "

The words scuttered from her lips like sharp hailstones and she glancedat him sidewise over a hump of uplifted shoulder and down the length ofone akimbo arm. 

"'Cause you're stuck on me! Huh!"

Max Meltzer leaned across a counter display of fringed breakfastnapkins. 

"Ain't that a good reason, Miss Sadie? It's a true one. "

"You're one swell little guesser, you are _not_. You couldn't get insidea riddle with a can-opener. 'Cause you're stuck on me! Gee!"

"Well, I am. "

"I didn't ask you why you was like a bottle of glue. I asked you why youwas like a rubber band. "

"Aw, I give up, Miss Sadie. "

"'Cause you're so stretchy, see? 'Cause you're so stretchy you'll yawnyour arm off if you don't watch it. "

Max Meltzer collapsed in an attitude of mock prostration against astock-shelf. 

"Gee! that must have been cracked before the first nut. "

"Smarty!"

Across the specially priced mill-ends she flashed the full line of herteeth, and with an intensity his features ill concealed he noted howsweet her throat as it arched. 

"It's the spring fever gets inside of me and makes me so stretchy, MissSadie. It's a good thing trade is slow down here in the basement to-day, because it's the same with me every year; the Saturday beforespring-opening week I just get to feeling like all outdoors. "

"Wait till you see me with a new red-satin bow stuck on my lastsummer's shape. Dee Dee's got to lend me the price for two yards ofthree-inch red-satin ribbon for my spring opening. "

His breath rose in his throat. 

"I bet you look swell in red, Miss Sadie. But a girl like you looksswell in anything. "

"Red's my color. Dee Dee says my mamma was a gay one, too, when it cameto color. Had to have a red bow pinned somewheres around all the monthsshe was in bed and--and up to the very night she died. Gimme red everytime. Dee Dee's the one that's always kicking against red; she says Igot too flashy taste. "

"Say, if she keeps bossing and bossing at you, what do you keep onliving with her for?"

"Wouldn't you live with your own mother's sister if she raised you froma kid? What am I going to do, put her in cold storage, now that her eyesare going back on her? Up in the ribbons she can't hardly keep hercolors graduated no more, that's how blind she's getting. Only yesterdaya dame brought back some lavender ribbon and wiped up the wholedepartment with Dee Dee for putting it over on her as blue. What am Igoing to do?"

"Honest, Miss Sadie, I didn't know that she was your aunt and that hereyes was bad. I've seen you two together a lot and noticed her thicklenses, but I just didn't think. "

"Well, now I'm telling you. "

"I just thought she was some old girl up in the ribbons you was livingwith for company. Honest, I didn't know she had bad eyes. Gee!"

"No, they ain't bad. Only she's so blind she reads her paper upside downand gets sore if you tell her about it. "

"And me thinking she was nothing but a near-sighted old grouch with aname like a sparrow. "

Miss Barnet laughed with an upward trill. 

"Dee Dee ain't her real name. When I was a kid and she took me to raise, that's the way I used to pronounce Aunt Edith. Gee! you don't think DeeDee was the name they sprinkled on her when they christened her, did you?"

Max Meltzer leaned to the breath of her laughter as if he would fill hislungs with it. 

"Gee! but you're a cute little lady when you laugh like that. "

"Say, and ain't you the freshie! Just because you're going to bepromoted to buyer for your department won't get your picture in theSunday supplement. No white-goods buyer I know of ever had to buildwhite marble libraries or present a bread-line to the city to get rid ofhis pin-money. "

"I bet you was a cute little black-eyed, red-cheeked little youngster, alrighty. "

"I wasn't so worse. Like I tell Dee Dee, the way she's held me down andindoors evenings, it's a wonder a kid like me grew up with any pepat all. "

"Poor little lady!"

"It's like Dee Dee says, though. I never was cut out for life behind thecounter. Gee! I'd soak my pillow in gasolene every night in the week ifit would make me dream I'm automobiling. "

"Poor little lady!"

"Say, ain't it hot? With the Opening on Monday, they better get the fansworking. Last year three girls keeled. Honest, sometimes I think I'drather spend the summer under the daisies out on the hill than down herein this basement. "

"Don't I wish I had an auto to take you spinning in to-night. "

"You ought to see the flier a friend of mine has got. A Mercury Six witha limousine top like a grand-opera box. "

"Your--your--friend?"

"Yes. He's that slick-looking, little fat fellow that's a cousin toMamie Grant up in the ready-to-wears. He was down here talking to me theother day. "

"I seen him. "

"Gee! you ought to feel yourself in his Mercury Six. 'Lemme die, ' I saysto him the last time I was in it. 'Just lemme close my eyes right inhere and die happy, ' I says, cuddled up in the red-leather seat with acornucopia of daffodils tickling my nose and a street-car full ofstrap-hangers riding along-side of us. "

"I--I guess if you got swell friends like that, a boat excursion downthe river 'ain't got much of a sound for you. "

"He says he's got a launch in summer--"

"Honest, Miss Sadie, I--I just been trying for the better part of twoweeks to ask permission if I could come and call on you some evening, Miss Sadie, but--"

"Whoops! ain't he the daredevil!"

"The first boat of the season, Miss Sadie, a swell new one they call the_White Gull_, goes down to Coney to-night, and, it being realspringtime, and you feeling kind of full of it, I thought maybe, itbeing the first boat of the season, maybe you would take a river ridethis grand April night, Miss Sadie. "

Her glance slanted toward him, full of quirks. 

"My aunt Dee Dee, Mr. Meltzer, she's right strict with me. She don'tthink I ought to keep company with any boys that don't come to see mefirst at my house. "

"I know it, Miss Sadie; that's the right way to do it, but I think I canget around her all right. Wasn't she down here in the basement the day Ifirst heard about my promotion, and didn't she give me the glad hand andseem right friendly to me? I can get around her all right, Miss Sadie. Ican always tell if a person likes me or not. "

"Anyways, if her eyes ain't too bad, Mr. Meltzer, I got a date with myfriend if his car is out of the shop from having the limousine top takenoff. We--we're going for a little spin. "

A quick red belied her insouciance and she made a little foray into thebin of mill-ends. 

"Gee! if I've made three sales this livelong day I don't know nothingabout two of them. "

Max Meltzer met her dancing gaze, pinioning it with his own quiet eyes. 

"You're right to pick out the lucky fellows who can buy a good time. Alittle girl like you ought to have every enjoyment there is. If I couldgive it to you, do you think I would let the other fellows beat me toit? The best ain't none too good for a little lady like you. "

"Aw, Mr. Meltzer!" Her bosom filled and waned. "Aw, Mr. Meltzer!"

"I mean it. "

An electric bell grilled through his words. Miss Barnet sprang reflexlyfrom the harness of an eight-hour day. 

"Aw, looka, and I wanted to sneak up before closing and get Dee Dee tosnip me two yards of red satin, and she won't cut an inch after thebell. Ain't that luck for you? Ain't that luck?"

Her lips drew to a pout. 

"Lemme get it for you, Miss Sadie. I know a girl up in the ribbons--"

"No, no, Mr. Meltzer. I--I got to charge it to Dee Dee, and, anyways, she gets mad like anything if I keep her waiting. I gotta go. 'Night, Mr. Meltzer! 'Night!"

She was off through the maze of the emptying store, in the very act ofpinning on her little hat with its jaunty imitation fur pompon, and hebreathed in as she passed, as if of the perfume of her personality. 

At the ribbon counter on the main floor the last of a streamlet ofoutgoing women detached herself from the file as Miss Barnet ascendedthe staircase. 

"Hurry up, Sadie. "

"Dee Dee! How'd you girls up here get on your duds so soon? I thoughtmaybe if I'd hurry upstairs you--you'd find time to cut me a two-yardpiece of three-inch red satin for my hat, Dee Dee--to-morrow beingSunday. Two yards, Dee Dee, and that'll make two-sixty-nine I owe you. Aw, Dee Dee, it won't take a minute, to-morrow Sunday and all! Aw, Dee Dee!"

Miss Barnet slid ingratiating fingers into the curve of the olderwoman's arm; her voice was smooth as salve. 

"Aw, Dee Dee, who ever heard of wearing fur on a hat in April? I gottastick a red bow on my last summer's sailor, Dee Dee. "

Miss Edith Worte stiffened so that the muscles sprang out in the crookof her arm and the cords in her long, yellowing neck. Years had dried onher face, leaving ravages, and through her high-power spectacles herpale eyes might have been staring through film and straining to see. 

"Please, Dee Dee!"

Miss Barnet held backward, a little singsong note of appeal runningthrough her voice. 

Miss Worte jerked forward toward the open door. April dusk, the color ofcold dish-water, showed through it. Dusk in the city comes sadly, crowding into narrow streets and riddled with an immediate quick-shot ofelectric bulbs. 

"'Ain't you got no sense a-tall? 'Ain't you got no sense in that curlyhead of yourn but ruination notions?"

"Aw, Dee Dee!"

They were in the flood tide which bursts through the dam at six o'clocklike a human torrent flooding the streets, then spreading, thinning, andfinally seeping into homes, hall bedrooms, and Harlem flats. 

Miss Edith Worte turned her sparse face toward the down-town tide andagainst a light wind that tasted of rain and napped her skirts aroundher thin legs. 

"Watch out, Dee Dee! Step down; there's a curb. "

"I don't need you. It's lots you care if I go blind on the spot. "

"Dee Dee!"

"God! if I didn't have nothing to worry me but red ribbons! I told thedoctor to-day while he was putting the drops in my eyes, that if he'dlet me go blind I--I--"

"Now, now, Dee Dee! Ain't you seeing better these last few days?"

"If you had heard what the doctor told me to-day when he put the dropsin my eyes you'd have something to think about besides red ribbon, alrighty. "

"I forgot, Dee Dee, to-day was your eye-doctor day. He's always scarin'you up. Just don't pay no attention. I forgot it was your day. "

"Sure you forgot. But you won't forget if I wake up alone in the darksome day. "

"Dee Dee!"

"You won't forget then. You won't forget to nag me even then for duds togo automobiling with fly men that can't bring you no good. "

"Dee Dee, I 'ain't been but one night this week. I been saving up allmy nights for--for to-night. "

"To-night. Say, I can't keep you from going to the devil on skates if--"

"It's only the second time this week, Dee Dee, and I--I promised. He'llhave the limousine top off to-night--and feel, it is just like summer. Agirl's gotta have a little something once in a while. "

"What do I gotta have? What do I gotta have but slave and work?"

"It's different with you, Dee Dee. You're older even than my mamma was, and didn't you say when you and her was girls together there wasn't alivelier two sisters? Now didn't you, Dee Dee?"

"In a respectable way, yes. But there wasn't the oily-mouthed, bald-headed divorced man alive, with little rat eyes and ugly lips, whocould have took me or your mamma out auto-riding before or after dark. We was working-girls, too, but there wasn't a man didn't take off hishat to us, even if he was bald-headed and it was twenty below zero. "

"Aw!"

"Yes, 'aw'! You keep running around with the kind of men that don't lookat a girl unless she's served up with rum-sauce and see where it landsyou. Just keep running if you want to, but my money don't buy you no redribbons to help to drive you to the devil!"

"The way you keep fussing at me, when I don't even go to dances like theother girls! I--sometimes I just wish I was dead. The way I got towatch the clock like it was a taximeter the whole time I'm outanywheres. It's the limit. Even Max Meltzer gimme the laugh to-day. "

"You'd never hear me say watch the clock if you'd keep company with aboy like Max Meltzer. A straight, clean boy with honest intentions by agirl lookin' right out of his face. You let a boy like Max Meltzer beginto keep steady with you and see what I say. You don't see no yellowstreak in his face; he's as white as the goods he sells. "

"I know. I know. You think now because he's going to be made buyer forthe white goods in September he's the whole show. Gee! nowadays thatain't so muchy much for a fellow to be. "

"No, I think the kind of fellows that fresh Mamie Grant gets youacquainted with are muchy much. I'm strong for the old rat-eyed sportslike Jerry Beck, that 'ain't got a honest thought in his head. I bet hegives you the creeps, too, only you're the kind of a girl, God help you, that's so crazy for luxury you could forget the devil had horns if hehid 'em under a automobile cap. "

"Sure I am. I 'ain't seen nothing but slaving and drudging and pinchingall my life, while other girls are strutting the Avenue in their fursand sleeping mornings as long as they want under eider-down quilts. Sure, when a man like Jerry Beck comes along with a carriage-checkinstead of a Subway-ticket I can thaw up to him like a water-ice, and Iain't ashamed of it, neither. "

They turned into a narrow aisle of street lined with unbroken rows ofsteep, narrow-faced houses. Miss Worte withdrew her arm sharply andplunged ahead, her lips wry and on the verge of tremoling. 

"When a girl gets twenty, like you, it ain't none of my put-in no more. Only I hope to God your mother up there is witness that if ever a womanslaved to keep a girl straight and done her duty by her it was me. Thatman 'ain't got no good intentions by--"

"Oh, ain't you--ain't you a mean-thinking thing, ain't you? What kind ofa girl do you think I am? If he didn't have the right intentions by medo you think--"

"Oh, I guess he'll marry you if he can't get you no other way. Them kindalways do if they can't help themselves. A divorced old guy like him, with a couple of kids and his mean little eyes, knows he's got to pay upif he wants a young girl like you. Oh, I--Ouch--oh--oh!"

"Dee Dee, take my arm. That was only an ashcan you bumped into. It's thedrops he puts in your eyes makes 'em so bad to-night, I guess. Go on, take my arm, Dee Dee. Here we are home. Lemme lead you up-stairs. It'snothing but the drops, Dee Dee. "

They turned in and up and through a foggy length of long hallway. Springhad not entered here. At the top of a second flight of stairs a slaveysat back on her heels and twisted a dribble of gray water from her clothinto her bucket. At the last and third landing an empty coal-scuttlestood just outside a door as if nosing for entrance. 

"Watch out, Dee Dee, the scuttle. Lemme go in first. Gee! it's coldindoors and warm out, ain't it? Wait till I light up. There!"

"Lemme alone. I can see. "

An immemorial federation of landladies has combined against Hestia topreserve the musty traditions of the furnished room. Love in a cottageis fostered by subdivision promoters and practised by commuters on afive-hundred-dollars-down, monthly-payment basis. Marble halls have beencelebrated in song, but the furnished room we have with us always atthree cents per agate line. 

You with your feet on your library fender, stupefied with contentmentand your soles scorching, your heart is not black; it is only fat. Howcan it know the lean formality of the furnished room? Your littlestenographer, who must wear a smile and fluted collars on eight dollarsa week, knows it; the book agent at your door, who earns eighteen centson each Life of Lincoln, knows it. Chambermaids know it when they knockthrice and only the faint and nauseous fumes of escaping gas answer themthrough the plugged keyhole. Coroners know it. 

Sadie Barnet and Edith Worte knew it, too, and put out a hand here andthere to allay it. A comforting spread of gay chintz covered the sag intheir white iron bed; a photograph or two stuck upright between thedresser mirror and its frame, and tacked full flare against the wall wasa Japanese fan, autographed many times over with the gay personnel ofthe Titanic Store's annual picnic. 

"Gee! Dee Dee, six-twenty already! I got to hurry. Unhook me while Isew in this ruching. "

"Going for supper?"

"Yeh. He invited me. This is cottage-pudding night; tell old lady Finchwhen I ain't home for supper you got two desserts coming to you. "

"I don't want no supper. "

"Aw, now, Dee Dee!"

Miss Worte dropped her dark cape from her shoulders, hung it with herhat on a door peg, and sat heavily on the edge of the bed. 

"God! my feet!"

"Soak 'em. "

Miss Barnet peeled off her shirt-waist. Her bosom, strong and _flat_ asa boy's, rose white from her cheaply dainty under-bodice; at hershoulders the flesh began to deepen, and her arms were round and fullof curves. 

"Here, Dee Dee, I'm so nervous when I hurry. You sew in this ruche; yougot time before the supper-bell. See, right along the edge like that. "

Miss Worte aimed for the eye of the needle, moistening the end of thethread with her tongue and her fluttering fingers close to her eyes. 

"God! I--I just 'ain't got the eyes no more. I can't see, Sadie; I can'tfind the needle. "

Sadie Barnet paused in the act of brushing out the cloud of her darkhair, and with a strong young gesture ran the thread through the needle, knotting its end with a quirk of thumb and forefinger. 

"It's the drops, Dee Dee, and this gaslight, all blurry from thecurling-iron in the flame, makes you see bad. "

Miss Worte nodded and closed her eyes as if she would press back thetears and let them drip inward. 

"Yeh, I know. I know. "

"Sure! Here, lemme do it, Dee Dee. I won't stay out late, dearie, ifyour eyes are bad. We're only going out for a little spin. "

Miss Worte lay back on the chintz bedspread and turned her face to thewall. 

"I should worry if you come home or if you don't--all the comfort youare to me. "

"You say that to me many more times and you watch and see what I do; youwatch and see. "

"The sooner the better. "

In the act of fluting the soft ruche about her neck, so that her freshlittle face rose like a bud from its calyx, Miss Barnet turned to thefull length of back which faced her from the bed. 

"That's just the way I feel about it--the sooner the better. "

"Then we think alike. "

"You 'ain't been such a holy saint to me that I got to pay up to you forit all my life. "

"That's the thanks I get. "

"You only raised me because you had to. I been working for my own livingever since I was so little I had to He to the inspectors about my age. "

"Except what you begged out of my wages. "

"I been as much to you as you been to me and--and I don't have to standthis no longer. Sure I can get out and--and the sooner the better. I'msick of getting down on my knees to you every time I wanna squeeze alittle good time out of life. I'm tired paying up for the few dollarsyou gimme out of your envelop. If I had any sense I--I wouldn't nevertake it from you, nohow, the way you throw it up to me all the time. Thesooner the better is what I say, too; the sooner the better. "

"That's the thanks I get; that's the--"

"Aw, I know all that line of talk by heart, so you don't need to ram itdown me. You gotta quit insinuating about my ways to me. I'm as straightas you are and--"

"You--you--take off that ivory-hand breast-pin; that ain't yours. "

"Sure I'll take it off, and this ruche you gimme the money to buy, andthis red bracelet you gimme, and--and every old thing you ever gimme. Sure I'll take 'em all off. I wish I could take off these gray-top shoesyou paid a dollar toward, and I would, too, if I didn't have to gobarefoot. It's the last time I borrow from--"

"Aw, you commenced that line of talk when you was ten. "

"I mean it. "

"Well, if you do, take off them gloves that I bought for myself and youbegged right off my hands. Just take 'em off and go barehanded with yourlittle-headed friend; maybe he can buy--"

"You--Oh, I--I wish I was dead! I--I'll go barehanded to a snowballfeast rather than wear your duds. There's your old gloves--there!"

Tears were streaming and leaving their ravages on the smooth surface ofher cheeks. 

"I just wish I--I was dead. "

"Aw, no, you don't! There's him now, with a horn on his auto that makesa noise like the devil yelling! There's your little rat-eyed, low-livedfellow, now. You don't wish you was dead now, do you? Go to him and histwo divorces and his little roundhead. That's where you belong; that'swhere girls on the road to the devil belong--with them kind. There he isnow, waiting to ride you to the devil. He don't need to honk-honk soloud; he knows you're ready and waiting for him. "

Miss Barnet fastened on her little hat with fingers that fumbled. 

"Gimme--the key. "

"Aw, no, you don't. When you come home tonight you knock; no moretiptoe, night-key business like last time. I knew you was lying to meabout the clock. "

"You gimme that key. I don't want you to have to get up, with all yourkicking, to open the door for me. You gimme the key. "

"If you wanna get in this room when you come home to-night, you knocklike any self-respecting girl ain't afraid to do. "

"You--oh--you!" With a shivering intake of breath Miss Barnet flung widethe door, slamming it after her until the windows and the blue-glassvase on the mantelpiece and Miss Worte, stretched full length on thebed, shivered. 

Two flights down she flung open the front door. There came from thecurb the bleat of a siren, wild for speed. 

Stars had come out, a fine powdering of them, and the moist eveningatmosphere was sweet, even heavy. She stood for a moment in theembrasure of the door, scenting. 

"Do I need my heavy coat, Jerry?"

The dim figure in the tonneau, with his arms flung out their lengthacross the back of the seat, moved from the center to the side. 

"No, you don't. Hurry up! I'll keep you warm if you need a coat. Climbin here right next to me, Peachy. Gimme that robe from the frontthere, George. 

"Now didn't I say I was going to keep you warm? Quit your squirming, Touchy. I won't bite. Ready, George. Up to the Palisade Inn, and let outsome miles there. "

"Gee! Jerry, you got the limousine top off. Ain't this swell forsummer?"

Mr. Jerome Beck settled back in the roomy embrasure of the seat andexhaled loudly, his shoulder and shoe touching hers. 

She settled herself out of their range. 

"Now, now, snuggle up a little, Peachy. "

She shifted back to her first position. 

"That's better. "

"Ain't it a swell night?"

"Now we're comfy--eh?"

They were nosing through a snarl of traffic and over streets wet andslimy with thaw. Men with overcoats flung over their arms side-steppedthe snout of the car. Delicatessen and candy-shop doors stood wideopen. Children shrilled in the grim shadows of thousand-tenanttenement-houses. 

"Well, Peachy, how are you? Peachy is just the name for you, eh? 'CauseI'd like to take a bite right out of you--eh, Peachy? How are you?"

"Fine and--and dandy. "

"Look at me. "

"Aw!"

"Look at me, I say, you pretty little peach, with them devilish blackeyes of yours and them lips that's got a cherry on 'em. "

She met his gaze with an uncertain smile trembling on her lips. 

"Honest, you're the limit. "

"What's your eyes red for?"

"They--they ain't. "

"Cryin'?"

"Like fun. "

"You know what I'd do if I thought you'd been crying? I'd just kiss themtears right away. "

"Yes, you would _not_. "

"Little devil!"

"Quit calling me that. " But she colored as if his tribute had been asheath of lilies. 

They veered a corner sharply, skidding on the wet asphalt and all butgrazing the rear wheels of a recreant taxicab. 

"Gad, George! you black devil you, why don't you watch out what you'redoing?"

"But, suh, I--"

"None of your black back-talk. "

"Jerry!" She was shivering, and a veil of tears formed over her hot, mortified eyes. "Gee! what are you made of? You seen he couldn't help itwhen that taxi turned into us so sudden. "

He relaxed against her. "Aw, did I scare the little Peachy? That's theway they gotta be handled. I ain't ready by a long shot to let a blackdevil spill my brains. "

"'Shh-h. He couldn't--"

"Sure he could, if he watched. He's a bargain I picked up cheap, anyways, 'cause he's lame and can't hold down heavy work. And bargainsdon't always pay. But I'll break his black back for him if--Aw, now, now, did I scare the little peach? Gee! I couldn't do nothing but kill_you_ with kindness if you was driving for me. I'd just let you run meright off this road into the Hudson Ocean if you was driving for me. "

They were out toward the frayed edge of the city, where great stretchesof sign-plastered vacant lots began to yawn between isolated patches ofbuildings and the river ran close enough alongside of them to reflecttheir leftward lights. She smiled, but as if her lips were bruised. 

"It ain't none of my put-in, but he couldn't help it, and I hate for youto yell at anybody like that, Jerry. "

"Aw, aw, did I scare the little Peachy? Watch me show the little Tootsiehow nice I can be when I want to--Aw--aw!"

"Quit. "

She blinked back the ever-recurring tears. 

"All tired out, too; all tired out. Wait till you see what I'm going tobuy you to-night. A great big beefsteak with mushrooms as big as dollarsand piping-hot German fried potatoes and onions. M-m-m-m! And morebubbles than you can wink your eye at. Aw--aw, such poor cold littlehands, and no gloves for such cold little hands! Here, lemme warm 'em. Wouldn't I just love to wrap a little Peachy like you up in a great bigfur coat and put them little cold hands in a great big muff and hangsome great big headlight earrings in them little bittsie ears. Wouldn'tI, though. M-m-m-m! Poor cold little hands!"

Her wraith of a smile dissolved in a spurt of hot tears which flowedover her words. 

"Gee! Ain't I the nut to--to cry? I--I'll be all right in a minute. "

"I knew when I seen them red eyes the little Peachy wasn't up to snuff, and her cute little devilishlike ways. What's hurting you, Tootsie? Beenbounced? You should worry. I'm going to steal you out of that cellar, anyways. Been bounced?"

"N-no. "

"The old hag 'ain't been making it hot for you, has she?"

"Sh-she--"

"Gad! that old hag gets my fur up. I had a mother-in-law once tried themtricks on me till I learned her they wouldn't work. But the old hagof yourn--"

"It's her eyes; the doctor must have scared her up again to-day. Whenshe gets scared like that about 'em she acts up so, honest, sometimesI--I just wish I was dead. She don't think a girl oughtta have no life. "

"Forget it. Just you wait. She's going to wake up some morning soon andfind a little surprise party for herself. I know just how to handle anold bird like her. "

"Sometimes she's just so good to me, and then again, when she gets sorelike to-night, and with her nagging and fussing at me, I don't care ifshe is my aunt, I just _hate_ her. "

"We're going to give her a little surprise party. " Beneath the lap robehis hand slid toward hers. She could feel the movement of the arm thatdirected it and her own shrank away. 

"But ain't I the limit, Jerry, airing my troubles to you, like you was apoliceman. "

"Now, now--"

"Quit! Leggo my hand. "

They were spinning noiselessly along a road that curved for the momentaway from the river into the velvet shadows of trees. He leaned forwardsuddenly, enveloping her. 

"I got it. Why don't you lemme kidnap you, kiddo?"

"What--"

"Lemme kidnap you to-night and give the old hag the surprise of her lifewhen she wakes up and finds you stolen. I'm some little kidnapper whenit comes to kidnapping, I am, kiddo. Say, wouldn't I like to take youriding all wrapped up in a fur coat with nothing but your cute littleface sticking out. "

"Aw, you're just fooling me. "

"Fooling! Lemme prove it, to-night. Lemme kidnap you this very night. I--"

She withdrew stiff-backed against his embrace. 

"Is--is that what you mean by--by kidnapping me?"

"Sure. There ain't nothing I'd rather do. Are you on, Peaches? Asensible little queen like you knows which side her bread is butteredon. There ain't nothing I want more than to see you all bundled up in afur coat with--headlights in your little bittsie pink ears. "

She sprang the width of the seat from him. 

"You--What kind of a girl do you think I am? O God! What kind of a girldoes he think I am? Take me home--take me--What kind of a girl do youthink I am?"

He leaned toward her with a quick readjustment of tone. 

"Just what I said, Peachy. What I meant was I'd marry you to-night if wecould get a license. I'd just kidnap you to-night if--if we couldget one. "

"You--you didn't mean that. "

"Sure I did, Peachy. Say, with a little girl of my own I ain't one ofthem guys that you think I am. Ain't you ashamed of yourself, Peachy--now ain't you?"

The color flowed back into her face and her lips parted. 

"Jerry--Only a girl like me's got to be careful--that was all I meant, Jerry. Jerry!"

He scooped her in his short arms and kissed her lips, with her smallface crumpled up against his shoulder, and she lay quiescent enough inhis embrace. Wind sang in her ears as they rushed swiftly and surelyalong the oiled road, but the two small fists she pressed against hiscoat lapels did not relax. 

"Aw, now, Peachy, you mustn't treat a fellow cold no more! Ain't I goingto marry you? Ain't I going to set you up right in my house out inNewton Heights? Ain't I going to give you a swell ten-room house? Ain'tyou going to live right in the house with my girl, and ain't she goingto have you for a little stepmother?"

"Jerry, the--the little girl. I wonder if she wants--"

"Sure she does. Her mother gets her every other month. I'd let her gofor good if you don't want her, except it would do her mother too muchgood. The courts give her to me every other month and I'll have her downto the last minute of the last hour or bust. "

"Jerry!"

"That's what I gotta keep up the house out there for. The court says Igotta give her a home, and that's why I want a little queen like you init. Gad! Won't her mother throw a red-headed fit when she sees thelittle queen I picked! Gad!"

"Oh, Jerry, her your first wife and all! Won't it seem funny my going inher house and--and living with her kid. "

"Funny nothing. Cloonan won't think it's funny when I tell her she'sfinished running my house for me. Funny nothing. To-morrow's Sunday andI'm going to take you out in the afternoon and show you the place, andMonday, instead of going to your bargain bin, we're going down for alicense, and you kiss the old hag good-by for me, too. Eh, how's thatfor one day's work?"

"Gee! and--and--Monday the spring opening and me not there! Jerry, I--Ican't get over me being a lady in my own house. Me! Me that hatesugliness and ugly clothes and ugly living so. Me that hates street-carsand always even hated boat excursions 'cause they was poor folks'pleasures. Me a lady in my own house. Oh, Jerry!"

She quivered in his arms and he kissed her again with his moist lipspressed flat against hers. 

"Ten rooms, Peachy--that's the way I do things. "

They were curving up a gravel way, and through the lacy foliage ofspring lights gleamed, and there came the remoter strains ofsyncopated music. 

She sat up and brushed back her hair. 

"Is this the place?"

"Right-o! Now for that steak smothered in mushrooms, and, gad! I couldmanage a sweetbread salad on the side if you asked me right hard. "

They drew up in the flood-light of the entrance. 

"'Ain't I told you not to open the door for me, George? I don't need noblack hand reaching back here to turn the handle for me. That don't makeup for bad driving. Black hands off. "

"Jerry!"

They alighted with an uncramping and unbending of limbs. 

"How'd some Lynnhavens taste to you for a starter, Peachy?"

"Fine, whatever they are. "

A liveried attendant bowed them up the steps. 

A woman in blue velvet, her white arms bare to the shoulder and stars inher hair, paused in the doorway to drop her cloak. Her heavy perfumedrifted out to meet them. 

Sadie Barnet's clutch of her companion's arm quickened and her thoughtsran forward. 

"Jerry--gee! wouldn't I look swell in--in a dress like that? Gee! Jerry, stars and all!"

The cords in the muscles of his arm rose under her fingers. 

"Them ain't one-two-three-six to the duds I'm going to hang on you. Iknow her; she's an old-timer. Them duds ain't one-two-three-six. "

"Gee--Jerry!"

In the heart of a silence as deep as a bottomless pool, with the blackhours that tiptoe on the heels of midnight shrouding her like a nun'swimple, limbs trembling and her hands reluctant, Sadie Barnet knockedlightly at her door, once, twice, thrice, and between each rap her heartbeat with twice its tempo against her breast. 

Then her stealthy hand turned the white china knob and released it sothat it sprang backward with a click. 

"Who's that?"

"Me, Dee Dee. "

Her voice was swathed in a whisper. 

She could hear the plong of the bedspring, the patter of bare feetacross the floor; feel the slight aperture of the opening door. Sheoozed through the slit. 

"All right, Dee Dee. "

"God! I--I must have been sound asleep. What time is it?"

"It isn't late, Dee Dee. "

"Light the gas. "

"I--I can undress in the dark. "

"Light the gas. "

"I--"

"Light it, I say. "

"It's lit, Dee Dee. "

The figure in the center of the room, in her high-necked, long-sleevednightdress, her sparse hair drawn with unpleasant tension from her brow, her pale eyes wide, moved forward a step, one bare foot, calloused evenacross the instep, extended. 

"Lit?"

"Dee Dee, what's the matter?"

"Gimme--my glasses. "

She took them from Miss Barnet's trembling ringers and curved them abouther ears. 

"Quit your nonsense now and light the gas. I ain't in no humor forfoolin'. Quit waving that little spark in front of me. Light the gas. Iain't going to look at the clock. I'm done worrying about yourcarryings-on. I'm done. Light the gas, Sadie, there's a good girl. Light the gas. "

"Dee Dee! My God! Dee Dee, I--I tell you it's lit--big. "

"There's a good girl, Sadie. Don't fool your old aunt. "

"See, dearie, I ain't fooling. See, the gas-jet here beside the dresser. Look--I can't turn it no higher. Hear it sing and splutter. You ain'tawake good yet, Dee Dee. "

Silence--the ear-splitting silence that all in its brief moment iscrammed with years and years upon years. A cold gray wash seemedsuddenly to flow over Miss Worte's face. 

"Put my finger next to the gas flame. You--you're lying to me to--tofool your old aunt. Lemme feel my finger get burnt. "

They moved, these two, across the floor, their blanched faces strainingahead. With the sudden sting of heat finally across her palm, reddeningit, Miss Worte flung wide her arms and her head backward, and her voicetore out without restraint. 

"God! God! God!" And she fell to trembling so that her knees gave wayunder her and she crouched on the floor with her face bared to theceiling, rocking herself back and forth, beating her fists against herflat breasts. 

"God! God! God!"

"Dee Dee!--Dee Dee! my darling! my darling!"

"O God! O God! O God!"

"Dee Dee darling, it ain't nothing! A little too much strain, that'sall. 'Shh-h-h! Lemme bathe them. 'Shh-h-h, my darling. Oh, my God!darling! 'Shh-h-h!"

"Lemme go! Lemme go! He told me to-day it would come like this! Only hedidn't say how soon. Not how soon. I'm done for, I tell you! I'm done!Kill me, Sadie; if you love me, kill me! He told me and I wouldn'tbelieve it! Kill me, girl, and put me out of it! I can't breathe in thedark! I can't! I can't! I can't live in the dark with my eyes open! Killme, girl, and put me out of it--kill me! Kill me!"

"Dee Dee, my darling, ain't I right here with you? Didn't you alwayssay, darling, when it came you--you'd face it?"

Like St. Cecilia, who could not die, she crouched, and the curve of herback rose and fell. 

"O God! Oh--"

"Dee Dee darling, try not to holler out so! Maybe it ain't for--forgood. Aw, darling, keep your head down here next to me! Feel how close Iam, Dee Dee, right here next to you. 'Shh-h-h! O God! Dee Dee darling, you'll kill yourself going on like that! Don't pull at your hair, darling--don't! Oh, my God, don't!"

"I'm done! Kill me! Kill me! Don't make me live in the dark with my eyesopen--don't! There's a good girl, Sadie. Don't! Don't! Don't!"

From the room adjoining came a rattling at the barred door between. 

"Cut it, in there! This ain't no barroom. Go tell your D. T. 's to apoliceman. "

They crouched closer and trembling. 

"'Shh-h-h! Dee Dee, darling, try to be easy and not raise thehouse--try!"

Miss Worte lay back exhausted against Miss Barnet's engulfing arms. Herpassion ebbed suddenly and her words came scant, incoherent, and fullof breath. 

"No use. No use. He told me to-day he wouldn't operate. He told me. No, no, all the colors so pale--even the reds--so pale! Lavender and blueI--I just couldn't tell. I couldn't. So pale. Two yards she brought backnext day, kicking at--Oh, my God! Oh, my God!"

'"Shh-h-h, darling! Don't take on so! Wait till morning and we'll getnew drops from him. 'Shh-h-h! Maybe it's only strain. "

"I know. I'm in the dark for good, Sadie. Oh, my God! I'm in the dark!"

Except that her face was withered, she was like Iphigenia praying fordeath. 

"Lemme die! Lemme die!"

"'Shh-h-h--darling--That's it, rest quiet. "

Suddenly Miss Worte flung up one arm about Sadie Barnet's neck, pressingher head downward until their faces touched. 

"Dee Dee darling, you--you hurt. "

"You won't never leave me, Sadie, like you said you would? You won'tleave me alone in the dark, Sadie?"

"No, no, my darling; you know I won't, never, never. "

"You'll keep me with you always, promise me that, Sadie. Promise me_that_ on the curl of your mother's hair you wear in your locket. Promise me, little Sadie, you won't leave your aunt Dee Dee alone inthe dark. My poor little girl, don't leave me alone in the dark. I can'tsee; Sadie, I can't see no more. Promise me, Sadie, promise me, promise me!"

From Sadie Barnet's heart, weakening her like loss of blood, flowed hertears. She kissed the heart of Edith Worte where it beat like a clockbeneath the high-necked nightdress; she made of her bosom a pillow ofmercy and drew the head up to its warmth. 

"I--I promise, Dee Dee, on her curl of hair. Sure I promise. Always willI keep you with me, darling, always, always, so help me, always. "

Along the road to Newton Heights Spring and her firstlings crept outtenderly. Even close up to the rim of the oiled highway itself, anoccasional colony of wood violets dared to show their heads for thebrief moment before they suffocated. The threat of rain still lay on theair, but the Sunday rank and file of motors threw back tops, loweredwindshields, and turned shining noses toward the greening fields. 

In the red-leather tonneau, with her little face wind-blown and bared tothe kiss in the air, Sadie Barnet turned to her companion and peeredunder the visor of his checked cap and up into his small inset eyes. 

"Is--is that the house up on the hill there, Jerry?"

"Not yet. It's right around the next bend. "

"Gee! My--my hands are like ice, I--I'm that nervous. "

"Lemme feel. "

"No. "

"That's a swell way to treat a fellow who's promised to marry you. "

"You--you must excuse me to-day, Jerry. Honest, without a wink ofsleep last night--you must excuse me to-day. I--I'm so upset with poorDee Dee, and on top of that so nervous about--your little girl and thehouse and everything. And, Dee Dee--when I think of Dee Dee. "

"Don't think, Peachy; that's the way to get around that. "

"I--I can't help it. You ought to seen her at the doctor's thismorning, how--how the poor thing lost her nerve when he told her thatthere--there wasn't no hope. "

"Aw, now, cut the sob stuff, Peachy! You can't help it. Nobody can, that's the trouble. Say, what kind of a little queen will they think youare if I bring you home all soppy with crying?"

"I ought not to have come, Jerry. I'm no kind of company to-day, onlyall of a sudden she's got so--so soft with me and she made me come whileshe--she tried to take a nap. Poor old Dee Dee!"

"Yeh, and poor old devil. Maybe she's just getting what's due to her. "

"Jerry!"

"Sure, I believe every one of us gets what's coming to us. "

"She--"

"Here we are, Tootsie. See, Peachy, that's the house I bought her andher mother, and they was kicking at it before the plaster was dry. "

"Oh! Oh!"

"That's a concrete front. Neat, ain't it? That's a mosaic-floor porch, too, I built on a year after her and her mother vamoosed. "

"It's a beau-tiful house, Jerry. "

"You're the land of a kid that knows how to appreciate a home when shegets it. But her with her she-devil of a mother, they no sooner got inthan they began to side with each other against me--her and her oldmother trying to learn me how to run my own shebang. "

"Where--"

"Gad! they're living in a dirty Harlem flat now and tryin' to put itover on me that they're better off in it. Bah! if I had to double up onalimony, I wouldn't give her a smell at this house, not a smell. "

"Say, but ain't it pretty, Jerry, right up over the river, and countryall around, and right over there in back the street-cars for the citywhen you want them?"

"This is going to be your street-car, Peachy, a six-cylinder one. "

She colored like a wild rose. 

"Oh, Jerry, I--I keep forgetting. "

"By Gad! it's a good thing I'm going to give up my city rooms and comeout here to watch my p's and q's. Gosh darn her neck! I told her to quitcluttering up that side-yard turf with her gosh darn little flower-beds!Gosh darn her neck! There never was a servant worth her hide. "

"Jerry, why, they're beautiful! They just look beautiful, those pansies, and is that the little girl sitting up there on the porch steps? Is--isthat Maisie?"

They drew to a stop before the box-shaped ornate house, its roughconcrete front pretentiously inlaid over the doors and windows with adesign of pebbles stuck like dates on a cake, and perched primly on thetopmost step of the square veranda the inert figure of a small girl. 

"Aw, ain't she cute?"

Miss Barnet sprang lightly to the sidewalk, and beside her Mr. JeromeBeck flecked the dust of travel from the bay of his waistcoat, shakinghis trousers knees into place. 

"This has got your Twenty-third Street dump beat a mile, and then some, 'ain't it, Peachy?"

"Jerry, call her here, the little girl. You tell her who--who I am. Tellher gently, Jerry, and--and how good I'm going to be to her and--Aw, ain't I the silly, though, to feel so trembly?"

The child on the step regarded their approach with unsmiling eyes, nordid she move except to draw aside her dark stuff skirts and close herknees until they touched. 

"Hello there! Moping again, eh? Get up! Didn't I tell you not to let mecatch you not out playing or helping Cloonan around? Say howdy to thislady. She's coming out here to live. Come here and say howdy to her. "

The child shrank to the newel-post, her narrow little face overtakenwith an agony of shyness. 

"Cat got your tongue? Say howdy. Quit breathing through your mouth likea fish. Say howdy, that's a good girl. "

"Don't force her, Jerry. She's bashful. Ain't you, dearie? Ain't you, Maisie?"

"Moping, you mean. If it was her month in the dirty Harlem flat she'd bespry enough. She knows what I mean whan I say that, and she knows shebetter cut out this pouting. Quit breathing through your mouth or I'llstick a cork in it. "

"Aw, Jerry, she can't help that!"

"Cat got your tongue? Where's Cloonan?"

The child's little face quivered and screwed, each feature drawingitself into position for tears. Her eyes disappeared, her nostrilsdistended, her mouth opened to a quivering rectangle, and she fell intosilent weeping. 

"Aw, Jerry--you--you scared her! Come here, darling; come here to me, Maisie; come, dearie. "

But the child slid past the extended arms, down the wooden steps, andaround a corner of the house, her arm held up across her eyes. 

"Aw, Jerry, honest, you can be awful mean!"

"I'll get that out of her or know the reason why. They've poisoned heragainst me, that's about how it is in a nutshell. I'll get that poutingto be in that dirty Harlem hole with her mother and grandmother out ofher or know the reason why. "

"She--"

"Look, this is the front hall. Guess this 'ain't got that sty inTwenty-third Street beat some. Look! How do you like it? This way to theparlor and dining-room. "

Sadie Barnet smiled through the shadows in her eyes. 

"Jerry! Say, ain't this beau-tiful! A upright piano and gold, chairsand--Why, Jerry! why, Jerry!"

"And look in here, the dining-room. Her and her mother shopped threeweeks to get this oak set, and see this fancy cabinet full of china. Slick, ain't it?"

Her fingers curled in a soft, clutch around her throat as if her breathcame too fast. 

"Jerry, it--it's just grand. "

He marshaled her in all the pride of ownership. 

"Look, butler's pantry, exposed plumbing. "

"Oh! Oh!"

"Kitchen. "

"Oh! Oh!"

"Here, Cloonan. I told you I was going to bring somebody out to takehold and sit on you and your bills, didn't I? This lady's coming outhere tomorrow, bag and baggage. Hand over your account-book to her and Ibet she does better with it. See that you fix us up in honeymoon style, too. Bag and baggage we're coming. Savvy?"

The figure beside the ill-kept stove, bowl in lap and paring potatoeswith the long fleshless hands of a bird, raised a still morefleshless face. 

"Howdy!"

"Cloonan's been running this shebang for two years now, Peachy, andthere ain't nothing much she can't learn you about my ways. They ain'thard. Look! Porcelain-lined sink. It's got Twenty-third Street beatsome, 'ain't it?"

"Yes, Jerry. "

"Fix us a beefsteak supper, Cloonan, and lemme weigh up them groceries Isent out and lemme see your books afterward. Come, Peachy, here, upthese stairs. This is the second floor. Pretty neat, ain't it? Her andher mother shopped three more weeks on this oak bed-set. Some littlemove out here from Twenty-third Street for a little rooming-house queenlike you, eh? Neat little bedroom, eh, Peachy? Eh?"

His face was close to her and claret red with an expression she did notdare to face. 

"And what's this next room here, Jerry? Ain't it sweet andquiet-looking! Spare room? Ain't it pretty with them little whitecurtains? Quit, quit, Jerry! You mustn't--you mustn't. "

She broke from his embrace, confusion muddling her movements. 

"Is this the--the spare room?"

"It is, now. It used to be the old woman's till I laid down on themother-in-law game and squealed. Yeh, I used to have a littlemother-in-law in our house that was some mother-in-law. Believe me, shemakes that old devil of yourn look like a prize angel. "

"I--This'll be just the room for Dee Dee, Jerry, where she can feel themorning sun and hear the street-cars over there when she gets lonesome. She ought to have the sunniest room, because it's something she can feelwithout seeing--poor thing. This will be a swell room for poor old blindDee Dee, won't it, Jerry? Won't it, Jerry dear?"

"Cut the comedy, Peachy. There's a neat free ward waiting for her justthe other direction from the city than Newton Heights. Cut thecomedy, Peachy. "

"Jerry, I--I gotta have her with me. I--Now that she--she's in the dark. She couldn't stand an institution, Jerry, she--she just couldn't. "

"That's what they all say, but they get over it. I know a--"

"She couldn't, Jerry. She 'ain't had much in her life, but she's alwayshad a roof over her head that wasn't charity, and she always said, Jerry, that she couldn't never stand a--a institution. She can take anyother room you say, Jerry. Maybe there's a little one up-stairs in thethird story we could fix up comfy for her; but she's in the dark now, Jerry, and, my God! Jerry, she just couldn't stand an institution!"

He patted her shoulder and drew her arm through his. 

"You lemme take care of that. She don't need to know nothing about it. We'll tell her we're sending her for a visit to the country for a while. After the second day she'll be as snug as a bug in a rug. They're goodto 'em in those places; good as gold. "

"No, no, Jerry! No, no! I gotta have her with me! She raised me from akid and--and she couldn't stand it, Jerry! I gotta have her, I gotta! Iwant her!"

His mouth sagged downward suddenly and on an oblique. 

"Say, somebody must have given you a few lessons in nagging, yourself. Them's the lines she used to recite to me about her she-devil of amother, too. Gad! she used to hang on her mother's apron-strings likeshe was tied. "

"Jerry, I--"

"Come, Peachy, don't get me sore. Come, let's talk about to-morrow. Wegotta get the license first and--"

"Jerry, I--Promise me I can have her with me first. I--Just a little yesis all I want--Jerry dear--just a little yes. "

A frown gathered in a triple furrow on his brow. 

"Now, kiddo, you got to cut that with me, and cut it quick. If there'stwo things I can't stand it's nagging and pouting. Cloonan can tell youwhat pouting can drive me to. I'll beat it out of that girl of minebefore she's through with me, and I won't stand it from no one else. Nowcut it, Peachy, that's a nice girl. "

He paced the carpeted space of floor between the dresser and bed, hismouth still on the oblique. 

"Now cut it, Peachy, I said, and cut it quick. "

She stood palpitating beside the window, her eyes flashing to his faceand fastening there. 

"God! I--I wanna go. "

"Where?"

Her glance flashed past him out of the window and across the patch ofrear lawn. A street-car bobbed across the country; she followed it witheager eyes. 

"I wanna go. "

He advanced, conciliatory. "Aw, now, Peachy, a row just the day beforewe are married. You don't want to start out making me train you justlike you was a little kid. If you was a little girl I could beat yourlittle ways out of you, but I wanna be on the level with you and showyou how nice I can be. All the things I'm going to give you, all--"

"Quit, you! I wanna go! I wanna go!"

"You can go to hell, for my part. I'm going to get a steak inside of mebefore we budge. Quit your fooling. See, you nearly got me sore there. Come, the car won't be back for us until six. Come, Peachy, come. "

She was past him and panting down the stairs, out across the patch ofrear lawn, and toward the bobbing street-car, the streamer of ribbon ather throat flying backward over her shoulder. 

In the bargain basement of the Titanic Store the first day of the springopening dragged to its close. In a meadow beside a round pond a treedripped apple blossoms, each so frail a thing that it fluttered out andaway, too light to anchor. 

In careless similitude the bargain basement of the Titanic Storeresuscitated from its storerooms, and from spring openings long gone by, dusty garlands of cotton May blossoms, festooning them between the greatwhite supporting pillars of the basement and intertwining them. 

Over the white-goods counter and over Sunday, as it were, a papier-mâchépergola of green lattice-work and more cotton-back May blossoms hadsprung up as if the great god Wotan had built it with a word. Cascadesof summer linens, the apple green and the butter yellow, flowed fromcounters and improvised tables. Sadie Barnet's own mid-aisle bin hadblossomed into a sacrificial sale of lawn remnants, and toward the closeof the day her stock lay low, depleted. 

Max Meltzer leaned out of his bower, and how muted his voice, as if itcame from an inner throat that only spoke when the heart bade it. 

"Little one, them remnants went like hot cakes, didn't they?"

"Hot cakes! Well, I guess. You'd have thought there was a mill-end saleon postage stamps. "

"And if you don't look all tired out! If you just don't!"

The ready tears swam in her voice. 

"It's--it's been awful--me away from her all day like this. But, anyways, I got news for her when I go home to-night about her fiveweeks' benefit money. Old Criggs was grand. He's going to send thecommittee to see her. Anyways, that's some good news for her. "

"I just can't get her out of my mind, neither. Seems like I--I just cansee her poor blind face all the time. "

"M-me, too. "

"They say the girls up in the ribbons been crying all day. She was nolove-bird, but they say she wasn't bad underneath. "

"God knows she--she wasn't. "

"That's the way with some folks; they're hard on top, but everybodyknows hard-shell crabs have got sweeter meat than soft. "

"Nobody knows that she was a rough diamond better than me. I got sore ather sometimes, but I--I know she was always there when I--I needed her, alrighty. "

"Now, now, little girl, don't cry! You're all worn out. "

"She--she was always there to stand by me in--in a pinch. "

"Honest, Miss Sadie, you look just like a pretty little ghost. What youneed is some spring air, girlie, some spring air for a tonic. Wouldn't Ijust love to take you all by your little self down the river to-night onone of them new Coney boats, where we could be--right quiet. Say, wouldn't I?"

"No--no!"

"I wanna talk to you, Miss Sadie. Can't you guess? I wanna get you allby yourself and talk to you right in your little ear. "

'"Shh-h-h! You mustn't talk like that. "

"That's the only way I have of trying to tell you how--how I feel, MissSadie--dearie. "

'"Shh-h-h!"

"When I call you that it means--well, you know, dearie, you know. That'swhy I wanna take you to-night, dearie, all by your little self and--"

"No, no, Mr. Meltzer! I can't leave her alone like that. I promised Iwould never leave her alone in the dark if--if I could help it. "

"Ain't I the dub? Sure you can't leave her. We gotta stick by her now, dearie. 'Ain't we? 'Ain't we?"

A red seepage of blood surged across his face and under his hair. Beneath his little hedge of mustache his lips quivered as if at theirown daring. 

"We gotta stick by her, dearie. "

All her senses swam, nor could she control the fluttering of her hands. 

"Oh--Mr. Meltzer--Max!"

"What you and poor old Dee Dee need is some of this spring air. Gee!wouldn't I love to take you--and her down the river to-night on one ofthem new Coney boats? Gee! would I? Just you and--and her. "

"Max--oh, Max dearie!"

"HEADS"

By the great order of things which decreed that about the time Herod, brother to no man, died, Jesus, brother to all men, should be born; andthat Rabelais, moral jester, should see light the very year thatorthodox Louis XI passed on, by that same metaphysical scheme reduced toits lowliest, Essman's drop-picture machine, patent applied for, wascompleted the identical year that, for Rudolph Pelz, the rainy-day skirtslumped from a novelty to a commodity. 

At a very low tide in the affairs of the Novelty Rainy DaySkirt Company, Canal Street, that year of our Lord, 1898, whenletter-head stationery was about to be rewritten and theI-haven't-seen-you-since-last-century jocosity was about to be born, Rudolph Pelz closed his workaday by ushering out Mr. Emil Hahn, lockinghis front door after his full force of two women machine-stitchers, andopening a rear door upon his young manhood's estate. A modest-enoughholding in the eyes of you or me as beholders; but for the past week notan evening upon opening that door but what tears rushed to his throat, which he laughed through, for shame of them. 

On a bed, obviously dragged from its shadowy corner to a place besidethe single window, and propped up so that her hair, so slickly bandingher head in two plaits, sprang out against the coarsely white pillows, Mrs. Rosa Sopinsky Pelz, on an evening when the air rose sultry, stale, and even garbage-laden from a cat-and-can-infested courtyard, flashedher quick smile toward that opening door, her week-old infant sucklingat her breast. 

"You ought to seen, Roody; she laughed! Puckered herself up into thecutest little grin when mamma left just now. "

Mr. Pelz wound his way through an overcrowded huddle of furniture thatwas gloomily, uglily utilitarian. A sideboard spread in pressed glass; achest of drawers piled high with rough-dry family wash; a coal-range, and the smell and sound of simmering. A garland of garlic, caught uplike smilax, and another of drying red peppers. On a shelf above thesink, cluttered there with all the pitiful unprivacy of poverty, alayout, to recite which will label me with the nigritude of the realist, but which is actually the nigritude of reality--a dish ofbrown-and-white blobs of soap; a coffee-cup with a great jag in its lip;a bottle of dried beans; a rubber nipple floating in a saucer of water;a glass tumbler containing one inverted tooth-brush; a medicine-bottleglued down in a dark-brown pool of its own substance; a propped-up bitof mirror, jagged of edge; a piece of comb; a rhinestone breastpin; abunion-plaster; a fork; spoon; a sprouting onion. Yet all of thissomehow lit by a fall of very coarse, very white, and very freshlystarched lace curtains portière-fashion from the door, looped back ingreat curves from the single window, and even skirting stiffly andcleanly the bureau-front and bed-edge. 

"How is my little mammela?" said Mr. Pelz, leaning over the bed to kissMrs. Pelz on the shining plaits, the light-tan column of throat and thelittle fist pressed so deeply into her bosom. 

"Just ought to seen, Roody--honest, she laughed and nearly jerked offmamma's _sheidel!_" [Footnote: Black wig worn by orthodox Jewishwomen after marriage. ]

"Red head!" he said, stroking down at the warm "bulge of blanket, sosnugly enclosed in the crotch of mothering arm. 

"It's redder than yours already, Roody. "

"She's sure a grand little thing cuddled up there, ain't it so, mammela?"

She reached up to pat his blue shirt-sleeve. 

"There's some herring on the table mamma brought over, and some raw meatand onions. That's some _borshtsh_ on the stove Etta carried all the wayover from Hester Street for your supper. "

"And what for the little mammela?"

"I'm fed up, Roody. Mamma closed the store at five to run over with someof that milk-shake like Doctor Aarons said. He sent his little sonIsadore over with the prescription. Like I said to mamma, she should letthe Canal Street Kosher Sausage Company do double the business from fiveuntil six while she closes shop to carry her daughter a milk-shake! LikeI was used to it from home!"

"When my girl gets to be a little mammela, the best shouldn't be nonetoo good. "

She continued to stroke up at his sleeve and occasionally on up intohis uneven shock of red hair. 

"You miss me in the shop, Roody?"

"You should just see once how that Ruby Grabenheiner sits at yourmachine! She does one-half your work not one-half so good. "

"I'll be back next week Monday. "

He patted her quickly. "No! No! A mammela's place is with her baby. "

"Roody, you make me laugh. I should sit at home now since we got a newmouth to feed? That would be a fine come-off!"

"Who do you think was just in, Rosie? Emil Hahn. "

"Sol is going to make for me, Roody, one of those little packing-casecribs like he built for Etta up in the pants-factory, so when themachine works it rocks, too. Did--did the check from Solomon & Glaubercome in on the last mail, Roody?"

"Now, Rosie, you mustn't worry yourself about such--"

"What you looking so funny for, Roody?"

"I was starting to tell you, Rosie--Hahn was just in and--"

"Roody, don't change the subject on me always. You looked funny. Is itsomething wrong with Solomon & Glau--"

"If you don't take the cake, Rosie! Now, why should I look funny?'Funny, ' she says I look, I'm hungry. I smell Etta's _borshtsh_. "

She half raised herself, the pulling lips of the child drawing up thelittle head from the cove of arm. 

"Rosie, you mustn't lift up that way!"

"Roody, I can read you like a book! Solomon & Glauber havecountermanded, too. "

"Now, Rosie, wouldn't that keep until--"

"They have!"

"Well, if you got to know it, Rosie, they're shipping back theconsignment. "

"Roody!"

"What you going to do about it? Give you my word never seen the like. It's like the rainy-day skirt had died overnight. All of a sudden from anovelty, I find myself with such a commodity that every manufacturer inthe business is making them up for himself. "

"You seen it first, though, Roody. Nobody can take it away from you thatyou seen first how the rainy-day skirt and its shortness would be such asuccess with the women. "

"'Seen it first, ' she says! Say, what good does it do me if I didn't seefar enough? I pick for myself such a success that I crowd myself out ofbusiness. "

"It's a dirty shame! A big firm like Solomon & Glauber should not beallowed to--"

"Say, if it wouldn't be Solomon & Glauber, it would be Funk & Hausman orany other firm. The rainy-day skirt has slipped out of my hands, Rosie, to the big fellows. We must realize that for ourselves. That's thetrouble when you don't deal in a patented product. What's the littlefellows like myself to do against a firm like Solomon & Glauber? Startsomething?"

"Three countermands in a week, and no orders coming in!"

"Say, it don't tickle my ribs no more than yours. "

"Roody, maybe it's the worst thing ever happened to us you wouldn'tlisten to mamma and be satisfied with being chief cutter at Lipschuts'. "

"Shame on you, Rosie! You want your daughter to grow up with apants-cutter all her life for a father? You want I should die insomebody else's harness. Maybe I didn't hit it right away, but I sayyet, if a fellow's got the eyes and the nerve to see ahead a little withhis imagination--"

"'Imagination. ' He talks like a story-book. "

"Now--now, take Hahn, Rosie--there's a fellow's got imagination--but notenough. I know it makes you mad when I talk on his picture-machine, butyou take it from me--there's a fellow with a good thing under his verynose, but he--he 'ain't quite got the eyes to see ahead. "

"Say, for such a good thing like Emil Hahn's picture-machine, where hiswife had to work in my own mother's sausage-store, I can't makemyself excited. "

"He 'ain't quite got the eyes to see, Rosie, the big idea in it. He'safraid of life, instead of making it so that life should be afraid ofhim. Ten dollars cheaper I can buy that machine to-day than last week. Asong for it, I tell you. "

"Ninety dollars to me is no cheap song, Roody. "

"The people got to be amused the same as they got to be fed. A man willpay for his amusements quicker than he will pay his butcher's or hisdoctor's bill. It's a cash business, Rosie. All you do with such amachine like Hahn's is get it well placed, drop your penny in the slot, and see one picture after another as big as life. I remember back in theold country, the years before we came over, when I was yet ayoungster--"

"You bet Hahn never put his good money in that machine. I got it fromBirdie Hahn herself. For a bad debt he took it over along with twofeather beds and--"

"One after another pictures as big as life, Rosie, like real peoplemoving. One of them, I give you my word, it's grand! A woman it showsall wrapped tight around in white, on a sofa covered over with such aspotted--what you call--leopard-skin. "

"To me that has a sound, Roody, not to be proud of--"

"A living picture, with such neck and arms and--"

"That's enough, Roody! That's enough! I'm ashamed even for your daughterhere!"

"Such a machine, maybe some day two or three, set up in a place likeConey Island or, for a beginning, in Pleasure Arcade, is an immenseidea, Rosie. Until an invention like this, nine-tenths of the peoplecouldn't afford the theyater. The drop-picture machine takes care ofthem nine-tenths. "

"Theyaters are no place for the poor. "

"That's where you're wrong--they need it the most. I don't want to getyou worked up, Rosie, while you ain't strong, but every day that we waitwe're letting a great idea slip through our fingers. If I don't buy thatmachine off Emil Hahn, somebody else will see in it what I see. Thenall our lives we will have something to reproach ourselves with. "

Mrs. Pelz let slide her hand beneath the pillow, eyes closing and herface seeming to whiten. 

"Ninety dollars! Twenty dollars less than every cent we got saved in theworld. It ain't right we should gamble with it, Roody. Not now. "

"Why not now, Rosie? It's all the more reason. Is it worth maybe alittle gamble our Bleema should grow up like the best? I got biggerplans for her and her little mammela than such a back room all theirlives. In a few years, maybe three rooms for ourselves in one of themnewfangled apartment-houses up on Second Avenue with turn-onhot water--"

"That's right--you'll have her riding in a horseless carriage next!"

"I tell you, it's a big idea!"

"I wish we had ten cents for every big idea you've been struck with. "

"That's just why, Rosie, I'm going to hit one right. "

Mrs. Pelz withdrew then the slow hand from beneath the pillow and asmall handkerchief with a small wad knotted into it. 

"Nearly every--cent--in--the world, Roody, that we've got. Saved nearlypenny by penny. Our Bleema--it's a sin--our--our--"

"Sin nothing!"

"Our week-old little girl--it--"

"Nothing ventured in life, Rosie, nothing squeezed out of it. Don't putit back! Look, the baby herself wants it! Papa's little Bleema! Look!She's trying to lift herself. Ain't that remarkable, Rosie--look atthat child lifting for that handkerchief!"

"Our little baby girl! If it was for ourselves alone, all right, maybe, take a chance--but for--"

Suddenly Mr. Pelz clapped his thigh. "I got it! I got it! Well let thelittle Bleema decide it for us. How's that? She should decide it for usif we take a gamble on her daddy's big idea! Here--I put a five-centspiece in her little hand and see which way she drops it. The littlemammela will say which way it is to be--heads or tails. How's that, Rosie--the baby should decide it for us?"

"Roody--we mustn't!"

"Heads or tails, Rosie?"

"I--I--"

"Quick!"

"H-heads!"

"Quick now, papa's baby, open up little fist!"

"Roody, not so rough! She can't hold that big nickel. "

"That's just what I want--she should let it fall. "

"Roody, Roody, I hope it's tails. "

The coin rolled to the bed-edge, bounced off to the floor, rolled to thezinc edge. 

Immediately after, on all-fours, his face screwed up for scrutiny andthe back of his neck hotly ridden with crimson, Mr. Pelz leaned after. 

"Roody--what?"

"Heads!"

Where Riverside Drive reaches its rococo climax of thetwelve-thousand-dollar-a-year and twelve-story-high apartment-house deluxe and duplex, and six baths divided by fourteen rooms is equal tosolid-marble comfort, Elsinore Court, the neurotic Prince of Denmark andControversy done in gilt mosaics all over the foyer, juts above thesky-line, and from the convex, rather pop-eyed windows of its top story, bulges high and wide of view over the city. 

From one of these windows, looking north, Rudolph Pelz, by theholding-aside of a dead weight of pink brocade and filet lace, couldgaze upon a sweep of Hudson River that flowed majestically between thegreat flank of the city and the brobdingnagian Palisades. 

After a day when he had unerringly directed the great swinging crane ofthis or that gigantic transaction it had a laving effect upon him--thisview of sure and fluent tide that ran so perpetually into infinitude. 

Yet for Mr. Pelz to attempt to articulate into words this porcelain-thinpillar of emotions was to shatter it into brittle bits. 

"Say, Rosie, ain't that a view for you? That's how it is with life--ariver that rises with getting born and flows into death, and thein-between is life and--and--"

"Roody, will you please hurry for sup--dinner? Do you want Feist toarrive with you not yet dressed?"

Mr. Pelz turned then into an interior that was as pink and as silk asthe inside of a bud--satin walls with side brackets softly simulatingcandles; a Canet bed, piled with a careful riot of sheerest and roundestof pillows; that long suit of the interior decorator, the_chaise-longue_; the four French engravings in their gilt frames; thelatest original Josephine's _secrétaire_; the shine of a white adjoiningbathroom. Before a door-impaneled mirror, Mrs. Pelz, in a black-lacegown that was gracious to her rotundity. 

"Just look! I'm all dressed already. "

Mr. Pelz advanced to her, his clasp closing over each of her bare arms, smile and gaze lifting. 

"Rosie, you've got them all beat! Guess why I wish I was your diamondnecklace. "

"Roody, it's nearly seven. Don't make me ashamed for Feist. "

"Guess!"

"All right, then, I guess. "

"So I could always be round your neck. "

His hand flew immediately to the lay of gems at her throat, a smallflush rising. 

"Roody, you hear me--hurry! Stop it, I tell you! You pinch. " But she waswarmly pink now, the shake of her head setting the heavy-carat gems inher ears waggling. 

Time, probably emulating destiny, had worked kindly here; had brought toMrs. Pelz the soft, dove-like maturity of her little swell of bosom; thewhite, even creamy shoulders ever so slightly too plump between theblades; the still black hair polished and waved into expensivepermanence. Out of years that had first veered and finally taken courseunder his unquestionable captaincy, Rudolph Pelz, with some of theirstorm and stress written in deep brackets round his mouth, the red hairjust beginning to pale and thin, and a certain roundness of backenhancing his squattiness, had come snugly and simply into harbor. Onlythe high cheek-bones and bony jaw-line and the rather inconveniently lowvoice, which, however, had the timbre of an ormolu clock in the chiming, indicating his peculiar and covert power to dominate as dynamically asungrammatically a board of directors reckoning in millions acrossthe mahogany. 

"Shall I call in Sato to help you dress, Roody?"

"Please--no! Just to have him in the room with his yellowness andtiptoes makes me nervous like a cat. "

"I got your shirt and studs laid out myself. "

He pinched her cheek again. "Rosie Posy!"

"You had a hard day, Roody? You look tired. "

"I don't like the battle of Waterloo in the 'Saint Elba' picture. "

"Roody, that scene it took such a fortune to build into the shape of theletter A?"

"It looks like what is it. Fake! The way it reads in that _FrenchRevolution_ by that fellow Carlyle they gave me to read and the way itlooks in the picture is the difference of black from white. For fiftythousand dollars more or less on a four-hundred-thousand-dollar pictureI don't have a fake Waterloo. "

"I should say not, Roody, when you're famous for your water scenes inall your big pictures! In 'The Lure of Silk' it's the scenes on thewater they went craziest over. "

"I've already got the passage engaged for next week to shoot thecompany over to France. That windmill scene on Long Island looks as muchlike the windmill north of Fleuris, where Napoleon could see the Bluchertroops from, as I look like a windmill scene. 'Sol, ' I says, 'it looksjust like what it is--a piece of pasteboard out of the storehouse set upon a rock. Eat those feet of film, Sol, ' I says to him, 'plant 'em, drown 'em--anything you like with 'em. That kind of fake stuff won'tmake 'Saint Elba' the greatest picture ever released, and every pictureturned out from these studios has got to be just that. ' I wish you couldhave heard, Rosie, in the projection-room, quiet like a pin after I cameout with it. "

"Fifty thousand dollars, Roody?"

"Yes. 'Fifty thousand dollars, ' begins Sol with me, too. 'Fiftythousand--one hundred thousand--two!' I said. 'It would make nodifference. If we can't fake the kind of battle-plain that wouldn't makeNapoleon turn over in his grave, we cross the ocean for the real thing. ''Fifty thousand dollars, ' Sol keeps saying--you know how he cries withhis voice. 'Fifty thousand dollars your grandmother!' I hollered. 'For afew dollars more or less I should make a Rudolph Pelz picture somethingI'm ashamed of. ' Am I right, Rosie? Am I right?"

"I should say so, Roody, for a few dollars you should not belittleyourself. "

"Not if your old man knows it, by golly! and I think he does. "

"Hurry now, Roody; you know how Bleema likes it you should be dressed. "

"Believe me, if Feist had his choice he wouldn't be dressed, neither. Full dress for grandma and all of us to look at each other in! Whenthere's company, it's bad enough, but for Feist and a few servants, hanged if I see it!"

"Does it hurt, Roody, to give the child a little pleasure? Anyway, she'sright--people like us should get dressed up for sup--dinner. I wouldn'tbe surprised if she didn't bring Lester Spencer back for dinner fromautomobiling. "

"He leaves to-night at ten with the company for Pennsylvania and theHorseshoe Bend picture. Anyways, I don't see where it comes in that fora fellow who draws his salary off of me I have to dress. I got to say itfor him, though, give the devil his due, he does a good piece of workwhere Sol succeeds in getting him off center-stage in his scene withWellington. "

"Lester is a good actor. Madame Coutilly, to-day, when I had mymanicure, just raved over him and Norma Beautiful in 'The Lureof Silk. '"

"He'll be a screen proposition some day if we can chain down some of hisconceit. Only, where such friendships with him and Bleema comes in, Idon't see. I don't like it. "

"Say, the child likes to run around with celebrities. Why shouldn't itgive her pleasure over the other girls from Miss Samuels's school to beseen out once in a while with Lester Spencer, their favorite, or NormaBeautiful? 'America's Darlings, ' I see this week's _Screen Magazine_calls 'em. It's natural the child should enjoy it. "'

"Let her enjoy; only, where it comes in I should have to sit acrossfrom him at supper three times this week, I don't see. Out of thestudio, me and Spencer don't talk the same language. To-night, him andFeist would mix like oil and water. "

"Does Feist know yet, Roody, you closed the deal on the Grismer estate?"

"Sure! I says to him to-day: 'Feist, with us for next-door neighbors ofyour country estate, together we own nearly half of Long Island. ' AmI right?"

"Like I says last night in mamma's room to Etta and Sol, 'I was used tothirty-four rooms and nineteen baths from home yet!' Poor mamma--how shelaughed! Just like before her stroke. "

"Nothing, Rosie, not one hundred rooms and fifty baths--nothing I canever do for you is one-tenth that you deserve. "

"And nothing, Roody, that I can do for you is one-hundredth what youdeserve. "

"I sometimes wonder, Rosie, if, with all we got, there isn't maybe somelittle happiness I've overlooked for you. "

She lifted herself by his coat lapels, kissing him. "Such a question!"

"So many times it comes up in the scenarios and the picture-plots, Rosie, how money don't always bring happiness. "

"It wouldn't, Roody--not a penny's worth to me without you and Bleema. But with you, Roody, no matter how happy I feel, it seems to me I can'tever feel happy enough for what we have got. Why, a woman justcouldn't--why, I--I always say about you, Roody, only yesterday to myown sister-in-law, 'Etta, ' I says, 'it's hard for me to think ofanything new to wish for. ' Just take last week, for instance, I wishedit that, right after the big check you gave for the Armenian sufferers, you should give that extra ten thousand in mamma's name to the Belgiansufferers. Done! Thursday, when I seen that gray roadster I liked somuch for Bleema, this afternoon she's out riding in it. It is a wonder Igot a wish for anything left in me. "

"To have you talk like this, Rosie, is the highest of all my successes. "

"If--if there's one real wish I got now, Roody, it is only for ourBleema. We got a young lady, honey; we got to put on our thinking-cap. "

"'Young lady'--all of a sudden she decides we've got! Young baby, youbetter say. "

"A graduate this month from Miss Samuels's Central Park School he callsa baby!"

"Let me see--how old is--"

"He don't know his own child's age! Well, how many years back is itsince we were in rainy-day skirts?"

"My God! Ten--fourteen--eighteen! Eighteen years! Our little Bleema! Itseems yesterday, Rosie, I was learning her to walk along Grand Street. "

"You haven't noticed, Roody, David Feist?"

"'Noticed'?"

"Say, you may be a smart man, Rudolph Pelz--everybody tells me youare--but they should know once on the Picture Rialto how dumb as afather you are. 'Noticed?' he asks. All right then--if you need a brickhouse--noticed that David Feist hates your daughter and 'ain't got eyesfor her and don't try every excuse to get invited here for sup--dinner. "

"You mean, Rosie--"

"Of course I mean! It's pitiful how he follows her everywhere with hiseyes. In the box last night at the opera you was too asleep to see it, but all evening Etta was nudging me how he nearly ate up our Bleema justwith looks. "

"You women with your nonsense!"

"I guess, Rudolph, it would be a bad thing. Our daughter and a young mansmart enough to make himself from a celluloid collar-cutter to amillionaire five times over on a little thing like inventing anewfangled film-substance should tie up with the only child of RudolphPelz, the picture king. "

"I give you my word, Rosie, such talk makes me sick. "

"You'd hate it, wouldn't you? A prince like David Feist. "

"People don't talk such things till they happen. If our daughter couldhave the King of England and didn't want him, I'd say she should notmarry the King of England. I want my girl home by me yet, anyway, formany a long day. She should be playing with her dolls instead of hermother and aunt Etta filling her up with ideas. Don't think I'm sostuck, neither, on how she runs around with my film stars. "

"Honest, Roody, the way you're so strict with that child it's a shame!The girl has got to have her pleasure. "

"Well, if she's got to have her pleasure, she should have it with youngmen like Feist and not with--"

"There! Didn't I tell you so? Didn't I?"

"Say, I don't deny if I got some day to have a son-in-law, my firstchoice for him would be Feist. "

"Roody, the two estates together in one!"

"I'm surprised at you, Rosie--honest, I'm surprised. Such talk!"

Mrs. Pelz took a pinch of his each cheek, tiptoeing to kiss him squarelyon the lips. 

"Go get dressed, " she said, "and I'll wait for you. "

"Rosie Posy, " he said, clucking into his cheek with his tongue andmoving away through the pink-shaded twilight. 

At the door to the whitely glittering bathroom she called to him again, softly; he turning. 

"What'll you bet, Roody, that I get my biggest wish as soon as I got thegray roadster and the Belgian check?"

"Women's nonsense!" said Mr. Pelz, his voice suddenly lost in theviolent plunge of water into porcelain. 

In a drawing-room faithful to Dunlap Brothers' exorbitant interpretationof the Italian Renaissance, a veritable forest of wrought-ironcandle-trees burned dimly into a scene of Pinturicchio table, tapestry-surmounted wedding-chest, brave and hideous with _pastiglia_work, the inevitable camp-chair of Savonarola, an Umbrian-walnut chairwith lyre-shaped front, bust of Dante Alighieri in Florentine cap andear-muffs, a Sienese mirror of the soul, sixteenth-century suit ofcap-à-pie armor on gold-and-black plinth, Venetian credence withwrought-iron locks. The voiceless and invoiced immobility of the museumhere, as if only the red-plush railing, the cords from across chairs, and the "Do Not Sit" warnings to the footsore had been removed. 

Against a chair cruel to the back with a carved coat of arms of theLombardi family Mr. David Feist leaned lightly and wisely. If hiscorrect-enough patent pumps ever so slightly escaped the floor, his spanof shoulders left hardly an inch to be desired. There was a peninsula ofrather too closely shaved but thick black hair jutted well down Mr. Feist's brow, forming what might have been bald but were merely hairlessinlets on either side. Behind _pince-nez_ his eyes sparkled in pointsnot unlike the lenses themselves. Honed to a swift, aquiline boniness ofprofile which cut into the shadows, there was something swiftly vigorousabout even his repose. 

Incongruous enough on the Pinturicchio table, and as if she had dared towalk where mere moderns feared to tread, a polychrome framed picture ofMiss Bleema Pelz, tulle-clouded, piquant profile flung charmingly to thenorthwest, and one bare shoulder prettily defiled with a longscrew-curl, lit, as it were, into the careful gloom. 

Deliberately in range of that photograph, and so beatific of gaze thatit was as if his sense were soaked in its loveliness, Mr. Feist smiled, and, smiling, reddened. Enter then Mrs. Pelz, hitting softly into whitetaffetas beneath the black lace; Mr. Pelz, wide, white and boiled ofshirt-front. 

"Good evening, Mr. Feist! It's a shame the way we kept you waiting. "

"Not at all, Mrs. Pelz--a pleasure. Hello! how's my friend, the pictureking?"

"Rotten, " said Mr. Pelz, amiably, shaking hands with a great riding-upof cuff, and seating himself astride a Florentine bench and theleather-embossed arms of the Strozzi family. 

"Roody, what a way to sit!"

"'What a way to sit, ' she tells me. I'd like to see a fellow sit any wayin this room without making a monkey of himself. Am I right, Feist? TheEyetalians maybe didn't know no better, but I should have to suffer, too, when for four-seventy-nine I can buy myself at Tracy's the finestkind of a rocking-chair that fits me. "

"Roody!"

"Say, Feist agrees with me; only, he don't know you well enough yet tolet on. I notice that with all his Louis-this and Louis-that rooms inhis own house, up in his own room it is a good old Uncle Sam's cot and apatent rocker. "

"You've got a gorgeous room here just the same, Pelz. "

"Gorgeous for a funeral. "

"Every collector in the country knows that table. I had my eye on it formy music-room once myself when it was shown at Dunlap's. "

"Dunlap's are a grand firm of decorators, Mr. Feist. I'm having them doGrismer, too. "

"Well, Feist, how does it feel to have us for neighbors?"

"Immense, Pelz!"

"Like I said to my husband, between us the way the estates adjoin, wegot a monopoly on Long Island--ain't it so?"

"And believe me, Mrs. Pelz, you'll never regret the buy. The finestpleasure my money brought me yet is that view of my little bedroom Itook you up to, Pelz. "

"Wonderful!"

"I've got an outlook there, Mrs. Pelz, is a paradise to see. You canhave all my forty-two rooms and two garages if you'll leave me my littletop room with its miles of beautiful greenness, and--and so--so muchbeauty that--that it gets you by the throat. I--don't express it the wayI see it, but--"

"I should say so, Mr. Feist! Out of every one of our thirty-four roomsand eighteen baths you can see a regular oil-painting. "

Mr. Pelz leaned over, tongue in cheek and, at the screwing noise again, poking Mr. Feist in the region of the fifth rib. 

"She said to me up-stairs just now, Feist, 'Like we was used to it fromhome?' Eh? C-c-c-cluck! Eighteen baths a day! I know the time when oneevery Saturday night was stuck up. "

"Roody, honest, you're awful!"

"Say, me and Feist speak the same language. We ain't entertaining a lotof motion-picture stars to-night. "

"I want Mr. Feist to come over some night to sup--dinner when we have afew of them over. We're great friends, Mr. Feist, with Norma Beautifuland Allan Hunt and Lester Spencer and all that crowd. We entertain thema good deal. My daughter is quite chums with them all. Elsie Love sleepshere some nights. Honest, Mr. Feist, you never saw a more unassuminggirl for her salary. "

"Yes, especially is she unassuming when she spoils ninety feet of filmyesterday in a row with Spencer over who should have one-half inchnearer to the center of the picture. "

"My husband, Mr. Feist, has got no patience with temperament. "

"Honey, a little supper wouldn't hurt. "

"I'll send and see if Bleema is ready yet. She's been out, taking LesterSpencer in her new runabout her papa bought her. I wish you could see, Mr. Feist, the way the traffic policemen smile after that girl the wayshe handles a car. If I do say it, she's a picture. "

"If you ask me, Mrs. Pelz, the finest of the objects in this room offine things, it won't take me long to tell you, " said Mr. Feist, leaningforward to lift for closer gaze the framed photograph. 

"Now you're shouting, Feist!"

"That picture don't half do her justice. If I do say it, Mr. Feist--ifthat child had to make her living, she'd be a fortune in pictures. 'No, mamma, ' she always says; 'God forbid if I have to make my living someday, I want to be a famous writer. ' I want you to read sometime, Mr. Feist, some of that girl's poetry. I cry like a baby over the sad ones. And stories! There's one about a poor little girl who could look out ofher window into the house of a rich girl and--"

"Feist, her mother just hates that child!"

"Say, old man, I don't see any medals on you for hating her. "

"He's worse than I am, Mr. Feist; only, he hides it behind making fun ofme. I always say if Bleema Pelz wanted the moon, her father would see toit that his property-man got the real one for her. "

"You--you've got a beautiful, sweet little girl there, Pelz. I don'tblame you. "

"Feist, if I didn't know it, I'd be an ungrateful dog. "

"Her papa can't realize, Mr. Feist, we haven't got a baby any more. "

"I--realize it, Mrs. Pelz. "

"You--you see, Roody?"

"I--I--guess I'm the old-fashioned kind of a fellow, Pelz, when it comesto girls. I--I guess I do it the way they used to do it--the parentsfirst--but--but--now that we--we're on the subject--I--I like yourdaughter, Pelz--my God! Pelz, but--but I like your little daughter!"

An Augsburg clock ticked into a suddenly shaped silence, Mr. Pelzrising, Mr. Feist already risen. 

"I haven't got much besides a clean record and all that love or moneycan buy her, Pelz, but--well--you know me for what I am, and--"

"Indeed we do, Mr. Feist! I always say to my husband my favorite of allthe young men who come here is--"

"You know what my standing--well, with men and in business is, Pelz, andas far as taking care of her goes, I can make her from a little princessinto a little queen--"

"The young man that is lucky enough to get Bleema, Mr. Feist--"

"Not that the money part is everything, but if what I am suits you andMrs. Pelz, I want to enter the ring for her. I might as well come outwith it. I wouldn't for anything on earth have her know that I've spokento you--yet--not till after I've spoken with her--but--well, there's mycards on the table, Pelz. "

Mr. Pelz held out a slow and rigid arm, one hand gripping, the othercupping Mr. Feist at the elbow. 

"It's the finest compliment I could pay to any man on God's earth to sayit, Feist, but if it's got to be that my little baby girl has grown upto an age where she--"

"She's already a year older than me when I married you, Roody. "

"If it's got to be, then there's one man on earth I can give her up towith happiness. That man is you, Feist. "

Into this atmosphere so surcharged that it had almost the singingquality of a current through it entered Miss Bleema Pelz, on slim silverheels that twinkled, the same diaphanous tulle of the photographenveloping her like summer, her hair richer, but blending with thepeach-bloom of her frock, the odor of youth her perfume. 

"Bleema darling, you're just in time!"

"Hello, moms!"--in the little lifted voice trained to modulation, andkissing Mrs. Pelz in light consideration of powdered areas. "Hello, dads!"--tiptoeing and pursing her mouth into a bud. "Good evening, Mr. Feist. "

"Looks like I'm the left-over in this party, " said Mr. Feist, slow torelease her hand and wanting not to redden. 

"Naughty-naughty!" said Miss Pelz, with a flash of eyes to theircorners, a flouncing of tulle, and then landing ever so lightly on herfather's knee and at the immediate business of jerking open his tie. "Bad, bad dad! Didn't let Sato dress him to-night. "

"You little red head, you!"

"Stop it! Hold up your chin. "

"Honey, we're all starvationed. "

"Lester'll be here any minute now. "

"Lester Spencer coming for dinner, Bleema?"

"Surely. I dropped him just now at the Lions' Club to change hisclothes. Now, don't get excited, dads; he's leaving right after dinnerto catch his train for Horseshoe Bend. "

"I must tell Williams to lay another--"

"I've already told him, mamma. Here he is now! Come on in, Lester;you're holding up the family. You've never met Mr. Feist, have you, thefilm king? You two ought to get acquainted--one makes the films and theother makes them famous. "

There was a round of greetings, Mr. Spencer passing a hand that hademerged white and slim through the ordeal of thousands of feetof heroics. 

"How do you do, Mrs. Pelz? Boss! Mr. Feist, glad to know you!"

What hundreds of thousands of men, seeming to despise, had secretly, inthe organ-reverberating darkness of the motion-picture theater, yearnedover Mr. Lester Spencer's chest expansion, hair pomade, and bulgelessfront and shirt-front! When Lester Spencer, in a very slow fade-out, drew the exceedingly large-of-eye and heaving-of-bosom one unto his ownimmaculate bosom, whole rows of ladies, with the slightly open-mouthed, adenoidal expression of vicarious romance, sat forward in their chairs. Men appraised silently the pliant lay of shirt, the uncrawlingcoat-back, and the absence of that fatal divorce of trousers andwaistcoat. 

"I was telling my husband, Lester, my manicurist just raved to-day aboutyou and Norma Beautiful in 'The Lure of Silk. '"

"Isn't that just the sweetest picture, moms?"

"It certainly is! Mr. Pelz took me down to the projection-room to seeits first showing, and I give you my word I said to him and Sol--didn'tI, Roody?--'That picture is a fortune. ' And never in my life did I failto pick a winner--did I, Roody? I got a knack for it. Mr. Feist, haveyou seen 'The Lure of Silk'?"

"Sorry to say I have not. "

"If you think that is a riot, Mrs. Pelz, you wait until you see the waythey're going to eat me up in the court scene in 'Saint Elba. ' I had thewhole studio crying down there to-day--didn't I, Mr. Pelz? Crying likebabies over the scene where I stand like this--so--overlooking--"

"Say, Rosie, that's twice already Williams announced dinner is served. "

"Overlooking the--"

"I hear Friedman & Kaplan made an assignment, Feist. "

"Come, Lester; you take me in to dinner. Rudolph, you go and get mamma. Bleema, you and Mr. Feist be escorts. "

In a dining-room so unswervingly Jacobean that its high-back chairsformed an actual enclosure about the glittering, not to say noble, ovalof table, the dinner-hour moved through the stately procession of itscourses. At its head, Mrs. Miriam Sopinsky, dim with years and the kindof weariness of the flesh that Rembrandt knew so well, her face evenyellower beneath the black wig with the bold row of machine-stitchingdown its center, the hands veiny and often uncertain among the dishes. 

"Roody, cut up mamma's chicken for her. She trembles so. "

"Moms, let Williams. "

"No; she likes it when your father does it. "

Mr. Pelz leaned over, transferring his own knife and fork. In Yiddish:

"Grandmother, I hear you've been flirting with Doctor Isadore Aarons. Now, don't you let me hear any more such nonsense. The young girls inthis house got to walk the straight line. "

The old face broke still more furiously into wrinkle, the hand reachingout to top his. 

"Don't tease her, Roody; she likes to be let alone in public. "

MR. FEIST: The old lady certainly holds her own, don't she? Honest, I'dgive anything if I knew how to talk to her a little. 

"No, Mr. Feist, mamma's breaking. Every day since her stroke I can seeit more. It nearly kills me, too. It's pretty lonesome for her, up hereaway from all her old friends. Outside of my husband and Bleema, not asoul in the house talks her language except Sol and Etta when theycome over. "

"She's my nice darling grandma, " said Miss Pelz, suddenly pirouetting upfrom her chair around the table, kissing the old lips lightly and thenback again, all in a butterfly jiffy. 

MRS. PELZ (_sotto to Mr. Feist_). Ain't she the sweetest thing with hergrandmother?

"Umh!" said Mr. Spencer, draining his wine-glass to the depth of itsstem. "Mr. Pelz, believe me if the Atlantic Ocean was made out of thisstuff, you wouldn't have to engage passage for me; I'd swim across. "

"You better learn how first, " said Mr. Pelz. "You've cost me a fortunealready in dummies for the water scenes. "

"It's a riot, Mr. Pelz, the way they go mad over me in that Pelham Bayscene in 'The Marines Are Coming. ' I dropped into the Buckingham to seeit last night, and before I knew it the house had it that I was presentand was going wild over me. They had to throw the spotlight on the box. "

"I love that scene, too, Lester! Honest, I just squeeze up withexcitement where you stand there at the edge of the deck and take theplunge into the water to rescue Norma Beautiful. "

"You mean a super for five a day takes the plunge. "

"Tell you another scene where I simply raise the roof off the housein--"

MR. PELZ: Williams, pass Mr. Feist some more of them little cabbages. 

"Brussels sprouts, dad. "

MRS. PELZ: I guess you miss Norma Beautiful not playing with you in"Saint Elba, " don't you, Lester? You and her are so used to playing witheach other. 

"I was the one first suggested she wouldn't be the type to playJosephine, Mrs. Pelz. Too thin. I've got to be contrasted right or itkills me--"

"Williams, a little more of that chicken stuffing. It's almost goodenough to remind me how you and grandma used to make it, Rosie. "

"Speaking of 'Saint Elba, ' Mr. Pelz, somebody must speak to Mabel Lovelyabout the way she keeps hogging center-stage in that scene with me on--"

"There's no center-stage left to hog with you in the picture, Spencer. "

"She crowds me to profile. They want me full-face. If you'd put in aword to Sol to direct it that way! Other night, at the Buckingham, itwas a riot every time I turned full-face. Just because a fellow happensto have a good profile is no reason why--"

"Well, Feist, how does the war look to-day?"

"Ugly, Pelz, ugly. Every hour this country lets pass with Belgiumunavenged she is going to pay up for later. "

"It's not our fight, Mr. Feist. "

"Maybe it's not our fight, Mr. Spencer, but if ever there was a causethat is all humanity's fight, it is those bleeding and murdered womenand children of Belgium. You're sailing over there yourself next week, Mr. Spencer, and I hope to God you will see for yourself how much of ourfight it is. "

"Ain't things just simply terrible? Honest, I said to Roody, when Ipicked up the paper this morning, it gives me the blues before Iopen it. "

"Nobody can tell me that this country is going to sit back much longerand see autocracy grind its heel into the face of the world. "

"You're right, Feist! I think if there is one thing worse than being tooproud to fight, it is not being proud enough to fight. "

"Lester Spencer, if you don't stop making eyes!"

"Mr. Pelz, every time I drink to your daughter only with my eyes sheslaps me on the wrist. You put in a good word for me. "

"Little more of that ice-cream, Feist?"

"Thanks, Pelz; no. "

"You, Lester?"

"Don't care if I do, Miss Bleema Butterfly. "

Mr. Pelz flashed out a watch. "Don't want to hurry you, Spencer, but ifyou have to catch that ten-o'clock train, by the time you get back andchange clothes--"

"You're right, Mr. Pelz; I'd better be getting on. "

Miss Pelz danced to her feet. "Mamma and papa will excuse us, Lester, ifwe leave before coffee. Come; I'll shoot you to the club. "

"Why, Bleema! George will bring the limousine around and--"

"I promised! Didn't I promise you, Lester, that if you came up to dinnerI'd drive you back to the club myself?"

"She sure did, Mrs. Pelz. "

"Bleema, you stay right here and finish your supper. There's twochauffeurs on the place to drive Spencer around to his club. "

"But, dad, I promised. "

"Why, Bleema, ain't you ashamed? Mr. Feist here for dinner and you torun off like that. Shame on you!"

"Oh, that's all right, Mrs. Pelz. I'll stay around and be entertained byyou and Mr. --"

"I'll be back in twenty minutes, moms. Surely you'll excuse me thatlong! I want to drive him down in my new runabout. I promised. Please, moms! Dad?"

"Ask your papa, Bleema; I--I don't know--"

"Dad?"

"You heard what I said, Bleema. No!"

A quick film of tears formed over Miss Pelz's eyes, her lips quivering. "Oh, well--if--if you're going to be that mean--oh, you make me somad--. Come on, Lester--I--I guess I can take you as far as the frontdoor without the whole world jumping on me. Oh--oh--you make me so mad!"And pranced out on slim feet of high dudgeon. 

"Poor child!" said Mrs. Pelz, stirring into her coffee. "She's so highstrung. "

"She's got to quit wasting her time on that conceited jackass, " said Mr. Pelz, swallowing off his demi-tasse at a gulp. "Won't have it!"

"It makes her papa mad the way the boys just kill themselves over thatgirl, " said Mrs. Pelz, arch of glance toward Mr. Feist, who was stirringalso, his eyes lowered. 

"Me, too, " he said, softly. 

"Jealous!" flashed Mrs. Pelz. 

After an interval, and only upon despatching a servant, Miss Pelzreturned, the tears frank streaks now down her cheeks. 

"Sit down, baby, and drink your coffee. "

"Don't want any. "

"Williams, bring Miss Bleema some hot coffee. "

"I'm finished, mother--please!"

"I was telling Mr. Feist a while ago, Bleema, about your ambition to bea writer, not for money, but just for the pleasure in it. What is it youcall such writing in your French, honey? Dilytanty?"

"Please, mamma, Mr. Feist isn't interested. "

"Indeed I am, Miss Bleema! More interested than in anything I know of. "

"She's mad at her papa, Feist, and when my little girl gets mad at herpapa there's nothing for him to do but apologize with a big kiss. "

Suddenly Miss Pelz burst into tears, a hot cascade of them that floweddown over her prettiness. 

"Why, Bleema!"

"Now, now, papa's girl--"

The grandmother made a quick gesture of uplifted hands, leaning overtoward her, and Miss Pelz hiding her face against that haven of shrunkenold bosom. 

"Oh, grandma, make 'em let me alone!"

"Why, Bleema darling, I'm surprised! Ain't you ashamed to act this wayin front of Mr. Feist? What'll he think?"

"Please, Mrs. Pelz, don't mind me; she's a little upset--that's all. "

"You--you made me look like--like thirty cents before LesterSpencer--that--that's what you did. "

"Why, Bleema, do you think that if papa thought that Lester Spencer wasworth bothering that pretty red head of yours about that he would--"

"There you go again! Always picking on Lester. If you want to know it, next to Norma Beautiful and Allan Hunt he's the biggest money-maker yourold corporation has got. "

"What's that got to do with you?"

"And he'll be passing them all in a year or two, you see if hedon't--if--if--if only you'd stop picking on him and letting Uncle Solcrowd him out of the pictures and everybody in the company takeadvantage of him--he--he's grand--he--"

"He's a grand conceited fool. If not for the silly matinée women in theworld he couldn't make salt. "

"That shows all you know about him, papa! He's got big ideals, Lesterhas. He got plans up his sleeve for making over the moving-picturebusiness from the silly films they show nowadays to--"

"Yes--to something where no one gets a look-in except Lester Spencer. They're looking for his kind to run the picture business!"

"Roody--Bleema--please! Just look at poor grandma! Mr. Feist, I mustapologize. "

"He's a nix, an empty-headed--"

"He is--is he? Well, then--well, then--since you force me to it--righthere in front of Mr. Feist--Lester Spencer and I got engaged to-day!He's the only man in my life. We're going to be married right off, intime for me to sail for France with the company. He's going to talk toyou when he gets back from Horseshoe Bend. We're engaged! That's howmuch I think of Lester Spencer. That's how much I know he's the finestman in the world. Now then! Now then!"

There was a note in Miss Pelz's voice that, in the ensuing silence, seemed actually to ring against the frail crystal. She was on her feet, head up, tears drying. 

"Blee-Bleema!"

"Moms darling, aren't you happy? Isn't it wonderful--moms?"

"Roody! For God's sake, Bleema, you're choking your father to death!Roody, for God's sake, don't get so red! Williams--somewater--quick! Roody!"

"I'm all right. All right, I tell you. She got me excited. Sit down, Bleema--sit down, I said. "

"Pelz, if you don't mind, I think maybe I'd better be going. "

"You stay right here, Feist. I want you to hear every word that I'mgoing to say. If my daughter has no shame, I haven't, either. Williams, call Mrs. Sopinsky's maid, and see that she gets to her roomcomfortable. Sit down, Bleema!"

"My God!--I can't believe my ears--Bleema and such a _goy_ play-actor--"

"Please, Rosie!"

"A _goy_ that--"

"Rosie, I said, 'Please!' Bleema, did you hear me? Sit down!"

Miss Pelz sat then, gingerly on the chair-edge, her young lips straight. "Well?"

Her father crunched into his stiff damask napkin, holding a fistful ofit tense against bringing it down in a china-shivering bang. Then, withcarefully spaced words, "If I didn't think, Bleema, that you are crazyfor the moment, infatuated with--"

"I'm not infatuated!"

"Bleema, Bleema, don't talk to your father so ugly!"

"Well, I guess I know my own mind. I guess I know when I'm in love withthe finest, darlingest fellow that ever--"

"You hush that, Bleema! Hush that, while I can hold myself in. That Ishould live to hear my child make herself common over a loafer--"

"Papa, if you call him another name, I--I--"

"You'll sit right here and hear me out. If you think you're going to letthis loafer ruin your own life and the lives of your parents and poorgrandmother--"

"Papa, papa, you don't know him! The company are all down on him becausethey're jealous. Lester Spencer comes from one of the finest oldSouthern families--"

"Roody, Roody, a _goy_ play-actor--"

"'A _goy_ play-actor'! I notice, mamma, you are the one always likes tobrag when the girls and fellows like Norma Beautiful and Allan Hunt andLester and--and all come up to the house. It's the biggest feather inyour cap the way on account of papa the big names got to come runningwhen you invite them. "

"Your mother's little nonsenses have got nothing to do with it. "

"She reproaches me with having brought about this _goy_ mix-up! Me thathas planned each hour of that girl's life like each one was a flower ina garden, A young man, a grand young man like Mr. Feist, crazy in lo--"

"Mrs. Pelz, for God's sake! Mrs. Pelz, please!"

"Rosie, we'll leave Feist out of this. "

"Lester Spencer, papa, is one of the finest characters, if only you--"

"I ask you again, Bleema, to cut out such talk while I got the strengthleft to hold in. It's a nail in my coffin I should live to talk suchtalk to my little daughter, but it's got to where I've got to say it. Lester Spencer and the fine character you talk about--it's free gossipin all the studios--is one of the biggest low-lifes in thepicture-world. He has a reputation with the women that I'm ashamed tomention even before your mother, much less her daughter--"

"Oh, I know what you mean! Oh, you're like all the rest--down on him. You mean that silly talk about him and Norma Beautiful--"

"Oh my God, Roody, listen to her!"

"I can clear that up in a minute. He never cared a thing for her. It wasjust their always playing in the same pictures, and that silly matinéepublic, first thing he knew, got to linking their names together. "

"Bleema--for God's sake--baby--what do you know about such?"

"Bleema, you're killing your mother! Your mother that used to rock youin your cradle while she stitched on the machine to buy you morecomforts--a mother that--"

"Oh, if you're going to begin that!"

"Your poor old grandmother--don't she mean nothing? You saw how shelooked just now when they took her out, even before she knows what it'sall about--"

"I hope she never has a worse trouble than for me to marry the best--"

Then Mr. Pelz came down with crashing fist that shattered an opalescentwine-glass and sent a great stain sprawling over the cloth. 

"By God, I'll kill him first! The dirty hou--"

"Pelz, for God's sake, control yourself!"

'I'll kill him, I tell you, Feist!"

"Roody!"

"You can't scare me that way, dad. I'm no baby to be hollered at likethat. I love Lester Spencer, and I'm going to marry him!"

"I'll kill him; I'll--"

"Roody, Roody, for God's sake! 'Sh-h-h, the servants! Williams, closequick all the doors. Roody, for my sake, if not your child's! Mr. Feist, please--please make him, Mr. Feist!"

"Pelz, for God's sake, man, get yourself together! Excitement won't getyou anywheres. Calm down. Be human. "

Then Mr. Pelz sat down again, but trembling and swallowing back withdifficulty. "She got me wild, Feist. You must excuse me. She got me wild--my little girl--my little flower--"

"Papa--dad darling! Don't you think it kills me, too, to see you likethis? My own darling papa that's so terribly good. My own darling sweetmamma. Can't you see, darlings, a girl can't help it when--when--lifejust takes hold of her? I swear to you--I promise you that, when youcome to know Lester as I know him you'll think him as fine and--andgorgeous as I do. Mamma, do you think your little Bleema would marry aman who doesn't just love you, and dad, too? It isn't like Lester is anobody--a high-salaried fellow like him with a future. Why, the bestwill be none too good! He loves you both--told me so to-day. The one aimin his life is to do big things, to make you both proud, to make hisname the biggest--"

"Feist--Feist--can't you talk to her? Tell her it's madness--tell hershe's ruining herself. "

"Why, Miss Bleema, there's nothing much a--a stranger like me can say ata time like this. It's only unfortunate that I happened to be here. If Iwere you, though, I think I'd take a little time to think this over. Sometimes a young girl--. "

"I have thought it over, Mr. Feist. For weeks and weeks I've thought ofnothing else. That's how sure I am--so terribly sure. "

"I won't have it, I tell you! I'll wring his--"

"'Sh-h-h, Pelz. If you'll take my advice, you'll handle this thingwithout threats. Why not, Miss Bleema, even if you do feel so sure, giveyourself a little more time to--"

"No! No! No!"

"Just a minute now. If you feel this way so strongly to-night, isn't itjust possible that to-morrow, when you wake up, you may see thingsdifferently?"

"I tell you I'm going to France with him--on our honeymoon. It's allfixed if--moms--dad--won't you please--darlings--can't you see--myhappiness--"

"O God, Roody, were ever parents in such a fix?"

"Listen to me, Miss Bleema, now: I'm an old friend of the family, andyou don't need to take exception to what I'm going to suggest. If yourheart is so set on this thing, all right then, make up your mind it's anengagement and--"

"By God, Feist, no!"

"Wait, Pelz, I tell you you're making a mistake with your state ofexcitement. "

"Let Mr. Feist talk, Roody. "

"Make up your mind as I was saying, Miss Bleema, that this engagementexists between you and--and this young man. Then, instead of doing thehasty thing and marrying next week, you remain here a happy, engagedgirl until the company returns in three weeks, and meanwhile you willhave time to know your own mind and--"

"No! No! No! I do know it! It's all fixed we're--"

"That's a fine idea of Mr. Feist's, Bleema darling. For mamma's sake, baby. For grandma's. If it's got to be an engagement, hold it untilafter he gets back. Don't go rushing in. Take time to think a little. France is no place for a honeymoon now--submarines and all. "

"Oh, I know! You hope he'll get sunk with a submarine. "

"Shame, Miss Bleema; shame!"

"All mamma means, darling, is take a little time and get a--a trousseaulike a girl like you has to have. If your heart is so set on it, can'tyou do that much to please mamma? That much?"

"There's a trick. You want me to wait and then--"

"Miss Bleema, is my promise to you enough that there's no trick? On myrespect for your parents and grandmother, there's no trick. If it isonly to please them, wait those few weeks and do it more dignified. Ifit's got to be, then it's got to be. Am I right, Pelz?"

Mr. Pelz turned away, nodding his head, but with lips too wry to speak. 

"O my God, yes! Mr. Feist, you're right. Bleema, promise us! Promise!"

"Just a matter of a few weeks more or less, Miss Bleema. Just so yourparents are satisfied you know your own mind. "

"I do!"

"Then, I say, if you still feel as you do, not even they have the rightto interfere. "

"Promise us, Bleema; promise us that!"

"I--I'll be engaged on your word of honor--without any fussing aboutit?"

"An engaged girl, Miss Bleema, like any other engaged girl. "

"But dad--look at him--he won't--p-promise, " trembling into tears. 

"Of course he will--won't you, Pelz? And you know the reputation yourfather has for a man of his word. "

"Will--will he promise?"

"You do; don't you, Pelz?"

Again the nod from the bitter inverted features. 

"Now, Miss Bleema?"

"Well then, I--I--p-promise. "

On a May-day morning that was a kiss to the cheek and even ingratiateditself into the bale-smelling, truck-rumbling pier-shed, Mr. LesterSpencer, caparisoned for high seas by Fifth Avenue's highesthaberdasher, stood off in a little cove of bags and baggage, yachting-cap well down over his eyes, the nattiest thing in nauticalulsters buttoned to the chin. Beside him, Miss Norma Beautiful, hersmall-featured pink-and-whiteness even smaller and pinker from thedepths of a great cart-wheel of rose-colored hat, completely swathed inrose-colored veiling. 

"For a snap of my finger I'd spill the beans--that's how stuck on thissituation I am!"

Mr. Spencer plunged emphatic arms into large patch-pockets, his chinprojecting beyond the muffle of collar. 

"Just you try it and see where it lands you!"

Then Miss Beautiful from the rosy depths of hat began to quiver ofvoice, jerky little sobs catching her up. 

"I can't stand it! I b-bit off a b-bigger piece than I can swallow. "

"Now, Darling Beautiful, I ask you would your own Lester do anythingthat wasn't just going to be the making of his girl as well as himself?Is it anything, Angel Beautiful, he is asking you to do exceptwait until--"

"I can't bear it, I tell you! A little red-haired kike like her! How doI know what I'm letting myself in for? There's only one ground fordivorce in this state. What guarantee have I you'll get free on it?"

"My guarantee, Pussy. You're letting yourself in for a pink limousine tomatch that pink sweetness of yours and a jumping-rope of pearls to matchthose sweet teeth of yours and--"

"I want black pearls, Lester, like Lucille Du Pont's. "

"Black, then. Why, Angel Beautiful, you just know that there's not ahair on any head in the world, much less a red one, I'd change for oneof my girl's golden ones. You think I'd ever have known the littleReddie was on earth if she hadn't just flung herself at my head! Shecould have been six Rudolph Pelz's daughters, and I wouldn't have hadeyes for her. "

"But, Lester--she--she's right cute. What guarantee have I got?"

"Cross my heart and swear to die, Angel! Haven't I already sworn it toyou a thousand thousand times? You wouldn't want me to close my eyes tothe chance of a lifetime--you know you wouldn't, Beautiful, when it'syour chance as much as mine. Both ours!"

"I--if only it was--over, Lester--all--over!"

"What's three weeks, Angel Beautiful? The very day I'm back I'll pullthe trick with the little red head, and then I'm for letting thingshappen quick. "

"And me, what'll I--"

"I'm going to move you into the solid-goldest hotel suite in this heretown, Pussy. I'm going to form the Norma Beautiful Film Corporation inmy own girl's name, the first pop out of the box. Why, there's justnowhere Rudolph Pelz's son-in-law can't get his girl in the little whileI'm going to stick. "

"How do I know? How do I know they won't find a way to hold you?"

"Why, Darling Beautiful, when they're through with me, they'll pay meoff in my weight in gold. Haven't you said things often enough aboutyour boy's temper when he lets it fly? You think they're going to letme cut up nonsense with that little Reddie of theirs? Why, that old manwould pay with his right eye to protect her!"

"O God, it's rotten--a nice fellow like Pelz--a--"

"It's done every day, Gorgeous Beautiful. Anyway, there's no way toreally hurt the rich. Look at Warren Norton--the Talcott family paidWarren two hundred cool thousand to give her back quietly. It's doneevery day, Gorgeousness. Many a fellow like me has gotten himself ropedinto a thing he wanted to get out of quietly. That little girl lassoedme. I should have eyes for a little Reddie like her with the Deep-SeaPearl of the world my very own. I'm going to marry you, too, Gorgeousness. I'm going to see you right through, this time. Jump rightout of the frying-pan into the hottest, sweetest fire!"

"I tell you I can't stand it! Promising to marry me with another one tosee through before you get to me. It--it's terrible! I--"

"There you go again! The Norma Beautiful Film Corporation doesn't ticklemy pink rose on the eardrums! She doesn't want it! Wouldn't have it!"

"I do, Lester; I do--only--only--I--the little Reddie--it's not right. She's a sweet little thing. I'm afraid, Lester--I think I must be goingcrazy! I wish to God I could hate you the way you ought to be hated. Itell you I can't stand it. You sailing off like this. The comingback--her--I'll kill myself during the ceremony. I--"

"You create a scene down here and you'll be sorry!"

"Lester--please!"

"They'll be here any minute now. They're late as it is. Look--everybody's on board already! One more blast, and I'll have to go, too. You just kick up nasty at the last minute and watch me!"

"I won't, Lester; I won't! I swear to God! Only, be good to me; be sweetto me, darling! Say good-by before they--she comes. I'm all right, darling. Please--please--"

He caught her to him then, and back in the sheltering cove of baggagethrust back her head, kissing deep into the veiling. 

"Beautiful! Angel Beautiful!"

"Swear to me, Lester, you'll see me through. "

"I swear, Beautiful. "

"Swear to me, or hope to die and lose your luck!"

He kissed her again so that her hat tilted backward, straining at itspins. 

"Hope to die and lose my luck. "

"My own preciousness!" she said, her eyes tear-glazed and yearning upinto his. 

"'Sh-h, Pussy; here comes Sol Sopinsky to hurry me on board. Funny thePelz crowd don't show up. Quit it! Here they come! That's their car. Cutit--quick!"

With noiselessly thrown clutch, the Pelz limousine drew up between anaisle of bales, its door immediately flung open. First, Mr. Pelzemerging, with an immediate arm held back for Mrs. Pelz. Last, MissPelz, a delightful paradox of sheer summer silk and white-fox furs, hersmall face flushed and carefully powdered up about the eyes. 

"There he is, dad! Over there with Norma and Uncle Sol!"

"Don't run so, Bleema; he'll come over to you. "

But she was around and through the archipelago of baggage. 

"Lester darling! There was a tie-up at Thirty-third Street. I thoughtI'd die! Here's a little package of letters, love, one for each day onthe steamer. Lester, have you got everything--are you all ready to leaveyour girlie--Hello, Norma--Uncle Sol! Lester are you--you sorry to leaveyou--your--"

"Now, now--no water-works!"

"My all! My own boy!" She drew him, to hide the quickening trembling ofher lips, back behind the shelter of piled baggage. 

"Lester darling--I--I didn't sleep a wink all night! I--I'm so nervous, dear. What if a submarine should catch you? What if you meet a Frenchgirl and fall in--"

"Now, now, Reddie! Is that what you think of your boy?"

"I don't, dearest; I don't! I keep telling myself I'm a silly--What'sthree weeks? But when it means separation from the sweetest, dearest--"

"'Sh-h-h, Angel darling! There's the last blast, and your father'sangry. See him beckoning! The company's been on board twenty minutesalready. Look--there's the sailors lined up at the gangplank--Bleema--"

"Promise me, Lester--"

"I do! I do promise! Anything! Look, girlie: Miss Beautiful will feelhurt the way we left her standing. It isn't nice--our hiding this way. "

"I can't bear, dearest, to see you go--"

"Look! See--there's David Feist come down, too. You don't want him tosee my girl make a cry baby of herself over a three weeks' trip--"

"You'll write, Lester, and cable every day?"

"You just know I will!"

"You won't go near the war?"

"You just know I won't!"

"You--"

"Your father, Bleema--let's not get him sore, hiding back here. Come;they'll draw up the plank on me. "

"I'll be waving out from the edge of the pier, darling. I've got aspecial permit to go out there. I just couldn't stand not seeing my boyup to the last second. It's terrible for you to sneak off on a boat likethis, darling, without flags and music the way it was before the war. Iwant music and flags when my boy goes off. Oh, Lester, I'll be workingso hard on the sweetest little trousseau and the sweetest little--"

"Bleema, please! There's Miss Beautiful overhearing every word. Please!""Well, good-by, Miss Beautiful; don't walk off with the studio whilewe're gone--take care of yourself--"

"Good-by--Mr. Spencer--_b-bon voyage_!"

"Hi, Mr. Feist, mighty handsome of you to come down to see me off!"

"Safe journey, Spencer! Remember you've got a precious piece of anxietywaiting back here for you. "

"Oh, Mr. Feist--isn't--isn't--it awful--submarine-time and all? I--Ijust can't bear it!"

"Now! Now! Is that the way for a brave little girl to talk?"

"Bleema, if you can't control yourself, you had better go sit in thecar. I'm ashamed before the company. "

"Roody, the poor child!"

"He--that's the only way papa talks to me these days--fault-finding!"

"Now, now, Miss Bleema! Here--take mine; yours is all wet. "

Another blast then, reverberating into the din. 

"All aboard!"

"Good-by, Lester--good-by, darling--cable every day--by--good-by--boy!"

"Good-by, little Reddie! Thanks for the beautiful fruits and letters. Good-by, Mr. Pelz!"

"Play fair in the picture, Spencer. Don't hog the scenes. Help insteadof hinder Sopinsky. "

"Indeed I will, sir! Good-by, Mrs. Pelz!"

"Good-by, Lester! God bless you, my boy! Take care of yourself, andremember my little girl is--"

"Lester--Lester, a cable every day!"

"Bleema, will you please let the man catch his boat? It's anembarrassment to even watch you. "

"Lester--Lester--"

"Yes, yes; good-by, everybody!"

"I'll be out at the pier-edge--wave back, darling!"

"Yes, yes! Good-by, Miss Beautiful! By, all!" And then, from an upperdeck, more and more shouted farewells. 

"They're moving! Come, Mr. Feist--please--with me--I've got thepermit--don't let papa see us--come--the pier-edge!"

"Sure! This way, Miss Bleema--here--under--quick!"

Out in the open, May lay with Italian warmth over a harbor that kickedup the tiniest of frills. A gull cut through the blueness, winging itin festoons. 

"Over this way, Miss Bleema; we can see her steaming out. "

"Lester--good-by--Lester--a cable every day! I'll be waiting. Good-by!"

All this unavailingly flung to the great hulk of boat moving so proud ofbow and so grandly out to sea, decks of faces and waving kerchiefsreceding quickly. 

"Good-by--darling--oh--oh--"

"'Sh-h--'sh-h-h, Miss Bleema. Here--take another of mine. Yours is allwet again. My--what a rainy day! Here--let me dry them for you. Hold still!"

"Oh--oh--cable every day, darling--write--oh, Mr. Feist--hedon't see us--he's out of sight--don't wipe 'em so hard, Mr. Feist--you--you h-hurt!"

Out toward the blue, the billowing fields sailed away the gray steamer, cutting a path that sprayed and sang after. Sunlight danced and laywhitely as far as the eye could reach. It prolonged for those on shorethe contour of the line of faces above each deck; it picked points oflight from off everywhere--off smokestacks and polished railings, offplate-glass and brass-bound port-holes and even down the ship's flank, to where gilt letters spelled out shiningly:

"_LUSITANIA. _"

A BOOB SPELLED BACKWARD

How difficult it is to think of great lives in terms of the smallmosaics that go to make up the pattern of every man's day-by-day--thetoo tepid shaving-water; the badly laundered shirt-front; thethree-minute egg; the too-short fourth leg of the table; the draught onthe neck; the bad pen; the neighboring rooster; the misplaced key; theslipping chest-protector. 

Richelieu, who walked with kings, presided always at the stitching ofhis red robes. Boswell says somewhere that a badly starched stock couldkill his Johnson's morning. It was the hanging of his own chintzes thatfirst swayed William Morris from epic mood to household utensils. Seneca, first in Latin in the whole Silver Age, prepared his ownvegetables. There is no outgrowing the small moments of life, and tothose lesser ones of us how often they become the large ones!

To Samuel Lipkind, who, in a span of thirty years, had created andcarried probably more than his share of this world's responsibilities, there was no more predominant moment in all his day, even to the signingof checks and the six-o'clock making of cash, than that matinal instant, just fifteen minutes before the stroke of seven, when Mrs. Lipkind, ina fuzzy gray wrapper the color of her eyes and hair, kissed him awake, and, from across the hall, he could hear the harsh sing of his bath inthe drawing. 

There are moments like that which never grow old. For the fifteen yearsthat Samuel Lipkind had reached the Two Dollar Hat Store before his twoclerks, he had awakened to that same kiss on his slightly open mouth, the gray hair and the ever-graying eyes close enough to be stroked, thepungency of coffee seeming to wind like wreaths of mundane aroma abovethe bed, and always across the aisle of hallway that tepid cataractleaping in glory into porcelain. 

Take the particular morning which ushers in our story, although it mighthave been any of twelve times three hundred others. 

"Sammy!" This upon opening his door, then crossing to close theconservative five inches of open window and over to the bedside for thekissing him awake. "Sammy, get up!"

The snuggle away into the crotch of his elbow. 

"Sammy! _Thu, thu_! I can't get him up! Sammy, a quarter to seven! Youwant to be late? I can't get him up!"

"M-m-m-m-m-m!"

"You want your own clerks to beat you to business so they can say theygot a lazy boss?"

"I'm awake, ma. " Reaching up to stroke her hair, thin and gray now, anddrawn back into an early-morning knob. 

"Don't splash in the bath-room so this morning, Sammy; it's a shame forthe wall-paper. "

"I won't"--drawing the cord of his robe about his waist, and as if theydid not both of them know just how faithfully disregarded would be thatdaily admonition. 

Then Mrs. Lipkind flung back the snowy sheets and bed-coverings, baringthe striped ticking of the mattress. 

"Hurry, Sammy! I'm up so long I'm ready for my second cup of coffee. "

"Two minutes. " And off across the hall, whistling, towel across arm. 

It was that little early moment sublimated by nothing more than thefusty beginnings of a workaday, the mere recollecting of which was oneday to bring a wash of tears behind his eyes and a twist of anguish intohis heart. 

Next breakfast, and to dine within reach of the coal-range which brewsit is so homely a fashion that even Mr. Lipkind, upon whom such mattersof bad form lay as a matter of course, was wont to remonstrate. 

"What's the matter with the dining-room, ma? Since when havedining-rooms gone out of style?"

Pouring his coffee from the speckled granite pot, Mrs. Lipkind wouldsmile up and over it. 

"All I ask is my son should never have it worse than to eat all hislifetime in just such a kitchen like mine. Off my kitchen floor I wouldrather eat than off some people's fine polished mahogany. "

The mahogany was almost not far-fetched. There was a blue-and-whitespick-and-spanness about Mrs. Lipkind's kitchen which must lie withinthe soul of the housewife who achieves it--the lace-edged shelves, thescoured armament of dishpan, soup-pot, and what not; the white Swisswindow-curtains, so starchy, and the two regimental geraniums on thesill; the roller-towel too snowy for mortal hand to smudge; the whitesink, hand-polished; the bland row of blue-and-white china jars spicilyinscribed to nutmeg, cinnamon, and cloves. That such a kitchen could bewithin the tall and brick confines of an upper-Manhattan apartment-housewas only another of the thousand thousand paradoxes over which the cityspreads her glittering skirts. The street within roaring distance, thehighway of Lenox Avenue flowing dizzily constantly past her windows, theinterior of Mrs. Lipkind's apartment, from the chromos of the dear deadupon its walls to the upholstery of another decade against those walls, was as little of the day as if the sweep of the city were a gale acrossa mid-Victorian plain and the flow past the windows a broad riverruffled by wind. 

"You're right, ma; there's not a kitchen in New York I'd trade it for. But what's the idea of paying rent on a dining-room?"

"Sa-y, if not for when Clara comes and how in America all young peoplegot extravagant ideas, we was just as well off without one in our threerooms in Simpson Street. "

"A little more of that mackerel, please. "

You to whom the chilled grapefruit and the eggshell cup of morningcoffee are a gastronomic feat not always easy to hurdle, raise not yourdigestive eyebrows. At precisely fifteen minutes past seven six morningsin the week, seven-thirty, Sundays, Mrs. Lipkind and her son sat down toa breakfast that was steamingly fit for those only who dwell in theheadacheless kingdom of long, sleepful nights and fur-coatless tongues. 

"A few more fried potatoes with it, Sammy?"

"Whoa! You want to feed me up for the fat boys' regiment!"

Mrs. Lipkind glanced quickly away, her profile seeming to quiver. "Don'tuse that word, Sam--even in fun--it's a knife in me. "

"What word?"

"'Regiment. '"

He reached across to pat the vein-corduroyed back of her hand. 

"My little sweetheart mamma, " he said. 

She, in turn, put out her hand over his, her old sagging throat visiblyconstricting in a gulp, and her eyes as if they could never be finishedwith yearning over him. "You're a good boy, Sammy. "

"Sure!"

"I always say no matter what it is bad my life has had for me with mytwenty-five years a widow, my only daughter to marry out six hundredmiles away from me, my business troubles when I had to lose the littlestore what your papa left me, nothing ain't nothing, Sammy, when amother can raise for herself a boy like mine. "

"You mean when a fellow can pick out for himself a little sweetheartmamma like mine. "

"Sammy, stop it with your pinching-me nonsense like I was your bestgirl!"

"Well, ain't you?"

She paused, her cup of coffee half-way to her lips, the lines of herface seeming to want to lift into what would be a smile. "No, Sammy;your mother knows she ain't, and if she was anything but a selfish oldwoman, she would be glad that she ain't. "

"'Sh! 'Sh!" said Mr. Lipkind, reaching this time half across the tablefor a still steaming muffin and opening it so that its hot fragrancecame out. '"Sh! No April showers! Uh! Uh! Don't you dare!"

"I ain't, " said Mrs. Lipkind, smiling through her tear and dashing at itwith the back of her hand. "For why should I when I got only everythingto be thankful for?"

"Now you're shouting!"

"How you think, Sammy, Clara likes a cheese pie for supper to-night?Last week I could see she didn't care much for the noodle pudding Ibaked her. "

Mr. Lipkind, who was ever so slightly and prematurely bald and stillmore slightly and prematurely rotund, suffered a rush of color then, hisears suddenly and redly conspicuous. 

"That's--that's what I started to tell you last night, ma. Claratelephoned over to the store in the afternoon she--she thought shewouldn't come to supper this Wednesday night, ma. "

"Sammy--you--you and Clara 'ain't got nothing wrong together, the wayyou don't see each other so much these two months?"

"Of course not, ma; it's just happened a few times that way. Thetrade's in town; that's all. "

"How is it all of a sudden a girl in the wholesale ribbonbusiness should have the trade to entertain like she was in thecloak-and-suit chorus?"

"It's not that Clara's busy to-night, ma. She--she only thought she--fora change--there's a little side table for two--for three--where sheboards--she thought maybe if--if you didn't mind, I'd go over to herplace for Wednesday-night supper for a change. You know how a girl likeClara gets to feeling obligated. "

"Obligated from eating once a week supper in her own future house!"

"She asked I should bring you, too, ma, but I know how bashful you areto go in places like that. "

"In such a place where it's all style and no food--yes. "

"That's it; so we--I thought, ma, that is, if you don't mind, instead ofClara here to-night for supper, I--I'd go over to her place. If youdon't mind, ma. "

There was a silence, so light, so slight that it would not have evenheld the dropping of a pin, but yet had a depth and a quality that setthem both to breathing faster. 

"Why, of course, Sammy, you should go!"

"I--we thought for a change. "

"You should have told me yesterday, Sammy, before I marketed poultry. "

"I know, ma; I--just didn't. Clara only 'phoned at four. "

"A few more fried potatoes?"

"No more. "

"Sit up straight, Sam, from out your round shoulders. "

"You ain't--mad, ma?"

"For why, Sammy, should I be mad that you go to Clara for a change tosupper. I'm glad if you get a change. "

"It's not that, ma. It's just that she asked it. You know how a personfeels, her taking her Wednesday-night suppers here for more than fiveyears and never once have I--we--set foot in any of her boarding-houses. She imagines she's obligated. You know how Clara is, so independent. "

"You should go. I hear, too, how Mrs. Schulem sets a good table. "

"I'll be home by nine, ma--you sure you don't mind?"

"I wouldn't mind, Sammy, if it was twelve. Since when is it that agrown-up son has to apologize to his mother if he takes a stepwithout her?"

"You can believe me, ma, but I've got so it don't seem like theater ornothing seems like going out without my little sweetheart mamma on onearm and Clara on the other. "

"It's not right, Sammy, you should spoil me so. Don't think that even ifyou don't let me talk about it, I don't know in my heart how I'm inyours and Clara's way. "

"Ma, now just you start that talk and you know what I'll do--I'll get upand leave the table. "

"Sammy, if only you would let me talk about it!"

"You heard what I said. "

"To think my son should have to wait with his engagement for five yearsand never once let his mother ask him why it is he waits. It ain'tbecause of to-night I want to talk about it, Sam, but if I thought itwas me that had stood between you and Clara all these five years, if--ifI thought it was because of me you don't see each other so much herelately, I--"

"Ma!"

"I couldn't stand it, son. If ever a boy deserved happiness, that boy isyou. A boy that scraped his fingers to the bone to marry his sister offwell. A boy that took the few dollars left from my notion-store and madesuch a success in retail men's hats and has given it to his mother likea queen. If I thought I was standing in such a boy's way, who ain't onlya grand business man and a grand son and brother, but would make anygirl the grandest husband that only his father before him could equal, Icouldn't live, Sammy, I couldn't live. "

"You should know how sick such talk makes me!"

"I haven't got hard feelings, Sammy, because Clara don't like it here. "

"She does. "

"For why should an up-to-date American girl like Clara like such anold-fashioned place as I keep? Nowadays, girls got different ideas. Theydon't think nothing of seventy-five-dollar suits and twelve-dollarshoes. I can't help it that it goes against my grain no matter how finea money-maker a girl is. In the old country my sister Carrie and menever even had shoes on our feet until we were twelve, much less--"

"But, ma--"

"Oh, I don't blame her, Sam. I don't blame her that she don't like itthe way I dish up everything on the table so we can serve ourselves. Shelikes it passed the way they did that night at Mrs. Goldfinger's newdaughter-in-law's, where everything is carried from one to the next one, and you got to help yourself quick over your shoulders. "

"Clara's like me, ma; she wants you to keep a servant to do the waitingon you. "

"It ain't in me, Sam, to be bossed to by a servant, just like I can'ttake down off the walls pictures of your papa _selig_ and your grandma, because it ain't stylish they should be there. It's a feeling in me formy own flesh and blood that nothing can change. "

"Clara don't want you to change that, ma. "

"She's a fine, up-to-date girl, Sam. A girl that can work herself up tohead floor-lady in wholesale ribbons and forty dollars a week has got inher the kind of smartness my boy should have in his wife. I'm an oldwoman standing in the way of my boy. If I wasn't, I could go out toMarietta, Ohio, by Ruby, and I wouldn't keep having inside of me suchterrible fears for my boy and--and how things are now on the other sideand--and--"

"Now, now, ma; no April showers!"

"An old woman that can't even be happy with a good daughter like Ruby, but hangs always on her son like a stone around his neck!"

"You mean like a diamond. "

"A stone, holding him down. "

"Ma!" Mr. Lipkind pushed back, napkin awry at his throat and his eyessnapping points of light. "Now if you want to spoil my breakfast, justsay so and I--I'll quit. Why should you be living with Ruby out inMarietta if you're happier here with me where you belong? If you knewhow sore these here fits of yours make me, you'd cut them out--that'swhat you would. I'm not going over to Clara's at all now for supper, ifthat's how you feel about it. "

Mrs. Lipkind rose then, crossed, leaning over the back of his chair andinclosing his face in the quivering hold of her two hands. "Sammy, Sammy, I didn't mean it! I know I ain't in your way. How can I be whenthere ain't a day passes I don't invite you to get married and come hereto live and fix the flat any way what Clara wants or even move down-townin a finer one where she likes it? I know I ain't in your way, son. Itake it back. "

"Well, that's more like it. "

"You mustn't be mad at mamma when she gets old-fashioned ideas in herhead. "

He stroked her hand at his cheek, pressing it closer. 

"Sit down and finish your breakfast, little sweetheart mamma. "

"Is it all right now, Sammy?"

"Of course it is!" he said, his eyes squeezed tightly shut. 

"Promise mamma you'll go over by Clara's to-night. "

"But--"

"Promise me, Sammy; I can't stand it if you don't. "

"Alright, I'll go, ma. "

The Declaration of Economic Independence is not always a subtle one. There was that about Clara Bloom, even to the rather Hellenic swing ofher very tailor-made back and the firm, neat clack of her not too highheels, which proclaimed that a new century had filed her fetter-freefrom the nine-teen-centuries-long chain of women whose pin-money had toooften been blood-money or the filched shekels from trousers pocket orwhat in the toga corresponded thereto. 

And yet, when Miss Bloom smiled, which upon occasion she didspontaneously enough to show a gold molar, there were not only Hypatiaand Portia in the straight line of her lips, but lurked in the littletip-tilt at the corners a quirk from Psyche, who loved and was so loved, and in the dimple in her chin a manhole, as it were, for Mr. Samuel Lipkind. 

At six o'clock, where the wintry workaday flows into dusk and FifthAvenue flows across Broadway, they met, these two, finding each otherout in the gaseous shelter of a Subway kiosk. She from the tall, thin, skylightless skyscraper dedicated to the wholesale supply of woman'sinsatiable demand for the ribbon gewgaw; he from a plate-glass shop withhis name inscribed across its front and more humbly given over to themore satiable demand of the male for the two-dollar hat. There was agold-and-black sign which ran across the not inconsiderable width ofMr. Lipkind's store-front and which invariably captioned his four inchesof Sunday-news-paper advertisement:

SAMMY LIPKIND WANTS YOUR HEAD

As near as it is possible for the eye to simulate the heart, there wasexactly that sentiment in his glance now as he found out Miss Bloom, shein a purple-felt hat and the black scallops of escaping hair, blackerbecause the red was out in her cheeks. 

He broke into the kind of smile that lifted his every feature, screw-lines at his eyes coming out, head bared, and his greetingbeginning to come even before she was within hearing distance of it. 

There was in Mr. Lipkind precious little of Lothario, Launcelot, Galahad, or any of that blankety-blank-verse coterie. There remains yetunsung the lay of the five-foot-five, slightly bald, and ever soslightly rotund lover. Falstaff and Romeo are the extremes of what Mr. Lipkind was the not unhappy medium. Offhand in public places, men wouldswap crop conditions and city politics with him. Twice, tired mothers inrailway stations had volunteered him their babies to dandle. Youngwomen, however, were not all impervious to him, and uncrossed their feetand became consciously unconscious of him across street-car aisles. Inhis very Two Dollar Hat Store, Sara Minniesinger, hooked of profile, butwho had impeccably kept his debits and credits for twelve years backunder the stock-balcony and a green eye-shade, was wont to cry ofevenings over and for him into her dingy pillow. He was so unconsciousof this that, on the twelfth anniversary of her incarceration beneaththe stock-balcony, he commissioned his mother to shop her a crown ofthorns in the form of a gold-handled umbrella with a bachelor-girlflash-light attachment. 

There are men like that, to whom life is not only a theosophy of oneGod, but of one women who is sufficient thereof. When Samuel Lipkindgreeted Clara Bloom there was just that in his ardentlyappraising glance. 

"Didn't mean to keep you waiting, Clara--a last-minute customer. _You_know. "

"I've been counting red heads and wishing the Subway was pulled by whitehorses. "

"Say, Clara, but you look a picture! Believe me, Bettina, that is somelid!"

Miss Bloom tucked up a rear strand of curl, turning her head to extremeprofile for his more complete approval. 

"Is it an elegant trifle, Sam? I ask you is it an elegant trifle?"

"Clara, it's--immense! The best yet! What did it set you back?"

"Don't ask me! I'm afraid just saying it would give your motherheart-failure by mental telepathy. "

He linked her arm. "Whatever you paid, it's worth the money. It sets youoff like a gipsy queen. "

"None of that, Sam! Mush is fattening. "

"Mush nothing! It's the truth. "

"Hurry. Schulem's got a new rule--no reserving the guest-table. "

They let themselves be swept into the great surge of the undergroundriver with all of the rather thick-skinned unsensitiveness toshoulder-to-shoulder contact which the Subway engenders. Swaying fromstraps in a locked train, which tore like a shriek through a tube whosesides sweated dampness, they talked in voices trained to competewith the roar. 

"What's the idea, Clara? When you telephoned yesterday I was afraidmaybe it was--Eddie Leonard cutting in on my night again. "

"Eddie nothing. Is it a law, Sam, that I have to eat off your motherevery Wednesday night of my life?"

"No--only--you know how it is when you get used to things one way. "

"I told you I had something to talk over, didn't I?"

They were rounding a curve now, so that they swayed face to face, noseto nose. 

A few crinkles, frequent with him of late, came out in rays from hiseyes. 

"Is it anything you--you couldn't say in front of ma?"

"Yes. "

He inserted two fingers into his collar, rearing back his head. 

"Anything wrong, Clara?"

"You mean is anything right. "

They rode in silence after that, both of them reading in three colorsthe border effulgencies of frenzied advertising. 

But when they emerged to a quieter up-town night that was alreadypointed with a first star, he took her arm as they turned off into aside-street that was architecturally a barracks to the eye, brownstonefront after brownstone front after brownstone front. Block after blockof New York's side-streets are sunk thus in brown study. 

"You mustn't be so ready to be put out over every little thing I say, Clara. Is it anything wrong to want you up at the house just as often aswe can get you?"

"No, Sam; it ain't that. "

"Well then, what is it?"

"Oh, what's the use beginning all that again? I want to begin to-nightwhere we usually leave off. "

"Is it--is it something we've talked about before, Clara?"

"Yes--and no. We've talked so much and so long without ever gettinganywheres--what's the difference whether we've ever talked it beforeor not?"

"You just wait, Clara; everything is going to come out fine for us. "

Her upper lip lifted slightly. "Yes, " she said; "I've heard thatbefore. "

"We're going to be mighty happy some day, just the same, and don't youlet yourself forget it. We've got good times ahead. "

"Oh dear!" she sighed out. 

"What?"

"Nothing. "

He patted her arm. "You'll never know, Clara, the torture it's been forme even your going out those few times with Eddie Leonard has put methrough. You're mine, Clara; a hundred Eddies couldn't change that. "

"Who said anybody wanted to change it?"

He patted her arm again very closely. "You're a wonderful girl, Clara. "

They turned up the stoop of Mrs. Schulem's boarding-house, strictlyfirst-class. How they flourish in the city, these institutions of theNot Yet, the Never Was, the Never Will Be, and the Has Been! They arethe half-way houses going up and the mausoleums coming down life'sincline, and he who lingers is lost to the drab destiny of this or thatthird-floor-back hearthstone, hot and cold running water, all thecomforts of home. That is why, even as she moved up from the rooming tothe boarding-house and down from the third-floor back to thesecond-story front, there was always under Clara Bloom's single bed thesteamer-trunk scarcely unpacked, and in her heart the fear that, afterall, this might not be transiency, but home. That is why, too, she paidher board by the week and used printed visiting-cards. 

And yet, if there exists such a paradox as an aristocracy amongboarding-houses, Mrs. Schulem's was of it. None of the boiled odors layon her hallways, which were not papered, but a cream-colored fresco ofbetter days. There was only one pair of bisques, no folding-bed, and butthe slightest touch of dried grasses in her unpartitioned front parlor. The slavey who opened the door was black-faced, white-coated, and hisbedraggled skirts were trousers with a line of braid up each seam. Twomore of him were also genii of the basement dining-hall, two low roomsmade into one and entirely bisected by a long-stemmed T of dining-table, and between the lace-curtained windows a small table for two, withfairly snowy napkins flowering out of its water-tumblers, and in itscenter a small island of pressed-glass vinegar-cruet, bottle of darklyportentous condiment, glass of sugar, and another of teaspoons. 

It was here that Miss Bloom and Mr. Lipkind finally settled themselves, snugly and sufficiently removed from the T-shaped battalion of eyes andears to insure some privacy. 

"Well, " said Mr. Lipkind, unflowering his napkin, spreading it acrosshis knees, and exhaling, "this is fine!"

There was an aura of authoritativeness seemed to settle over Miss Bloom. 

This to one of the black-faced genii: "Take care of us right to-night, Johnson, and I'll fix it up with you. See if you can't manage it in thekitchen to bring us a double portion of those banana fritters I seethey're eating at the big table. Say they're for Miss Bloom. I'll fix itup with you. "

"Now, Clara, don't you go bothering with extras for me. This iscertainly fine. Sorry you never asked me before. "

"You know why I never asked you before. "

"Why, you never saw the like how pleased ma was. She was the first oneto fall in with the idea of my coming to-night. "

She dipped into a shallow plate of amber soup. "I know, " she said, "allabout that. "

"Ma's a good sport about being left at home alone. "

"How do you know? You never tried it until to-night. I'll bet it's thefirst time since that night you first met me, five years ago, at JeromeFertig's, and it wouldn't have been then if she hadn't had the neuralgiaand it was your own clerk's wedding. "

He laid down his spoon, settling back a bit from the table, pulling thenapkin across his knees out into a string. 

"I thought we'd gone all over that, Clara. "

"Yes; but where did it get us? That's why we're here to-night, Sam--toget somewheres. "

He crumbed his bread. "What do you mean, Clara?"

She forced his slow gaze to hers calmly, her hands outstretched on thetable between them. "I've made up my mind, Sam. Things can't go on thisway no longer between us. "

"Just what do you mean by that?"

"I mean that we've either got to act or quit. "

He was rolling the bread pills again, a flush rising. "You know where Istand, Clara, on things between us. "

"Yes, Sam, and now you know where I stand. " The din of the dining-roomsurged over the pause between them. Still in the purple hat, and herwrap thrown back over her chair, she held that pause coolly, level ofeye. "I'm thirty-one now, Sam, three weeks and two days older than you. I don't see the rest of my days with the Arnstein Ribbon Company. I'mnot getting any younger. Five years is a long time out of a girl's life. Five of the best ones, too. She likes to begin to see her future whenshe reaches my age. A future with a good providing man. You and me arejust where we started five years ago. "

"I know, Clara, and I'd give my right hand to change things. "

"If I'd been able to save a cent, it might be different. But Ihaven't--I'm that way. I make big and spend big. But you can't blame agirl for wanting to see her future. That's me, and I'm not ashamedto say it. "

"If only, Clara, I could get you to see things my way. If you'd bewilling to try it with ma. Why, with a little diplomacy from you, ma'dmove heaven and earth to please you. "

"There's no use beginning that, Sam; it's a waste of time. Why--why, just the difference in the way me and--and your mother feel on moneymatters is enough. There's no use to argue that with me; it's a wasteof time. "

He lifted and let droop his shoulders with something of helplessness inthe gesture. "What's the use, then? I'm sure I don't know what more tosay to you, Clara. Oh, don't think my mother don't realize how thingsare between us--it's all I can do to keep denying and denying. "

"Well, you can't say she knows from my telling. "

"No; but there's not a day she don't say to me, particularly these lastfew times since you been breaking your dates with us prettyregular--I--well she sees how it worries me, and there's not a day shedon't say to me, 'Sammy, ' she said to me, only this morning, 'if Ithought I was keeping you and Clara apart--'"

"A blind man could see it. "

"There's not a day passes over her head she don't offer to go to livewith my sister in Ohio, when I know just how that one month of visitingher that time nearly killed her. "

"Funny visiting an own daughter could nearly kill anybody. "

"It's my brother-in-law, Clara. My mother couldn't no more live withIsadore Katz than she could fly. He's a fine fellow and all that, butshe's not used to a man in the house that potters around the kitchen andthe children's food and things like Isadore loves to. She's used to herown little home and her own little way. "

"Exactly. "

"If I want to kill my mother, Clara, all I got to do is put her awayfrom me in her old age. Even my sister knows it. 'Sammy, ' she wrote tome that time after ma's visit out there, 'I love our mother like you do, but I got a nervous husband who likes his own ways about thehousekeeping and the children and the cooking, and nobody knows betterthan me that the place for ma to be happy is with you in her own homeand her own ways of doing. '"

"I call that a nerve for a sister to let herself out like that. "

"It's not nerve, Clara; it's the truth. Ruby's a good girl in her way. "

"What about you--ain't your life to be thought of? Ain't it enough shewas married off with enough money for her husband to buy a half-interestin a ladies' ready-to-wear store out there?"

"Why, if I was to bring my little wife to that flat of ours, Clara, orany other kind further down-town that she'd want to pick out forherself, I think my mother would just walk on her hands and knees tomake things pleasant for her. Maybe you don't know it, but on yourWednesday nights up at the house, she is up at five o'clock in themorning fixing around and cooking the things she thinks you'll like. "

"I'm not saying a word against your mother, Sam. I think she's a grandwoman, and I admire a fellow that's good to his mother. I always say, 'Give me a fellow every time that is good to his mother and that fellowwill be good to his wife. '"

"I'm not pretending to say ma mayn't be a little peculiar in her ways, but you never saw an old person that wasn't, did you? Neither am Isaying it's exactly any girl's idea to start out married life with athird person in--"

"I've always swore to myself, Sam, and I'm not ashamed to admit it, thatif I can't marry to improve myself, I'm going to stay single till I can. I'm not a six-dollar-a-week stenog that has to marry for enough to eat. I can afford to buy a seventy-five dollar suit every winter of my lifeand twelve-dollar shoes every time I need them. The hat on my head costme eighteen-fifty wholesale, without having to be beholding tonobody, and--"

"Ma don't mean those things, Clara. It's just when she hears the pricegirls pay for things nowadays she can't help being surprised the waythings have changed. "

"I'm not a small potato, Sam. I never could live like a small potato. "

"Why, you know there's nothing I like better than to see you dressed inthe best that money can buy. You heard what I said about that hat justnow, didn't you? Whatever it cost, it's worth it. I can afford to dressmy little wife in the best that comes. There's nothing too goodfor her. "

"Yes; but--"

"All ma needs, Clara, is a little humoring. She's had to stint so allher life, it's a little hard to get her used to a little prosperity. Take me. Why, if I bring her home a little shawl or a pockabook thatcost, say, ten dollars, you think I tell her? No. I say, 'Here's abargain I picked up for three ninety-eight, ' and right away she's happywith something reduced. "

"Your mother and me, Sam, and, mind you, I'm not saying she isn't agrand old lady, wasn't no more made to live together than we was made tofly. I couldn't no more live her way than she could live mine. I've gota practical head on my shoulders--I don't deny it--and I want to improveourselves in this world when we marry, and have an up-to-date home likeevery young couple that starts out nowadays. "

"Sure, we--"

"That flat of yours up there or any other one under the conditions wouldbe run like the ark. I'm an up-to-date girl, I am. There's not a girlliving would be willing to marry a well-off fellow like you and go huckherself in a place she couldn't even have the running of herself or haveher own say-so about the purse-strings. It may sound unbecoming, butwhen I marry I'm going to better myself, I am. "

"I--why--"

"If she can't even stand for her own son-in-law walking into his ownkitchen in his own house--Oh, you don't find me starting my marriedlife that way at this late date. I haven't held off five yearsfor that. "

Mr. Lipkind pushed back his but slightly tasted food, lines of strainand a certain whiteness out in his face. "It--it just seems awful, Clara, this going around in a circle and not getting anywheres. "

"I'm at the end of my rope, I am. "

"I see your point in a way, Clara, but, my God! a man's mother is hismother! It's eating up my life just as it's eating yours, but what yougoing to do about it? It just seems the best years of our life aregoing, waiting for God knows what. "

Hands clasped until her finger-nails whitened, Miss Bloom leaned acrossthe table, her voice careful and concentrated. "Now you said something!That's why you and me are here alone together to-night. There's notgoing to be a sixth year of this kind of waiting between us. Things havegot to come to a head. I've got a chance, Sam, to marry. Eddie Leonardhas asked me. "

"I--thought so. "

"Eddie Leonard ain't a Sam Lipkind, but after the war hisfive-thousand-dollar job is down at Arnstein's waiting for him, and he'sgot a good stiff bank-account saved as good as yours and--and no stringsto it. I believe in a girl facing those facts the same as any otherfacts. Why, I--this war and all--why, if anything was to happen to youto-morrow--us unmarried this way--I'd be left high and dry without somuch as a penny to show for the best five years of my life. We've got todo one thing or another, Sam. I believe in a girl being practical aswell as romantic. "

"I--see your point, Clara. "

"I'm done with going around in this circle of ours. "

"You mean--"

"You know what I mean. "

The lower half of Mr. Lipkind's face seemed to lock, as it were, into akind of rigidity which shot out his lower jaw. "I'll see Eddie Leonardburning like brimstone before I let him have you!"

"Well?"

"God! I don't know what to say--I don't know what to say!"

"That's your trouble, Sam; you're so chicken-hearted you--"

"My father died when I was five, Clara, and no matter what my feelingsare to you, there's no power on earth can make me quit having to be himas well as a son to my mother. Maybe it sounds softy to you--but if Igot to pay with her happiness for--ours--then I never want happiness tothe day I die. "

"In other words, it's the mother first. "

"Don't put it that way--it's her--age--first. It ain't what she wantsand don't want; it's what she's got to have. My mother couldn't liveaway from me. "

"She could if you were called to war. "

There was something electric in the silence that followed, somethingthat seemed to tighten the gaze of each for the other. 

"But I haven't been--yet. "

"The next draft will get you. "

"Maybe. "

"Well, what'll you do then?"

"That's something me and ma haven't ever discussed. The war hasn't beenmentioned in our house for two years--except that the letters don't comefrom Germany, and that's a grief to her. There's enough time for her tocross that bridge when we come to it. She worries about it enough. "

"If I was a man I'd enlist, I would!"

"I'd give my right hand to. Every other night I dream I'm a lieutenant. "

"Why, there's not a fellow I know that hasn't beaten the draft to it andenlisted for the kind of service he wants. I know a half a dozen whohave got in the home guard and things and have saved themselves byvolunteering from being sent to France. "

"I wouldn't dodge the front thataway. I'd like to enlist as a privateand then work myself up to lieutenant and then on up to captain and getright into the fray on the front. I--"

"You bet, if I was a fellow, I'd enlist for the kind of home service Iwanted--that's what Eddie and all the fellows are doing. "

"So would I, Clara, if I was what you call a--free man. There's nobodygiven it more thought than me. "

"Well, then, why don't you? Talk's cheap. "

"You know why, Clara, to get back to going around in a circle again. "

"But you've got to go, sooner or later. You've got a comfortable marriedsister and independent circumstances of your own to keep your mother;you haven't got a chance for exemption. "

"I don't want exemption. "

"Well, then, beat the draft to it. "

"I--Most girls ain't so anxious to--to get rid of their best fellows, Clara. "

"Silly! Can't you see the point? If--if you'd enlist and go off to camp, I--I could go and live near you there like Birdie Harberger does herhusband. See?"

"You mean--"

"Then--God forbid anything should happen to you!--I'm your wife. Yousee, Sam?"

"Why, Clara--"

"You see what I mean. But nothing can happen this way, because if youtry to enlist in some mechanical department where they need you in thiscountry--you see, Sam? See?"

"I--see. "

"Your mother would have to get used to things then, Sam--it would be theeasiest for her. An old lady like her couldn't go trailing around theoutskirts of a camp like your wife could. Think of the comfort it'll beto her to have me with you if she can't be. She'll get so usedto--living alone--"

"I--You mustn't talk that way to me, Clara. When I'm called to serve mycountry, I'm the first one that will want to go. I've given more moneyalready than I can afford to help the boys who are at the front. So faras I'm concerned, enlisting like this with--with you--around, would bethe happiest thing ever happened to me, but--well, you see foryourself. "

"You mean, then, you won't?"

"I mean, Clara, I can't. "

She was immediately level of tone again and pushed back, placing herfolded napkin beside her place, patting it down. 

"Well, then, Sam, I'm done. "

"'Done, ' Clara?"

"Yep. That lets me out. I've given you every chance to make this thingpossible. Your mother is no better and no different than thousands andthousands of other mothers who are giving their sons, only, she isbetter off than most, because she's provided for. It's all right for afellow's mother to come first, maybe, but if his wife isn't even tocome second or third or tenth, then it's about time to call quits. Ihaven't made up my mind to this in a day. I'm done. "

"Clara--"

"Ed has asked me. I don't pretend he's my ideal, but he's more concernedabout my future than he is about anybody else's. If I'm ready to leavewith him on that twelve-o'clock train for Boston to-morrow, where he'sgoing to be put in the clerical corps at Camp Usonis, we'll be marriedthere to-morrow night, and I'll settle down somewhere near camp as longas I can. He's got a good nest-egg if--God forbid!--anything shouldhappen. That's the whole thing in a nutshell. "

"My God! Clara, this is awful! Eddie Leonard he's not your kind; he--"

"I've given you first chance, Sam. That proves how you stand with me. Aone! Ace high! First! Nobody can ever take your place with me. Don't bea boob coming and going, Sam; you're one now not to see things andyou'll be another one spelled backward if you don't help yourself toyour chance when it comes. You've got your life in front of you, andyour mother's got hers in back of her. Now choose. "

"My God! Clara, this is--terrible! Why--I'd rather be a thousand boobsthan take my mother's heart and tear it to pieces. "

"You won't?"

"I can't. "

"Don't say that, Sam. Go home and--sleep on it. Think it over. Please!Come to your senses, honey. Telephone me at eleven to keep me fromcatching that twelve-o'clock train. Don't let me take it with Eddie. Think it over, Sam. Honey--our--future--don't throw it away! Don't letme take that twelve-o'clock train!"

There were tears streaming from her eyes, and her lips, so carefullyfirm, were beginning to tremble. "You can't blame a girl, Sam, forwanting to provide for her future. Can you, Sam? Think it over. Please!I'll be praying when eleven o'clock comes to-morrow morning for you totelephone me. Please, Sam--think!"

He dropped his face low, lower toward the table, trembling under the redwave that surged over him and up into the roots of his hair. "I'll thinkit over, Clara--my girl--my own girl!"

As if the moments themselves had been woven by her flying amber needlesinto a whole cloth of meditation, Mrs. Lipkind, beside a kitchen lampthat flowed in gracious light, knitted the long, quiet hours of herevening into fabric, her face screwed and out of repose and occasionallythe lips moving. Age is prone to that. Memories love to be mumbled andchewed over--the unconscious kind of articulation which comes with theyears and for which youth has a wink and a quirk. 

A tiger cat with overfed sides and a stare that seemed to doze purred onthe window-ledge, gold and unswerving of eye. The silence was like thesinging inside of a shell, and into it rocked Mrs. Lipkind. 

By nine o'clock she was already glancing up at the clock, cocking herhead to each and every of night's creaks. 

By half after nine there were small and frequent periods of peeringthrough cupped hands down into a street so remote that its traffic hadneither shape nor identity. Once she went down a long slit of hallway tothe front door, opening it and gazing out upon a fog-filled corridorthat was papered in embossed leatherette, one speckled incandescent bulblighting it sadly. There was something impregnable, even terrible to herin the featureless stare of the doors of three adjoining apartments. Shetiptoed, almost ran, poor dear! with the consciousness of some one ather heels, back to the kitchen, where at least was the warm print of thecat's presence; fell to knitting again, clacking her needles for thesolace of explainable sound. 

Identically with the round moment of ten Mr. Lipkind entered, almostrunning down the hallway. 

"Hello, ma! Think I got lost? Just got to talking and didn't realize. Haven't been worried, ma? Afraid?"

She lifted her head from his kiss. "'Afraid!' What you take me for? Forwhy should I be worried at only ten o'clock? Say, I'm glad if you stayout for recreation. "

He kissed her again, shaking out of his coat and unwinding his muffler. "I could just see you walking the floor and looking out of the window. "

"Sa-y, I been so busy all evening I didn't have time to think. I'm notsuch a worrier no more like I used to be. Like the saying is--life istoo short. "

He drew up beside her, lifting her needles off her work. "Littlesweetheart mamma, why don't you sit on the big sofa in the front roomwhere it's more comfortable?"

"You can't make, Sammy, out of a pig's ear a silk stocking. "

He would detain her hands, his eyes puckered and, so intent upon her. 

"You had a good time, Sammy?"

"You'd be surprised, ma, what a nice place Clara boards at. "

"What did they have to eat? Good cooking?"

"Not for a fellow that's used to my boarding-house. "'

"What?"

"I couldn't tell if it was soup or finger-bowls they served for thefirst course. "

"I know--stylish broth. Let me warm you up a little of my thick barleysoup that's left over from--"

He pressed her down. "Please, ma! I'm full up. I couldn't. They had pinkice-cream, too, with pink cake and--"

"Such mess-food what is bad for you. I'm surprised how Clara keeps hergood complexion. Let me fix you some fried--"

"Ma, I tell you I couldn't. It's ten o'clock. You mustn't try to fattenme up so. In war-time a man has got to be lean. "

She sat back suddenly and whitely quiet. "That's--twice already to-day, Sam, you talk like that. "

He took up her lax hand, moving each separate finger up and down, eyeslowered. "Why not? Doesn't it ever strike you, mamma, that you and meare--are kidding ourselves along on this war business, pretending toeach other there ain't no war?"

She laid a quick hand to her breast. "What you mean, Sammy?"

"Why, you know what I mean, ma. I notice you read the war news prettyclosely, all right. "

"Sammy, you mean something!"

"Now, ma, there's no need to get excited right away. Think of themothers who haven't even got bank-accounts whose sons have got to go. "

"Sammy--you 'ain't been--"

"No, no; I haven't. "

"You have! I can see it in your face! You've come home with some news tobreak. You been drafted!"

He held her arms to her sides, still pressing her down to her chair. "Itell you I haven't! Can't you take my word for it?"

"Swear to me, Sammy!"

"All right; I swear. "

"Swear to me on your dead father who is an angel in heaven!"

"I swear--thataway. "

She was still pressing against her breathing. "You're keeping somethingback. Sammy, is it that we got mail from Germany? From Aunt Carrie? Badnews--O my God!"

"No! No! Who could I get mail from there any more than you've beengetting it for the last two years? Mamma, if you're going to be thisexcitable and get yourself sick, I won't talk over anything with you. I'll quit. "

"You got something, Sammy, to break to me. I can read you like a book. "

"I'm done. If I can't talk facts over with you without your going topieces this way, I'm done. I quit. "

She clasped her hands, her face pleading up to him. "Sammy, what is it?If you don't tell me, I can't stand it. Sammy?"

"Will you sit quiet and not get excited?"

"Please, Sammy, I will. "

"It's this: you see, ma, the way the draft goes. When a fellow's calledto war, drafted, he's got to go, no questions asked. But when a fellowenlists for war, volunteers, you see, before the government calls him, then thataway he can pick out for himself the thing he wants to be inthe army. Y'see? And then maybe the thing he picks out for himself cankeep him right here at home. Y'see, ma--so he don't have to go away. Seethe point?"

"You mean when a boy enlists he offers himself instead of gets offered. "

"Exactly. "

"You got something behind all this. You mean you--you want to enlist. "

"Now, ma--you see, if I was to enlist--and stay right here in thiscountry--with you near the camp or, as long as it's too rough life foryou, with--with Clara there--a woman to look in on--"

"Sammy--you mean it's enlistment!"

Her voice rose in velocity; he could feel her pulse run beneath hisfingers. 

"It's the best way, ma. The draft is sure to get me. Let me beat it andkeep myself home--near you. We might as well face the music, ma. They'llget me one way or another. Let me enlist now, ma. Like a man. Rightaway. For my country!"

Do you know the eyes of Bellini's "Agony in a Garden"? Can you hear foryourself the note that must have been Cassandra's when she shouted outher forebodings? There were these now in the glance and voice of Mrs. Lipkind as she drew back from him, her face actually seeming to shrivel. 

"No, Sammy! No! No! No!"

"Ma--please--"

"You wouldn't! You couldn't! No, Sammy--my son!"

"Ma, for God's sake don't go on so!"

"Then tell me you wouldn't! Against your own flesh and blood! Tell meyou wouldn't!"

"No, no, ma! For God's sake, don't take a fit--a stroke--no, no; Iwouldn't--I wouldn't!"

"Your own blood, Sammy! Your own baby cousins what I tucked you in bedwith--mine own sister's children! Her babies what slept with you. Mineown sister who raised me and worked down her hands to the bone to makeit so with my young husband and baby we could come to America--no--no!"

"Mamma, for God's sakes--"

"Three years like a snake here inside of it's eating me--all night--allday--I'm a good American, Sammy; I got so much I should be thankfulfor to America. Twenty-five years it's my home, the home where I hadprosperity and good treatment, the home where I had happiness with yourpapa and where he lies buried, but I can't give you to fight against myown, Sammy--to be murdered by your own--my sister what never in her lifeharmed a bird--my child and her children--cousins--against each other. My beautiful country what I remember with cows and green fields andclover--always the smell of clover. It ain't human to murder againstyour own flesh and blood for God knows what reason!"

"Mamma, there is a reason it--"

"I tell you I'm a good American, Sammy. For America I give my last cent, but not to stick knives in my own--it ain't human--Why didn't I diebefore we got war? What good am I here? In my boy's way for hiscountry--his marriage--his happiness--why don't I die?"

"Ma, I tell you you mustn't! You're making yourself sick. Let me fanyou. Here, ma, I didn't mean it. See--I'm holding you tight. I won'tnever let go. You're my little sweetheart mamma. You mustn't tremblelike that. I'm holding you tight--tight--little mamma. "

"My boy! My little boy! My son! My all! All in their bed together. Three. Her two. Mine. The smell of clover--my boy--Sammy--Sam--" Shefainted back into his arms suddenly, very white and very quiet and veryshriveled. 

He watched beside her bed the next five hours of the night, his face soclose above hers that, when she opened her eyes, his were merged intoone for her, and the clasp of his hand never left hers. 

"You all right, ma? Sure? Sure you don't need the doctor?"

She looked up at him with a tired, a burned-out, an ashamed smile. "Thefirst time in my life, Sammy, such a thing ever happened to me. "

He pressed a chain of close kisses to the back of her hand, his voicefar from firm. "It was me, ma. I'll never forgive myself. My littlemamma, my little mamma sweetheart!"

"I feel fine, son; only, with you sitting here all night, you don't letme sleep for worry that you ain't in bed. "

"I love it. I love to sit here by you and watch you sleep. You're sureyou've no fever? Sure?"

"I'm well, Sammy. It was nothing but what you call a fainting-fit. Forsome women it's nothing that they should faint every time they get alittle bit excited. It's nothing. Feel my hands--how cool! That's alwaysa sign--coolness. "

He pressed them both to his lips, blowing his warm breath against them. 

"There now--go to sleep. "

The night-light burning weakly, the great black-walnut bedsteadponderous in the gloom, she lay there mostly smiling and alwaysshamefaced. 

"Such a thing should happen to me at my age!"

"Try to sleep, ma. "

"Go in your room to bed, and then I get sleep. Do you want your ownclerks should beat you to business to-morrow?"

"A little whisky?"

"Go away; you got me dosed up enough with such _Schnapps_. "

"The light lower?"

"No. If you don't go in your room, I lay here all night with my eyesopen, so help me!"

He rose, stiff and sore-kneed, hair awry, and his eyes with the red rimsof fatigue. "You'll sure ring the little bell if you want anything, ma?"

"Sure. "

"You promise you won't get up to fix breakfast. "

"If I don't feel good, I let you fix mine. "

"Good night, little sweetheart mamma. "

"You ain't--mad at me, Sam?"

"Mad! Why, ma, you mustn't ask me a--a thing like that; it just kills meto hear you. Me that's not even fit to black your shoes! Mad at you?Why, I--I--Good night--good--night--ma. "

 * * * * *

At just fifteen minutes before seven, to the pungency of coffee and theharsh sing of water across the hall, Mrs. Lipkind in a fuzzy wrapper thecolor of her eyes and hair, kissed her son awake. 

"Sam! Sammy! Get up! _Thu, thu_! I can't get him up in the morning!"

The snuggle away and into the crotch of his elbow. 

"Sam-my--quarter to seven!"

He sprang up then, haggard, but in a flood of recollection and remorse. "Ma, I must 'a' dropped off at the last minute. You all right? What areyou doing up? Go right back! Didn't I tell you not to get up?"

"I been up an hour already; that's how fine I feel. Get up, Sammy; it'slate. "

He flung on his robe, trying to withdraw her from the business oflooping back the bed-clothing over the footboard and pounding intothe pillows. 

"I tell you I won't have it! You got to lay in bed this morning. "

"I'm all right, Sammy. Wouldn't I say so if I wasn't?" But she sat downrather weakly on the edge of the bed, holding the right side of her, breathing too hard. 

"I--I shouldn't have beat that pillow is all. Let me get my breathing. I'm all right. " Nevertheless, she let him relax her to his pillow, drawthe covers down from the footboard, and cover her. 

"This settles it, " he said, quietly. "I'm going to get a doctor. "

She caught his hand. "If--if you want to get me excited for sure, justyou call a doctor--now--before I talk with you a minute--I want totalk--I'm all right, Sammy, if you let me talk to you. One step to thattelephone, and I get excited--"

"Please, ma--"

"Sammy?"

"Yes. "

"Will you listen to me and do like I want it?"

"Yes. "

"I--been a bad old woman. "

"That's right--break my heart. "

"I got a brave boy for a son, and I want to make from him a coward. "

"Ma--please!"

"I laid saying to myself all night, a mother should have such a son likemine and make things hard for him yet!"

"Please, get it all out of your head--"

"From America what has given to me everything I should hold back my sonfrom fighting for. In war, it ain't your own flesh and blood whatcounts; it's the flesh and blood of your country--not, Sam? I beenthinking only it's my family affair. If God lets be such a terriblething like war, there is somewhere a good reason for it. I want you toenlist, Sammy, for your country. Not for in an office, but for wherethey need you. I want you to enlist to get some day to be such alieutenant and a captain like you used to play it with tin soldiers. I want--"

"Mamma, mamma, you know you don't mean it!"

"I want it, I tell you. All night I worked on it how dumb I've been, notright away to see it--last night. With Clara near you in the camp--"

"Ma, I didn't mean it that way; I--"

"Clara near you for a woman to look in on, I been so dumb not to rightaway see it. I'm glad you let it out, Sam. I wouldn't take five thousanddollars it didn't happen--I feel fine--I want it--I--"

"I didn't mean it, ma--I swear! Don't rub it in thisway--please--please--"

"Why, I never wanted anything in my life like I want this, Sammy--thatyou should enlist--a woman to look in on--I been a bad woman, Sammy, I--I--oh--"

It was then that Mr. Lipkind tore to the telephone, his hands sofrenzied that they would not properly hold the receiver. 

At eight o'clock, and without even a further word, Mrs. Lipkind breathedout quietly, a little tiredly, and yet so eloquent of eye. To her son, pleading there beside her for the life she had not left to give, it wasas if the swollen bosom of some stream were carrying her rapidly butgently down its surface, her gaze back at him and begging him to staythe current. 

"Mamma! Darling! Doctor--please--for God's sakes--please--she wantssomething---she can't say it--give it to her! Try to make her tell mewhat she wants--she wants something--this is terrible--don't let herwant something--mamma--just one word to me--try--try--O myGod--Doctor--"

A black arm then reached down to withdraw him from the glazed starewhich had begun to set in from the pillow. 

By ten o'clock a light snow had set in, blowing almost horizontallyacross the window-pane. He sat his second hour there in a rather forwardhuddle beside the drawn shade of that window, the _sotto-voce_ comingsand goings, all the black-coated _parvenus_ that follow the wake ofdeath, moving about him. A clock shaped like a pilot's wheel, a boyhoodproperty which had marked the time of twenty years, finally chimed thethin, tin stroke of eleven and after a swimming, nebulous interval, twelve. He glanced up each time with his swollen eyes, and then almostautomatically out to the wall telephone in the hall opposite the opendoor. But he did not move. In fact, for two more hours sat thereimpervious to proffered warmth of word or deed. Meanwhile, the snowbehind the drawn shade had turned to rain that beat and washedagainst the pane. 

Just so the iciness that had locked Samuel Lipkind seemed suddenly tomelt in a tornado of sobs that swept him, felled him into a prostrationof the terrible tears that men weep. 

At a training-camp--somewhere--from his side of a tent that had flappedlike a captive wing all through a wind-swept night, Lieutenant Lipkindstirred rather painfully for a final snuggle into the crotch of an elbowthat was stiff with chill and night damp. 

Out over the peaked city that had been pitched rather than built, and onbeyond over the frozen stubble of fields, sounded the bugle-cry of thereveille, which shrills so potently:

 I can't get 'em up; I can't get 'em up; I can't get 'em up in the morn--ing!

EVEN AS YOU AND I

There is an intensity about September noonday on Coney Island, aided andabetted by tin roofs, metallic façades, gilt domes, looking-glassfronts, jeweled spires, screaming peanut and frankfurter-stands, whichhas not its peculiar kind of equal this side of opalescent Tangiers. Here the sea air can become a sort of hot camphor-ice to the cheek, thesea itself a percolator, boiling up against a glass surface. Beneath thetin roofs of Ocean Avenue the indoor heat takes on the kind of intensedensity that is cotton in the mouth and ringing in the ears. 

At one o'clock the jibberwock exteriors of Ocean Avenue begin fantasticsigns of life. The House of Folly breaks out, over its entire façade, into a chicken-pox of red and green, blue and purple, yellow, violet, and gold electric bulbs. The Ocean Waves concession begins itsside-splitting undulations. Maha Mahadra, India's foremost soothsayer(down in police, divorce, and night courts as Mamie Jones, May Costello, and Mabel Brown, respectively), loops back her spangled portière. TheBaby Incubator slides open its ticket-windows. Five carousals begin towhang. A row of hula-hula girls in paper necklaces appears outside of"Hawaii, " gelatinously naughty and insinuating of hip. There begins arazzling of the razzle-dazzle. Shooting-galleries begin to snipe intothe glittering noon, and the smell of hot spiced sausages and stale maltto lay on the air. 

Before the Palace of Freaks, a barker slanted up his megaphone, bayingto the sun:

"Y-e-a-o-u! Y-e-a-o-u! The greatest show on the Island! Ten cents to seethe greatest freak congress in the world. Shapiro's freaks are gatheredfrom every corner of the universe. Enter and shake hands with Baron deRoss, the children's delight, the world's smallest human being; age, forty-two years, eight months; height, twenty-eight inches; weight, fourteen and one-half pounds, certified scales. Enter and see theoriginal and only authentic Siamese Twins! The Ossified Man! You arecordially invited to stick pins into this mystery of the whole medicalworld. Jastrow, the world's most famous strong man end glass-eater, willperform his world-startling feats. Show about to begin! Our glass-eatereats glass, not rock candy--any one doubting same can sample it first. We have on view within, and all included in your ten-cents admission, the famous Teenie, absolutely the heaviest woman in captivity. Weguarantee Teenie to tip the certified scales at five hundred andfifty-five, a weight unsurpassed by any of the heavyweights in thehistory of the show business. Come in and fox-trot with Teenie, theworld wonder. Come in and fox-trot with her. Show begins immediately. Y-e-a-o-u! Y-e-a-o-u!"

Within the Palace of Freaks, her platform elevated and railed inagainst the unduly curious, Miss Luella Hoag, all that she was soraucously purported to be, sat back in her chair, as much in theattitude of relaxing as her proportions would permit. 

There is no way in which I can hope to salve your offended estheticismswith any of Miss Hoag's better points. What matters it that her skin wasnot without the rich quality of cream too thick to pour, when her armsfairly dimpled and billowed of this creaminess, and above her rathersmall ankles her made-to-order red-satin shoes bulged over of it, thelow-cut bosom of her red and sequin dress was a terrific expanse of it, her hands small cushions of it, her throat quivery, and her walk awaddle with it. All but her face; it was as if the suet-like inundationof the flesh had not dared here. The chin was only slightly doubled; thecheeks just a shade too plump. Neither was the eye heavy of lid or sunkdown behind a ridge of cheek. Between her eyes and upper lip, Miss Hoaglooked her just-turned twenty; beyond them, she was antediluvian, deluged, smothered beneath the creamy billows and billows of self. 

And yet, sunk there like a flower-seed planted too deeply to push itsway up to bloom, the twenty-year-old heart of Miss Hoag beat beneath itscarbonaceous layer upon layer, even skipped a beat at spring'spalpitating sweetness, dared to dream of love, weep of desire, ache ofloneliness and loveliness. 

Isolated thus by the flesh, the spirit, too, had been caught innature's sebaceous trick upon Miss Hoag. Life had passed her by slimly. But Miss Hoag's redundancy was not all literal. A sixth and saving senseof humor lay like a coating of tallow protecting the surface of her. Fornature's vagary, she was pensioned on life's pay-roll at eighteendollars a week. 

"Easy money, friends, " Miss Hoag would _ad lib_. To the line-up outsideher railing; "how would some of you like to sit back and draw your wagesjust for the color of your hair or the size of your shoes? You there, that sailor boy down there, how'd you like to have a fox-trot withTeenie? Something to tell the Jackies about. Come on, Jack Tar, I'mlight on my feet, but I won't guarantee what I'll be on yours. Step upand have a round. "

Usually the crowd would turn sheepish and dissolve at this Terpischoreanthreat. In fact, it was Miss Hoag's method of accomplishing just that. 

In the August high noon of the Coney Island Freak Palace, which is thetime and scene of my daring to introduce to you the onlyunder-thirty-years, and over-one-hundred-and-thirty-pounds, heroine inthe history of fiction, the megaphone's catch of the day's first dribbleof humanity and inhumanity had not yet begun its staring, gaping invasion. 

A curtain of heat that was almost tangible hung from the glass roof. TheOssified Man, sworn by clause of contact impervious alike to heat andcold, urged his reclining wheel-chair an imperceptible inch toward theneighboring sway of Miss Hoag's palm-leaf. She widened its arc, subtly. 

"Ain't it a fright?" she said. 

"Sacred Mother of the Sacred Child!" said the Ossified Man, in a_patois_ of very south Italy. 

Then Miss Hoag turned to the right, a rail partitioning her from thehighly popular spectacle of the Baron de Ross, christened, married, andto be buried by his nomenclature in disuse, Edwin Ross MacGregor. 

"Hot, honey?"

The Baron, in a toy rocker that easily contained him, turned upon MissHoag a face so anachronistic that the senses reeled back. An old face, as if carved out of a paleolithic cherry-stone; the years furrowed in;the eyes as if they had seen, without marveling, the light of creation;even the hands, braceleted in what might have been portière-rings, leanly prehensile. When the Baron spoke, his voice was not unlike themiddle C of an old harpsichord whose wires long since had rusted anddied. He was frock-coated like a clergyman or a park statue ofa patriot. 

Of face, a Chaldean sire; of dress, a miniature apotheosis of thetailor's art; of form, a paleolithic child. 

"Blow me to a ice-cream cone? Gowann, Teenie, have a heart!"

Miss Hoag billowed into silent laughter. "Little devil! That's sixyou've sponged off me this week, you little whipper-snapper!"

The Baron screwed up into the tightest of grimaces. 

"Nice Teenie--nice old Teenie!"

She tossed him a coin from the small saucerful of them on the tablebeside her. He caught it with the simian agility of his tiny hands. 

"Nice Teenie! Nice old Teenie!"

A first group had strolled up, indolent and insolent at the spectacle ofthem. 

"Photographs! Photographs! Take the folks back home a signed photographof Teenie--only ten cents, one dime. Give the kiddies a treat--signedphotograph of little Teenie!"

She would solicit thus, canorous of phrase, a fan of her cardboardlikenesses held out, invitational. 

Occasionally there were sales, the coins rattling down into the chinasaucer beside her; oftener a mere bombardment of insolence andindolence, occasionally a question. 

This day from a motorman, loitering in uniform between runs, "Say, skinnay, whatcha weigh?"

Whatever of living tissue may have shrunk and quivered deep beneath thesurface of Miss Hoag was further insulated by a certain professionalpride--that of the champion middleweight for his cauliflower ear, of thebeauty for the tiny mole where her neck is whitest, the _ballerina_ forher double joints. 

"Wanna come up and dance with me and find out?"

"O Lord!"--receding from the crowd and its trail of laughter. "O Lord!Excuse me. Good night!"

A CHILD: Missus, is all of you just one lady?

"Bless your heart, little pettie, they gimme a good measure, didn'tthey? Here's a chocolate drop for the little pettie. "

"Come away! Don't take nothing from her!"

"I wouldn't hurt your little girl, lady. I wouldn't harm a pretty hairof her head; I love the kiddies. "

"Good-by, missus. "

"Good-by, little pettie. "

A MAN: Say, was you born in captivity--in this line o' work, I mean?

"Law, no, friend! I never seen the light of the show business up toeight year ago. There wasn't a member of my family, all dead and putaway now, weighed more 'n one-fifty. They say it of my mother, she wasmarried at ninety pounds and died at a hundred and six. "

"You don't say so. "

"I was born and raised on a farm out in Ohio. Bet not far from your partof the country, from the looks of you, friend. Buckeye?"

"Not a bad guess at that--Indiana's mine. "

"Law! to my way of thinking, there's no part of the Union got anythingon the Middle States. Knock me around all you want, I always say, butlet me be buried in the Buckeye State. Photographs? Signed photographsat ten cents each. Take one home to the wife, friend, out in Indiana. Come, friends, what's a dime? Ten cents!"

The crowd, treacle-slow, and swinging its children shoulder-high, wouldshuffle on, pause next at the falsetto exhortations of the Baron, thenon to the collapsibilities of the Boneless Wonder, the flexuosities ofthe Snake-charmer, the goose-fleshing, the terrible crunching of Jastrowthe Granite Jaw. A commotion, this last, not unlike the steam-rollerleveling of a rock road. 

Miss Hoag retired then back to her chair, readjusting the photographsto their table display, wielding her fan largely. 

"Lord!" she said, across the right railing, "wouldn't this weather fryyou!"

The Baron wilted to a mock swoon, his little legs stiffening at ahypotenuse. 

"Ice-cream cone!" he cried. "Ice-cream cone, or I faint!"

"Poor Jastrow! Just listen to him! Honest, that grinding goes rightthrough me. He hadn't ought to be showing to-day, after the way they hadto have the doctor in on him last night. He hadn't ought to be eatingthat nasty glass. "

"Ain't it awful, Mabel!"

"Yes, it's awful, Mabel! A fellow snagging up his insides like Jastrow. I never knew a glass-eating artist in my life that lived to old age. Iwas showing once with a pair of glass-eating sisters, the Twins Delamar, as fine a pair of girls as ever--"

"Sure, the Delamars--I know 'em. "

"Remember the specialty they carried, stepping on a piece of plate glassand feeding each other with the grounds--"

"Sure. "

"Well, I sat up for three weeks running, with one of them girls--thered-haired one, till she died off of sorosis of the liver--"

"Sure enough--Lizzie Delamar!"

"Lida, the other one, is still carrying the act on street-fair time, butit won't surprise me to hear of her next. That's what'll happen toGranite Jaw one of these days, too, if he--"

"Pretty soft on the Granite Jaw, ain't cha? M-m-n! Yum-yum! Prettysoft!" When the Baron mouthed he became in expression Punchinello withhis finger alongside his nose, his face tightening and knotting intocunning. "Pretty soft on the Granite Jaw! Yum--yum--yum!"

"Little devil! Little devil! I'll catch you and spank you to death. "

"Yum! Yum!"

 "It's better to have loved a short man Than never to have loved atall. "

"Little peewee, you! Jastrow ain't short. Them thick, strong-necked kindnever look their height. That boy is five feet two, if he's an inch. Them stocky ones is the build that make the strong kind. Looka him liftup that cannon-ball with just his left hand. B-r-r-r-r! Listen how itshakes the place when he lets its fall! Looka! Honest, it makes me sick!It's a wonder he don't kill himself. "

 "Better to have loved a short man Than never to have loved atall. "

The day, sun-riddled, stare-riddled, sawdusty, and white with glare, slouched into the clanging, banging, electric-pianoed, electrifyingBabylonia of a Coney Island Saturday night. The erupting lava of apent-up work-a-week, odoriferous of strong foods and wilted clothing, poured hotly down that boulevard of the bourgeoise, Ocean Avenue. Theslow, thick cir culation of six days of pants-pressing andboiler-making, of cigarette-rolling and typewriting, ofmachine-operating and truck-driving, of third-floor-backs, congestionand indigestion, of depression and suppression, demanding the spuriouskind of excitation that can whip the blood to foam. The terrificgyration of looping the loop. The comet-tail plunge of shooting thechutes; the rocketing skyward, and the delicious madness at the pit ofthe stomach on the downward swoop. The bead on the apple juice, the dashof mustard to the frankfurter, the feather tickler in the eye, thebarker to the ear, and the thick festival-flavored sawdust to thethroat. By eleven o'clock the Freak Palace was a gelatinous congestionof the quickened of heart, of blood, of tongue, and of purse. The crowdstared, gaped, squirmed through itself, sweated. 

By twelve o'clock, from her benchlike throne that had become astraitjacket to the back, a heaviness had set in that seemed to thickenMiss Hoag's eyelids, the flush receding before doughiness. 

A weary mountain of the cruelly enhancing red silk and melting sequinpaste, the billowy arms inundated with the thumb-deep dimples lax outalong the chair-sides, as preponderous and preposterous a heroine asever fell the lot of scribe, she was nature's huge joke--a practicaljoke, too, at eighteen dollars a week, bank-books from three trustcompanies, and a china pig about ready to burst. 

"Cheer up, Ossi! It might be worse, " she said across the left rail, buther lids twitching involuntarily of tiredness. 

"Sacred Mother of the Sacred Child!" said the Ossified Man, in Italian. 

The sword-swallower, at the megaphone instance of the barker, waggledsuddenly into motion, and, flouncing back her bushy knee-skirts andkissing to the four winds, threw back her head and swallowed aneighteen-inch carpenter's saw to the hilt. The crowd flowed up andaround her. 

Miss Hoag felt on the undershelf of her table for a glass of water, draining it. "Thank God, " she said, "another day done!" and begangetting together her photographs into a neat packet, tilting thecontents of the saucer into a small biscuit-tin and snapping it aroundwith a rubber band. 

The Baron de Ross was counting, too, his small hands eager at the task. "This Island is getting as hard-boiled as an egg, " he said. 

"It is that, " said Miss Hoag, making a pencil insert into a smallmemorandum-book. 

"You!" cried the Baron, the screw lines out again. "You money-bag tiedin the middle! I know a tattooed girl worked with you once on the St. Louis World's Fair Pike says you slept on a pillow stuffed withgreenbacks. "

"You're crazy with the heat, " said Miss Hoag. "What I've got out of thisbusiness, I've sweated for. "

Then the Baron de Ross executed a pirouette of tiny self. "Worth yourweight in gold! Worth your weight in gold!"

"If you don't behave yourself, you little peewee, I'll leave you to plowhome through the sand alone. If it wasn't for me playing nurse-girl toyou, you'd have to be hiring a keeper. You better behave. "

"Worth your weight in gold! Blow us to a ice-cream cone. Eh, Ossi?"

The crowd had sifted out; all but one of the center aisle of grillarc-lights flickered out, leaving the Freak Palace to a spluttering kindof gloom. The Snake-charmer, of a thousand iridescencies, wound the lastof her devitalized cobras down into its painted chest. The Siamese Twinsuntwisted out of their embrace and went each his way. The PrincessAlbino wove her cotton hair into a plait, finishing it with a rapidlywound bit of thread. An attendant trundled the Ossified Man through arear door. Jastrow the Granite Jaw flopped on his derby, slightly askew, and strolled over toward that same door, hands in pocket. He was thewedlike an ox. Short and as squattily packed down as a Buddha, the greatsinews of his strength bulged in his short neck and in the backs of thecalves of his legs, even rippled beneath his coat. It was as if acompress had reduced him from great height down to his tightestcompactness, concentrating the strength of him. Even in repose, theundershot jaw was plunged forward, the jowls bonily defined. 

"Worth her weight in gold! Blow us to a ice-cream cone. Eh, Jastrow?She's worth her weight in gold. "

Passing within reach of where the Baron de Ross danced to his ditty ofreiteration, Jastrow the Granite Jaw reached up and in through the rail, capturing one of the jiggling ankles, elevating the figure of the Baronde Ross to a high-flung torch. 

"Lay off that noise, " said Jastrow the Granite Jaw, threatening todangle him head downward. "Lay off, or I'll drown you like a kitten!"

With an agility that could have swung him from bough to bough, the Baronde Ross somersaulted astride the rear of Jastrow the Granite Jaw's greatneck, pounding little futile fists against the bulwark of head. 

"Leggo me! Leggo!"

"Gr-r-r-r! I'll step on you and squash you like a caterpillar. "

"Don't hurt him, Mr. Jastrow! Don't let him fall off backwards. He is solittle. Teenie'll catch you if you fall, honey. Teenie's here in backof you. "

With another double twist, the Baron de Ross somersaulted backward offthe shoulder of his captor, landing upright in the outstretched skirtsof Miss Hoag. 

"Yah, yah!" he cried, dancing in the net of skirt and waggling his handsfrom his ears. "Yah, yah!"

The Granite Jaw smoothed down the outraged rear of his head, eyesrolling and smile terrible. 

"Wow!" he said, making a false feint toward him. 

The Baron, shrill with hysteria, plunged into a fold of Miss Hoag'sskirt. 

"Don't hurt him, Jastrow. He's so awful little! Don't play rough. "

THE BARON (_projecting his face around a fold of skirt_): Worth herweight in go-uld--go-uld!

"He's always guying me for my saving ways, Jastrow. I tell him I 'ain'tgot no little twenty-eight-inch wife out in San Francisco sending mepin-money. Neither am I the prize little grafter of the world. I tellhim he's the littlest man and the biggest grafter in this show. Come outof there, you little devil! He thinks because I got a few hundreddollars laid by I'm a bigger freak than the one I get paid for being. "

Jastrow the Granite Jaw flung the crook of his walking-stick against hiship, leaning into it, the flanges of his nostrils widening a bit, asif scenting. 

"You old mountain-top, " he said, screwing at the up-curving mustache, "who'd have thought you had that pretty a penny saved?"

"I don't look to see myself live and die in the show business, Mr. Jastrow. "

"Now you said something, Big Tent. "

"There's a farm out near Xenia, Ohio, where I lay up in winter, that I'mgoing to own for myself one of these days. I've seen too many in thisbusiness die right in exhibition, and the show have to chip in to bury'em, for me not to save up against a rainy day. "

"Lay it on, Big Tent. I like your philosophy. "

"That's me every time, Mr. Jastrow. I'm going to die in a littlestory-and-a-half frame house of my own with a cute little pointy roof, apotato-patch right up to my back steps, and my own white Leghornscrossin' my own country road to get to the other side. Why, I know a Fatin this business, Aggie Lament--"

"Sure, me and the Baroness played Mexico City Carnival with AggieLament. Some heavy!"

"Well, that girl, in her day, was one of the biggest tips to the scalethis business ever seen. What happens? All of a sudden, just likethat--pneumonia! Gets up out of bed, eight weeks later, skin and bones--down to three hundred and sixty-five pounds and not a penny saved. Ichipped in what I could to keep her going, but she just down and diedone night. Job gone. No weight. In the exhibit business, just like anyother line, you got to have a long head. A Fat's got to look ahead for athin day. Strong for a weak day. That's why I wish, Mr. Jastrow, you'dcut out that glass-eating feature of yours. "

"How much you got, Airy-Fairy? Lemme double your money for you!"

"She's worth her weight in gold. "

"Lemme double it!"

"Like fun I will. A spendthrift like you!"

"Which way you going?"

"We always go home by the beach. Shapiro made it a rule that the Bigsand Littles can't ever show themselves on Ocean Avenue. "

"Come on, you little flea; I'll ride you up the beach on my shoulder. "

"Oh, Mr. Jastrow, you--you going to walk home with me--and--Baron?"

"Come on was what I said. "

He mounted the Baron de Ross to his bulge of shoulder with veriest toss, Miss Hoag, in a multi-fold cape that was a merciful shroud to the bulkof her, descending from the platform. The place had emptied itself ofits fantastic congress of nature's pranks, only the grotesque print ofit remaining. The painted snake-chests closed. The array of gustatoryswords, each in flannelet slip-cover. The wild man's cage, empty. Thetiny velocipede of the Baron de Ross, upside down against rust. A hallof wonder here. A cave of distorted fancy. The Land of the Cow Jumpedover the Moon and the Dish Ran away with the Spoon. 

Outside, a moon, something bridal in its whiteness, beat down upon akicked-up stretch of beach, the banana-skins, the pop-corn boxes, thegambados of erstwhile revelers violently printed into its sands. Aplatinum-colored sea undulated in. 

The leaping, bounding outline of Luna Park winked out even as theyemerged, the whole violent contortion fading back into silver mist. There was a new breeze, spicily cool. 

Miss Hoag breathed out, "Ain't this something grand?"

"Giddy-ap!" cried the Baron, slappity-slappity at the great boulder ofthe Granite Jaw's head. "Giddy-ap!"

They plowed forward, a group out of Phantasmagoria--as motley athreesome as ever strode this side of the Land of Anesthesia. 

"How do you like it at Mrs. Bostum's boarding-house, Mr. Jastrow? Inever stop anywheres else on the Island. Most of the Shapiro concessionalways stops there. "

"Good as the next, " said Mr. Jastrow, kicking onward. 

"I was sorry to hear you was ailing so last night, Mr. Jastrow, and Iwas sorry there was nothing you would let me do for you. They alwayscall me 'the Doc' around exhibits. I say--but you just ought to heardyourself yell me out of the room when I come in to offer myself--"

"They had me crazy with pain. "

"You wasn't so crazy with pain when the albino girl come down with thebottle of fire-water, was he, Baron? We seen him throwing goo-goos atAlbino, didn't we, Baron?"

THE BARON _(impish in the moonlight)_: He fell for a cotton-top. 

"He didn't yell the albino and her bottle out, did he, Baron?"

"It's this darn business, " said Mr. Jastrow, creating a storm ofsand-spray with each stride. "I'm punctured up like a tire. "

"I been saying to the Baron, Mr. Jastrow, if you'd only cut out theglass-eating feature. You got as fine a appearance and as fine a strongact by itself as you could want. A short fellow like you with all yourmuscle-power is a novelty in himself. Honest, Mr. Jastrow, it--it's asin to see a fine-set-up fellow like you killing yourself this way. Youought to cut out the granite-jaw feature. "

"Yeh--and cut down my act to half-pay. I'd be full of themtricks--wouldn't I? Show me another jaw act measures up to mine. Show methe strong-arm number that ever pulled down the coin a jaw act did. I'dbe a, sweet boob, wouldn't I, to cut my pocket-book in two? I needmoney, Airy-Fairy. My God! how I got the capacity for needing money!"

"What's money to health, Mr. Jastrow? It ain't human or freak nature todigest glass. Honest, every time I hear you crunching I get the chills!"

Then Mr. Jastrow shot forward his lower jaw with a milling motion:

"Gr-r-r-r-r!"

"She's sweet on you, Jastrow, like all the rest of 'em. "

 "Better to have loved a short man Than never to have loved atall. "

"Baron, I--I'll spank!" "Worth her weight in gold!"

"Where you got all that money soaked, Big Tent?" "Aw, Mr. Jastrow, theBaron's only tormenting me. "

"She sleeps on a pillow stuffed with greenbacks. " "Sure I got a fewdollars saved, and I ain't ashamed of it. I've had steady work in thisbusiness eight years, now, ever since the circus came to my town out inOhio and made me the offer, but that's no sign I can be in it eightyears longer. Sure I got a few dollars saved. "

"Well, whatta you know--a big tent like you?"

"Ain't a big tent like me human, Mr. Jastrow? Ain't I--ain't Ijust like any other--girl--twenty years old--ain't I justlike--other--girls--underneath all this?"

"Sure, sure!" said Mr. Jastrow. "How much you to the good, little one?"

"I've about eleven hundred dollars with my bank-books and pig. "

"'Leven hundred! Well, whatta you know about that? Say, Big Tent, betterlemme double your money for you!"

"Aw, you go on, Mr. Jastrow! Ain't you the torment, too?"

"Say, gal, next time I get the misery you can hold my hand as long asyour little heart desires. 'Leven hundred to the good! Good night! Getdown off my shoulder, you little flea, you. I got to turn in here andtake a drink on the strength of that! 'Leven hundred to the good!Good night!"

"Oh, Mr. Jastrow, in your state! In your state alcohol's poison. Mr. Jastrow--please--you mustn't!"

"Blow me, too, Jas! Aw, say--have a heart; blow me to a bracer, too!"

"No, no, Mr. Jastrow, don't take the Baron. The little fellow can'tstand alcohol. His baroness don't want it. Anyways, it's against therules--please--"

"You stay and take the lady home, flea. See the lady home like agentleman. 'Leven hundred to the good! Say, I'd see a lady as far as thedevil on that. Good night!"

 * * * * *

At Mrs. Bostum's boarding-house, one of a row of the stare-facedpacking-cases of the summer city, bathing-suits drying and kicking oververanda rails, a late quiet had fallen, only one window showing yellowlyin the peak of its top story. A white-net screen door was unhooked fromwithout by inserting a hand through a slit in the fabric. An uncarpetedpocket of hall lay deep in absolute blackness. Miss Hoag fumbled for theswitch, finally leaving the Baron to the meager comfort of hisfirst-floor back. 

"Y'all right, honey? Can you reach what you want?"

The Baron clambered to a chair and up to her. His face had unknotted, the turmoil of little lines scattering. 

"Aw!" he said. "Good old tub, Teenie! Good old Big Tent!"

A layer of tears sprang across Miss Hoag's glance and, suddenly gainingrush, ran down over her lashes. She dashed at them. 

"I'm human, Baron. Maybe you don't know it, but I'm human. "

"Now what did I do, Teenie?"

"It--it ain't you, Baron; it--it ain't anybody. It--it's--only I justwonder sometimes what God had in mind, anyways--making our kind. Wheredo we belong--"

"Aw, you're a great Heavy, Teenie--and it's the Bigs and the Littles gotthe cinch in this business. Looka the poor Siamese. How'd you like to behitched up thataway all day. Looka Ossi. How'd you like to let 'em stickpins in you all for their ten cents' worth. Looka poor old Jas. Why, agirl's a fool to waste any heartache gettin' stuck on him. That oldboy's going to wake up out of one of them spells dead some day. How'dyou like to chew glass because it's big money and then drink it up sofast you'd got to borrow money off the albino girl for the doctor'sprescription--"

The tears came now rivuleting down Miss Hoag's cheeks, bouncing off tothe cape. 

"O God!" she said, her hand closing over the Baron's, pressing it. "Withus freaks, even if we win, we lose. Take me. What's the good of tenmillion dollars to me--twenty millions? Last night when I went in tooffer him help--him in the same business and that ought to be used tome--right in the middle of being crazy with pain, what did he yell everytime he looked at me, 'Take her away! Take her away!'"

"Aw now, Teenie, Jas had the D. T. 's last night; he--"

'"Take her away!' he kept yelling. 'Take her away!' One of my own kindgetting the horrors just to look at me!"

"You're sweet on the Granite Jaw; you are, Teenie; that's what's eatingyou--you're sweet on the Granite Jaw--"

Suddenly Miss Hoag turned, slamming the door afterward so that thesilence re-echoed sharply. 

"What if I am?" she said, standing out in the hall pocket of absoluteblackness, her hand cupped against her mouth and the blinding tearsstaggering. "What if I am? What if I am?"

Within her own room, a second-floor-back, augmented slightly by animmaculate layout of pink-celluloid toilet articles and a whitewater-pitcher of three pink carnations, Miss Hoag snapped on her lightwhere it dangled above the celluloid toilet articles. A summer-bug wasbumbling against the ceiling; it dashed itself between Miss Hoag and hermirror, as she stood there breathing from the climb and looking back atherself with salt-bitten eyes, mouth twitching. Finally, after aninanimate period of unseeing stare, she unhooked the long cape, brushingit, and, ever dainty of self, folding it across a chair-back. Avoluminous garment, fold and fold upon itself, but sheer and crispdimity, even streaming a length of pink ribbon, lay across the bed-edge. Miss Hoag took it up, her hand already slowly and tiredly at thebusiness of unfettering herself of the monstrous red silk. 

Came a sudden avalanche of knocking and a rattling of door-knob, thevoice of Mrs. Bostrum. Landlady, high with panic. 

"Teenie! Jastrow's dyin' in his room! He's yellin' for you! For God'ssakes--quick--down in his room!"

In the instant that followed, across the sudden black that blocked MissHoag of vision, there swam a million stars. 

"Teenie! For God's sakes--quick! He's yellin' for you--"

"Coming, Mrs. Bostrum--coming--coming--coming!"

In a dawn that came up as pink as the palm of a babe, but flowed ratherfutilely against the tired, speckled eye of incandescent bulb danglingabove the Granite Jaw's rumpled, tumbled bed of pain, a gray-lookinggroup stood in whispered conference beside a slit of window thatoverlooked a narrow clapboard slit of street. 

THE DOCTOR: Even with recovery, he will be on his back at least sixmonths. 

MISS HOAG: Oh, my God! Doctor!

THE DOCTOR: Has the man means?

THE BARON: Not a penny. He only came to the concession two months agofrom a row with the Flying-Fish Troupe. He's in debt already to halfthe exhibit. 

THE LANDLADY: He's two weeks in arrears. Not that I'm pestering the poordevil now, but Gawd knows I--need--

THE DOCTOR: Any relatives or friends to consult about the operation?

MISS HOAG (_turning and stooping_): 'Ain't you got no relations orfriends, Jastrow? What was it you hollered about the aerial-wonder act?Are they friends of yours? 'Ain't you got no relatives, no--no friends, maybe, that you could stay with awhile? Sid? Who's he? 'Ain't you, Jastrow, got no relations?

The figure under the sheet, pain-huddled, limb-twisted, turned towardthe wall, palm slapping out against it. 

"Hell!" said Jastrow, the Granite Jaw. 

THE DOCTOR (_drawing down his shirt-sleeves_): I'll have an ambulancearound in twenty minutes. 

MISS HOAG: Where for, Doctor?

THE DOCTOR: Brooklyn Public Institute, for the present. 

THE LANDLADY (_apron up over her head_): Poor fellow! Poor handsomefellow!

MISS HOAG: No, Doctor. No! No! No!

THE DOCTOR (_rather tiredly_): Sorry, madam, but there is noalternative. 

MISS HOAG: No, no! I'll pay, Doctor. How much? How much?

THE BARON: Yeh. I'll throw in a tenner myself. Don't throw the poordevil to charity. We'll collect from the troupe. We raised forty dollarsfor a nigger wild man, once when--

THE DOCTOR: Come now; all this is not a drop in the bucket. This manneeds an operation and then constant attention. If he pulls through, itis a question of months. What he actually needs then is country air, fresh milk, eggs, professional nursing, and plenty of it!

Miss HOAG: That's me, Doc! That's me! I'm going to fix just that forhim. I got the means. I can show you three bank-books. I got the meansand a place out in Ohio I can rent 'til I buy it some day. A farm! Freshmilk! Leghorns! I'll take him out there, Doc. Eighty miles from where Iwas born. I was thinking of laying up awhile, anyways. I got the means. I'll pull him through, Doctor. I'll pull him through!

THE BARON: Good God! Teenie--you crazy--

FROM THE BED: Worth her weight in gold. Worth her weight in gold. 

 * * * * *

In the cup of a spring dusk that was filled to overflowing with anineffable sweetness and the rich, loamy odors of turned earth; withrising sap and low mists; with blackening tree-tops and the chitteringof birds--the first lamplight of all the broad and fertile landscapemoved across the window of a story-and-a-half white house which mighthave been either itself or its own outlying barn. A roof, sheer ofslant, dipped down over the window, giving the façade the expression ofa coolie under peaked hat. 

"Great Scott! Move that lamp off the sill! You want to gimme the blindstaggers?"

"I didn't know it was in your eyes, honey. There--that better?"

Silence. 

A parlor hastily improvised into a bedroom came out softly in the glow. A room of matting and marble-topped, bottle-littered walnut table, ofwhite iron hospital-cot and curly horsehair divan, a dapple-marblemantelpiece of conch-shell, medicated gauze, bisque figurines, andhot-water kettle; in the sheerest of dimity, still dainty of ribbon, thefigure of Miss Hoag, hugely, omnipotently omnipresent. 

"That better, Jas?" Silence. "Better? That's good! Now for the boy'ssupper. Beautiful white egg laid by beautiful white hen and all beat upfluffy with sugar to make boy well, eh?"

Emaciated to boniness, the great frame jutting and straining ratherterribly to break through the restraint of too tight flesh, Mr. Jastrowrose to his elbow, jaw-lines sullen. 

"Cut out that baby talk and get me a swig, Teenie. Get me a drink beforeI get ugly. "

"Oh, Jastrow honey, don't begin that. Please, Jastrow, don't beginthat. You been so good all day, honey--"

"Get me a swig, " he repeated through set teeth. "You and a boob countryquack of a doctor ain't going to own my soul. I'll bust up the placeagain. I ain't all dead yet. Get me a swig--quick, too. "

"Jas, there ain't none. "

"There is!"

"That's just for to whip up five drops at a time with your medicine. That's medicine, Jas; it ain't to be took like drink. You know what thedoc said last time. He ain't responsible if you disobey. Iain't--neither. Please, Jas!"

"I know a thing or two about the deal I'm getting around here. No quackboob is going to own my soul. "

"Ain't it enough the way you nearly died last time, Jas? Honest, didn'tthat teach you a lesson? Be good, Jas. Don't scare poor old Teenie allalone here with you. Looka out there through the door. Ain't itsomething grand? Honest, Jas, I just never get tired looking. See themlow little hills out there. I always say they look like chiffon thistime of evening. Don't they? Just looka the whole fields out there, sostill--like--like a old horse standing up dozing. Smell! Listen to thelittle birds! Ain't we happy out here, me and my boy that's gettingwell so fine?"

Then Jastrow the Granite Jaw began to whimper, half-moans engendered byweakness. "Put me out of my misery. Shoot!"

"Jas--Jas--ain't that just an awful way for you to talk? Ain't thatjust terrible to say to your poor old Big Tent?"

She smoothed out his pillow, and drew out his cot on ready casters, closer toward the open door. 

"See, Jas--honest, can you ever get enough of how beautiful it is? WhenI was a kid on my pap's farm out there, eighty miles beyond the ridge, instead of playing with the kids that used to torment me because I was aheavy, I just used to lay out evenings like this on a hay-rack orsomething and look and look and look. There's something about this softkind of scenery that a person that's born in it never gets tired of. Why, I've exhibited out in California right under the nose of thehighest kind of mountains; but gimme the little scenery every time. "

"I'm a lump--that's what I am. Nine months of laying. I'm a lump--on awoman, too. "

"Why, Jas, Teenie's proud to have you on--on her. 'Ain't we got plansfor each other after--you get well? Why, half the time I'm just inheaven over that. That's why, honey, if only you won't let yourself getsetbacks! That's all the doctor says is between you and getting well. That's all that keeps you down, Jas, you scaring me and making me goagainst the doctor's orders. Last week your eating that steak--thatdrink you stole--ain't you ashamed to have got out of bed that way andbroke the lock? You--you mustn't ever again, Jas, make me go againstthe doctor. "

"I gets crazy. Crazy with laying. "

"Just think, Jas; here I've drew out my last six hundred, ready to makefirst payment down on the place and us all ready to begin to farm it. Ain't that worth holding yourself in for? It wouldn't be right, Jas; itwould be something terrible if we had to break into that six hundred formedicine and doctors. I don't know what to make of you, honey, all thosemonths so quiet and behaved on your back, and, now that you're gettingwell, the--the old liquor-thirst setting in. We never will get our startthat way, Jas. We got plans, if you don't hinder your poor Teenie. Thedoctor told me, honey--honest, he did--one of them spells--from liquorcould--could take you off just like that. Even getting well the wayyou are!"

"I'm a lump; that's what I am. "

"You ain't, Jas; you're just everything in the world. "

"Sponging off a woman!"

"'Sponging'! With our own little farm and us farming it to pay it off! Ilike that!"

"Gimme a swig, Teenie. For God's sake gimme a swig!"

"Jas--Jas, if you get to cutting up again, I'm going to get me aman-nurse out here--honest I am!"

"A swig, Teenie. "

"Please, Jas--it's only for bad spells--five drops mixed up in yourmedicine. That's six dollars a bottle, Jas, and only for bad spells. "

"Stingy gut!"

"Looka down there, honey--there's old man Wyncoop's cow broke tetheragain. What you bet he's out looking for her. See her winding upthe road. "

"Stingy gut!"

"You know I ain't stingy. If the doctor didn't forbid, I'd buy you tenbottles, I would, if it cost twenty a bottle. I'm trying to do what thedoctor says is best, Jas. "

"'Best'! I know what's best. A few dollars in my pocket for me to bossover and buy me the things I need is what's best. I'm a man born tohaving money in his pocket. I'm none of your mollycoddles. "

"Sure you ain't! Haven't you got over ninety dollars under your pillowthis minute? 'Ain't the boy got all the spending-money he wants andnowheres to spend it? Ain't that a good one, Jas? All the spending-moneyhe wants and nowheres to spend it. Next thing the boy knows, he's goingto be working the farm and sticky with money. Ain't it wonderful, Jas, never no showing for us again? God! ain't that just wonderful?"

He reached up then to stroke her hand, a short pincushion of a hand, white enough, but amazingly inundated with dimples. 

"Nice old Big Tent!"

"That's the way, honey! Honest, when you get one of your nice spells, your poor old Teenie would do just anything for you. "

"I get crazy with pain. It makes me ugly. "

"I know, Jas--I know--anyway, you fix it, honey. I 'ain't got a kickcoming--a--tub like me to have--you. "

She loomed behind his cot, carefully out of his range of vision, her owngaze out across the drowsing countryside. A veil of haze was beginningto thicken, whole schools of crickets whirring into it, "If--if not for one thing, Jas, you know--you know what? I think if aperson was any happier than me, she--she'd die. "

"Let's play I'm Rockefeller laying on his country estate, Teenie. Comeon; let's kid ourselves along. Gimme the six hundred, Teenie--"

"Why don't you ask me, Jas, except for what I'd be the happiest girl?Well, it's this. If only I could wear a cloak so when I got in it youcouldn't see me! If only I never had to walk in front of you so--so yougot to look at me!"

"You been a good gal to me, Big Tent. I never even look twice atyou--that's how used a fellow can get to anything. I'm going to squareit up with you, too. "

"You mean it's me will square it with you, Jas--you see if I don't. Why, there'll be nothing too much for me to do to make up for the happinesswe're going to have, Jas. I'm going to make this the kinda little homeyou read about in the magazines. Tear out all this old rented junkfurniture, paint it up white after we got the six hundred paid down andthe money beginning to come in. I'm even going to fix up the littletrap-door room in the attic, so that if the Baron or any of the oldexhibit crowd happens to be showing in Xenia or around, they can visitus. Just think, Jas--a spare room for the old crowd. Honest, it's funny, but there's not one thing scares me about all these months on the placealone here, Jas, now that we bought the gun, except the nightmaressometimes that we--we're back exhibiting. That's why I want to keep openhouse for them that ain't as lucky as us. Honest, Jas--I--I just can'tthink it's real, not, anyways, till we've paid down six hundred and--thefellow you keep joking about that wears his collar wrong side 'forecomes out from Xenia to read the ceremony. Oh, Jas, I--I'll make itsquare with you. You'll never have a sorry day for it!"

"You're all right, Big Tent, " said the Granite Jaw, lying back suddenly, lips twitching. 

"Ain't you feeling well, honey? Let me fix you an egg?"

"A little swig, Teenie--a little one, is all I ask. "

"No, no--please, Jastrow; don't begin--just as I had you forgetting. "

"It does me good, I tell you. I know my constitution better than a quackcountry boob does. I'm a freak, I am--a prize concession that has to betreated special. Since that last swig, I tell you, I been a differentman. I need the strength. I got to have a little in my system. I'm afreak, I tell you. Everybody knows there's nothing like a swig forstrength. "

"Not for you! It's poison, Jas, so much poison! Don't you remember whatthey said to you after the operation? All your life you got to watchout--just the little prescribed for you is all your system has got tohave. Wouldn't I give it to you otherwise--wouldn't I?"

"Swig, Teenie! Honest to God, just a swig!"

"No, no, Jas! No, no, no!"

Suddenly Jastrow the Granite Jaw drew down his lips to a snarl, hishands clutching into the coverlet and drawing it up off his feet. 

"Gimme!" he said. "I've done it before and I'll do it now--smash up theplace! Gimme! You're getting me crazy! This time you got me crazy. Gimme--you hear--gimme!"

"Jas--for God's sakes--no--no!"

"Gimme! By God! you hear--gimme!" There was a wrenching movement of hisbody, a fumbling beneath the pillow, and Mr. Jastrow suddenly heldforth, in crouched attitude of cunning, something cold, somethingglittering, something steel. 

"Now, " he said, head jutting forward, and through shut teeth--"nowgimme, or by God--"

"Jas--Jas--for God's sake have you gone crazy? Where'd you get that gun?Is that where I heard you sneaking this morning--over to my trunk for mywatch-dog? Gimme that gun--Jas! You--you're crazy--Jas!"

"You gimme, was what I said, and gimme quick! You see this thingpointing? Well, gimme quick. "

"Jas--"

"Don't 'Jas' me. I'm ugly this time, and when I'm ugly _I'm ugly!_"

"All right! All right! Only, for God's sakes, Jas, don't get out of bed, don't get crazy enough to shoot that thing. I'll get it. Wait, Jastrow;it's all right, you're all right. I'll get it. See, Teenie's going. Wait--wait--Teenie's going--"

She edged out and she edged in, hysteria audible in her breathing. 

"Jas honey, won't you please--"

"Gimme, was what I said--gimme and quick!"

Her arm under his head, the glass tilted high against his teeth, hedrank deeply, gratefully, breathing out finally and lying back againsthis pillow, his right hand uncurling of its clutch. 

She lifted the short-snouted, wide-barreled, and steely object off thebed-edge gingerly, tremblingly. 

"More like it, " he said, running his tongue around his mouth; "more likeit. "

"Jas--Jas, what have you done?"

"Great stuff! Great stuff!" He kept repeating. 

"If--if you wasn't so sick, honey--I don't know what I'd do after such aterrible thing like this--you acting like this--so terrible--God! I--I'mall trembling. "

"Great stuff!" he said, and reaching out and eyes still closed, pattingher. "Great stuff, nice old Big Tent!"

"Try to sleep now, Jas. You musta had a spell of craziness! This isawful! Try to sleep. If only you don't get a spell--Sleep--please!"

"You wait! Guy with the collar on wrong side round--he's the one; he'sthe one!"

"Yes--yes, honey. Try to sleep!"

"I wanna dream I'm Rockefeller. If there's one thing I want to dream, it's Rockefeller. "

"Not now--not now--"

"Lemme go to sleep like a king. "

"Yes, honey. "

"Like a king, " I said. 

She slid her hand finally into one of the voluminous folds of herdress, withdrawing and placing a rubber-bound roll into his hands. 

"There, honey. Go to sleep now--like a king. "

He fingered it, finally sitting up to count, leaning forward to the ringof lamplight. 

"Six hundred bucks! Six hundred! Wow--oh, wow! If Sid could only see menow!"

"He can, honey--he can. Go to sleep. 'Sh-h-h-h!'"

"Slide 'em under--slide 'em under--Rockefeller. "

She lifted his head, placing the small wad beneath. He turned over, cupping his hand in his cheek, breathing outward deeply, very deeply. 

"Jas!"

"Huh?"

"Ain't you all right? You're breathing so hard. Quit breathing so hard. It scares me. Quit making those funny noises. Honey--for God'ssake--quit!"

Jastrow the Granite Jaw did quit, so suddenly, so completely, his faceturned outward toward the purpling meadows, and his mouth slightlyopen, that a mirror held finally and frantically against it did not somuch as cloud. 

At nine o'clock there drew up outside the coolie-faced house one ofthose small tin motor-cars which are tiny mile-scavengers to the countryroad. With a thridding of engine and a play of lamps which turned greenlandscape, gray, it drew up short, a rattling at the screen doorfollowing almost immediately. 

"Doctor, that you? O my God! Doctor, it's too late! It's all over, Doctor--Doctor--it's all over!" Trembling in a frenzy of haste, MissHoag drew back the door, the room behind her flickering with shadowsfrom an uneven wick. 

"You're the Fat, ain't you? The one that's keeping him?"

"What--what--"

"So you're the meal-ticket! Say, leave it to Will, Leave it to that boynot to get lost in this world. Ain't it like him to the T to pick agood-natured Fat?"

There entered into Miss Hoag's front room Miss Sidonia Sabrina, of theFlying-Fish Troupe, World's Aeronaut Trapeze Wonder, gloved andringleted, beaded of eyelash and pink of ear-lobe, the teeth somewhatcrookedly, but pearlily white because the lips were so red, the parasollong and impudently parrot-handled, gilt mesh bag clanking against acluster of sister baubles. 

"If it ain't Will to the T! Pickin' hisself a Fat to sponge on. Can youbeat it? M-m! Was you the Fat in the Coney concession?"

"Who--Whatta you--want?"

"We was playin' the Zadalia County Fair. I heard he was on his back. TheLittle in our show, Baroness de Ross, has a husband played Coney withyouse. Where is he? Tell him his little Sid is here. Was his little Sidfool enough to beat it all the way over here in a flivver for eightbucks the round trip? She was! Where is he?"

"He--Who--You--"

"You're one of them good-natured simps, ain't you? So was I, dearie. Itdon't pay! I always said of Will he could bleed a sour pickle. Where ishe? Tell him his little Sid is here with thirty minutes before she meetsup with the show on the ten-forty, when it shoots through Xenia. Tellhim she was fool enough to come because he's flat on his back. "

"I--That's him--Jastrow--there--O my God--that's him laying there, miss! Who are you? Sid--I thought--I never knew--Who are you? Ithought it was Doc. He went off in a flash. I was standing right here--I--O God!"

There seemed to come suddenly over the sibilant Miss Sidonia Sabrina aquieting down, a lessening of twinkle and shimmer and swish. She movedslowly toward the huddle on the cot, parasol leading, and her handscrossed atop the parrot. 

"My God!" she said. "Will dead! Will dead! I musta had a hunch. God! Imusta! All of a sudden I makes up my mind. I jumps ahead of the show. God! I musta had one of my hunches. That lookin'-glass I broke inDayton. I--I musta!"

"It come so sudden, miss. It's a wonder I didn't die, too, right on thespot. I was standing here and--"

Suddenly, Miss Sabrina fumbled in the gilt mesh bag for her kerchief, her face lifting to cry. 

"He spun me dirt, Will did. If ever a girl was spun dirt, that girl wasme, but just the same it--it's my husband laying there--it's my husband, no matter what dirt he spun me. O God--O--O--"

At half after ten to a powdering of eye-sockets, a touching up withlip-stick, a readjustment of three-tiered hat, Miss Sidonia Sabrina tookleave. There were still streaks showing through her retouched cheeks. 

"I left you the collar-and-cuff box with his initials on, dearie, for aremembrance. I give it to him the first Christmas after we was married, before he got to developing rough. I been through his things now entire. I got 'em all with me. If there's such a thing as a recordin' angel, you'll go down on the book. Will was a bad lot, but he's done with itnow, dearie. I never seen the roughness crop up in a man so sudden theway it did in Will. You can imagine, dearie, when the men in the troupehorsewhipped him one night for the way he lit in on me one night indrink. That was the night he quit. O Gawd! maybe I don't look it, dearie, but I been through the mill in my day. But that's all over now, him layin' there--my husband. Will was a good Strong in his day--nobodycan't ever take that away from him. I'm leavin' you the funeral moneyout of what he had under his pillow. It's a godsend to me my husbandlayin' up that few hundred when things ain't so good with me. You was agood influence, dearie. I never knew him to save a cent. I'd never havethought it. Not a cent from him all these months. My legs for theair-work ain't what they used to be. Inflammatory rheumatism, y'know. I've got a mind to buy me a farm, too, dearie. Settle down. Say, I gotto hand it to you, dearie--you're one fine Fat. Baby Ella herself hadnothin' on you, and I've worked with as fine Fats as there is in thebusiness. You're sure one fine Fat, and if there's such a thing as arecordin' angel--I got to catch that train, dearie--the chauff'shonkin'--no grandmother stories goes with my concession. God, to thinkof Will layin' on a cool six hundred! Here's twenty-five for thefuneral. If it's more, lemme know. Sidonia Sabrina, care Flying-FishTroupe, State Fair, Butler County, Ohio. Good-by, dearie, and Godbless you!"

Long after the thridding of engine had died down, and the purple quietflowed over the path of twin lamplights, Miss Hoag stood in herhalf-open screen door, gazing after. There were no tears in her eyes;indeed, on the contrary, the echo of the chugg-chugging which still layon the air had taken on this rhythm:

 Better to have loved a short man Than never to have loved atall. 

 Better to have loved a short man Than never to have loved atall. 

THE WRONG PEW

For six midnights of the week, on the roof of the Moncrieff Frolic, grape-wreathed and with the ecstatic quivering of the flesh that isAsia's, Folly, robed in veils, lifts her carmined lips to be kissed, andBacchus, whose pot-belly has made him unloved of fair women, raises hisperpetual goblet and drinks that he may not weep. 

On the stroke of twelve, when on stretches of prairie the invisiblejoinder of night and day is a majestic thing, the MoncrieffFollies--twenty-four of them, not counting two specialty acts and a pairof whistling Pierrots--burst forth into frolic with a terrific candleand rhinestone power. 

Saint Geneviève, who loved so to brood over the enigmatic roofs of thecity, would have here found pause. Within the golden inclosure of theMoncrieff Roof, a ceiling canopied in deep waves of burnt-orange velvetcunningly concealed, yet disclosed, amber light, the color of wine inthe pouring. Behind burnt-orange portières of great length and greatdepth of nap, the Twenty-Four Follies, each tempered like a knife edge, stood identically poised for the first clash of Negroid music from aNegroid orchestra. 

At a box-office built to imitate a sedan chair--Louis Quinze withoutand Louis Slupsky within--Million-Dollar Jimmie Cox, of a hundredhundred Broadway all-nights; the Success Shirt Waist Company, incorporated, entertaining the Keokuk Emporium; the newest husband ofthe oldest prima donna; and Mr. Herman Loeb, of Kahn, Loeb & Schulien, St. Louis, waited in line for the privilege of ordering _à la carte_from the most _à la mode_ menu in Oh-là-là, New York. 

The line grew, eighty emptying theaters fifteen stories below, sendingeach its trickle toward the Midnight Frolic--men too tired to sleep, women with slim, syncopated hips, and eyes none too nice. The smell offur and fragrant powder on warm flesh began to rise on a fog of bestHavana smoke. At the elevators women dropped out of their cloaks and, inthe bustle of checking, stood by, not unconscious of the damask finishto bare shoulders. 

When Mr. Herman Loeb detached himself from the human tape-line beforethe box-office, the firm and not easily discomposed lines of his facehad fallen into loose curves, the lower lip thrust forward and theeyebrows upward. Sheep and men in their least admirable moments havethat same trick of face. He rejoined his companion, two slips ofcardboard well up in the cup of his palm. 

"Good seats, Herman?"

"I ask you, Sam, is it an outrage? Twenty bucks for a table on theside!"

"No!"

"Is that highway robbery or not, I ask you!"

Mr. Samuel Kahn hitched at his belt, an indication of mental ferment. 

"I wouldn't live in this town, not if you gave it to me!"

"It's not the money, Sam. What's twenty dollars more or less on abusiness trip, and New-Year's Eve at that? But it's the principle of thething. I hate to be made a good thing of!"

"Twenty bucks!"

"Yes, and like he was doing me a favor, that Louis Slups kyin thebox-office who used to take tickets in our Olympic at home. Somebody atthe last minute let go of his reservation or we couldn't have gota table. "

"Twenty bucks, and we got to feel honored yet that they let us sit at atable to buy a dinner! But say, Herm, it's a great sight, ain't it?"

"There's only one little old New York! Got to hand it to thistown--they're a gang of cut-throats, but they do things up brown. Alittle of it goes a long ways, but I always say a trip to New York isn'tcomplete without a night at the Moncrieff Roof. You sit here, Sam, facing the stage. "

"No, you! An old bachelor has got the right to sit closer to a girl-showthan a married man. "

They drew up before a small table edging a shining area of reservedfloor space and only once removed from the burnt-orange curtains. 

"A-ha!" exuded Mr. Samuel Kahn, his rather strongly aquiline face liftedin profile. 

"A-ha!" exuded Mr. Loeb, smiling out of eyes ten years younger. 

"What'll you have, Sam?"

"Say, what's the difference? I'll take a cheese sandwich and a glass ofbeer. "

"Now cut that! Maybe I squealed about the twenty bucks, but that don'tmake me out a short skate. This isn't Cherokee Garden at home, man. I'mgoing to blow my brother-in-law to New-Year's Eve in my own way, or knowthe reason why not. Here, waiter, a pint of extra dry and a layout ofsandwiches. "

"If you can stand it, I guess I can!"

"It's not on the firm, either, Sam; it's on me!"

"For the price of to-night ma and Etta would hang themselves, ain't it?"

"Say, we only live once. I always tell ma she can't take it with herwhen she goes. Anyways, for the discount we got on those Adler sportskirts, we can afford to celebrate. "

"Say, Herman, I wish I had a dime for every dollar that is spent up hereto-night. Look at the women! I guess American men don't make queens outof their wives!"

"For every wife who's up here to-night I wouldn't take the trouble tocollect the dimes, " said Mr. Loeb, with cunning distinction. 

"I guess that ain't all wrong, neither. It isn't such a pleasure to beaway from your family New-Year's Eve, but I can assure you I'd ratherhave Etta having her celebration with ma and grandma, and maybe theBambergers over at the house, than up here where even a married womancan blush to be. "

"Take it from me, old man, a flannel petticoat in the family is worthall the ballet skirts on this roof put together. "

"I bought ma and Etta each one of them handbags to-day at Lauer's fornine dollars. What they don't know about the price won't hurt them. Twofor nine I'll tell them. "

"To this day ma believes that five-hundred-dollar bar pin I brought hertwo years ago from Pittsburgh cost fifty at auction. "

"There's Moe Marx from Kansas City just coming in! Spy the blonde he'swith, will you? I guess Moe is used to that from home, nix! There's afirm, Marx-Jastrow, made a mint last year. "

"Look!"

The lights had sunk down, the sea of faces receding into fog. The buzzdied, too, and doors were swung against the steady shuffle of incomers. From behind the curtains a chime tonged roundly and in one key. One--two--three--four--five--six--seven--eight--nine--ten--eleven--twelve!

Then the orange curtains parted and on a gilded dais the width of theroom, in startling relief against a purple circle the size of a towerclock, the Old Year, hoar on his beard and with limbs that shivered inan attitude of abdication, held out an hourglass to a pink-legged cherubwith a gold band in his or her short curls. 

A shout went up and a great clanging of forks against frail glass, thepop of corks and the quick fizz ensuing. The curtains closed and thelights flashed up. Time had just sailed another knot into space, andwho cared?

At a center table a woman's slipper was already going the rounds. Itbegan to sag and wine to ooze through the brocade. 

"Well, Hermie, here's a happy New Year to you!"

"And to you, Sam, and many of 'em!"

"To ma and Etta and grandma!"

"To Kahn, Loeb & Schulien!"

"To Kahn, Loeb & Schulien and that to this time next year we got theMen's Clothing Annex. "

They drank in solemn libation. 

The curtains had parted again. A Pierrot, chalky white, whistled inthree registers, soprano, bass, and baser. A row of soubrettes rollickedin and out again in a flash of bushy skirts. 

"Say, look at the third one from this end with the black curls allbobbing. I'm for her!"

"Where?"

"Gone now!"

Mr. Kahn leaned across his singing glass, his eye quickened into a wink. 

"Old man, you can pull that woman-hater stuff on the home folks, but ittakes your brother-in-law to lead you to the live ones. Eh?"

"You dry up, " said Mr. Loeb, peering between the halves of a sandwich. 

On a glass runway built over the heads of the assembled, a crystal aislefor satin feet, the row of soubrettes suddenly appeared, peering overthe crystal rail, singing down upon the sea of marcelled, bald, and deadheads. Men, sheepish of their smiles but with the small heels overheadclanging like castanets into their spirits, dared to glance up. 

"Gad, Herman! What'll they think up next? Whatta you know aboutthat--all those little devils dancing right over our heads!"

"There she is!"

"Who?"

"The little one in the boy's black-satin suit, with the black curlsbobbing!"

"Watch out, Herm! You'll die of crick in the neck. "

"I don't see any blinkers on you!"

"Hey, old man! Your mouth's open. "

"I know. I opened it, " said Mr. Loeb, his head back and eyes that weresuddenly bold staring up at the twinkling aisle. 

At a table adjoining, a man reached up, flecking one of the tinyblack-satin feet with a whirl of his napkin. 

Then Mr. Herman Loeb, of St. Louis, committed an act of spontaneouscombustion. When came the turn of the black satin and the bobbing curlsto bend over the rail directly above him, he flung wide his arms, overturning a wine bottle. 

"Jump!" he cried. 

Beneath the short, black curls a mouth shaped like a bud reluctant toopen, blew him a kiss. Then came a cue of music like an avalanche, andquicker than Harlequin's wink the aisle was clean. 

"Gad!" said Mr. Loeb, his strong profile thrust forward and a light onit. 

"That little one with the black curls? Say! You can put her on yourwatch-fob and take her home. "

"Wouldn't mind!" said Mr. Loeb. 

"You and Moe Marx are like all the women-haters. You don't know it, butyou're walking in your sleep and the tenth-story window's open. "

"We oughtn't to come up here in business clothes, " said Mr. Loeb, eyinghis cuff-edges. 

A woman sang of love. A chorus, crowned and girdled in inflated toyballoons, wreathed in and out among the tables. 

"She's not in that crowd. "

Men to whom life for the most part was grim enough vied for whosecigarette end should prick the painted bubbles. A fusillade ensued;explosions on the gold-powdered air--a battle _de luxe!_

Mr. Kahn threw back his head, yawned, and slid a watch from hiswaistcoat pocket. 

"W-ell, a little of this goes a long way. If we want to pull out of thistown day after to-morrow we've got to get down to Cedar Street early inthe morning on that sweater job lot. It's about time for us to begetting across to the hotel. "

"Wait!" said Mr. Loeb. 

A jingling and a right merry cacophony of sound came fast upon thebubble bombardment, and then, to a light runnel of song, the row oftwenty-four, harnessed in slotted sleigh-bells and with little-girlflounced frocks to their very sophisticated pink-silk knees. 

The devices of vaudeville are perennial. Rigoletto, who set a court'ssides aching, danced to bells. The row of twenty-four, pink and white asif the cradle had just yielded them up, shivered suddenly into anecstasy of sound, the jerked-up shoulder of one, the tossing curls ofanother, the naughty shrug of a third, eking out a melody. 

A laugh rose off the crowd. 

"Say, this town'll fall for anything! That act's got barnacles. But thelittle devils look cute, though. Say--say, old man, cut that out! Thisis no place for your mother's son. Say!"

Mr. Loeb was leaning forward across the table, his head well ahead ofhis shoulders. From the third from the end of the row of twenty-four, ashoulder shrugging to the musical nonsense of bells was arching none tooindirectly toward him, and once the black curls bobbed, giving a shareof tremolo to the melody. But the bob was carefully directed, and HermanLoeb returned it in fashion, only more vehemently and with repetition. 

"Say, Herman, enough is enough! You'll have her here at the table next. It's like Al Suss always says, the reason he woke up one morning andfound himself married to the first pony in the sextet was because hestuck a stamp upside down on a letter to her and found he could be heldfor a proposal in stamp language. "

To a great flare of the Negroid music, the row of twenty-four suddenlyturned turtle, and prone on a strip of rug, heads to audience and facesto ceiling, twenty-four pairs of legs, ankleted in bells, kicked up asyncopated melody. From a Niagara of lace, insteps quivered an arpeggio. A chromatic scale bounced off a row of rapidly pointing toes. The thirdfrom the end, seized with sudden chill, quivered into grace notes, small pink feet kicking violently to the chandelier. 

Men red with laughter pounded their plates. The rhythmic convulsionpassed down the prostrate line, forty-eight little feet twinkled a grandfinale, and the curtains swung, then opened, remaining so. 

The line of twenty-four danced down and across the wide hair-line thatseparates life and stage, butterflies sipping from table to table. Thecabaret was done. Lights resumed, and the business of food and drink. 

Mr. Loeb flung out an arm, pulling awry a carefully averted pink sash. 

"Say, little Jingle Bells, you and your friend!"

"Cut it out, Herm! If we want to be down on Cedar Street by--"

"What's your hurry, little one?"

"It ain't mine; it belongs to the management. "

"Won't you join us?"

"Herm, that job-lot of sweaters--"

"Oh, come on, little Jingle Bells!"

"My friend, too?"

"Sure your friend. "

They teetered, the two of them like animated dolls, arm in arm, and soat ease. 

"Here, you little Black Curls, sit next to me, and you, Blondey, overthere by my brother-in-law. "

"What'll you have, girls?"

"Anchovies and fine-chopped onions for mine. Tell 'em in the kitchen, waiter, I said _fine_, and if the gentlemen are going to order wine, bring me a plate of oyster crackers first to take off the edge of myemptiness. "

"Sure, another bottle of wine, waiter. "

"Hermie, we--"

"And you, little Jingle Bells, same as Blondey's order?"

"Yeh. "

"Say, you know what?"

"No. What?"

"I fell for those bouncing black curls of yours before I was in theplace five minutes. "

At that there was an incredible flow of baby talk. 

"Gemmemen ike ikkie gurl wiz naughty-naughty black curl-curlies?"

"You bet your life I do, " said Mr. Loeb, unashamed of comprehension. 

Mr. Kahn flashed another look at his watch. 

"Say, don't you know, you girls oughtn't to keep us boys up so late. Ain't there no wear out to you?"

The yellow curls to his right bounced sharply. 

"He asks if there's a wear out to us, Cleone? I wish it to you thisminute, Baldy, that you had the muscles in the back of my legs. I guessyou think it's choice for us girls to come out on the floor afterthe show!"

"Sylvette!"

"Yah, it's my New-Year's resolution to tell the truth for thirty minutesif I'm bounced for it. If you got to know it, it's a ten-per-cent. Rake-off for us girls on every bottle of golden vichy you boys blowus to. "

"Honest, Sylvette, you're wearing scrambled eggs instead of brainsto-night. Why don't you cry a few brinies for the gemmemen whileyou're at it!"

That so quickened Mr. Loeb's risibilities that he dropped his hand overMiss Cleone St. Claire's, completely covering yet not touching it. 

"You're a scream, kiddo! Gee! I like you!"

She drank with her chin flung up and her throat very white. 

"Bubbles! Bubbles! God bless all my troubles!"

"Well, I'll be darned!" said Mr. Kahn, smiling at her. 

"The gemmemen from out of town?"

"St. Louis. "

"I had a friend out there--Joe Kelsannie, of Albuquerque. Remember him, Sylvette?"

"Do I!"

"I'm going out there myself some day if the going's good, and get me acowboy west of Newark. "

Mr. Loeb leaned forward, smiling into her quick-fire eyes. 

"I'll take you!"

"Stick her on your watch-fob, Herman. "

"No, sirree, I'll take her life size. "

"Watch out, Hermie; remember the upside-down postage stamp!"

"Want to go, Jingle Bells?"

"Sure. "

"But I'm on the level, little one. No kidding. Day after to-morrow. St. Louis--with me!"

Miss Cleone St. Claire drew herself up, the doll look receding somewhatfrom her gaze. 

"Say, bo, you got me wrong. I'm one of the nine hundred and ninety-ninethousand chorus girls you could introduce your sister to. Aren'tI, Syl?"

"You let that kid alone, " said Miss Sylvette de Long, in a tone notpart of her rôle. "When the traffic policeman sticks up his mitt it'stime to halt, see?" Lines not before discernible in Miss De Long's facehad long since begun to creep out, smoky shadows beneath her eyes and asunburst of fine lines showing through the powder like stencil designs. 

"Come on, Herm. It's getting late, and if we want to be down on Cedar--"

"You think I'm kidding this little black-eyed chum of yours, don't you, Blondey?"

"Sure not! You want 'er to grace the head of your table and wear thefamily heirlooms!"

"Well, Sam, you're my brother-in-law--married to my own sister andliving under the same roof with me--am I a habitual lady-fusser, or dothey call me Hermie the Hermit at home?"

"Never knew him to talk ten straight words to a skirt before, girls, "said Mr. Kahn through a yawn; "and if you don't believe it, go out andask Louis Slupsky, who used to play chinies with him. "

"Say, you, " said Miss De Long, edging slightly, "you're about as funnyas a machine-gun, you are! If you got a private life, why ain't you backin St. Louis a night like this, showing her and the kids a good time?"

She was frankly tired, her eyelids darkening. 

"I wish to Heaven I was, " said Mr. Kahn, suddenly. "Take it from me, girl, it was nothing but a business hang-over kept me. Come, Herm, if we--"

"You think I'm kidding little Jingle Bells, don't you?"

Miss St. Claire sat back against her chair; her black eyes had quieted. "If you ain't kidding you must be crazy with the heat or dr--"

"Look at my glass. Have I touched it?"

"The man's raving, Syl! Wants to marry me and take me back to St. Louis, Thursday. "

"Cut the comedy and come! Herm, it's getting on to three in themorning. "

"This little girl keeps thinking I'm kidding, Blondey. I always knew ifI ever fell for matrimony it would be just like this. Right off thereel. No funny business. Just bing! Bang! Done!"

"Catch me while I swoon--but he sounds on the level, Cleone. "

"Well, what if he is? Of all the nerve! Whatta you know about me? How doyou know I haven't got three kids and a crippled husband at home? How doyou know--?"

"I know, little Jingle Bells! Why, I was as sure of you, the minute Iclapped eyes on you, as if we'd been raised next door to each other. Ican see right down in your little life like it was this glass of wine. "

Miss St. Claire threw out her arms in a beautiful and sleepy gesture. 

"Well, boys, this is a nice little party, but I got to get up at threeo'clock to-morrow afternoon, and I need the sleep. Oh, how I love mymorning sleep!" She drew back, her bare outflung arm pushing her fromthe table. "If you'll call me and my room-mate a taxi--"

"No, you don't, Jingle Bells!"

He placed a hand that trembled slightly on the sleeved part of her arm. She opened wider her very wide black eyes. 

"Are you bats?" she said. 

"I'm going to marry you and take you home with me, if I have to carryyou off like a partridge. "

"Cleone, I tell you the man means it!"

"You're right, Blondey. I never meant anything more in my life. "

A sudden shortness of manner crept over Mr. Kahn. 

"Man, you're drunk!" he cried, springing to his feet. 

"See my glass!"

"Then you're crazy!"

"Sit down, old Baldy. Why's he crazy? That little room-mate of mine isas straight a little girl as--"

"Why, I tell you he's crazy! That man's the head of a big business. Hecan't kick up any nonsense like this. Come on, Herm, cut the comedy. It's time we were getting across to our hotel. Look at the crowdthinning, and what's left is getting rough. Come!"

"If you don't know how to behave yourself, Sam, in the presence of theseladies, maybe you better go back to the hotel alone. I'm going to seethese young ladies to their door, and before we go me and this littlegirl are going to understand each other. "

Mr. Kahn sat down again in some stupefaction. 

"Well, of all the nerve! Who are you? Whatta you think I am? Syl, what'shis game?"

Miss De Long thrust forward her tired and thinning face; her eyes had amica gleam. 

"Cleone, he wants to marry you. A decent man with a decent face from adecent town has taken a shine to you and wants to marry you. M-a-r-r-y!Do you get it, girl?"

"How do you know he's decent? I don't know no more about him than heknows about me. I--"

"'Ain't you got no hunch on life, girl? Look at him! That's how I knowhe's decent. So would you if you'd been in this business as long as me. Can't you tell a real honest-to-God man when you see one? A businessman at that!"

"You got me right, Blondey. Kahn, Loeb & Schulien, Ladies' Wear, St. Louis. Here's my card. You give me an hour to-morrow, Jingle Bells, andI'll do all the credential stuff your little heart desires. LouisSlupsky knows me and my whole family. His mother used to stuff featherpillows for mine. Kahn here is my brother-in-law and partner inbusiness. He's a slow cuss and 'ain't grasped the situation yet. But areyou on, little one? Is it St. Louis Thursday morning, as Mrs. --?"

"Herm! You're cr--"

"Syl--what'll I--do?"

"An on-the-level guy, Cleone. Marry! Do you hear? M-a-r-r-y! Say, and itcouldn't happen to me!"

"Herman, man, I tell you you're off your head. Think once of yourhome--ma, Etta, grandma--with a _goy_ girl that--"

"Easy there, Baldy, you're adding up wrong. You and her both celebratesthe same Sundays. If anybody should ask you for Sylvette de Long's birthcertificate, look it up under the P's. Birdie Pozner. It's the same withmy friend. Cleone, tell the gemmemen your real name! Well, I'll tell itfor you. Sadie Mosher, sister to the great Felix Mosher who played heavydown at Shefsky's theater for twenty years. _Goy!_ Say, Sammie, it's toobad a nut from the bug-house bought the Brooklyn Bridge to-day or I'dtry to sell it to you. "

"Little Jingle Bells, if I put you in a taxi now and shoot up thosecredentials, will you marry me to-morrow at noon?"

"I--oh, I dunno. "

"Marry, he says to you, girl. Think of the minus number of times girlslike us get that little word whispered to 'em. Think of the shortseason. Moncrieff's grouch. The back muscles of your legs! Marry, hesays to you, girl! Marry!"

"To-morrow at noon, little one?"

"I--I sleep till three. "

"And it couldn't 'a' been me!"

"Little Jingle Bells?"

"Why, y-yes, I--I'm on. "

At three o'clock on Wednesday afternoon, in a magistrate's office, beneath a framed engraving of a judicial court in wigged session, HermanSchulien Loeb and Sadie Helen Mosher became as one. A bar of scantmetropolitan sunshine, miraculously let in by a cleft between twoskyscrapers, lay at the feet of the bride. 

Slightly arear of them: Mr. Louis Slupsky; Mr. Samuel Kahn, with atinge the color of apoplexy in his face; and Miss Sylvette de Long, herface thrust forward as if she heard melody. The voice of the magistraterose like a bird in slow flight, then settled to a brief drone. 

 * * * * *

East is East and West is West, and St. Louis is neither. It lies like amediator, the westerly hand of the east end of the country stretchingacross the sullenest part of the Mississippi to clasp the easterly handof the west end of the country. 

Indians have at one time or another left their chirography upon the faceof St. Louis. But all that is effaced now under the hot lava ofAmericanism that is covering the major cities in more or less evenlayers. Now it stands atop its Indian mounds, a metropolis of almost amillion souls, a twenty-story office-building upon the site of an oldtrading-post, and a subway threatening the city's inners. There is ahighly restricted residence district given over to homes of the moststucco period of the Italian Renaissance, and an art-museum, as high onthe brow of a hill as the Athenians loved to build. St. Louis has notyet a Champs-Élysées or a Fifth Avenue. And of warm evenings it takesits walks without hats. Neither is the café or the cabaret itsevening solace. 

It dines, even in its renaissance section, placidly _chez soi;_ thefamily activities of the day here thrown into a common pool ofdiscussion. 

On Washington Boulevard, probably sixty dollars a foot removed from therenaissance section, architecture suddenly turns an indifferent shoulderto period, Queen Anne rubbing sloping roof with neighbor's concretesleeping-porch of the hygienic period. Only the building-line ismaintained, the houses sitting comfortably back and a well-hosed stripof sidewalk, bordered in hardy maples, running clear and white out to DeBalaviere Avenue, where the _art-nouveau_ apartment-house begins toinvade. In winter bare branches meet in deadlock over this walk. On thesmooth macadamized road of Washington Boulevard automobiles try outtheir speed limit. 

One such wintry day, with the early dusk already invading, Mrs. HermanLoeb, with red circles round her very black eyes, and her unrouged facerather blotched, sat in one of the second-floor-front rooms of a doublebuff-brick house on Washington Boulevard, hunched up in a red-velvetchair, chin cupped in palm, and gazing, through perfectly adjustedHoniton lace curtains, at the steady line of home-to-dinner motor-cars. 

Warmth lay in that room, and a conservative mahogany elegance--a greatmahogany double bed, immaculately covered in white, with a largemonogram heavily hand-embroidered in its center; a mahogany swell-frontdresser, with a Honiton lace cover and a precise outlay of monogramedsilver. Over it a gilt-framed French engraving with "Maternal Love" writin elegant script beneath. A two-toned red rug ate in footsteps. 

Mrs. Loeb let her head fall back against the chair and closed her eyes. In her dark-stuff dress with its sheer-white collar, she was part ofthe note of the room, except that her small bosom rose and fell toorapidly. A pungent odor of cookery began to invade; the street lamps ofWashington Boulevard to pop out. The door from the hallway opened, butat the entrance of her mother-in-law Mrs. Loeb did not rise, only foldedone foot closer under her. 

"You, Sadie?"

"Yes. "

"Herman home yet?"

"No. "

"Smell? I fixed him red cabbage to-night. "

"Yes, I smell. "

"How she sits here in the dark. Thank goodness, Sadie, electricity wedon't have to economize on. "

She pushed a wall key, a center chandelier of frosted electric bulbsspringing into radiance. In its immediate glare Mrs. Loeb regarded herdaughter-in-law, inert there beside the window. 

"Get your embroidery, Sadie, and come down by me and Etta till the menget home to supper. I want her to show you that cut-work stitch she'sputting in her lunch napkins. "

"Ugh!"

"What?"

Mrs. Bertha Loeb approached with the forward peer of the nearsighted. Time and maternity had had their whacks at her figure, her stoutnessenhanced by a bothersome shelf of bust, but her face--the same virileprofile of her son's and with the graying hair parted tightly fromit--guiltless of lines, except now, regarding her daughter-in-law, ahorizontal crease came into her brow. 

"You want to go sit a while by grandma, then?"

"No. Gee! can't--can't a girl just sit up in her room quiet? I'm allright. "

"I didn't say, Sadie, you wasn't all right. Only a young girl witheverything to be thankful for don't need to sit up in her room like itwas a funeral, with her mother and sister and grandma in thesame house. "

On the mahogany arms of her chair Mrs. Herman Loeb's small hand closedin a tight fist over her damp wad of handkerchief, "I--I--"

"What?"

"Nothing. "

"Sadie, you been crying again. "

"What if I have?"

"A fine answer from a girl to her mother. "

"I--you--you drive me to it--your questions--"

"I shouldn't have the interest of my own son's wife at heart!"

"Can't a girl get--get blue?"

"Blue?"

"Yes, blue. "

Mrs. Bertha Loeb reached out her hand with its wide marriage bandslightly indented in flesh; the back of that hand was speckled withlarge, lightish freckles and trembled slightly. 

"Sadie, ain't there just no way we can make you feel happy in St. Louis?Last night through the door to my room I couldn't help hear again youand Herman with a scene. Take your feet down off the plush, Sadie. "

"Oh yes, you heard, all right. "

"'Ain't you got a good home here, Sadie? Everything in the world a girlcould wish for! A husband as good as gold, like his poor dead fatherbefore him. 'Ain't we done everything, me and my Etta, to make you feelhow--how glad we are to have you for our Hermie's wife?"

"Oh, I know, I know. "

"What maybe we felt in the beginning--well, wasn't it natural, an onlyson and coming such a surprise--all that's over now. Why, it's apleasure to see how grandma she loves you. "

"I--I'm all right, I tell you. "

"Didn't we even fix it you should go in a flat on Waterman Avenuehousekeeping for yourself, if you wanted it?"

"Yes, and tie myself down to this dump yet. Not much!"

"Well, I only hope, Sadie Loeb, you never got in your life to live in aworse dump. I know this much, I have tried to do my part. Did I signover this house to you and Herman for a wedding present, giving only tomy own daughter the row of Grand Avenue stores?"

"I never said you didn't. "

"Have you got the responsibility even to run your own house, with me andEtta carrying it on like always?"

"Am I complaining?"

"Do I ask of you one thing, Sadie, except maybe that you learn a littlehousekeeping and watch how I order from the butcher, things that everywife should know if she needs it or not? In the whole year you been mydaughter, Sadie, have I asked of you more than you should maybe help theup-stairs girl a little mornings, and do a little embroidery for yourlinen-chest, and that maybe, instead of sleeping so late till noon everymorning, you should get up and have breakfast with your husband?"

"If you begin going over all that again I--I'll just yell!"

"With anybody pouting in the house I just 'ain't got heart to donothing. I don't see, Sadie, that you had such fine connections in theEast that you shouldn't be satisfied here. "

"You just leave my friends in the East out of it. If you wanna know it, they're a darn sight better than the wads of respectability I seewaddlin' in here to swap Kaffee Klatsches with you!"

"Just let me tell you, Sadie Loeb, you can be proud such ladies call onyou. A girl what don't think no more of her husband's businessconnections than not to come down-stairs when Mrs. Nathan Bambergercalls! Maybe our friends out here got being good wifes and goodhousekeepers on the brain more as high kicking in New York; but just thesame Mrs. Nathan Bamberger, what can buy and sell you three times over, ain't ashamed to go in her Lindell Avenue kitchen, when her husband orher son likes red cabbage, what you can't hire cooked, or once in awhile a miltz. "

"Say, if I've heard that once, I've--"

"Then, too, Sadie, since we're talking--it's a little thing--I haven'tliked to talk about it, but I--I got the first time I should hear theword _ma_ on your lips. You think it's so nice that a daughter-in-lawshould always call me 'Say, ' like a bed-post?"

"I--I can't, Mrs. Loeb--it--it just won't come--mother. "

"Don't tell me you don't know any better! A girl what can be so nicewith poor old blind grandma, like you been, can be nice with hermother-in-law and sister-in-law, too, if she wants to be. I didn't wantI should ever have to talk to you like this, Sadie, but sometimes a--aperson she just busts out. "

And then Mrs. Herman Loeb leaped forward in her chair, her small tightfist pounding each word:

"Then let me go! Whatta you holding me here for? Let me go back, Mrs. --mother! Let me go! I don't deny it, you're too good for me roundhere. I don't fit! Let me go back to the old room and--my old room-matewhere--where I belong with my--my crowd. You tell what you just said toHerm! Get him to let me go back with him on his trip to-morrow night. Please, Mrs. --mother--please!"

"You mean to New York with him on his business trip for a visit?"

"Call it that if you want to, only let me go! You--you can tell themlater that--that I ain't coming back. I--I've begged him so! I don'tbelong here. You just said as much yourself. I don't belong here. Let mego, Mrs. Loeb. Let me go! You tell him, Mrs. Loeb, to let me go. "

Mrs. Bertha Loeb suddenly sat down, and the color flowed out of herface. 

"That I should live to see this day! My Herman's wife wants to leavehim! Oh, my son, my son! What did you do to yourself! A di--a separationin the Loeb family! I knew last night when I heard through the door andhow worried my poor boy has looked for months, that it didn't mean nogood. Since her first month here I've seen it coming. I did mypart to--"

"Yes, Mrs. Loeb, and I done my part!"

"Oh--oh--oh, and how that boy of mine has catered to her! Humored herevery whim to keep her contented! I always say it's the nix-nux wivesget the most attentions and thanks from their husbands. I--"

"I done my part. I've tried as much as you to make myself fit in outhere. I--I just ain't your kind, Mrs. Loeb. Yours and--Etta's. I--Ican't be saving and economical when I see there's plenty to spend. I--Iwas raised with my brother down in Shefsky's theater, where nobody caresabout monogramed guest towels and about getting up before noon if theydon't want to. The evenings here kill me! Kill me! I hate pinochle! Igotta have life, Mrs. Loeb. I hate Kaffee Klatsches with a lot of--I--Itell you I got different blood in my veins, Mrs. Loeb, I--"

"No, no, Sadie Mosher Loeb, that kind of talk don't go. You got just thesame _shabbos_ like us. Saturday is your--"

"Yes, yes, I'm in the right church, all right, Mrs. Loeb, but I'm inthe wrong pew. Mrs. Loeb, please can't you understand I'm in thewrong pew!"

And all her carefully confined curls, springing their pins, she fellforward a shivering mass. 

In that surcharged moment and brisky exuding a wintry out-of-doors, Mr. Herman Loeb entered and stood for a moment in the open doorway, in theact of removing his greatcoat. 

"Herman, my son! Oh, my son!"

"What's wrong, ma? Sadie!"

"It's come, Herman, like I always predicted to Etta it would. Your wife, my poor boy, she wants to leave you. This should happen to a Loeb yet--aseparation in the family! My poor boy! My poor boy!"

"Why, ma, what--what's Sadie been telling you?"

At that Mrs. Herman Loeb raised her streaming face, her eyes all rid oftheir roguery and stretched in despair. 

"I didn't want to let out to her, Herman. I wanted to make a quietget-away, you know I did. But she nagged me! She nagged me!"

"Ma, you shouldn't--"

"She heard us last night and Heaven knows how many nights before that. She's wise. She knows. She knows it's been a year of prison here for--"

"Oh, my poor boy! Prison! A girl like her finds herself married into oneof the most genteel families in St. Louis, a girl what never in her lifewas used to even decent sheets to sleep on!"

"Ma!"

"Till three o'clock in the afternoon she told me herself how her andthem girls used to sleep, two and three in a boarding-house room, andsuch a mess!"

"Ma, if you and Sadie don't cut out this rowing I'll put on my hat andgo back down-town where I came from. What is this, anyway, a barroom ora home out on Washington Boulevard? You want grandma to hear you?Ma! Sadie!"

"My poor boy! My poor boy!"

"I didn't start it, Herm. I was sitting up here quiet. All I ask, Herm, is for you to take me back to New York to-morrow night on your trip. Letme go, Herm, for--for an indefinite stay. It ain't this house, Herm, andit ain't your mother or your sister and---and it ain't you--it ain't anyone. It's all of you put together! I can't stand the speed out here!There ain't none!"

"I guess she wants, Hermie, for her bad-girl notions you should give upthe best retail business in St. Louis and take her to live in New York, where she can always be in with that nix-nux theatri--"

"No, no, he knows I don't want that!"

"If she did, ma, we'd go!"

"Herm knows it was all a mistake with me. I didn't know my own mind. Iwanna go back along where I came from and where I belong! It ain't likeI was the kind of a girl with another man in the case--"

"We should thank her, Hermie, that there ain't more scandal mixed up init yet!"

"Ma!"

"My poor boy, what could have had his pick from the first girls inSt. --"

"Ma!"

There was an edge to Mr. Loeb's voice that had the bite of steel. Hetossed his greatcoat to the snowy bed, walking between the bed-end andthe mantel, round to the crouched figure of his wife. 

"There, there, Sadie!" he said in his throat, and, stooping over her: "Igive in! I give in!"

Her head flew up. 

"Herm!"

"My son!"

"No, no, ma, it's no use trying to put anything but a jingle-bellharness on poor little Jingle Bells. She don't understand us any morethan we--we can understand her!"

"That's it, Herm; that's why I say if you'll only let me go!"

"Oh, my God! A separation in the Loeb family? My poor dead husband! Mydaughter Etta, president of the Ladies' Auxiliary! Grandma--"

"'Sh-h-h, ma! You want grandma to hear?"

"My son, the cleanest, finest--"

"Ma!" There were lines in his face as if a knot at his heart weretightening them. "You mustn't blame her, ma; and, Sadie, you mustn'tfeel this way toward my mother. Nobody's to blame. I've been thinkingthis thing over more than you think, Sadie, and I--I give in. She's apoor little thing, ma, that's been trapped into something she can'tfit into. "

"Yes, Herm, that's it. "

"It's natural. My fault, too. I carried her off like a partridge. Don'tcry, little Jingle Bells! To-morrow night we leave for New York, andwhen I come back you're going to stay on with--"

"Sylvette says--"

"With friends, indefinitely. Don't cry, little Jingle Bells, don't!'Sh-h-h, ma! There, didn't I tell you you'd rouse grandma!"

With her hands stuffed against rising sobs, his mother ceased rockingherself to and fro in her straight chair, her eyes straining through theopen door. A thin voice came through, querulous, and then the tap-tapof a cane. 

Mr. Herman Loeb answered the voice, standing quiet at the bed-end. 

"Nothing is the matter, grandma. "

"Come and get me, Herman. "

"Yes, grandma. "

He hastened out and re-entered almost immediately, leading Mrs. SimonSchulien, her little figure so fragile that the hand directing the canequavered of palsy, and the sightless face, so full of years and evensome of their sweetness, fallen in slightly, in presage of dust to dust. 

"Bertha?"

"Yes, mamma. "

"Here, grandma, by the window is your chair. "

He lowered her to the red-velvet arm-chair, placing her cane gentlyalongside. 

"So!"

She moved her sightless face from one to the other, interrogating eachpresence. 

"Sadie?"

"Yes, grandma. "

"How you holler, children! Everything ain't right?"

"Yes, grandma. Ma and Sadie and me been making plans. To-morrow nightSadie goes with me to New York on my trip. A little pleasure trip. "

The little face, littler with each year, broke into smile. 

"So, little Sadie-sha, you got good times, not? A good husband and goodtimes? New York! To New York she goes, Bertha?"

"Yes, mamma. "

Mrs. Schulien fell to crooning slightly, redigesting with the senilityof years. 

"To New York! Nowadays young wives got it good. How long you stay, Hermie?"

"It's just my Pittsburgh-New York trip, grandma. "

"Sadie, come here by grandma. "

She approached with the tears drying on her face, her bosom heaving insuppressed jerks. 

"Yes, grandma. " And patted the little clawlike hand, and the bit ofwhite hair beneath the fluted cap, and a bit of old lace fastened withan old ivory cameo and covering the old throat. 

"You got good times, not?"

"Yes, grandma. "

"And you'm a good girl, Sadie. Eh? Eh?"

"Y-yes, grandma. "

"When you come back from New York, you bring grandma a fine present, not?"

"Yes, yes, grandma. "

"A quilted under jacket wholesale, for when grandma rides out in thewheel-chair. "

"Y-yes, grandma. "

To the saturnine, New York of its spangled nights is like a Scylla of athousand heads, each head a menace. Glancing from his cab window onesuch midnight, an inarticulate expression of that fear must have creptover and sickened Mr. Herman Loeb. He reached out and placed hisenveloping hand over that of his wife, "Well, Sadie, you take good care of yourself, girl. No matter how wedecide to--to end this thing, remember you're my wife--yet. "

"Yes, Herman, " said Mrs. Loeb, through a gulp. 

"Don't stint, and remember how easily you get cold from draughts. "

"I won't. I will. "

"If you find yourself too crowded in that room with your friend, get abetter one farther away from the theaters, where it isn't sonoisy--maybe by yourself. "

"I'll see. "

"You won't be afraid to go back to that room now, with Sylvette still atthe show?"

"N-no. "

"If I was you--now mind, I'm only suggesting it--but if I was you Iwouldn't be in such a hurry about getting back in that roof show, Sadie. Maybe in a few days something better may show up or--or you'll changeyour mind or something. "

"I gotta get back to work to keep from thinking. Anyway, I don't wantto be sponging on you any longer than I can help. "

"You're my wife, aren't you?"

She sat, a small cold huddle in the center of the cab seat, toward himher quivering face flashing out as street lamps bounced past. They werenearing the great marble façade of the Seventh Avenue Terminal. 

"Herman, I--I hate to see everything bust up like this--you--you such aprince and all--but like Syl says, I--I guess all fools ain't dead yet!"

"You've had time to work this thing out for yourself now, Sadie, butlike I was saying before, anybody can play stubborn, but--but it's awise person who ain't ashamed to change his mind. Eh, Sadie? Eh?"

They were sliding down a runway and drew up now alongside a curb. Aredcap, wild for fee, swung open the cab door, immediately confiscatingall luggage. 

"No, no, not that! You carry that box, Herm. It's the padded underjacketfor grandma. Tell her I--I sent it to her, Herm--with--with love. "

"Yes, Sadie. "

She was frankly crying now, edging her way through the crowd, running inlittle quick steps to match her pace to his. 

At the trainside, during the business of ticket inspection, she stoodby, her palm pat against her mouth and tears galumphing down. With aface that stood out whitely in the gaseous fog, Mr. Loeb fumbled forthe red slip of his berth reservation. 

"Well, Sadie girl, three minutes more and--"

"Oh--oh, Herm!"

"If you feel as bad as that, it's not too late, Sadie. I--you--it takesa wise little girlie to change her mind. Eh? Eh?"

"No--no, Herm, I--"

He clenched her arm suddenly and tightly. 

"If you want to come, girl, for God's sake now's your time. Sadie honey, you want to?"

She shook him off through gasps. 

"No, no. Herm, I--I can't stand it--it's only that I feel so bad atseeing you--No--no--not--not now. "

The all-aboard call rang out like a shout in a cave. 

He was fumbling at his luggage for the small pasteboard box, hastefuddling his movements. 

"I'll be in Pittsburgh to-morrow till seven, honey. Sleep over it, andif you change your mind, catch the eleven-forty-five St. Louis flyer outof here to-morrow morning, and that train'll pick me up atPittsburgh--eleven forty-five. "

"Oh, I--"

"You be the one to bring this box home, with your own little hands, topoor grandma, honey, and--and if you don't change your mind, why--why, you can send it. You be the one to bring it to her, honey. Remember, it's a wise girlie knows when to change her mind!"

"Oh, Hermie--Hermie!"

"All--aboard!"

With her hands clasped and her uncovered face twisted, she watched thesnakelike train crawl into oblivion. 

When she re-entered the taxicab she was half swooning of tears. 

"Don't cry, baby, " said the emboldened chauffeur, placing the smallpasteboard box up beside her. 

 * * * * *

In the great old-fashioned room in Fortieth Street--of two beds and twodecades ago--she finally in complete exhaustion slid into her white ironcot against the wall, winding an alarm-clock and placing it on the floorbeside her. 

Long before Miss Sylvette de Long, with her eyelids very dark, tiptoedin, and, rubbing the calves of her legs in alcohol, undressed in thedark, she was asleep, her mouth still moist and quivering likea child's. 

At nine-thirty and with dirty daylight cluttering up the cluttered room, the alarm-clock, full of heinous vigor, bored like an awl intothe morning. 

THE END