ONE MAN AND ANOTHER
"No. 2884 Child, W. Pay Envelope. Details under flap," Winifred read
on the neat, pale-brown packet put into her hand the night when she
had served Peter Rolls for a week--or was it five hundred weeks? "READ
THE OTHER SIDE" was printed in capital letters of white upon a black
background on the flap which must be torn open to get at the contents
and "details." The latter consisted of "Deductions, Absent, Late
Fines, Keys, Mdse., Stamps, Beneficial Ass., and Sub. Slips."
But Win had been neither absent nor late. Being an extra hand only,
and liable to be "dispensed with" at the end of the holidays, she had
not needed to subscribe her hard-earned pennies to Beneficial
Assurance, that huge fund made up of weekly coppers, whose interest
was to Peter Rolls almost what "Peter's Pence" are to the Pope. Thanks
to her good health and good behaviour, "Cash Enclosed" (as secretly
mentioned under the flap) was practically intact. But it had been a
nightmare week which seemed longer than all the past weeks of her life
added together and if she had earned a hundred dollars instead of six
she would not have felt too highly paid.
She moved wearily away from the office window, obeying the directions
to "read other side," and as she walked down the long corridor (her
sore feet causing her to limp slightly) the words "_if sick or
disabled, notify employment bureau at once_" sang through her head,
keeping time with her uneven steps.
She _was_ "reading the other side," the other side of life which
appeared to her as separate from the side she had known as the bright
was separate from the dark side of the moon; the side about which
people seldom troubled and never saw. A few weeks ago, before that
"wild spirit" of hers lured her half across the world to find
independence, she would have thought, feeling as she felt to-night,
that she was both sick and disabled. But now she knew that hundreds of
other girls under this very roof felt just as she felt, and that they
took it for granted as a normal condition of life. They hardly pitied
themselves, and she must be as stoical. If once she lost courage, she
might do the thing she had boasted to Peter Rolls, Jr., that she would
never do--cry.
She thought to find a tonic effect from the sight of money earned, and
in taking out her six dollars, she let fall a slip of white paper from
the pay envelope. It fluttered away, to alight on the floor, and Win's
heart beat as she picked it up.
Her discharge already? What could she have done to be sent off at the
end of a week--she who had tried so hard? And how strange that, tired
and disheartened as she was, she should actually _fear_ discharge! A
minute ago she had been asking herself, "How many weeks like this can
I live through?" and wishing that an end, almost any end, might come.
Yet here she was dreading to turn the slip over (she had retrieved it
blank side up) and read her doom.
"You are requested to call at the superintendent's private office
Monday, twelve forty-five," was neatly typewritten precisely in the
middle of the paper.
Win did not know whether to be relieved or alarmed.
"I'll ask Sadie what she thinks," was her quick decision. But Sadie
was not available this evening. An "old chum" had asked Miss Kirk out
to supper, and Miss Child having snubbed her faithful lion man for
reasons which had appeared good at the time, had no one to give her
the key to those dozen mystic words which might as well have been
written in cipher.
"And even Sadie can't tell for certain," she reflected. "I can't
possibly _know_ till Monday noon."
All the fatigue and nerve strain of six dreadful days and six
appalling nights seemed suddenly to culminate in a fit of overpowering
restlessness. Worn out though she was (or all the more because of
that, perhaps) she could not go "home" to Columbus Avenue, where the
"L" that Sadie said should be spelled with an "H" ran past her window.
She was sure if she sat down or went to bed she should think more
about her aching back and burning feet than if she walked. She longed
for the sweet, kind air of heaven to ripple past her hot cheeks like
cool water. She longed for stars to look up to, and for the purple
peace and silence of night after the clamour of the store and before
the babel of Columbus Avenue, into which presently she must plunge.
"I'll walk in the park," she proposed to herself. "It will do me good.
When I'm too tired, I can rest for a few minutes on one of the seats
and hear myself think."
That was one of the many disadvantages of "home." There you could
hear at the same time almost every other sound which could be produced
in the world, but you could not hear yourself think.
Earl Usher was not to be seen as she came out into the street, and Win
was glad. Once or twice to-day she had half repented the snub which,
perhaps, he had not meant to deserve, but now she thanked it for his
absence. Swiftly she walked away, though still with the just
perceptible limp that most shop girls have in their first few weeks of
"business."
She did not look up at the giant Hands with their blazing rings, as
she had looked at first, half admiring, half awed. Their gesture now
seemed greedy. They were trying to "grab the whole sky," as the lion
tamer said. Rather would one hurry to escape from under them, and go
where the Hands of Peter Rolls could not reach.
It was exquisite in the park, and she was thinking how a delicate,
floating blue curtain appeared to shut her away for a little while
from all the harshness of life, when a small and singularly silent
automobile glided by. A lamp showed her the forms of two men in the
open car, one in front, who drove, and one behind, who sat with arms
folded.
"How heavenly to have the air and lean back restfully without needing
to walk," thought tired Win.
She was envying the comfortable figure with its arms folded when the
little car turned and, to her astonishment, drew up close beside her.
Involuntarily she stopped; then, as one of the men jumped out, she
regained her presence of mind and walked on at top speed.
The man strode along after her, however, and spoke.
"Don't you remember me? That's very unkind. You might wait a minute,
anyhow, and let me remind you where we met. I recognized _you_ as I
went by, that's why I came back."
Wondering if it could be possible that they _had_ met, Win ventured a
glance at the face on a level with her own. She knew instantly that
never had she seen it before.
"You're mistaken," she said. "I don't know you. Please go."
"Logan is my name," he persisted. "Jim Logan. Now don't you remember?
But you didn't tell me your name that other time."
Win took longer steps. This active hint did not, however trouble Mr.
Logan. He was an inch or so taller than she, perhaps, and kept step
with the utmost ease.
"You and I might have been at the same dancing school," said he. "I'm
doing the newest stunt--the wango. Is that what you're doing, too? Or
is it the y-lang-y-lango? I could go on like this all night! I hope
you're not engaged to anybody else for the next dance?"
"As a matter of fact, I am," said Win sharply, though it was all she
could do not to laugh. "My partner will very much object to you."
"That's all right. It's not likely he knows jiu-jitsu as well as I
do," cheerfully replied the man, still hurrying on at the same pace.
He kept half a step in advance of the girl, as if to be prepared in
case she should begin to run; and thus, without seeming to look, Win
could see him in profile.
He was so smartly dressed that, in England, he would have been called
a "nut." What was the American equivalent for a nut, she did not know.
He had a hawk-nosed profile which might have been effective had not
his undercut jaw stuck out aggressively, suggesting extreme, hectoring
obstinacy, even cruelty.
She had time to see that his hair was an uninteresting brown, and his
skin the ordinary sallow skin of the man about town. But suddenly he
took her unawares, turning to face her with disquieting abruptness.
She caught an impression of eyes sparkling in the lamplight; small and
set close on either side of a high-bridged, narrow nose, yet bright
and boldly smiling. His voice was that of an educated person and not
disagreeable in tone, but Win was anxious to escape hearing it again.
He seemed to wait for an answer, and when it did not come, he went on:
"You ought to go in for an Olympic race. You're all for them in
England. I'm out of training, but I can stand this as long as you can,
I bet. The only thing is, I wanted to take you for a run in my auto,
it's such a nice, crisp night. I'll drive you home, if you say the
word."
"The thing wished for comes when your hands are tied," says the
Turkish proverb. Win had been yearning for a spin. She kept silence
and sped on, wondering whether she could surprise the enemy by
executing a sudden right-about-face.
"Have you been in this country long?" he inquired.
No answer.
"Oh, indeed, is that so? I _thought_ you hadn't! Are you living in New
York at present? Don't be afraid to tell me. Even if you are, that
won't drive me out of the little old burg. See here, you're mighty
restless. And you do hate to part with much of your conversation at
one time, don't you? You're a peach, all right, but a spiced peach
preserved in vinegar."
Winifred wheeled and began walking east even faster than she had been
walking west. In the distance a tall--a very tall--figure was
approaching, like a ship under full sail. Could it be--- Yes, it was!
Bless the light of the lamp that showed him! Now indeed she dared to
laugh.
"Here comes that partner of mine at last!" she exclaimed and almost
ran to met the lion tamer.
"Good Lord! Very well, I can't hope to compete against cigar signs,"
replied Mr. Logan. "I was unprepared for Goliath. Little David will
fade away till he gets his sling. You make me forget my name and
telephone number, but this is where I get off at. Please remember _me_
next time."
"I will, when next time comes!" Win was tempted to toss after him
impudently as, lifting his cap, the motorist took a hasty short cut to
the motor. Win was actually laughing when Earl Usher joined her. She
felt safe, and not even tired. The little adventure had had its uses,
after all! It had been, she thought, just as beneficial and not nearly
so expensive as a tonic or a Turkish bath.
"Was that mutt a gentleman friend of yours, kid, or was he some fresh
guy? 'Cause, if he was playing the fool, I'll break into the game and
go for his blood," remarked the rescuer.
"It was a Mr. Logan," replied Win hurriedly, making up her mind that
she must avoid any chance of trouble. "But--but I don't like him
much," she added. "I was very glad when I saw you. And I'm not going
to scold you for following me, because I know you meant well--and, as
it happened, it's _ending_ well. For a reward, I forgive you
everything. And I've just thought of a new name for you, Mr. Usher."
"Hope it's some better than Sadie Kirk's."
"What--Teddy Bear? Yes, it's better than that. Did you ever read 'Quo
Vadis?'"
"Not on your life. Sounds like a patent medicine."
"It's a novel. And in it a great, good giant of a young man devotes
himself to rescuing a maiden named _Lygia_. _His_ name was _Ursus_,
and he was so strong he could bring a bull to its knees---"
"Why, you silly little kid, that's a movie, not a novel. I've seen
_Ursus_ and his bull, all right. You're makin' me stuck on myself. I
feel as if I was it."
"Well, you are it. I christen you Ursus. And thank you very much for
taking so much trouble about me."
"I didn't take trouble," protested Ursus, half afraid that he was
being "kidded." "All I did was to beat it after you at what the swell
reporters call a respectful distance just to see you safe home if you
meant to hoof it. When you shot into the park, thinks I, 'maybe she's
made a date to chat with a gentleman friend, so I'll hang back.'
But---"
"It was quite an accident, meeting Mr. Logan, I assure you, Ursus,"
said Win, still unwilling to confide in him the details of the late
encounter, which seemed ridiculous now it was over. "I wanted a breath
of air. I've had it, and if you'll be very good and never use such a
word again as you did night before last, you may walk home with me if
you like."
"What word do you refer to? Cutie?"
"Yes. And another still more offensive."
"Sweetie?"
"Yes. Disgusting! 'Kid's' bad enough. But I thought you mightn't know
any better. I draw the line at the others."
"All right," said Ursus rather sulkily, sure that he was being made
fun of now. "But when a chap's a girl's friend what _is_ he to call
her?"
"'You' will do very well, if 'Miss Child' is beyond your vocabulary."
"I don't call that bein' friends. Say, is that your mutt's automobile
sort of following along in our wake?"
"I don't know, for I don't want to look back," said Win. (They were
out of the park by this time.) "But--I've changed my mind about
walking all the way. Let's hurry and take a Fifty-Ninth Street car!"
* * * * *
By day, in the shop, Win could laugh when she thought of the Columbus
Avenue house where she and Sadie "hung out." But at night, in her
room, trying desperately to sleep, she could not even smile. To do so,
with all those noises fraying the edges of her brain, would be to
gibber!
In that neighbourhood front rooms were cheaper than rooms at the back.
Lodgers who could afford to do so paid extra money for a little extra
tranquillity. Neither Sadie Kirk nor Winifred Child was of these
aristocrats. Their landlady had thriftily hired two cheap flats in a
fair-sized house whose ground floor was occupied by a bakery, and
whose fire-escapes gave it the look of a big body wearing its skeleton
outside. She "rented" her rooms separately, and made money on the
transaction, though she could afford to take low prices.
In the street below the narrow windows surface cars whirred to and fro
and clanged their bells. In front of the windows, and strangely,
terribly near to the six-inch-wide balconies, furnished with withered
rubber plants, roared the "L" trains, jointed, many-eyed dragons
chasing each other so fast that there seemed to be no pause between at
any hour of the day or during most hours of the night. Private life
behind those windows was impossible unless you kept your blinds down.
If you forgot, or said wildly to yourself that you didn't care, that
you _must_ breathe and see your own complexion by daylight at any
cost, thousands of faces, one after the other, stared into yours. You
could almost touch them, and it was little or no consolation to
reflect when they had seen you brushing your hair or fastening your
blouse, that these travellers in trains would never hear your name or
know who you were.
As for a bath--but then the great, magnificent advantage of living at
Mrs. McFarrell's was the bathroom. It was dark and small and smelled
of the black beetles who lived happily around the hot-water pipes. You
were not expected to take more than one bath a week, and for that one
bath towel was provided free.
"Oh, I thought you'd _had_ your bath this week!" was the answer Win
got on her second night, when mildly asking for a towel which had
disappeared. But if you were silly enough to pay thirty cents extra
for putting water on your body every day, you could do so. And, anyhow
a bathroom was a splendid advertisement. One lodger told another:
"The use of the bathroom is thrown in."
That night, when Win had bathed and laid herself carefully down in the
narrow bed which shook and groaned as if suffering from palsy, it
seemed more impossible than ever to go to sleep. Each new train that
rumbled by was a giant, homing bee, her brain the hive for which it
aimed. Her hot head was crowded with thoughts, disturbing, fighting,
struggling thoughts, yet the giant bee pushed the throng ruthlessly
aside and darted in. Each time it seemed impossible to bear it again.
She felt as if she had caterpillars in her spine and ants on her
nerves.
Win thought about the superintendent, Mr. Meggison, and wondered again
and again whether she would be discharged or whether he had merely
"taken a fancy" to her looks and wished to see if she were
flirtatiously inclined. She knew now, from Sadie, that Meggison's
desire was to be a "gay dog," though his courage did not always march
with his ambition.
The red-haired girl, Sadie supposed, had perhaps come to the Hands
armed with an introduction from some "lady friend." This theory would
account for Meggison's mysterious murmur of, "That's different." What
should she--Win--do if Father invited her to dine with him, as it
seemed he did invite some of the girls? Sadie said that if such a
thing happened to her she would accept, because she wasn't afraid of
Father. She "could scare him more than he could scare her," and an
extra hand might "get the push" if she refused a civil invitation.
With Mr. Croft, "Saint Peter's Understudy," it was more dangerous. You
had to beware of him. If you were a "looker," like Win, the best
thing that could happen to you was never to come within eyeshot of
Henry Croft. He lived in the suburbs, was married, and the
superintendent of a Sunday school. His name was on all the charity
lists. He was so tall and thin and sprawling that he looked like a
human hatrack, and his solemn circle of a face, surrounded with
yellowish whiskers, had a sunflower effect. He had written a book,
"Week-Day Sermons by a Layman"; nevertheless, he was a terror.
There were, according to Sadie, girls in the store who were of no more
use as saleswomen than baby alligators would have been, but they "gave
the glad eye" to Mr. Croft, and accepted his flowers and invitations
for moonlight motor rides. Nearly every one knew, but nobody told.
What use? Who was there to tell? Croft was "up at the top and then
some." Only Saint Peter himself stood above. And who would dare
complain to Saint Peter about his respectable right hand? Even if
there were any chance of getting near P.R., which there wasn't. He
came mostly at night, as if it were a disgrace to show himself in a
shop, even if it was his own. If ever he did any "prowling" in
business hours, it was with the understudy glued to his side.
As for "sweating" and "grinding" there wasn't a cent's worth of
difference between Croft and Meggison, said Sadie. Nevertheless, Win
was feeling thankful, as the "L" train bees boomed through her brain,
that at worst it was Mr. Meggison who had mysteriously summoned her,
not Mr. Croft.
If only she could go to sleep and forget them both, and the trains
and the cars and the man in the park and Miss Stein, who still had
against her a "grouch." If only she could forget even big, blundering
Ursus, who wanted to treat her to oyster stews that he couldn't afford
and take her to a dance hall next Sunday! And Sadie, too, who knew
such strange and awful things about the world and life, although she
was so good.
But no. Impossible to stop thinking, impossible to forget, impossible
to sleep. All New York seemed to be about her ears. She could hear the
frantic rush of everything which true New Yorkers love, and she could
feel its sky-scrapers closing in around her like an unclimbable wall.
As she thought of the great, noisy city she saw it consisting entirely
of vastly high towers, with inhabitants who spent their time in
tearing about--people who looked at her in the street as if she were
not there, or, if she was, they would rather she were somewhere else.
She dared not picture the ship sailing for England nearly every day of
the week. If she were free to do what she liked--or almost what she
liked--she would go at least as often as every Saturday to watch a big
liner move out from the dock, just for the delicious torture of it.
And yet--did she want to go back home? Whenever she asked herself this
question--and it was often--invariably for some silly reason, she saw
the blue, wistful eyes of that hypocrite, the younger Peter Rolls.
Also there came upon her a choking sense of homelessness, a
mother-want in a lonely world. But, as Sadie Kirk agreed with her in
saying, "What _was_ the good of squeezing juice out of your eyes just
because you happened to be low in your mind?" No, she would not cry!
Then, after all, she dropped asleep in a minute's interval between
trains, and dreamed that she was lost in Fifty-Ninth Street. It was as
long as the way to England, and a ghastly street to be lost in. Its
sky line--if it knew anything about the sky--was as irregular as a
Wagner dragon's teeth--high buildings and low buildings, and shanties
where coloured families lived; little, sinister-looking houses where
people could be murdered and their bodies never found, shops where you
could buy everything you didn't want and nothing that you did.
In the dream black and white children were fighting and skating on
roller skates over the pavement. Cars were clanging bells. Everybody
and everything was making a noise of some sort. Win was trying to get
past the skaters and catch a car. She must, or she would be late for
something! But what? This was horrible. She was going somewhere, and
could not remember where or what she had to do. She was lost forever,
and had forgotten her name and the name of the street where she lived.
A roller-skating boy with the face of a black monkey threw her down,
and a surface car and Peter Rolls's automobile were about to run over
her when she waked with a jump that shook the palsied bed. Another "L"
train booming by!
Despite lack of sleep and a tiredness of body that Sunday could not
cure, Win had never looked more attractive than when, at precisely
twelve forty-five on Monday afternoon she presented herself at Mr.
Meggison's door.
This was his private den, and a visit there, even on a less alarming
errand than hers, was far more formidable than pausing for inspection
at an office window. Sadie, with the best intentions, had been able to
give little encouragement There must be scolding or else flirting in
prospect. And Winifred's eyes were bright, her cheeks pink, her head
high, as the superintendent's voice bade her "Come in."