She took a small card from her bag and handed it to me.
"Mr. Kildare, you have been very kind and considerate and I would like
to show you that I appreciate it. I am afraid you will find it rather
tame, but I hope you will come."
I twirled the card between my fingers and without looking at it asked:
"What is it?"
"Why, just a little social entertainment of our church."
"When and where does it take place?" I still kept on asking.
"I am not quite sure as to the date, but the card will tell you."
As it was said, I could do no less than refer to the card. Whether I
held the card upside down or what I did, I do not know, but my secret
was out and nothing could hide it any longer.
There I stood, to all appearances a man, intelligent and able-bodied,
and not able to cipher or decipher even my own name.
I felt all go away from me. My fairy palace of bliss crumbled to
pieces. What else could I do but slink away, to hide myself, my
ignorance, my shame forever?
Why prolong the agony of this torturing moment?
I turned quickly without a word, intending to return to the dark
"whence" from which I had come.
But before I had taken a step a little hand grasped my arm, and then and
there took up its faithful guidance of me, and every fibre of my big,
ungainly frame thrilled at this waking of the better life.
The memory of the following months--yes, years--but for the tingeing
sadness would be a bit of most laughable humor.
The work of my little schoolma'am became doubled. Besides her class at
school she saddled herself with this unwieldy, husky kindergarten of
one. I know many youngsters--God bless them!--who like their school and
studies, but they were not in it with me in the drilling of my A, B,
C's. Never was the alphabet more quickly mastered. In a surprisingly
short time "c-a-t, cat," and "r-a-t, rat," were spelled by me with the
facility of a primary scholar.
Who would not have learned quickly with such a teacher?
My good old Bill did not fail to note this educational process and was
sorely puzzled at it.
Our attic became a study; the washstand a student's desk, with a big,
ungainly head bent close to a smoking oil lamp.
How I pored over my private lessons!
The pen in cramped fingers would trace those tantalizing letters, while
the lips gruffly murmured the spelling. Naturally, arithmetic was also
included in my curriculum, and often Bill had flung at him the maddening
puzzle: "Seven into thirty-five goes how many times--yes, how many
times?"
Bill always sat beside me during my studies and blinked a hundred
questions at me.
"Say, Kil, what are you up to now? I am afraid it is some new sort of
tomfoolery. If not, why can't I do it, too?"
I often answered and explained, but the situation was not fully grasped
by my old pal until he met my teacher. And then? Why the rocks, the
hillsides, trees and birds and flowers were all responsive to that
little sprite, and Bill, in just one glance, saw that the fairy of our
destinies had but begun her miracle of love.
But even dolls can be made to talk and parrots can imitate empty
chatter. My teacher wanted me to have the means to lift myself out of
my ditch. The little sculptor who was moulding this huge mass of the
commonest clay into the semblance of a man wanted to waken that in me
which would make me something apart from the thing I had been. Coming
out of blackest darkness I was not led at once into the radius of the
dazzling light, but, as with the tots in her class at school, she
coached me, step by step, into the way of righteous intelligence.
Gradually I began to see--to see with the eyes of my soul--and I found a
great world about me abounding in the evidences of an almighty and wise
Creator. I began to understand and love this newer and better life, and
began to hate the old life, which often tried to tempt me back to it.
Our lessons were carried on with much inconvenience and difficulty. The
distance from school to home was little more than ten blocks, and during
the time it took us to walk that length I had to report my lesson and to
receive instructions for additional study. The inconvenience of this
method was not at all conducive to learning, and one day I was asked by
my teacher to come to her house to receive my lesson there.
I could hardly believe mine own ears. I was to see the very place in
which she lived. It was beyond belief. Was it not a sacrifice on her
part? Indeed it was, and I can never sufficiently emphasize the many
sacrifices this sweet little girl underwent for me from the beginning to
the very end.
Let us understand her position.
Marie Deering was the sole support of her mother and a young invalid
brother. Besides these two she had only one other relative, an elder
brother in a far western city. The father, a retired captain of
engineers in the British army, had come to America to dispose of several
inventions. Whatever the value of these inventions, the captain knew
little of the ways of business and commerce, and soon found himself
minus his inventions and balance of his savings. Disappointment and
failing health combined to shorten his days, and the little family found
themselves fatherless.
The burden to provide fell then on the shoulders of the daughter, and
that, as all her other burdens, was borne with a fortitude worthy of a
saint in heaven.
It goes without saying that the Deerings were refined people, and you
can imagine what it meant to them to have a big, uncouth fellow intrude
into their home circle. I shall never forget the horror-stricken
countenance of Mrs. Deering when I appeared for my first lesson. It
needed no interpreter to read the question in her eyes: "For goodness'
sake, where did this come from, and what is it?"
But I immediately found a dear little ally in my teacher's invalid
brother, who quickly discovered me a willing horse for many a wild and
hazardous canter from kitchen to parlor.
This first glance into real home life fairly upset me. Since then I
have seen many more luxurious places, but none where my heart felt so
much at home. I noticed everything--the neatness, the taste of the
modest decorations--and I set my teeth and said: "I, too, will have a
home, a real home, and, perhaps, not only for myself, but----"
Ah, it was too early to dream that far.
To dream of things will never bring them. People who had known me had
always given me credit for stubborn determination in wicked pursuits. I
resolved to test the strength of my determination by applying it to a
better end.
As soon as my mentor ascertained that my income came from practising my
uniform system of physical culture, of which the only beneficiary was
the inventor and professor, she counselled against it and told me to
cease it.
This brought me face to face with my most novel experience. I looked
for work--good, honest, hard work.
My luck surprised me.
Only a few months had passed since the beginning of my transformation,
but it had been noticed by men whom I had thought indifferent to my
fate.
I can say, with all the conviction possible, that, if a man determines
without compromise to do right, he will find friends, all willing to
help along, among those he had expected to be nothing more than mere
acquaintances. And another thing. I also claim--and it has never
disproven itself to me--that the man who really wants to work can always
find it, friends or no friends. The rub is that "suitable" work cannot
always be found so easily. It is this lack of "suitable" work which
sends men to Bowery lodging-houses, there to keep themselves in high
collars and cuffs by begging instead of soiling their tender hands by
the first work offered to them.
I started out to do my hustling turn and had no trouble in finding work.
Happily it was of the--to me--"suitable" kind.
I went to work at one of the steamboat piers as a baggageman--sometimes
lovingly referred to as a "baggage-smasher." The wages were eight
dollars a week, and that was a smaller amount than I had often "earned"
in one night while employed in the dives.
On my first pay day, those eight dollars were recounted by me
innumerable times, not because I was dissatisfied with the smallness of
the amount, but because I felt good, really good, at having at length
earned a week's wages by honest toil. Every one of those bills had its
own meaning for me.
My teacher knew of my new employment, and, with my first pay I bought a
little gift for her. It also gave me a pretext for explaining to her my
future plans.
Much of her time had been taken up with me, and I owed all of my new
life to her endeavor. Persistently she claimed that all her efforts
were only a small return for the favor done for her by me, and that,
besides, it was her duty to help me to gain a foothold on my new road of
life. This argument failed to convince me, as my favor amounted to
nothing, and I understood without difficulty that all the benefit I
received from her unceasing toil with me was inspired by nothing else
than the sweet, Christian spirit which ruled every one of her actions. I
insisted that it would have been an imposition for me to be a trouble
and bother to her any longer, especially when I had steady employment,
which afforded me the time and means to attend evening schools and to
study at home in spare hours. I wanted to thank her, and not be quite
so conspicuous where, because of social differences, I felt I did not
belong.
I mentioned something about coming from the gutter. As always, she had
an answer, and a flattering one, ready. As to coming from the gutter,
she expostulated, why, many a coin is dropped there and remains until
some one picks it up and, by a little polishing, makes it as good as it
ever was.
It was just like her. She always claimed to have found in me something
good, something I could never have discovered. On the other hand, as
soon as we resumed the lessons, she found that quite often her pupil
could be severely trying.
It was the harrowing science of arithmetic which caused the most
trouble, and even to this day--but that is a different story. I had a
confirmed habit of becoming hopelessly muddled in my multiplication
table. When floundering in the numerical labyrinth I would hear just
the faintest little sigh, and, looking up, would see a dear little
forehead showing the most cunning wrinkles of resignation. It was then
that horrid wickedness would take possession of me, and I would
intentionally make more mistakes just to see those eyes reproach me for
my stupidity. I would also make errors in my spelling and reading to
have the pleasure of being chided in her modulated voice.
My course of education had now run on for months and the beginning of
winter gave us the chance to elaborate it. The free lectures of the
Board of Education were a boon quickly taken advantage of by us. Almost
every night we went to Cooper Union or some public school where an
interesting lecture was announced. To be sure I was not at first a
howling success as an attendant. I could stand the illustrated
lectures, but astronomy and political economy without pictures always
produced the lullaby effect on me, and I was often on the verge of
snoring. All this disappointed my professor, but did not discourage
her.
Summer came and my knowledge of botany was destined to be enriched.
Strange are the paradoxes of fate. No class loves flowers as much as
the poor, and no class has less of them than they. Ah, it is pitiful, I
tell you, to wander through the streets inhabited by my people, and to
see never a patch of green, a fragrant oasis, in this stretch of barren,
joyless materialism. There is no time there for flowers, where even the
cabbages in front of the dingy grocery stores look withered and seared,
and where there is no other watchword than, "Work, work, or we will be
homeless and starving." That one thought rules the brains of my fellows
with an iron grasp. With the close of their daily toil their day's
worry is not over. Listen to the talks on the stoops and in the
doorways of the tenements and you will be the witness of much fretting.
Often all this mind's botheration is not necessary. There is no actual
want, no threatening danger of it. Yet, the poor find a gruesome
pleasure in dwelling in the midst of their horrors, and the roll of
their organ of misery churns along on an endless chain.
And I believe that this is so because the child life of the East Side is
dwarfed and deprived of all that is dear to a child's natural desires.
Every year brings improvements. Men and women with hearts of gold are
working like Trojans among the children of the poor, and the harder they
work the more are they appreciated by their charges. I cannot rid
myself of the opinion that in the aiding of the children lies the only
solution of our social troubles. Teach them to be natural--a difficult
feat, to swing themselves above their level in intellect and not by
imitating the modes and fashions of the idle rich in the shoddy fabrics
offered to them by unscrupulous dealers, and we will have advanced miles
nearer to the goal which is desired by all who love their fellow men,
not with mushy sentiment, but with intelligence.
Still, in spite of all that is done, the yearning look in the eyes of
the children is still there, and I would not care to have the heart of
the man who can see the unspoken wish in the childish gaze when
beholding a flower, no matter how scraggy, and then laugh at it as at a
freak of humor.
My acquaintance with the denizens of the kingdom of flowers was
exceedingly limited. My teacher had noticed this and forthwith set to
work to remedy this other defect in my education.
As early as May did we begin our out-of-door course. We did it by means
of excursions. I did not care to have this arrangement all one-sided
and we agreed to change off in the management of our personally
conducted tours. We both had to work during the week and could only
indulge in our excursions on Sundays. So, on one outing she would be
the supreme director and dictator; I, on the next.
Candor compels me to confess that my outings always led us dangerously
near to Coney Island, if not quite to it, yet, people can enjoy
themselves even there, for it is the same old ocean, and the same sea
air there as elsewhere, and it only lies with the visitor how to spend
the holiday.
On her Sundays I was always kept in the dark as to our destination until
we reached it. It invariably proved to be some quiet country place,
with nooks and brooks and all the charming props which set the stage of
nature with tranquil loveliness. After depositing the luncheon in some
shady spot, the professor would trip from flower to flower, from tree to
tree, and deliver little sermons on birds, flowers and minerals. There
is no schoolroom like God's own nature, and in a way which I cannot
describe to you, I learned that there was a life abounding in purity, in
the understanding of things, and based in the wisdom of a wise Father.
Step by step my faithful teacher led me on, until there was no doubt
travailing me, until I could stand in street, or field, or forest, and
feel my soul, my own undying soul.
There never were other days like these and, surely, there never will be
again.
We had then known one another for a long time. I had become capable of
reasoning, and had grave cause for doing so. Was it all for the best?
Will it surprise you to know that constant companionship with my mentor
had awakened in me thoughts very foreign to grammar and arithmetic?
I loved her. I knew it, but I also felt that that love was doomed to be
buried unsatisfied. A cat may look at a queen, but that is about all a
cat may presume to do.
That is what my reason told me, but in my heart there echoed a stirring
hymn of fondest hope. It would not let me rest, and I became a
pestering nuisance to my teacher. Many times daily would I ask her the
questions, "Why, why do you undergo this ceaseless labor--why do you set
yourself this gigantic task of making of me a man?"
As in all other matters, I was rough and uncouth in my annoying
questioning, and an answer to it was long refused. But my bulldog
tenacity came to my aid and I would not let go. Determination will
overcome a good many things, and surely a little school teacher. I need
not tell you how it happened--you either know, or will know it
yourself--but one day we understood the question and the answer.
Then life for us became a blessed thing indeed. For the first time in my
life I was supremely happy. I cannot tell you how my little girl felt,
but can give a very strong guess at it, for my sweetheart never wavered,
never failed me, and was my very own until the very last.
My Mamie Rose, my bride, my dearest friend, my all.
It took me a long time to fully grasp that she had really said "Yes," to
the ever-important question, but, as soon as I was quite sure of it, I
assumed the grand airs of proprietorship new swains usually assume.
First of all I exerted my prerogative of calling her by her first name.
Although long under her tutelage and exposed to her refining influence,
I was by no means, very polished, and still harbored many prejudices
against customs and usages not common to the social shift from which I
had sprung. The nomenclature of my people is very limited. Only a very
small choice of male and female baptismal names is resorted to by
tenement house folk. John, James, Michael, Patrick, Henry, George,
Charles are the most used male names; Maggie, Sadie, Susie, Lizzie,
Nellie and Mamie are the favorite female names, or, at least, the
favorite abbreviations of the names.
The name, Marie R. Deering, sounded a trifle too fashionable, too
"toney," to me, and I proceeded to acclimatize it.
"Mamie" is the abbreviation or substitute for "Marie," so my little girl
was immediately dubbed "Mamie."
The "R."--the initial of her middle name, stood for Rosetta, and it was
decidedly against the code of ethics of the Fourth Ward for any one to
be burdened by such an enormity. Again I officiated at the imaginary
baptismal font, and "Rosetta" became a plain "Rose," sweet to me as no
other.
Let no one think for a moment that my changing of names was accomplished
without opposition. Besides other things, little people also possess the
virtue of stubbornness, and many were the arguments pro and con. I was
told with most charming emphasis that I could shout "Mamie Rose" to the
winds, but that she, Marie R. Deering, would never--no, never--answer to
that name. But, you know the old saying about many little drops of
water penetrating the surface of the hardest stone, and the same was
true in this case. Also, it should not be forgotten that she, my Mamie
Rose, was of English descent, I was of Irish stock, and it is in Ireland
where the Blarney stone is, which same instils a wonderful magic in the
love-making of every descendant of good Erin's folk.
We had barely sealed the compact of our love when I received a fearful
shock. My Mamie Rose wanted me to inform her mother concerning what had
happened.
Mrs. Deering and myself had become very good friends. On several
occasions she had even been my fellow-conspirator, by helping me to
solve some weird puzzles in multiplication, imposed on me by her
daughter. I had often sat at her table and had spent many hours, made
pleasant by her, in the cosy home. However, all this did not seem
sufficient to screw my courage up to the required pitch. Many
particularly ticklish situations in my past life had been met by me
without flinching, but I actually trembled when I was obliged to face
this sweet lady with my portentous information and request.
If I had trembled with fear before telling her, I trembled with joy
after it.
I could hardly believe my senses when I did not hear one word of regret
or reproach from her lips. And when she said quietly, and, therefore,
most impressively: "I have no fear for Marie's future," I became her
bonded slave right on the spot, and hold myself in bondage to her to
this very day.
Richard, my brave, crippled Dick--my "other" pal--was most effusive in
his congratulations, but, he admitted to me his was a selfish reason,
for now I was his big brother in "dead earnest."
Naturally, all this gave me an increased impetus to earn more money, and
I put so much zeal into my work that my wages were several times
increased. Nevertheless, I was still nothing more or less than a
"baggage smasher." However, all of it, courtship and the rest, was so
entirely out of the ordinary that a little thing like this did not cause
us any worry. And if one happens to be a "baggage-smasher," it does not
follow that one must always remain one. Besides, the queen did not mind
it, and as to the cat, well--there is no use in talking to you if you
cannot imagine what the cat thought about it.
*AMBASSADOR BILL.*
*CHAPTER XVI.*
*AMBASSADOR BILL.*
One who has been somewhat neglected in the few preceding pages is my old
pal, my Bill. His soul, heart, instinct, call it what you will, was
undergoing severe trials.
Mamie Rose was the cause of it.
With her coming into our lives, she sowed the seed of jealousy between
me and Bill.
Bill found a new joy in trotting beside my teacher at times when he
should have been at my side. He seemed the proudest dog in all the
world and hardly deigned to notice me.
This I resented.
On the other hand, at times when Mamie Rose and I would sit close
together, Bill could not rest until, with all his mighty prowess, he had
squirmed himself between us.
For a long time he did not know whom of his two friends he should love
the best. But, with coming weeks and months, he decided to share his
affection evenly, and then we understood one another's feelings and
respected our relative positions.
Would that I could take a peep into Bill's doggish brain and read the
memory of those heavenly days!
A man who is born to coarseness and brutality will sometimes lose
control of his acquired attainments. There came a day, long forgiven
and forgotten by her, but not yet sufficiently atoned by me, when I
permitted the subdued brute within me to assert itself for one brief
moment. I saw immediately what I had done, and realized that my
rowdyism could not be forgiven.
Then was a lapse in deepest shadows. Regrets, reproaches,
self-accusations--what good were they? They could not lead me back to
paradise. The room became a place of silent brooding, and not as
regularly shared by Bill as formerly. Bill had taken no part in our
estrangement. Emotional dog as he was, he never forgot to take care of
the inner dog whenever an opportunity presented itself. From the very
beginning he had industriously cultivated the acquaintance of my little
girl's mother. First, becomingly modest, he had, in the course of time,
insisted on being a regular guest at the dinner-table. I meant to break
him of this habit, but the mother told me in confidence that Bill had
whispered to her, quite plainly: "I think you are the very best cook in
the world." Few women can resist such a compliment.
For two long days I had not seen her--had not heard her voice. She
lived just around the corner, and, from the window of my tenement, I
could see the walls that sheltered my treasure, that I thought forever
lost. I sat and sat and stared at the cruel bricks that seemed to cry,
"Halt!" Small wonder that the lesser things of life had lost their
importance to me! Even Bill had, for the nonce, but little space in my
thoughts; but he lost no time in bringing himself most forcibly to my
notice.
I was at the window, and the door way slightly ajar. All was quiet,
very quiet, until a slow patter on the stairs told of my partner's
home-coming. My most casual glance was his share on entering the room.
He was very anxious to avail himself of this, and made quickly for the
sheltering shadows under the bed. But my careless glance had quickly
changed to one of concern on beholding him, and, after much coaxing, he
crawled out to face me.
My valiant knight had met his conqueror. The hero of many a battle sat
wounded and bandaged before me. His left eye was swathed in linen. He
tried to pass over the matter lightly; he wagged his tail, but only
once, for that, too, was bandaged. Then he threw himself on my mercy.
It behooved me, as his partner, to investigate the extent of the damage,
and I carefully untied the bandage that covered his eye. It was only a
trifling scratch, suspiciously like one made by a cat. I also noticed
that his badge of honor--his collar--was missing. On the point of
throwing aside the bandage, a handkerchief, my eye fell on a well-known
monogram in its corner, and--I cannot exactly recall how it
happened--but, in the very next minute, my Bill and I were descending
the rickety stairs, two steps at a time.
Just as we turned the corner, a belligerent-looking tabby made herself
exceedingly conspicuous. Somehow, Bill found the other side of the
street preferable. At her door he joined me again, and my queen's
ambassador led the way upstairs.
There I stood before her, and stammered uncouth phrases of apology. I
mentioned Bill's collar. A dainty hand took it from the mantel and
handed it to me; our fingers met and--all the world was singing again
the sweet refrain which for days had been silent. The impudence of that
dog beggars all description. He had the unblushing nerve to claim all
the credit for having brought love's jangle into tune again, and, in his
excitement, rapped his damaged caudal appendage three times on the floor
before he tried to bite it.
Then our happiness began once more.
*MY DEBUT IN SOCIETY.*
*CHAPTER XVII.*
*MY DEBUT IN SOCIETY.*
Had our future plans depended on my inclinations, or rather my impulses,
our wedding would have taken place very soon after our engagement. All I
deemed necessary to insure our future happiness was our love. All else
was of no importance. Now I know that her judgment was the better.
I had sense enough to admit her wisdom. I was still very much entangled
in the forest of ignorance. It could not have been right for me to force
myself on her, refined and cultured as she was--until, at least
approximately I was on the same level. I had still much, very much, to
learn before considering myself capable to class myself with the
non-illiterate. There were years of study before me, yet, with such a
prize dancing before me, I threw myself into my task with true
enthusiasm.
So, though I often grumbled at my fate, I fully understood that it would
be many moons before I could justly say to my Mamie Rose: "Now I am
ready."
We were both human. Sometimes, perhaps, in the hour when the homing of
the sun had come and when the golden wings were folded for the rest of
one more night, we, Mamie Rose and I, in field or rural quiet, felt the
intoned, unison song of our hearts, which sung to us that we were one, a
unit, and not two different personalities, and then we often came very
near to throwing aside all previous sagacious resolves and felt
ourselves fired by the desire to end to-morrow this two-fold existence.
These periods never lasted long. The morrow came and whispered:
"Fools," and we forgot the swerving from our intentions, in hard work.
Since that time I have had many days of very hard labor, but I never
worked as I did then. Corporations are not in the habit of paying
liberal salaries unless every cent of them is earned by the sweat of
your brow. For one in my humble position I was receiving exceedingly
high wages--and, to be candid, I had to earn them by my sweat. Often I
was given an opportunity to work "over time" at extra pay. It was
always welcome, because it meant so much more added to my deposit in the
Savings Bank, but it simply "played me out."
From the pier I would hurry to Mamie Rose's house to report or to
receive a lesson, although, sometimes, besides the lessons, other things
were discussed. Then home and to other work.
I had left the attic and had taken a room, from where I could see Mamie
Rose's roof. Arrived in the room, Bill would be given his walk and
dinner, and then would be permitted to watch his master "making himself
educated." The Standard Oil Company really ought to give me a discount.
I was a good customer, yet received not all the benefit possible from
the oil. My midnight oil often burned away into morning to no better
purpose than to throw shadows of the sleeping student and his dog.
I blush with deep shame while making this confession; I invariably fell
asleep over Ralph Waldo Emerson, while I had no trouble in keeping awake
with Alexandre Dumas. It is not intended as a criticism of Emerson,
although he could well afford to be criticised by me, but, generally
speaking, it seems to one as unformed as myself, as if the truths of
life, of thought, of science come to us always on stilts. I have not
been able to learn very much from present day novels, and am, and always
will be, compelled to fall back on old friends to supply me with the
scaffolding for the rather meagre structure of my education. But, in
spite of loving them dearly, I often wish they were better adapted to my
understanding.
So, with books and work and sweet intercourse with her whom I loved,
time marched along with never-halting step and was recorded by me with
most exact care. My calendars were model chronicles of time, and often
did I wish they were practical statesmen, so that, by the usual means,
they could be speeded.
With one exception nothing occurred to change the even tenor of our
lives. That one exception has, to this very day left a peculiarly
bitter taste in my mouth. I admit I am biased in the matter, still, I
can be truthful, and so, that I may be better understood, the episode
will be related here.
Late one Saturday night, I had occasion to call on one of my former
pals, who was lying ill on a cot in a lodging house near Chinatown. On
my way home, I passed the entrance to Chinatown--Pell street, beginning
at the Bowery. I had just greeted a few of the men loafing about the
front of Barney Flynn's place--the palace of the King of the
Bowery--when I was hailed by some one.
I looked around and saw a party of sightseers coming in my direction. I
had no more to do with that sort of business and intended to proceed on
my way without paying any attention to them, but was called by name by
one of them, whose voice was familiar to me.
"What do you want?" I asked, and halted.
"What's the matter, Kil? Don't you remember your friends any more?"
I looked at the speaker and knew him again as one of my former pupils in
the physical culture line. To mention his name will do no good and I
will only say that he had been my favorite pupil and that I had believed
a mutual liking existed between us. To prevent error, let me say that he
had not been my patient, being neither too fat nor too lean, but had
only taken a course in boxing to learn the manly art of self-defense. I
had never seen him since the closing of my physical culture system and
was overjoyed at this unexpected meeting.
He insisted that, for this one time only, and to oblige him, I should
take him and the party of his friends through Chinatown and show them
the most interesting sight-places. His friends were all from out of
town, seemed to be more serious than the average sightseer, and were so
strong in their persuasion that I could not refuse to act as their
guide.
During our journey along the old scenes of my former days, my ex-pupil
inquired into my present welfare and was very glad to hear I was getting
along by other ways than those formerly employed by me. Shortly before
I parted from him, he told me that he had taken very little exercise of
late and wanted me to box with him occasionally. I laughed at his
proposition, told him that I considered myself retired for good, but did
not think it advisable to tell him the true reason for my refusal. He
kept on increasing the terms he was willing to pay me. I could not help
thinking how the additional income would increase my deposit; thereby
bringing me closer to the realization of my fondest dream, and, after
some reflection, I agreed to call on him twice a week in the evening to
"don the mitts" with him.
I had called on him several times before I told him how completely my
life had been changed. In this Mamie Rose was not left out, and, you
can rest assured, my accounts of her sweetness, devotion and beauty were
given in the most glowing colors. My regard for this man was sincere
and I supposed that all I told him was received in the proper spirit. I
am not garrulous, but when it came to talking about my Mamie Rose, I
knew no limits. My heart simply glowed with love, and I never grew tired
to praise her, who was the truest and best.
My man never omitted to inquire after her and even sent her a few
presents through me. Mamie Rose warned me against this, but the things
were beyond my means and added to her charm, and I would not listen to
her.
At the end of one of our sessions, my ex-pupil extended an invitation to
me. He had told his mother about me and she was very anxious to know
me. At a certain date I was expected to call at his mother's
residence--he, himself, lived in bachelor quarters--to meet a few
friends there.
In this invitation Mamie Rose was also included. I was bubbling over
with excitement when telling her about the honor fallen to us. The
quiet way in which she received my news disappointed me.
"Aren't you glad?" I asked. "Doesn't this prove that my friend is of
the right calibre and wishes to honor both you and me by this invitation
to his mother's house?"
"I wish I could feel quite sure on that point," said my little adviser,
"but I am afraid that this invitation instead of bringing us pleasure,
will bring just the opposite."
"Oh, girl o' mine," I coaxed, "I know this fellow and you don't. He is
as good as gold and you may believe me that the invitation was extended
in good faith."
I prevailed, and, on the appointed day, we invaded the most fashionable
quarters of the city to enjoy the hospitality of our friends, the
swells.
After we had passed the scrutiny of the man at the door, who had
evidently been told of our coming, we were ushered into a drawing room.
The only one I knew among the people was my ex-pupil, who quickly came
forward to greet us and, then, to introduce us.
In spite of my lack of familiarity with the customs of the upper
classes, I saw at a glance that the crowd had been expectant and was now
disappointed.
To explain this disappointment, I should mention that my wearing apparel
consisted of a black suit of good material and workmanship. My necktie
was not colored in imitation of the rainbow and I had no occasion to
look for a convenient spot for my expectorations. To carry the
disappointment further, I acted contrarily to expectations at the dinner
table. I neglected to carry the food to my mouth at the point of my
knife and forgot to dip my finger into the salt-cellar.
My Mamie Rose was, as always, becomingly and properly gowned, and
carried herself with a tact which fortified me against giving full reins
to my temper.
Before entering the dining-room, the two freaks from the Bowery were
made the centre of much curiosity. The men got around me, expecting to
hear choice stories of a certain kind, which contrary to accepted ideas,
are not original in the Bowery, but are brought there by these pioneers
of refined civilization. Their faces fell when I proved a decided
failure at that sort of story-telling.
While in their midst, I did not forget Mamie Rose, who was the centre of
the female freak-hunters. I compared her poise, her naturalness, to the
artificial sprightliness of the society ladies, and found it so
admirable and sufficient, that I could well afford to laugh at the winks
and sneers exchanged behind her back.
One old woman, who with her gray hair, made a reverential picture of old
age, deliberately surveyed my Mamie Rose through her lorgnette, as if
the sweetest girl there or elsewhere were an escaped beast from the
jungle. I could not bear this and started toward my girl. But she felt
my coming, turned to me and showed in her eye the competency to
withstand the illy veiled sneers and insults of that horde of her
sisters.
A few minutes before dinner was announced, I had an opportunity to
entreat Mamie Rose to have us leave.
"I did not want to come, but now we are here and here we stay," was her
spirited dictum.
The ceremonial style of the meal and the conversation during it
impressed me very little. The emptiness, the superficiality and the
desire to "show off" was too palpable. I had not then--or now--reached
that altitude of social perfection to make a meal the most important
function of my day's work. After we, the gentlemen, (I am afraid I was
not included), had had our smoke and bout with the decanters, we joined
the ladies in the drawing room. One of them had evidently been "laying
for me," and captured me as soon as I entered. I was led to a settee
and there we had a very, very serious talk.
She asked me this and she asked me that; if the dives were really as
horrible as pictured; if it was quite safe to visit them; if I would
consent to act as guide, for a generous compensation; if I had ever
witnessed any "interesting" scenes down on the Bowery; and--spare me
telling the rest.
My answers were not what were desired and, at last, I had a sample of
frank truthfulness.
"Do you know, Mr. Kildare," said my resplendent companion, "you are a
decided disappointment as a Bowery type, and not at all the entertaining
chap we had been led to believe you to be."
"I am sure that is more the fault of time than of me," I replied.
"Years often make us lose our entertaining qualities and, also, our
attractiveness."
Our serious talk ended with this, still, she was a surprisingly well
made-up woman.
At last the time for our departure came and I said my adieus. Our visit
having proved more or less of a fiasco, one of the more intimate friends
of the family chose this moment to make an attempt to save the
"entertainment" from becoming an absolute fizzle.
"I say, Kildare," began this worthy young man, who was doubtless
unacquainted with my past performances in the exhibition of my temper,
"you've been in society now, and it would be very appropriate if you
were to tell us your impressions in your own language--mind you, in your
own language."
For once the pleading in the eye of my Mamie Rose was of no avail, and I
started to give my impressions in "my own language," which proved
sufficient, and did not oblige me to borrow the language of anybody
else. My heart was soured. I did not care a snap of my fingers for the
opinion of these people. To them I was a freak. What they were, what
they are to me, need not be written here. I could have laughed at it
all and would have been the only one really entertained. But to think
that those people, purse and caste-proud, should include my Mamie Rose
in their sport, made my blood run like boiling lava.
How far I might have gone in my outburst I cannot say. The same little
hand, which had always been my guide, touched my arm, and I followed her
out into the hall.
Before we departed, mother and son came to us with their sincere
apologies. They were sincere, we felt that and accepted them. The son
accused himself of having misunderstood the situation, in which I agreed
with him. We were most graciously invited to dine with them "en
famille," a few days hence, but while we left in the best understanding,
the invitation was thankfully declined.
Again out in the air, under God's own heaven, we walked along silently
for quite a while. My, but I felt ashamed, and was ready to hear with
perfect composure my Mamie Rose's "I told you so."
But it did not come, and I began rehearsing my plea for pardon.
"Girl o' mine," I pleaded, "won't you forgive me this time, and I
promise never----"
Ere I could finish, my pardon came with a silvery laugh, and the world
went very well again.
Less than an hour after that, we were without the pale of society and,
strange though it may seem, we were perfectly happy. My Mamie Rose was
busy with her school-work, the mother was taking a well-earned
rest--perhaps trying to take a little nap in the rocker, and the little
fellow and I were racing about the place to the tune of "The Rocky Road
to Dublin," sung--let me call it that--by me in tones that shook the
rafters.
Within the last twelve months, I have been honored on several occasions
with invitations to functions of the upper set. They were extended in a
different spirit than the first one, still, I could not see my way clear
to accept them.
I want to say most emphatically that I am not of anarchistic or
nihilistic tendencies. We all have our work cut out, and my work is not
in the direction of stirring up emotional outbursts of charity in the
drawing rooms of the upper circles.
*THE JOURNEY HOME.*
*CHAPTER XVIII.*
*THE JOURNEY HOME.*
Time passed on, bringing with it many of the things I was striving for.
To become a learned man, a scientist, was never my desire, and, most
likely, would have been an impossibility had I desired it. What I
wanted was to be able to understand, to acquire a fair amount of mental
balance, and then, to be able to put the acquired knowledge to the best
use.
With the changing of my life, a changing of aims had also come, and, as
in the old life, I was striving for success in the new life. The best
way to make an ambition possible is to make the ambition reasonable.
I was still groping and groping, but thank God, I was groping forward.
From whatever darkness still enshrouded me I kept steadily emerging
closer to the light. I felt this and it made me feel that my probation
should be ended.
Success without thrift is not well possible. My material advancement
had continued. I had again been promoted and had soared way above the
lowly position of a "baggage-smasher." My salary was more than ample
for my needs, and my deposit in the savings bank had grown wondrously.
Capitalists are proverbially aggressive. I, being one of the order
acted accordingly and began to force matters. Women like to be coaxed
and urged, and I did my proper share of it, because I knew it would
result as it did.
With the consent of the mother, the date of our wedding was set for
February.
Again another glorious period began.
It was over two months until the fixed date on which we were to become
man and wife, and we thought it necessary to inform ourselves concerning
several practical details. As I had now almost succeeded in securing a
mentor for life, we agreed to suspend our evening lecture tours, and
spent most of our time in wandering from store to store.
The time for buying household goods had not yet come, but it seemed to
delight Mamie Rose to gaze into the shop-windows. At times, we would
even go so far as to enter a store and price the goods. It was then
that my admiration for my little girl increased again.
I had long ago recognized that of common sense I had only a very small
share, and it was a splendid object-lesson to see my Mamie Rose dealing
with the tradesmen. Calm and collected, she would listen to the smooth
talk, and then act according to her own judgment, which was always
sound. I knew nothing then of the sagacity of women shoppers.
One night I attempted to show off a little of my business sagacity. I
chose a bad subject to practice on--diamonds. I can still hear her
words ring in my ears. How foolish it was of poor people to stint and
starve themselves for the sake of imitating flashy people by wearing
jewels bought at the expense of something more useful. Diamonds and
jewels were often the means of making the ignorance of the wearers more
conspicuous. A woman who wears jewels knows that she needs other
attractions than those given to her by nature.
Right here I got the best of my Mamie Rose.
"That may be all true, but nevertheless, I am going to buy you a ring,
girl o' mine," I said very seriously.
"No, you will not, because you know I do not want it, and it will only
offend me to have you give me one."
"What?" I retorted, playing my part with perfection. "Won't you permit
me to buy you a ring for that day in February?"
"Oh, that is different, and--why are you laughing, Owen Kildare?"
Oh, girl o' mine, girl o' mine, why had it to be!
The day was only weeks distant.
* * * * *
It was in January, and we were out on one of our nightly rambles in the
shopping district. It was one of those mild winter evenings which make
our climate so uneven. I was glad of it, because my Mamie Rose was a
dainty, delicate little creature, and on cold evenings I was afraid that
she might suffer from the weather.
We were looking at some furniture displayed in a window, when a shower
fell. We were caught right squarely in it. I wanted her to seek refuge
in a store, or at least, in a doorway, but we were only a short distance
from her home, and she insisted on reaching it before the shower turned
into a downpour.
I had a heavy overcoat over a stout suit of clothes. "Let me put, at
least, my overcoat over your shoulders," I insisted.
"No, you foolish boy, no," she laughed in answer. "Why, we're only a
jump from home, and I am dressed warm enough to risk these few drops."
For once my Mamie Rose was wrong and it was the "once" that counted.
My misgivings were many when I left her at her home, but she assured me
that she was in no danger of feeling the effects of the dampness.