CECILLE PLAYS THE GAME
Cecille had tried often to imagine what that moment was going to be like.
More than once she had dreaded that it would find her cheaply dramatic;
that nervous sentiment would surprise her and break her down. Now she
met it, unconcerned, without the slightest sense of shock. She had never
doubted that Felicity would be anything but matter-of-fact and jaunty,
right up to the end. Now it was the other girl who displayed unexpected
feeling.
For Cecille had learned that morning that Perry was leaving at midnight
for the South. With Felicity gone she realized how little chance there
was of his ever returning again to frequent the apartment. And nothing
else in the world much mattered. She was too deep sunk in misery even to
try to dissemble her apathy. But Felicity had not forgotten a single
night when she had waked to hear the other girl crying; she missed
nothing of her present dejection.
"Well, I'm off!" This without even turning from the mirror.
Cecille failed to answer. She crossed the room and dropped heavily into
a chair.
"We're catching the three-thirty this afternoon for the West."
Again silence for a while, and then a dry, strained question.
"Aren't you afraid?"
She'd made up her mind to ask at least that question. She had admitted
to herself that she had to ask it. And her tone made Felicity wheel.
"Of what?" Felicity demanded, a little blank.
Cecille laughed. It was a woeful, croaking attempt at flippancy.
"Oh, the old line of stuff!" She had never before employed Felicity's
brand of slang. It came unpleasantly from her tongue. "The wages of sin
and all that sort of thing."
That brought Felicity across the room until she stood, hands bracketed on
hips, above her.
"Don't you worry about me, Cele," she said slowly. "Don't you nor any
one else spend any pennies buying extras, expecting to strike news of my
violent and untimely end. Safety First; that's my maiden name. I let
Dunham drive thirty-five when he's sober. When he isn't, I walk. And
I'm going to be that careful about deep water that I'll bathe always
under a shower. Don't you worry about me." She paused soberly.
"It's you," she stated, "I'm worried about."
It was Felicity who displayed feeling at the end.
She stood quite a while staring down at the other girl's bright hair.
Then with an air of definite purpose she drew up a chair for herself.
"I don't get you," she mused. "You're a queer kid.
". . . From the country?"
"I suppose so," Cecille admitted. "I didn't use to think so. I used to
think we were quite--"
"That'll do," cut in Felicity. "I get it from that much description.
". . . Raised strict?"
"I guess so--pretty strict."
"Rigid church people?"
"Yes."
A little time of silence.
"Gee, that's tough!"
And Felicity's gravity at last had caught at the other girl's attention.
Slowly she looked up.
"Why?" she asked dully.
Felicity sat and studied her--pondered her. Felicity's face was harder
than Cecille had ever seen it before, and infinitely more tender.
"I hate to leave you," she said. "I wouldn't mind so much if I could
_get_ you. If I could once get it through my nut what you're waiting
for--what you expect there's going to be in it for you--it wouldn't be so
hard. But I can't."
"I don't know what you mean." She had caught Cecille's interest now.
"Neither do I," she admitted. "Not exactly. That's why I'm talking.
That's what I'm trying to get at." Her voice became half-absent-minded,
ruminative, as though she were thinking aloud.
"They caught me young, too," she murmured. "Oh, that was a long time
ago. Not measured in years, measured in time. There's a difference.
"A mission-school got hold of me. Good women, not brainless velvet pets
from the younger set, looking for a new sensation. Good women, sincere
women that wanted to help. Well, I was sincere, too. I wanted to be
helped. I told 'em so; but I also told 'em I doubted if they could do
much.
"I'd begun to get wise to one thing that early. I was seventeen, but I'd
begun to see that all you got in this world was what you helped yourself
to. But I was willing to try; I'd try anything once. If learning things
out of a book would do it; if studying how to shoot the right language in
the right spot and how to live sweet and pretty, inside and out, was
going to get me what I wanted, well and good. Also, soft! There
couldn't be any easier way, several well-known draymas to the contrary.
So I gave 'em a chance.
"'Show me,' I said. And I stuck it out two years."
She stared at the ceiling, her eyes sardonic with reminiscence.
"Two years. Get that. Not two days, nor two weeks, nor two months. Two
_years_. And did I see myself at the end of that time any nearer what I
was after? I hadn't slacked, mind you. I'd worked! Everything they'd
ever spilled I'd sopped up like a sponge. And did it finally bring me a
chance? Sure it did, believe you me. A whiskey drummer with false
teeth!"
Here she laughed, a slurring note or two.
"That cured me, I guess. I did stay a little longer, but I knew! I knew
I was through. I stayed another week, and then I went to the mat.
"'Show me,' I said again. That was what I wanted, a show-down. And did
they? Could they? Bah! They talked! They told me I was making
wonderful progress.
"'Sure,' I admitted. 'I'm on my way. I see that.' But what I wanted
'em to slip me was a little info as to where was I going.
"Well, they talked. What did I hope for? What did I want? What did I
expect to get out of it? And I told 'em. Well, that was a pretty large
order for a girl of my station. My station didn't figure, I told 'em;
we'd leave that out of it. And I told 'em so plainly that they neglected
to refer to that any more.
"But they took another tack instead. The things that I'd mentioned were
mere material things! Like that--scornful--as if they weren't worth
mentioning at all. 'Merely material!' And there was a better world to
live in--oh, my, yes--the world of the spirit.
"'Do you live in it?' I asked. 'Do you?' They wore sealskin coats, when
it wasn't mink or chinchilla. They were driving downtown every day in
their own closed cars to urge me to be content with the things of the
spirit. And when I realized that--No, I wasn't sore. I was just hep,
that's all.
"'I'll try Broadway,' I said then. 'If there's nothing, after all, in
this climb-though-the-rocks-be-rugged stuff, no great harm done. I'm
still young. But why waste more valuable time? I'll try Broadway,' I
said. 'I'll have a whirl at the primrose path.'
"They didn't believe me at first. They thought I was just bluffing, just
talking because I was discouraged. So they talked themselves some
more--a whole lot more. Beautiful words--but they didn't mean anything.
Not to me.
"Did any of 'em say: 'Sure, I understand. You're young and pretty, and
it's natural you should crave such things. Here's my last year's coat
and a perfectly miserable old last year's model car'? Did they? Don't
make me laugh! Not that they woulda missed them. Nothing like that!
"And if they'd only come out flat in the beginning and admitted: 'Sure,
it's a fight--we know that--a finish fight between women like you and
women like us,' I could have liked 'em for it. If they'd said: 'We want
these things, so do you, and only men can buy 'em--take 'em if you can,'
that woulda been all right with me. But did they? You know the answer.
They were telling _me_ not to rough it, while _they_ all the while, every
chance they got, were hitting in the clinches! They were chirping to me,
'Oh, see how lovely the things of the spirit are,' while they were
hanging with a death grip to everything material that they could get
their hands on. I'd been honest with them--sincere. And with me they
had been as hypocritical as hell!
"But when finally I made 'em see that I was on, and that I was in
earnest, it sobered them. They quit then that line of chatter. They
were battling now, and they pulled another one. Sure, just what you
called it a minute ago. The old line of stuff. They pulled that. They
tried to scare me. Me! But I wouldn't scare, not for a cent. I was
already scared half crazy--scared of matrimony with a drummer with false
teeth.
"'Hell!' That was what they threatened me with. 'Hell,' they tried to
warn me. "'How do you know?' I came back at 'em. 'How do you know?
Maybe there's been slander here. Maybe it's not so hot. Maybe it's only
semitropical!' And they couldn't beat that. They couldn't even tie it.
But they went right on trying.
"'The wages of sin,'--they began. But I beat 'em to that punch.
"'They're damned fine wages,' I said. The cuss-word slipped out. I was
always sorry about that. I always aimed to be awful respectful.
'They're damned fine wages! A car to ride around in,--sure, merely
material just like yours, but better than a strap in the subway with all
the men sitting down. And clothes--not shoddy rags. Clothes! Silk
things, with lace on 'em, and rosebuds. And a place to live in with
trees in the lobby and a tub level with the bath-room floor, and a
chaise-something-or-other.' Oh, I'd been reading! I hadn't been
studying for nothing. I knew!
"'I want to live in a world where things smell better,' I said. 'I'm
dead tired of a world that stinks!'
"Well, they kept a'trying. I'll say that for 'em. Game--you bet. I
don't believe they overlooked much either. 'The gutter,' they said.
'I'm in it now,' I came back. 'Your self-respect,' they said. 'Nobody
else respects me,' I trumped that, 'or even cares that I'm alive.' And
then I went after 'em strong. 'But give me the car,' I said, 'and the
apartment and the clothes, and see. Why, I'll have 'em walking the
length of every hotel dining-room in town, just to be recognized by me!'
'The men,' they said. 'Sure,' I agreed, 'the men. Isn't that what
counts? Don't try to tell me that this isn't a man's world. I know!
And won't they?'
"That stopped 'em for a minute. They didn't want to answer. They
thought an awful lot of the truth at times, for folks that'd lie to
themselves all day long. 'Won't they?' I wouldn't quit it. I made 'em
come through.
"'Perhaps,' they admitted then. Alas, that was the way of the world.
But it was wrong!
"'Sure,' I agreed again. 'Sure. You're telling me no news. But if the
whole world's wrong, who am I to stand out? Who am I?' I wanted to know.
'Let's make it unanimous.'
"'The wages of sin,' they tried it again. They'd expected to put me down
for the count with that one, and they hated to see it go to waste.
"'Can you show me something just as good?' I asked. 'Half as good? A
tenth as good? I want to be straight. I'd rather be straight. Here's a
proposition. You folks have got more than you can ever spend on
yourselves. Pool a little of it--ten of you--and give me a job that you
don't figure sinful. I'm willing to work. I've proved that to you.
Guarantee me something a tenth as good as the wages I've mentioned, at
the end of ten years--I'll not be thirty then; I'll take a chance on
still being able to enjoy 'em--guarantee me that and I'll scrub floors
for you in the meantime.'
"And then they pulled the prize crack of them all. I hadn't heard it
before. It was a new one on me.
"'Virtue,' they said, 'virtue is its own reward.'
"Honest, I laughed. I couldn't help it. I didn't want them to see that
I was wise to them. I didn't even want to hurt their feelings. It was
pretty serious to them, this step that I was taking. But I couldn't help
it. I laughed. And then I got mad.
"'Virtue is its own reward? Is it?' I asked. 'Is it? Go out there and
stand on Fifth Avenue,' I said, 'and watch 'em roll by. Your daughter!
And yours! And yours! Ten thousand of 'em, no younger than I am, no
prettier, and no more moral right now. Go out and watch them roll by and
then try to tell me that. Violets and silver fox! Is virtue their only
reward?'
"Well, they'd not meant it the same way, in my case. I kept getting 'em
wrong, they said. They'd meant it in the abstract, applied to me. 'But
what about the wages of sin, in my case?' Had they been abstract there?
'Death--the gutter.' That was concrete, wasn't it? It sounded like
bedrock to me. Then they wanted to explain. I wouldn't let 'em.
"'If you had been on the level I could have respected you,' I said. 'If
you had told me, sure this is a selfish world and we are of it, I'd have
liked you fine. I'm strong for a rascal, if he's an honest rascal. But
I hate a hypocrite.'
"I'd got 'em between me and the ropes where I wanted 'em, at last.
"'I've wasted two whole years,' I shot it over from the shoulder. 'Two
whole years, trying to compete with them'--I nodded toward the
Avenue--'according to their own rules. And you've been coaching me, when
all the while you knew I was licked, that way, before I started. Now let
_them_ compete with _me_, according to _my_ rules, for a change. Let
them run to their dressmakers and order their gowns a little lower and
their skirts a little higher and lie to themselves and say they must keep
in style, when they know they've got to keep their men and don't care how
they do it. Let _them_ try it--damn 'em!'
"I shouldn't have cussed. But I couldn't help it. I was bitter. If
they'd only been frank and man-to-man about it. The toughest birds in
the world stand in the middle of the ring and shake hands before they try
to murder each other. If they'd just said, 'This is no pretty game, this
is a finish fight,' I'd have loved 'em for it. I guess women can't be
frank and man-to-man.
"One set of rewards for me--and one for them! Abstract for me--and
concrete for them! Two sets of rules! It's time some authority drafted
a new set, to cover both ends of this deal. But in the meantime--'I
don't want to play that way,' I said. 'I'd rather fight!'"
Abruptly she stopped.
"And I've been fighting ever since," she spoke in a less urgent fashion.
"And I'm going to keep on fighting--right up to the end. But you--is
that the kind of stuff they slipped you too, Cele?"
Cecille had been listening without a sound, her eyes clinging to
Felicity's face, which was twisted, somewhat awry.
"Is that what they slipped you too?"
Cecille licked her lips. They were dry.
"I--I guess so."
"And that suits you? You think that's fair and square?"
"I don't know," Cecille whispered dully. "I don't know."
"Then it's time you found out," Felicity flung at her fiercely. "I had
to. It was put up to me just as cold. I didn't want to, any more than
you do. They aren't my rules; they're theirs! But I had to decide. And
it's time you figured it out."
Again Cecille touched her lip with the tip of her tongue.
"I've been trying to," she faltered. "But I--it don't seem to me as
though I want as much as you do. I'd be content with oh-so-little. With
a home, and a--and a man from whom I didn't shrink when he touched me
and--and--" She could go no further. That was too vivid, too intimate.
It was Felicity who displayed her feelings at the end. And already she
was beginning to scorn herself for having paraded them.
"Oh-so-little!" she mocked. She did not mean to be derisive. "Just
that! Just a home--just a man--a real man--content!"
"Would you be?" Cecille asked the question unaware of the other's irony.
"Say, who do you think I am," she asked, "to try to dictate terms like
that to life? _What_ do you think I am? A champion? Because that's
what you're talking now. The whole purse--or nothing! I _know_ my
limits. I'm going to be glad to get a fair percentage split for my
share. A home! A man! Content! I get you at last, Cecille. It's you
who'd better come to. For whether you know it or not, you're talking
winner--take--all!"
She rose then. She shrugged her arms and stretched them high above her
head, and all visible emotion slipped from her like a discarded garment.
"And that's _that_!" she stated easily. She went back to the mirror and
adjusted her veil. Then came a brief and awkward moment.
"Well, I guess I'll be going," she said. "The rent's paid a month in
advance. Don't let that Shylock landlord gyp you."
"I won't," said Cecille.
"Well, I guess I'll be going." She picked up her bag. They did not kiss
each other.
"Well--so-long."
"I--I wish you--" Cecille checked herself. She had been about to say I
wish you happiness. She meant that, yet clumsily she changed it.
"I wish you luck."
At that Felicity paused.
"Does this hat look all right?"
Cecille nodded. And then she was gone.
* * * * * *
So Felicity passes. No dark river. No swift oblivion. No agony of
remorse. Those who may feel that her history is incomplete, that they
have been robbed of their full meed of vindictive satisfaction, I must
refer back to an earlier paragraph. And to those who may say, Here is a
dangerous departure from the formula for such tales, there is only one
honest retort. Felicity isn't a figment of fancy. Felicity's from the
life.
* * * * * *
Cecille sat quiet after Felicity had gone, until darkness crept into the
room. She rose then, mechanically, and prepared and ate some supper.
Later Perry Blair came and she found that pressing as her own problem
seemed she could still think first of him. She would not tell him now of
Felicity's dereliction. He needed a single mind to face his coming
struggle. He would learn of it soon enough.
Later still they went out and walked, till he had only time enough left
in which to catch his train. Both of them were silent. Neither felt any
inclination to talk. But Cecille's brain had been as uncannily busy as
that of one who lies awake throughout a white and sleepless night. And
she had believed this bodiless activity to be the process of sound
reasoning; she had found some security in the conclusions she had formed.
But when they turned back toward the apartment the whole brilliant
structure proved treacherous. It toppled. She was back where she had
started, cornered, driven now for time. She couldn't stand it. He would
go--and he'd never come back. Never! What was there in it for her?
What was she waiting for?
Play the game? Fight? She knew she wasn't clever like Felicity, but she
conceived what she thought was a desperate expedient, nor realized that
it was pitifully transparent. There was no elevator in their building.
Perry had a habit of striking matches to light the darker portions of the
stairs, though that was silly. She'd told him; she knew every step of
the way. But to-night when he struck the first one, she raced ahead.
When it flickered and suddenly went out, she crumpled. At her cry, which
brought him swiftly, he found her a little heap upon the stair. Her
ankle was doubled beneath her.
"I've twisted it," she said.
She wasn't clever, like Felicity, and yet how simple it was!
He picked her up. He carried her like no weight at all. And she lay
very close against him, her head on his crooked elbow, her arms about his
neck. They had left a light burning in the box of a sitting-room. And
as he entered there Perry Blair, looking down at her delicately parted
lips and faintly fatigue-penciled eyes, breathed deeply once, and smiled.
He'd been quickly skeptical; he was certain now. No one who had just
twisted an ankle was content and serene as that.
And that was when Perry Blair first saw Cecille Manners--first saw her
with seeing eyes. He looked down at her and in that instant learned how
infinitely precious and flagrantly bold girlhood like hers could be.
He carried her to a couch. She lay quiet, her eyes still closed. But
when, after a glance at his watch, he would have tried to ascertain the
extent of the damage, which he knew was no damage at all, she sprang
erect, and flamed at him, and struck his hands aside.
"No!" she gasped. "No!"
And then she put her hands upon her face.
"I didn't twist it." Her very voice was dreary. "I just couldn't face
it, that was all. I thought maybe, if you carried me upstairs--if once
you felt me in your arms--ugh!" She made a sound, a gesture as of
nausea. And yet, after a moment, with surprising steadiness:
"Had you just as soon go now? I wish--I wish you'd go."
He gave her her wish so quietly that when she looked again she was
surprised not to see him still there. In the lower hall he stopped a
moment and stood with his head on one side as a man stands who listens.
He made as if to climb the stairs again, and shook his head. Holliday
came first, and he'd have to hurry.
In the box of a sitting-room above Cecille sat and also listened. But
she made no move as if to follow. She just half stretched her arms
toward the stairway when finally she knew that he was gone.
"Oh!" she cried then. "Oh, dear. Oh, dear. Oh, God!"