JERRY EMERGES
In hearing from Jack Ballard's own lips the story of Jerry Benham's
first appearance in Broadway I was forcibly reminded of the opening
cantos of the Divine Comedy where Dante follows the shade of Virgil
into the abyss of hell. I had not let Jerry know of my presence in New
York, for I believed that he would have wanted me with him and did not
care to be placed in a position to refuse him. Indeed I can give no
reason for my visit except the very plausible one that, my work going
badly, I felt the need of a change. Jack was much amused at my sudden
appearance one morning at his apartments, but welcomed me warmly
enough, giving the pledge of secrecy I demanded.
"Oh, it's been perfectly ripping," he said, when we were seated,
fairly bubbling over with delectable reminiscences. "He's like a
newly-hatched chicken, all fluffy and clean, a little batty-eyed and
groggy but intensely curious about everything."
"Has he asked any questions?"
"Millions of 'em, like balls from a Roman candle. He shoots 'em at
every angle and some of 'em hit."
"You've taken him about?" I asked.
"Yes, but he doesn't exactly comprehend the meaning and purposes of
his clubs. I took him in one of them, the most select, on several
afternoons. The same fellows were always sitting around a window
looking out, others, older ones, were asleep in armchairs. I didn't
offer him anything to drink and we sat there, watching the chaps in
the window and listening to their talk. The conversation was not
brilliant."
"'Do these gentlemen do this all the time?' asked Jerry softly.
"'Yes, almost all the time.'
"'Don't they ever get tired of looking out of the window?'
"'They don't seem to. It's restful to watch other people working.'
"'But don't they _do_ anything else?'
"'Not much. They're rich.'
"'And the others, the old gentlemen asleep in the chairs, are they
rich too?'
"'Yes, rich too, but tired.'
"'Tired of being rich?'
"'Perhaps.'
"'I see.'
"He was quiet for a long while and then: 'What a horrible waste of
opportunity!'
"I thought this was the psychological moment to put in my brief for
the governor.
"'It certainly is. Luckily you've got a career waiting for you.'
"'But if riches only lead to this, Uncle Jack, I'm pretty sure I'd
much rather be poor.'
"'There isn't much chance of your getting _that_ wish,' I laughed.
"'Well, I could give my money away,' he said. I looked at him
quickly, for his tone was very earnest.
"'That won't do, my boy. Indiscriminate giving may be very injurious.'
"'I can't understand that.'
"A few nights later a beggar touched his arm as he passed. The man
said he was hungry and looked it. Jerry gave him his pocketbook. The
fellow glanced at the pocketbook and then at Jerry as though he
thought the boy was crazy and bolted without a word. Jerry watched him
out of sight. 'Might at least have said "Thank you,"' he murmured. He
didn't speak of giving away money for awhile.
"A night or two later he had an experience of another sort. It was
after the theater, the least noxious play I could discover on the
bills. Two women met us in a dark cross street. I saw Jerry stop and
stare at one of them. That was unusual. I urged him to go on but he
stopped and listened.
"'In an awful hurry, ain't you, dearie?' one of the girls asked.
"'Why, no, not at all,' says Jerry, politely taking off his hat. And
then as her appellation struck him: 'I think you must have mistaken me
for someone else.'
"The girl was a little puzzled.
"'Aw, yer stringin' me,' she said.
"'Stringing?' asked Jerry.
"'Cut it out. You know what I mean well enough'. Come along,' and she
moved a pace away.
"Jerry followed. 'I'd be glad to come if I can be of any assistance.'
"'Assistance,' laughed the girl.
"'Did you hear that, Geraldine?'
"And with that they both burst into roars of laughter.
"Jerry's ignorance of things made him keenly sensitive to ridicule.
"'I think you're very impolite,' he said with dignity.
"'Aw, go chase yourself,' said Geraldine and vanished into the shadows
with her companion.
"That interview took a lot of explaining. In fact, all the way to
Jerry's house the mystery of the girls' behavior hung like a cloud
over him. 'Do you know, Jack,' he said as we were parting, 'I think
that girl was mad--quite mad.'"
"Couldn't you have prevented that meeting?" I asked.
"I didn't try. Besides, Jerry is a persistent chap. When I asked him
why he stopped, he said it was because the girl looked like somebody
he was hunting for."
"Who? I can't imagine."
"He said her name was Una Smith."
"Oh, yes. The minx who slipped into Horsham Manor. I told you about
her. But her name isn't Smith."
"Jerry has been looking for her." He laughed. "He thought at first, he
said, he'd see her on the street, but was surprised to find the city
so large. He was a little disappointed. But I think he's forgotten.
There's safety in numbers."
"Then he doesn't know anything yet?"
"Bless your heart! I'd no more think of teaching Jerry filth than I
would my own sister. But by the Lord Harry, he's an inquisitive cuss.
He's learning that life isn't all beer and skittles, has felt the
skinny talons of poverty on his elbow and has heard a truck-driver
swear in the approved New York manner. That in itself was a liberal
education. The worst of it was that the chap happened to be swearing
at Jerry."
He chuckled at the memory.
"What happened?" I asked.
"Jerry jumped over the wheel, caught the man by the collar of his coat
and threw him into the street. He was a big 'un too."
Ballard lingered provokingly in the narrative, which was interesting
me greatly.
"And then?" I asked.
"The fellow rose, covered with slime, looking vicious.
"'What did you mean taking God's name in vain?' says Jerry sternly.
"'I'll show you, you--'
"He came in with a rush, grimy fists flying. Jerry feinted just once,
side-stepped and caught him prettily on the point of the jaw. The blow
was beautifully timed, and the fellow dropped like a log."
"And then?"
"A crowd was gathering and so we ducked--I slipped Jerry into a hotel
entrance near by and out we went by another way." Ballard paused in
the act of lighting a cigarette. "You see, he's already giving battle
to society. A walk abroad with Jerry is an adventure which may end in
metaphysics or the jail. But it won't do, Roger, tilting at wind-mills
like that. He can't make New York like Horsham Manor--at least not all
at once."
"He'd try that if he could," I laughed.
"It will be a slow business, I'm afraid. New York is quite contented
to be exactly what she is. And the women!" He emitted a tenuous
whistle. And then, "I don't suppose it ever occurred to you, Pope,
that all these years you've been sheltering the Apollo Belvedere."
"He _is_ good looking. Thank God he doesn't know it."
"He will in time. It's really a shame the way the women stare at him
on the street. He's never through blushing when he isn't asking
questions.
"'What do those women look at me for?' he asks. 'Nothing queer about
me, is there?'
"'Oh, no,' I reply. 'They look at everybody like that. It's a
characteristic of the sex, curiosity. You don't mind, do you?'
"'Oh, I suppose not. I rather like it when the pretty ones do. How red
their cheeks are and their lips! It must be much more healthful in the
city than I had supposed.'"
"Rouge?" I asked.
"Yes, of course. Even the flappers do it. It takes good eyesight to
tell 'em from the dowagers nowadays."
"And Jerry doesn't know the difference?"
"I think he's beginning to. A few days ago I met an old girl I know,
Mrs. Warrington, walking with Marcia Van Wyck; you know, the heiress,
who has the big place up near Horsham Manor--father, mother both dead.
Spoiled all her life. Lives with a companion, you know,--poor
relation. They stopped us--mere curiosity--not to talk to _me_, bless
your heart, but to see Jerry. It seems they'd heard we'd turned him
loose, and guessed who my companion was. We talked awhile and Marcia
asked us to call. When they went off. Jerry turned to me in a stage
whisper:
"'Jack, that lady has paint on her face.'
"'Woman, not lady,' said I. 'This is Fifth Avenue. The ladies of New
York are only to be found on Broadway and the Bowery,'
"He looked bewildered but his other discovery interested him the most.
"'But I say she had paint on her face,' he repeated.
"'How could you tell?' I asked innocently.
"'It was streaky. I saw it.'
"'Possibly. But it isn't polite to notice such things.'
"He was silent a moment. And then: 'I think the other, the girl, Miss
Van Wyck, is very beautiful. I think I should like to call on her,
Jack.'
"So you see, Pope, he's looking up. Marcia _is_ pretty. She has been
out three seasons but she takes good care of herself. I've never liked
her much myself--a little too studied, you know, and quite
ultra-modern."
"You think Jerry was impressed?" I asked. There may have been a deeper
note of interest in my query than I intended, for Jack burst into
laughter.
"There you go. Your one chick is a duckling now, Pope, old boy. You'll
have to let him swim if he wants to. The water's deep there, too--very
deep. Marcia knows her way about."
"It would be a pity if she made a fool of him," I ventured.
He only smiled.
"It would, of course. Perhaps she will. But Jerry's got to cut his eye
teeth. And he might as well cut 'em on Marcia as anybody else. But
there's no danger of her marrying him for his money. She's almost if
not quite as rich as he is. Half the young bloods in town are after
her. It's rather flattering to Jerry. She gave me the impression
yesterday of rather liking him."
"Oh, you called?"
"It was something of a command. When a girl rolls her eyes the way she
did at Jerry and says that he must come to see her, there's nothing
for him but to go. Besides, they're neighbors up in the country, you
know. I went with him. I had an idea what we were in for, but Jerry
didn't, naturally. She expected us and the butler led the way past the
drawing-room into the lady's particular sanctorum, a smallish room in
a wing of the house all hung in black damask, with black velvet rugs
and ebony chairs. Marcia's blonde, you know, and gets her effects
daringly. I must admit that she looked dazzling, like a bit of Meissen
or Sevres in an ormolu cabinet. She was lolling on a black divan
smoking a cigarette and put out her slim fingers languidly. That's her
pose--condescension mixed with sudden spasms of intense interest. She
extended her fingers to be kissed--she had learned that nonsense in
Europe somewhere--and so I kissed 'em. They were dry, cool, very
beautifully tinted, with the nails long and highly polished and had
the odor, very faintly, of jasmine. Jerry kissed 'em too, looking
extremely foolish."
"He would," I growled. "The hussy!"
Ballard shook with laughter.
"Oh, that's rather rough, Pope. She's merely the product of a highly
sensitized _milieu_. Because I don't like girls of that stamp doesn't
argue her unlikable. I've never heard a word against her except that
she has much attention from men. And with her money and looks that's
natural enough."
"What happened?" I put in shortly.
"Oh, she was very languid at first and a little formal, thawing
effectively as she drew Jerry out. You see she had a little the
advantage in knowing his history.
"'I'm very flattered that you should have come so soon,' she said,
comprehending us both in her level gaze. 'Will you smoke, Mr. Benham?
No? You haven't succumbed yet to all of the amiable weaknesses of
human nature. They're very mild. _Do_ change your mind. There! I knew
you would,'
"Jerry fingered the thing and lighted it as though it might have been
the match of a blunderbuss.
"'I've been wondering for a great many years, Mr. Benham, what you
could be like,' she went on in a tone which is more nearly described
as a purr than anything else. 'You know, our places up in Ulster
County are almost adjoining. At times I've been tempted to scale your
wall. It looked so very attractive from outside. But they told me you
kept a private banshee, trained to visit those you didn't like. You
don't, do you?'
"Jerry laughed. 'The nearest thing I've got to a banshee is my dog
Skookums. But he's blind in one eye and his teeth are gone, and he's
too lazy even to wag his tail. Besides I don't see why I should set
him on _you_!
"She laughed, showing a row of rather small but even teeth.
"'They say you don't like girls. Tell me it isn't so, Mr.
Ballard'--she appealed to me.
"I saw the way the wind was blowing but I chose to humor her.
"'I am sure he adores the very ground you walk on,' I said politely,
'especially when you look like a figure on an Etruscan amphora.'
"She smiled slowly. 'You _can_ say nice things, can't you, Mr.
Ballard? But that doesn't quite exculpate Mr. Benham.'
"'I'm sure,' said Jerry very gravely, 'that you're the most beautiful
creature I've ever seen!'
"Her fishing prospered. Her eyelashes lowered so that we both could
see how long they were and when she raised them again and looked at
Jerry her eyes were opened wide.
"'That is the greatest compliment I've ever received in my life,' she
said evenly. 'I hope you mean it, Mr. Benham.'
"'I shouldn't have said it if I didn't think so,' said Jerry quickly.
"Something in the positive way he spoke pleased her again for she
smiled bewitchingly, effacing me completely. I think we're going to be
very good friends,' she said, moving up on the divan a little nearer
to him. 'Of course, it takes more than the aesthetic appeal to bring
two sensible people together,' she murmured. 'It is not the eye which
must catch the reflection, but the mind. You've thought a good
deal--and studied? Men are so vapid nowadays.' She sighed. 'I hope
some day you will think I'm clever enough for you to talk to me about
things.'
"She was playing up to him, you see, I think that Jerry is the most
extraordinary male animal that has ambled into her vision this winter.
"'I'd be glad to. Of course you're different from anything I ever saw
before,' said Jerry. 'I've always thought of nature as the most
beautiful thing in the world. Now I seem to be just as sure that art
is.'
"That rather took her aback, but she didn't turn a hair.
"'You think all this--superfluous?'
"'Not superfluous, perhaps. Merely artificial.'
"'Am I artificial?'
"'Yes,' bluntly! 'I don't understand it at all. But it's singularly
effective. It's like night with only one star visible--'
"'The more visible,' I put in, 'for being Venus.'
"She looked at me slantways. 'I'm sorry you said that, Mr. Ballard.
Venus is not my goddess. Diana--'
"'The Huntress,' I broke in again.
"'Pallas Athene, the guardian and guide of heroes,' she countered
neatly.
"'I'm glad you don't like Venus, Miss Van Wyck,' put in Jerry quickly.
'She made a lot of trouble, just because she was pretty. Diana--she
_was_ the right sort, no sentimental rot for her.'
"'Of course. Sentiment _is_ rot and so sloppy.'
"Jerry laughed ingenuously. 'That's a good word,' he said. 'Imagine
Diana being sloppy.'
"'Women aren't nearly as sentimental as they used to be. As a woman's
weapon hysteria has gone to the dust heap. Women are learning
independence. You believe in women thinking for themselves, don't
you?'
"'Of course,' said Jerry. 'But they don't, do they?'
"'_I_ do. It's one of my gospels to be self-sufficient. Don't you
believe me?'
"'I'd like to, you're so lovely to look at. I'd like to think you were
perfect in everything.'
"He refreshed her. Her artificialities one by one were falling away
from her like discarded garments. And yet I was not sure that it
wasn't artifice that was discarding them. She was very clever. I might
have guessed it, had I noticed earlier the volumes by Freud and
Strindberg on the little ebony side table."
Ballard paused a moment to light a fresh cigarette.
"Bah!" I muttered contemptuously.
He looked over at me thoughtfully. "You may sneer, Pope, my boy," he
commented. "But this sort of thing has come to stay. The infants are
imbibing it with their bottles--self-expression, self-analysis and all
that."
"But this girl is dangerous," I remarked.
"I imagine she is," he said calmly. "At any rate, she's going to prove
or disprove your precious hypothesis."
"I'm not afraid for Jerry," I growled. "No chameleon will change _his_
color. What else did she say?"
"She was very much pleased at Jerry's compliment.
"'Someone has taught you to be very polite,' she said with a smile.
"'Polite?' asked Jerry. 'Merely because I was hoping you weren't
flabby?'
"'Well, I'm not flabby,' she smiled indulgently. 'I hate flabby
people.'
"'I don't see any reason why a woman should be different from a man,'
Jerry went on. 'Men don't cry, why should women? I've always thought
the Greeks were right. To me there's only one sin the world and that's
weakness.'
"You'll pardon me, Pope, if I say that he sounded very much like you,"
he laughed. "He had the preaching tone, the assertiveness. It was most
amusing. Imagine the paradox, this babe, an ascetic and this
worldling, a sybarite, meeting upon a common ground! For I really
believe she was sincere about her self-sufficiency. Whatever her
tastes, she's no weakling."
"But she's trivial, a smatterer, a decadent--"
"And handsome," laughed Ballard. "Don't forget that."
"Mere looks will never ensnare Jerry."
"I hope not, but she'll teach him a thing or two before she's through
with him."
I was silent for some moments, and then: "What else do you know of
this girl?" I asked.
"Nothing. I've painted you the picture as well as I could. The
conversation that followed was unimportant. Her remarks became guarded
and later descended to the mere commonplace."
"She _is_ dangerous," I said.
"I've warned Jerry. He laughed at me."
"When was this call?" I asked.
"The day before yesterday."
"And where is Jerry today?"
"I have a notion that he is spending the afternoon with Miss Marcia
Van Wyck," he said with a smile.