Mrs. Farley's establishment was situated on Forty ----th Street,
between Eighth and Ninth Avenues, a neighborhood at one time much in
vogue, but now given up almost entirely to boarding-houses of the
cheaper kind. Old-fashioned brownstone residences, with high ceilings,
cracked walls, dirty, paper-patched windows, and narrow little gardens
choked up with weeds, they were as unattractive-looking from without as
they were gloomy and destitute of comfort within. Yet poverty-stricken
as were the surroundings, the street itself was respectable enough. As
in the case of a homely woman, its very ugliness served to keep its
morals above reproach. Vice required more alluring quarters than these
for profitable pursuit of its red-light trade. If, therefore, a woman
stood in need of a certificate of character, all that was necessary was
to say that she lived there.
The back room, which, for nearly six long, weary weeks Laura had
occupied on the second floor was characteristic of the place and the
class of lodgers who lived there. For years the house had been falling
into general decay, with no attempt at repairs. The ceilings were
cracked; the wall-paper was old and spotted, and in places hung down
brazenly in loose flaps. The cheap carpet was worn threadbare, with
here and there large rents, which acted as so many dangerous pitfalls
for the unwary. The furniture, of the cheapest possible description,
comprised a large, old-fashioned wardrobe, for the most part full of
rubbish, a dresser scattered with a few cheap toilet articles, a
broken-down washstand and a three-quarter old wooden bed, which, placed
against the wall right in the center of the room, monopolized most of
the little space there was. At the foot of the bed, a small table,
covered with a soiled and ink-stained cloth, was heaped with newspapers
and magazines; on the right, facing the door, leading to the hall
outside, an old-style mantelpiece surmounted a rusty fireplace. A
single arm gas jet served for illuminating purposes, and in a little
alcove stood a table with a small gas stove connected by rubber tubing
with a gas fixture. There were two windows in the room, opening outward
in the French manner on to a dilapidated balcony which overlooked the
street below.
This was the wretched place for which Laura had given up all her former
ease and magnificence--her $8,000 apartment, her crystal bathtub, her
French maid, her automobile, and every other conceivable luxury. The
descent from affluence to actual want had been gradual, but none the
less swift and sure. It had cost her many a bitter pang, many an hour
of keen humiliation, but she had made the sacrifice willingly,
cheerfully, feeling in her heart that he would wish it and commend her
for it. In all her troubles, John was never for a moment out of her
thoughts. Everywhere about the room were reminders of the man who any
day might return to claim her for his wife. On the dresser stood a
small photograph of him in a cheap frame; tacked over the head of the
bed was a larger portrait. A small bow of dainty blue ribbon at the top
covered the tack, and underneath was a bunch of violets, now withered,
but a silent and touching tribute to the absent one.
The room showed every evidence of being occupied, and at a glance it
was easy to guess the vocation and also the sex of the tenant. In the
wardrobe hung a few old dresses, most of them a good deal worn and
shabby, while in an open drawer at the bottom could be seen several old
pairs of women's shoes. On an armchair was thrown a cheap kimona. The
dresser, in keeping with the general meanness, was adorned with
pictorial postcards stuck in between the mirror and the frame, and on
it were all the accessories necessary to the actress--powder box and
puff, a rouge box and a rabbit's paw, a hand mirror, a small alcohol
curling-iron heater, and a bottle of cheap perfume, purple in color,
and nearly empty. On the mantelpiece were arranged photographs of
actors and actresses and pieces of cheap bric-a-brac. Conspicuous in a
corner was a huge theatrical trunk, plastered with the labels of hotels
and theatres. Had the lid been raised, a caller might have seen in the
tray, among the remnants of a once elaborate wardrobe, one little token
that told at once the whole miserable story--a bundle of pawntickets!
Another week had gone by, and Laura's situation, instead of improving,
grew steadily more precarious. An engagement seemed farther away than
ever; it was impossible to secure one of any kind. One disappointment
followed another. Either the companies were all full, or the part
offered was not in her line. Managers consciencelessly broke their
promises; Mr. Quiller and the other dramatic agents were blandly
indifferent. Meantime no money was coming in, and the girl was
completely at the end of her resources. Her clothes were now little
better than rags; very soon she would not be able to go out at all, let
alone make the round of the managers' offices. She owed three weeks
rent to her landlady, a matter-of-fact, hard-as-nails type of woman,
who was not to be put off much longer with mere promises. Unless she
could settle soon, Mrs. Farley would tell her to get out, and then
where could she go?
Perhaps for the first time in her life Laura realized now how utterly
alone she was in the world. Never had it seemed to her so big, so
indifferent, so heartless. Her parents were dead, and as far as she
knew she had no relatives. Friends--so-called friends--were at best
only fair weather acquaintances. There was not one from whom she would
accept assistance. One man would help her, a man to whose generosity
she could appeal with the certainty of instant response--Willard
Brockton. But she would die sooner. She would not confess defeat. The
one being who really cared for her and to whom she could properly
appeal was thousands of miles away, in complete ignorance of her
plight. She could telegraph him for money, but he might not understand,
and she was too proud to lay her actions open to misconstruction. No,
she must have patience and wait. If she had to go out scrubbing she
would hold out until John Madison came back for her. But it was a
bitter experience for a girl who had grown accustomed to every luxury,
and, at times, her fortitude and patience were tried to the utmost. The
constant humiliation, to say nothing of the mental and physical
suffering, was sometimes more than she could bear, and there were many
nights when she sobbed herself to sleep. Even her good looks suffered.
Constant anxiety made her thin; sleepless nights drove the color from
her cheeks and put dark circles round her eyes. She did not have even
enough to eat. Forced to economize, she went without regular meals,
satisfying her hunger cravings with what little she could cook herself
in her own comfortless room.
But in these dark hours, there was one ray of light, and that was her
serene faith in her absent lover. She was convinced now that her
attachment for the journalist was no passing fancy, no mere caprice of
the moment. For the first time in her life, she felt the uplifting,
exalted emotion of a pure love, and it seemed to burn in her bosom like
a cleansing touch, wiping out the stain in her past. With all her
experiences, tragic and otherwise, Laura Murdock had found nothing
equal to this sudden, swiftly increasing love for the young Westerner.
That he would come back for her sooner or later, she never for a moment
doubted. Of his perfect loyalty, she was convinced. He was her one
thought, night and day, and there was no keener pleasure in this, her
new life, than in maintaining their constant correspondence. Not a day
passed that did not carry a letter Westwards; each morning the postman
brought a letter from Madison, full of what he was doing, setting
enthusiastically forth his plans for the future. These letters, which
were her most treasured possessions, she kept in a big, cardboard box
under the bed. By actual count, there were 125 letters and 80
telegrams, tied in eight separate bundles with dainty blue ribbon. On
days when she was particularly depressed and discouraged, she felt
comforted if she could drag out the letter-box and reread the messages
from the loved one.
This is what she was doing one afternoon about a week after her
fruitless visit to Mr. Quiller's office. The weather being stormy, she
could not go out, so, after lunching abundantly on a glass of milk and
a few dry crackers, she once more dragged the box from under the bed.
Selecting a bundle of letters, she climbed on the bed, and, squatting
down, her feet crossed in Oriental fashion, proceeded to enjoy them.
Every now and then she would glance up from the sheet of closely
written paper, and take a long, loving look at the large portrait of
her sweetheart over the bed.
While thus busily engaged, there suddenly came a knock at the door.
Quickly Laura jumped from the bed, replaced the letters in the box,
which she slid back in its place, and called out:
"Come in."
Cautiously the door was opened a few inches, and a chocolate-colored
negress put her head in. Seeing that Laura was alone, she pushed the
door open wider and came in, letter in hand.
"Hello, Annie!" said Laura amiably.
"Heah's yo' mail, Miss Laura," said the slavey, with a significant
leer.
"Thank you," said the young actress, taking the proffered missive.
She merely glanced at the familiar, beloved superscription, making no
attempt to open the envelope in the presence of the maid. But Annie,
the slovenly type of negress one encounters in cheap theatrical
boarding-houses, showed no disposition to withdraw. Like most servants,
she was inquisitive, and never neglected an opportunity to spy and
gossip, considering it a part of her duties to learn everything
possible of the private affairs of the lodgers. Quite unlike the
traditional, smiling, good-natured "mammy" of the South, she was one of
those cunning, crafty, heartless, surly Northern negresses, who, to the
number of thousands, seek employment as maids with women of easy
morals, and, infesting a certain district of New York where white and
black people of the lower classes mingle indiscriminately, make it one
of the most criminal and dangerous sections of the city. Innately and
brutally selfish, such women prey on those they profess to serve, and
are honest and faithful only so long as it serves their purpose.
Annie kept one eye on the letter, while she pretended to tidy things
about the room. Presently she said:
"One like dat comes every mornin', don't it? Used to all be postmahked
Denver. Must 'a' moved."
As she spoke, she tried to get a glimpse of the letter over Laura's
shoulder, but as the actress turned, she quickly looked away, and
added:
"Where is dat place called Goldfield, Miss Laura?"
"In Nevada."
"In _Nevada_?" echoed the woman, laying comical stress on the
pronunciation.
"Yes--Nevada. What's strange about that?"
Annie drew her jacket closer around her, as if she were chilly. Shaking
her head, she said:
"Must be mighty smaht to write yuh every day. De pos'man brings it
'leven o'clock mos' always, sometimes twelve, and again sometimes tehn.
Today he was late. But it comes, every day, don't it?"
"I know," said Laura, with a faint smile.
She disliked the negress, but reasons of policy prompted her always to
appear cordial. Annie began brushing the armchair vigorously, and, as
she worked, tried once more to see the postmark on the letter. Finally
she said:
"Guess mus' be from yo' husban', ain't it?"
Laura shook her head.
"No, I haven't any."
The negress whisked her feather duster triumphantly.
"Dat's what Ah tole Mis' Farley when she was down talkin' about yo' dis
mornin'. She said if he was yo' husban' he might do somethin' to help
yo' out. Ah tole her Ah didn't think yo' had any husban'. Den she says
yo' ought to have one, yo're so pretty."
Laura laughed.
"Don't be so foolish, Annie."
Noticing that she had left the room door ajar, the negress went and
banged it shut. Then, proceeding to hang a clean towel on the
washstand, she continued gossiping:
"Der ain't a decent door in dis old house. Mis' Farley said yo' might
have mos' any man yo' wanted just for de askin', but Ah said yuh was
too particular about the man yo'd want. Den she did a heap o' talkin'."
"About what?" demanded Laura quickly.
She was amused as well as annoyed at the woman's impudence, but it was
just as well to know what was being said about her downstairs.
Pretending, therefore, to be interested, and curbing her impatience,
she placed the still unopened letter on the table, and, going to her
trunk, took from it a thimble and thread. Closing down the lid again,
she sat on the trunk and began to sew a rip in her skirt. Annie,
meantime, had begun to fuss at making the bed.
[Illustration: SHE BEGAN TO SEW A RIP IN HER SKIRT.
_Page 162._]
"Well, yo' know," went on the maid, "Mis' Farley she's been havin' so
much trouble wid her roomers. Yestuhday dat young lady on de second
flo' front, she lef. She's gwine wid some troupe on the road. She owed
her room for three weeks, and jus' had to leave her trunk. My! how Mis'
Farley did scold her. Mis' Farley let on she could have paid dat money
if she wanted to, but, somehow, Ah guess she couldn't----"
She was carrying the pillows round the table, when suddenly she stopped
talking and stooped to inspect the letter, which was still lying there.
Laura happened to look up. Indignantly, she exclaimed:
"Annie!"
The negress looked confused, but was not otherwise abashed. Going on
with her work, she continued coolly:
"--For if she could, she wouldn't have left her trunk, would she, Miss
Laura?"
"No, I suppose not," replied the actress guardedly. After a pause, she
asked: "What did Mrs. Farley say about me?"
The negress picked up the kimona from the chair and carried it to the
wardrobe. With some hesitation, she said:
"Oh, nothin' much."
She needed encouragement, and Laura gave it to her.
"Well, what?"
Thus coaxed, Annie went on:
"She kinder say somethin' 'bout yo' bein' three weeks behind in yo'
room rent, an' she said she t'ought it was 'bout time yuh handed her
somethin', seem' as how yuh must o' had some stylish friends when yuh
come here."
"Who, for instance?"
"Ah don't know. Mis' Farley said some of 'em might slip yo' enough jest
to help yuh out." Stopping in her work, she looked curiously at the
actress. "Ain't yo' got nobody to take care of yo' at all, Miss Laura?"
Laura shook her head despondently. Sadly, she replied:
"No! No one."
"Dat's too bad."
"Why?"
The negress grinned. Significantly, she said:
"Mis' Farley says yuh wouldn't have no trouble at all gettin' any man
to take care of yuh if yuh wanted to."
Laura averted her head. A chill ran through her. Only too well she knew
what the girl meant. She wished she would stop gossiping and go. With
some display of irritation, she said:
"Don't talk that way, Annie--please."
But the negress was not to be put off so easily. In her coarse, brutal
way, she felt sorry for the pretty young lady, and aware that in some
quarters good looks are negotiable, she felt chagrined that such
valuable assets should not be realized upon. Playing nervously with a
corner of the table-cloth, she continued:
"Dere's a gemman dat calls on one of de ladies from de Circus, in de
big front room downstairs. He's mighty nice, and he's been askin' 'bout
yo'."
"Oh, shut up!" cried Laura, thoroughly exasperated.
The doors of the wardrobe, being loose on their hinges, kept swinging
open, and the negress several times had impatiently slammed them shut.
Turning to Laura, she went on:
"Mis' Farley says----"
The doors came open again, and hit her in the back. This time the maid
lost her temper completely. Giving them a vicious push, she exclaimed:
"Damn dat door!"
Then going to the washstand, and grabbing a basin which was half-full
of water, she emptied it into the waste jar. Now thoroughly angry, she
went on sourly:
"Mis' Farley says if she don't get some one in the house dat has
reg'lar money soon, she'll have to shut up and go to the po'house."
A look of distress and annoyance crossed Laura's face. It was hard to
hear this from a menial.
"I'm sorry," she said; "I'll try again to-day."
Rising from the trunk, she crossed the room, and, taking a desk-pad
from the mantel-piece, returned and took a seat at the table.
"Ain't yo' got any job at all?" demanded Annie, who was watching her as
closely as she dared.
"No."
"When yuh come here yuh had lots of money and yo' was mighty good to
me. You know Mr. Weston?"
"Jim Weston?"
"Yassum, Mr. Weston, what goes ahead o' shows and lives on the top
floor back; he says nobody's got jobs now. Dey're so many actors and
actresses out o' work. Mis' Farley says she don't know how she's goin'
to live. She said you'd been mighty nice up until three weeks ago, but
yuh ain't got much left, have you, Miss Laura?"
The girl shook her head mournfully.
"No. It's all gone."
The negress threw up her hands and from sheer excitement sat plump down
on the bed.
"Mah sakes!" she exclaimed, rolling her eyes. "All dem rings and
things? You ain't done sold them?"
"They're pawned," said Laura sadly. "What did Mrs. Farley say she was
going to do?"
"Guess maybe Ah'd better not tell."
"Please do."
"Yuh been so good to me, Miss Laura. Never was nobody in dis house what
give me so much, and Ah ain't been gettin' much lately. And when Mis'
Farley said yuh must either pay yo' rent or she would ask yuh for your
room, Ah jest set right down on de back kitchen stairs and cried.
Besides, Mis' Farley don't like me very well since you've been havin'
yo' breakfasts and dinners brought up here."
"Why not?"
Taking the kimona off the chair-back,' Laura went to the dresser, and,
putting the kimona in the drawer, took out her purse, an action not
unobserved by the stealthy African, who at once grew correspondingly
more amiable and communicative.
"She has a rule in dis house dat nobody can use huh chiny or fo'ks or
spoons who ain't boa'ding heah, and de odder day when yuh asked me to
bring up a knife and fo'k she ketched me coming upstairs, and she says,
'Where yuh goin' wid all dose things, Annie?' Ah said, 'Ah'm just goin'
up to Miss Laura's room with dat knife and fo'k.' Ah said, 'Ah'm goin'
up for nothin' at all, Mis' Farley, she jest wants to look at them, Ah
guess.' She said, 'She wants to eat huh dinner wid 'em, Ah guess.' Ah
got real mad, and Ah told her if she'd give me mah pay Ah'd brush right
out o' here; dat's what Ah'd do, Ah'd brush right out o' here."
She shook out the towel violently, as if to emphasize her indignation.
Laura could not restrain a smile.
"I'm sorry, Annie, if I've caused you any trouble. Never mind, I'll be
able to pay the rent to-morrow or next day, anyway."
Fumbling in her purse, she took out a quarter, and turned to the
servant:
"Here!"
"No, ma'am; Ah don' want dat," said Annie, making a show of reluctance.
"Please take it," insisted Laura.
"No, ma'am; Ah don' want it. You need dat. Dat's breakfast money for
yuh, Miss Laura."
"Please take it, Annie. I might just as well get rid of this as anything
else."
Rather reluctantly, the negress took the money. With a grin, she said:
"Yuh always was so good, Miss Laura. Sho' yuh don' want dis?"
"Sure."
"Sho' yo' goin' to get plenty mo'?"
"Sure."
Suddenly a shrill, feminine voice was heard downstairs, calling loudly:
"Annie! Annie!"
The negress hastily went to the door and opened it.
"Dat's Mis' Farley!" she said in an undertone. Answering in the same
key, she shouted: "Yassum, Mis' Farley."
"Is Miss Murdock up there?" cried the same voice.
"Yassum, Mis' Farley; yassum!"
"Anything doin'?"
"Huh?"
"Anything doin'?"
The negress hesitated, and looked at Laura.
"Ah--Ah--hain't asked, Missy Farley."
"Then do it," said the voice determinedly.
Laura advanced to the rescue.
"I'll answer her," she said. Putting her head out of the door, she
cried:
"What is it, Mrs. Farley?"
The irate landlady's voice underwent a quick change. In a softened
voice, she called up:
"Did ye have any luck this morning, dearie?"
"No; but I promise you faithfully to help you out this afternoon or
to-morrow."
"Sure? Are you certain?"
"Absolutely."
"Well, I must say these people expect me to keep----"
There was an exclamation of skeptical impatience, and the door below
slammed with a bang. Laura quietly closed her door, through which Mrs.
Farley's angry mutterings could still be heard indistinctly. Laura
sighed, and, walking to the table, sat down again. Annie looked at her
a moment, and then slowly opened the door.
"Yo' sho' dere ain't nothin' I can do fo' yuh, Miss Laura?"
"Nothing," said Laura wearily.
The negress reluctantly turned to go. Her work now finished, there was
no further excuse for remaining. Slowly she left the room, carrying her
broom and dustpan with her.