for a large hole in the side represented nearly one-third of the
surface) caused flickering, gloomy shadows to move about the room; a
rough pine box with shelves served for a cupboard, in which there were
a few battered tin pans, some broken handled knives and bent forks; a
pile of straw in the corner, with some soiled remnants of blankets and
quilts served for a bed. The warmth of the room was furnished by a badly
broken cook stove; pieces of wood and coal mixed, laid on the grate,
while in the oven and on the top of the stove were frozen chunks of
mud with small pieces of coal all through them; wood covered with snow
and ice, which had been put there to thaw out, so as to be usable; the
formation of the sizzling steam as the water ran from this store of
fuel did nothing to add a pleasant odor to that which arose from the
conglomeration of filth which had been gathered from street and alley and
was being roasted until it should give up bits of coal, which were as
rare and precious to the half frozen inmates of this hole in the ground,
as the bright shining metal is to the gold miner as he sees his piles of
quartz crushed in the process of separation.
“Is this Mrs. Densmore?” I asked, as I shook the snow from my long ulster.
“No, this ain’t Mis Dinsmore,” growled the voice of the woman who stood
in front of me.
“I am sorry,” said I, “for I wanted to find her very much.”
“Well, I guess you won’t find her.”
“Can you tell me where she is?”
“No, an’ if I could I wouldn’t. What do you want of her, anyway? Hain’t
she had enough trouble, without some new thing bobbin’ up?”
“I fear you misunderstand me; I want to see her for her own good.”
“Yes, I s’pose so. I know what you want and you won’t git her, neither.
She’s all I got, an’ she loves me, if I am pore and miserable.”
I expressed my surprise at her remarks and followed up with the assurance
that I knew she was the object of my search, but I said:
“If you will tell me where I can get something to eat, I will first
satisfy the inner man, then I want to have a long talk with you.”
“My Lord, man, you don’t spect to find nothin’ to eat here, do you? Fer
if you do, sir, you’re much mistaken. In the first place this hain’t no
hotel nor ‘caffey.’ Why, we hain’t had a square meal in three months;
fact; not sence her monkey died.”
“Whose monkey? Who is ‘her’?”
“Oh, that’s it, eh? Well, I guess you know.”
“No, indeed, I don’t know what you mean, but if you will tell me where to
find something fit for a man to take into his stomach, I will go and eat
and bring you something.”
“Oh, will you? Well, jes’ go to the next corner south, turn to the
left and you will find ‘Peggy Pete’s’ place; I guess you can git about
anything you want.”
Following her directions, I soon found myself in a shop where every
conceivable thing that a man could think of, was kept for sale.
A stenciled bill of fare occupied a conspicuous place above the
oilcloth covered lunch counter, telling in detail what was ready to
serve; everything from tripe, all along, including such delicacies as
pickled pig’s feet, fried liver, wienerwursts and winding up with the
announcement that hot soup could be obtained at ten cents per gallon.
The proprietor was a one-eyed, one-legged man of fat and greasy
proportions and when I ordered a pound of ham, three loaves of bread, a
pound of butter, a dozen eggs, some coffee, and finished by calling for
cream, he looked at me in a way that surely strained his one organ of
vision.
“Goin’ to eat it here?” he asked, as he limped around selecting the
articles as I ordered them.
“No, I will take them along.” At this information he shot a quick
gleaming look at me, then hastily grabbing the packages off the counter,
laid them back on the shelf safely out of my reach, as he said, “Anything
else?”
“Yes, I want you to make me a gallon of soup, good oyster soup, and put
lots of oysters in it.”
“Now look here, feller, you needn’t git smart,” said the robust and
reddened merchant.
Then, as he pointed to the sign, he added: “That means shank soup. You
can’t come no shenanigan on me; if you want oyster soup, yew can have it,
but it will cost yer fifty cents per gal.”
“All right; I want it.”
A wait of twenty minutes and the soup was ready.
“Now, let me have some crackers, and how much do I owe you?” said I, as I
slowly counted a few pieces of silver which I drew from my pocket.
“A dollar forty,” said the man, as he reached out for the money with one
hand, while the other rested affectionately on the little pile of bundles
as they lay beside the gallon apple can into which he had poured the soup.
“Come in again,” said he, as he saw me start to leave after putting six
silver quarters into his hand and not waiting for change. Then a thought
struck me.
“Have you any lamp chimneys?”
“Yes, good ones, too; fifteen, or two for a quarter.”
“Give me two,” said I.
“Guess your jist settin’ up housekeepin’, ain’t yer?” said Pete, as he
hobbled ahead of me to open the door. Having noticed the landmarks, I
found my way back without difficulty. If I lied when I told the woman
that I had lunched at “Peggy Pete’s” it was my own lie and I will suffer
for it.
My first move was to place one of the glass cylinders on the lamp. The
improvement in the light added a cheeriness, which was partly in keeping
with the steaming oyster soup. With the better light I was able to obtain
a more distinct view of the woman.
Tall, dark and gaunt, her claw-like hands jerked nervously as she hastily
unwrapped the packages. Her hair was black as a raven’s wing; her high
forehead showed unmistakable signs of intelligence; the rest of her face,
save the little piercing black eyes, which now and then flashed with joy
and hunger, was horribly misshapen; a huge scar, as from a burn, covered
one whole side of her face, while the other was so badly distorted by
something of the same nature, which drew her mouth down and back so far
on one side, that her molars were plainly visible. She was devoid of
eyelashes and her brows only remained in spots. Yet, in spite of her
surroundings, her uncouth language, her privations and want, a kindly
light shone out of those eyes of ebony, as she said:
“Man, I believe you’re all right; anyways you know about what a hungry
one wants. This seems like old times,” she added, as she unrolled the
generous slices of ham.
No persuasion was needed to induce her to eat and I fully enjoyed the
spectacle. The feast added much amiability to her versatile nature.
Finally she said: “Lord, I wisht the kid was here.”
“Who is the kid, tell me,” I said.
“Maybe I will, sometime, but tell me, what did you want of Mrs. Densmore?”
“I want you to tell me all about yourself.”
“And honor bright, now, it ain’t the kid ye want?”
“No, bless me, no; I don’t want anybody’s kid.”
“Well, you see, it was this way: I married young, married a man who
was as handsome as he was mean. I was considered a beautiful girl and
he thought he loved me, but he was so jealous that he was miserable.
We lived happy for two years. I may as well say right here that I had
a sister who was a beautiful blonde, and I being dark we were a great
contrast. I loved my sister so devotedly that when we discovered that
sooner or later I would become a mother we asked her to come and live
with us. She had a friend who called frequently, a perfect gentleman, but
my husband grew so jealous and finally became so enraged that he drove
him from the house. Then my sister left. The rest of the time, up to the
birth of my child, I spent in tears. I was almost killed to think my
husband would be so brutal and so ill treat my dear sister.
“At last the little fairy came, and with her came more suffering and
misery for me. My husband flew into a vicious rage, for my baby was a
blonde, as perfect as an angel. My husband was neither light nor dark.
My sister’s friend was light. My husband charged me with infidelity,
disowned the child, and one day in a fit of anger, he threw her from me
hurling her against a red hot stove. The burn caused a scar on her little
back, which she carries to this day.”
Great tears rolled down the scarred face and splashed on those long talon
shaped fingers. Then, with a shiver, she continued:
“The Bible says something about, if one marries a man to stick to him. My
people all tried to get me to leave him, but woman-like I left them and
my baby. I proposed to go where no one knew us and begin life over. He
said if I would leave the ‘brat,’ he would go.
“We came to Chicago, but the same bitter feeling still existed in him.
The evil mind brooded and the heart became affected until our lives were
the lives of beasts. He lost one position after another. He began to
drink and beat me terribly. Oh, sir, I would have stood all that, if he
had only loved me. I would have willingly starved for bread if my heart
could have had one morsel on which it might be sustained.
“Finally we took a large house and began to take roomers. We did well
for a while; then things began to go wrong and he suggested that we rent
rooms to people for immoral purposes. My soul revolted against it, sir;
indeed it did, but I consented! Oh, sir, many’s the time I’ve cried when
I would see some sweet faced girl come to our house, for, sir, I could
not help thinking that some day my baby would grow up and she might
become the prey of some vulture.”
As she progressed with her narrative she dropped the uncouth language of
the locality in which she lived. The hot soup and the light, together
with the living over the better times, seemed to have taken her out of
herself for the time being.
“My husband drifted from one bad crowd of associates to another. At last
he was arrested and convicted of stealing and was sentenced to the
penitentiary. The disgrace which this brought upon me was so terrible
that it overwhelmed me. I lost all respect for everything and everybody.
I removed from the semi-respectable district into the more notorious and
better advertised portion of the city, and became the landlady of one
of the most notorious resorts of the day. I made many friends among the
class into which this life had thrown me. I developed into a woman of
beauty. I had fine clothes and precious gems; money came easily and was
spent with a lavish hand. Still I maintained a business presence of mind
which gained for my house a reputation of good order. One of the inmates
of my place was a beautiful blonde. She was proud and set herself up as
being the most bewitching woman in Chicago. She had a dear friend, a very
wealthy man, who called on her with great regularity. One night, in a
jest, he put his arm around me and remarked that he was tired of blondes,
anyway. All the fury that God allowed one woman to possess, arose in that
blonde when he said that. She swore and tore and raved like one possessed
of demons. After that she and I quarreled often. I would not have taken
her lover. I did not like him, but I could not get her to understand. It
all ended by her forcing her friend to take a magnificent house next door
to mine. It was lavishly furnished and I soon had a rival in business
that made that quarter of Chicago more famous than ever.
“One day I met her admirer on the street, the first time I had ever
talked with him since the gun was fired which had kept me in an incessant
battle. He told me many things that she had said of me, which, in
addition to the insults she had heretofore heaped upon me, made me boil.
“Eighteen years had passed since my heart had been transformed from the
organ of anticipation to the soul of a young mother, and a woman can
grow very hard in that time; she can nerve herself to do anything at
anyone’s cost, in order to crush a rival. I forgot all the goodness I had
ever known. I did not want this man myself, but I wanted to sting his
inamorata so as to cause her the most intense pain and mortification. I
proposed to him that if he would abandon this woman I would get him a
nice young girl.
“‘Agreed,’ said he, ‘I will do that and it won’t be long till you’ll have
the business of the block all your way again, for when I turn the ‘old
girl’ down, the whole gang will quit her house.’
“With thoughts of revenge and the anticipation of an increased bank
account, I began the search for a candidate for the position of mistress
to my enemy’s friend. It did not take me long. I was on the train one
day, when I met a young girl, beautiful, graceful, fresh, but sad. My
practical eye soon sized up the situation and I made friends with her.
She explained to me that she was coming to Chicago to seek a position.
Then, slowly, but as surely as the snake coils itself around the
helpless, bleating kid, so did I spin my web of Hell around her. ‘Now,’ I
said, after I had made all arrangements, ‘I don’t want to know your real
name, for I don’t like to lie if anyone should ask for you.’
“Ha, ha! Only think of it, sir! I was too good to lie!”
The wild glitter of the black eyes made me think of a snake, as the woman
writhed and twisted and uttered her maniacal screeches.
“Well, I brought her in, as the saying goes. I took her to the
dressmaker’s and in a week’s time she was ready to show. I notified the
man. That night the scenes of revelry and debauchery outdid all former
efforts. Men and women sang and danced, wine flowed and money was spent
in the most reckless manner. The little girl easily outclassed all
others. The wine soon caused her to cast aside her modesty, which was
a part of her, and she was the merriest one of the lot. It was three
o’clock when I assisted the man to undress her and put her into the
best bed in the house, then I left for my own room. Night after night
these scenes followed. Great was my glee when a carriage would come down
the street and boldly drive up to the door. I was so delighted that I
became bold and proceeded to return some of my now unpopular neighbor’s
taunts and jeers. It was no uncommon thing for men to bring strange
women to my place, so I was not surprised when, one evening about nine
o’clock, I saw a veiled woman alight from a carriage and come to my
door. The maid announced, ‘A lady to see you, madame.’ I went forward,
and just as I pulled the door open a hand shot out from under the long
cape and I felt a blinding, burning sensation spread over my face. I
ran inside. Everything that was convenient was applied, and when the
doctor came he told me it was acid. That is how I got the scars. I went
to the hospital. The little girl came to see me daily. She spent as
much time with me as the nurses would allow and in that way we became
deeply attached to each other. I put her in charge of my affairs, and by
her sweet ways she won the esteem and admiration of all the girls. We
had little trouble in tracing the acid thrower. Next morning after it
occurred my unfriendly neighbor was found dead in her room. A note pinned
to her pillow told all. She had done me, then drank poison.
“I recovered; that is, so far as you can see, but I was too badly
disfigured for publicity, so I left my entire place in the hands of the
little girl and opened a home for women during confinement.
“Things ran on this way for two years. I had many bright but wayward
girls in my care during that time. The little girl’s visits were less
frequent to me and I had not seen her for months, when she came to me one
day and told me she was to become a mother. I took her in, of course, and
the former resort was rented. The time arrived for her expected illness.
The baby was a bright girl. The little mother hung between life and death
for days. She, in her delirium, roamed everywhere, called many by name,
and spoke of places she had known. One day during her ravings I attempted
to arrange her bed more comfortably, and in order to do so was compelled
to turn her over. I discovered that her back and shoulders were covered
with a rash. I thought a tepid bath would be just the thing, so I slipped
her gown down and laid bare her back. I saw a scar. Believe me or not,
mister, that acid felt cooling on my face compared to the pain which now
fired me within and without. My daughter! I was able to be up and around
the house when she regained her senses. She asked for her baby. I don’t
know why, but I lied to her. I was not too good to lie this time.”
The gurgle which emitted from the woman’s throat at this juncture was a
poor excuse for a laugh.
“Yes, I lied; I told her it had died; and to think it was then in the
nursery with several others, and the jolliest, cunningest one of the lot!
“The little mother got well and strong and she got a good position and a
man, a real man, fell heels over head in love with her, and now they are
married. Now she has three sweet children.”
“Do you ever see your daughter?”
At this question the small black eyes snapped, and the haggard woman
started.
“Don’t say that, mister, please; ’cause nobody knows.
“Yes, I see her twice a week. She has a beautiful home and for the sake
of old times she has me come and clean her room twice a week. She says
I do it so much better than her regular servants. Oh, mister, you don’t
know how long and faithful I work in that room.”
“And the other little girl; her first baby?”
“Oh, the kid?”
“Yes.”
“Well, you see, I’m trying to raise her right, for now you see I know
right from wrong. She is nearly ten. A year ago a drunken man came down
here and brought a monkey. He mistreated it so that it bit him and broke
away. It ran to the kid and nothing could get it to leave, so the man
told her to keep it, and he took rather a fancy to her in his drunken way
and took her up town and bought her an organ. From that on we lived real
well, but during the first cold snap the fire went out one night and when
we got up ‘Pranks’ was froze to death. Since then she has begged a ‘right
smart.’”
“Does she ever see her mother?”
“Sometimes; not often, though, mister. I took her with me onct jes’ after
the coal oil man’s little girl died and his wife give me all her clothes,
’cause she said I’d been there and helped so much. So I kind a dressed
the little one up and took her over, and while I worked she played with
her—I mean with the other children, and when I got ready to start home I
like to never got her to come. She cried most all night, so I don’t take
her no more, but she’s gone over there now. I was over there today and
done the cleaning and the ‘lady’ (that’s what I always call her) said if
I would send the little one over she would give her a suit or two of her
older girl’s underclothes. You see her girl’s younger than the kid, but
she’s fatter, so I guess they’ll fit. Lord, I wish she’d come, mister,
for now I’ve told you all and you’ll be goin’ and it’ll be awful lonesome
here.”
“I will wait until she comes, if you don’t object.”
“No, I will be glad, and I guess I’d better put this soup on and warm it,
for she’ll be cold and hungry.”
A few moments and a rattle at the door announced the “kid’s” coming.
She was a sweet-faced child, but the beauty which would have been
visible under favorable circumstances was marred by the pinched, drawn
expression which always attends want. Without ado, or bashfulness, she
unrolled a bundle, shouting, “Look Granny, two for you and two for me.
The lady had some of her own that was too big and she said you could have
’em.”
And there, under the rays of light shed from the tin lamp, I saw articles
of silk underwear with a monogram on the waistband, the same which
adorned an invitation to a party for one night next week, which I had
received that morning and now carried in my pocket.
TALE FOUR.
A WOMAN OF THIRTY-EIGHT.
“Look at his pretty face for just one minute!
His braided frock and dainty buttoned shoes;
His firm shut hand, the favorite plaything in it—
Then tell me, mothers, was’t not hard to lose
And miss him from my side—
My little boy that died?
“How many another boy, as dear and charming,
His father’s hope, his mother’s one delight,
Slips through strange sicknesses, all fear disarming,
And lives a long, long life in parent’s sight!
Mine was so short a pride!
And then—my poor boy died.”
“Perhaps if he had lived,” she said, as she handed me a little tintype
of a round-faced baby, whose laughing face was surrounded by ringlets of
hair which looked as though they might have been silk.
“Perhaps,” she repeated in a dreamy way, “it might have been different.”
She was a woman of thirty-eight. She did not look it when I was first
admitted to her apartments. She then appeared to be a very demure little
housewife of ten years less. It was in the afternoon and she was suitably
attired to receive callers, and had she not been, I am of the opinion
that she would have bowed graciously to the inevitable, and received me
just the same, for she was one of those matter-of-fact souls who do not
allow formality to interfere with pleasure. Not that she would appear
in a soiled dressing sacque, or an old skirt which bore evidence of the
various strains, neither would she be guilty of coming to the front with
ragged shoes on those dainty feet; but to make a long story short, she
was too considerate of a man’s “fussy feeling” to keep him waiting an
hour or more while she labored before the mirror trying to obliterate the
traces of time and increase the beauty of form.
Ethel Manning had been and still was more comely than many women in more
favorable circumstances. She was not so tall that she was striking, but
the willowness of her figure seemed to add power to the face on which
every thought was plainly visible before she allowed the red curve,
commonly called mouth, to open in utterance. She spoke slowly, and
as each word fell on one’s ear the evidence of the voice having been
cultivated became more convincing. Her deep violet eyes were luminous and
seemed to grow darker with the earnestness of her sentiment. Her chin was
a trifle short, however one would at once decide that it was made that
way to correspond with the nose, which, to one critically inclined, might
seem to be abbreviated to a certain extent. All in all, she was one of
those people who are all life and activity, yet possessed with the gift
of discreet executive ability. If she had lacked anywhere in personal
charms the deficit was supplied to one’s mind’s eye the moment one would
glance at her hair. It was plentiful and seemed to cover her head with
bright rippling waves which shimmered with every motion of the well
poised head.
Bright colors might have been more becoming to her winsome nature, but
she was clad in black, some soft, clinging material on the crepe de chene
order. The neatness of the design, the fine texture, and the correctness
of the fit only added to the grace with which she wore it.
“No doubt you would have been happier,” I said, as I handed the little
tintype back to her.
“I don’t know,” she said sweetly; “perhaps somebody would have been purer
today.”
“Well, Miss Manning, I am all attention and over anxious to hear your
story.”
“All right, I will tell you all I know, and think that is enough,” she
said, as she cast her eyes downward.
“I was raised a Christian. I taught a Sunday-school class from the time I
was sixteen until I was just turning my eighteenth year. At this point in
my life my parents changed their place of abode; the only regret I felt
aside from my breaking up of a general friendship, was the fact that I
was called upon to leave my sweetheart.
“David Strathmore was all to me that any young man can be to a girl who
is in love. He had lived in the little village where I was born and
raised for twelve years, during which time we had been school-mates,
play-fellows, steadfast, youthful friends, and with the true congeniality
of our young natures we became lovers early in life. He was constant,
true and tender. I had learned to count upon his sagacity in all things.
I was not alone in my admiration for him; that is to say, although I
was the only girl who really loved him, but think that was because it
was a foregone conclusion that marriage was to be the result of our
constant association. Everybody who knew him admired him, and that meant
nearly every man, woman and child in the locality, for his father was a
grain merchant and David had grown up in his business there by coming in
contact with almost every citizen.
“I had never known what trouble was, and when, on the evening before we
were to leave my native town, David and I took a long stroll, I felt as
though each step brought me nearer to the grave.
“‘But we will be true to each other,’ he said, as he held me in his arms
pressing his warm lips to mine.
“‘Yes, David, and you will come for me soon, won’t you, dear?’
“‘Yes, Ethel, as soon as I have placed a sufficient sum in the bank to
make us a home, I will come for my blue-eyed belle.’
“So with promises of loyal devotion, we parted.
“I really liked my new surroundings very much in our new home. The young
people were very kind to me and I was soon on a firm footing with the
best society of the town. It was a college town and I met a young man who
was in his last year of school.
“His name was Edward Singleton, and I was more than delighted to know
that he and my David were warm friends. That fact bound us closer
together, and I did not feel that I was being disloyal to David when I
accepted the attentions of his friend Singleton.
“He was very kind, a born aristocrat, and soon became devoted to me.