and woman without connections for the whole social life. It was a
substitute--poor, it must be confessed--to many youths for the home life
which is so lacking among certain classes in New York.
Here the rounders congregated, or came and spent the hours until it was
time to go forth to bout or assignation. Here too came sometimes the
curious who wanted to see something of the other side of life. Among
these, white visitors were not infrequent,--those who were young enough
to be fascinated by the bizarre, and those who were old enough to know
that it was all in the game. Mr. Skaggs, of the New York _Universe_, was
one of the former class and a constant visitor,--he and a "lady friend"
called "Maudie," who had a penchant for dancing to "Rag-time" melodies
as only the "puffessor" of such a club can play them. Of course, the
place was a social cesspool, generating a poisonous miasma and reeking
with the stench of decayed and rotten moralities. There is no defence to
be made for it. But what do you expect when false idealism and fevered
ambition come face to face with catering cupidity?
It was into this atmosphere that Thomas had introduced the boy Joe, and
he sat there now by his side, firing his mind by pointing out the
different celebrities who came in and telling highly flavoured stories
of their lives or doings. Joe heard things that had never come within
the range of his mind before.
"Aw, there 's Skaggsy an' Maudie--Maudie 's his girl, y' know, an' he 's
a reporter on the N' Yawk _Universe_. Fine fellow, Skaggsy."
Maudie--a portly, voluptuous-looking brunette--left her escort and went
directly to the space by the piano. Here she was soon dancing with one
of the coloured girls who had come in.
Skaggs started to sit down alone at a table, but Thomas called him,
"Come over here, Skaggsy."
In the moment that it took the young man to reach them, Joe wondered if
he would ever reach that state when he could call that white man Skaggsy
and the girl Maudie. The new-comer soon set all of that at ease.
"I want you to know my friend, Mr. Hamilton, Mr. Skaggs."
"Why, how d' ye do, Hamilton? I 'm glad to meet you. Now, look a here;
don't you let old Thomas here string you about me bein' any old 'Mr!'
Skaggs. I 'm Skaggsy to all of my friends. I hope to count you among
'em."
It was such a supreme moment that Joe could not find words to answer, so
he called for another drink.
"Not a bit of it," said Skaggsy, "not a bit of it. When I meet my
friends I always reserve to myself the right of ordering the first
drink. Waiter, this is on me. What 'll you have, gentlemen?"
They got their drinks, and then Skaggsy leaned over confidentially and
began talking.
"I tell you, Hamilton, there ain't an ounce of prejudice in my body. Do
you believe it?"
Joe said that he did. Indeed Skaggsy struck one as being aggressively
unprejudiced.
He went on: "You see, a lot o' fellows say to me, 'What do you want to
go down to that nigger club for?' That 's what they call it,--'nigger
club.' But I say to 'em, 'Gentlemen, at that nigger club, as you choose
to call it, I get more inspiration than I could get at any of the
greater clubs in New York.' I 've often been invited to join some of the
swell clubs here, but I never do it. By Jove! I 'd rather come down here
and fellowship right in with you fellows. I like coloured people,
anyway. It 's natural. You see, my father had a big plantation and owned
lots of slaves,--no offence, of course, but it was the custom of that
time,--and I 've played with little darkies ever since I could
remember."
It was the same old story that the white who associates with negroes
from volition usually tells to explain his taste.
The truth about the young reporter was that he was born and reared on a
Vermont farm, where his early life was passed in fighting for his very
subsistence. But this never troubled Skaggsy. He was a monumental liar,
and the saving quality about him was that he calmly believed his own
lies while he was telling them, so no one was hurt, for the deceiver
was as much a victim as the deceived. The boys who knew him best used to
say that when Skaggs got started on one of his debauches of lying, the
Recording Angel always put on an extra clerical force.
"Now look at Maudie," he went on; "would you believe it that she was of
a fine, rich family, and that the coloured girl she 's dancing with now
used to be her servant? She 's just like me about that. Absolutely no
prejudice."
Joe was wide-eyed with wonder and admiration, and he could n't
understand the amused expression on Thomas's face, nor why he
surreptitiously kicked him under the table.
Finally the reporter went his way, and Joe's sponsor explained to him
that he was not to take in what Skaggsy said, and that there had n't
been a word of truth in it. He ended with, "Everybody knows Maudie, and
that coloured girl is Mamie Lacey, and never worked for anybody in her
life. Skaggsy 's a good fellah, all right, but he 's the biggest liar in
N' Yawk."
The boy was distinctly shocked. He was n't sure but Thomas was jealous
of the attention the white man had shown him and wished to belittle it.
Anyway, he did not thank him for destroying his romance.
About eleven o'clock, when the people began to drop in from the plays,
the master of ceremonies opened proceedings by saying that "The free
concert would now begin, and he hoped that all present, ladies included,
would act like gentlemen, and not forget the waiter. Mr. Meriweather
will now favour us with the latest coon song, entitled 'Come back to yo'
Baby, Honey.'"
There was a patter of applause, and a young negro came forward, and in a
strident, music-hall voice, sung or rather recited with many gestures
the ditty. He could n't have been much older than Joe, but already his
face was hard with dissipation and foul knowledge. He gave the song
with all the rank suggestiveness that could be put into it. Joe looked
upon him as a hero. He was followed by a little, brown-skinned fellow
with an immature Vandyke beard and a lisp. He sung his own composition
and was funny; how much funnier than he himself knew or intended, may
not even be hinted at. Then, while an instrumentalist, who seemed to
have a grudge against the piano, was hammering out the opening bars of a
march, Joe's attention was attracted by a woman entering the room, and
from that moment he heard no more of the concert. Even when the master
of ceremonies announced with an air that, by special request, he himself
would sing "Answer,"--the request was his own,--he did not draw the
attention of the boy away from the yellow-skinned divinity who sat at a
near table, drinking whiskey straight.
She was a small girl, with fluffy dark hair and good features. A tiny
foot peeped out from beneath her rattling silk skirts. She was a
good-looking young woman and daintily made, though her face was no
longer youthful, and one might have wished that with her complexion she
had not run to silk waists in magenta.
Joe, however, saw no fault in her. She was altogether lovely to him, and
his delight was the more poignant as he recognised in her one of the
girls he had seen on the stage a couple of weeks ago. That being true,
nothing could keep her from being glorious in his eyes,--not even the
grease-paint which adhered in unneat patches to her face, nor her taste
for whiskey in its unreformed state. He gazed at her in ecstasy until
Thomas, turning to see what had attracted him, said with a laugh, "Oh,
it 's Hattie Sterling. Want to meet her?"
Again the young fellow was dumb. Just then Hattie also noticed his
intent look, and nodded and beckoned to Thomas.
"Come on," he said, rising.
"Oh, she did n't ask for me," cried Joe, tremulous and eager.
His companion went away laughing.
"Who 's your young friend?" asked Hattie.
"A fellah from the South."
"Bring him over here."
Joe could hardly believe in his own good luck, and his head, which was
getting a bit weak, was near collapsing when his divinity asked him what
he 'd have? He began to protest, until she told the waiter with an air
of authority to make it a little "'skey." Then she asked him for a
cigarette, and began talking to him in a pleasant, soothing way between
puffs.
When the drinks came, she said to Thomas, "Now, old man, you 've been
awfully nice, but when you get your little drink, you run away like a
good little boy. You 're superfluous."
Thomas answered, "Well, I like that," but obediently gulped his whiskey
and withdrew, while Joe laughed until the master of ceremonies stood up
and looked sternly at him.
The concert had long been over and the room was less crowded when Thomas
sauntered back to the pair.
"Well, good-night," he said. "Guess you can find your way home, Mr.
Hamilton;" and he gave Joe a long wink.
"Goo'-night," said Joe, woozily, "I be a' ri'. Goo'-night."
"Make it another 'skey," was Hattie's farewell remark.
* * * * *
It was late the next morning when Joe got home. He had a headache and a
sense of triumph that not even his illness and his mother's reproof
could subdue.
He had promised Hattie to come often to the club.
X
A VISITOR FROM HOME
Mrs. Hamilton began to question very seriously whether she had done the
best thing in coming to New York as she saw her son staying away more
and more and growing always farther away from her and his sister. Had
she known how and where he spent his evenings, she would have had even
greater cause to question the wisdom of their trip. She knew that
although he worked he never had any money for the house, and she foresaw
the time when the little they had would no longer suffice for Kitty and
her. Realising this, she herself set out to find something to do.
It was a hard matter, for wherever she went seeking employment, it was
always for her and her daughter, for the more she saw of Mrs. Jones, the
less she thought it well to leave the girl under her influence. Mrs.
Hamilton was not a keen woman, but she had a mother's intuitions, and
she saw a subtle change in her daughter. At first the girl grew wistful
and then impatient and rebellious. She complained that Joe was away from
them so much enjoying himself, while she had to be housed up like a
prisoner. She had receded from her dignified position, and twice of an
evening had gone out for a car-ride with Thomas; but as that gentleman
never included the mother in his invitation, she decided that her
daughter should go no more, and she begged Joe to take his sister out
sometimes instead. He demurred at first, for he now numbered among his
city acquirements a fine contempt for his woman relatives. Finally,
however, he consented, and took Kit once to the theatre and once for a
ride. Each time he left her in the care of Thomas as soon as they were
out of the house, while he went to find or to wait for his dear Hattie.
But his mother did not know all this, and Kit did not tell her. The
quick poison of the unreal life about her had already begun to affect
her character. She had grown secretive and sly. The innocent longing
which in a burst of enthusiasm she had expressed that first night at the
theatre was growing into a real ambition with her, and she dropped the
simple old songs she knew to practise the detestable coon ditties which
the stage demanded.
She showed no particular pleasure when her mother found the sort of
place they wanted, but went to work with her in sullen silence. Mrs.
Hamilton could not understand it all, and many a night she wept and
prayed over the change in this child of her heart. There were times when
she felt that there was nothing left to work or fight for. The letters
from Berry in prison became fewer and fewer. He was sinking into the
dull, dead routine of his life. Her own letters to him fell off. It was
hard getting the children to write. They did not want to be bothered,
and she could not write for herself. So in the weeks and months that
followed she drifted farther away from her children and husband and all
the traditions of her life.
After Joe's first night at the Banner Club he had kept his promise to
Hattie Sterling and had gone often to meet her. She had taught him much,
because it was to her advantage to do so. His greenness had dropped from
him like a garment, but no amount of sophistication could make him deem
the woman less perfect. He knew that she was much older than he, but he
only took this fact as an additional sign of his prowess in having won
her. He was proud of himself when he went behind the scenes at the
theatre or waited for her at the stage door and bore her off under the
admiring eyes of a crowd of gapers. And Hattie? She liked him in a
half-contemptuous, half-amused way. He was a good-looking boy and made
money enough, as she expressed it, to show her a good time, so she was
willing to overlook his weakness and his callow vanity.
"Look here," she said to him one day, "I guess you 'll have to be
moving. There 's a young lady been inquiring for you to-day, and I won't
stand for that."
He looked at her, startled for a moment, until he saw the laughter in
her eyes. Then he caught her and kissed her. "What 're you givin' me?"
he said.
"It 's a straight tip, that 's what."
"Who is it?"
"It 's a girl named Minty Brown from your home."
His face turned brick-red with fear and shame. "Minty Brown!" he
stammered.
Had that girl told all and undone him? But Hattie was going on about her
work and evidently knew nothing.
"Oh, you need n't pretend you don't know her," she went on banteringly.
"She says you were great friends down South, so I 've invited her to
supper. She wants to see you."
"To supper!" he thought. Was she mocking him? Was she restraining her
scorn of him only to make his humiliation the greater after a while? He
looked at her, but there was no suspicion of malice in her face, and he
took hope.
"Well, I 'd like to see old Minty," he said. "It 's been many a long day
since I 've seen her."
All that afternoon, after going to the barber-shop, Joe was driven by a
tempest of conflicting emotions. If Minty Brown had not told his story,
why not? Would she yet tell, and if she did, what would happen? He
tortured himself by questioning if Hattie would cast him off. At the
very thought his hand trembled, and the man in the chair asked him if he
had n't been drinking.
When he met Minty in the evening, however, the first glance at her
reassured him. Her face was wreathed in smiles as she came forward and
held out her hand.
"Well, well, Joe Hamilton," she exclaimed, "if I ain't right-down glad
to see you! How are you?"
"I 'm middlin', Minty. How 's yourself?" He was so happy that he could
n't let go her hand.
"An' jes' look at the boy! Ef he ain't got the impidence to be waihin' a
mustache too. You must 'a' been lettin' the cats lick yo' upper lip. Did
n't expect to see me in New York, did you?"
"No, indeed. What you doin' here?"
"Oh, I got a gent'man friend what 's a porter, an' his run 's been
changed so that he comes hyeah, an' he told me, if I wanted to come he
'd bring me thoo fur a visit, so, you see, hyeah I am. I allus was
mighty anxious to see this hyeah town. But tell me, how 's Kit an' yo'
ma?"
"They 're both right well." He had forgotten them and their scorn of
Minty.
"Whaih do you live? I 'm comin' roun' to see 'em."
He hesitated for a moment. He knew how his mother, if not Kit, would
receive her, and yet he dared not anger this woman, who had his fate in
the hollow of her hand.
She saw his hesitation and spoke up. "Oh, that 's all right. Let
by-gones be by-gones. You know I ain't the kin' o' person that holds a
grudge ag'in anybody."
"That 's right, Minty, that 's right," he said, and gave her his
mother's address. Then he hastened home to prepare the way for Minty's
coming. Joe had no doubt but that his mother would see the matter quite
as he saw it, and be willing to temporise with Minty; but he had
reckoned without his host. Mrs. Hamilton might make certain concessions
to strangers on the score of expediency, but she absolutely refused to
yield one iota of her dignity to one whom she had known so long as an
inferior.
"But don't you see what she can do for us, ma? She knows people that I
know, and she can ruin me with them."
"I ain't never bowed my haid to Minty Brown an' I ain't a-goin' to do
it now," was his mother's only reply.
"Oh, ma," Kitty put in, "you don't want to get talked about up here, do
you?"
"We 'd jes' as well be talked about fu' somep'n we did n't do as fu'
somep'n we did do, an' it would n' be long befo' we 'd come to dat if we
made frien's wid dat Brown gal. I ain't a-goin' to do it. I 'm ashamed
o' you, Kitty, fu' wantin' me to."
The girl began to cry, while her brother walked the floor angrily.
"You 'll see what 'll happen," he cried; "you 'll see."
Fannie looked at her son, and she seemed to see him more clearly than
she had ever seen him before,--his foppery, his meanness, his cowardice.
"Well," she answered with a sigh, "it can't be no wuss den what 's
already happened."
"You 'll see, you 'll see," the boy reiterated.
Minty Brown allowed no wind of thought to cool the fire of her
determination. She left Hattie Sterling's soon after Joe, and he was
still walking the floor and uttering dire forebodings when she rang the
bell below and asked for the Hamiltons.
Mrs. Jones ushered her into her fearfully upholstered parlour, and then
puffed up stairs to tell her lodgers that there was a friend there from
the South who wanted to see them.
"Tell huh," said Mrs. Hamilton, "dat dey ain't no one hyeah wants to see
huh."
"No, no," Kitty broke in.
"Heish," said her mother; "I 'm goin' to boss you a little while yit."
"Why, I don't understan' you, Mis' Hamilton," puffed Mrs. Jones. "She 's
a nice-lookin' lady, an' she said she knowed you at home."
"All you got to do is to tell dat ooman jes' what I say."
Minty Brown downstairs had heard the little colloquy, and, perceiving
that something was amiss, had come to the stairs to listen. Now her
voice, striving hard to be condescending and sweet, but growing harsh
with anger, floated up from below:
"Oh, nevah min', lady, I ain't anxious to see 'em. I jest called out o'
pity, but I reckon dey 'shamed to see me 'cause de ol' man 's in
penitentiary an' dey was run out o' town."
Mrs. Jones gasped, and then turned and went hastily downstairs.
Kit burst out crying afresh, and Joe walked the floor muttering beneath
his breath, while the mother sat grimly watching the outcome. Finally
they heard Mrs. Jones' step once more on the stairs. She came in without
knocking, and her manner was distinctly unpleasant.
"Mis' Hamilton," she said, "I 've had a talk with the lady downstairs,
an' she 's tol' me everything. I 'd be glad if you 'd let me have my
rooms as soon as possible."
"So you goin' to put me out on de wo'd of a stranger?"
"I 'm kin' o' sorry, but everybody in the house heard what Mis' Brown
said, an' it 'll soon be all over town, an' that 'ud ruin the reputation
of my house."
"I reckon all dat kin be 'splained."
"Yes, but I don't know that anybody kin 'splain your daughter allus
being with Mr. Thomas, who ain't even divo'ced from his wife." She
flashed a vindictive glance at the girl, who turned deadly pale and
dropped her head in her hands.
"You daih to say dat, Mis' Jones, you dat fust interduced my gal to dat
man and got huh to go out wid him? I reckon you 'd bettah go now."
And Mrs. Jones looked at Fannie's face and obeyed.
As soon as the woman's back was turned, Joe burst out, "There, there!
see what you 've done with your damned foolishness."
Fannie turned on him like a tigress. "Don't you cuss hyeah befo' me; I
ain't nevah brung you up to it, an' I won't stan' it. Go to dem whaih
you larned it, an whaih de wo'ds soun' sweet." The boy started to
speak, but she checked him. "Don't you daih to cuss ag'in or befo' Gawd
dey 'll be somep'n fu' one o' dis fambly to be rottin' in jail fu'!"
The boy was cowed by his mother's manner. He was gathering his few
belongings in a bundle.
"I ain't goin' to cuss," he said sullenly, "I 'm goin' out o' your way."
"Oh, go on," she said, "go on. It 's been a long time sence you been my
son. You on yo' way to hell, an' you is been fu' lo dese many days."
Joe got out of the house as soon as possible. He did not speak to Kit
nor look at his mother. He felt like a cur, because he knew deep down in
his heart that he had only been waiting for some excuse to take this
step.
As he slammed the door behind him, his mother flung herself down by
Kit's side and mingled her tears with her daughter's. But Kit did not
raise her head.
"Dey ain't nothin' lef' but you now, Kit;" but the girl did not speak,
she only shook with hard sobs.
Then her mother raised her head and almost screamed, "My Gawd, not you,
Kit!" The girl rose, and then dropped unconscious in her mother's arms.
Joe took his clothes to a lodging-house that he knew of, and then went
to the club to drink himself up to the point of going to see Hattie
after the show.
XI
BROKEN HOPES
What Joe Hamilton lacked more than anything else in the world was some
one to kick him. Many a man who might have lived decently and become a
fairly respectable citizen has gone to the dogs for the want of some one
to administer a good resounding kick at the right time. It is corrective
and clarifying.
Joe needed especially its clarifying property, for though he knew
himself a cur, he went away from his mother's house feeling himself
somehow aggrieved, and the feeling grew upon him the more he thought of
it. His mother had ruined his chance in life, and he could never hold up
his head again. Yes, he had heard that several of the fellows at the
club had shady reputations, but surely to be the son of a thief or a
supposed thief was not like being the criminal himself.
At the Banner he took a seat by himself, and, ordering a cocktail, sat
glowering at the few other lonely members who had happened to drop in.
There were not many of them, and the contagion of unsociability had
taken possession of the house. The people sat scattered around at
different tables, perfectly unmindful of the bartender, who cursed them
under his breath for not "getting together."
Joe's mind was filled with bitter thoughts. How long had he been away
from home? he asked himself. Nearly a year. Nearly a year passed in New
York, and he had come to be what he so much desired,--a part of its fast
life,--and now in a moment an old woman's stubbornness had destroyed all
that he had builded.
What would Thomas say when he heard it? What would the other fellows
think? And Hattie? It was plain that she would never notice him again.
He had no doubt but that the malice of Minty Brown would prompt her to
seek out all of his friends and make the story known. Why had he not
tried to placate her by disavowing sympathy with his mother? He would
have had no compunction about doing so, but he had thought of it too
late. He sat brooding over his trouble until the bartender called with
respectful sarcasm to ask if he wanted to lease the glass he had.
He gave back a silly laugh, gulped the rest of the liquor down, and was
ordering another when Sadness came in. He came up directly to Joe and
sat down beside him. "Mr. Hamilton says 'Make it two, Jack,'" he said
with easy familiarity. "Well, what 's the matter, old man? You 're
looking glum."
"I feel glum."
"The divine Hattie has n't been cutting any capers, has she? The dear
old girl has n't been getting hysterical at her age? Let us hope not."
Joe glared at him. Why in the devil should this fellow be so sadly gay
when he was weighted down with sorrow and shame and disgust?
"Come, come now, Hamilton, if you 're sore because I invited myself to
take a drink with you, I 'll withdraw the order. I know the heroic thing
to say is that I 'll pay for the drinks myself, but I can't screw my
courage up to the point of doing so unnatural a thing."
Young Hamilton hastened to protest. "Oh, I know you fellows now well
enough to know how many drinks to pay for. It ain't that."
"Well, then, out with it. What is it? Have n't been up to anything, have
you?"
The desire came to Joe to tell this man the whole truth, just what was
the matter, and so to relieve his heart. On the impulse he did. If he
had expected much from Sadness he was disappointed, for not a muscle of
the man's face changed during the entire recital.