The three visitors made their way back to the office of the
superintendent across a mill yard now bright with the cold glare of a
hundred arc lights. On the way, Lily turned suddenly to her sister and
asked, “Who was the man you were talking to ... the tall one with the
yellow hair?”
Irene, moving beside her, cast a sudden glance at her sister and the old
terrified look entered her pale eyes. “His name is Krylenko,” she
replied in a voice grown subdued and cold. “He is the one who brought me
home from Welcome House the other night. He is a bright boy. I’ve taught
him English.”
Willie, who had been walking behind them, quickened his pace and came
abreast. “Krylenko?” he said. “Krylenko? Why, that’s the fellow who’s
been making trouble. They’ve been trying to introduce the union.” He
addressed Irene. “Your Welcome House is making trouble I’m afraid,
Irene. There’s no good comes of educating these men. They don’t want
it.”
Lily laughed. “Come now,” she said, “that’s what your mother says, isn’t
it? I can hear her saying it.”
Willie failed to answer her, but a sheepish, embarrassed look took
possession of his sallow face, as if the powerful figure of his mother
had joined them unawares. And Irene, walking close to Lily, whispered to
her sister, “You shouldn’t have said that. It was cruel of you.”
At the office of the superintendent they found Willie’s victoria
waiting, the horses covered with blankets against the swift, piercing
chill of the winter night. The coachman shivered on the box. The three
of them climbed in and Willie bade the man drive to Halsted street where
he would get down, leaving the carriage to the ladies. When Lily
protested, he answered, “But I want to walk up the hill to the Town. I
need the exercise.”
They drove along between two streams of mill workers, one entering, one
leaving the Mill yards with the change of shifts. The laborers moved in
two columns, automatons without identity save that one column was clean
and the men held their heads high and the other was black with oil and
soot and the heads were bent with a terrible exhaustion. It was a dark
narrow street bordered on one side by the tall blank walls of warehouses
and on the other by the Mill yard. The smells of the Black Fork, coated
with oil and refuse, corrupted the damp air. On the Mill side a high
fence made of barbed wire strung from steel posts was in the process of
construction. To this Willie called their attention with pride. “You
see,” he said, “we are making the Mills impregnable. If the unions come
in there will be trouble. It was my idea ... the fence. A stitch in time
saves nine.” And he chuckled softly in the darkness.
At Halsted street Willie got down and, removing his hat, bade the
sisters a dry and polite good-night. But before the carriage drove on,
Lily called out to him, “You’re coming to the ball to-night, aren’t you?
Remember, there’s a quadrille and you can’t leave us flat at the last
minute.”
“I’m coming,” said William. “Certainly I’m coming.” And he turned away,
setting off in the opposite direction toward the Hill and Mrs. Julis
Harrison who sat in the ugly house of red sandstone awaiting news of the
proposal. He walked neatly, placing his small feet firmly, his hands
clasped behind his back, his head bowed thoughtfully. The umbrella, held
in the crook of his arm, swung mournfully as he walked. His shoulders
drooped wearily. He had shown Lily all his wealth, all his power; and
she treated it as if it were nothing at all. In the brownstone house,
Mrs. Harrison sat waiting.
The carriage drove up Halsted street past the corner saloon now thronged
with mill workers, toward the house at Cypress Hill. In a tenement
opposite the wrought iron gates a nostalgic Russian sat on the front
stoop squeezing mournfully at a concertina which filled the winter
evening with the somber music of the steppes.
Irene, leaning back pale and exhausted on the mulberry cushions, said,
“Why did you ask Willie whether he was coming? You know he never misses
anything if he can help it.”
“I only wanted to make him feel welcome,” her sister replied absently.
“Since this affair over the taxes, Mama and Mrs. Harrison haven’t been
very thick.... I feel sorry for Willie. He doesn’t know what it’s all
about.”