"I believe you can. I don't doubt that you will accomplish all that you
hope to. You are a _wonderful_ girl."
He stood up, and held out his hand to help me, saying we had better be
returning now, as he expected to take a train at eleven. My heart sank
to think that his visit was to be so short, and I felt a passionate
regret that there was nothing I could do or say that would keep him
longer.
As we were walking down the avenue, he put the hand nearest me behind
his back, and with the other swung his cane slightly. He seemed to be
thinking all the time.
I asked him whether he was going to come and see me again, and he said
quickly:
"If you do what I tell you."
"You mean about the school?" I asked.
"No-o. We'll let that go for the present; but you've got to get out of
both that er--institution--"
"The Y. W. C. A.?" I queried, surprised.
"Yes, your precious Y. W. C. A."
He was talking in a low and rather guarded voice, as if anxious that no
one passing should hear us.
"I want you to get bright, pretty rooms. You'll feel better and work
better in attractive surroundings."
"I did intend to move, anyway," I said. "Lolly and I were planning to
look for rooms to-morrow."
He said quickly:
"I wouldn't go with her. Get a place of your own."
"Well, but, you see, together we can get a better room for less money,"
I explained.
He made an impatient sound, as if the discussion of expense provoked
him.
"Get as nice a place as you can, child," he said, and added growlingly,
"If you don't, I'll not come to see you at all."
"All right," I said; "I'll get a nice place."
"And now about your position--"
"It's not bad," I asseverated. "Fred's awfully good to me."
"Fred?"
"Yes; he's my boss--Fred O'Brien."
"You call him Fred?"
"Yes; every one does at the yards."
"Humph! I think it would be an excellent plan for you to leave those
yards just about as expeditiously as you can."
"But I can't. Why, I might not be able to get another position. Just
look how I tramped about for weeks before I got that."
He stopped abruptly in the street.
"Don't you know, if you stay in a place like that, every bit of poetry
and--er--charm--and fineness in you, and every other worth-while
quality that you possess, will be literally beaten out of you?
Why, that is no place for a girl like you. Now you get a pretty
room--several, if you wish--and then go to work and write--write your
poetry and stories and anything you want."
"But, Mr. Hamilton, I can't afford to do that."
He switched his cane with a sort of savage impatience.
"Nonsense!" he said. "You can afford to have anything you want. I'll
give you anything--anything you want."
He repeated this sweepingly, almost angrily, and after a moment I said:
"Well, why should you do this for me?"
I was saying to myself that I would let him do anything for me if he
did it because he cared for me. If not, I could take nothing from him.
I waited in a sort of agony for his answer. It came slowly, as if he
were carefully choosing his words:
"I want to do it," he said, "because I am interested in you; because
it pleases me to help a girl like you; because I believe you are, as I
have said, a wonderful girl, an exceptionally gifted girl, and I want
to give you a chance to prove it."
"Oh!" I tried to speak lightly, but I wanted to sob. His belief in
my talent gave me no pride. I vastly preferred him to care for me
personally. "Thank you," I said, "but I can't let you give me a room
and support me any more than I can let you send me to school."
We had now reached the Y. W. C. A. I could see the door girl watching
us through the glass. It was after ten, and I had to go in. I held out
my hand, and he took it reluctantly and immediately let it go. His
manner plainly showed that I had offended him.
"Don't think," I said, "because I can't let you help me that I'm not
grateful to you, for I am."
"Gratitude be damned!" he said.
Estelle and I had a little stock of candles, and when the lights went
out before we were in bed, we used to light one. I had trouble finding
one in the dark that night, and I tripped over the rocking-chair and
hurt my ankle. Estelle sat up in petulant wrath.
"Say, what's biting you lately, anyhow?" she demanded. "Getting gay in
your old age, are you?" she inquired.
"You shut up!" I said crossly, nursing my ankle. "I believe you hide
those candles, anyway."
"I sure do," retorted Estelle. "If you think I'm going to let your
swell friend burn my little glimmers, you've got one more guess coming."
By my "swell friend" she meant Lolly.
She got out of bed, however, felt under the bureau, and produced and
lighted a candle. Then she examined and rubbed my ankle, and, grumbling
and muttering things about Lolly, helped me undress and into bed. When
I supposed she had dropped off asleep, she sat up suddenly in bed.
"Say, I'd like to ask you something. Have you got a steady?" she said.
"No, Estelle; I wish I had," I replied mournfully.
"Well," said Estelle, "you sure are going the way about _nit_ to get
one. You let them swell guys alone that come nosing around you. Say, do
you know _I_ thought you were in for a nice, steady fellow when I seen
Pop-eyes"--Pop-eyes was her term for Hermann--"hanging round here. Then
I seen _Miss_ Hope"--with a sneer--"had cut you out. Say, I'd 'a' like'
to have handed her one for that. Who was the swell took you out last
night?"
"His name's Chambers. He's Lolly's friend."
"And who was the man to see you to-night? Looked to me as if _he_ were
stuck on you."