Sabbath quietude had laid a finger on thousands of metal lips that
screamed the song of labor on other days, and the great city seemed
almost asleep as Mr. Herriott entered his carriage at ten o'clock and
gave the order, "Brooklyn--Fulton Ferry." After a restless night, spent
in searching an old diary for dates and notes, he had gradually untied
some knotted memories--vague and conflicting--and straightened a slender
thread that might possibly guide to the identification of an elusive
personality. On the seat in front of him a basket of purple grapes added
their fruity fragrance to the perfume of a bunch of white carnations,
and during the long drive the expression of perplexity which had knitted
his brows relaxed into the alert placidity that characterized his strong
face.
Summer heat, blown in by a humid south wind, touched the sky with an
intense blue, against which one long, thin curl of cloud shone like a
silver feather, and Brooklyn parks and lawns shook their green banners
of grass blades and young, silken foliage. In the middle of a block of
old brick tenement houses, Mr. Herriott entered an open door, where two
children fought over a wailing black kitten, and went up the inner
stairway to a narrow hall, on which opened several doors bearing cards
inscribed with the name of occupants of the rooms. At one, labelled
"Mrs. Dane," he rapped. It was opened partly, and held ajar.
"Well, who knocked?"
"One of Leighton's friends. Can I see him?"
"Not to-day. He is not well enough for visitors."
"May I come in and see you?"
"Why should you? What do you want?"
Before he could reply, a weak voice pleaded:
"Please, mother! It is Mr. Herriott: let him in. He has been so good to
me--please--please!"
"If I do, you are not to talk and bring back that spell of coughing."
The door was swung fully open, and Mr. Herriott confronted "Juno."
"You are Mr. Herriott, as I supposed. Walk in, and excuse the confusion
of the rooms. I was up all night, and have not put things in order."
She wore a dark skirt and white muslin sacque, loose at the throat,
ungirded, and the sleeves were rolled up, exposing the symmetry of her
dimpled white arms. A rich, lovely red stained her lips and
cheeks--perhaps from embarrassment, probably from the heat of the
oil-stove, on which, evidently, breakfast had been recently prepared.
She pointed to an adjoining room, where Leighton lay on a cot close to
the open window.
"Oh, sir, are they really for me?" as Mr. Herriott laid the basket and
flowers beside him.
"Look, mother! Grapes, grapes! And the smell of the carnations! Was
there ever anything so sweet? I don't know how to thank you, sir. I wish
I could say something, but when my heart is full I just can't tell it."
His little hot hand caught Mr. Herriott's, and the thin fingers twined
caressingly about it.
"You are not to thank me, and you must not talk. Remember, that was the
condition upon which I was allowed to see you. Eat your grapes while
your mother tells me about you."
"You will spoil him. I can't give him such luxuries as hothouse fruit
and flowers, though now and then he has his bunch of violets."
"When was the doctor here?"
"Friday. He changed the medicine, but I can see no benefit as yet."
"If you think it would not tire him too much, I should like to take him
out for a drive."
"Thank you, but I could not consent to that."
"Why not? The fresh air is balmy to-day, and would do him good. I have a
carriage at the door, and if you are unwilling to trust the boy with me,
I should be glad to take you also. May I?"
Her blue eyes glittered and her lips straightened their curves.
"Most certainly not."
"Pardon me, madam; my interest in your child----"
"Does not justify a man of your position in taking a 'department store
saleswoman' to drive on Sunday through public places."
"Perhaps you are right. Then I shall efface myself promptly, and you and
Leighton can keep the carriage as long as you like."
"Such favors I accept from no man."
"Not even to help your sick boy?"
She put her hand on the child's shining curls, and a world of tenderness
glorified her velvet eyes.
"Not even for my very own baby could I incur such an obligation."
"Smell them, mother--like spice! Don't they make you think of the
carnation garden in San Francisco, where Uncle Dane used to carry us?"
"How long ago was that, Leighton?" asked Mr. Herriott, watching the
woman's face.
"Oh, it was when I was a little chap and wore frocks."
"Were you born in San Francisco?"
"No. He was born in ---- Territory."
"Mrs. Dane, can you tell me what became of the artist Belmont?"
"Why do you ask me that question?"
"In order to get an answer. He painted your face for his 'Aurora,' and
the picture was photographed."
"Yes; I needed money, and Mr. Dane permitted him to come to our house
for the sittings. That was my first and last experience as a model."
"I have met you before."
She straightened herself, and answered defiantly:
"Probably I have sold you gloves, or socks, or handkerchiefs--certainly
not the right to meddle with my personal affairs."
"I went with a San Francisco friend to see a night school for women,
which his mother had established. You were there."
"Yes, I was there two winters. Now, sir, have you a police badge hidden
inside your coat? Are you playing reporter--disguised as a benevolent
gentleman--hunting up the details of last night's meeting and riot at
Newark? You know, of course, that I made a speech there?"
"Indeed? I had imagined you sat up all night with your sick boy."
"There is a strike on down there, and I spoke against arbitrating labor
grievances, and against the ghastly sham of getting the rights of the
poor from a picked judge and a packed jury. Bombs and boycott make the
best mill for grinding out justice to starving, over-worked men and
women."
"How long have you been an 'anarchist,' or perhaps you prefer the term
'socialist'?"
"From the day I was sixteen years old, and learned how rich men trample
and betray and despise and insult the ignorant, helpless poor."
"It must have been a terribly cruel grievance that transformed into a
fury one who was intended for a loving, gentle woman."
She laughed, and her beautiful teeth took hold of the glowing under lip.
"Grievance? We all have one--we are simply born to suffer, as to
breathe--but the unendurable the unpardonable comes from the grasping,
murderous, fiendish selfishness of rich men. You have been so kind to my
boy, I have tried hard to believe genuine benevolence--what you are
pleased to call 'Christian philanthropy'--inspired your visits to him
during my absence, but you are all alike--you gilded society
sultans--and you come here with some cowardly design carefully smothered
under flowers, fruit, and candy. So, Leighton, make the most of to-day,
for we will see no more of your Mr. Herriott."
"Madam, I shall be as frank as you have shown yourself. There is one
woman in this world whose wishes rule me absolutely, and because she
requested me to see your child now and then, I have come several times,
until my sympathetic interest equals hers. With your career in New York
I am acquainted. For your radical views and utterances I have neither
respect nor toleration, yet, if you will permit me to explain, there are
reasons that lead me to believe I can do you a very great service."
"I am not in need of service from any man. Your formula has not even the
ring of originality; I have heard such sickening reiterations of it from
false, bearded lips."
"That you have been a cruelly wronged woman I feel assured, but I am
equally certain that your worst enemy was no man--was one of your own
sex. For your own sake, will you answer two questions?"
"For my own sake, I distinctly refuse to be catechised by impertinent
strangers."
"Oh, mother; please mother! He has been so good to me, how could he mean
harm to you? Don't worry her, Mr. Herriott. She can't abide men; they
fret her, and she hates them--unless they are starved and ragged. Please
let her alone, and look at my doves. They come for the crumbs on the
window sill. See! Here is a new one, pure white. Mother, scatter some
bread on the sheet and they will come in."
She sprinkled some scraps of cake close to his pillow, and, after a
little coy skirmishing, the pigeons fluttered in to the feast; but just
then a spell of coughing shook the fragile form on the cot, and with a
flash and whirr the flock vanished. Mrs. Dane lifted the boy and fanned
him, wiping away the moisture that beaded his clustering curls, and Mr.
Herriott piled the pillows and cushions behind his shaking shoulders.
When the paroxysm ended, and Leighton lay wan and spent, the visitor
leaned over him.
"I should like to do several things for you, but your mother will not
permit me. Miss Kent wishes you to know she remembers you with interest,
and hopes to hear you sing again. The stranger who preached at St.
Hyacinth's has not forgotten the poem he promised you, and will bring it
soon. I saw him last night. Now, I must say good-bye for to-day. Don't
try to speak, I understand everything."
Silently Mrs. Dane followed him to the door. Across the threshold, he
turned and lowered his voice.
"A sea voyage is the only thing that will prolong his life. With your
consent, it can be arranged at once."
She shook her head.
"Madam, I find I must revise my ideals of maternal devotion. You punish
your innocent child for the sins of those who blighted your youth? You
harangue a rabble in favor of 'justice' and deny it to a dying boy."
She caught her breath, leaned against the wall, and covered her face
with her hands. When he saw it again the color had ebbed, the lovely
eyes were darkened by unshed tears, and the lips were beyond her
control.
"My baby--my fatherless little one! Ever since he was born I have
struggled so hard to keep his mother's name clean--his mother's name,
all he had--clean and beyond reproach! Do you suppose that now, at the
last, I would put myself under obligation to a rich man? We may die
paupers, he and I, but when we go to the Potter's Field--the only
undisputed land labor can claim--we go free, honest, and unblemished,
and if there was a God, I could hold up my baby and demand why He had
cursed us both in our innocence."
"I am sorry that the circumstances coloring your life have destroyed
every vestige of confidence in man's honor, yet I have no alternative
but to accept your decision, and I wish you good morning."
He lifted his hat, and had gone half way down the stairs, when she
followed and touched his sleeve.
"I did not thank you for much goodness to my child, but I do want to say
I am not ungrateful; only I have had so little to be thankful for, I
don't quite know how to phrase gratitude. The world has been so hard to
me I am suspicious of every rich man in your social circle. You see, my
face has handicapped me always----"
She set her teeth and struck one palm resentfully against her cheek, and
the passionate, pent-up cry of years of suffering broke through the next
words.
"Yes, my face has been my curse, and it was the steel trap that snapped
chains on me when I was only a child. Kindness to my Leighton is the one
thing that touches what is left of my heart; and how do you suppose I
can bear now to listen to his sobbing yonder, because he thinks I have
rudely driven you away? Oh, my pretty baby! My own beautiful little one!
Cast out, with only his girl-mother to fight for him against this cruel
world! And now if I lose him, if my all is taken away from me----"
She wrung her hands, and the blanched face was upturned as if
challenging her God.
"Madam, I understand fully, and I intend to help your boy; but be sure I
shall visit him when you are absent. Tell him I shall come, with your
consent, while he is alone; and some day I think you will trust me, even
despite the fact that I happen to have money. Good-bye."
He held out his hand, but she seemed not to see it, and as she turned
and walked wearily up the steps he went down to his carriage.