Say what one will about prison life in general, modify it ever so much
by special chambers, obsequious turnkeys, a general tendency to make
one as comfortable as possible, a jail is a jail, and there is no
getting away from that. Cowperwood, in a room which was not in any way
inferior to that of the ordinary boarding-house, was nevertheless
conscious of the character of that section of this real prison which
was not yet his portion. He knew that there were cells there, probably
greasy and smelly and vermin-infested, and that they were enclosed by
heavy iron bars, which would have as readily clanked on him as on those
who were now therein incarcerated if he had not had the price to pay
for something better. So much for the alleged equality of man, he
thought, which gave to one man, even within the grim confines of the
machinery of justice, such personal liberty as he himself was now
enjoying, and to another, because he chanced to lack wit or presence or
friends or wealth, denied the more comfortable things which money would
buy.
The morning after the trial, on waking, he stirred curiously, and then
it suddenly came to him that he was no longer in the free and
comfortable atmosphere of his own bedroom, but in a jail-cell, or
rather its very comfortable substitute, a sheriff’s rented bedroom. He
got up and looked out the window. The ground outside and Passayunk
Avenue were white with snow. Some wagons were silently lumbering by. A
few Philadelphians were visible here and there, going to and fro on
morning errands. He began to think at once what he must do, how he must
act to carry on his business, to rehabilitate himself; and as he did so
he dressed and pulled the bell-cord, which had been indicated to him,
and which would bring him an attendant who would build him a fire and
later bring him something to eat. A shabby prison attendant in a blue
uniform, conscious of Cowperwood’s superiority because of the room he
occupied, laid wood and coal in the grate and started a fire, and later
brought him his breakfast, which was anything but prison fare, though
poor enough at that.
After that he was compelled to wait in patience several hours, in spite
of the sheriff’s assumption of solicitous interest, before his brother
Edward was admitted with his clothes. An attendant, for a
consideration, brought him the morning papers, and these, except for
the financial news, he read indifferently. Late in the afternoon Steger
arrived, saying he had been busy having certain proceedings postponed,
but that he had arranged with the sheriff for Cowperwood to be
permitted to see such of those as had important business with him.
By this time, Cowperwood had written Aileen under no circumstances to
try to see him, as he would be out by the tenth, and that either that
day, or shortly after, they would meet. As he knew, she wanted greatly
to see him, but he had reason to believe she was under surveillance by
detectives employed by her father. This was not true, but it was
preying on her fancy, and combined with some derogatory remarks dropped
by Owen and Callum at the dinner table recently, had proved almost too
much for her fiery disposition. But, because of Cowperwood’s letter
reaching her at the Calligans’, she made no move until she read on the
morning of the tenth that Cowperwood’s plea for a certificate of
reasonable doubt had been granted, and that he would once more, for the
time being at least, be a free man. This gave her courage to do what
she had long wanted to do, and that was to teach her father that she
could get along without him and that he could not make her do anything
she did not want to do. She still had the two hundred dollars
Cowperwood had given her and some additional cash of her own—perhaps
three hundred and fifty dollars in all. This she thought would be
sufficient to see her to the end of her adventure, or at least until
she could make some other arrangement for her personal well-being. From
what she knew of the feeling of her family for her, she felt that the
agony would all be on their side, not hers. Perhaps when her father saw
how determined she was he would decide to let her alone and make peace
with her. She was determined to try it, anyhow, and immediately sent
word to Cowperwood that she was going to the Calligans and would
welcome him to freedom.
In a way, Cowperwood was rather gratified by Aileen’s message, for he
felt that his present plight, bitter as it was, was largely due to
Butler’s opposition and he felt no compunction in striking him through
his daughter. His former feeling as to the wisdom of not enraging
Butler had proved rather futile, he thought, and since the old man
could not be placated it might be just as well to have Aileen
demonstrate to him that she was not without resources of her own and
could live without him. She might force him to change his attitude
toward her and possibly even to modify some of his political
machinations against him, Cowperwood. Any port in a storm—and besides,
he had now really nothing to lose, and instinct told him that her move
was likely to prove more favorable than otherwise—so he did nothing to
prevent it.
She took her jewels, some underwear, a couple of dresses which she
thought would be serviceable, and a few other things, and packed them
in the most capacious portmanteau she had. Shoes and stockings came
into consideration, and, despite her efforts, she found that she could
not get in all that she wished. Her nicest hat, which she was
determined to take, had to be carried outside. She made a separate
bundle of it, which was not pleasant to contemplate. Still she decided
to take it. She rummaged in a little drawer where she kept her money
and jewels, and found the three hundred and fifty dollars and put it in
her purse. It wasn’t much, as Aileen could herself see, but Cowperwood
would help her. If he did not arrange to take care of her, and her
father would not relent, she would have to get something to do. Little
she knew of the steely face the world presents to those who have not
been practically trained and are not economically efficient. She did
not understand the bitter reaches of life at all. She waited, humming
for effect, until she heard her father go downstairs to dinner on this
tenth day of December, then leaned over the upper balustrade to make
sure that Owen, Callum, Norah, and her mother were at the table, and
that Katy, the housemaid, was not anywhere in sight. Then she slipped
into her father’s den, and, taking a note from inside her dress, laid
it on his desk, and went out. It was addressed to “Father,” and read:
Dear Father,—I just cannot do what you want me to. I have made up my
mind that I love Mr. Cowperwood too much, so I am going away. Don’t
look for me with him. You won’t find me where you think. I am not going
to him; I will not be there. I am going to try to get along by myself
for a while, until he wants me and can marry me. I’m terribly sorry;
but I just can’t do what you want. I can’t ever forgive you for the way
you acted to me. Tell mama and Norah and the boys good-by for me.
Aileen
To insure its discovery, she picked up Butler’s heavy-rimmed spectacles
which he employed always when reading, and laid them on it. For a
moment she felt very strange, somewhat like a thief—a new sensation for
her. She even felt a momentary sense of ingratitude coupled with pain.
Perhaps she was doing wrong. Her father had been very good to her. Her
mother would feel so very bad. Norah would be sorry, and Callum and
Owen. Still, they did not understand her any more. She was resentful of
her father’s attitude. He might have seen what the point was; but no,
he was too old, too hidebound in religion and conventional ideas—he
never would. He might never let her come back. Very well, she would get
along somehow. She would show him. She might get a place as a
school-teacher, and live with the Calligans a long while, if necessary,
or teach music.
She stole downstairs and out into the vestibule, opening the outer door
and looking out into the street. The lamps were already flaring in the
dark, and a cool wind was blowing. Her portmanteau was heavy, but she
was quite strong. She walked briskly to the corner, which was some
fifty feet away, and turned south, walking rather nervously and
irritably, for this was a new experience for her, and it all seemed so
undignified, so unlike anything she was accustomed to doing. She put
her bag down on a street corner, finally, to rest. A boy whistling in
the distance attracted her attention, and as he drew near she called to
him: “Boy! Oh, boy!”
He came over, looking at her curiously.
“Do you want to earn some money?”
“Yes, ma’am,” he replied politely, adjusting a frowsy cap over one ear.
“Carry this bag for me,” said Aileen, and he picked it up and marched
off.
In due time she arrived at the Calligans’, and amid much excitement was
installed in the bosom of her new home. She took her situation with
much nonchalance, once she was properly placed, distributing her toilet
articles and those of personal wear with quiet care. The fact that she
was no longer to have the services of Kathleen, the maid who had served
her and her mother and Norah jointly, was odd, though not trying. She
scarcely felt that she had parted from these luxuries permanently, and
so made herself comfortable.
Mamie Calligan and her mother were adoring slaveys, so she was not
entirely out of the atmosphere which she craved and to which she was
accustomed.