ON Christmas Eve there came to our home to spend the next two days,
which chanced to be Saturday and Sunday, Alice Kane, a friend and
fellow-clerk of one of my sisters in a department store. Because the
store kept open until ten-thirty or eleven that Christmas Eve, and my
labors at the _Herald_ office detained me until the same hour, we three
arrived at the house at nearly the same time.
I should say here that the previous year, my mother having died and the
home being in dissolution, I had ventured into the world on my own.
Several sisters, two brothers and my father were still together, but it
was a divided and somewhat colorless home at best. Our mother was gone.
I was already wondering, in great sadness, how long it could endure, for
she had made of it something as sweet as dreams. That temperament, that
charity and understanding and sympathy! We who were left were like
fledglings, trying our wings but fearful of the world. My practical
experience was slight. I was a creature of slow and uncertain response
to anything practical, having an eye single to color, romance, beauty. I
was but a half-baked poet, romancer, dreamer.
As I was hurrying upstairs to take a bath and then see what pleasures
were being arranged for the morrow, I was intercepted by my sister with
a “Hurry now and come down. I have a friend here and I want you to meet
her. She’s awful nice.”
At the mere thought of meeting a girl I brightened, for my thoughts were
always on the other sex and I was forever complaining to myself of my
lack of opportunity, and of lack of courage when I had the opportunity,
to do the one thing I most craved to do: shine as a lover. Although at
her suggestion of a girl I pretended to sniff and be superior, still I
bustled to the task of embellishing myself. On coming into the general
livingroom, where a fire was burning brightly, I beheld a pretty
dark-haired girl of medium height, smooth-cheeked and graceful, who
seemed and really was guileless, good-natured and sympathetic. For a
while after meeting her I felt stiff and awkward, for the mere presence
of so pretty a girl was sufficient to make me nervous and
self-conscious. My brother, E——, had gone off early in the evening to
join the family of some girl in whom he was interested; another brother,
A——, was out on some Christmas Eve lark with a group of
fellow-employees; so here I was alone with C—— and this stranger, doing
my best to appear gallant and clever.
I recall now the sense of sympathy and interest which I felt for this
girl from the start. It must have been clear to my sister, for before
the night was over she had explained, by way of tantalizing me, that
Miss Kane had a beau. Later I learned that Alice was an orphan adopted
by a fairly comfortable Irish couple, who loved her dearly and gave her
as many pleasures and as much liberty as their circumstances would
permit. They had made the mistake, however, of telling her that she was
only an adopted child. This gave her a sense of forlornness and a
longing for a closer and more enduring love.
Such a mild and sweet little thing she was! I never knew a more
attractive or clinging temperament. She could play the banjo and guitar.
I remember marveling at the dexterity of her fingers as they raced up
and down the frets and across the strings. She was wearing a dark green
blouse and brown corduroy skirt, with a pale brown ribbon about her
neck; her hair was parted on one side, and this gave her a sort of
maidenish masculinity. I found her looking at me slyly now and then, and
smiling at one or another of my affected remarks as though she were
pleased. I recounted the nature of the work I was doing, but
deliberately attempted to confuse it in her mind and my sister’s with
the idea that I was regularly employed by the _Herald_ as a newspaper
man and that this was merely a side task. Subsequently, out of sheer
vanity and a desire to appear more than I was, I allowed her to believe
that I was a reporter on this paper.
It was snowing. We could see great flakes fluttering about the gas lamps
outside. In the cottage of an Irish family across the street a party of
merrymakers was at play. I proposed that we go out and buy chestnuts and
popcorn and roast them, and that we make snow punch out of milk, sugar
and snow. How gay I felt, how hopeful! In a fit of great daring I took
one hand of each of my companions and ran, trying to slide with them
over the snow. Alice’s screams and laughter were disturbingly musical,
and as she ran her little feet twinkled under her skirts. At one corner,
where the stores were brightly lighted, she stopped and did a graceful
little dance under the electric light.
“Oh, if I could have a girl like this—if I could just have her!” I
thought, forgetting that I was nightly telling a Scotch girl that she
was the sweetest thing I had ever known or wanted to know.
Bedtime came, with laughter and gayety up to the last moment. Alice was
to sleep with my sister, and preceded me upstairs, saying she was going
to eat salt on New Year’s Eve so that she would dream of her coming
lover. That night I lay and thought of her, and next morning hurried
downstairs hoping to find her, but she had not come down yet. There were
Christmas stockings to be examined, of course, which brought her, but
before eight-thirty I had to leave in order to be at work at nine
o’clock. I waved them all a gay farewell and looked forward eagerly
toward evening, for she was to remain this night and the next day.
Through with my work at five-thirty, I hurried home, and then it was
that I learned—and to my great astonishment and gratification—that she
liked me. For when I arrived, dressed, as I had been all day, in my very
best, E—— and A—— were there endeavoring to entertain her, E——, my
younger brother, attempting to make love to her. His method was to press
her toe in an open foolish way, which because of the jealousy it waked
in me seemed to me out of the depths of dullness. From the moment I
entered I fancied that Alice had been waiting for me. Her winning smile
as I entered reassured me, and yet she was very quiet when I was near,
gazing romantically into the fire.
During the evening I studied her, admiring every detail of her dress,
which was a bit different from that of the day before and more
attractive. She seemed infinitely sweet, and I flattered myself that I
was preferred over my two brothers. During the evening, we two being
left together for some reason, she arose and went into the large front
room and standing before one of the three large windows looked out in
silence on the homelike scene that our neighborhood presented. The snow
had ceased and a full moon was brightening everything. The little
cottages and flat-buildings nearby glowed romantically through their
drawn blinds, a red-ribboned Christmas wreath in every window. I pumped
up my courage to an unusual point and, heart in mouth, followed and
stood beside her. It was a great effort on my part.
She pressed her nose to the pane and then breathed on it, making a misty
screen between herself and the outside upon which she wrote my initials,
rubbed them out, then breathed on the window again and wrote her own.
Her face was like a small wax flower in the moonlight. I had drawn so
close, moved by her romantic call, that my body almost touched hers.
Then I slipped an arm about her waist and was about to kiss her when I
heard my sister’s voice:
“Now, Al and Theo, you come back!”
“We must go,” she said shamefacedly, and as she started I ventured to
touch her hand. She looked at me and smiled, and we went back to the
other room. I waited eagerly for other solitary moments.
Because the festivities were too general and inclusive there was no
other opportunity that evening, but the next morning, church claiming
some and sleep others, there was a half-hour or more in which I was
alone with her in the front room, looking over the family album. I
realized that by now she was as much drawn to me as I to her, and that,
as in the case of my Scotch maid, I was master if I chose so to be. I
was so wrought up in the face of this opportunity, however, that I
scarcely had courage to do that which I earnestly believed I could do.
As we stood over the album looking at the pictures I toyed first with
the strings of her apron and then later, finding no opposition, allowed
my hand to rest gently at her waist. Still no sign of opposition or even
consciousness. I thrilled from head to toe. Then I closed my arm gently
about her waist, and when it became noticeably tight she looked up and
smiled.
“You’d better watch out,” she said. “Some one may come.”
“Do you like me a little?” I pleaded, almost choking.
“I think so. I think you’re very nice, anyhow. But you mustn’t,” she
said. “Some one may come in,” and as I drew her to me she pretended to
resist, maneuvering her cheek against my mouth as she pulled away.
She was just in time, for C—— came into the back parlor and said: “Oh,
there you are! I wondered where you were.”
“I was just looking over your album,” Alice said.
“Yes,” I added, “I was showing it to her.”
“Oh yes,” laughed my sister sarcastically. “You and Al—I know what you
two were trying to do. You!” she exclaimed, giving me a push. “And Al,
the silly! She has a beau already!”
She laughed and went off, but I, hugely satisfied with myself, swaggered
into the adjoining room. Beau or no beau, Alice belonged to me. Youthful
vanity was swelling my chest. I was more of a personage for having had
it once more proved to me that I was not unattractive to girls.
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