IX

As Easter rode to the door, another car drove down Lexington Avenue.

Dora didn't see her visitor, but Ulick did, and he whispered into the

ear of his chauffeur. The machine flew. Easter not wasting a moment

didn't leave her car. She saw the couple, and she bade her driver

follow. A long stern chase ensued. The two cars kept equal distance

all the way down-town. Policemen whistled. People stared. Timid ladies

expostulated. Furiously Easter's car pursued the other. At Eighteenth

street Ulick told his man to turn west-ward, to Fourth Avenue, thence

to the old Everett House on Union Square. There was no sight of Easter.

At Gramercy Park Ulick had outmanoeuvred Easter, taking the short cut

into Irving Place, while Easter seeing her prey escape had no doubt

directed her car to Fourth Avenue by way of Twentieth Street. Ulick

inwardly exulted. He had dodged Easter, and he was sure that she

was jealous of him, else how account for this wild, whirling chase!

Oblivious, Dora wondered at the speed and the growing excitement of her

beau--so she called him. He's a sport, after all, she said. The car

stopped in front of the hotel, but, alas, as it did, Easter's motor

came into view around the corner of the Avenue. So timed was the arrest

of the two cars that the chauffeurs grinned, believing the meeting had

been arranged.

Ulick bundled Dora into the hotel, calling to the man to go to Broadway

ferry, east Fourteenth street; then he fairly pushed Dora through

the lobbies, the café, through the Fourth Avenue door, and, the girl

scared by his determined face, didn't question him. When they reached

Eighteenth street he hurried her along to Third Avenue and there he

relaxed. "They were after us Dora." "Who was?" "The police." "My Gawd,

the police!" "Plain-clothes men," he sententiously explained, and the

frightened girl almost collapsed. The police! The House of Correction,

or some horrible Magdalen Home? Ulick seeing that she was suffering

cooked up a lie. He had been sued--or was it contempt of court?--at

any rate, he had detectives on his trail. No necessity to be troubled

over the incident. He, alone, was involved. Reassured, she clung to his

arm. They arrived at Fourteenth Street. There they took an east-bound

car. At the ferry house the motor was awaiting them. Ulick drew the

chauffeur aside, gave him a tip and asked what had become of the other

car. It still stood before the hotel, he supposed. The big lady in it

had leaped out before it stopped and made a dash after them. But as

luck would have it a young gentleman detained her and she was as mad as

hops. But he wouldn't let go her wrists. "What sort of looking young

gentleman was it?" Ulick asked. Oh, clean-shaved like you, sir, and

he wore loud checks in his clothes. He laughed a lot, too, especially

when he saw that the lady was getting madder and madder. Phew! She had

a temper, that beauty! Ulick told him to drive to Manhattan Beach. It

must have been Paul, he fancied.

After midnight they returned. The sea-air had refreshed them. The

dinner at Jack's had been excellent, and the roof-garden prime-chop.

Dora was drowsy. Dora was affectionate. Her beloved Jewel was beside

her once more and she didn't care if she did attract attention by

almost sitting in his lap. Some of her "lady-friends", those sweet

girl-graduates from the University of Sin, "whose feet took hold on

hell," had aroused in her a half drunken quarrelsome spirit when they

flirted with her "fellow" at the show. But she had him now, he couldn't

be taken from her by any woman alive. She opened the door after some

preliminary fumbling with the key. They entered. Her French poodle,

which usually barked with joy whenever she came home, did not lift up

its voice. Dora was frightened. Dodo was ill, perhaps stolen--and O

my Gawd! there's a light in the living-room. Burglars, Jewel, let's

go for the police. But Ulick thought otherwise. Burglars don't smoke

cigarettes when cracking a crib. It must be Paul. He made a wry face.

He called, "Paulchen, is that you?" "No, it's Istarchen," came the

answer, in a resonant voice. By all the infernal gods--Easter!

"Well," screamed Dora, "this is a surprise. Where did you blow in

from? And how in the world did you break in? Them hall-boys hasn't

keys." She was drunk enough to be familiar. She knew Easter only by

sight, but whisky bridged the gulf; in her sober senses she would have

been too cowed by Easter's magnificent presence to have addressed her

thus. Easter, smoking a cigarette, lay outstretched on a divan. She

smiled in a friendly manner at Dora, and pulled her down beside her.

To Ulick she addressed no word. She gazed at him, and sneered. Dora

was in the seventh heaven of pride. She, poor little prostitute, one

of the despised and rejected, living on the lusts of men, was treated

not only as a human but as a social equal by the greatest living lady

opera-singer! She embraced her, and besought her to drink. Easter

thanked her, adding "I've already helped myself." She again challenged

Ulick with her hard glance. He fell into a chair and held his peace.

The two women drank a toast to "happy days and better acquaintance"

and Dora, now half-seas over, supplemented it with the classic toast

of "professional ladies" and kept-women. Easter laughed uproariously.

Her descent into this moral sewer pleased her. Ulick was disgusted.

Emboldened by her success Dora persuaded Easter to go with her into

the dressing-room, from which, much later, they emerged wearing night

draperies. A queer go, this sudden intimacy, ruminated the young man.

The women were in high spirits, and high-balls were absorbed. Ulick

saw that Dora was hopeless. The problem was how to get rid of Easter.

Her car had been dismissed; no doubt about that. Curiously he asked:

"But Easter, how did you get in here?" She turned to Dora, now on the

divan, her drunken eyes admiringly blinking at the singer. "Dora, dear,

where there's a will there's a way. After I lost you this afternoon

at the Everett House"--"Lost me at the Everett?" gasped Dora. "It's

a new one on me." She turned to Ulick and fairly snarled. "So that

was your game, was it, to go hell-splitting through the town and get

rid of my darling friend?" She wept. "You nearly broke my neck, d'ye

know it, you herring-gut! Oh! I ain't got any use for a young chap who

doesn't drink or smoke. He's sure to be up to something worse. He'll

bear watching, so he will!" Easter triumphantly soothed the hysterical

girl. They went into the kitchen. Soon a Welsh rabbit was on the table.

Easter also possessed culinary technique. Impassioned by her superior

prowess, Dora watched her with ravished vision. They drank again. The

younger girl became frolicksome. She pulled Ulick's hair. She tickled

him. She kissed and hugged Easter as if she were carried away by her

friendship. Easter enjoyed the sport. They dragged the unresisting

Ulick into the bedroom and assaulted him with pillows. They rolled

him on the bed. Dora unbuttoned his vest. Then they tumbled over him,

tantalizing him with their pranks. He saw that they were nude beneath

their house-wrappers. Abandoning themselves the half-crazy pair would

stretch on the sheets and then draw up their legs in unison, while the

harrassed Ulick viewed with longing their beautiful figures; Dora,

slender blonde, resilient; Easter, brunette, massive, but supple as a

snake. He suffered. With shrieks they teased, tempted, evaded him.

Tiring, the trio returned to the dining-room. More whisky. Quite

overcome, Dora lolled on the couch. She held Easter closely clutched.

Ulick hinted that she had better go to bed. That aroused her. "Yes,

but not with you ... my boy." And she returned to Easter. "Go on about

your business," she suddenly shrieked. "I hate you. I hate all men. You

only want to use me." And then she fell to sobbing. Easter motioned

toward the door with her head. "I think you had better go," she calmly

counselled. "Dora is overwrought, hysterical, and doesn't know what she

is saying or doing." He fetched his hat. "That's true," he answered.

"Dora doesn't know what she is doing, but you do, Easter." She gave him

a nasty look, in which were mingled amusement and contempt. Too polite

to pelt her with the invectives he felt she deserved, he contented

himself with saying as he opened the door: "Yes, Easter, I think I had

better go; go back to Paris. It can't be any viler there than here."

Jeering laughter followed him to the lift.

X

"You look blue about the gills, Ulick," said Milt in his heartiest

manner. "You're not well these days, are you? What's the trouble?"

"I'm dizzy most of the time. No, it's not the stomach it's something

worse. You know I didn't get a clean bill of health from my father's

side of the house. Of late, my left side goes numb for days at a

time--partial paralysis or, at least, its prodromes." Ulick seemed out

of sorts. His face was earth-coloured. He had been going the pace and

consequently suffering. Milt stood over him and harangued:

"Come! Ulick, my boy. You've got to stop your ways of living else land

in a hospital, or worse--perhaps in a mad-house, for the epileptic

spasm you call love. You are bartering your birthright of soul and

body. Now listen! Here is a fair proposition. There is to be a retreat

for men at our college, men like you, weary of the world, men who have

the honesty to repeat your favourite Baudelaire's prayer: 'O! Lord

God! Give me the force and courage to contemplate my heart and my body

without disgust.' Admirable humility, for where you end Christianity

begins. Yours is not an exceptional case. The whole world is morally

out of joint. It is become godless, and were it not for the saving

remnant, God in His just wrath would destroy the earth as he destroyed

Sodom and Gomorrah. But He leaves the wicked to their own devices. A

catastrophe will surely come to Europe, perhaps Asia and America, a

catastrophe that beggars the imagination in the contemplation thereof.

Satan will be released from his fiery pit and Antichrist will rule the

nations. Presumptuous man has tried to regulate the mighty diapason

of the spheres with his pitiful tuning-fork and lo! he has miserably

failed. Woe, woe, I say to souls unprepared--" Ulick interrupted.

"Honestly, Milt, I don't mean to be rude, but you ought to charge

admission. Hire a hall. You are a born missionary. I mean it."

"Don't mock, Ulick. Reality is stranger than rhetoric. You are at the

crossroads. Decide at once. My college, as you know, is up-country.

A week's retreat will therefore be hygiene for body as well as soul.

And after the retreat there is to be a Novena of the Blessed Virgin.

Be with us, dear brother! You will bathe in the lustral waters and

become cleansed. Born anew everything will work out for the best. Your

bohemian life is your undoing. You look like a man with spinal trouble.

Pardon me, is it so!" Ulick shook his head but his knees shook too.

Marry Mona! There it is at last! Not a hint but a veiled command. Of

course, he would marry the girl. Marriage was the only way for an

honourable man.

"I've nothing seriously the matter with me, Milt, I've inherited bad

blood from my father. Mona needn't fear. I shan't taint her. But I'm in

no physical or mental condition to marry at present. Give me time to

recuperate my forces. I've been going it hard for the past years. Paris

couldn't be worse than New York." Milt was gloomy.

"Keep away from Dora, and that other enchantress, Istar. The pair of

them would kill Casanova," Milt sullenly replied.

"I've not seen them since the night they threw me out at Dora's." Milt

was curious. Ulick told the story; how Easter contrived to get into

Dora's apartment. She went boldly to the top floor, rang the bell of

Dora's neighbor, also a pretty lady, and told a fib. Could she be

permitted to go to Dora's room by way of the balcony? The little woman

paled at the proposition. Simple madness. There was only a narrow

ledge, a few inches wide, and balancing herself on the window-sill,

Easter would have to make a swift leap to the balcony and then she

would be compelled to pull herself over the stone balcony, and it was

broad. Otherwise, no coming back, she would drop to the sidewalk and be

smashed to a pulp if she turned her body. "By God!" exclaimed Ulick,

"she did it. Easter took the risks. She has muscles like steel. But

what agility, what fearlessness!" Milt agreed with him.

"God is preserving her for something wonderful." "The devil, you mean."

"God, I said. That woman--oh! how shamelessly she lives--interests me.

I should like to be the one to lead her to salvation."

"Take care, Milt! Pride goeth before a fall. Your pride is the most

dangerous brand--spiritual pride. Remember À Kempis: 'No man commandeth

safely but he that hath learned to obey.'"

"A beautiful thought; the devil knows good quotations. I'm glad you

remember your Imitation. Throw Petronius to the dogs. But I am talking

so much that you have forgotten Mona and our engagement."

"The only subjects that interest me are sex, art, and religion."

"Huysmans said that better, Ulick. I'll ring up Mona. She's a good

girl and will make you a good wife, and give me a brother I love very

much...."

They weren't too late for their appointment. Mona met them at the

car and they rode across the park to Easter's apartment. It was an

engagement made that afternoon at the Vienna Café. Mona went to see

Easter at intervals, but, as she had promised, Milt was to be of the

party. It was in the fumoir Easter greeted them. She jestingly called

her bedroom her "aimoir." Sprawling on luxurious divans were three or

four girls, Allie Wentworth among the rest. A monstrously fat woman

with a face that recalled the evil eyes and parrot-beak of an octopus,

sat enthroned, and in her puffy lips a long black cigar. Introductions.

"We call her Anactoria," cried Allie, pointing at the large lady.

"Isn't she a queen?" "Allie," said the other in a thick voice, "Allie,

you ought to be spanked." "Spanking is too good for her," interrupted

Easter. "Spanking is too expensive nowadays," pertly added the girl,

who wore her hair like a pianist. "Spanking," remarked the fat

creature, "is for virtuosi only." A roar followed this delightful

allusion. "Anactoria has cell-hunger today," smirked Allie. "Out you go

if you say another word. Remember company," Easter threatened. "Oh, as

for that, a young man can't scare me even if he does button his collar

behind." Allie distinctly pouted. "Don't mind her, Mel," interposed

Mona. "There you go with you and Mel! Please do please tell me what Mel

stands for Mr. Milton--or should I say, Father Milton?" Easter sat near

Milt and poured into his eyes all the magnetism of her own.

"Not Father Milton, Miss Easter," he remonstrated, "not yet. I shan't

be ordained for several years. Mel is only a short version of my long

and not pretty-sounding baptismal name. My mother must have been in a

religious mood when she gave it to me. I am not worthy to bear it."

Easter pleaded. He did not weaken, and she was secretly infuriated. She

became a human dynamo. "I'll sing some Schubert and Schumann for you,"

she whispered to him, "better still, come to see me tomorrow and I'll

sing Wagner for you--alone. I want to have a confidential talk about

Ulick. He looks awful. He should consult a specialist." Her smile was

grim. She was aware of Milt's plan to marry off Mona; the girl had

informed her. Milt grew uneasy. He knew he was blushing. His throat

was dry, his lips drier. The company rallied him. Ulick declared that

he was flirting, but Allie raged. Her jealousy was so childish that

Anactoria reproved her. "You can't blame Istar if the men adore her. I

shouldn't trust what's-his-name with the collar buttoned behind over

there a moment." With this decision she emitted a cloud of smoke and

closed her little porcine eyes.

Easter sang Schubert's Almighty, and ended with Erlking. She sang

gloriously. Milt absorbed the luscious tones as if they were living

corpuscles. His passion for music had been rebuked more than once

at the college. Canalized the tone-art could be made the vehicle ad

majoram Dei gloriam; but in the theatre, it was only another snare of

Satan, a specious, sensual snare. They drank tea. The conversation

became general. As they went away Easter made a movement with her lips

which Milt read: Tomorrow! He bowed. In the car Mona confessed boredom.

Ulick affirmed her judgment. An afternoon wasted. And what a queer gang

Easter has around her, added Ulick. But Milt repeated the Pater Noster,

and prayed: et ne nos inducas in tentationem! Openly he nicknamed

Easter--Dame Lucifer.