OF THE FIRST AND SECOND PERSONS, SINGULAR NUMBER
It was Saturday morning, and Hermione was making a pie and looking
uncommonly handsome about it and altogether feminine and adorable; at
least, so Ravenslee thought, as he watched her bending above the pastry
board, her round, white arms bared to each dimpled elbow, and the
rebellious curl wantoning at her temple as usual.
"But why kidneys, my dear?" demanded Mrs. Trapes, glancing up from the
potatoes she was peeling. "Kidneys is rose again; kidneys is always
risin', it seems to me. If you must have pie, why not good, plain
beefsteak? It's jest as fillin' an' cheaper, my dear--so why an'
wherefore kidneys?"
"Arthur likes them, and he'll be hungry when he comes in--"
"Hungry," snorted Mrs. Trapes, "that b'y's been hungry ever since he
drawed the breath o' life. How's he gettin' on with his new job?"
"Oh, splendidly!" cried Hermione, flushing with sisterly pride, "they've
promised him a raise next month."
"What, already?" exclaimed Mrs. Trapes, cutting viciously into a potato.
"If he don't watch out, they'll be makin' him a partner next."
"Oh, Ann, I wish you were not quite so--so hard on him!" sighed
Hermione. "Remember, he's only a boy!"
"You were a woman at his age, earning enough t' keep ye both--but there!
I don't mean t' be hard, Hermy; anyway, a man's never much good till
he's growed up, and then only because some woman teaches him how t' be."
"What do you say to that, Mr. Geoffrey?" enquired Hermione, pausing,
flour-dredger in hand, to glance at him slily under her brows.
"I think Mrs. Trapes is a wonderful woman," he answered.
"Ah, now, Mr. Geoffrey, quit y'r jollying," said Mrs. Trapes, smiling at
the potato.
"Mrs. Trapes has taught me much wisdom already and, among other things,
that I shall never be or do anything worth the while without the aid of
a woman--"
"Lord, Mr. Geoffrey, I never remember sayin' no sich thing!"
"Not in so many words, perhaps, but you implied it, Mrs. Trapes."
"H'm!" said Mrs. Trapes dubiously.
"Consequently, I mean to ask that woman--on the very first opportunity,
Miss Hermione." Seeing that Hermione was silent, all her attention being
centred in the dough her white fists were kneading, Mrs. Trapes spoke
instead.
"D' ye mean as you want some one t' look after you--to sew an' cook an'
wash an' sew buttons on for ye--I know the sort!"
"I certainly do, and--"
"Ah, it's a slave you want, Mr. Geoffrey, and peanut men don't have
slaves--not unless they marries 'em, and a woman as would marry a peanut
man has only herself t' blame--peanuts!"
Hermione laughed, reached for the rolling-pin, and immediately fell to
work with it, her head stooped rather lower than was necessary. As for
Ravenslee, he lounged in his chair, watching the play of those round,
white arms.
"But why the kidneys, Hermy? You've got to cut out luxuries now, my
dear--we all have, I guess; it'll be dry bread next, I reckon."
"Why so?" enquired Ravenslee lazily.
"Why?" cried Mrs. Trapes bitterly, "I'll tell you why--because me an'
Hermy an' every one else is bein' squeezed dry t' fill the pockets of a
thing as calls itself a man--a thievin' beast on two legs as is suckin'
our blood, gnawin' our flesh, grindin' the life out of us--a great fat
man as is treadin' us down under his great boots, down an' down to
slavery--death--an' worse--it's such men as him as keeps the flames of
hell goin'--fat frizzles well, an' so will Mulligan, I hope!"
"Mulligan?" enquired Ravenslee.
"He's raised the rents on us, Mr. Geoffrey," sighed Hermione.
"Raised the rents?" said Ravenslee, forgetting to lounge.
"Sure!" nodded Mrs. Trapes grimly. "I guess he thinks we live too easy
an' luxoorious, so he's boosted it up a dollar per. A dollar a week
don't sound a whole lot, p'raps, but it sure takes some gettin'; folks
expects a deal o' scrubbin' an' sewin' an' slavin' for a dollar--yes,
sir."
"We shall have to work a little harder, that's all, Ann dear."
"Harder? I guess you work hard enough for two--an' who gets the benefit?
Why, Mulligan does. Oh, it's a great comfort t' remember the flames of
hell, sometimes. Lord, when I think how we have t' slave t' make enough
t' live--"
"There are others worse than us, Ann."
"Why, yes, there's poor Mrs. Finlay; she's got to go, an' her husband
paralysed! There's little Mrs. Bowker sewed herself pretty well blind t'
keep her home together--she's got to go. There's Mrs. Sims with all
those children, and the--but there, who cares for the likes o' them--who
cares, eh, Mr. Geoffrey? An' what might you be dreamin' over this time?"
she enquired, eyeing Ravenslee's long figure a little contemptuously,
for he had fallen to lounging again, sleepy eyes half closed.
"I was thinking what a lot of interest we might find in this busy
world--if we only would take the trouble to look for it!" he answered.
"The fool who complains that his life is empty is blind and deaf
and--damnably thick--er--pardon me, I--er nearly got excited."
"Excited?" snorted Mrs. Trapes, "I'd pay good money t' see you like
that!"
"You see, I had an idea--a rather original idea!"
"Then take care of it, Mr. Geoffrey; nurse it careful, and we'll have ye
doin' bigger things than push a peanut barrer--peanuts!"
"Mrs. Trapes, I've got a stranglehold on that idea, for it is rather
brilliant."
"There's that kettle b'ilin' at last, thank goodness!" sighed Mrs.
Trapes, crossing to the stove, "tea's a luxury, I suppose, but--oh, drat
Mulligan, anyway!"
So Mrs. Trapes brewed the tea, while Ravenslee gazed at Hermione again,
at her shapely arms, her dimpled elbows, her preoccupied face--a face so
serenely, so utterly unaware of his regard, of course, until he chanced
to look away, and then--Hermione stole a glance at him.
"There, my dear," said Mrs. Trapes after a while, "there's a cup o' tea
as _is_ a cup o' tea, brewed jest on the b'ile, in a hot pot, and drawed
to perfection! Set right down an' drink it, slow an' deliberate. Tea
ain't meant to be swallowed down careless, like a man does his beer! An'
why?" demanded Mrs. Trapes, as they sipped the fragrant beverage, all
three, "why ain't you out with your precious--peanuts, Mr. Geoffrey?"
Ravenslee set down his cup and turned to Hermione.
"Mrs. Trapes has told you, I think, that I am become--er--an itinerant
vendor of the ubiquitous peanut--"
"Mr. Geoffrey!" gasped Mrs. Trapes, gulping a mouthful of hot tea and
blinking, "I never did! Never in all my days would I allow myself such
expressions--Mr. Geoffrey, I'm ashamed at you! An' that reminds me--it
was chicken fricassee, wasn't it? For your supper, I mean?"
"I believe it was."
"Then," said Mrs. Trapes, rising, "I'll go an' buy it. Was you wantin'
anything fetched, Hermy?"
"If you wouldn't mind bringing a bunch of asparagus--"
"Sparrergrass!" exclaimed Mrs. Trapes in horror-struck tones, "why, it's
anywhere from thirty to sixty cents--"
"But Arthur loves it, dear, and now that he's working so hard--"
"Arthur likes!" cried Mrs. Trapes indignantly. "Mr. Geoffrey, it's been
Arthur ever since he was born, an' her scrinchin' an' pinchin' herself
for the sake o' that b'y. O' course he likes sparrergrass--so do I--but
I make shift with pertatoes or cabbidge or carrots--an' so should he.
Come now, Hermy, you take a bunch o' carrots instead; carrots is healthy
an' cheap! Come now, is that sparrergrass to be carrots or not?"
"Ann, that asparagus is to be--asparagus!"
"Such wicked extravagance, an' all for that b'y. Hermy, I'm surprised at
ye!"
For a long moment after Mrs. Trapes had departed there was silence,
while Ravenslee sat gazing where Hermione stood busy at her pastry
again.
"Mr. Geoffrey," said she at last, "I want to thank you for watching over
my boy. Arthur told me how good you were to him while I was away. I want
you to know how grateful I am--"
"What beautiful hands you have, Hermione--and I shall dream of your
arms."
"My arms?" she repeated, staring.
"They're so--smooth and white--"
"Oh, that's flour!" said she, bending over the table.
"And so--round--"
"Oh, Mr. Geoffrey! Can't you find something else to talk about?"
"Why, of course," he answered, "there are your feet, so slender and
shapely--"
"In these frightful old shoes!" she added.
"Worn out mostly in other peoples' service," he nodded. "God bless
them!"
"They let the wet in horribly when it rains!" she sighed.
"So heaven send us dry weather! Then there is your wonderful hair," he
continued, "so long and soft and--"
"And all bunched up anyhow!" said she, touching the heavy, shining
braids with tentative fingers. "Please don't say any more, Mr. Geoffrey,
because I just know I look a sight--I feel it! And in this old gown
too--it's the one I keep to scrub the floors in--"
"Scrub the floors?" he repeated.
"Why, of course, floors must be scrubbed, and I've had plenty--oh,
plenty of experience--now what are you thinking?"
"That a great many women might envy you that gown for the beauty that
goes with it. You are very beautiful, you know, Hermione."
"And beauty in a woman is--everything, isn't it?" she said a little
bitterly and with head suddenly averted.
"Have I offended you?"
"No," she answered without looking around, "only sometimes you are so
very--personal."
"Because the First and Second Persons Singular Number are the most
interesting persons in the world, and--Hermione, in all this big world
there is only one person I want. Could you ever learn to love a peanut
man?"
"That would all depend--on the peanut man," she answered softly, "and
you--you don't talk or act a little bit like a real peanut man."
"Well, could you stoop to love this peanut man just as he is, with all
his faults and failures, love him enough to trust yourself to his
keeping, to follow him into the unknown, to help him find that Beautiful
City of Perhaps--could you, Hermione?" As he ended he rose to his feet,
but swiftly, dexterously, she eluded him.
"Wait!" she pleaded, facing him across the table, "I--I want to talk to
you--to ask you some questions, and I want you to be serious, please."
"Solemn as sixty judges!" he nodded.
"Well, first, Mr. Geoffrey--why do you pretend to sell peanuts?"
"Pretend!" he repeated, trying to sound aggrieved.
"Oh, I'm not blind, Mr. Geoffrey."
"No, indeed--I think your eyes are the most beau--"
"Oh, please, please be serious!"
"As a dozen owls!"
"I--I know," she went on quickly, "I'm sure you haven't always had to
live in such--such places as Mulligan's. I know you don't belong here as
I do. Is it necessity has driven you to live here or only--curiosity?"
"Well--er--perhaps a little of both," he admitted.
"Then you're not obliged to sell peanuts for a living?"
"'Obliged' is scarcely the word, perhaps; let us call it a peanut
penchant, a hobby, a--"
"You are not quite so--poverty-stricken as you pretend?" Her voice was
very soft and gentle, but she kept her head averted, also her foot was
tapping nervously in its worn shoe.
"Oh, as to money," he answered, "I have enough for my simple needs, but
in every other sense I am a miserable pauper. You see, there are some
things no money can buy, and they are generally the best things of
life."
"And so," said she, interrupting him gently, "you come here to
Mulligan's, you deceive every one into thinking you are very poor, you
make a pretence of selling peanuts and push a barrow through the
streets--why?"
"First, because pushing a barrow is--er--very healthy exercise."
"Yes, Mr. Geoffrey?" she said in the same soft voice.
"And second," he continued, wishing he could see her face, "second,
because I find it--er, well--highly amusing."
"Amusing!" she cried, turning suddenly, her eyes very bright and her
cheeks hot and anger-flushed. "Amusing!" she repeated, "ah, yes--that's
just it--it's all only a joke to you, to be done with when it grows
tiresome. But my life here--our life is very real--ah, terribly real,
and has been--sordid sometimes. What is only sport to you for a little
while is deadly earnest to me; you are only playing at poverty, but I
must live it--"
"And thirdly," he continued gently, "because I love you, Hermione!"
"Love me!" she repeated, shaking her head. "Ah, no, no--your world is
not my world nor ever could be."
"Why, then, your world shall be mine."
"Yes, but for how long?" she demanded feverishly. "I wonder how long you
could endure this world of mine? I have had to work and slave all my
life, but you--look at your hands, so white and well-cared for--yours
are not the hands of a worker!"
"No, I'm afraid they're not!" he admitted a little ruefully.
"Now look at mine--see my fingers all roughened by my needle."
"Such busy, capable hands!" said he, drawing a pace nearer, "hands
always working for others, so strong to help the distressed. I love and
honour them more just because of those work-roughened fingers." As he
spoke he reached out very suddenly, and clasping those slender hands,
stooped and kissed them reverently. Now, glancing up, he beheld her red
lips quivering while her eyes were suffused all at once, as, drooping
her head, she strove to loose his hold.
"Let me go!" she whispered, "I--I--ah, let me go!"
"Hermione," he breathed, "oh, Hermione, how beautiful you are!" But at
this she cried out almost as if he had struck her and, wrenching her
hands free, covered her face.
"Oh, God!--are all men the same?"
"Hermione," he stammered, "Hermione--what do you mean?"
"I mean," she answered, proud head up-flung, "there were always plenty
of men to tell me that--when I was an office scrubwoman. Well?" she
demanded fiercely, stung by something in his look, "what did you think
I'd been? When a girl is left alone with a baby brother to care for,
she can't wait and pick and choose work that is nice and ladylike; she
must take what comes along or starve--so I worked. I used to scrub
floors and stairs in an office building. I was very young then, and
Arthur hardly more than a baby, and it was either that or starvation
or--" she flushed painfully, but her blue eyes met his regard
unflinchingly; "anyway, I--preferred to be a scrubwoman. So now you know
what I mean by your world not being my world, and I--I guess you see
how--how impossible it all is."
For a long moment was a silence wherein she stood turned from him, her
trembling fingers busily folding and refolding a pleat in her apron
while he stared down blindly at the floor.
"So you preferred the slavery of scrubbing floors, did you, Hermione?"
he said at last.
"Of course!" she answered, without turning or lifting her heavy head.
"And that," said he, his voice as placid, as serenely unhurried as
usual, "and that is; just why all things are going to be possible to
us--yes, even turning my wasted years to profit. Oh, my Hermione, help
me to be worthy of you--teach me what a glorious thing life may be--"
"I?" she said wonderingly, her drooping head still averted, "but I am--"
"Just the one woman I want to be my own for ever and always, more--far
more than I have ever wanted anything in my life."
"But," she whispered, "I am only--"
"The best, the noblest I have ever known."
"But a--scrubwoman!"
"With dimples in her elbows, Hermione!" In one stride he was beside her,
and she, because of his light tone, must turn at last to glance up at
him half-fearfully; but those grey eyes were grave and reverent, the
hands stretched out to her were strangely unsteady, and when he spoke
again, his voice was placid no longer.
"Dear," he said, leaning toward her, "from the very first I've been
dying to have you in my arms, but now I--I dare not touch you unless
you--will it so. Ah, don't--don't turn from me; let me have my
answer--look up, Hermione!"
Slowly she obeyed, and beholding the shy languor of her eyes, the sweet
hurry of her breathing, and all the sighing, trembling loveliness of
her, he set his arms about her, drawing her close; and she, yielding to
those compelling arms, gave herself to the passion of his embrace. And
so he kissed her, her warm, soft-quivering mouth, her eyes, her silken
hair, until she sighed and struggled in his clasp.
"My hair," she whispered, "see--it's all coming down!"
"Well, let it--I'd love to see it so, Hermione."
"Should you? Why then--let me go," she pleaded.
Reluctantly he loosed her, and standing well beyond his reach, she shook
her shapely head, and down, down fell the heavy coils, past shoulder and
waist and hip, rippling in shining splendour to her knees. Then, while
he gazed spellbound by her loveliness she laughed a little unsteadily,
and flushing beneath his look, turned and fled from him to the door;
when he would have followed she stayed him.
"Please," she said, tender-voiced, "I want to be alone--it is all so
wonderful, I want to be alone and--think."
"I may see you again to-night, Hermione? Dear--I must."
"Why, if you must," she said, "how can I--prevent you?"
Then, all at once, her cool, soft arms were about his neck, had drawn
him down to meet her kiss, and--he was alone with the pastry board, the
rolling-pin and the flour-dredger--but he saw them all through a golden
glory, and when he somehow found himself out upon the dingy landing, the
glory was all about him still.