profit, whether you make it on a sheet of music, a washboard, or a
theayter ticket."
"Then why don't he show his face round here, instead of runnin' her
round night after night when she ought to be home sleepin'?"
"Gawd, Jimmie! I don't know, except what she says. I just feel like I
couldn't stand her not bringing him to-night--like--like I couldn't
stand it, Jimmie."
"Lay easy there, ma."
"They're young, I guess, and gotta have life; but I lay here with it in
front of me all night, long after she gets home and is sleepin' here
next to me as light as a daisy. She's so little and pretty, Jimmie."
"I wanna get my glims on him--"
"What, Jimmie?"
"I wanna see him."
"Me, too, Jimmie. I wouldn't care much about anything else if I could
see him once; and if he is big and strong like your father was--"
"That gang don't come big and strong. They got big heads and little
necks."
"The kind of fellow that would know how to treat you when you got
stubborn, and would put his hand on your shoulder and not try to drive
you. If he was a man like that, Jimmie, the kind you and Essie needs,
I--I'd stop fightin'; I'd fold my hands and say to God: 'Ready! Ready
right this minute!'"
"Ready for what, ma?"
"Ready, Jimmie, my boy. Just hands folded and ready--that's all."
"Aw, cut it, can't you, ma? I--ma, quit scarin' a fellow. Quit battin'
your eyes like that. Tryin' to flirt with me, ain't you, ma? Quit it,
now! Lemme get you some of that black medicine--you're gettin' one of
your spells. Lemme run down-stairs and send Lizzie Marks for old man
Gibbs?"
"No, no, Jimmie--don't leave me! Hold me, my boy, so I can feel your
face. Don't cry, Jimmie; there ain't nothin' to cry about."
"Cut the comedy, ma! I ain't cryin'; I'm sweatin'."
"Jimmie, are--you--there? I feel so--so heavy."
"Sure I am, ma--right here, holding you in my arms. Feel! There's the
scar where old Gibbs sewed my face the time I got hit with a bat--feel,
ma--see, it's me."
"What's that, Jimmie, on the foot of the bed movin'?"
"See, ma--that's your flowered glad-rag. You're go-goin' to put it on
when Essie and her gen'l'man friend come in. It ain't movin'; I shoved
it."
"Don't muss it, Jimmie."
"No. See, I smoothed out its tail--it's a sash for you, ma."
"Jimmie, you won't leave me? It gets so dark and--the mice--"
"You couldn't pry me away with a crowbar, ma! I'll hold you till you
yell leggo. Lemme go for old Gibbs, ma; you're breathing heavy as a
pump."
"No, no, Jimmie; don't leave me."
"Sure I won't; but you're all twitchin' and jumpin', ma. Just leave me
run down and send Lizzie Marks for him."
"No, no, Jimmie; I'm all right."
"Sure, ma? You--you're actin' up so funny."
"It ain't nothin'--only I'm an old woman, Jimmie. All of a sudden I got
old and broke. It ain't the same in the department, Jimmie, with Essie
gone from the notions across the aisle. Always when we were overstocked
in the corsets she--she--Essie--"
"Aw, ma, you ain't talkin' straight. Lemme have old man Gibbs."
"I'm talking straight, Jimmie. Ain't I layin' right here in your arms
and ain't my hair caught round one of your brass buttons?--quit pullin',
Jimmie! Essie's hair is so bright, Jimmie. I can see it shinin' in the
dark when she's sleepin'."
"Some hair the kid's got! Remember the night you took me and her to--"
"'Sh-h-h-h! Ain't that them coming? Ain't it, Jimmie? I ain't equal to
gettin' up, Jimmie. Bring 'em in here and tell--"
"Like fun it's them! Whatta you bet right now they're holding down a
table for two at the Palais du Danse? Swell joint!"
"Oh, Gawd, Jimmie!"
"I was kiddin', ma--only kiddin'. Open your eyes, ma. Gwan! Be a sport
and open up! Remember, ma, when I was a kid, how I used to make you laff
and laff, makin' a noise like a
banjo--plunka-plunk-plunk-plunk-plunka-plunk?"
"Yes, Jimmie."
"I knew I'd get a laff out of you--plunka-plunk-plunka-plunk!"
"Yes, Jimmie, my boy! Go on! I like to lay here and remember back. Essie
was always grabbin' your spoon--I used to slap her little hands and--"
"Ma, open your eyes! Don't go off in one of 'em again."
"See, they're open, Jimmie! I can see your gold buttons shinin' and
shinin'--I ain't sleepin'; I'm only waitin'."
"She ain't had time to get home yet, ma. They gotta pick up programs and
turn in lost articles and all."
"Put your arms round me, Jimmie. I keep slippin' and slippin'."
"Lemme run for old man Gibbs, ma? Please!"
"No, no, Jimmie. Sing like you used to when you was a little kid,
Jimmie; I used to laff and laff."
"Plunka-plunk-plunk-plunk!"
"'Sh-h-h! There's the chimes--you won't never tell me the right time
nights, when I ask you, Jimmie."
"It ain't late, ma."
"'Sh-h-h! What time is that? Listen!"
"It's early. Don't you count chimes, ma--it's a sign of snow to count
'em, and Essie's got her thin jacket on. Listen! This is a swell one I
know: Plunk! Plunk! Plunk! Plunk!"
"'Sh-h-h, Jimmie!
One--two--three--four--five--six--seven--eight--nine--ten--"
"See, it ain't late."
"'Leven! You can't cheat me; I heard the last one."
"'Leven already? Well, whatta you know about that? Them chimes is always
ahead of themselves."
"Jimmie, my boy, quit playin' with your old ma."
"They'll be comin' soon now."
"Don't leave me, Jimmie."
"Sure, I won't--see!"
"Jimmie! Jim-mie--"
"Ma! Ma, for Gawd's sakes, open your eyes! Ma darlin'--please--please--"
"Sing, Jimmie, like--a banjo."
"Plunka-plunk-plunka-plunk!"
* * * * *
On that last boom of eleven the Stuyvesant Theater swung its doors
outward as the portals of a cuckoo clock fly open on the hour, and women
in fur-collared, brocaded coats, which wrapped them to the ankles, and
carefully curved smiles that Watteau knew so well and Thackeray knew too
well, streamed out into the radium-white flare of Broadway, their
delicate fingers resting lightly on the tired arms of tired business
men, whose faces were like wood-carving and whose wide white
shirt-fronts covered their hearts like slabs.
Almost before the last limousine door had slammed, and the last tired
business man had felt the light compelling pressure of the delicate
finger-tips on his arm and turned his tired eyes from the white lights
to the whiter lights of cafes and gold-leaf hotels, the interior of the
Stuyvesant Theater, warm and perfumed as the interior of a jewel-box,
blinked into soft darkness. Small figures, stealthy _espions_ of the
night, padded down thick-carpeted aisles flashing their pocket
searchlights now here, now there, folding rows of velvet seats against
velvet backs, reaching for discarded programs and seat-checks, gathering
up the dainty debris of petals fallen from too-blown roses, an
occasional webby handkerchief, an odd glove, a ribbon.
Then the dull-red eyes above the fire-exits blinked out, the sea of
twilight deepened, and the small searchlights flashed brighter and
whiter, glow-worms in a pit of night.
"For Pete's sakes! Tell Ed to give back them lights; my lamp's burnt
out."
"Oh, hurry up, Essie! You girls up there in the balcony would kick if
you was walkin' a tight rope stretched between the top stories of two
Flatiron Buildings."
"It's easy enough for you to talk down there in the orchestra, Lulu
Pope. Carriage shoes don't muss up the place like Subway shoes."
"Gimme the balcony in preference to the orchestra every time."
"What about us girls 'way up here in the chutes? Whatta you say about
us, Lulu Pope--playin' handmaids to the gallery gods?"
"Chutes the same. I used to be in the chutes over at the Olympic, and
six nights out of the week I carried water up the aisles without a
stop. Lookin' each row in the eye, too!"
"Like fun!"
"Sure's my name's Lulu Pope! Me an' a girl named Della Bradenwald used
to play Animal or Vegetable Kingdom every entr'acte with the fireman."
"Oh-h-h! Say, Loo, you oughtta see what I found up here in Box E!"
"Leave it to Essie Birdsong for a find! What is it this time--the
diamond star the blonde queen in Upper E was wearin'?"
"A right-hand, number five and a half--white stitchin'."
"Can you beat it? And you ain't never had a claim yet at the
box-office."
"I knew my luck would break, Lulu. My little brother Jimmie says if you
break a comb your luck breaks with it. I broke one this morning. Whatta
you bet now I begin to match every one of my five left-hand gloves,
without a claim from the office?"
"Lucky kid!"
Conversation curved from gallery to loge box, and from loge to balcony.
"Gee! Look at this amber butterfly! I seen it in her hair when I steered
her down the aisle. She must be stuck on something about this
show--third time this week, and not on paper, neither."
"Amber, is it, Sadie? I'll trade you for the tortoise-shell one I found
in G 4; amber'll go swell with my hair."
"Whatta you bet she claims it?"
"Nix."
"Say, did you hear Wheelan flivver her big scene to-night? I was dozin'
in the foyer and she tripped over her cue so hard she woke me up."
"I should say so! I was standing next to the old man, and he let out a
line of talk that was some fireworks; he said a super in the mob scene
could take her place and beat her at pickin' up cues."
"Ready, Sadie?"
"Yes; wait till I turn in one gent's muffler and a red curl."
"Are you done up there, too, Essie?"
"Yes; but you needn't wait for me, Loo. If you're in a hurry I'll see
you down in the locker-room."
Seats slammed; laughter drifted; searchlights danced and flashed out as
though suddenly doused with water; and the gold, crystal, velvet, and
marble interior of the Stuyvesant Theater suddenly vanished into its
imminent wimple of blackness.
In the bare-walled locker-room Miss Essie Birdsong leaned to her
reflection in the twelve-inch wavy mirror and ran a fine pencil-line
along the curves of her eyebrows.
"Is this right, Loo?"
"Swell! Your eyes look two shades darker."
"Gee!"
Miss Birdsong smiled and leaned closer.
"The girls all out, Loo?"
"Yeh; hurry up and lemme have that mirror, Ess--Harry gets as glum as
glue if I keep him waiting."
Miss Pope adjusted a too-small hat with a too-long pheasant's wing
cocked at a too-rakish angle on her brass-colored hair, and powdered at
her powdered cheek-bones.
"Here--you can have the mirror first, Loo. I--I ain't in a hurry
to-night. You and Harry better go on and not wait round for me."
Miss Pope placed her long, bird-like hands on her slim hips and slumped
inward at the waist-line; her eyes had the peculiar lambency of the blue
flame that plays on the surface of cognac and leaves it cold.
"What's hurtin' you, Ess? The whole week you been makin' this play to
dodge me and Harry. If you don't like our company, Doll-doll, me and
Harry can manage to worry along somehow."
"Oh, Lulu, it--it ain't that, and you know it."
"You're all alike. Didn't my last chum, Della Bradenwald, do the same
thing? I interdooced her to a gen'l'man friend of mine, a slick little
doorman for a two-day show, and what did she do? Scat! After the second
day it was good-by, Loo-Loo! They went kitin' it off together and
dropped me and Harry like parachutes!"
"Loo, darlin', honest, me and Joe just love goin' round dancin' with you
and Harry; but--but--"
"Then what's hurtin' you?"
"It's ma again, Loo. She looked like she was ready for one of her spells
when I left; she's been worse again these two days, and the doctor says
we mustn't get her excited--her heart's bum, Loo."
"Say, I used to have heart failure myself, and I know a swell
cure--Hartley's Heart's Ease. Honest, when I was over at the Olympic I
used to go dead like a tire. Lend me your eyestick, Ess."
"You'll laff, Loo; but she's daffy for me and Joe to come home after the
show; she's never seen him at all, and--"
"Oh, Gawd, I gotta flashlight of Joe!"
"When ma and I was clerkin' the girls and fellows always used to come to
our flat, Loo; and, say, for fun! Ma was as lively as any of us in those
days; and we'd have sardine sandwiches, and my kid brother used to
imitate all kinds of music and actors; and we used to laff and laff
until they'd knock on the ceiling from up-stairs and ma'd pack the whole
lot of 'em home. Why don't you and Harry come up to-night, too, Loo? And
we'll have a little doin's."
"Nothin' doin', Beauty. There's a Free-for-All Tango Contest round at
the Poppy Garden to-night; and, believe me, I wouldn't mind winning
that pink ivory manicure set. All I gotta ask is one thing, Ess! Bring
me a snapshot of Joe doing the fireside act!"
The glaze of unshed tears sprang over Miss Birdsong's eyes like gauzy
clouds across a summer sky.
"I--that's just it, Loo. I can't get him to come. Sometimes I think
maybe it's just because he's stringing me along; and I--he--he was your
friend first, Loo. Ain't he ever said anything to you about
me--about--aw, you know what I mean, Loo?"
"He's hipped on you, girl. I know Joe Ullman like I know the floor-plan
of this theater."
"Honest, Loo, do you think so?"
"Sure! Gawd! I knew Joe when I was making sateen daisies in a
artificial-flower loft on Twenty-second Street; and him and my brother
was clerkin' in a cigar store on Twenty-third and running a neat little
book on the side."
"A book?"
"Yes, dearie--a pretty picture-book."
"Joe never told me."
"He ain't always been the thirty-dollar-a-week kid he is now--take it
from me. Just the same, you can thank me for interdoocing you to the
sharpest little fellow that's selling tickets on the sidewalks of this
great and wicked city."
"I always tell him he ought to save more--taxis and all he has to have,
that spendy he is!"
"Sidewalk speculatin' is a good pastime if you're sharp enough; and I
always tell Joe he's got a edge on him like a razor."
"Like a razor! Aw, Loo, you talk like he was a barber."
"Sure, he's that sharp! Take Harry now: he's as slick as a
watermelon-seed when it comes to pickin' a sheet of music with a whistle
in it; but put him in a game like Joe's, with the law cross-eyed from
winkin' and frownin' at the same time, and he'd lose his nerve."
"It ain't a game, Loo. Joe says there ain't a reason why a fellow can't
sell a theater ticket at a profit, just like Harry sells a sheet of
music. Sidewalks are free for all."
"Leave it to Joe to stretch the language like a rubber band. His middle
name is Gutta-Percha."
"He was your friend first."
"He is yet, Beauty--even if you have grabbed him. I like him--he's one
good sport; but with Joe's gift for tongue-work he could make a jury
believe a Bowery jewelry store ought to have a _habeas corpus_ for every
body it snatches; he could rob a cradle and get a hero medal for it."
"I--sometimes I--I don't know how to take him, Loo. We've been goin'
together steady now; and sometimes I think he--he likes me, and
sometimes I think he don't."
"Take it from me, you got him going. I never knew him to take a
five-evenings-a-week lease on anybody's time."
"Six."
"Six! For all I know, you--you're keepin' things from me. Lemme see your
left hand--whatta you blushing for, Beauty? Whatta you blushing for?"
"Aw, Loo!"
"Say, how does this jacket look, Ess? Half them judges over there at the
Poppy watch your clothes more'n your feet."
"Swell!"
"Well, is this where me and Harry exit, Beauty?"
"Yeh; you go ahead, Loo. I--I'll tell Joe you and Harry went on ahead
to-night."
"I gotta half bottle of Hartley's Heart's Ease at home, Ess. Tell your
old lady to have it on me. Don't you worry, kiddo. I used to have heart
trouble so bad I'd breathe like a fish at a shore dinner--and look at me
now! I'll bring it to-morrow--a tablespoonful before meals."
"Good night, Loo. I'll see you Monday."
"Put on a little more color there, Doll, or you'll never get nothin' out
of him. You look as scared as an oyster. Lordy, you can handle him easy!
Lemme know what happens. S'long! S'long!"
"Good night, Loo!"
Miss Birdsong brushed at her soft cheeks with the pink tip of a rabbit's
foot, and the color sprang out to match the rose-colored sateen facing
of her hat. Her lips opened in a faint smile; and after a careful
interval she scrambled into her jacket, flung a good-night kiss to the
doorman, and hurried through the gloomy foyer.
No sham like the sham of the theater! Its marble facade is classic as a
temple, and its dirty gray-brick rear opens out on a cat-infested alley.
The perfumes of the auditorium are the fumes of the wings. Thespis wears
a custom-made coat of many colors, but his undershirt is sackcloth.
Miss Birdsong stepped out of a gold and mauve hallway, through a grimy
side-door, and into an area as black as a pit; and out from its blackest
shadows a figure rose to meet her.
"Joe?"
"Yeh; where's Loo and Harry?"
"I dunno; they--they went on."
"Hurry up, Beauty. I ain't so much of a favorite round this theater that
I can bask in this sunny spot."
"I didn't mean to keep you waitin' so long, Joe."
"Believe me, you're the foist little girl I ever hung round an usher's
exit for."
"Honest, am I, Joe?"
"Surest thing! The stage-door is my pace, and for nothing short of
head-liners, neither. I gotta like a girl pretty well to hang round on
the wrong side of the footlights for her, sweetness."
"Joe, I--I wish I knew if you was kiddin'."
"Kiddin' nothin'!"
They emerged into the white shower from a score of arc-lights; and Mr.
Joe Ullman, an apotheosis of a classy-clothes tailor's dearest dream, in
his brown suit, brown-bordered silk handkerchief nicely apparent, brown
derby hat and tan-top shoes, turned his bulldog toes and fox-terrier
eyes to the north, where against a fulvous sky the Palais du Danse
spelled itself in ruby and emerald incandescents with the carefully
planned effect of green moonlight floating in a mist of blood.
"Joe"--she dragged gently at his coat-sleeve, and a warm pink spread out
from under the area of rouge--"Joe, you know what you promised for
to-night?"
"What, kiddo? The sky's my limit. I'll taxi you till the meter gives
out. I'll buy you--"
"You have promised so long, Joe. Come on! Let's go up home to-night. Be
a sport, and let's go. Ma's got a midnight supper waitin', and--"
"The doctor says home cookin's bad for me, sweetness."
He cocked his hat slightly askew, stroked a chin as blue as a priest's,
and winked down at her.
"Honest, sweetness, I'm going to buy you a phonograph record of 'Home
Sweet Home Ain't Sweet Enough for Me'--"
"She's waitin' up for us, Joe; she ain't hardly able to be up, but she's
waitin', Joe."
"Ain't I told you I'm going up with you some night when I'm in the humor
for it? I feel like a ninety-horse-power dancer to-night, Doll. Whatta
you bet I sold more seats for your show to-night than the box-office?
Whatta you bet?"
"Joe--you promised."
"Sure, and I'm going to keep it; but I'm wearin' a celluloid collar
to-night, hon, and the fireside ain't no place for me. I wouldn't wanna
blow your mamma to smithereens."
"Joe!"
"I wouldn't--honest, sweetness, I wouldn't."
"Joe, comin' to our house ain't like bein' company--honest! When the
boys and girls from the store used to come over we'd roll back the
carpets, and ma'd play on an old comb and Jimmie'd make a noise like a
banjo, and--"
"Hear! Hear! You sound like 'Way Down East' gone into vaudeville."
"Come on up to-night, Joe--like you promised."
"We'll talk it over a little later, sweetness. Midnight ain't no time to
call on your best girl's dame. What'll she be thinkin' of us buttin' in
there for midnight supper? To-morrow night's Sunday--that'll be more
like it."
"She got it waitin' for us, Joe. All week she been fixing every night,
and us not comin'. She knows it's the only time we got, Joe. She says
she'd rather have us come home after the show than go kiting round like
this. Honest, Joe, she's regular sport herself. She used to be the life
of her department; the girls used to laff and laff at her cuttings-up.
She's achin' to see you, Joe. She knows I we--she don't talk about
nothin' else, Joe; and she's sick--it scares me to think how sick maybe
she is." He leaned to her upturned face; tears trembled on her lashes
and in her voice. "Please, Joe!"
"To-morrow night, sure, little Essie Birdsong. Gawd, what a name! Why
didn't they call you--"
"They always used to call us the Songbirds at the store."
"Look, will you? Read--'Tango Contest next Monday night!' Are you game,
little one? We'd won the last if they'd kept the profesh off the floor.
Come on! Let's go in and practise for it."
"Not to-night, Joe, please. We're only four blocks from home, and it
ain't right, our keepin' company like this every night for three months
and not goin'. It ain't right."
He paused in the sea of green moonlight before the gold threshold of the
Palais du Danse, whose caryatides were faun-eyed Maenads and AEgipans. The
gold figure of a Cybele in a gold chariot raced with eight reproductions
of herself in an octagonal mirror-lined foyer, and a steady stream of
Corybantes bought admission tickets at twenty-five cents a Corybant.
Phrygian music, harlequined to meet the needs of Forty-second Street and
its anchorites, flared and receded with the opening and closing of
gilded doors.
"Come on, girlie! To-morrow night we'll do the fireside proper."
"You never--nev-er do anything I ask you to, Joe. You jolly me along and
jolly me along, and then--do nothing."
He released her suddenly, plunged his hands into his pockets, and
slumped in his shoulders.
"I don't, don't I? That's the way with you girls--a fellow ties hisself
up like a broken arm in a sling, and that's the thanks he gets! Ain't I
quit playin' pool? Didn't I swear to you on your little old
Sunday-school book to cut out pool? Didn't the whole gang gimme the
laff? Ain't I cuttin' everything--ain't I?--pool and cards--pool and
all?"
"I know, Joe; but--"
"You gotta quit naggin' me about the fireside game, sis. I'm going to
meet your dame some day--sure I am; but you gotta let me take my time.
You gotta let me do it my way--you gotta quit naggin' me. A fellow can't
stand for it."
"She's sick, Joe."
"Sure she is; and to-morrow night we'll buy her an oyster loaf or
something and take it home to her. How's that, kiddo?"
"That ain't what she wants, Joe--it's us."
"I just ain't home-broke--that's all's the matter with me. Put me in a
parlor, and I get weak-kneed as a cat--bashful as a banshee! You gotta
let me do it my way, Peaches and Cream. Just like a twenty-five-cent
order of 'em you look, with them eyes and cheeks and hair. To-morrow
night, sweetness--huh?"
"Honest, Joe?"
"Cross my heart and bet on a dark horse!"
She slid her hand into the curve of his elbow, her incertitude vanishing
behind the filmy cloud of a smile.
"All right, Joe; to-morrow night, sure. You walk as far as home with me
now, and--"
"Gawd bless my soul! You ain't going to leave me at the church, are
you?"
"I gotta go right home, Joe."
"Gee! Why didn't you tell a fellow? I could have tied up ten times over
for a Saturday night. There's a little dancer over at the Orpheum would
have let out a six-inch smile for the pleasure of my company to-night.
Gee! you're a swell little sport--nix!"
"Joe!"
"Come on in for ten minutes, and if you're right good I'll shoot you
home in a taxi-cab just as quick as if we went now. Just ten minutes,
sweetness."
"No more, Joe."
"Cross my heart and bet on a dark horse--just ten minutes."
She smiled at him from the corners of her shadowed eyes and stepped into
the tessellated foyer.
"Satisfied now, Mr. Smarty?" she said, smiling at eight reflections of
herself and swaying to the rippling flute notes and violin phrases that
wandered out to meet them.
"You're all right, sweetness!"
Within the Sheban elegance of the overlighted, overheated, overgilded
dining and dance hall his pressure of her arm tightened and the blood
ran in her veins a searing flame.
"Gee! Look at the jam, Joe!"
"Over there's a table for two, sweet--right under them green lights."
"Say, whatta you know about that? There's that same blonde girl, Joe, we
been seein' everywhere. Honest, she follows us round every place we
go--her and that fellow that was dancing up at the Crescent last
night--remember?"
They drew up before a marble-topped table, one of a phalanx that flanked
a wide-open space of hard-wood floor, like coping round a sunken pool;
and his eyes took a rapid resume of the polyphonic room.
"Good crowd out to-night, sweetness. They all know us, too."
"Yes."
"Wanna dance and show 'em we're in condition?"
"No, Joe."