VI

Wilfred was washing himself at the basin in his little dressing-room. He

bit his lip to keep back the whistle that naturally issued at such a

moment, because he had found that if he kept quiet in there, the girl in

front would sometimes come into her dressing-room which adjoined. In the

old house there had been a pantry running across between the two rooms,

and this had been divided by the flimsiest of partitions. When he was on

his side and she was on hers, it was almost as though he were in her

company. She was a little brown girl, delicately rounded, with an

innocent, gentle, provoking air, and a skin like peaches and cream. How

delicious it was to picture her washing at her basin while he was

washing at his!

Wilfred had never spoken to her. She had a husband. The pair of them

excited a warm interest in Wilfred because they were so young. A mere

boy and girl and they initiated so much further than he was! Once he had

had a glimpse into their room as he passed the door. It was

distressingly bare; nothing but a bed. Evidently one of these imprudent

runaway matches. He, considering himself a prudent person, was charmed

by imprudence in others. Yet Bella Billings the landlady, hinted that

already things were not going well in the front room. The husband, a

sulky-looking blond lad with an unwholesome complexion, was a

telegrapher who worked all night, and slept in the daytime. Thus the

little wife was thrown much into Bella’s company. A well-meaning

creature, Bella, but rabid in her emotions; hardly the best advisor for

a discontented girl wife.

Thus Wilfred’s thoughts as he held his head close to the water to avoid

a noisy splashing. As he straightened up, groping for his towel, a

murmur of voices from the front room reached his ears. It came from the

direction of the bed. Wilfred became very still, and his heart beat

faster. What did a boy-husband and a girl wife say to each other in bed?

No words reached his ears; but the sense of the murmuring was very

clear; the girl beseeching, the lad’s surly voice denying.

Wilfred, blushing all over, retreated into his main room with the towel

about his head. He was filled with a delighted astonishment. He had

never guessed that the sort of girl a man aches for might in turn ask.

He had supposed that such a one merely suffered a man to love her out of

her kindness. The discovery that a woman might be both desirable and

desiring seemed to change the color of life. He silently addressed the

front room: “Oh, if you were mine!”

That was all. A day or two later, as Bella had foretold, the

establishment in the front room suddenly broke up. The young telegrapher

went off to take a job in the Southwest, while his wife returned to live

with her mother in a Connecticut town. Wilfred did not forget her. In

his dreams he invited her. The fact that she had been married lent her

an added seductiveness. He led Bella on to talk of her. It transpired

that they kept up a correspondence. Her name was Mildred.

* * * * *

Bella Billings was draping herself ungracefully in the doorway of

Wilfred’s room. For reasons of propriety she would never come all the

way in. His room, being on the ground floor, was convenient to stop at.

She liked Wilfred, perhaps because he allowed her to talk as long as she

pleased. Few of her lodgers would. Wilfred found her conversation no

less tiresome than the others did, but kept himself up with the reminder

that he was a literary man, and Bella undoubtedly a character. She

talked with a wasteful expenditure of breath that left her gasping

halfway through a sentence, but unsilenced; and a display of pale gums

that slightly shocked Wilfred. It seemed to him that he had never seen

anything so naked as Bella Billings’ gums.

She was an institution on the South side of Washington Square. Everybody

had lodged with her one time or another. In addition to letting rooms

unfurnished without service, she conducted a manufacturing business in a

rear extension to her house. “Stella Shoulder-Brace Co.” the brass plate

at the door announced; but “shoulderbrace” was a euphemism; what she

made were various artificial contours for the female form. These objects

were shaped on strange machines in the back premises like parts of iron

women, polished. Bella—everybody south of Fourteenth street called her

Bella behind her back—also painted Newfoundland dogs and cupids after

Bouguereau in oils upon red velvet panels.

Her subject at the moment was pernicious anæmia from which she had been

a sufferer. She was describing to Wilfred how her fingernails and

toenails had dropped off. Wilfred had heard it before; but was rendered

patient by a design of using Bella for his own ends. As soon as an

opening presented itself, he said carelessly:

“Only six days to Christmas! What are you going to do to celebrate, Miss

Billings?”

Deprived of the support of her discourse, Bella blinked uncertainly.

“Well . . . I don’t know,” she said with a giggle. “I suppose I’ll do

nothing as usual.”

“Everybody ought to have a big time, Christmas,” suggested Wilfred.

Bella took a fresh pose in the doorway. “I’ve kinda got out of the way

of social life,” she said. “Being so devoted to my art, and all.”

“Why don’t you give a party?”

“Ohh!” said Bella breathlessly, “I don’t know people well enough to give

a party.”

“You would before the party was over,” said Wilfred. “That’s what a

party’s for.”

“I don’t know enough people to ask.”

“Small parties are the best. You know some girls.”

“Oh, there wouldn’t be any fun in a hen party.”

“I’ll tell you what let’s do,” said Wilfred; “let’s give a joint party

during Christmas week, you and I. You ask the girls and I’ll bring the

fellows.”

Bella’s eyes widened, and she uncovered the pale gums. Then she nodded

until Wilfred thought her head must snap off. “All right!” she said

panting. “But why bother about any more girls? I’d love to entertain

your friends.”

“Oh, we must have enough girls,” said Wilfred quickly. “If there was

only one, the fellows would get to quarrelling.”

“Will Stanny come?” she asked breathless and giggling.

“Sure!”

“He’s my favorite. He’s so wistful. I always wonder what he’s thinking

about when he looks so wistful.”

“Maybe his corns hurt,” said Wilfred. This was the line to take with

Bella.

“Oh, Mr. Pell, you’re so cynical! . . . Who else will you bring?”

“Just Stanny and Jasper; the others will be out of town.”

“I must ask the two boys from the top floor.”

“Oh, them!” said Wilfred. “How about the girls?”

“Well, there’s Hattie Putzel,” said Bella. “Her brother’s on’y a

bootblack, but you would never know it from her. A real stylish girl.

And there are the two Scotch lassies I met in the restaurant where I eat

sometimes. Regular little ladies, they are. Name of McElderry.”

“That’s four, counting yourself,” said Wilfred, “against five fellows.

Must have another girl.”

“Well, let me see . . .” said Bella.

He waited breathlessly.

“There’s that Maud Morrison who used to be my forelady in the shop

. . .”

Wilfred was obliged to show his hand. “Do you think that Mildred would

come?” he suggested offhand.

“Now that’s a good idea!” said Bella. “The poor little thing must be

having a dull time living at home. A wife who is no wife! I might keep

her here with me a couple of days Christmas. I’ll write to-night.”

Wilfred started to brush his coat, whistling softly. He was aware that

he must be looking exceedingly self-conscious. Fortunately Bella was not

perspicacious; her mind was busy with plans.

“I’ll get a gallon of Marsala wine from the Eyetalian in Thompson

street. You and me can go halves on it. I’ll get the girls to bring

sandwiches. Charley works for a commission merchant; he can bring apples

. . .”

* * * * *

Wilfred, Stanny and Jasper, having dined at Ceccina’s, made their way

across Washington Square. Stanny and Jasper were calm and anticipatory;

Wilfred was tormented by an anxiety that he did not confide in his

friends. Up to that morning Mildred had left Bella in doubt as to her

coming. Wilfred had staked everything on her. Suppose she did not come?

Cinders; ashes; dust!

They went into Wilfred’s room to leave their hats and brush their hair.

From Bella’s room in the rear extension, came the sounds of a discreet

little company. When they entered Wilfred could scarcely bear to raise

his eyes to look. Ten people crowded the room to suffocation. Yes! and

there she was, sitting in the farthest corner, her lashes sweeping her

flower petal cheeks. A great wave of relief and laughter surged in

Wilfred’s breast. What a joke that she should look so virginal! You

darling! if you knew what I know about you! he thought. He could not

meet her eyes.

It was a squeeze in Bella’s room which was crowded before anybody

entered it; and at first an awful constraint settled upon them. No one

said anything except the nervous Bella, whose occasional squalls of talk

seemed to be lost in a vacuum. The girls just sat, looking aggravatingly

refined; and the young men stood holding up the walls with their backs.

Wilfred began to sweat gently; he felt responsible. Neither Jasper nor

Stanny was disposed to help him out. Jasper squinted down his nose; and

Stanny looked obstinately mournful. Wilfred blamed the two men from

up-stairs. They didn’t belong. Charley was a lean and sprawling youth;

Dave a dark and solid one. Boors, thought Wilfred.

Finally in desperation, Wilfred said: “Let’s go into my room. It’s

bigger.”

The girls decorously shook out their skirts and prepared to follow.

Things began to go a little better. Wilfred had a bottle of cherry

brandy that he circulated with trembling hands. There was but one

liqueur glass to each two persons, and that helped to break the ice. The

guests began to circulate and pair off. Hattie Putzel and Jasper found

each other out. Hattie was a handsome, dark girl with a great deal of

manner. It was impossible to believe that her brother was a bootblack.

During the whole evening, Jasper kept his arm around Hattie’s waist

without, so far as Wilfred could see, ever exchanging a word with her.

However they seemed to understand each other. Stanny got one of the

little Scotch girls, but Bella was continually organizing cutting-out

expeditions.

Mildred sat by herself shy and demure. Wilfred, electrically conscious

of her, had not yet dared to approach. Nevertheless there were mute

exchanges. Wilfred was aware that her demureness was addressed to him.

It seemed to be clear to everybody present that this was a case; and no

other fellow tried to interfere.

When the cherry brandy was finished, the hospitable Bella produced her

gigantic demijohn of Marsala. During the rest of the evening the

demijohn never left the crook of her arm. “_La Vivandière_” Stanny

dubbed her. Bella was wearing a dress made by herself of red flannel

with black crescents printed on it. Half beside herself with giggling,

panting excitement she was such a ludicrous figure as to make them all

self-conscious. They scarcely liked to look at her. However, by degrees

the party became animated and noisy; and Wilfred felt no further concern

for the outcome. Wilfred and Mildred kept apart, glancing at each other

with sidelong eyes.

Bye and bye Charley invited the crowd up to his room. As they swept

up-stairs, Wilfred and Mildred came together at the tail of the

procession. In the semi-darkness of the hall, out of sight of the

others, Wilfred felt more confidence.

“Hello!” he whispered.

“Hello yourself,” she whispered back.

“I was so afraid you wouldn’t come to-night!”

“Bella told me you wanted me to come.”

“Funny we shouldn’t meet until after you had moved away.”

“I used to wonder about you.”

The darling! She had wondered about him!

She slipped her arm through his like a little girl, and Wilfred pressed

it. Something broke loose in his breast. He roared up through the house:

“Clear the track for we are coming!” And galloped up the stairs,

dragging the laughing and protesting Mildred after. Only once or twice

in his life had Wilfred found his whole voice like that.

On the last dark landing she pulled back a little. He got it. His eager

arms went around her with a will. He crushed the slender delicious body

against his own. Ah! what a moment! To close his arms about his dream,

and find them full! To be assured that he was no sprite, but a man like

other men! Their lips hungrily sought each other in the dark. Again and

again! Never should he get enough! Oh woman! Oh mystery of delight! Oh

terrifying feast to be halved with a hungry stranger!

They entered the lighted room carefully apart from each other; subdued

and highly self-conscious. A roar of laughter greeted them. They blushed

scarlet, but rather enjoyed it. Mildred made haste to lose herself

amongst the girls. The dignified Stanny tempted Wilfred. Seizing his

hands, Wilfred whirled him about like a dervish.

“Have you gone crazy?” said Stanny, affronted.

Stanny was not having a good time. He desired to shine in the eyes of

the little Scotch girl, and that ridiculous, ogling Bella was making him

look like a fool! In some sort of hand-holding game that they all

played, Bella, pretending to be insulted, accused Stanny of having

tickled her palm. Stanny’s sense of humor was not equal to it. Pure

hatred glittered in his eyes, as he denied the charge. Wilfred will

never forget the picture made by Bella in the red flannel dress, sitting

in the middle of the floor with her toes sticking up, embracing the

mighty demijohn, and coyly expressing a hope that no gentleman would

take advantage of her condition. None did.

Hunger set them all cascading down the stairs. Supper was served in

Bella’s shop at the rear, amidst the queer polished forms on which the

“shoulderbraces” were made. A difference arose between Jasper and

Charley, upon the latter’s expressing a desire to share the society of

the aristocratic Hattie. For a moment a row threatened; but Wilfred had

the happy idea of suggesting that they settle it by seeing which could

first pitch an apple into a stove pipe hole near the ceiling. After

sundry apples had been squashed against the wall, Jasper won.

Wilfred and Mildred, sitting a little apart from the others, ate

largely, while they gazed at each other, no longer ashamed.

“Funny, how it makes you hungry,” said Wilfred, grinning.

“How what does?” asked Mildred, with an innocent air.

“Well . . . you know!”

Mildred giggled.

While Wilfred laughed with her, the sweetness of her struck through his

body like a dagger. She exercised at once the charm of a child and of a

woman. If she had been really grown-up, he would have been terrified of

her, but she was a child at heart, and Wilfred was all right with

children. At the same time, notwithstanding her dawn-freshness, she was

a woman more experienced than himself. He did not have to remember to

spare her.

Something set the crowd rampaging up the stairs again. Perhaps there

were others who took advantage of the dark halls. Wilfred detained

Mildred at the bottom.

“Let them go,” he whispered; “they’re so noisy. Let’s you and I go into

my room where it’s quiet.”

“Oh, no!” said Mildred. “Not in there with you alone!”

“Oh,” said Wilfred, immediately cast down.

They hung unhappily at the bottom step.

“_Please_ come,” he begged.

“I will if you promise to be good.”

“I’ll be as good as I can.”

They ran into Wilfred’s room. He closed the door, and slid the bolt.

“Oh, you mustn’t do that!” cried Mildred.

He told himself that her words didn’t signify anything. He believed that

her lips were hungry for his. Wine had turned them crimson. So he merely

looked at her, and walked away from the door. She avoided his look. They

drifted to the worn bearskin in front of the fire, and sat down upon it,

not touching each other. Now that they were alone together, behind the

bolted door, constraint afflicted them again. They stared into the fire.

Wilfred had a sense that precious moments were being wasted.

Finally Mildred said primly: “You have a nice room.”

“Like it?” said Wilfred. “It’s nice to have your own place.”

“I came in here once with Bella, when you were out,” she confessed.

“Did you?” he said delighted.

“I wanted to see if there were any pictures of girls about.”

“What did you care?”

“Oh, girls are always curious about a boy like you. You never give

yourself away.”

Delicious flattery! “Well, there are no pictures.”

“Oh, I expect you’ve got them put away.”

“No. I don’t know any girls.”

“Well all I can say is, you’re pretty cheeky for a beginner!”

Wilfred felt bold and masterful again. “That is because you sweep me off

my feet,” he said. He leaned towards her, bringing his face very close

to hers. How enchanting it was to remain like that, without actually

touching her. What a strange, strong current passed into him from her!

“You have put a spell on me!” he faltered.

“Promise me to stay quite still for a minute,” she whispered.

“What for?”

“Just because I ask you to.”

“Well . . . I promise.”

She caught his face between her two hands. “I want to kiss you all by

myself,” she murmured. “In my way.”

Wilfred closed his eyes. “I’ll try to endure it,” he whispered.

“Lots of times. . . . Lots of times!” she crooned. “Ah, you’re so sweet!

You’re as sweet as a baby!”

Wilfred received this with mixed feelings. “I don’t want to be kissed

like a baby . . . !”

Between kisses she giggled. “Well, I’m not! . . . I just said you were

as sweet as a baby. . . . I’d like to kiss you a hundred times without

stopping!” Moving her head from side to side that her lips brushed his,

she whispered: “I’m so glad you’re new at this . . . !”

“Time’s up!” cried Wilfred, flinging his arms around her. Deprived of

any prop, they toppled over on the rug. “You weren’t good!” he murmured

accusingly. “You began it! That lets me out! What do you think a man is

made of? . . . Oh, you darling . . . !”

“Oh, Wilfred, don’t!” she begged in a panic. “Please, _please_ darling

Wilfred! You’re so much stronger than I! _Please_ let me up! Let me out

of this room . . . !”

Gathering her up in his arms, Wilfred carried her to the couch.

Clinging to him, she continued to protest. “Please, _please_ Wilfred!

Let me up . . . ! I demand that you open that door! . . . Oh, Wilfred,

I’m so ashamed. I can’t bear to look at you . . . !”

“That’s easy fixed,” he said, laughing. He reached over their heads, and

turned out the light.

* * * * *

In the small hours the three friends were making their way back across

Washington Square arm in arm, Wilfred in the middle. Wilfred was too

much excited to seek his bed; he had offered to see his two friends

home. Jasper’s face wore a sleepy smile; but Stanny looked disgruntled.

On this night he had had no luck.

Wilfred’s turgid feelings almost strangled utterance. “By God! but you

fellows are dear to me!” he cried, pressing their arms against his ribs.

“What would I do without you? I suppose I’m drunk. When I froth up like

this I know I make a fool of myself. I don’t care. I’ve got to tell you

how I feel. . . . I’ve been as miserable as hell lately. Well, that’s

over. I’ve made a stage. . . . You think and think and get nowhere. No

fixed point! Like a squirrel in a revolving cage! Like a nebula in the

ether!—That’s damn good, you fellows. . . . Nebula in the ether! . . .

For once I have forgotten myself! It’s astonishing. By letting

everything go I caught hold of something solid. There is such a thing as

joy! Oh, Heaven, it makes up for everything! There is beauty. . . . Oh

my God! but life is good! I wouldn’t change with God to-night . . . !”

“Oh, for God’s sake!” said Stanny. “One would think you were the first

male!”

So comic was this explosion of disgust, that Jasper and Wilfred stood

still and roared with laughter. Stanny punched them, laughing, too. A

tension was relieved. They continued skylarking on their way.