Peter had now been working faithfully for six or eight months, and
all that time he religiously carried out his promise to Guffey and
did not wink at a woman. But that is an unnatural life for a man,
and Peter was lonely, his dreams were haunted by the faces of Nell
Doolin and Rosie Stern, and even of little Jennie Todd. One day
another face came back to him, the face of Miss Frisbie, the little
manicurist who had spurned him because he was a Red. Now suddenly
Peter realized that he was no longer a Red! On the contrary, he was
a hero, his picture had been published in the American City “Times,”
and no doubt Miss Frisbie had seen it. Miss Frisbie was a good girl,
a straight girl, and surely all right for him to know!
So Peter went to the manicure parlor, and sure enough, there was the
little golden-haired lady; and sure enough, she had read all about
him, she had been dreaming that some day she might meet him
again--and so Peter invited her to go to a picture show. On the way
home they became very chummy, and before a week went by it was as if
they had been friends for life. When Peter asked Miss Frisbie if he
might kiss her, she answered coyly that he might, but after he had
kissed her a few times she explained to him that she was a
self-supporting woman, alone and defenseless in the world, and she
had nobody to speak for her but herself; she must tell him that she
had always been a respectable woman, and that she wanted him to know
that before he kissed her any more. And Peter thought it over and
decided that he had sowed his full share of wild oats in this life;
he was ready to settle down, and the next time he saw Miss Frisbie
he told her so, and before the evening was by they were engaged.
Then Peter went to see Guffey, and seated himself on the edge of the
chair alongside Guffey’s desk, and twisted his hat in his hands, and
flushed very red, and began to stammer out his confession. He
expected to be received with a gale of ridicule; he was immensely
relieved when Guffey said that if Peter had really found a good girl
and wanted to marry her, he, Guffey, was for it. There was nothing
like the influence of a good woman, and Guffey much preferred his
operatives should be married men, living a settled and respectable
life. They could be trusted then, and sometimes when a woman
operative was needed, they had a partner ready to hand. If Peter had
got married long ago, he might have had a good sum of money in the
bank by now.
Peter ventured to point out that twenty dollars a week was not
exactly a marrying salary, in the face of the present high cost of
living. Guffey answered that that was true, and he would raise Peter
to thirty dollars right away--only first he demanded the right to
talk to Peter’s fiancee, and judge for himself whether she
was worthy. Peter was delighted, and Miss Frisbie had a private and
confidential interview with Peter’s boss. But afterwards Peter
wasn’t quite so delighted, for he realized what Guffey had done.
Peter’s future wife had been told all about Peter’s weakness, and
how Peter’s boss looked to her to take care of her husband and make
him walk the chalkline. So a week after Peter had entered the holy
bonds of matrimony, when he and Mrs. Gudge had their first little
family tiff, Peter suddenly discovered who was going to be top dog
in that family. He was shown his place once for all, and he took
it,--alongside that husband who described his domestic arrangements
by saying that he and his wife got along beautifully together, they
had come to an arrangement by which he was to have his way on all
major issues, and she was to have her way on all minor issues, and
so far no major issues had arisen.
But really it was a very good thing; for Gladys Frisbie Gudge was an
excellent manager, and set to work making herself a nest as busily
as any female beaver. She still hung on to her manicurist job, for
she had figured it out that the Red movement must be just about
destroyed by now, and pretty soon Peter might find himself without
work. In the evenings she took to house-hunting, and during her noon
hour, without consulting Peter she selected the furniture and the
wall-paper, and pretty nearly bought out the stock of a
five-and-ten-cent store to equip the beaver’s nest.
Gladys Frisbie Gudge was a diligent reader of the fashion magazines,
and kept herself right up to the minute with the styles; also she
had got herself a book on etiquette, and learned it by heart from
cover to cover, and now she took Peter in hand and taught it to him.
Why must he always be a “Jimmie Higgins” of the “Whites?” Why
should he not acquire the vocabulary of an educated man, the arts
and graces of the well-to-do? Gladys knew that it is these
subtleties which determine your salary in the long run; so every
Sunday morning she would dress him up with a new brown derby and a
new pair of brown kid gloves, and take him to the Church of the
Divine Compassion, and they would listen to the patriotic sermon of
the Rev. de Willoughby Stotterbridge, and Gladys would bow her head
in prayer, and out of the corner of her eye would get points on
costumes from the lady in the next pew. And afterwards they would
join the Sunday parade, and Gladys would point out to Peter the
marks of what she called “gentility.” In the evenings they would go
walking, and she would stop in front of the big shop-windows, or
take him into the hotel lobbies where the rich could be seen free of
charge. Peter would be hungry, and would want to go to a cheap
restaurant and fill himself up with honest grub; but Gladys, who had
the appetite of a bird, would insist on marching him into the
dining-room of the Hotel de Soto and making a meal upon a cup of
broth and some bread and butter--just in order that they might gaze
upon a scene of elegance and see bow “genteel” people ate their
food.