ONLY SHE WAS THERE
Directly in the intense emphasis of white light from an arc lamp
overhead, and standing about midway in the long, dark, thickly-packed
line of people waiting, was a young man decidedly above the middle
stature, in a long outer coat. He was broad in the shoulders, formed in
excellent proportion, apparently in about the first or second and
twentieth year of his age. His forehead was intelligent, his nose
exceptionally good, his mouth rather big and lips full, his chin round
and with a cleft in the centre. His hair, chestnut, moderately cropped,
discovered, what of it was visible below his hat, a decided inclination
to curl. He was redolent of health and the unmined masculine vigor
pertaining to his time of life. As the earliest ancestor of this kind of
historical writing would have said, "He was one of the handsomest young
fellows that hath ever been seen"; in short, he was not unlike one
Jones, Christian-named Tom. This young man was Richard Day, student of
the law, and he had come from his silent "furnished room" to refresh
himself, at a minimum cost, at the dramatic presentation of an immortal
story of love.
On the occasions when the entertainment to be is of a superior order,
the price of admission is doubled or trebled, and the patrons of the
theatre gallery are of an exceptional character. They comprise school
teachers in abundance, miscellaneous students, matinée girls driven high
by the prohibitory prices below, young clerks, and a sprinkling from the
usual ranks of the gallery-god, the better sort of them, however, the
more wealthy and more aspiring. The original line containing Richard Day
had assembled an hour or so before time, to be on the spot at the
opening of the doors at a commendable production of "Romeo and Juliet."
There came a sudden jolting, like the coupling of railroad cars, then a
denser packing of the line, a being pushed off one's balance and being
pressed back into it again, and slowly, jerkily, the crowd began to move
forward; then swept toward the entrance. The doors had been opened. As
the throng began to move, a woman's voice rose near Day ejaculating
breathlessly, "Oh! Oh!" Simultaneously a shrill cry arose, "Oh, there's
a sick lady here! a sick lady! Oh, please! Oh, please! Won't you make
room for a sick lady!" Day with all his force made what room he could,
conceiving that the thing desired was to get the stricken lady out in
the open as quickly as possible. A little peaked woman in a light coat
took instant advantage of the slight breach then opened, impetuously to
advance herself in the line. When the momentary gap had closed again,
piteously the crying was resumed, and it continued at intervals almost
the entire distance to the box-office, though it was in a slightly
different neighborhood and observably proceeded from exactly the point
of vantage gained by the little peaked woman; who, it might be inferred,
was a dual personality, comprising in the same lady both a sick lady and
another who was her good Samaritan and assumed the care of her.
Nothing railed the crowd into a straight line on one side, though on the
other a wall held them so. The impatient crowding forward from the rear
convexed the outer edge of the line of people, much against the will of
those persons who found themselves being swept out of the direct way
and felt the main current surging past them. What was yet more agitating
to these was that ahead of them an iron railing did begin, at the foot
of some steps, fencing in a narrow approach to the ticket office. If
they should be swept past the mouth of this lane on the outside, their
chance of admittance was hopeless. Day stemmed the swerving current
himself by the strength of his body and by a kind of determined exercise
of his will. But he felt directly behind him someone less strong losing
hold with every step of advance; then suddenly this despairing someone,
realizing herself pushed quite to one side, with a little scream, caught
at his crooked arm; which he instantly, involuntarily clapped firmly
against him, hooking on in this manner and towing safely and rapidly
along someone frailer than himself. When they had come to the rail he
saw that he would get in by so narrow a margin himself that, himself
inside, he would then but tow her along outside, which of course would
be a less than useless thing for her. So he backed water, so to speak,
with all his might, bracing himself against the end of the rail, until
he had got a little space before him, around into which he drew her
whom he thought robbed of her place by the frantic selfishness of the
crowd.
But in doing this, it seemed he had inadvertently held back for a moment
the little peaked woman, who was at his inside elbow. She, finding
herself delayed for a brief period almost at the goal in her desperate
bargain-counter sort of rush for the ticket-window, blew out into a
spitting cat kind of impotent fury. "Ain't you got no semblance of
decency! you great big brute!" she screamed in his ear. "Ain't you got
no ideas of gentlemanliness at all! If I was a man I'd teach you some
shame, tramplin' on a woman, a poor weak woman! a woman!" She fairly
writhed with scorn at this depravity. Day attempted to humble himself to
her, for her pacification; but another woman's getting in ahead of her
at that instant drove her almost mad, and her frenzy interfering for the
moment with her articulation she could only glare at him with an
expression suggesting some kind of feline hydrophobia. When her breath
returned more to her command she continued to revile him as they went
along. Although Day had done nothing to merit shame, he squirmed
inwardly with something not unlike that feeling, and he blessed the
general commotion which drowned a vixen's voice. He felt ashamed, too,
to be where he was, though he had not thought of it that way before; he
should not have brought himself into a crowd more than half of women.
His reflections became rather abstract and levelled themselves somewhat
against the feminine temperament in general. He felt the littleness of
it (so he saw it), the peevishness of it; its inability to take
punishment good-naturedly; its incapacity for being a "good loser"; its
lack of the philosophic character which accepts humorously discomforts
and injustice, real as well as imagined; its lack of broadness of view;
its selfish lack of the sense of fair play; its
not-being-square-and-above-board way; its sneakiness, its deceitfulness;
the contemptible devices that it will resort to, assuming them to be its
natural weapons against a superior strength, both physical and of the
understanding. He knew that in a crowd of men if anyone of them had had
the despicable disposition of this woman his dread of the hearty,
boisterous ridicule of his fellow brutes which would inevitably have
followed his meanness would have forced him to stifle his temptation in
silence. He knew that there is no place where one may better learn to
appreciate what may be called the good-natured easy-goingness of the
male animal generally than in an uncomfortable crowd of men. He thanked
heaven he was of the superior sex. When a young man thanks heaven that
he is of the superior sex it may not be uninteresting to observe in what
manner he conducts himself subsequently.
As fast as the crowd was served with tickets it ran up the multiplied
flights of stairs, moved in single file past the ticket-chopper, then on
to come out, high up, into the vast bowl of the theatre. Here from one's
seat the impression of the weird, ship-at-sea like effect of the curves
of the galleries, balconies, and tiers of boxes, sweeping back from the
light in front, dropping away from the vaulted ceiling; the impression
of being high up close under a great roof and far from the stage; the
impression of the myriads of vague elusive faces in the half-lit, thick,
scintillating atmosphere of the hot, crowded place; the impression of
the playhouse scheme of decoration, red walls and tinsel in the dusk,
cream color and tinsel bas-relief in the highly artificial yellow light,
casting purplest shadows, and the heroic mural paintings in blue and
yellow and green, the sense of the infinite moving particles of the
throng; the sense of its all facing one way, of the low hum of it, and
of its respiration--all this is stuff that puts one in the mood for a
play. The keen actualities fade and become the shadows; sense of one's
own life and vanity and disappointment slips away; one is to enjoy a
transmigration of soul for a brief time. "Now for the play!" thought
Richard.
A man was climbing up the steps of the aisle, some distance away,
flinging an inadequate number of fluttering programs into the crowd.
None fell in Day's neighborhood, to the indignant consternation of all
there. A chorus of exclamatory sighs went up from a feminine flock just
settled at his right, all faces following the disappointing program
distributor. A stocky young man at Day's left hand arose, and clambering
out between the parallel two rows of seats, occupants getting on their
feet to allow him passage, started after the disappearing man of
programs.
A full-throated feminine voice burst almost in Day's right ear: "Oh,
please tell him to get one for us!" Day lunged after the stocky young
man, reaching for his coat-tails, and cried out, "Hey there! Hey!
Fellow! Hold on!" until it was quite hopeless to continue. The sea of
people closed in between him and his quest; the stocky young man, his
ears plugged with the multitude of voices, shook himself free from the
narow, clogged passage, and was gone. Day turned to the owner of the
feminine voice, "He will bring a lot, I think; if not I'll get you
some," he said. And he caught an elusive impression of cheeks precisely
the color of cheeks that had just been smartly slapped, suggesting the
idea that if one should press one's finger against them one's finger
would leave streaks there when taken away; and he caught an impression
of eyes that were like deep, brimming pools reflecting lights; and an
impression of a cloud of dusky brown-like hair which reminded him of a
host of rich autumn leaves. She of these cheeks and eyes and this hair
was, apparently, in a party with two companions, whose peering faces
showed indistinctly beyond her. In one significance of the word, she
might have been called a girl, or she was a young woman, a miss, a lass,
a young lady, as you please; as were they her companions. Merry
school-girl spirits lingered in them all, supplemented by the grace and
dawning dignity of young womanhood. She was at that sweet nosegay
period when young ladies are just, as it is sometimes said, finishing
their education. Her age was that enchanted time, holiest of the female
seasons, which hangs between mature girlhood and full womanhood. Day
felt a suspicion, though without perceptible foundation, that this was
the very person he had towed along outside.
The stocky young man returned presently, showing an uncommonly blunt
face and with the programs, which proved sufficient in number. There was
an interval in which to read them; then the huge place fell suddenly
much darker, except directly to the fore, which burst into great light;
the immense curtain majestically ascended, and the time was that of the
quarrels of the houses of Capulet and Montague in the sixteenth century.
Richard Day passed out of his body sitting upright on the seat and lived
in this incarnation of the master dramatist.
But unwittingly he had inhaled a liquor, that was even then feeding his
blood; he was even then continuing to inhale it; it crept in at the
pores of his right side; it was stealing its sweet breath about his
brain. This liquor was the magnetism of a powerful pleasant young
feminine presence near to him--too near. Too near for a clean-cut young
man, in his second and twentieth year, redolent of health, with
moderately cropped chestnut hair inclined to curl, intelligent forehead,
good nose, rather big mouth, full lips, and round chin with a cleft in
the centre--too near for him even to remain in the hands of the master
dramatist. A warm glow suffused him. His intellectual perception of the
illuminated, noble spectacle before him in a frame of night numbed in
his brain and he was conscious only of the rich sensation that
circulated through him. Metaphorically, senses and emotions lolled on
rich colored divans, spread with thick rugs, in the tropical atmosphere
of his head. The magically spoken lines of Shakespeare became as so much
unfelt, unrecognized, distant sounding jargon. What he had come to be
thrilled by, as the dark, breathless audience like a sea about him was
thrilled, was in a moment nothing to him. And yet he had not touched
her, nor again spoken with her, nor glanced at her.
Only she was there!