Well, to proceed. No sooner had the order been given than Steele came
to me to talk it over. He liked the idea very much. It was a good
Sunday subject. Besides, the opportunity for an outing appealed to
him. We were to go on the boat that left the wharf at the foot of
Beach street at eight o’clock that evening. He had been told to write
anything from fifteen hundred to two thousand words. If I made three
good sketches, that would make almost a three-fourths page special. He
would make his story as lively and colorful as he could. He was not a
little flattered, I am sure, by having been called to interpret such a
gay, risqué scene.
It was about one-thirty when we had been called in. About four o’clock
he came to me again. We had, as I had assumed, tentatively agreed to
meet at the wharf entrance and do the thing together. By now, however,
he had another plan. Perhaps I should say here that up to that moment I
only vaguely knew that he had a wife and child and that he lived with
them somewhere in the southwestern section of the city, whether in his
own home or a rooming-house, I did not know. Come to think of it, just
before this I believe I had heard him remark to others that his wife
was out of the city. At any rate, he now said that since his wife was
out of the city and as the woman of whom they rented their rooms was a
lonely and a poor person who seldom got out anywhere, he had decided to
bring her along for the outing. I needn’t wait for him. He would see me
on the boat, or we could discuss the story later.
I agreed to this and was prepared to think nothing of it except for
one thing. His manner of telling me had something about it, or there
was some mood or thought in connection with it in his own mind, which
reached me telepathetically, and caused me to think that he was taking
advantage of his wife’s absence to go out somewhere with some one
else. And yet, at that, I could not see why I thought about it. The
thing had no real interest for me. And I had not the least proof and
wanted none. As I say, I was not actually interested. I did not know
his wife at all. I did not care for him or her. I did not care whether
he flirted with some one else or not. Still, this silly, critical
thought passed through my mind, put into it by him, I am sure, because
he was thinking—at least, might have been thinking—that I might regard
it as strange that he should appear anywhere with another woman than
his wife. Apart from this, and before this, seeing him buzzing about
here and there, and once talking to a girl on a street corner near the
_Mail_ office, I had only the vague notion that, married or not, he
was a young man who was not averse to slipping away for an hour or two
with some girl whom he knew or casually met, provided no one else knew
anything about it, especially his wife. But that was neither here nor
there. I never gave the man much thought at any time.
At any rate, seven o’clock coming, I had my dinner at a little
restaurant near the office and went to the boat. It was a hot night,
but clear and certain to bring a lovely full moon, and I was glad to
be going. At the same time, I was not a little lonely and out of sorts
with myself because I had no girl and was wishing that I had—wishing
that some lovely girl was hanging on my arm and that now we two could
go down to the boat together and sit on the spoon deck and look at the
moon, or that we could dance on the cabin deck below, where were all
the lights and musicians. My hope, if not my convinced expectation, was
that somewhere on this boat I, too, should find some one who would be
interested in me—I, too, should be able to sit about with the others
and laugh and make love. But I didn’t. The thought was futile. I was
not a ladies’ man, and few if any girls ever looked at me. Besides,
women and girls usually came accompanied on a trip like this. I went
alone, and I returned alone. So much for me.
Brooding in this fashion, I went aboard along with the earliest of
the arrivals, and, going to the cabin deck, sat down and watched
the others approach. It was one of my opportunities to single out
interesting groups for my pen. And there were many. They came, so
blithe, so very merry, all of them, in pairs or groups of four or six
or eight or ten, boys and girls of the tenements and the slums—a few
older couples among them,—but all smiling and chatting, the last ones
hurrying excitedly to make the boat, and each boy with his girl, as I
was keen to note, and each girl with her beau. I singled out this group
and that, this type and that, making a few idle notes on my pad, just
suggestions of faces, hats, gestures, swings or rolls of the body and
the like. There was a strong light over the gangway, and I could sketch
there. It was interesting and colorful, but, being very much alone, I
was not very happy about it.
In the midst of these, along with the latter half of the crowd, came
Steele and his lonely landlady, to whom, as he said, this proffer on
his part was a kindness. Because of what he had said I was expecting a
woman who would be somewhat of a frump—at least thirty-five or forty
years old and not very attractive. But to my surprise, as they came
up the long gangplank which led from the levee and was lighted by
flaring gasoline torches, I saw a young woman who could not have been
more than twenty-seven or -eight at most—and pretty, very. She had
on a wide, floppy, lacy hat of black or dark blue, but for contrast
a pale, cream-colored, flouncy dress. And she was graceful and plump
and agreeable in every way. Some landlady, indeed, I thought, looking
enviously down and wishing that it was myself and not he to whose arm
she was clinging!
The bounder! I thought. To think that he should be able to interest
so charming a girl, and in the absence of his wife! And I could get
none! He had gone home and changed to a better suit, straw hat, cane
and all, whereas I—I—dub!—had come as I was. No wonder no really
interesting girl would look at me. Fool! But I remained in position
studying the entering throng until the last couple was on and I
listened to the cries of “Heave off, there!” “Loosen those stay lines,
will you?” “Careful, there!” “Hurry with that gangplank!” Soon we were
in midstream. The jouncy, tinny music had begun long before, and the
couples, scores and scores of them, were already dancing on the cabin
deck, while I was left to hang about the bar or saunter through the
crowd, looking for types when I didn’t want to be anywhere but close
beside some girl on the spoon deck, who would hang on my arm, laugh
into my eyes, and jest and dance with me.