"How?"
"About angering Landsmann?"
"I can't help it. I hate him. I hate Germans. My 'parents' were German
an'--"
"He may fire you too."
"I don't care."
"But you don't want to be forced to run about New York again, do you?"
Erna was about to break out, thinking of Jimmy, "I won't have to," but
substituted staring at Nielsen. He was so fine, so human, so--
"Never mind, Erna! Let's talk of something more cheerful." Suddenly, it
was his turn to look thoughtful. Before he was aware of himself, he
commenced: "Erna!"
"Yes?"
"If you ever need anybody--"
"Yes?"
"I mean in case you should ever lose your job--"
"Yes?"
"Don't hesitate to come to me for help."
He had spoken in a more earnest tone than was his custom. Erna looked
quantities of gratitude. "Do you mean--"
"Yes," he forestalled her. "I'm a man, Erna, or a part o' one. I know
you're a good sport, I've seen so much evidence of it. In fact, you're
as good and probably a better sport than I am"--all this with a return
to banter--"so it's up to me, if you ever need assistance."
Erna was unable to reply.
"Will you?" he requested more quietly.
"Yes," she agreed, and was silent.
Presently, he came back to the whimsical. "We're a funeral party, aren't
we?"
"No."
"Well, we can start a partnership as funeral directors to bury the past,
can't we?"
"Sure!"
Nielsen laughed, and she followed his example.
"Erna, I envy you," he started again.
"Why?"
"Nothing downs you long. You're such a happy Indian that you're able to
run your world."
"Am I?"
"Yes. It takes happy people to run the world, you know."
"Does it?"
"Certainly. That's my humble belief anyhow. Dost believe in philosophy?"
"No time for it!" she returned.
"You're right," he applauded. "It's only a pastime for lemon natures.
Stick to your joy, Erna!"
Erna was indulging in more abstract matters than she had ever attempted,
for she said: "I can't help it, I suppose. I love joy and happy people.
An' fresh air, strength, freedom." But it was Nielsen's fault, he used
such a subtle method of probing her.
"That'll do, Erna," he interrupted. "You have spoken. There is nothing
to be added to fresh air, the breeder of strength, the breeder of
freedom. This ought to be enough philosophy for one day, eh? We'll have
headaches soon, won't we?"
"Not me!" she denied, and he laughed and added: "Then I'll close the
sermon with a little text, if I may."
"Go ahead."
"Whatever happens," he bantered her; "stick to your freedom with your
last dying breath!"
"Thanks!"
The evening developed even further intimacy. And Erna soon came to
realize that she had discovered her new sensation. As for Nielsen, he
was spending an unusual evening too. Several times, he thought of Jimmy
Allen and his connection with Erna. He was a splendid joyous animal like
her. It did not surprise him that he had been restored to her favor,
they were so well mated. And he recalled the short but significant scene
he had spoiled that morning.
Erna, surely, was a rare nature,--hard, perhaps, selfish and cruel in
many ways too, quite a little more so than others, but her strength of
will, self reliance and her stubborn pursuit of pleasure and
excitement--her life of joy--were irresistible. And she was only a
waitress. But she was far more than that, an individual, as Carstairs
had vaunted that time; she had lived a life harder to endure than that
loaded upon his educated acquaintances, for example, and yet, she,
lacking their knowledge and so called experience and wisdom, controlled
life; life did not control her. And Nielsen, who seldom overlooked
dissecting himself along with others, admitted readily that Erna
attracted him powerfully, and not in the name of the story, which he had
forgotten--for the present, anyhow.
Erna's mind was making more rapid calculations than ever before. "Stick
to your freedom!" he had advised her. It was true. She must go on
fighting for that. But what of Jimmy--and marriage? Marriage, that word
with a bad taste, marriage even with Jimmy would steal a good portion of
her freedom. She must be careful. Besides, her power over Jimmy was so
easy just the same. And Nielsen, that puzzling human man, disconcerted
her. He was different from Jimmy. He was strong physically too, if not
quite as handsome, and he possessed a strong heart and mind, which Jimmy
did not. But his constant joking--was he really serious? She never knew
just where to find him, he eluded her so. If she were to marry, she
would never see him again, a prospect her greediness did not like to
consider, as she sat there slyly watching him, clothed in that easy,
cheerful, even-tempered strength of his.
Erna and Nielsen did not leave the latter's workshop until close upon
midnight. The rest of the time had passed swiftly and pleasantly. Their
parting was warm to a decided degree. And they made an appointment for
the following Friday evening.
"I'll be a night owl soon," she complained.
"Oh no--you'll always be a Rat-wife," he corrected.
She pressed the book under her arm--Ibsen's "Little Eyolf," which he had
lent her--and laughed.
"Now, don't forget my text," he warned her gently, as they stood on the
dark street corner near Landsmann's, their hands clasped in friendly
embrace.
"I won't."
"And if there's any real trouble with Landsmann?"
"Yes, I will," she agreed.
He pressed her hand.
"Good-night," she said.
"Good-night," he returned.
And they separated. But they both looked back twice and waved their
hands--in the old fashioned way.