CHAPTER V
ROSES AND THORNS
Mary's sister was as winsome and fair as she, but to Burke's keen eyesshe was a weaker girl. There was a suggestion of too much attention todress, a self-consciousness tinged with self-appreciation.
When she was introduced to Bobbie he could feel instinctively anunder-current of condescension, ever so slight, yet perceptible to thesensitive young fellow.
"You're the first policeman I've ever met," began Lorna, with a smile,"and I really don't half believe you are one. I always think of themas swinging clubs and taking a handful of peanuts off a stand, as theywalk past a corner cart. Really, I do."
Burke reddened, but retorted, amiably enough.
"I don't like peanuts, for they always remind me of the Zoo, and Inever liked Zoos! But I plead guilty to swinging a club when occasiondemands. You know even millionaires have their clubs, and so you can'tdeny us the privilege, can you?"
Lorna laughed, and gracefully pushed back a stray curl with her prettyhand. Mary frowned a bit, but trusted that Bobbie had not noticed thelack of tact.
"I've seen policemen tugging at a horse's head and getting nearlytrampled to death to save some children in a runaway carriage. Thatwas on Fifth Avenue yesterday, just when we quit work, Lorna." Sheemphasized the word "work," and Bobbie liked her the more for it."And, last winter, I saw two of them taking people out on afire-escape, wet, and covered with icicles, in a big fire over there onManhattan Avenue. They didn't look a bit romantic, Lorna, and theyeven had red faces and pug noses. But I think that's a pleasantermemory than shoplifting from peanut stands."
Lorna smiled winningly, however, and sat down, not without a decorativeadjustment of her pretty silk dress. Bobbie forgave her, principallybecause she looked so much like Mary.
They chatted as young people will, while old Barton mumbled and studiedover his drawings, occasionally adding a detail, and calculating on apad as though he were working out some problem in algebra.
Lorna's chief topic was the theater and dancing.
Mary endeavored to bring the conversation around to other things.
"I have to admit that I'm very green on theaters, Miss Barton," saidBobbie to the younger sister. "I love serious plays, and theseold-fashioned kind of comedies, which teach a fellow that there's somehappiness in life----but, I don't get the time to attend them. Mystation is down on the East Side, and I see so much tragedy andunhappiness that it has given me about all the real-life plays I couldwant, since I came to the police work."
Lorna scoffed, and tossed her curls.
"Oh, I don't like that stupid old stuff myself. I like the musicalcomedies that have dancing, and French dresses, and cleverness. Ithink all the serious plays nowadays are nothing but scandal--a girlcan't go to see them without blushing and wishing she were at home."
"I don't agree with you, Lorna. There are some things in life that agirl should learn. An unpleasant play is likely to leave a bad tastein one's mouth, but that bad taste may save her from thinking that evilcan be honey-coated and harmless. Why, the show we saw the othernight--those costumes, those dances, and the songs! There was nothingleft to imagine. They stop serious plays, and ministers preach sermonsabout them, while the musical comedies that some of the managersproduce are a thousand times worse, for they teach only a bad lesson."
As Lorna started to reply the bell rang and Mary went to the door.
Two young men were outside and, at Mary's stiff invitation, theyentered. Burke rose, politely.
"Why, how do you do, Mr. Baxter?" exclaimed Lorna, enthusiastically, asshe extended one hand and arranged that disobedient lock of hair withthe other. "Come right in, this is such a pleasant surprise."
Baxter advanced, and introduced his companion.
"This is my friend, Reggie Craig, Miss Barton. We're just on our waydown to Dawley's for a little supper and a dance afterward. You knowthey have some great tangoing there, and I know you like it."
Lorna introduced Craig and Baxter to the others. As she came to Bobbieshe said, "This is Mr. Burke. You wouldn't believe it, but he is a----"
"Friend of father's," interrupted Mary, with a look which did notescape either Bobbie or Lorna. "Won't you sit down, gentlemen?"
Burke was studying the two men with his usual rapidity of observation.
Baxter was tall, with dark, curly hair, carefully plastered straightback from a low, narrow forehead. His grooming was immaculate: his"extreme" cutaway coat showed a good physique, but the pallor of theface above it bespoke dissipation of the strength of that naturalendowment. His shoes, embellished with pearl buttons set withrhinestones, were of the latest vogue, described in the man-who-sawcolumn of the theater programmes. He looked, for all the world, likean advertisement for ready-tailored suitings.
His companion was slighter in build but equally fastidious inappearance. When he drew a handkerchief from his cuff Bobbie completedthe survey and walked over toward old Barton, to look at the moreinteresting drawings.
"You girls must come along to Dawley's, you simply must, you know,"began Baxter, still standing. "Of course, we'd be glad to have yourfather's friend, if he likes dancing."
"That's very kind of you, but you know I've a lot to talk about withMr. Barton," answered Bobbie, quietly.
"May we go, father?" asked Lorna, impetuously.
"Well, I thought," said the old gentleman, "I thought that you'd----"
"Father, I haven't been to a dance or a supper since you were injured.You know that," pouted Lorna.
"What do you want to do, Mary dear?" asked the old man, helplessly.
"It's very kind of Mr. Baxter, but you know we have a guest."
Mary quietly sat down, while Lorna's temper flared.
"Well, I'm going anyway. I'm tired of working and worrying. I want tohave pleasure and music and entertainment like thousands of other girlsin New York. I owe it to myself. I don't intend to sit around hereand talk about tenement fires and silly old patents."
Burke was embarrassed, but not so the visiting fashion plates. Baxterand Craig merely smiled at each other with studied nonchalance; theyseemed used to such scenes, thought Bobbie.
Lorna flounced angrily from the room, while her father wiped hisforehead with a trembling hand.
"Why, Lorna," he expostulated weakly. But Lorna reappeared with apretty evening wrap and her hat in her hand. She donned the hat,twisting it to a coquettish angle, and Baxter unctuously assisted herto place the wrap about her shoulders.
"Lorna, I forbid your going out at this time of the evening with twogentlemen we have never met before," cried Mary.
But Lorna opened the door and wilfully left the room, followed byCraig. Baxter turned as he left, and smiled sarcastically.
"Good-_night_!" he remarked, with a significant accent on the last word.
Mary's face was white, as she looked appealingly at Burke. He tried tocomfort her in his quiet way.
"I wouldn't worry, Miss Mary. I think they are nice young fellows, andyou know young girls are the same the world over. I am sure they areall right, and will look after her--you know, some people do think awhole lot of dancing and jolly company, and it is punishment for themto have to talk all the time on serious things. I don't blame her, forI'm poor company--and only a policeman, after all."
John Barton looked disconsolately at the door which had slammed afterthe trio.
"You do think it's all right, don't you, Burke?"
"Why, certainly," said Burke. He lied like a gentleman and a soldier.
Old Barton was ill at ease, although he endeavored to cover his anxietywith his usual optimism.
"We are too hard on the youngsters, I fear," he began. "It's true thatLorna has not had very much pleasure since I was injured. The poorchild has had many sleepless nights of worry since then, as well. Youknow she has always been our baby, while my Mary here has been thelittle mother since my dear wife left us."
Mary forced a smiling reply: "You
dear daddy, don't worry. I knowLorna's fine qualities, and I wish we could entertain more for her thanwe do right in our little flat. That's one of the causes of New York'sunnatural life. In the small towns and suburbs girls have porches andbig parlors, while they live in a surrounding of trees and flowers.They have home music, jolly gatherings about their own pianos; we can'tafford even to rent a piano just now. So, there, daddy, be patient andforgive Lorna's thoughtlessness."
Barton's face beamed again, as he caressed his daughter's soft browncurls, when she leaned over his chair to kiss him.
"My blessed little Mary: you are as old as your mother--as old as allmotherhood, in your wisdom. I feel more foolishly a boy each day, as Irealize the depth of your devotion and love."
Burke's eyes filled with tears, which he manfully wiped away with asneaking little movement of his left hand, as he pretended to look outof the window toward the distant lights. A man whose tear-ducts havedried with adolescence is cursed with a shriveled soul for the rest ofhis life.
"Now, we mustn't let our little worry make you feel badly, Mr. Burke.Do you know, I've been thinking about a little matter in which you areconcerned? Why don't you have your interests looked after in your hometown?"
"My uncle? Well, I am afraid that's a lost cause. I went to thefamily lawyer when I returned from my army service, and he charged mefive dollars for advising me to let the matter go. He said that lawwas law, and that the whole matter had been ended, that I had norecourse. I think I'll just stick to my work, and let my uncle getwhat pleasure he can out of his treatment of me."
"That is a great mistake. If he was your family lawyer, it is verypossible that your uncle anticipated your going to him. And somelawyers have elastic notions of what is possible--depending upon thesize of your fee. Now, I have a young friend down town. He is apatent lawyer, and I trust him. Why don't you let him look into thismatter. I have given him other cases before, through my connectionswith the Greshams. He proved honorable and energetic. Let me writeyou out a letter of introduction."
"Perhaps you are right. I appreciate your advice and it will do noharm to let him try his best," said Bobbie. "I'll give him the factsand let him investigate matters."
The old man wrote a note while Burke and Mary became better acquainted.Even in her attempt to speak gaily and happily, Bobbie could discernher worriment. As Barton finished his writing, handing the envelope toBurke, the younger man decided to take a little initiative of his own.
"It's late, Mr. Barton. I have had a pleasant evening, and I hope Imay have many more. But you know I promised Doctor MacFarland, thepolice surgeon, that I would go to bed early on the days when I was offduty. So I had better be getting back down town."
They protested cordially, but Bobbie was soon out on the street,walking toward the Subway.
He did not take the train for his own neighborhood, however. Insteadhe boarded a local which stopped at Sixty-sixth Street, the heart ofwhat is called the "New Tenderloin."
In this district are dozens of dance halls, flashy restaurants and_cafes chantantes_. A block from the Subway exit was the well-knownestablishment called "Dawley's." This was the destination of Baxterand Craig, with Lorna Barton. Bobbie thought it well to take anobservation of the social activities of these two young men.
He entered the big, glittering room, his coat and hat rudely jerkedfrom his arms by a Greek check boy, at the doorway, without the uselessformula of request.
The tables were arranged about the walls, leaving an open space in thecenter for dancing. Nearly every chair was filled, while the poppingof corks and the clinking of glasses even so early in the eveningtestified to the popularity of Dawley's.
"They seem to prefer this sort of thing to theaters," thought Bobbie."Anyway, this crowd is funnier than most comedies I've seen."
He looked around him, after being led to a corner seat by theobsequious head waiter. There was a preponderance of fat old men andvacuous looking young girls of the type designated on Broadway as"chickens." Here and there a slumming party was to be seen--elderlywomen and ill-at-ease men, staring curiously at the diners and dancers;young married couples who seemed to be enjoying their self-thrilleddeviltry and new-found freedom. An orchestra of negro musicians wererattling away on banjos, mandolins, and singing obligatos indeep-voiced improvisations. The drummer and the cymbalist were thebusiest of all; their rattling, clanging, banging addition to the musicgave it an irresistible rhythmic cadence. Even Burke felt the call ofthe dance, until he studied the evolutions of the merrymakers. Oddlyassorted couples, some in elaborate evening dress, women inshoulderless, sleeveless, backless gowns, men in dinner-coats, girls instreet clothes with yard-long feathers, youths in check suits, old menin staid business frock coats--what a motley throng! All were busilyengaged in the orgy of a bacchanalian dance in which couples reeled andwrithed, cheek to cheek, feet intertwining, arms about shoulders.Instead of enjoying themselves the men seemed largely engaged incounting their steps, and watching their own feet whenever possible:the girls kept their eyes, for the most part, upon the mirrors whichcovered the walls, each watching her poises and swings, her hat, hercurls, her lips, with obvious complacency.
Burke was nauseated, for instead of the old-time fun of a jolly dance,this seemed some weird, unnatural, bestial, ritualistic evolution.
"And they call this dancing?" he muttered. "But, I wonder where MissLorna is?"
He finally espied her, dancing with Baxter. The latter was swinginghis arms and body in a snakey, serpentine one-step, as he glided downthe floor, pushing other couples out of the way. Lorna, like the othergirls, lost no opportunity to admire her own reflection in the mirrors.
Burke was tempted to rush forward and intercede, to pull her out of thearms of the repulsive Baxter. But he knew how foolish he would appear,and what would be the result of such an action.
As he looked the waiter approached for his order.
Burke took the menu, decorated with dancing figures which would haveseemed more appropriate for some masquerade ball poster, for the LatinQuarter, and began to read the _entrees_.
As he looked down two men brushed past his table, and a sidelong glancegave him view of a face which made him quickly forget the choice offood.
It was Jimmie the Monk, flashily dressed, debonnaire as one to themanor born, talking with Craig, the companion of Baxter.
Burke held the menu card before his face. He was curious to hear thetopic of their conversation. When he did so--the words were clear anddistinct, as Baxter and Jimmie sat down at a table behind him--hisheart bounded with horror.
"Who's dis new skirt, Craig?"
"Oh, it's a kid Baxter picked up in Monnarde's candy store. It's thebest one he's landed yet, but we nearly got in Dutch to-night when wewent up to her flat to bring her out. Her old man and her sister werethere with some nut, and they didn't want her to go. But Baxter"lamped" her, and she fell for his eyes and sneaked out anyway. Youbetter keep off, Jimmie, for you don't look like a college boy--andthat's the gag Baxter's been giving her. She thinks she's going to adance at the Yale Club next week. It's harder game than the last one,but we'll get it fixed to-night. You better send word to Izzie tobring up his taxi--in about an hour."
"I'll go now, Craig. Tell Baxter dat it'll be fixed. Where'll he takeher?"
Craig replied in a low tone, which thwarted Burke's attempt toeavesdrop.
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