by Leroy Scott
CHAPTER II
A CALL FROM A NEIGHBOUR
The next morning David was awakened by the ringing of a gong. He tumbledout of bed in order to be ready for the march to breakfast at half pastsix; and he had begun to dress before it dawned upon him that he was afree man, and that the ringing was a prank a four-year habit had playedupon him--a prank that, by the way, was to be repeated every morning formany a week to come.
He slipped back into bed, and lay there considering what he should firstdo. He had to find work quickly, but he felt his four walled years hadearned him a holiday--one day in which to re-acquaint himself withfreedom. So, after he had eaten, he felt his way down the dark,heavy-aired stairways, stepped through the doorway, and then paused inwonderment.
All was as fresh, as marvellous, as yesterday. The narrow street was abustle of freedom--pounding carts, school-going boys and girls, playingchildren, marketing wives--no stripes, no lock-steps, no guards. And theyellow sun! He held his bleached face up to it, as though he would pressagainst its sympathetic warmth; and he sucked deeply of the Septemberair. And the colours!--the reds and whites and browns of the children,the occasional green of a plant on a window sill, the clear blue of thestrip of sky at the street's top. He had almost forgotten there werecolours other than stripes, the gray of stone walls, the black of steelbars.
And how calmly the streetful of people took these marvels!
At first he expected the people he threaded among to look into his face,see his prison record there, draw away from him, perhaps taunt him with"thief." But no one even noticed him, and gradually this fear began tofade from him. As he was crossing the Bowery, a car clanged at his back.He frantically leaped, with a cry, to the sidewalk, and leaned against acolumn of the elevated railroad--panting, exhausted, heart pounding. Hehad not before known how weak, nerveless, prison had made him.
He found, as he continued his way, that the sidewalk undulated like aship's deck beneath his giddy legs; he found himself afraid oftraffic-crowded corners that women and children unhesitatingly crossed;he found himself stopping and staring with intensest interest at thecommon-places of street life--at hurrying men, at darting newsboys, atrushing street cars and clattering trucks, at whatever moved where itwilled. Old-timers had told him of the dazedness, the fear, theinterest, of the first free days, but he was unprepared for thepalpitant acuteness of his every sensation.
After a time, in Broadway, he chanced to look into a mirror-backedshow-window where luminous satins were displayed. Between two smirkingwaxen women in sheeny drapery he saw that which brought him to a pauseand set him gazing. It was his full-length self, which he had not seenthese four years. The figure was gaunt, a mere framework for his shoddy,prison-made suit; the skin of his face snugly fitted itself to thebones; his eyes were sunken, large; his hair, which he uncovered, hadhere and there a line of gray. He was startled. But he had courage forthe future; and after a few moments he said to himself aloud, a habitprison had given him: "A few weeks, and you won't know yourself."
As he walked on, the consciousness of freedom swelled within him. If hedesired, he could speak to the man ahead of him, could laugh, couldstand still, could walk where he wished, and no guard to report on himand no warden to subtract from his "good time." More than once, undercover of the rattle of an elevated train, he shouted at his voice's topin pure extravagance of feeling; and once in Fifth Avenue, forgettinghimself, he flung his arms wide and laughed joyously--to be suddenlyrestored to convention by the hurried approach of a policeman.
All day he watched this strange new life--much of the time sitting inparks, for the unaccustomed walking wearied him. When he came to histenement's door--flanked on one side by a saloon, and on the other sideby a little grocery store before which sat a basket of shrunken potatoesand a few withered cabbages and beans, and in which supplies could bebought by the pennyworth--a hand fell upon his arm and a voice calledout with wheezy cordiality: "Good evenin', friend."
David glanced about. Beside him was a loose bundle of old humanity,wrapped up in and held together by a very seedy coat and stained, baggytrousers frayed at the bottom. The face was covered with gray bristleand gullied with wrinkles. Over one eye hung a greasy green flap; theother eye was watery and red.
"Good evening," returned David.
"Excuse me for stoppin' you," said the old man with an ingratiatingsmile that unlipped half a dozen brown teeth. "But we're neighbours, andI thought we ought to get acquainted. Me an' my girl lives just acrossthe hall from you. Morgan's my name--Old Jimmie Morgan."
"Aldrich is mine. I suppose I'll see you again. Good evening." AndDavid, eager to get away from the nodding old man, started through thedoor.
His neighbour stepped quickly before him, and put a stubby hand againsthis chest. "Wait a minute, Mr. Aldrich. I'm in a little trouble. I'vegot to get some groceries, and my daughter--she carries our money--sheain't in. I wonder if you couldn't loan me fifty cents till mornin'?"
David knew that fifty cents loaned to him was fifty cents lost. He shookhis head.
"Mebbe I could get along on twenty-five then. Say a quarter."
"I really can't spare it," said David, and tried to press by.
"Well, then make it a dime," wheedled the old man, stopping him again."You'll never miss a dime, friend. Come, what's a dime to a young manlike you. And it'll get me a bowl of soup and a cup of coffee. That'llhelp an old man like me a lot, for Katie won't be home till mornin'."
Merely to free himself David drew out one of his precious dimes.
"Thank you, thank you!" The dirty, wrinkled hand closed tightly upon thecoin. "You've saved an old man from goin' hungry to bed."
David again turned to enter. He almost ran against a slight,neatly-dressed girl, apparently about twenty, who was just coming out ofthe doorway. Her black eyes were gleaming, and there were red spots inher cheeks. At sight of her the old man started to hurry away.
"Jim Morgan! You come here!" she commanded in a ringing voice.
The old man stopped, and came slowly toward her with a hang-dog look.
"You've been borrowing money of that man!" she declared.
"No I ain't. We were talkin'--talkin' politics. Honest, Katie. We werejust talkin' politics."
"You were begging money!" She turned her sharp eyes upon David. "Wasn'the?"
The old man winked frantically for help with his red eye, and started toslip the dime into his pocket. The girl, without waiting for David'sanswer, wheeled about so quickly that she caught both the signal forhelp and the move of the hand pocketward. She pointed at the hand. "Stopthat! Now open it up!"
"Nothin' in it, Katie," whined her father.
"Open that hand!"
It slowly opened, and in the centre of the grimy palm lay the dime.
"Give it back to him," the girl ordered.
Old Jimmie handed David the coin.
The girl's eyes blazed. Her wrath burst forth. "Now, sir, you willborrow money, will you!" her sharp voice rang out. "You will lie to meabout it, will you!"
David hurried inside and heard no more. He made a pot of coffee andwarmed half a can of baked beans over his little gas stove. Of thiscrude meal his stomach would accept little. His condition should havehad the delicate and nourishing food that is served an invalid. Hisappetite longingly remembered meals of other days: the fruit, the eggson crisp toast, the golden-brown coffee, at breakfast; the soup, theroast, the vegetables, the dessert, at dinner--linen, china, service,food, all dainty. He turned from the meals his imagination saw to themeal upon his chair-table. He smiled whimsically. "Sir," he saidreprovingly to his appetite, "you're too ambitious."
He had placed his can of condensed milk and bit of butter out on thefire-escape, which he, adopting the East Side's custom, used as anice-chest, and had put his washed dishes into the soap-box cupboard,when he was startled by a knock. Wondering who could be calling on him,he threw open the door.
Kate Morgan stood before him. "I want to see you a minute. May I comein?"
David bowed and motioned her in. Her quick eyes noted the bow and thegesture. He drew his one chair into the open space beside the bed.
"Won't you please be seated?"
She sat down, rested one arm on the corner of his battered wash-standand crossed her knees.
David seated himself on the edge of the bed. He had a better view of herthan when he had seen her in the doorway, and he could hardly believeshe was the daughter of the old man who had stopped him. She wore ayellow dress of some cheap goods, with bands of bright red about thebottom of the skirt, bands of red about the short loose sleeves thatleft the arms bare from the elbows, a red girdle, and about theshoulders a red fulness. The dress was almost barbaric in its colouring,yet it suited her dark face, with its brilliant black eyes.
There was neither embarrassment nor over-boldness in the face; ratherthe composure of the woman who is acting naturally. There was a touch ofhardness about the mouth and eyes, and a touch of cynicism; in tenyears, David guessed, those qualities would have sculptured themselvesdeep into her features. But it was an alert, clear, almost prettyface--would have been decidedly pretty, in a sharp way, had the hair notbeen combed into a tower of a pompadour that exaggerated her face'sthinness.
She did not lose an instant in speaking her errand. "I want you topromise not to lend my father a cent," she began in a concise voice. "Ihave to ask that of every new person that moves in the house. He's anold soak. I don't dare give him a cent. But he borrows whenever he can,and if he gets enough it's delirium tremens."
"He told me he wanted a bowl of soup and a cup of coffee," David said inexcuse of himself.
"Soup and coffee! Huh! Whiskey. That's all he thinks of--whiskey. Hisidea of God is a bartender that keeps setting out the drinks and neverstrikes you for the price. If I give him a decent suit of clothes, it'spawned and he's drunk. He used to pawn the things from the house--but hedon't do that any more! He mustn't have a cent. That's why I've come toask you to turn him down the next time he tries to touch you for one ofhis 'loans.'"
"That's an easy promise," David answered with a smile.
"Thanks."
Her business was done, but she did not rise. Her swift eyes ran over thefurnishings of the room--the bed, the crippled wash-stand, with itschipped bowl and broken-lipped pitcher, the dishes in the soap-boxcupboard, the gas stove under the bed, the bare, splintered floor, thewalls from which the blue kalsomine was flaking--ran over David'sshapeless clothes. Then they stopped on his face.
"You're a queer bird," she said abruptly.
He started. "Queer?"
She gave a little jerk of a nod. "You didn't always live in a room likethis, nor wear them kind of clothes. And you didn't learn your mannersover on the Bowery neither. What's the matter? Up against it?"
David stared at her. "Don't you think there may be another queer bird inthe room?" he suggested.
She was not rebuffed, but for a second she studied his face with aneven sharper glance, in which there was the least glint of suspicion."You mean me," she said. "I live across the hall with my father. WhenI'm at work I'm a maid in swell families--sometimes a nurse girl.Nothing queer about that."
"No--o," he said hesitatingly.
She returned to the attack. "What do you do?"
"I'm looking for work."
"What have you worked at?"
The directness with which she moved at what interested her might haveamused David had that directness not been searching for what he desiredfor the present to conceal. "I only came to New York yesterday," he saidevasively.
"But you've been in New York before?"
"Not for several years."
She was getting too close. "I'm a very stupid subject for talk," he saidquickly. "Now you--you must have had some very interesting experiencesin the homes of the rich. You saw the rich from the inside. Tell meabout them."
She was not swerved an instant from her point. "You're very interesting.The first minute I saw you I spotted you for a queer one to be living ina place like this. What've you been doing since you were in New Yorkbefore?"
David could not hold back a flush; no evasive reply was waiting at hislips. Several seconds passed. "Pardon me, but don't you think you're alittle too curious?" he said with an effort.
Her penetrating eyes had not left him. Now understanding flashed intoher face. She emitted a low whistle.
"So that's it, is it!" she exclaimed, her voice softer than it had been."So you've been sent away, and just got out. And you're starting in totry the honesty game."
There was no foiling her quick penetration. He nodded his head.
He had wondered how the world would receive him. She was the firstmember of the free world he had met who had learned his prison record,and he waited, chokingly, her action. He expected her face to hardenaccusingly--expected her to rise, speak despisingly and march coldlyout.
"Well, you are up against it good and hard," she said slowly. There wassympathy in her voice.
The sympathy startled him; he warmed to her. But straightway it enteredhis mind that she would hasten to spread her discovery, and to live inthe house might then be to live amid insult.
"You have committed burglary on my mind--you have stolen my secret," hesaid sharply.
"Oh, but I'll never tell," she quickly returned. And David, looking ather clear face, found himself believing her.
She tried with quick questions to break into his past, but he blockedher with silence. After a time she glanced at a watch upon her breast,rose and reached for the door-knob. But David sprang quickly forward."Allow me," he said, and opened the door for her.
The courtesy did not go unnoticed. "You must have been a real 'gun,' aregular high-flyer, in your good days," she whispered.
"Why?"
"Oh, your kind of manners don't grow on cheap crooks."
She held out her hand. "Well, I wish you luck. Come over and see mesometime. Good night."
When he had closed the door David sat down and fell to musing over hisvisitor. She was dressed rather too showily, but she was not coarse. Shewas bold, but not brazen; hers seemed the boldness, the directness, of achild or a savage. Perhaps, in this quality, she was not grown up, ornot yet civilised. He wondered how a maid or a nurse girl could supporta father on her earnings, as he inferred she did. He wondered how shehad so quickly divined that he was fresh from prison. He remembered ayellow stain near the ends of the first two fingers of her left hand;cigarettes; and the stain made him wonder, too. And he wondered at hermanner--sharp, no whit of coquetry, a touch of frank good fellow-ship atthe last.
Presently a hand which had been casually fumbling in the inside pocketof his coat drew out a folded paper. It was the bulletin of the work atSt. Christopher's, and he now remembered that the director of theMission (Dr. Joseph Franklin, the bulletin gave his name) had handed itto him the night before and that he had mechanically thrust it into hispocket and forgotten it. He began to look it through with pride; in asense it was the record of _his_ work. He read the schedule of religiousservices, classes, boys' clubs and girls' clubs. Toward the middle ofthe latter list this item stopped him short:
WHITTIER CLUB--Members aged 17 to 20. Meets Wednesday evenings. Leader, Miss Helen Chambers.
This was Wednesday evening. David put on his hat, and ten minutes later,his coat collar turned up, his slouch hat pulled down, he was standingin the dark doorway of a tenement, his eyes fastened on the club-houseentrance twenty yards down the street.
After what seemed an endless time, she appeared. Dr. Franklin was withher, evidently to escort her to her car. David gazed at her, as theycame toward his doorway, with all the intensity of his great love. Shewas tall, almost as tall as Dr. Franklin; and she had that grace ofcarriage, that firm poise of bearing, which express a noble, healthywomanhood under perfect self-control. David had not seen her face lastnight; and he now kept his eyes upon it, waiting till it should comewithin the white circle of the street lamp near the doorway.
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When the lamp lifted the shadows from her face, a great thrill ranthrough him. Ah, how beautiful it was!--beauty of contour and colour,yes, but here the fleshly beauty, which so often is merely flesh forflesh's sake, was the beautiful expression of a beautiful soul. Therewas a high dignity in the face, and understanding, and womanlytenderness. It was a face that for seven years had to him summed up therichest, rarest womanhood.
She passed so close that he could have touched her, but he flattenedhimself within the doorway's shadow. After she had gone by he leaned outand followed her with his hungry eyes.
Could he ever, ever win her respect?
