A Top-Floor Idyl

by George Van Schaick

  CHAPTER XV

  THE LIGHTNING STROKE

  More days have gone by. This morning I happened to meet Jamieson, who isalways exceedingly kind and urbane to his flock of authors.

  "My dear fellow," he told me, "you must not be discouraged if the 'Lando' Love' does not sell quite so well as some of the others, for I havenot the slightest doubt that your next book will more than make up forit. A man is not a machine and he cannot always maintain the same levelof accomplishment. We are only printing a couple of thousand copies tostart with, but, of course, your advance payment, on the day ofpublication, will be the same as usual."

  He said all this so pleasantly that I almost forgot that this paymentwas called for on my contract and felt personally obliged to him.

  "We will send you a few advance copies by the end of the week," he said."It might pay you to look one of them over, carefully. You have notread the thing for a good many months, now, and you will get a betterperspective on it. I have no doubt that you will agree with me that areturn to your former manner is rather advisable. I am ever so glad tohave seen you. Now, don't worry over this because you have not yetwritten half the good stuff that's in you, and I certainly look forwardto a big seller from you, some day."

  I shook hands with him, feeling greatly indebted, and walked slowlyhome. There can be few better judges than Jamieson, and his estimate ofthe "Land o' Love" leaves me rather blue. I have been so anxious to makemoney in order to be able to help in the improvement of those repairedvocal chords of Frances and start her on the way towards the success Ibelieve is in store for her, that I feel as if the impending failure ofmy novel were a vicious blow of fate directed against her. Why was Iever impelled to leave aside some of the conventions of my trade, toabandon the path I have hitherto trodden in safety? One or twomultimillionaires may have been able to condemn the public to perdition,but a struggling author might as safely, in broad daylight, throwsnowballs at a chief of police. Before I go any further I must carefullyread over the seven or eight score pages I have already done for thesuccessor of "Land o' Love," and find out whether I am not drifting intotoo iconoclastic a way of writing.

  With my head full of such disquieting thoughts I walked home. As Iturned the corner of my street, I saw Frances, a good way ahead of me.She was doubtless returning from Gordon's studio. Her darling littlebundle was in her arms and she hurried along, very fast.

  "Baby Paul must be hungry," I decided, "and she will run up the stairs.No use hastening after her, for her door will be closed. Frieda willsoon come in, and we shall all go over to Camus, as we arranged lastevening."

  Once in my room I took up my manuscript and began to study it, trying todisguise myself under the skin of the severest critic. I started, with afrown, to read the lines, in a manner that was an excellent imitation ofa grumpy teacher I remembered, who used to read our poor little essaysas if they had been documents convicting us of manslaughter, to say thevery least. And yet, so hopelessly vacillating is my nature that I hadread but half a chapter before I was figuratively patting myself on theback, in egotistic approval of my own work. I continued, changing a wordhere and there and dreamily repeating some sentences, the better tojudge of their effectiveness, until there was a knock at my door andFrieda came in, looking scared.

  "See here, Dave, I've just been in to see Frances. She's come back witha dreadful headache and can't go out to dinner with us. I asked if Icould make her a cup of tea and she wouldn't hear of it. The room is alldark and she's lying on the bed."

  "I'll go out at once and get Dr. Porter!" I exclaimed.

  "No, I proposed it, but she won't see any one. She assures me that itwill be all right by to-morrow and insists that it is not worth whilebothering about. She wants us to go without her."

  "Well, at least I can go in and find out whether there is anything I cando," I persisted.

  "No, Dave, she told me that she wanted to be left alone. Please don't goin. Her head aches so dreadfully that she must have absolute quiet, fora time."

  I looked at Frieda, helplessly, and she returned the glance. This wasnot a bit like Frances; she is always so glad of our company, sothankful for my stout friend's petting and so evidently relieved by suchsympathy as we can extend that we could make no head nor tail of thechange so suddenly come upon her. The two of us felt like childrenopen-eyed at some undeserved scolding.

  "Well, come along, Frieda," I said, much disgruntled. "I suppose wemight as well have something to eat."

  "I don't care whether I have anything or not," she answered, dubiously.

  "Neither do I, my dear," I assented.

  "Then put on your hat and coat and come to the flat. I have half a coldchicken in the icebox and a bottle of beer. I don't want to go toCamus."

  So we departed, dully, passing before the door that had been denied usfor the first time in lo, these many months. The loose stair creakeddismally under Frieda's weight, and the dim hall lights reminded me ofEulalie's churchly tapers. On the way to the flat I stopped at a bakeryand purchased four chocolate eclairs wherewith to help console Frieda.Once in the apartment, my friend seemed to regain some of her flaggingspirits. She exhumed the fowl from her icebox and cut slices from a loafof bread, while I opened a can of small French peas, which she set in asaucepan placed on her gas-stove. Also, I laid the eclairs symmetricallyon a blue plate I took from the dresser, after which Frieda signalled tome to open the bottle of beer and our feast began in silence.

  "I wonder how Trappists enjoy their meals," I finally remarked.

  "They don't!" snapped out Frieda.

  Yet a moment later she was talking as fast as usual, giving me manyinteresting details in regard to the effects of sick-headache onwomankind and gradually abandoning the subject to revert to painting.

  "I have sold Orion," she said. "He is going to Chicago. I have beenthinking of a Leda with a swan, but I'm afraid it's too hackneyed. Whydon't you suggest something to me? That beer is getting flat in yourglass; you haven't touched it. Hand me an eclair."

  I held the plate out to her, the while I sought to remember somethingmythological, and she helped herself. With profound disdain she treatedthe few suggestions I timidly made.

  "You had better go home, David," she told me at last. "We are ascheerful as the two remaining tails of the Kilkenny cats. Good night, Iam going to darn stockings."

  So I took my departure and returned to Mrs. Milliken's where I found amessage waiting for me:

  "Why the devil don't you have a telephone? Come right up to the studio.

  "GORDON."

  I knocked very softly at the door of the room opposite mine and wasbidden to come in. Frances was lying on her sofa, and the light was notturned on. I saw her only vaguely and thought that she put a hand up toher forehead with a weary motion rather foreign to her.

  "I hope you will pardon me," I said. "I have just come back from dinnerand find that I must go out again. Before leaving, I wanted to make surethat you were not very ill and to ascertain whether there is anything Ican do for you."

  "No, David. Thank you ever so much," she answered. "As always you areever so kind. By to-morrow this will have passed away and I shall be aswell as ever. It--it is one of those things that never last very longand I am already better. Mrs. Milliken sent me up something, and I neednothing more. Good night, David."

  She had spoken very softly and gently, in the new voice that was veryclear. The change in it was most remarkable. I had been so used to thehusky little tone that I could hardly realize that it was the sameFrances. And yet its present purity of timbre was like a normal andnatural part of her, like her heavy tresses and glorious eyes or thebrave strong soul of her.

  "Well, good night, Frances," I bade her. "I do hope your poor head willlet you have some sleep to-night, and perhaps dreams of pleasant thingsto come."

  So I hastened down to the street and to the station of the Elevated, onmy way to Gordon's, wondering why he was thus summoning me andinventing a score of explanations, all of
which I rejected as soon as Ihad formulated them.

  When I pressed the button at his door, my friend opened it himself, hisfeatures looking very set and grave. I followed him into the studio,that was only half-lighted with a few shaded bulbs, and sat down on thedivan by the window while he took a cigar and cut off the end, withunusual deliberation.

  "Hang it all!" he finally grumbled, "why don't you speak? Have youseen--Mrs. Dupont?"

  "Yes, I have," I answered, rather surprised, because to me he generallycalled her Frances now, as we all did.

  "And she has told you all about it, of course!"

  "She only told me that she had a severe headache, and would see no one,not even Frieda."

  He looked at me, sharply, after which he lit a match for his cigar, witha hand that was decidedly shaky. Then he paced up and down the big room,nervously, while I stared at him in anxious surprise.

  "Oh! You can look at me!" he exclaimed, after a moment. "I'm the cleverchap who warned you against that woman, am I not? Marked _explosive_, Itold you she ought to be. And now you can have your laugh, if you wantto. Go ahead and don't mind me!"

  For a moment I felt my chest constricted as with a band of iron. I feltthat I could hardly breathe, and the hand I put up to my forehead met acold and clammy surface.

  "For God's sake, Gordon!" I cried, "what--what have you----?"

  He pitched the cigar in the fireplace and stood before me, his handsdeep in his trousers pockets, his voice coming cold and hard, the wordsforced and sounding artificial and metallic.

  "What have I done? You want to know, eh? Oh! It's soon enough told.First I did a 'Mother and Child,' a devil of a good piece of work, too.And, while I was painting it, I saturated every fiber of me with theessence of that wonderful face. Man alive! Her husky little voice, whenI permitted her to speak, held an appeal that slowly began to madden me.Oh! It didn't come on the first day, or the first week, but, by the timeI was putting on the last few strokes of the brush, I realized that Iwas making an arrant fool of myself, caught by the mystery of thosegreat dark eyes, bound hand and foot by the glorious tresses of herhair, trapped by that amazing smile upon her face. Then, Iworked--worked as I never did before, fevered by the eagerness to finishthat picture and send her away, out of my sight. I was tempted to leavethe thing unfinished, but I couldn't! I wanted to run away and calledmyself every name under the sun, and gritted my teeth. Up and down thisfloor I walked till all hours. I decided that it was but a sudden fever,a distemper that would pass off when she was no longer near me. Everyday I swore I would react against it. What had I in common with a womanwho had already given the best of her heart and soul to another man, whostill goes on weeping for his memory, who is but one amid the wreck andflotsam of that artistic life so many start upon and so few ever succeedin! And the picture was finished and I gave her the few dollars she hadearned and sent her away, just as calmly as if she'd been any poor drabof a creature. My God! Dave! If she had stood there and asked me for allI had, for my talent, for my soul to tread beneath her feet, I wouldhave laid them before her, thankfully, gladly. But I took her as far asthe door of the lift, forsooth, and gave her my coldest and most civilsmile. I'm a wonderful actor, Dave, and have mistaken my profession! Ihid it all from her--I--I think I did, anyway, and she never knewanything, at that time. So, when she had gone, I told Yumasa to turn thepicture to the wall and then I went out to the club, and treated myselfpretty well, and then to the theatre and back to the club. Some of thefellows are a pretty gay lot, sometimes, and I was good company for themthat night!"

  For a moment he stopped and took up another cigar, mechanically, while Ikept on staring at him in silence.

  "Oh! I was able to walk straight enough when I came home. The stuff hadlittle effect on me. In the taxi my head was whirling, though. But I gotback here and took up the picture again and placed it on the easel, in aflood of light. It was wonderful! It seemed to me that she was comingout of the frame and extending her round arms and slender fingers to metill my heart was throbbing in my throat and choking me!"

  He stopped again and took up his pacing once more, like some furredbeast in a cage.

  "In the morning I looked at myself," he resumed. "A fine wreck ofmanhood I appeared, bleared and haggard and with a mouth tasting of theash heap. But, after a Turkish bath, I was like some imitation of myreal self again, for I could hold myself in and think clearly. It meantthe abandoning of all my plans and the awakening, some day, in a periodof disillusionment, with a woman at my side carrying another man's childand bestowing on me the remnants of her love. Ay, man! I was egotistenough to think I should only have to ask, to put out my hand to her!But I gripped myself again and felt proud of the control I couldexercise over my madness. The Jap packed up my things, and I went awayover there, where the other woman awaited me, with her horses and herautos, her rackets and her golf-clubs, with other rich women about her,laughing, simpering, chattering, but culling all the blossoms of a lifeI had aimed for and was becoming a part of. I had paid for it, Dave, intoil such as few other men have undergone, at the price of starvation ingarrets, over there in the _Quartier_. No light o' loves for me, nohours wasted, never a penny spent but for food of a sort and the thingsI needed for painting. And it took me years. Then the reward was beforeme, for I had won time. Yes, man! I was the master of time! Fools say itis money! What utter rot! Money is time, that's what it is. It can bringtime for leisure, and to enjoy luxury, to bask in smiles, to lead a lifeof ease and refinement, and time also to accomplish the great work ofone's dreams!"

  There was another pause.

  "I didn't forget her, of course. She was before me night and day, but Ithought I was mastering my longing, beginning to lord it over an insanepassion. I could golf and swim and dance, and listen to fools prattlingof art, and smile at them civilly and agree with their silly nonsense.They're not much more stupid than most of the highbrows, after all, and,usually, a devilish sight more pleasant to associate with. None ofCamus's poison in their kitchens! And--and that other woman was abeauty, and she held all that I aimed for in her hand and was stretchingit out to me. And she's a good woman too and a plucky one! Rather toogood for me, I am sure. It was at night, going forty miles an hour, Ithink, that I finally made up my mind to ask her. And--and sheconsented. She was driving and never slowed down a minute, for we werelate. I was half scared, and yet hoping that she might wrap that cararound a telegraph pole, before we arrived. When we finally stopped, shedeclared it had been a glorious ride, and gave me her lips to kiss,and--and I went up to my room to dress for dinner, feeling that I hadmade an end of all insanity, that I had achieved all that I had foughtso hard for!

  "Then, later on, after some months, you came around to ask me to useFrances as a model again. I thought I was quite cured at that time, andI refused. Oh, yes! I had been coming to that shack of yours. On thoseSunday afternoons the devil would get into me. A look at her would do noharm. You and Frieda would be there too. And I would come and sit onyour rickety bed and look at her, and listen to you all, and watch youpouring out tea. But I thought all the time that I was keeping a finehold on myself, just tapering off, the dope-fiends call it. Then it wasthat you came to me. You're ugly and gawky enough, Dave, but no evilangel of temptation was ever so compelling as you. I remember how youstared when I said I didn't want her. And you hadn't been gone tenminutes before the devil had his clutches on me and flung me in my carand I met you at your door and told you to let her come!

  "And I've been painting her again. Such beastly stuff as I've turnedout! Daubing in and rubbing out again, and staring at her till I knewshe was beginning to feel uneasy and anxious. But I always managed tokeep a hold on my tongue. God! What a fight I was waging, every minuteof the time, crazy to fling the palette to the floor, to kick the easelover, to rush to her and tell her I was mad for the love of her! Andto-day the crisis came; I'd been shaking all over; couldn't hold a brushto save my life. I--I don't know what I said to her; but it was nothingto offend her, I am sure, nothing tha
t a sweet, clean woman could nothear and listen to, from a man who loved her. But I remember her words.They were very halting and that poor voice of hers was very hoarseagain.

  "'Oh!' she cried, 'I--I am so miserably sorry. I--I thought you werejust one of the dear kind friends who have been so good to me. I--Inever said a word or did a thing to--to bring such a thing about.Please--please let me go away. It makes me dreadfully unhappy!'

  "And so she picked up her hat and put it on, her hands shaking all over,and took the baby to her bosom and went out, and--and I guess that'sall, Dave."

  He sank down on the teakwood stool he generally uses to put his colorson and his brushes. His jaws rested in the open palms of his hands, andhe looked as if his vision was piercing the walls and wandering off tosome other world.

  "Why don't you speak?" he finally cried.

  "Because I don't know what to say," I replied. "I've an immense pity foryou in my heart, old man. You--you've been playing with fire and yourburnt flesh is quivering all over."

  "Let it go at that, Dave," he answered, rising. "I'm glad you're not oneof the preaching kind. I'd throw you neck and crop out of the window, ifyou were."

  "What of Miss Van Rossum?" I asked, gravely.

  "They went off a week ago to Palm Beach. Looking for those tarpon. Comealong."

  "You haven't treated her right, Gordon."

  "Know that as well as you. Come on out!"

  I followed him downstairs. His car was drawn up against the curb and hejumped in.

  "Want a ride?" he asked.

  "No, I think I had better go home now."

  "All right. Thanks for coming. I didn't want you to think I had behavedbadly to Frances, for I didn't, and I had to talk to some one. Good by!"

  He let in his clutch, quickly, and the machine jerked forward. He turnedinto the Park entrance and disappeared, going like a crazy man.

  So I returned home, feeling ever so badly for the two of them. Ihonestly think and hope that I am of a charitable disposition, but Icould not extend all sympathy and forgiveness to my friend. He haddeliberately gone to work and proposed to a woman he did not truly love,and she had accepted him. The poor girl probably thinks the world ofhim, in her own way, which is probably a true and womanly one. And now,after he is bound hand and foot by her consent, he goes to work andlays down his heart at the feet of another.

  Honor, manliness, even common decency should have held him back! Iwondered sadly whether the best and truest friend I ever had was nowlost to me, and I could have sat down and wept, had not tears been formany years foreign to my eyes.

  And then the picture of Frances seemed to appear before me, in all itsglory of tint, in all its sweetness and loveliness, and I shook my headas I thought of the awful weakness of man and of how natural it wasthat, before such a vision, no strength of will or determination ofpurpose could have prevented the culmination of this tragedy. I am surethat he resisted until the very last moment, to be at last overwhelmed.Poor old Gordon!

  Her door was closed and there was utter silence when I returned. I triedto write, but the noise of the machine offended me. For a long time Istared at the pages of an open book, never turning a leaf over, and,finally, I sought my bed, more than weary.

  At two o'clock, on the next afternoon, I got a wire from Gordon.

  "Am taking the _Espagne_. Lots of sport driving an ambulance at the front. May perhaps write.

  "GORDON."

  I stared at the yellow sheet, stupidly. After this there was a knock atthe door and the colored servant came in, bringing me a parcel. I openedit and found some advance copies of the "Land o' Love," which I threwdown on the floor. What did all those silly words amount to!