The Fortune Hunter

by David Graham Phillips

  VII

  LOVE IN SEVERAL ASPECTS

  It was not long before the community was talking of the change inHilda, the abrupt change to a gentle, serious, silent woman, thesparkle gone from her eyes, pathos there in its stead. But not evenher own family knew her secret.

  "When is Mr. Feuerstein coming again?" asked her father when a week hadpassed.

  "I don't know just when. Soon," answered Hilda, in a tone which madeit impossible for such a man as he to inquire further.

  Sophie brought all her cunning to bear in her effort to get at thefacts. But Hilda evaded her hints and avoided her traps. After muchthinking she decided that Mr. Feuerstein had probably gone for good,that Hilda was hoping when there was nothing to hope for, and that herown affairs were suffering from the cessation of action. She was inthe mood to entertain the basest suggestions her craft could putforward for making marriage between Hilda and Otto impossible. But shehad not yet reached the stage at which overt acts are deliberatelyplanned upon the surface of the mind.

  One of her girl friends ran in to gossip with her late in the afternoonof the eighth day after Mr. Feuerstein's "parting scene" in TompkinsSquare. The talk soon drifted to Hilda, whom the other girl did notlike.

  "I wonder what's become of that lover of hers--that tall fellow from uptown?" asked Miss Hunneker.

  "I don't know," replied Sophie in a strained, nervous manner. "I alwayshated to see Hilda go with him. No good ever comes of that sort ofthing."

  "I supposed she was going to marry him."

  Sophie became very uneasy indeed. "It don't often turn out that way,"she said in a voice that was evidently concealing something--apparentlyan ugly rent in the character of her friend.

  Walpurga Hunneker opened her eyes wide. "You don't mean--" sheexclaimed. And, as Sophie looked still more confused,

  "Well, I THOUGHT so! Gracious! Her pride must have had a fall. Nowonder she looks so disturbed."

  "Poor Hilda!" said Sophie mournfully. Then she looked at Walpurga in afrightened way as if she had been betrayed into saying too much.

  Walpurga spent a busy evening among her confidantes, with the resultthat the next day the neighborhood was agitated bygossip--insinuations that grew bolder and bolder, that had sprung fromnowhere, but pointed to Hilda's sad face as proof of their truth. Andon the third day they had reached Otto's mother. Not a detail waslacking--even the scene between Hilda and her father was one of theseveral startling climaxes of the tale. Mrs. Heilig had been bitterlyresentful of Hilda's treatment of her son, and she accepted thestory--it was in such perfect harmony with her expectations from themoment she heard of Mr. Feuerstein. In the evening, when he came homefrom the shop, she told him.

  "There isn't a word of truth in it, mother," he said. "I don't carewho told you, it's a lie."

  "Your love makes you blind," answered the mother. "But I can see thather vanity has led her just where vanity always leads--to destruction."

  "Who told you?" he demanded.

  Mrs. Heilig gave him the names of several women. "It is known to all,"she said.

  His impulse was to rush out and trace down the lie to its author. Buthe soon realized the folly of such an attempt. He would only aggravatethe gossip and the scandal, give the scandal-mongers a new chapter fortheir story. Yet he could not rest without doing something.

  He went to Hilda--she had been most friendly toward him since the dayhe helped her with her lover. He asked her to walk with him in theSquare. When they were alone, he began: "Hilda, you believe I'm yourfriend, don't you?"

  She looked as if she feared he were about to reopen the old subject.

  "No--I'm not going to worry you," he said in answer to the look. "Imean just friend."

  "I know you are, Otto," she replied with tears in her eyes. "You areindeed my friend. I've counted on you ever since you--ever since thatSunday."

  "Then you won't think wrong of me if I ask you a question? You'll knowI wouldn't, if I didn't have a good reason, even though I can'texplain?"

  "Yes--what is it?"

  "Hilda, is--is Mr. Feuerstein coming back?"

  Hilda flushed. "Yes, Otto," she said. "I haven't spoken to any oneabout it, but I can trust you. He's had trouble and it has called himaway. But he told me he'd come back." She looked at him appealingly."You know that I love him, Otto. Some day you will like him, will seewhat a noble man he is."

  "When is he coming back?"

  "I didn't ask him. I knew he'd come as soon as he could. I wouldn'tpry into his affairs."

  "Then you don't know why he went or when he's coming?"

  "I trust him, just as you'll want a girl to trust you some day when youlove her."

  As soon as he could leave her, he went up town, straight to the GermanTheater. In the box-office sat a young man with hair precisely partedin the middle and sleeked down in two whirls brought low on hisforehead.

  "I'd like to get Mr. Feuerstein's address," said Otto.

  "That dead-beat?" the young man replied contemptuously. "I suppose hegot into you like he did into every one else. Yes, you can have hisaddress. And give him one for me when you catch him. He did me out often dollars."

  Otto went on to the boarding-house in East Sixteenth Street. No, Mr.Feuerstein was not in and it was not known when he would return--he wasvery uncertain. Otto went to Stuyvesant Square and seated himselfwhere he could see the stoop of the boarding-house. An hour, twohours, two hours and a half passed, and then his patient attitudechanged abruptly to action. He saw the soft light hat and the yellowbush coming toward him. Mr. Feuerstein paled slightly as he recognizedOtto.

  "I'm not going to hurt you," said Otto in a tone which Mr. Feuersteinwished he had the physical strength to punish. "Sit down here--I'vegot something to say to you."

  "I'm in a great hurry. Really, you'll have to come again."

  But Otto's look won. Mr. Feuerstein hesitated, seated himself.

  "I want to tell you," said Otto quietly, "that as the result of yourgoing away so suddenly and not coming back a wicked lying story isgoing round about Hilda. She does not know it yet, but it won't belong before something will be said--maybe publicly. And it will breakher heart."

  "I can't discuss her with you," said Mr. Feuerstein. "Doubtless youmean well. I'm obliged to you for coming. I'll see." He rose.

  "Is that all?" said Otto.

  "What more can I say?"

  "But what are you going to DO?"

  "I don't see how I can prevent a lot of ignorant people from gossiping."

  "Then you're not going straight down there? You're not going to dowhat a man'd do if he had the decency of a dog?"

  "You are insulting! But because I believe you mean well, I shall tellyou that it is impossible for me to go for several days at least. Assoon as I honorably can, I shall come and the scandal will vanish likesmoke."

  Otto let him go. "I mustn't thrash him, and I can't compel him to bea man." He returned to the German Theater; he must learn all he couldabout this Feuerstein.

  "Did you see him?" asked the ticket-seller.

  "Yes, but I didn't get anything."

  Otto looked so down that the ticket-seller was moved to pity, togenerosity.

  "Well, I'll give you a tip. Keep after him; keep your eye on him.He's got a rich father-in-law."

  Otto leaned heavily on the sill of the little window. "Father-in-law?"A sickening suspicion peered into his mind.

  "He was full the other night and he told one of our people he wasmarried to a rich man's daughter."

  "Was the name Brauner?" asked Otto.

  "He didn't name any names. But--let me think--they say it's a daughterof a brewer, away up town. Yes, Ganser--I think that was the name."

  "Oh!" Otto's face brightened. "Where is Ganser's place?" he asked.

  "I don't know--look in the directory. But the tip is to wait a fewdays. He hasn't got hold of any of the old man's money yet--there'ssome hitch. There'll be plenty for all wh
en it comes, so you needn'tfret."

  Otto went to the brewery, but Peter had gone home. Otto went on to thehouse and Peter came down to the brilliant parlor, where the battle ofhostile shades and colors was raging with undiminished fury. In answerto Peter's look of inquiry, he said: "I came about your son-in-law,Mr. Feuerstein."

  "Who are you? Who told you?" asked Peter, wilting into a chair.

  "They told me at the theater."

  Peter gave a sort of groan. "It's out!" he cried, throwing up histhick, short arms. "Everybody knows!"

  Shrewd Otto saw the opening. "I don't think so," he replied, "at leastnot yet. He has a bad reputation--I see you know that already. Butit's nothing to what he will have when it comes out that he's beentrying to marry a young lady down town since he married your daughter."

  "But it mustn't come out!" exclaimed Ganser. "I won't have it. Thisscandal has disgraced me enough."

  "That's what I came to see you about," said Otto. "The young lady andher friends don't know about his marriage. It isn't necessary that anyof them should know, except her. But she must be put on her guard. Hemight induce her to run away with him."

  "Rindsvieh!" muttered Ganser, his hair and whiskers bristling. "Dreck!"

  "I want to ask you, as a man and a father, to see that this young ladyis warned. She'll be anxious enough to keep quiet. If you do, therewon't be any scandal--at least not from there."

  "I'll go down and warn her. Where is she? I'll speak to her father."

  "And have him make a row? No, there's only one way. Send yourdaughter to her."

  "But you don't know my daughter. She's a born--" Just in time Ganserremembered that he was talking to a stranger and talking about hisdaughter. "She wouldn't do it right," he finished.

  "She can go in and see the young lady alone and come out withoutspeaking to anybody else. I'll promise you there'll be no risk."

  Ganser thought it over and decided to take Otto's advice. Theydiscussed Mr. Feuerstein for several minutes, and when Otto left,Ganser followed him part of the way down the stoop, shaking hands withhim. It was a profound pleasure to the brewer to be able to speak hismind on the subject of his son-in-law to an intelligent, appreciativeperson. He talked nothing else to his wife and Lena, but he had thefeeling that he might as well talk aloud to himself.

  After supper--the Gansers still had supper in the evening, theirfashionable progress in that direction having reached only the stage atwhich dinner is called luncheon--he put Lena into the carriage and theydrove to Avenue A. On the way he told her exactly what to say and do.He stayed in the carriage. "Be quick," he said, "and no foolishness!"

  Lena, swelling and rustling with finery and homelier than before hertroubles, little though they disturbed her, marched into the shop andup to the end counter, where Hilda was standing.

  "You are Miss Hilda Brauner?" she said. "I want to see you alone."

  Hilda looked her surprise but showed Lena into the living-room, whichhappened to be vacant. Lena could not begin, so intent was she uponexamining her rival. "How plain she's dressed," she thought, "and howthin and black she is!" But it was in vain; she could not deceive herrising jealousy. It made her forget her father's instructions, forgetthat she was supposed to hate Feuerstein and was getting rid of him.

  "I am Mrs. Carl Feuerstein," she cried, her face red and her voiceshrill with anger and excitement. "And I want you to stop flirtingwith my husband!"

  Hilda stood petrified. Lena caught sight of a photograph on themantelpiece behind Hilda. She gave a scream of fury and darted for it."How dare you!" she shrieked. "You impudent THING!" She snatched theframe, tore it away from the photograph and flung it upon the floor. Asshe gazed at that hair like a halo of light, at those romantic featuresand upturned eyes, she fell to crying and kissing them.

  Hilda slowly turned and watched the spectacle--the swollen, pudgy face,tear-stained, silly, ugly, the tears and kisses falling upon thelikeness of HER lover. She suddenly sprang at Lena, her face like athunder-storm, her black brows straight and her great eyes flashing."You lie!" she exclaimed. And she tore the photograph from Lena'shands and clasped it to her bosom.

  Lena shrank in physical fear from this aroused lioness. "He's myhusband," she whined. "You haven't got any right to his picture."

  "You lie!" repeated Hilda, throwing back her head.

  "It's the truth," said Lena, beginning to cry. "I swear to God it'sso. You can ask pa if it ain't. He's Mr. Ganser, the brewer."

  "Who sent you here to lie about him to me?"

  "Oh, you needn't put on. You knew he was married. I don't wonderyou're mad. He's MY husband, while he's only been making a fool ofYOU. You haven't got any shame." Lena's eyes were on the photographagain and her jealousy over-balanced fear. She laughed tauntingly.

  "Of course you're trying to brazen it out. Give me that picture! He'smy husband!"

  Just then Ganser appeared in the doorway--he did not trust his daughterand had followed her when he thought she was staying too long. Atsight of him she began to weep again. "She won't believe me, pa," shesaid. "Look at her standing there hugging his picture."

  Ganser scowled at his daughter and addressed himself to Hilda, "It'strue, Miss," he said. "The man is a scoundrel. I sent my daughter towarn you."

  Hilda looked at him haughtily. "I don't know you," she said, "and I doknow him. I don't know why you've come here to slander him. But I doknow that I'd trust him against the whole world." She glanced fromfather to daughter. "You haven't done him any harm and you might aswell go."

  Peter eyed her in disgust. "You're as big a fool as my Lena," he said."Come on, Lena."

  As Lena was leaving the room, she gave Hilda a malignant glance. "He'sMY husband," she said spitefully, "and you're--well, I wouldn't want tosay what you are."

  "Move!" shouted Ganser, pushing her out of the room. His parting shotat Hilda was: "Ask him."

  Hilda, still holding the photograph, stared at the doorway throughwhich they had disappeared. "You lie!" she repeated, as if they werestill there. Then again, a little catch in her voice: "You lie!" Andafter a longer interval, a third time, with a sob in her throat: "Youlie! I know you lie!" She sat at the table and held the photographbefore her. She kissed it passionately, gazed long at it, seeing inthose bold handsome features all that her heart's love believed of him.

  Suddenly she started up, went rapidly down the side hall and out intothe street. Battling with her doubts, denouncing herself as disloyalto him, she hurried up the Avenue and across the Square and on untilshe came to his lodgings. When she asked for him the maid opened theparlor door and called through the crack: "Mr. Feuerstein, a lady wantsto see you."

  As the maid disappeared down the basement stairs, Mr. Feuersteinappeared. At sight of her he started back. "Hilda!" he exclaimedtheatrically, and frowned.

  "Don't be angry with me," she said humbly. "I wouldn't have come,only--"

  "You must go at once!" His tone was abrupt, irritated.

  "Yes--I will. I just wanted to warn you--" She raised her eyesappealingly toward his face. "Two people came to see me to-night--Mr.Ganser and his daughter--"

  Feuerstein fell back a step and she saw that he was shaking and thathis face had become greenish white. "It's false!" he blustered."False as hell!--"

  And she knew that it was true.

  She continued to look at him and he did not try to meet her eyes. "Whatdid they tell you?" he said, after a long pause, remembering that hehad denied before a charge had been made.

  She was looking away from him now. She seemed not to have heard him."I must go," she murmured, and began slowly to descend the stoop.

  He followed her, laid his hand upon her arm. "Hilda!" he pleaded."Let me explain!"

  "Don't touch me!" She snatched her arm away from him. She ran downthe rest of the steps and fled along the street. She kept close to theshadow of the houses. She went through Avenue A with hanging head,feeling that th
e eyes of all were upon her, condemning, scorning. Shehid herself in her little room, locking the door. Down beside the bedshe sank and buried her face in the covers. And there she lay, rackedwith the pain of her gaping wounds--wounds to love, to trust, to pride,to self-respect. "Oh, God, let me die," she moaned. "I can't everlook anybody in the face again."