to, they fell into more intimate relations--spooning with one and
another--Hortense and Louise and Greta included. Also to
quarreling at times. And it appeared to be nothing out of the
ordinary, as Clyde saw, for one youth or another to embrace a girl
behind a door, to hold her on his lap in a chair in some secluded
corner, to lie with her on a sofa, whispering intimate and
unquestionably welcome things to her. And although at no time did
he espy Hortense doing this--still, as he saw, she did not hesitate
to sit on the laps of various boys or to whisper with rivals behind
doors. And this for a time so discouraged and at the same time
incensed him that he felt he could not and would not have anything
more to do with her--she was too cheap, vulgar, inconsiderate.
At the same time, having partaken of the various drinks offered
him--so as not to seem less worldly wise than the others--until
brought to a state of courage and daring not ordinarily
characteristic of him, he ventured to half plead with and at the
same time half reproach her for her too lax conduct.
"You're a flirt, you are. You don't care who you jolly, do you?"
This as they were dancing together after one o'clock to the music
of a youth named Wilkens, at the none too toneful piano. She was
attempting to show him a new step in a genial and yet coquettish
way, and with an amused, sensuous look.
"What do you mean, flirt? I don't get you."
"Oh, don't you?" replied Clyde, a little crossly and still
attempting to conceal his real mood by a deceptive smile. "I've
heard about you. You jolly 'em all."
"Oh, do I?" she replied quite irritably. "Well, I haven't tried to
jolly you very much, have I?"
"Well, now, don't get mad," he half pleaded and half scolded,
fearing, perhaps, that he had ventured too far and might lose her
entirely now. "I don't mean anything by it. You don't deny that
you let a lot of these fellows make love to you. They seem to like
you, anyway."
"Oh, well, of course they like me, I guess. I can't help that, can
I?"
"Well, I'll tell you one thing," he blurted boastfully and
passionately. "I could spend a lot more on you than they could. I
got it." He had been thinking only the moment before of fifty-five
dollars in bills that snuggled comfortably in his pocket.
"Oh, I don't know," she retorted, not a little intrigued by this
cash offer, as it were, and at the same time not a little set up in
her mood by the fact that she could thus inflame nearly all youths
in this way. She was really a little silly, very lightheaded, who
was infatuated by her own charms and looked in every mirror,
admiring her eyes, her hair, her neck, her hands, her figure, and
practising a peculiarly fetching smile.
At the same time, she was not unaffected by the fact that Clyde was
not a little attractive to look upon, although so very green. She
liked to tease such beginners. He was a bit of a fool, as she saw
him. But he was connected with the Green-Davidson, and he was
well-dressed, and no doubt he had all the money he said and would
spend it on her. Some of those whom she liked best did not have
much money to spend.
"Lots of fellows with money would like to spend it on me." She
tossed her head and flicked her eyes and repeated her coyest smile.
At once Clyde's countenance darkened. The witchery of her look was
too much for him. The skin of his forehead crinkled and then
smoothed out. His eyes burned lustfully and bitterly, his old
resentment of life and deprivation showing. No doubt all she said
was true. There were others who had more and would spend more. He
was boasting and being ridiculous and she was laughing at him.
After a moment, he added, weakly, "I guess that's right, too. But
they couldn't want you more than I do."
The uncalculated honesty of it flattered her not a little. He
wasn't so bad after all. They were gracefully gliding about as the
music continued.
"Oh, well, I don't flirt everywhere like I do here. These fellows
and girls all know each other. We're always going around together.
You mustn't mind what you see here."
She was lying artfully, but it was soothing to him none the less.
"Gee, I'd give anything if you'd only be nice to me," he pleaded,
desperately and yet ecstatically. "I never saw a girl I'd rather
have than you. You're swell. I'm crazy about you. Why won't you
come out to dinner with me and let me take you to a show
afterwards? Don't you want to do that, tomorrow night or Sunday?
Those are my two nights off. I work other nights."
She hesitated at first, for even now she was not so sure that she
wished to continue this contact. There was Gettler, to say nothing
of several others, all jealous and attentive. Even though he spent
money on her, she might not wish to bother with him. He was
already too eager and he might become troublesome. At the same
time, the natural coquetry of her nature would not permit her to
relinquish him. He might fall into the hands of Greta or Louise.
In consequence she finally arranged a meeting for the following
Tuesday. But he could not come to the house, or take her home to-
night--on account of her escort, Mr. Gettler. But on the following
Tuesday, at six-thirty, near the Green-Davidson. And he assured
her that they would dine first at Frissell's, and then see "The
Corsair," a musical comedy at Libby's, only two blocks away.
Chapter 12
Now trivial as this contact may seem to some, it was of the utmost
significance to Clyde. Up to this time he had never seen a girl
with so much charm who would deign to look at him, or so he
imagined. And now he had found one, and she was pretty and
actually interested sufficiently to accompany him to dinner and to
a show. It was true, perhaps, that she was a flirt, and not really
sincere with any one, and that maybe at first he could not expect
her to center her attentions on him, but who knew--who could tell?
And true to her promise on the following Tuesday she met him at the
corner of 14th Street and Wyandotte, near the Green-Davidson. And
so excited and flattered and enraptured was he that he could
scarcely arrange his jumbled thoughts and emotions in any seemly
way. But to show that he was worthy of her, he had made an almost
exotic toilet--hair pomaded, a butterfly tie, new silk muffler and
silk socks to emphasize his bright brown shoes, purchased
especially for the occasion.
But once he had reencountered Hortense, whether all this was of any
import to her he could not tell. For, after all, it was her own
appearance, not his, that interested her. And what was more--a
trick with her--she chose to keep him waiting until nearly seven
o'clock, a delay which brought about in him the deepest dejection
of spirit for the time being. For supposing, after all, in the
interval, she had decided that she did not care for him and did not
wish to see him any more. Well, then he would have to do without
her, of course. But that would prove that he was not interesting
to a girl as pretty as she was, despite all the nice clothes he was
now able to wear and the money he could spend. He was determined
that, girl or no girl, he would not have one who was not pretty.
Ratterer and Hegglund did not seem to mind whether the girl they
knew was attractive or not, but with him it was a passion. The
thought of being content with one not so attractive almost
nauseated him.
And yet here he was now, on the street corner in the dark--the
flare of many signs and lights about, hundreds of pedestrians
hurrying hither and thither, the thought of pleasurable intentions
and engagements written upon the faces of many--and he, he alone,
might have to turn and go somewhere else--eat alone, go to a
theater alone, go home alone, and then to work again in the
morning. He had just about concluded that he was a failure when
out of the crowd, a little distance away, emerged the face and
figure of Hortense. She was smartly dressed in a black velvet
jacket with a reddish-brown collar and cuffs, and a bulgy, round
tam of the same material with a red leather buckle on the side.
And her cheeks and lips were rouged a little. And her eyes
sparkled. And as usual she gave herself all the airs of one very
well content with herself.
"Oh, hello, I'm late, ain't I? I couldn't help it. You see, I
forgot I had another appointment with a fella, a friend of mine--
gee, a peach of a boy, too, and it was only at six I remembered
that I had the two dates. Well, I was in a mess then. So I had to
do something about one of you. I was just about to call you up and
make a date for another night, only I remembered you wouldn't be at
your place after six. Tom never is. And Charlie always is in his
place till six-thirty, anyhow, sometimes later, and he's a peach of
a fella that way--never grouchy or nothing. And he was goin' to
take me to the theater and to dinner, too. He has charge of the
cigar stand over here at the Orphia. So I called him up. Well, he
didn't like it so very much. But I told him I'd make it another
night. Now, aintcha glad? Dontcha think I'm pretty nice to you,
disappointin' a good-lookin' fella like Charlie for you?"
She had caught a glimpse of the disturbed and jealous and yet
fearsome look in Clyde's eyes as she talked of another. And the
thought of making him jealous was a delight to her. She realized
that he was very much smitten with her. So she tossed her head and
smiled, falling into step with him as he moved up the street.
"You bet it was nice of you to come," he forced himself to say,
even though the reference to Charlie as a "peach of a fella" seemed
to affect his throat and his heart at the same time. What chance
had he to hold a girl who was so pretty and self-willed? "Gee, you
look swell to-night," he went on, forcing himself to talk and
surprising himself a little with his ability to do so. "I like the
way that hat looks on you, and your coat too." He looked directly
at her, his eyes lit with admiration, an eager yearning filling
them. He would have liked to have kissed her--her pretty mouth--
only he did not dare here, or anywhere as yet.
"I don't wonder you have to turn down engagements. You're pretty
enough. Don't you want some roses to wear?" They were passing a
flower store at the moment and the sight of them put the thought of
the gift in his mind. He had heard Hegglund say that women liked
fellows who did things for them.
"Oh, sure, I would like some roses," she replied, turning into the
place. "Or maybe some of those violets. They look pretty. They
go better with this jacket, I think."
She was pleased to think that Clyde was sporty enough to think of
flowers. Also that he was saying such nice things about her. At
the same time she was convinced that he was a boy who had had
little, if anything, to do with girls. And she preferred youths
and men who were more experienced, not so easily flattered by her--
not so easy to hold. Yet she could not help thinking that Clyde
was a better type of boy or man than she was accustomed to--more
refined. And for that reason, in spite of his gaucheness (in her
eyes) she was inclined to tolerate him--to see how he would do.
"Well, these are pretty nifty," she exclaimed, picking up a rather
large bouquet of violets and pinning them on. "I think I'll wear
these." And while Clyde paid for them, she posed before the
mirror, adjusting them to her taste. At last, being satisfied as
to their effect, she turned and exclaimed, "Well, I'm ready," and
took him by the arm.
Clyde, being not a little overawed by her spirit and mannerisms,
was at a loss what else to say for the moment, but he need not have
worried--her chief interest in life was herself.
"Gee, I tell you I had a swift week of it last week. Out every
night until three. An' Sunday until nearly morning. My, that was
some rough party I was to last night, all right. Ever been down to
Burkett's at Gifford's Ferry? Oh, a nifty place, all right, right
over the Big Blue at 39th. Dancing in summer and you can skate
outside when it's frozen in winter or dance on the ice. An' the
niftiest little orchestra."
Clyde watched the play of her mouth and the brightness of her eyes
and the swiftness of her gestures without thinking so much of what
she said--very little.
"Wallace Trone was along with us--gee, he's a scream of a kid--and
afterwards when we was sittin' down to eat ice cream, he went out
in the kitchen and blacked up an' put on a waiter's apron and coat
and then comes back and serves us. That's one funny boy. An' he
did all sorts of funny stuff with the dishes and spoons." Clyde
sighed because he was by no means as gifted as the gifted Trone.
"An' then, Monday morning, when we all got back it was nearly four,
and I had to get up again at seven. I was all in. I coulda
chucked my job, and I woulda, only for the nice people down at the
store and Mr. Beck. He's the head of my department, you know, and
say, how I do plague that poor man. I sure am hard on that store.
One day I comes in late after lunch; one of the other girls punched
the clock for me with my key, see, and he was out in the hall and
he saw her, and he says to me afterwards, about two in the
afternoon, 'Say look here, Miss Briggs' (he always calls me Miss
Briggs, 'cause I won't let him call me nothing else. He'd try to
get fresh if I did), 'that loanin' that key stuff don't go. Cut
