deciding that even a hundred dollars was too much for her purse,
unless it could be supplemented by some man's. "It's really a two-
hundred-dollar coat. I'm telling you that straight. Our regular
price is one hundred and fifty. But if you could bring me a
hundred and twenty-five dollars, since you want it so much, well,
I'll let you have it for that. And that's like finding it. A
stunning-looking girl like you oughtn't to have no trouble in
finding a dozen fellows who would be glad to buy that coat and give
it to you. I know I would, if I thought you would be nice to me."
He beamed ingratiatingly up at her, and Hortense, sensing the
nature of the overture and resenting it--from him--drew back
slightly. At the same time she was not wholly displeased by the
compliment involved. But she was not coarse enough, as yet, to
feel that just any one should be allowed to give her anything.
Indeed not. It must be some one she liked, or at least some one
that was enslaved by her.
And yet, even as Mr. Rubenstein spoke, and for some time
afterwards, her mind began running upon possible individuals--
favorites--who, by the necromancy of her charm for them, might be
induced to procure this coat for her. Charlie Wilkens for
instance--he of the Orphia cigar store--who was most certainly
devoted to her after his fashion, but a fashion, however, which did
not suggest that he might do much for her without getting a good
deal in return.
And then there was Robert Kain, another youth--very tall, very
cheerful and very ambitious in regard to her, who was connected
with one of the local electric company's branch offices, but his
position was not sufficiently lucrative--a mere entry clerk. Also
he was too saving--always talking about his future.
And again, there was Bert Gettler, the youth who had escorted her
to the dance the night Clyde first met her, but who was little more
than a giddy-headed dancing soul, one not to be relied upon in a
crisis like this. He was only a shoe salesman, probably twenty
dollars a week, and most careful with his pennies.
But there was Clyde Griffiths, the person who seemed to have real
money and to be willing to spend it on her freely. So ran her
thoughts swiftly at the time. But could she now, she asked
herself, offhand, inveigle him into making such an expensive
present as this? She had not favored him so very much--had for the
most part treated him indifferently. Hence she was not sure, by
any means. Nevertheless as she stood there, debating the cost and
the beauty of the coat, the thought of Clyde kept running through
her mind. And all the while Mr. Rubenstein stood looking at her,
vaguely sensing, after his fashion, the nature of the problem that
was confronting her.
"Well, little girl," he finally observed, "I see you'd like to have
this coat, all right, and I'd like to have you have it, too. And
now I'll tell you what I'll do, and better than that I can't do,
and wouldn't for nobody else--not a person in this city. Bring me
a hundred and fifteen dollars any time within the next few days--
Monday or Wednesday or Friday, if the coat is still here, and you
can have it. I'll do even better. I'll save it for you. How's
that? Until next Wednesday or Friday. More'n that no one would do
for you, now, would they?"
He smirked and shrugged his shoulders and acted as though he were
indeed doing her a great favor. And Hortense, going away, felt
that if only--only she could take that coat at one hundred and
fifteen dollars, she would be capturing a marvelous bargain. Also
that she would be the smartest-dressed girl in Kansas City beyond
the shadow of a doubt. If only she could in some way get a hundred
and fifteen dollars before next Wednesday, or Friday.
Chapter 15
As Hortense well knew Clyde was pressing more and more hungrily
toward that ultimate condescension on her part, which, though she
would never have admitted it to him, was the privilege of two
others. They were never together any more without his insisting
upon the real depth of her regard for him. Why was it, if she
cared for him the least bit, that she refused to do this, that or
the other--would not let him kiss her as much as he wished, would
not let him hold her in his arms as much as he would like. She was
always keeping dates with other fellows and breaking them or
refusing to make them with him. What was her exact relationship
toward these others? Did she really care more for them than she
did for him? In fact, they were never together anywhere but what
this problem of union was uppermost--and but thinly veiled.
And she liked to think that he was suffering from repressed desire
for her all of the time that she tortured him, and that the power
to allay his suffering lay wholly in her--a sadistic trait which
had for its soil Clyde's own masochistic yearning for her.
However, in the face of her desire for the coat, his stature and
interest for her were beginning to increase. In spite of the fact
that only the morning before she had informed Clyde, with quite a
flourish, that she could not possibly see him until the following
Monday--that all her intervening nights were taken--nevertheless,
the problem of the coat looming up before her, she now most eagerly
planned to contrive an immediate engagement with him without
appearing too eager. For by then she had definitely decided to
endeavor to persuade him, if possible, to buy the coat for her.
Only of course, she would have to alter her conduct toward him
radically. She would have to be much sweeter--more enticing.
Although she did not actually say to herself that now she might
even be willing to yield herself to him, still basically that was
what was in her mind.
For quite a little while she was unable to think how to proceed.
How was she to see him this day, or the next at the very latest?
How should she go about putting before him the need of this gift,
or loan, as she finally worded it to herself? She might hint that
he could loan her enough to buy the coat and that later she would
pay him back by degrees (yet once in possession of the coat she
well knew that that necessity would never confront her). Or, if he
did not have so much money on hand at one time, she could suggest
that she might arrange with Mr. Rubenstein for a series of time
payments which could be met by Clyde. In this connection her mind
suddenly turned and began to consider how she could flatter and
cajole Mr. Rubenstein into letting her have the coat on easy terms.
She recalled that he had said he would be glad to buy the coat for
her if he thought she would be nice to him.
Her first scheme in connection with all this was to suggest to
Louise Ratterer to invite her brother, Clyde and a third youth by
the name of Scull, who was dancing attendance upon Louise, to come
to a certain dance hall that very evening to which she was already
planning to go with the more favored cigar clerk. Only now she
intended to break that engagement and appear alone with Louise and
Greta and announce that her proposed partner was ill. That would
give her an opportunity to leave early with Clyde and with him walk
past the Rubenstein store.
But having the temperament of a spider that spins a web for flies,
she foresaw that this might involve the possibility of Louise's
explaining to Clyde or Ratterer that it was Hortense who had
instigated the party. It might even bring up some accidental
mention of the coat on the part of Clyde to Louise later, which, as
she felt, would never do. She did not care to let her friends know
how she provided for herself. In consequence, she decided that it
would not do for her to appeal to Louise nor to Greta in this
fashion.
And she was actually beginning to worry as to how to bring about
this encounter, when Clyde, who chanced to be in the vicinity on
his way home from work, walked into the store where she was
working. He was seeking for a date on the following Sunday. And
to his intense delight, Hortense greeted him most cordially with a
most engaging smile and a wave of the hand. She was busy at the
moment with a customer. She soon finished, however, and drawing
near, and keeping one eye on her floor-walker who resented callers,
exclaimed: "I was just thinking about you. You wasn't thinking
about me, was you? Trade last." Then she added, sotto voce,
"Don't act like you are talking to me. I see our floorwalker over
there."
Arrested by the unusual sweetness in her voice, to say nothing of
the warm smile with which she greeted him, Clyde was enlivened and
heartened at once. "Was I thinking of you?" he returned gayly.
"Do I ever think of any one else? Say! Ratterer says I've got you
on the brain."
"Oh, him," replied Hortense, pouting spitefully and scornfully, for
Ratterer, strangely enough, was one whom she did not interest very
much, and this she knew. "He thinks he's so smart," she added. "I
know a lotta girls don't like him."
"Oh, Tom's all right," pleaded Clyde, loyally. "That's just his
way of talking. He likes you."
"Oh, no, he don't, either," replied Hortense. "But I don't want to
talk about him. Whatcha doin' around six o'clock to-night?"
"Oh, gee!" exclaimed Clyde disappointedly. "You don't mean to say
you got to-night free, have you? Well, ain't that tough? I
thought you were all dated up. I got to work!" He actually
sighed, so depressed was he by the thought that she might be
willing to spend the evening with him and he not able to avail
himself of the opportunity, while Hortense, noting his intense
disappointment, was pleased.
"Well, I gotta date, but I don't want to keep it," she went on with
a contemptuous gathering of the lips. "I don't have to break it.
I would though if you was free." Clyde's heart began to beat
rapidly with delight.
"Gee, I wish I didn't have to work now," he went on, looking at
her. "You're sure you couldn't make it to-morrow night? I'm off
then. And I was just coming up here to ask you if you didn't want
to go for an automobile ride next Sunday afternoon, maybe. A
friend of Hegglund's got a car--a Packard--and Sunday we're all
off. And he wanted me to get a bunch to run out to Excelsior
Springs. He's a nice fellow" (this because Hortense showed signs
of not being so very much interested). "You don't know him very
well, but he is. But say, I can talk to you about that later. How
about to-morrow night? I'm off then."
Hortense, who, because of the hovering floor-walker, was pretending
to show Clyde some handkerchiefs, was now thinking how unfortunate
that a whole twenty-four hours must intervene before she could
bring him to view the coat with her--and so have an opportunity to
begin her machinations. At the same time she pretended that the
proposed meeting for the next night was a very difficult thing to
bring about--more difficult than he could possibly appreciate. She
even pretended to be somewhat uncertain as to whether she wanted to
do it.
"Just pretend you're examining these handkerchiefs here," she
continued, fearing the floor-walker might interrupt. "I gotta
nother date for then," she continued thoughtfully, "and I don't
know whether I can break it or not. Let me see." She feigned deep
thought. "Well, I guess I can," she said finally. "I'll try,
anyhow. Just for this once. You be here at Fifteenth and Main at
6.15--no, 6.30's the best you can do, ain't it?--and I'll see if I
can't get there. I won't promise, but I'll see and I think I can
make it. Is that all right?" She gave him one of her sweetest
smiles and Clyde was quite beside himself with satisfaction. To
think that she would break a date for him, at last. Her eyes were
warm with favor and her mouth wreathed with a smile.
"Surest thing you know," he exclaimed, voicing the slang of the
hotel boys. "You bet I'll be there. Will you do me a favor?"
"What is it?" she asked cautiously.
"Wear that little black hat with the red ribbon under your chin,
will you? You look so cute in that."
"Oh, you," she laughed. It was so easy to kid Clyde. "Yes, I'll
wear it," she added. "But you gotta go now. Here comes that old
fish. I know he's going to kick. But I don't care. Six-thirty,
eh? So long." She turned to give her attention to a new customer,
an old lady who had been patiently waiting to inquire if she could
tell her where the muslins were sold. And Clyde, tingling with
pleasure because of this unexpected delight vouchsafed him, made
his way most elatedly to the nearest exit.
He was not made unduly curious because of this sudden favor, and
the next evening, promptly at six-thirty, and in the glow of the
overhanging arc-lights showering their glistening radiance like
rain, she appeared. As he noted, at once, she had worn the hat he
liked. Also she was enticingly ebullient and friendly, more so
than at any time he had known her. Before he had time to say that
she looked pretty, or how pleased he was because she wore that hat,
she began:
"Some favorite you're gettin' to be, I'LL SAY, when I'LL break an
engagement and then wear an old hat I don't like just to please
you. How do I get that way is what I'd like to know."
He beamed as though he had won a great victory. Could it be that
at last he might be becoming a favorite with her?
"If you only knew how cute you look in that hat, Hortense, you
wouldn't knock it," he urged admiringly. "You don't know how sweet
