you do look."
"Oh, ho. In this old thing?" she scoffed. "You certainly are
easily pleased, I'll say."
"An' your eyes are just like soft, black velvet," he persisted
eagerly. "They're wonderful." He was thinking of an alcove in the
Green-Davidson hung with black velvet.
"Gee, you certainly have got 'em to-night," she laughed, teasingly.
"I'll have to do something about you." Then, before he could make
any reply to this, she went off into an entirely fictional account
of how, having had a previous engagement with a certain alleged
young society man--Tom Keary by name--who was dogging her steps
these days in order to get her to dine and dance, she had only this
evening decided to "ditch" him, preferring Clyde, of course, for
this occasion, anyhow. And she had called Keary up and told him
that she could not see him to-night--called it all off, as it were.
But just the same, on coming out of the employee's entrance, who
should she see there waiting for her but this same Tom Keary,
dressed to perfection in a bright gray raglan and spats, and with
his closed sedan, too. And he would have taken her to the Green-
Davidson, if she had wanted to go. He was a real sport. But she
didn't. Not to-night, anyhow. Yet, if she had not contrived to
avoid him, he would have delayed her. But she espied him first and
ran the other way.
"And you should have just seen my little feet twinkle up Sargent
and around the corner into Bailey Place," was the way she
narcissistically painted her flight. And so infatuated was Clyde
by this picture of herself and the wonderful Keary that he accepted
all of her petty fabrications as truth.
And then, as they were walking in the direction of Gaspie's, a
restaurant in Wyandotte near Tenth which quite lately he had
learned was much better than Frissell's, Hortense took occasion to
pause and look in a number of windows, saying as she did so that
she certainly did wish that she could find a little coat that was
becoming to her--that the one she had on was getting worn and that
she must have another soon--a predicament which caused Clyde to
wonder at the time whether she was suggesting to him that he get
her one. Also whether it might not advance his cause with her if
he were to buy her a little jacket, since she needed it.
But Rubenstein's coming into view on this same side of the street,
its display window properly illuminated and the coat in full view,
Hortense paused as she had planned.
"Oh, do look at that darling little coat there," she began,
ecstatically, as though freshly arrested by the beauty of it, her
whole manner suggesting a first and unspoiled impression. "Oh,
isn't that the dearest, sweetest, cutest little thing you ever did
see?" she went on, her histrionic powers growing with her desire
for it. "Oh, just look at the collar, and those sleeves and those
pockets. Aren't they the snappiest things you ever saw? Couldn't
I just warm my little hands in those?" She glanced at Clyde out of
the tail of her eye to see if he was being properly impressed.
And he, aroused by her intense interest, surveyed the coat with not
a little curiosity. Unquestionably it was a pretty coat--very.
But, gee, what would a coat like that cost, anyhow? Could it be
that she was trying to interest him in the merits of a coat like
that in order that he might get it for her? Why, it must be a two-
hundred-dollar coat at least. He had no idea as to the value of
such things, anyhow. He certainly couldn't afford a coat like
that. And especially at this time when his mother was taking a
good portion of his extra cash for Esta. And yet something in her
manner seemed to bring it to him that that was exactly what she was
thinking. It chilled and almost numbed him at first.
And yet, as he now told himself sadly, if Hortense wanted it, she
could most certainly find some one who would get it for her--that
young Tom Keary, for instance, whom she had just been describing.
And, worse luck, she was just that kind of a girl. And if he could
not get it for her, some one else could and she would despise him
for not being able to do such things for her.
To his intense dismay and dissatisfaction she exclaimed:
"Oh, what wouldn't I give for a coat like that!" She had not
intended at the moment to put the matter so bluntly, for she wanted
to convey the thought that was deepest in her mind to Clyde
tactfully.
And Clyde, inexperienced as he was, and not subtle by any means,
was nevertheless quite able to gather the meaning of that. It
meant--it meant--for the moment he was not quite willing to
formulate to himself what it did mean. And now--now--if only he
had the price of that coat. He could feel that she was thinking of
some one certain way to get the coat. And yet how was he to manage
it? How? If he could only arrange to get this coat for her--if he
only could promise her that he would get it for her by a certain
date, say, if it didn't cost too much, then what? Did he have the
courage to suggest to her to-night, or to-morrow, say, after he had
learned the price of the coat, that if she would--why then--why
then, well, he would get her the coat or anything else she really
wanted. Only he must be sure that she was not really fooling him
as she was always doing in smaller ways. He wouldn't stand for
getting her the coat and then get nothing in return--never!
As he thought of it, he actually thrilled and trembled beside her.
And she, standing there and looking at the coat, was thinking that
unless he had sense enough now to get her this thing and to get
what she meant--how she intended to pay for it--well then, this was
the last. He need not think she was going to fool around with any
one who couldn't or wouldn't do that much for her. Never.
They resumed their walk toward Gaspie's. And throughout the
dinner, she talked of little else--how attractive the coat was, how
wonderful it would look on her.
"Believe me," she said at one point, defiantly, feeling that Clyde
was perhaps uncertain at the moment about his ability to buy it for
her, "I'm going to find some way to get that coat. I think, maybe,
that Rubenstein store would let me have it on time if I were to go
in there and see him about it, make a big enough payment down.
Another girl out of our store got a coat that way once," she lied
promptly, hoping thus to induce Clyde to assist her with it. But
Clyde, disturbed by the fear of some extraordinary cost in
connection with it, hesitated to say just what he would do. He
could not even guess the price of such a thing--it might cost two
or three hundred even--and he feared to obligate himself to do
something which later he might not be able to do.
"You don't know what they might want for that, do you?" he asked,
nervously, at the same time thinking if he made any cash gift to
her at this time without some guarantee on her part, what right
would he have to expect anything more in return than he had ever
received? He knew how she cajoled him into getting things for her
and then would not even let him kiss her. He flushed and churned a
little internally with resentment at the thought of how she seemed
to feel that she could play fast and loose with him. And yet, as
he now recalled, she had just said she would do anything for any
one who would get that coat for her--or nearly that.
"No-o," she hesitated at first, for the moment troubled as to
whether to give the exact price or something higher. For if she
asked for time, Mr. Rubenstein might want more. And yet if she
said much more, Clyde might not want to help her. "But I know it
wouldn't be more than a hundred and twenty-five. I wouldn't pay
more than that for it."
Clyde heaved a sigh of relief. After all, it wasn't two or three
hundred. He began to think now that if she could arrange to make
any reasonable down payment--say, fifty or sixty dollars--he might
manage to bring it together within the next two or three weeks
anyhow. But if the whole hundred and twenty-five were demanded at
once, Hortense would have to wait, and besides he would have to
know whether he was to be rewarded or not--definitely.
"That's a good idea, Hortense," he exclaimed without, however,
indicating in any way why it appealed to him so much. "Why don't
you do that? Why don't you find out first what they want for it,
and how much they want down? Maybe I could help you with it."
"Oh, won't that be just too wonderful!" Hortense clapped her
hands. "Oh, will you? Oh, won't that be just dandy? Now I just
know I can get that coat. I just know they'll let me have it, if I
talk to them right."
She was, as Clyde saw and feared, quite forgetting the fact that he
was the one who was making the coat possible, and now it would be
just as he thought. The fact that he was paying for it would be
taken for granted.
But a moment later, observing his glum face, she added: "Oh,
aren't you the sweetest, dearest thing, to help me in this way.
You just bet I won't forget this either. You just wait and see.
You won't be sorry. Now you just wait." Her eyes fairly snapped
with gayety and even generosity toward him.
He might be easy and young, but he wasn't mean, and she would
reward him, too, she now decided. Just as soon as she got the
coat, which must be in a week or two at the latest, she was going
to be very nice to him--do something for him. And to emphasize her
own thoughts and convey to him what she really meant, she allowed
her eyes to grow soft and swimming and to dwell on him promisingly--
a bit of romantic acting which caused him to become weak and
nervous. The gusto of her favor frightened him even a little, for
it suggested, as he fancied, a disturbing vitality which he might
not be able to match. He felt a little weak before her now--a
little cowardly--in the face of what he assumed her real affection
might mean.
Nevertheless, he now announced that if the coat did not cost more
than one hundred and twenty-five dollars, that sum to be broken
into one payment of twenty-five dollars down and two additional
sums of fifty dollars each, he could manage it. And she on her
part replied that she was going the very next day to see about it.
Mr. Rubenstein might be induced to let her have it at once on the
payment of twenty-five dollars down; if not that, then at the end
of the second week, when nearly all would be paid.
And then in real gratitude to Clyde she whispered to him, coming
out of the restaurant and purring like a cat, that she would never
forget this and that he would see--and that she would wear it for
him the very first time. If he were not working they might go
somewhere to dinner. Or, if not that, then she would have it
surely in time for the day of the proposed automobile ride which
he, or rather Hegglund, had suggested for the following Sunday, but
which might be postponed.
She suggested that they go to a certain dance hall, and there she
clung to him in the dances in a suggestive way and afterwards
hinted of a mood which made Clyde a little quivery and erratic.
He finally went home, dreaming of the day, satisfied that he would
have no trouble in bringing together the first payment, if it were
so much as fifty, even. For now, under the spur of this promise,
he proposed to borrow as much as twenty-five from either Ratterer
or Hegglund, and to repay it after the coat was paid for.
But, ah, the beautiful Hortense. The charm of her, the enormous,
compelling, weakening delight. And to think that at last, and
soon, she was to be his. It was, plainly, of such stuff as dreams
are made of--the unbelievable become real.
Chapter 16
True to her promise, the following day Hortense returned to Mr.
Rubenstein, and with all the cunning of her nature placed before
him, with many reservations, the nature of the dilemma which
confronted her. Could she, by any chance, have the coat for one
hundred and fifteen dollars on an easy payment plan? Mr.
Rubenstein's head forthwith began to wag a solemn negative. This
was not an easy payment store. If he wanted to do business that
way he could charge two hundred for the coat and easily get it.
"But I could pay as much as fifty dollars when I took the coat,"
argued Hortense.
"Very good. But who is to guarantee that I get the other sixty-
five, and when?"
"Next week twenty-five, and the week after that twenty five and the
next week after that fifteen."
"Of course. But supposin' the next day after you take the coat an
automobile runs you down and kills you. Then what? How do I get
my money?"
Now that was a poser. And there was really no way that she could
prove that any one would pay for the coat. And before that there
would have to be all the bother of making out a contract, and
getting some really responsible person--a banker, say--to endorse
it. No, no, this was not an easy payment house. This was a cash
house. That was why the coat was offered to her at one hundred and
fifteen, but not a dollar less. Not a dollar.
Mr. Rubenstein sighed and talked on. And finally Hortense asked
him if she could give him seventy-five dollars cash in hand, the
other forty to be paid in one week's time. Would he let her have
the coat then--to take home with her?
"But a week--a week--what is a week then?" argued Mr. Rubenstein.
"If you can bring me seventy-five next week or to-morrow, and forty
more in another week or ten days, why not wait a week and bring the
whole hundred and fifteen? Then the coat is yours and no bother.
Leave the coat. Come back to-morrow and pay me twenty-five or
thirty dollars on account and I take the coat out of the window and
