had left Jersey City in a box car and had been making his way ever
since as best he could. And like Clyde, also, he was insanely
eager for all the pleasures which he had imagined he saw swirling
around him, and was for prosecuting adventures in every direction,
lacking, however, the nervous fear of consequence which
characterized Clyde. Also he had a friend, a youth by the name of
Sparser, somewhat older than himself, who was chauffeur to a
wealthy citizen of Kansas City, and who occasionally managed to
purloin a car and so accommodate Hegglund in the matter of brief
outings here and there; which courtesy, unconventional and
dishonest though it might be, still caused Hegglund to feel that he
was a wonderful fellow and of much more importance than some of
these others, and to lend him in their eyes a luster which had
little of the reality which it suggested to them.
Not being as attractive as Doyle, it was not so easy for him to win
the attention of girls, and those he did succeed in interesting
were not of the same charm or import by any means. Yet he was
inordinately proud of such contacts as he could effect and not a
little given to boasting in regard to them, a thing which Clyde
took with more faith than would most, being of less experience.
For this reason Hegglund liked Clyde, almost from the very first,
sensing in him perhaps a pleased and willing auditor.
So, finding Clyde on the bench beside him from time to time, he had
proceeded to continue his instructions. Kansas City was a fine
place to be if you knew how to live. He had worked in other
cities--Buffalo, Cleveland, Detroit, St. Louis--before he came
here, but he had not liked any of them any better, principally--
which was a fact which he did not trouble to point out at the time--
because he had not done as well in those places as he had here.
He had been a dishwasher, car-cleaner, plumber's helper and several
other things before finally, in Buffalo, he had been inducted into
the hotel business. And then a youth, working there, but who was
now no longer here, had persuaded him to come on to Kansas City.
But here:
"Say--de tips in dis hotel is as big as you'll git anywhere, I know
dat. An' what's more, dey's nice people workin' here. You do your
bit by dem and dey'll do right by you. I been here now over a year
an' I ain't got no complaint. Dat guy Squires is all right if you
don't cause him no trouble. He's hard, but he's got to look out
for hisself, too--dat's natural. But he don't fire nobody unless
he's got a reason. I know dat, too. And as for de rest dere's no
trouble. An' when your work's troo, your time's your own. Dese
fellows here are good sports, all o' dem. Dey're no four-flushers
an' no tightwads, eider. Whenever dere's anyting on--a good time
or sumpin' like dat, dey're on--nearly all of 'em. An' dey don't
mooch or grouch in case tings don't work out right, neider. I know
dat, cause I been wit 'em now, lots o' times."
He gave Clyde the impression that these youths were all the best of
friends--close--all but Doyle, who was a little standoffish, but
not coldly so. "He's got too many women chasin' him, dat's all."
Also that they went here and there together on occasion--to a dance
hall, a dinner, a certain gambling joint down near the river, a
certain pleasure resort--"Kate Sweeney's"--where were some peaches
of girls--and so on and so forth, a world of such information as
had never previously been poured into Clyde's ear, and that set him
meditating, dreaming, doubting, worrying and questioning as to the
wisdom, charm, delight to be found in all this--also the
permissibility of it in so far as he was concerned. For had he not
been otherwise instructed in regard to all this all his life long?
There was a great thrill and yet a great question involved in all
to which he was now listening so attentively.
Again there was Thomas Ratterer, who was of a type which at first
glance, one would have said, could scarcely prove either inimical
or dangerous to any of the others. He was not more than five feet
four, plump, with black hair and olive skin, and with an eye that
was as limpid as water and as genial as could be. He, too, as
Clyde learned after a time, was of a nondescript family, and so had
profited by no social or financial advantages of any kind. But he
had a way, and was liked by all of these youths--so much so that he
was consulted about nearly everything. A native of Wichita,
recently moved to Kansas City, he and his sister were the principal
support of a widowed mother. During their earlier and formative
years, both had seen their very good-natured and sympathetic
mother, of whom they were honestly fond, spurned and abused by a
faithless husband. There had been times when they were quite
without food. On more than one occasion they had been ejected for
non-payment of rent. None too continuously Tommy and his sister
had been maintained in various public schools. Finally, at the age
of fourteen he had decamped to Kansas City, where he had secured
different odd jobs, until he succeeded in connecting himself with
the Green-Davidson, and was later joined by his mother and sister
who had removed from Wichita to Kansas City to be with him.
But even more than by the luxury of the hotel or these youths, whom
swiftly and yet surely he was beginning to decipher, Clyde was
impressed by the downpour of small change that was tumbling in upon
him and making a small lump in his right-hand pants pocket--dimes,
nickels, quarters and half-dollars even, which increased and
increased even on the first day until by nine o'clock he already
had over four dollars in his pocket, and by twelve, at which hour
he went off duty, he had over six and a half--as much as previously
he had earned in a week.
And of all this, as he then knew, he need only hand Mr. Squires
one--no more, Hegglund had said--and the rest, five dollars and a
half, for one evening's interesting--yes, delightful and
fascinating--work, belonged to himself. He could scarcely believe
it. It seemed fantastic, Aladdinish, really. Nevertheless, at
twelve, exactly, of that first day a gong had sounded somewhere--a
shuffle of feet had been heard and three boys had appeared--one to
take Barnes' place at the desk, the other two to answer calls. And
at the command of Barnes, the eight who were present were ordered
to rise, right dress and march away. And in the hall outside, and
just as he was leaving, Clyde approached Mr. Squires and handed him
a dollar in silver. "That's right," Mr. Squires remarked. No
more. Then, Clyde, along with the others, descended to his locker,
changed his clothes and walked out into the darkened streets, a
sense of luck and a sense of responsibility as to future luck so
thrilling him as to make him rather tremulous--giddy, even.
To think that now, at last, he actually had such a place. To think
that he could earn this much every day, maybe. He began to walk
toward his home, his first thought being that he must sleep well
and so be fit for his duties in the morning. But thinking that he
would not need to return to the hotel before 11:30 the next day, he
wandered into an all-night beanery to have a cup of coffee and some
pie. And now all he was thinking was that he would only need to
work from noon until six, when he should be free until the
following morning at six. And then he would make more money.
A lot of it to spend on himself.
Chapter 8
The thing that most interested Clyde at first was how, if at all,
he was to keep the major portion of all this money he was making
for himself. For ever since he had been working and earning money,
it had been assumed that he would contribute a fair portion of all
that he received--at least three-fourths of the smaller salaries he
had received up to this time--toward the upkeep of the home. But
now, if he announced that he was receiving at least twenty-five
dollars a week and more--and this entirely apart from the salary of
fifteen a month and board--his parents would assuredly expect him
to pay ten or twelve.
But so long had he been haunted by the desire to make himself as
attractive looking as any other well-dressed boy that, now that he
had the opportunity, he could not resist the temptation to equip
himself first and as speedily as possible. Accordingly, he decided
to say to his mother that all of the tips he received aggregated no
more than a dollar a day. And, in order to give himself greater
freedom of action in the matter of disposing of his spare time, he
announced that frequently, in addition to the long hours demanded
of him every other day, he was expected to take the place of other
boys who were sick or set to doing other things. And also, he
explained that the management demanded of all boys that they look
well outside as well as inside the hotel. He could not long be
seen coming to the hotel in the clothes that he now wore. Mr.
Squires, he said, had hinted as much. But, as if to soften the
blow, one of the boys at the hotel had told him of a place where he
could procure quite all the things that he needed on time.
And so unsophisticated was his mother in these matters that she
believed him.
But that was not all. He was now daily in contact with a type of
youth who, because of his larger experience with the world and with
the luxuries and vices of such a life as this, had already been
inducted into certain forms of libertinism and vice even which up
to this time were entirely foreign to Clyde's knowledge and set him
agape with wonder and at first with even a timorous distaste.
Thus, as Hegglund had pointed out, a certain percentage of this
group, of which Clyde was now one, made common cause in connection
with quite regular adventures which usually followed their monthly
pay night. These adventures, according to their moods and their
cash at the time, led them usually either to one of two rather
famous and not too respectable all-night restaurants. In groups,
as he gathered by degrees from hearing them talk, they were pleased
to indulge in occasional late showy suppers with drinks, after
which they were wont to go to either some flashy dance hall of the
downtown section to pick up a girl, or that failing as a source of
group interest, to visit some notorious--or as they would have
deemed it reputed--brothel, very frequently camouflaged as a
boarding house, where for much less than the amount of cash in
their possession they could, as they often boasted, "have any girl
in the house." And here, of course, because of their known youth,
ignorance, liberality, and uniform geniality and good looks, they
were made much of, as a rule, being made most welcome by the
various madames and girls of these places who sought, for
commercial reasons of course, to interest them to come again.
And so starved had been Clyde's life up to this time and so eager
was he for almost any form of pleasure, that from the first he
listened with all too eager ears to any account of anything that
spelled adventure or pleasure. Not that he approved of these types
of adventures. As a matter of fact at first it offended and
depressed him, seeing as he did that it ran counter to all he had
heard and been told to believe these many years. Nevertheless so
sharp a change and relief from the dreary and repressed work in
which he had been brought up was it, that he could not help
thinking of all this with an itch for the variety and color it
seemed to suggest. He listened sympathetically and eagerly, even
while at times he was mentally disapproving of what he heard. And
seeing him so sympathetic and genial, first one and then another of
these youths made overtures to him to go here, there or the other
place--to a show, a restaurant, one of their homes, where a card
game might be indulged in by two or three of them, or even to one
of the shameless houses, contact with which Clyde at first
resolutely refused. But by degrees, becoming familiar with
Hegglund and Ratterer, both of whom he liked very much, and being
invited by them to a joy-night supper--a "blow-out" as they termed
it, at Frissell's--he decided to go.
"There's going to be another one of our montly blow-outs to-morrow
night, Clyde, around at Frissell's," Ratterer had said to him.
"Don't you want to come along? You haven't been yet."
By this time, Clyde, having acclimated himself to this caloric
atmosphere, was by no means as dubious as he was at first. For by
now, in imitation of Doyle, whom he had studied most carefully and
to great advantage, he had outfitted himself with a new brown suit,
cap, overcoat, socks, stickpin and shoes as near like those of his
mentor as possible. And the costume became him well--excellently
well--so much so that he was far more attractive than he had ever
been in his life, and now, not only his parents, but his younger
brother and sister, were not a little astonished and even amazed by
the change.
How could Clyde have come by all this grandeur so speedily? How
much could all this that he wore now have cost? Was he not
hypothecating more of his future earnings for this temporary
grandeur than was really wise? He might need it in the future.
The other children needed things, too. And was the moral and
spiritual atmosphere of a place that made him work such long hours
and kept him out so late every day, and for so little pay, just the
place to work?
To all of which, he had replied, rather artfully for him, that it
was all for the best, he was not working too hard. His clothes
were not too fine, by any means--his mother should see some of the
other boys. He was not spending too much money. And, anyhow, he
had a long while in which to pay for all he had bought.
But now, as to this supper. That was a different matter, even to
