Produced by Judy Boss
STORIES OF A WESTERN TOWN
By Octave Thanet
CONTENTS
The Besetment of Kurt Lieders
The Face of Failure
Tommy and Thomas
Mother Emeritus
An Assisted Providence
Harry Lossing
THE BESETMENT OF KURT LIEDERS
A SILVER rime glistened all down the street.
There was a drabble of dead leaves on the sidewalk which was of wood,and on the roadway which was of macadam and stiff mud. The wind blewsharply, for it was a December day and only six in the morning. Nor werethe houses high enough to furnish any independent bulwark; they werelow, wooden dwellings, the tallest a bare two stories in height, themajority only one story. But they were in good painting and repair,and most of them had a homely gayety of geraniums or bouvardias inthe windows. The house on the corner was the tall house. It occupied alarger yard than its neighbors; and there were lace curtains tied withblue ribbons for the windows in the right hand front room. The door ofthis house swung back with a crash, and a woman darted out. She ran atthe top of her speed to the little yellow house farther down the street.Her blue calico gown clung about her stout figure and fluttered behindher, revealing her blue woollen stockings and felt slippers. Her grayhead was bare. As she ran tears rolled down her cheeks and she wrung herhands.
"Oh! Oh! Oh! Oh, lieber Herr Je!" One near would have heard her sob, intoo distracted agitation to heed the motorneer of the passing street-carwho stared after her at the risk of his car, or the tousled heads behinda few curtains. She did not stop until she almost fell against the doorof the yellow house. Her frantic knocking was answered by a young womanin a light and artless costume of a quilted petticoat and a red flannelsack.
"Oh, gracious goodness! Mrs. Lieders!" cried she.
Thekla Lieders rather staggered than walked into the room and fell backon the black haircloth sofa.
"There, there, there," said the young woman while she patted the broadshoulders heaving between sobs and short breath, "what is it? The houseaint afire?"
"Oh, no, oh, Mrs. Olsen, he has done it again!" She wailed in sobs, likea child.
"Done it? Done what?" exclaimed Mrs. Olsen, then her face paled. "Oh, mygracious, you DON'T mean he's killed himself------"
"Yes, he's killed himself, again."
"And he's dead?" asked the other in an awed tone.
Mrs. Lieders gulped down her tears. "Oh, not so bad as that, I cut himdown, he was up in the garret and I sus--suspected him and I run upand--oh, he was there, a choking, and he was so mad! He swore at meand--he kicked me when I--I says: 'Kurt, what are you doing of? Holdon till I git a knife,' I says--for his hands was just dangling at hisside; and he says nottings cause he couldn't, he was most gone, and Iknowed I wouldn't have time to git no knife but I saw it was a rope waspretty bad worn and so--so I just run and jumped and ketched it in myhands, and being I'm so fleshy it couldn't stand no more and it broke!And, oh! he--he kicked me when I was try to come near to git the ropeoff his neck; and so soon like he could git his breath he swore atme----"
"And you a helping of him! Just listen to that!" cried the hearerindignantly.
"So I come here for to git you and Mr. Olsen to help me git him downstairs, 'cause he is too heavy for me to lift, and he is so mad he won'twalk down himself."
"Yes, yes, of course. I'll call Carl. Carl! dost thou hear? come! Butdid you dare to leave him Mrs. Lieders?" Part of the time she spokein English, part of the time in her own tongue, gliding from one toanother, and neither party observing the transition.
Mrs. Lieders wiped her eyes, saying: "Oh, yes, Danke schon, I aintafraid 'cause I tied him with the rope, righd good, so he don't got nochance to move. He was make faces at me all the time I tied him." At theremembrance, the tears welled anew.
Mrs. Olsen, a little bright tinted woman with a nose too small for herbig blue eyes and chubby cheeks, quivered with indignant sympathy.
"Well, I did nefer hear of sooch a mean acting man!" seemed to her themost natural expression; but the wife fired, at once.
"No, he is not a mean man," she cried, "no, Freda Olsen, he is not amean man at all! There aint nowhere a better man than my man; and CarlOlsen, he knows that. Kurt, he always buys a whole ham and a wholebarrel of flour, and never less than a dollar of sugar at a time! And henever gits drunk nor he never gives me any bad talk. It was only he gotthis wanting to kill himself on him, sometimes."
"Well, I guess I'll go put on my things," said Mrs. Olsen, wiselydeclining to defend her position. "You set right still and warmyourself, and we'll be back in a minute."
Indeed, it was hardly more than that time before both Carl Olsen, whoworked in the same furniture factory as Kurt Lieders, and was a comelyand after-witted giant, appeared with Mrs. Olsen ready for the street.
He nodded at Mrs. Lieders and made a gurgling noise in his throat,expected to convey sympathy. Then, he coughed and said that he wasready, and they started.
Feeling further expression demanded, Mrs. Olsen asked: "How many timeshas he done it, Mrs. Lieders?"
Mrs. Lieders was trotting along, her anxious eyes on the house in thedistance, especially on the garret windows. "Three times," she answered,not removing her eyes; "onct he tooked Rough on Rats and I found it outand I put some apple butter in the place of it, and he kept wonderingand wondering how he didn't feel notings, and after awhile I got him offthe notion, that time. He wasn't mad at me; he just said: 'Well, I do itsome other time. You see!' but he promised to wait till I got the springhouse cleaning over, so he could shake the carpets for me; and by andby he got feeling better. He was mad at the boss and that made himfeel bad. The next time it was the same, that time he jumped into thecistern----"
"Yes, I know," said Olsen, with a half grin, "I pulled him out."
"It was the razor he wanted," the wife continued, "and when he come homeand says he was going to leave the shop and he aint never going backthere, and gets out his razor and sharps it, I knowed what that meantand I told him I got to have some bluing and wouldn't he go and get it?and he says, 'You won't git another husband run so free on your errands,Thekla,' and I says I don't want none; and when he was gone I hid therazor and he couldn't find it, but that didn't mad him, he didn't saynotings; and when I went to git the supper he walked out in the yard andjumped into the cistern, and I heard the splash and looked in and therehe was trying to git his head under, and I called, 'For the Lord's sake,papa! For the Lord's sake!' just like that. And I fished for him withthe pole that stood there and he was sorry and caught hold of it andgive in, and I rested the pole agin the side cause I wasn't strongenough to h'ist him out; and he held on whilest I run for help----"
"And I got the ladder and he clum out," said the giant with another grinof recollection, "he was awful wet!"
"That was a month ago," said the wife, solemnly.
"He sharped the razor onct," said Mrs. Lieders, "but he said it wasfor to shave him, and I got him to promise to let the barber shave himsometime, instead. Here, Mrs. Olsen, you go righd in, the door aintlocked."
By this time they were at the house door. They passed in and ascendedthe stairs to the second story, then climbed a narrow, ladder-likeflight to the garret. Involuntarily they had paused to listen at thefoot of the stairs, but it was very quiet, not a sound of movement, notso much as the sigh of a man breathing. The wife turned pale and putboth her shaking hands on her heart.
"Guess he's trying to scare us by keeping quiet!" said Olsen,cheerfully, and he stumbled up the stairs, in advance. "Thunder!" heexclaimed, on the last stair, "well, we aint any too quick."
In fact Carl had nearly fallen over the master of the house, thate
nterprising self-destroyer having contrived, pinioned as he was, toroll over to the very brink of the stair well, with the plain intent tobreak his neck by plunging headlong.
In the dim light all that they could see was a small, old man whosewhite hair was strung in wisps over his purple face, whose deep set eyesglared like the eyes of a rat in a trap, and whose very elbows and kneesexpressed in their cramps the fury of an outraged soul. When he saw thenew-comers he shut his eyes and his jaws.
"Well, Mr. Lieders," said Olsen, mildly, "I guess you better gitdown-stairs. Kin I help you up?"
"No," said Lieders.
"Will I give you an arm to lean on?"
"No."
"Won't you go at all, Mr. Lieders?"
"No."
Olsen shook his head. "I hate to trouble you, Mr. Lieders," said he inhis slow, undecided tones, "please excuse me," with which he gathered upthe little man into his strong arms and slung him over his shoulders, aseasily as he would sling a sack of meal. It was a vent for Mrs. Olsen'sbubbling indignation to make a dive for Lieders's heels and hold them,while Carl backed down-stairs. But Lieders did not make the leastresistance. He allowed them to carry him into the room indicated byhis wife, and to lay him bound on the plump feather bed. It was not hisbedroom but the sacred "spare room," and the bed was part of its luxury.Thekla ran in, first, to remove the embroidered pillow shams and thedazzling, silken "crazy quilt" that was her choicest possession.
Safely in the bed, Lieders opened his eyes and looked from one face tothe other, his lip curling. "You can't keep me this way all the time. Ican do it in spite of you," said he.
"Well, I think you had ought to be ashamed of yourself, Mr. Lieders!"Mrs. Olsen burst out, in a tremble between wrath and exertion, shakingher little, plump fist at him.
But the placid Carl only nodded, as in sympathy, saying, "Well, I amsorry you feel so bad, Mr. Lieders. I guess we got to go now."
Mrs. Olsen looked as if she would have liked to exhort Lieders further;but she shrugged her shoulders and followed her husband in silence.
"I wished you'd stay to breakfast, now you're here," Thekla urged out ofher imperious hospitality; had Kurt been lying there dead, the next mealmust have been offered, just the same. "I know, you aint got time to gitMr. Olsen his breakfast, Freda, before he has got to go to the shops,and my tea-kettle is boiling now, and the coffee'll be ready--I GUESSyou had better stay."
But Mrs. Olsen seconded her husband's denial, and there was nothingleft Thekla but to see them to the door. No sooner did she return thanLieders spoke. "Aint you going to take off them ropes?" said he.
"Not till you promise you won't do it."
Silence. Thekla, brushing a few tears from her eyes, scrutinized theropes again, before she walked heavily out of the room. She turned thekey in the door.
Directly a savory steam floated through the hall and pierced the cracksabout the door; then Thekla's footsteps returned; they echoed over theuncarpeted boards.
She had brought his breakfast, cooked with the best of her homely skill.The pork chops that he liked had been fried, there was a napkin on thetray, and the coffee was in the best gilt cup and saucer.
"Here's your breakfast, papa," said she, trying to smile.
"I don't want no breakfast," said he.
She waited, holding the tray, and wistfully eying him.
"Take it 'way," said he, "I won't touch it if you stand till doomsday,lessen you untie me!"
"I'll untie your arm, papa, one arm; you kin eat that way."
"Not lessen you untie all of me, I won't touch a bite."
"You know why I won't untie you, papa."
"Starving will kill as dead as hanging," was Lieders's orphic responseto this.
Thekla sighed and went away, leaving the tray on the table. It may bethat she hoped the sight of food might stir his stomach to rebel againsthis dogged will; if so she was disappointed; half an hour went by duringwhich the statue under the bedclothes remained without so much as aquiver.
Then the old woman returned. "Aint you awful cramped and stiff, papa?"
"Yes," said the statue.
"Will you promise not to do yourself a mischief, if I untie you?"
"No."
Thekla groaned, while the tears started to her red eyelids. "But you'llgit awful tired and it will hurt you if you don't get the ropes off,soon, papa!"
"I know that!"
He closed his eyes again, to be the less hindered from dropping backinto his distempered musings. Thekla took a seat by his side and satsilent as he. Slowly the natural pallor returned to the high foreheadand sharp features. They were delicate features and there was an air ofrefinement, of thought, about Lieders's whole person, as differentas possible from the robust comeliness of his wife. With its keensensitive-ness and its undefined melancholy it was a dreamer's face. Onemeets such faces, sometimes, in incongruous places and wonders what theymean. In fact, Kurt Lieders, head cabinet maker in the furniture factoryof Lossing & Co., was an artist. He was, also, an incomparable artisanand the most exacting foreman in the shops. Thirty years ago he hadfirst taken wages from the senior Lossing. He had watched a modestindustry climb up to a great business, nor was he all at sea in his ownestimate of his share in the firm's success. Lieders's workmanship hadan honesty, an infinite patience of detail, a daring skill of designthat came to be sought and commanded its own price. The Lossing "artfurniture" did not slander the name. No sculptor ever wrought his soulinto marble with a more unflinching conscience or a purer joy in hiswork than this wood-carver dreaming over sideboards and bedsteads.Unluckily, Lieders had the wrong side of the gift as well as the right;was full of whims and crotchets, and as unpractical as the Christianmartyrs. He openly defied expense, and he would have no trifling withthe laws of art. To make after orders was an insult to Kurt. He madewhat was best for the customer; if the latter had not the sense to seeit he was a fool and a pig, and some one else should work for him, notKurt Lieders, BEGEHR!
Young Lossing had learned the business practically. He was taught thedetails by his father's best workman; and a mighty hard and strictmaster the best workman proved! Lossing did not dream that the crabbedold tyrant who rarely praised him, who made him go over, for thetwentieth time, any imperfect piece of work, who exacted all the artisanvirtues to the last inch, was secretly proud of him. Yet, in fact, thethread of romance in Lieders's prosaic life was his idolatry of theLossing Manufacturing Co. It is hard to tell whether it was the Lossingsor that intangible quantity, the firm, the business, that he worshipped.Worship he did, however, the one or the other, perhaps the both of them,though in the peevish and erratic manner of the savage who sometimesgrovels to his idols and sometimes kicks them.
Nobody guessed what a blow it was to Kurt when, a year ago, the elderLossing had died. Even his wife did not connect his sullen melancholyand his gibes at the younger generation, with the crape on HarryLossing's hat. He would not go to the funeral, but worked savagely, allalone by himself, in the shop, the whole afternoon--breaking down atlast at the sight of a carved panel over which Lossing and he had oncedisputed. The desolate loneliness of the old came to him when his oldmaster was gone. He loved the young man, but the old man was of his owngeneration; he had "known how things ought to be and he could understandwithout talking." Lieders began to be on the lookout for signs of waningconsideration, to watch his own eyes and hands, drearily wondering whenthey would begin to play him false; at the same time because he wasunhappy he was ten times as exacting and peremptory and critical withthe younger workmen, and ten times as insolently independent with theyoung master. Often enough, Lossing was exasperated to the point oftaking the old man at his word and telling him to go if he would, butevery time the chain of long habit, a real respect for such faithfulservice, and a keen admiration for Kurt's matchless skill in his craft,had held him back. He prided himself on keeping his word; for thatreason he was warier of using it. So he would compromise by giving thedomineering old fellow a "good, stiff rowing." Once, he coupled t
hiswith a threat, if they could not get along decently they would betterpart! Lieders had answered not a word; he had given Lossing a queerglance and turned on his heel. He went home and bought some poison onthe way. "The old man is gone and the young feller don't want the oldcrank round, no more," he said to himself. "Thekla, I guess I make hertroubles, too; I'll git out!"
That was the beginning of his tampering with suicide. Thekla, who didnot have the same opinion of the "trouble," had interfered. He hadmarried Thekla to have someone to keep a warm fireside for him, but shewas an ignorant creature who never could be made to understand aboutcarving. He felt sorry for her when the baby died, the only child theyever had; he was sorrier than he expected to be on his own account, too,for it was an ugly little creature, only four days old, and very red andwrinkled; but he never thought of confiding his own griefs or trialsto her. Now, it made him angry to have that stupid Thekla keep him ina world where he did not wish to stay. If the next day Lossing had notremembered how his father valued Lieders, and made an excuse to halfapologize to him, I fear Thekla's stratagems would have done littlegood.
The next experience was cut out of the same piece of cloth. He hadrelented, he had allowed his wife to save him; but he was angry insecret. Then came the day when open disobedience to Lossing's orders hadsnapped the last thread of Harry's patience. To Lieders's aggrieved "Ifyou ain't satisfied with my work, Mr. Lossing, I kin quit," the answerhad come instantly, "Very well, Lieders, I'm sorry to lose you, but wecan't have two bosses here: you can go to the desk." And when Lieders ina blind stab of temper had growled a prophecy that Lossing would regretit, Lossing had stabbed in turn: "Maybe, but it will be a cold day whenI ask you to come back." And he had gone off without so much as a wordof regret. The old workman had packed up his tools, the pet tools thatno one was ever permitted to touch, and crammed his arms into his coatand walked out of the place where he had worked so long, not a mansaying a word. Lieders didn't reflect that they knew nothing of thequarrel. He glowered at them and went away sore at heart. We make agreat mistake when we suppose that it is only the affectionatethat desire affection; sulky and ill-conditioned souls often have apassionate longing for the very feelings that they repel. Lieders was awomanish, sensitive creature under the surly mask, and he was cut to thequick by his comrades' apathy. "There ain't no place for old men in thisworld," he thought, "there's them boys I done my best to make do a goodjob, and some of 'em I've worked overtime to help; and not one of 'emhas got as much as a good-by in him for me!"
But he did not think of going to poor Thekla for comfort, he went tohis grim dreams. "I git my property all straight for Thekla, and thenI quit," said he. Perhaps he gave himself a reprieve unconsciously,thinking that something might happen to save him from himself. Nothinghappened. None of the "boys" came to see him, except Carl Olsen, thevery stupidest man in the shop, who put Lieders beside himself fiftytimes a day. The other men were sorry that Lieders had gone, having agenuine workman's admiration for his skill, and a sort of undergroundliking for the unreasonable old man because he was so absolutely honestand "a fellow could always tell where to find him." But they were shy,they were afraid he would take their pity in bad part, they "waited awhile."
Carl, honest soul, stood about in Lieders's workshop, kicking theshavings with his heels for half an hour, and grinned sheepishly,and was told what a worthless, scamping, bragging lot the "boys" atLossing's were, and said he guessed he had got to go home now; and sodeparted, unwitting that his presence had been a consolation. Mrs. Olsenasked Carl what Lieders said; Carl answered simply, "Say, Freda, thatman feels terrible bad."
Meanwhile Thekla seemed easily satisfied. She made no outcry as Liedershad dreaded, over his leaving the shop.
"Well, then, papa, you don't need git up so early in the morning nomore, if you aint going to the shop," was her only comment; and Liedersdespised the mind of woman more than ever.
But that evening, while Lieders was down town (occupied, had she knownit, with a codicil to his will), she went over to the Olsens and foundout all Carl could tell her about the trouble in the shop. And it wasshe that made the excuse of marketing to go out the next day, thatshe might see the rich widow on the hill who was talking about a chinacloset, and Judge Trevor, who had asked the price of a mantel, and Mr.Martin, who had looked at sideboards (all this information came fromhonest Carl); and who proposed to them that they order such furnitureof the best cabinet-maker in the country, now setting up on his ownaccount. He, simple as a baby for all his doggedness, thought thatthey came because of his fame as a workman, and felt a glow of pride,particularly as (having been prepared by the wife, who said, "You see itdon't make so much difference with my Kurt 'bout de prize, if so he canget the furniture like he wants it, and he always know of the best inthe old country") they all were duly humble. He accepted a few ordersand went to work with a will; he would show them what the old mancould do. But it was only a temporary gleam; in a little while he grewhomesick for the shop, for the sawdust floor and the familiar smellof oil, and the picture of Lossing flitting in and out. He missed thecareless young workmen at whom he had grumbled, he missed the whir ofmachinery, and the consciousness of rush and hurry accented by the carson the track outside. In short, he missed the feeling of being part ofa great whole. At home, in his cosey little improvised shop, there wasnone to dispute him, but there was none to obey him either. He grewdeathly tired of it all. He got into the habit of walking around theshops at night, prowling about his old haunts like a cat. Once the nightwatchman saw him. The next day there was a second watchman engaged.And Olsen told him very kindly, meaning only to warn him, that he wassuspected to be there for no good purpose. Lieders confirmed a lurkingsuspicion of the good Carl's own, by the clouding of his face. Yet hewould have chopped his hand off rather than have lifted it against theshop.
That was Tuesday night, this was Wednesday morning.
The memory of it all, the cruel sense of injustice, returned with suchpoignant force that Lieders groaned aloud.
Instantly, Thekla was bending over him. He did not know whether to laughat her or to swear, for she began fumbling at the ropes, half sobbing."Yes, I knowed they was hurting you, papa; I'm going to loose one arm.Then I put it back again and loose the other. Please don't be bad!"
He made no resistance and she was as good as her word. She unbound andbound him in sections, as it were; he watching her with a morose smile.
Then she left the room, but only to return with some hot coffee.Lieders twisted his head away. "No," said he, "I don't eat none of thatbreakfast, not if you make fresh coffee all the morning; I feel like Idon't eat never no more on earth."
Thekla knew that the obstinate nature that she tempted was proof againsttemptation; if Kurt chose to starve, starve he would with food at hiselbow.
"Oh, papa," she cried, helplessly, "what IS the matter with you?"
"Just dying is the matter with me, Thekla. If I can't die one way I kinanother. Now Thekla, I want you to quit crying and listen. After I'mgone you go to the boss, young Mr. Lossing--but I always called himHarry because he learned his trade of me, Thekla, but he don't think ofthat now--and you tell him old Lieders that worked for him thirty yearsis dead, but he didn't hold no hard feelings, he knowed he done wrong'bout that mantel. Mind you tell him."
"Yes, papa," said Thekla, which was a surprise to Kurt; he had dreadeda weak flood of tears and protestations. But there were no tears, noprotestations, only a long look at him and a contraction of the eyebrowsas if Thekla were trying to think of something that eluded her. Sheplaced the coffee on the tray beside the other breakfast. For a whilethe room was very still. Lieders could not see the look of resolve thatfinally smoothed the perplexed lines out of his wife's kind, simple oldface. She rose. "Kurt," she said, "I don't guess you remember this isour wedding-day; it was this day, eighteen year we was married."
"So!" said Lieders, "well, I was a bad bargain to you, Thekla; afteryou nursed your father that was a cripple for twenty years, I thought itwou
ld be easy with me; but I was a bad bargain."
"The Lord knows best about that," said Thekla, simply, "be it how itbe, you are the only man I ever had or will have, and I don't like youstarve yourself. Papa, say you don't kill yourself, to-day, and dat youwill eat your breakfast!"
"Yes," Lieders repeated in German, "a bad bargain for thee, that issure. But thou hast been a good bargain for me. Here! I promise. Notthis day. Give me the coffee."
He had seasons, all the morning, of wondering over his meekness, andhis agreement to be tied up again, at night. But still, what did aday matter? a man humors women's notions; and starving was so tedious.Between whiles he elaborated a scheme to attain his end. How easy tooutwit the silly Thekla! His eyes shone, as he hid the little, sharpknife up his cuff. "Let her tie me!" says Lieders, "I keep my word.To-morrow I be out of this. He won't git a man like me, pretty soon!"
Thekla went about her daily tasks, with her every-day air; but, now andagain, that same pucker of thought returned to her forehead; and, morethan once, Lieders saw her stand over some dish, poising her spoon inair, too abstracted to notice his cynical observation.
The dinner was more elaborate than common, and Thekla had broached abottle of her currant wine. She gravely drank Lieders's health. "Andmany good days, papa," she said.
Lieders felt a queer movement of pity. After the table was cleared,he helped his wife to wash and wipe the dishes as his custom was of aSunday or holiday. He wiped dishes as he did everything, neatly, slowly,with a careful deliberation. Not until the dishes were put away and thecouple were seated, did Thekla speak.
"Kurt," she said, "I got to talk to you."
An inarticulate groan and a glance at the door from Lieders. "I just gotto, papa. It aint righd for you to do the way you been doing for so longtime; efery little whiles you try to kill yourself; no, papa, that aintrighd!"
Kurt, who had gotten out his pencils and compasses and other drawingtools, grunted: "I got to look at my work, Thekla, now; I am too busy totalk."
"No, Kurt, no, papa"--the hands holding the blue apron that she wasembroidering with white linen began to tremble; Lieders had not theleast idea what a strain it was on this reticent, slow of speech womanwho had stood in awe of him for eighteen years, to discuss the horrorof her life; but he could not help marking her agitation. She went on,desperately: "Yes, papa, I got to talk it oud with you. You had oughtto listen, 'cause I always been a good wife to you and nefer refused younotings. No."
"Well, I aint saying I done it 'cause you been bad to me; everybodyknows we aint had no trouble."
"But everybody what don't know us, when they read how you tried to killyourself in the papers, they think it was me. That always is so. And nowI never can any more sleep nights, for you is always maybe git up anddo something to yourself. So now, I got to talk to you, papa. Papa, howcould you done so?"
Lieders twisted his feet under the rungs of his chair; he opened hismouth, but only to shut it again with a click of his teeth.
"I got my mind made up, papa. I tought and I tought. I know WHY you doneit; you done it 'cause you and the boss was mad at each other. The bosshadn't no righd to let you go------"
"Yes, he had, I madded him first; I was a fool. Of course I knowed morethan him 'bout the work, but I hadn't no right to go against him. Theboss is all right."
"Yes, papa, I got my mind made up"--like most sluggish spirits there wasan immense momentum about Thekla's mind, once get it fairly started itwas not to be diverted--"you never killed yourself before you used togit mad at the boss. You was afraid he would send you away; and now youhave sent yourself away you don't want to live, 'cause you do not knowhow you can git along without the shop. But you want to get back, youwant to get back more as you want to kill yourself. Yes, papa, I know,I know where you did used to go, nights. Now"--she changed her speechunconsciously to the tongue of her youth--"it is not fair, it is notfair to me that thou shouldst treat me like that, thou dost belong tome, also; so I say, my Kurt, wilt thou make a bargain with me? If Ishall get thee back thy place wilt thou promise me never to kill thyselfany more?"
Lieders had not once looked up at her during the slow, difficultsentences with their half choked articulation; but he was experiencingsome strange emotions, and one of them was a novel respect for his wife.All he said was: "'Taint no use talking. I won't never ask him to takeme back, once."
"Well, you aint asking of him. _I_ ask him. I try to git you back,once!"
"I tell you, it aint no use; I know the boss, he aint going to beletting womans talk him over; no, he's a good man, he knows how to workhis business himself!"
"But would you promise me, Kurt?"
Lieders's eyes blurred with a mild and dreamy mist; he sighed softly."Thekla, you can't see how it is. It is like you are tied up, if I don'tcan do that; if I can then it is always that I am free, free to go, freeto stay. And for you, Thekla, it is the same."
Thekla's mild eyes flashed. "I don't believe you would like it so youwake up in the morning and find ME hanging up in the kitchen by theclothes-line!"
Lieders had the air of one considering deeply. Then he gave Thekla oneof the surprises of her life; he rose from his chair, he walked in hisshuffling, unheeled slippers across the room to where the old woman sat;he put one arm on the back of the chair and stiffly bent over her andkissed her.
"Lieber Herr Je!" gasped Thekla.
"Then I shall go, too, pretty quick, that is all, mamma," said he.
Thekla wiped her eyes. A little pause fell between them, and in it theymay have both remembered vanished, half-forgotten days when life hadlooked differently to them, when they had never thought to sit bytheir own fireside and discuss suicide. The husband spoke first; witha reluctant, half-shamed smile, "Thekla, I tell you what, I make thebargain with you; you git me back that place, I don't do it again, 'lessyou let me; you don't git me back that place, you don't say notings tome."
The apron dropped from the withered, brown hands to the floor. Againthere was silence; but not for long; ghastly as was the alternative, theproposal offered a chance to escape from the terror that was sapping herheart.
"How long will you give me, papa?" said she.
"I give you a week," said he.
Thekla rose and went to the door; as she opened it a fierce gust of windslashed her like a knife, and Lieders exclaimed, fretfully, "what youopening that door for, Thekla, letting in the wind? I'm so cold, now,right by the fire, I most can't draw. We got to keep a fire in thebase-burner good, all night, or the plants will freeze."
Thekla said confusedly that something sounded like a cat crying. "Andyou talking like that it frightened me; maybe I was wrong to make suchbargains------"
"Then don't make it," said Lieders, curtly, "I aint asking you."
But Thekla drew a long breath and straightened herself, saying, "Yes, Imake it, papa, I make it."
"Well, put another stick of wood in the stove, will you, now you areup?" said Lieders, shrugging his shoulders, "or I'll freeze in spite ofyou! It seems to me it grows colder every minute."
But all that day he was unusually gentle with Thekla. He talked of hisyouth and the struggles of the early days of the firm; he related adozen tales of young Lossing, all illustrating some admirable trait thathe certainly had not praised at the time. Never had he so opened hisheart in regard to his own ideals of art, his own ambitions. And Theklalistened, not always comprehending but always sympathizing; she wasalmost like a comrade, Kurt thought afterward.
The next morning, he was surprised to have her appear equipped for thestreet, although it was bitterly cold. She wore her garb of ceremony, ablack alpaca gown, with a white crocheted collar neatly turned over thelong black, broadcloth cloak in which she had taken pride for the lastfive years; and her quilted black silk bonnet was on her gray head. Whenshe put up her foot to don her warm overshoes Kurt saw that the stoutankles were encased in white stockings. This was the last touch."Gracious, Thekla," cried Kurt, "are you going to market this day? It isthe colde
st day this winter!"
"Oh, I don't mind," replied Thekla, nervously. Then she had wrapped ascarf about her and gone out while he was getting into his own coat, andconning a proffer to go in her stead.
"Oh, well, Thekla she aint such a fool like she looks!" he observed tothe cat, "say, pussy, WAS it you out yestiddy?"
The cat only blinked her yellow eyes and purred. She knew that she hadnot been out, last night. Not any better than her mistress, however, whoat this moment was hailing a street-car.
The street-car did not land her anywhere near a market; it whirled herpast the lines of low wooden houses into the big brick shops with theirarched windows and terra-cotta ornaments that showed the ambitiousarchitecture of a growing Western town, past these into mills andfactories and smoke-stained chimneys. Here, she stopped. An acquaintancewould hardly have recognized her, her ruddy cheeks had grown so pale.But she trotted on to the great building on the corner from whence camea low, incessant buzz. She went into the first door and ran against CarlOlsen. "Carl, I got to see Mr. Lossing," said she breathlessly.
"There ain't noding----"
"No, Gott sei dank', but I got to see him."
It was not Carl's way to ask questions; he promptly showed her theoffice and she entered. She had not seen young Harry Lossing half adozen times; and, now, her anxious eyes wandered from one dapper figureat the high desks, to another, until Lossing advanced to her.
He was a handsome young man, she thought, and he had kind eyes, but theyhardened at her first timid sentence: "I am Mrs. Lieders, I come aboutmy man----"
"Will you walk in here, Mrs. Lieders?" said Lossing. His voice was likethe ice on the window-panes.
She followed him into a little room. He shut the door.
Declining the chair that he pushed toward her she stood in the centre ofthe room, looking at him with the pleading eyes of a child.
"Mr. Lossing, will you please save my Kurt from killing himself?"
"What do you mean?" Lossing's voice had not thawed.
"It is for you that he will kill himself, Mr. Lossing. This is the dirdtime he has done it. It is because he is so lonesome now, your father isdied and he thinks that you forget, and he has worked so hard for you,but he thinks that you forget. He was never tell me till yesterday; andthen--it was--it was because I would not let him hang himself----"
"Hang himself?" stammered Lossing, "you don't mean----"
"Yes, he was hang himself, but I cut him, no I broke him down," saidThekla, accurate in all the disorder of her spirits; and forthwith, withmany tremors, but clearly, she told the story of Kurt's despair. Shetold, as Lieders never would have known how to tell, even had his pridelet him, all the man's devotion for the business, all his personalattachment to the firm; she told of his gloom after the elder Lossingdied, "for he was think there was no one in this town such good manand so smart like your fader, Mr. Lossing, no, and he would set allthe evening and try to draw and make the lines all wrong, and, then, hewould drow the papers in the fire and go and walk outside and he say, 'Ican't do nothing righd no more now the old man's died; they don't haveno use for me at the shop, pretty quick!' and that make him feel awfulbad!" She told of his homesick wanderings about the shops by night;"but he was better as a watchman, he wouldn't hurt it for the world! Hetelled me how you was hide his dinner-pail onct for a joke, and put in apiece of your pie, and how you climbed on the roof with the hose whenit was afire. And he telled me if he shall die I shall tell you thathe ain't got no hard feelings, but you didn't know how that mantel hadought to be, so he done it right the other way, but he hadn't no righdto talk to you like he done, nohow, and you was all righd to send himaway, but you might a shaked hands, and none of the boys never saidnothing nor none of them never come to see him, 'cept Carl Olsen, andthat make him feel awful bad, too! And when he feels so bad he don't nomore want to live, so I make him promise if I git him back he never tryto kill himself again. Oh, Mr. Lossing, please don't let my man die!"
Bewildered and more touched than he cared to feel, himself, Lossingstill made a feeble stand for discipline. "I don't see how Lieders canexpect me to take him back again," he began.
"He aint expecting you, Mr. Lossing, it's ME!"
"But didn't Lieders tell you I told him I would never take him back?"
"No, sir, no, Mr. Lossing, it was not that, it was you said it wouldbe a cold day that you would take him back; and it was git so coldyesterday, so I think, 'Now it would be a cold day to-morrow and Mr.Lossing he can take Kurt back.' And it IS the most coldest day thisyear!"
Lossing burst into a laugh, perhaps he was glad to have the Westernsense of humor come to the rescue of his compassion. "Well, it was acold day for you to come all this way for nothing," said he. "You gohome and tell Lieders to report to-morrow."
Kurt's manner of receiving the news was characteristic. He snortedin disgust: "Well, I did think he had more sand than to give in to awoman!" But after he heard the whole story he chuckled: "Yes, it wasthat way he said, and he must do like he said; but that was a funny wayyou done, Thekla. Say, mamma, yesterday, was you look out for the cat orto find how cold it been?"
"Never you mind, papa," said Thekla, "you remember what you promised ifI git you back?"
Lieders's eyes grew dull; he flung his arms out, with a long sigh. "No,I don't forget, I will keep my promise, but--it is like the handcuffs,Thekla, it is like the handcuffs!" In a second, however, he added, in achanged tone, "But thou art a kind jailer, mamma, more like a comrade.And no, it was not fair to thee--I know that now, Thekla."