IV
A BOLD DASH AND A DISASTER
Mr. Feuerstein's evening was even more successful than his afternoon.Brauner was still grumbling. Mr. Feuerstein could not possibly beadjusted in his mind to his beloved ideals, his religion oflife--"Arbeit und Liebe und Heim." Still he was yielding and Hilda sawthe signs of it. She knew he was practically won over and was secretlyinclined to be proud that his daughter had made this exalted conquest.All men regard that which they do not know either with extravagant aweor with extravagant contempt. While Brauner had the universal humanfailing for attaching too much importance to the department of humanknowledge in which he was thoroughly at home, he had the Americanadmiration for learning, for literature, and instead of spelling themwith a very small "l," as "practical" men sometimes do with age andincreasing vanity, he spelled them with huge capitals, erecting theminto a position out of all proportion to their relative importance inthe life of the human animal.
Mr. Feuerstein had just enough knowledge to enable him to play uponthis weakness, this universal human susceptibility to the poison ofpretense. All doubt of success fled his mind, and he was free toindulge his vanity and his contempt for these simple, unpretendingpeople. "So vulgar!" he said to himself, as he left their house thatnight--he who knew how to do nothing of use or value. "It is a greatcondescension for me. Working people--ugh!"
As he strolled up town he was spending in fancy the income from atleast two, perhaps all three, flat-houses--"The shop's enough for theold people and that dumb ass of a brother. I'll elevate the family.Yes, I think I'll run away with Hilda to-morrow--that's the safestplan."
Otto had guessed close to the truth about Feuerstein's affairs. Theywere in a desperate tangle. He had been discharged from the stockcompany on Saturday night. He was worthless as an actor, and had thehostility of the management and of his associates. His landlady had gotthe news promptly from a boarder who paid in part by acting as a sortof mercantile agency for her in watching her very uncertain boarders.She had given him a week's notice, and had so arranged matters that ifhe fled he could not take his meager baggage. He was down toeighty-five cents of a borrowed dollar. He owed money everywhere insums ranging from five dollars to twenty-five cents. The most ofthese debts were in the form of half-dollar borrowings. He had begunhis New York career with loans of "five dollars until Thursday--I'm alittle pressed." Soon it became impossible for him to get more than adollar at a time even from the women, except an occasional windfallthrough a weak or ignorant new acquaintance. He clung tenaciously tothe fifty-cent basis--to go lower would cheapen him. But for the lasttwo weeks his regular levies had been of twenty-five cents, with not afew descents to ten and even five cents.
He reached Goerwitz's at ten o'clock and promenaded slowly through bothrooms twice. Just as he was leaving he espied an acquaintance who waslooking fiercely away from him as if saying: "I don't see you, and,damn you, don't you dare see me!" But Feuerstein advanced boldly.Twelve years of active membership in that band of "beats" which patrolsevery highway and byway and private way of civilization had thickenedand toughened his skin into a hide. "Good evening, Albers," he saidcordially, with a wave of the soft, light hat. "I see you have avacant place in your little circle. Thank you!" He assumed thatAlbers had invited him, took a chair from another table and seatedhimself. Social courage is one of the rarest forms of courage. Albersgrew red but did not dare insult such a fine-looking fellow who seemedso hearty and friendly. He surlily introduced Feuerstein to hisfriends--two women and two men. Feuerstein ordered a round of beerwith the air of a prince and without the slightest intention of payingfor it.
The young woman of the party was seated next to him. Even before hesat he recognized her as the daughter of Ganser, a rich brewer of theupper East Side. He had placed himself deliberately beside her, and heat once began advances. She showed at a glance that she was a silly,vain girl. Her face was fat and dull; she had thin, stringy hair. Shewas flabby and, in the lazy life to which the Gansers' wealth and thesilly customs of prosperous people condemned her, was already beginningto expand in the places where she could least afford it.
He made amorous eyes at her. He laughed enthusiastically at herfoolish speeches. He addressed his pompous platitudes exclusively toher. Within an hour he pressed her hand under the table and sigheddramatically. When she looked at him he started and rolled his greateyes dreamily away. Never before had she received attentions that werenot of the frankest and crudest practical nature. She was all in aflutter at having thus unexpectedly come upon appreciation of thebeauties and merits her mirror told her she possessed. When Mrs.Schoenberg, her aunt, rose to go, she gave Feuerstein a chance to sayin a low aside: "My queen! To-morrow at eleven--at Bloomingdale's."Her blush and smile told him she would be there.
All left except Feuerstein and a youth he had been watching out of thecorner of his eyes--young Dippel, son of the rich drug-store man.Feuerstein saw that Dippel was on the verge of collapse from too muchdrink. As he still had his eighty-five cents, he pressed Dippel todrink and, by paying, induced him to add four glasses of beer to hisalready top-heavy burden.
"Mus' go home," said Dippel at last, rising abruptly.
Feuerstein walked with him, taking his arm to steady him. "Let's haveone more," he said, drawing him into a saloon, gently pushing him to aseat at a table and ordering whisky. After the third large drink,Dippel became helpless and maudlin and began to overflow with generoussentiments. "I love you, Finkelstern, ol' man," he declared tearfully."They say you're a dead beat, but wha' d'I care?"
"Finkelstern," affecting drunkenness, shed tears on Dippel's shoulder,denied that he was a "beat" and swore that he loved Dippel like abrother. "You're my frien'," he said. "I know you'd trust me to anyamount."
Dippel took from his trousers pocket a roll of bills several inchesthick. Feuerstein thrilled and his eyes grew eloquent as he noted tensand twenties and at least one fifty. Slowly, and with exaggeratedcare, Dippel drew off a ten. "There y'are, ol' dead beat," he said."I'll stake you a ten. Lots more where that came from--soda-fountaincounter's reg'lar gol' mine."
In taking off the ten, he dropped a twenty. It fluttered to the floorand the soldier of fortune, the scorner of toil and toilers, slid hisfoot over it as swiftly and naturally as a true aristocrat alwayscovers an opportunity to get something somebody else has earned. Heput the ten in his pocket, when Dippel's eyes closed he stooped andretrieved the twenty with stealth--and skill. When the twenty washidden, and the small but typical operation in high finance wascomplete, he shook Dippel. "I say, old man," he said, "hadn't youbetter let me keep your money for you? I'm afraid you'll lose it."
Dippel slowly unclosed one eye and gave him a look of glassy cunning.He again drew the roll from his pocket, and, clasping it tightly in hisfist, waved it under Feuerstein's nose. As he did it, he vented adrunken chuckle. "Soda fountain's gol' mine, Fishenspiel," he saidthickly. "No, you don't! I can watch my own roll." He winked andchuckled.
"Sorry to disappoint you, Fishy," he went on, with a leer. Then he tookoff another ten and handed it to Feuerstein. "Good fel', Fishy," hemumbled, "'f y' are a dead beat."
Feuerstein added the ten to the thirty and ordered more whisky. Dippeltried to doze, but he would not permit it. "He mustn't sleep any of itoff," he thought.
When the whisky came Dippel shook himself together and started up."G'-night," he said, trying to stand, look and talk straight. "Don'tf'rget, y'owe me ten dollarses--no, two ten dollarses."
"Oh, sit down," coaxed Feuerstein, taking him by the arm. "It's earlyyet."
Dippel shook him off with much dignity. "Don' touch me!" he growled."I know what I'm 'bout. I'm goin' home." Then to himself, but aloud:"Dippy, you're too full f'r utterance--you mus' shake this beat."Again to Feuerstein:
"G'night, Mr. Funkelshine--g'night. Sit there till I'm gone."
Feuerstein rose to follow and Dippel struck at him. The waiter seizedeach by the shoulder and
flung them through the swinging doors. Dippelfell in a heap on the sidewalk, but Feuerstein succeeded in keeping tohis feet. He went to the assistance of Dippel.
"Don't touch me," shouted Dippel.
"Police! Police!"
Feuerstein looked fearfully round, gave Dippel a kick and hurried away.When he glanced back from a safe distance Dippel was waving to and froon his wobbling legs, talking to a cabman.
"Close-fisted devil," muttered Feuerstein. "He couldn't forget hismoney even when he was drunk. What good is money to a brute like him?"And he gave a sniff of contempt for the vulgarity and meanness ofDippel and his kind.
Early the next morning he established a modus vivendi with his landladyby giving her ten dollars on account. He had an elaborate breakfast atTerrace Garden and went to Bloomingdale's, arriving at elevenprecisely. Lena Ganser was already there, pretending to shop at acounter in full view of the appointed place. They went to TerraceGarden and sat in the Stube. He at once opened up his sudden romanticpassion. "All night I have walked the streets," he said, "dreaming ofyou." When he had fully informed her of the state of his love-maddenedmind toward her, he went on to his most congenial topic--himself.
"You have heard of the Freiherr von Feuerstein, the great soldier?" heasked her.
Lena had never heard of him. But she did not know who was GermanEmperor or even who was President of the United States. She,therefore, had to be extremely cautious. She nodded assent.
"My uncle," said Feuerstein impressively. His eyes became reflective."Strange!" he exclaimed in tender accents, soliloquizing--"strangewhere romance will lead us. Instead of remaining at home, in ease andluxury, here am I--an actor--a wanderer--roaming the earth in search ofthe heart that Heaven intended should be wedded to mine." He fixed hisgaze upon Lena's fat face with the expression that had made Hilda'ssoul fall down and worship. "And--I have found it!" He drew in andexpelled a vast breath. "At last! My soul is at rest."
Lena tried to look serious in imitation of him, but that was not herway of expressing emotion. She made a brief struggle, then collapsedinto her own mode--a vain, delighted, giggling laugh.
"Why do you smile?" he asked sternly. He revolted from this discord tohis symphony.
She sobered with a frightened, deprecating look. "Don't mind me," shepleaded. "Pa says I'm a fool. I was laughing because I'm happy.You're such a sweet, romantic dream of a man."
Feuerstein was not particular either as to the quality or as to thesource of his vanity-food. He accepted Lena's offering with acondescending nod and smile. They talked, or, rather, he talked andshe listened and giggled until lunch time. As the room began to fill,they left and he walked home with her.
"You can come in," she said. "Pa won't be home to lunch to-day and malets me do as I please."
The Gansers lived in East Eighty-first Street, in the regulationtwenty-five-foot brownstone house. And within, also, it was of afamiliar New York type. It was the home of the rich, vain ignoramuswho has not taste enough to know that those to whom he has trusted fortaste have shockingly betrayed him. Ganser had begun as a teamster fora brewery and had grown rapidly rich late in life. He happened to beelected president of a big Verein and so had got the notion that he wasa person of importance and attainments beyond his fellows. Too coarseand narrow and ignorant to appreciate the elevated ideals of democracy,he reverted to the European vulgarities of rank and show. He decidedthat he owed it to himself and his family to live in the estate of"high folks." He bought a house in what was for him anultra-fashionable quarter, and called for bids to furnish it in thelatest style. The results were even more regardless of taste than ofexpense--carpets that fought with curtains, pictures that quarreledwith their frames and with the walls, upholstery so bellicose that itseemed perilous to sit upon.
But Feuerstein was as impressed as the Gansers had been the first timethey beheld the gorgeousness of their palace. He looked about with aproprietary sense--"I'll marry this little idiot," he said to himself."Maybe my nest won't be downy, and maybe I won't lie at my ease in it!"
He met Mrs. Ganser and had the opportunity to see just what Lena wouldlook and be twenty years thence. Mrs. Ganser moved with greatreluctance and difficulty. She did not speak unless forced and thenher voice seemed to have felt its way up feebly through a long andpainfully narrow passage, emerging thin, low and fainting. When shesat--or, rather, AS she sat, for she was always sitting--her mountainof soft flesh seemed to be slowly collapsing upon and around the chairlike a lump of dough on a mold. Her only interest in life wasdisclosed when she was settled and settling at the luncheon table. Sheused her knife more than her fork and her fingers more than either.Feuerstein left soon after luncheon, lingering only long enough to giveLena a theatrical embrace. "Well, I'll not spend much time with thosewomen, once I'm married," he reflected as he went down the steps; andhe thought of Hilda and sighed.
The next day but one he met Lena in the edge of the park and, aftergloomy silence, shot with strange piercing looks that made her feel asif she were the heroine of a book, he burst forth with a demand forimmediate marriage.
"Forty-eight hours of torment!" he cried. "I shall not leave you againuntil you are securely mine."
He proceeded to drop vague, adroit hints of the perils that beset afascinating actor's life, of the women that had come and gone in hislife. And Lena, all a-tremble with jealous anxiety, was in the parlorof a Lutheran parsonage, with the minister reading out of the blackbook, before she was quite aware that she and her cyclonic adorer werenot still promenading near the green-house in the park. "Now," saidFeuerstein briskly, as they were once more in the open air, "we'll goto your father."
"Goodness gracious, no," protested Lena. "You don't know him--he'll becrazy--just crazy! We must wait till he finds out about you--thenhe'll be very proud. He wanted a son-in-law of high social standing--agentleman."
"We will go home, I tell you," replied Feuerstein firmly--his tone wasnow the tone of the master. All the sentiment was out of it and allthe hardness in it.
Lena felt the change without understanding it. "I bet you, pa'll makeyou wish you'd taken my advice," she said sullenly.
But Feuerstein led her home. They went up stairs where Mrs. Ganser wasseated, looking stupidly at a new bonnet as she turned it slowly roundon one of her cushion-like hands. Feuerstein went to her and kissedher on the hang of her cheek. "Mother!" he said in a deep, movingvoice.
Mrs. Ganser blinked and looked helplessly at Lena.
"I'm married, ma," explained Lena.
"It's Mr. Feuerstein." And she gave her silly laugh.
Mrs. Ganser grew slowly pale. "Your father," she at last succeeded inarticulating. "Ach!" She lifted her arm, thick as a piano leg, andresumed the study of her new bonnet.
"Won't you welcome me, mother?" asked Feuerstein, his tone and attitudedignified appeal.
Mrs. Ganser shook her huge head vaguely. "See Peter," was all she said.
They went down stairs and waited, Lena silent, Feuerstein pacing theroom and rehearsing, now aloud, now to himself, the scene he wouldenact with his father-in-law. Peter was in a frightful humor thatevening. His only boy, who spent his mornings in sleep, his afternoonsin speeding horses and his evenings in carousal, had come down upon himfor ten thousand dollars to settle a gambling debt. Peter was willingthat his son should be a gentleman and should conduct himself like one.But he had worked too hard for his money not to wince as a plain man atwhat he endured and even courted as a seeker after position for thehouse of Ganser. He had hoped to be free to vent his ill-humor athome. He was therefore irritated by the discovery that an outsider wasthere to check him. As he came in he gave Feuerstein a look which saidplainly:
"And who are you, and how long are you going to intrude yourself?"
But Feuerstein, absorbed in the role he had so carefully thought out,did not note his unconscious father-in-law's face. He extended bothhis hands and advanced grandly upon fat, round Peter. "M
y father!" heexclaimed in his classic German. "Forgive my unseemly haste in pluckingwithout your permission the beautiful flower I found within reach."
Peter stepped back and gave a hoarse grunt of astonishment. His redface became redder as he glared, first at Feuerstein, then at Lena."What lunatic is this you've got here, daughter?" he demanded.
"My father!" repeated Feuerstein, drawing Lena to him.
Ganser's mouth opened and shut slowly several times and his whiskersbristled. "Is this fellow telling the truth?" he asked Lena in a tonethat made her shiver and shrink away from her husband.
She began to cry. "He made me do it, pa," she whined. "I--I--"
"Go to your mother," shouted Ganser, pointing his pudgy fingertremulously toward the door. "Move!"
Lena, drying her eyes with her sleeve, fled. Feuerstein became asickly white. When she had disappeared, Ganser looked at him withcruel little eyes that sparkled. Feuerstein quailed. It was full halfa minute before Ganser spoke. Then he went up to Feuerstein, stood ontiptoe and, waving his arms frantically above his head, yelled into hisface "Rindsvieh!"--as contemptuous an insult as one German can fling atanother.
"She is my lawful wife," said Feuerstein with an attempt at his pose.
"Get the house aus--quick!--aus!--gleich!--Lump!--I call the police!"
"I demand my wife!" exclaimed Feuerstein.
Ganser ran to the front door and opened it. "Out!" he shrieked. "Ifyou don't, I have you taken in when the police come the block down.This is my house! Rindsvieh!"
Feuerstein caught up his soft hat from the hall table and hurried out.As he passed, Ganser tried to kick him but failed ludicrously becausehis short, thick leg would not reach. At the bottom of the stepsFeuerstein turned and waved his fists wildly. Ganser waved his fists atFeuerstein and, shaking his head so violently that his hanging cheeksflapped back and forth, bellowed:
"Rindsvieh! Dreck!"
Then he rushed in and slammed the door.