IV
IN GAY BOHEMIA
The office door opened with a rush and shut with a bang. In the littlewhirlwind caused by the draught it made, the papers on our desks rose,swirled in the air, and played tag upon the floor. Everybody but mestopped work and glanced up to nod or frown at the woman who had comein. I did not stop. I knew too well who it was. There was only oneperson on the _Searchlight_ whose entrance caused that sort ofcommotion. Besides, I had heard the whisper of silk petticoats, andsmelled the strong odor of _peau d'Espagne_ which always preceded MissMollie Merk to her desk.
Mollie Merk was Mr. Hurd's most sensational woman reporter--the onewho went up in air-ships and described her sensations, or purposelyfell in front of trolley-cars to prove that the fenders would notwork. She was what she herself called a "breezy writer," but herbreeziness did not exhaust itself in her literature. She was a breezyperson generally--small and thin and dark, and so full of vitalitythat she always arrived anywhere as if she had been projected by someviolent mechanical force. She spoke very rapidly, in short explosivesentences. She openly despised the young and made epigrams about themto show her scorn. Before I had been on the _Searchlight_ a week sheannounced that I would be endurable if I had a redeeming vice; and ourfellow-reporters went around quoting that remark and grinning over it.After I had written a few "big stories" her manner changed to one ofopen wonder, and she began to call me "the convent kid" and give meadvice, addressing me as if I were an infant class. When she was inthe same room with me I felt that she was mentally patting my head. Iappreciated her kind heart and her value to the _Searchlight_; but Idid not really like Mollie Merk.
Usually when she catapulted into the office she exchanged a few shoutsof greeting with "the boys" and then went directly to her desk, whereshe dropped into her chair like a bag of ballast from a balloon, andbegan to write with a pen that scratched louder than any other. Butto-night she followed the _peau d'Espagne_ across the room to me andclapped her hand on my shoulder.
"'Lo, Iverson," she said, in her loud and breathless way. "Still onthe job? 'Can' it. I'm your vesper-bell."
I felt myself instinctively drop away from her hand. In her greetingshe had done two things I particularly disliked. She had called me"Iverson"--it was a vulgar habit of hers to address other women bytheir last names--and she had spoken of something connected with myconvent life, which was too sacred to be joked about. Still, I knewshe meant well. I looked up at her and tried to smile, but all I coulddo was to drag one side of my mouth down to my chin in humbleimitation of Mr. Hurd when he is talking to a member of the staff.Mollie Merk seemed to appreciate it. She roared, and her hand clappedmy shoulder again.
"Cheer up, Iverson," she said. "Worst's yet to come." And she added,all in one breath, "I'm-going-to-give-a-party-for-you!"
I dropped my pen and turned in my chair to stare at her.
"Been meaning to do it right along," she jerked out. "Couldn't pull itoff. To-night's my chance. Nothing to do. Fell down on my story.Hurrah! Give you a Bohemian dinner. Show you life outside thecloister. Purple pasts. Crimson presents. All the rest of it. Makeyour hair curl and your eyes stick out. Come on!"
Her words gave me a thrill, on which I immediately put down the sternbrake of conscience. As a student of life I wanted to see and learnall I could--especially as I intended to be a nun in three years andwould have no further chances. But was I justified in deliberatelyturning aside to seek such knowledge, when in the broad path of mydaily duty I was already acquiring more than one person couldunderstand? Also, would it be right to accept Mollie Merk'shospitality when I did not approve of her? I decided that it wouldnot; and I tried to think of some polite and gracious way of decliningher invitation, but the right words did not come. I had no socialengagements, for I was still a stranger in New York, and Mollie Merkknew it; and I had not learned to tell lies with unstudied ease.
Finally an inspiration came to me. I could make an engagement and thenkeep it. I thanked Miss Merk and told her I intended to dine with myclassmates Maudie Joyce and Kittie James. They had come to New Yorkthe day before with Kittie's sister, Mrs. George Morgan; and as theywere only to stay a week, I felt that I must see all I could of them.As a matter of fact, I had dined with them the previous night, butthat did not matter. I knew they would be glad to see me, even twonights in succession.
Mollie Merk was interested as soon as I spoke of them. "Classmates?"she yelped. "Two more convent kids?"
I admitted coldly that Maudie and Kittie had been graduated with mefrom St. Catharine's the month before.
"All right," said Mollie Merk. "Have 'em with us. Great. More conventkids the merrier. Invite their chaperon, too. I'll get Mrs. Hoppen.Hen-party of six."
I hesitated. Mrs. George Morgan would hardly approve of Mollie Merk,but she would find her a new type. Mrs. Morgan liked new types andstrange experiences, and had seen many of them, for her husband was awealthy Chicago man who wrote plays. Moreover, Mrs. Hoppen would bewith us, and Mrs. Morgan would surely like her. Mrs. Hoppen was thecity editor's star woman reporter, and very old--older even thanMollie Merk, who was at least twenty-five. Mrs. Hoppen, I had heard,was over thirty. She was rather bitter and blase at times, but usuallyshe had charming manners. I told Miss Merk I would get Mrs. Morgan onthe telephone and ask if she and the girls could come, and within fiveminutes I was in the _Searchlight's_ telephone-booth calling up herhotel.
It was Maudie Joyce who answered, and she uttered a cry of joy when Itold her of Mollie Merk's invitation. She said Mrs. Morgan had gone tobed with a sick-headache, and that she and Kittie James had been justabout sick, too, over the prospect of a whole evening shut up alone inhotel rooms when so much Life was going to waste in the outer world.Then she turned from the telephone and repeated Mollie's message. Iobserved that she did not say anything about the dinner being Bohemianand making our eyes stick out, though I had faithfully repeated ourhostess's words. Almost immediately her voice, breathless with joy,came over the wire again, telling me that she and Kittie could dinewith us, and that Mrs. Morgan was very grateful to Miss Merk forsaving her young friends from a lonely evening.
The girls were waiting when we three reached the hotel, and my heartswelled with pride as I introduced them. Mrs. Hoppen and Mollie Merkand I were, of course, in our office clothes, as we had not gone hometo dress; but Kittie and Maudie were beautifully gowned for theevening. They were both as charming as Helleu drawings, and in thesame exquisitely finished way; and their manners were so perfect thatI could almost hear Mollie Merk trying to climb up to them. By thetime the five of us had crowded into the taxi-cab, with the littlebustle and confusion the effort caused, everybody liked everybodyelse. Maudie and Kittie were very proud of being with three newspaperwomen, and showed it; and they were so fascinated by Mollie Merk thatthey could not keep their eyes off her.
Of course, too, they were quivering with delight over the throngs, thenoise, the brilliant electric signs, the excitement on every side, andthe feeling that they were in the midst of it. Even I, though I hadbeen in New York for a whole month and was a reporter at that, felt anoccasional thrill. But as I leaned back and watched the faces of mytwo friends, I realized that, though we three were about the same age,in experience I was already a thousand years in advance of them. Somany things had happened in the past month--things we girls at St.Catharine's had never heard of--things I could not even mention toKittie and Maudie. I felt that I had lost a great deal which theystill retained, and I expected a deep sadness to settle upon my soul.But someway it did not.
The cab stopped at a restaurant ornamented by a huge electric sign,and we got out and walked into a marble-lined vestibule. Mollie Merkand Mrs. Hoppen led the way, and I followed them with an easy,accustomed step. To dine at a great New York restaurant was just asnovel to me as it was to Maudie and Kittie, but they did not knowthis, and I sincerely hoped they would not find it out.
A maid took our wraps in the anteroom, and sent us in single filealong a narrow hall to enter a huge ro
om at the end of it, ablaze withelectric light, and full of smoke and music and little tables withpeople sitting at them. All the tables were clustered close togetheraround the four sides of the room, leaving a big square space in thecenter, roped off by a heavy red cord. It was empty, and I wonderedwhat it was for. Above there was a balcony with more tables and peopleat them. There was laughter everywhere, some of it quite loud, andmany voices were speaking in many tongues. Above it all the band atthe head of the room poured forth gay music. I could hear Maudie andKittie draw quick breaths of delight, and my own feet hardly touchedthe ground as we followed the head waiter to the table reserved forus.
There were bottles and glasses on most of the tables, and even thewomen were helping to empty them. But I knew that many good peopledrink wine in moderation, so I was not greatly shocked. After all,this was New York--Bohemia, a new world. We were in it, and I at leastwas of it. The reflection sent a thrill down my spine--the kind thatgoes all the way. I felt almost wicked, and strangely happy.
When we were seated at our table Mollie Merk asked if we would havecocktails. She spoke with a very casual air, and we tried to declinein the same manner, though I am sure that Maudie and Kittie felt theirhair rise then and there. Even my own scalp prickled. I explained inan offhand way that we never drank anything but water, so Mollie Merkordered some Apollinaris for us, and two cocktails "with a dash ofabsinthe in them" for Mrs. Hoppen and herself. For five minutesafterward Kittie and Maudie and I did not speak. We were stunned bythe mere sound of that fatal word.
Mollie Merk seemed to understand our emotions, for she began to tellus about her first experience with absinthe, years ago, in Paris, whenshe drank a large gobletful as if it had been a glass of lemonade. Shesaid it was the amount a Frenchman would spend an entire afternoonover, sipping it a few drops at a time at a little sidewalk table infront of some cafe; but that she gulped it down in a few swallows, andthen had just enough intelligence left to get into a cab and tell the_cocher_ to drive her around for three hours. She said she hadordered the man to keep to the Boulevards, but that he had taken herthrough the Milky Way and to the places where the morning stars sangtogether, and that she had distinctly heard them sing. Afterward, sheadded, she had traveled for centuries through space, visiting the mostimportant objects in the universe and admiring color effects, foreverything was pulsing with purple and gold and amethyst lights.
As a student of Life I admired the unerring instinct with which MollieMerk had chosen her subject when she started in to make our eyes stickout. But if this was the beginning, what would be the end? At lastMaudie Joyce, who had always had the manner of a woman of the world,even when she was a school-girl, pulled herself together and askedsmilingly if Miss Merk's cocktail had swept her into space this time.Mollie Merk sighed and said, alas, no; those were the joys ofyesteryear, and that the most a cocktail could do for her at presentwas to make her forget her depression after she had received a letterfrom home. Then a calcium light blazed from above, making a brilliantcircle on the floor inside the red ropes. The musicians struck intowild Oriental music, and two mulattoes came into the limelight andbegan to dance.
They were a man and a woman, very young, and in evening dress. Theypadded into the ring like two black panthers, the woman first,circling slowly around in time to the music, which was soft andrather monotonous, and the man revolving slowly after her. At firstshe seemed not to see him, but to be dancing by herself, for the loveof it, and there was beauty in every movement she made. I forgot allabout the dinner, the people, my friends and my hostess, and leanedforward, watching.
Suddenly she looked over her shoulder and discovered the man. Shequickened her steps a little, and the musicians played faster, whileshe circled in and out, as if through the tangled growths of somedense jungle. I could almost see it springing up around her and hearthe sound of animals moving near her--wild things like herself. Shewas very sure of herself as she writhed and twisted, and she hadreason to be; for, however fast the man came toward her, she wasalways a little in advance of him. The music swelled into a suddencrash of sound as he gave a leap and caught her. But she dipped andslipped out of his hands and whirled away again, sometimes crouchingclose to the ground, sometimes revolving around him with a mockingsmile. Once, as he leaped, she bent and let him go over her; again hecaught her, but a second time she slipped away.
At last the violins sent forth only a queer, muted, barbaric hum,broken by a crash of cymbals as the man made his final spring andcaptured the woman, this time holding her fast. There was a deliriouswhirl of sound and motion while he held her up and performed a kindof jungle _pas seule_ before he carried her away. The music grewslower and slower and finally stopped; but for an instant or two afterthe dancers had disappeared it seemed to me that I could still see theman bearing his burden steadily through strange tropical growths andunder trees whose poisonous branches caught at him as he passed.
I turned and looked at Maudie and Kittie. They were sitting verystill, with their eyes fixed on the spot where the dancers had been. Iknew what they were thinking, and they knew I knew; but when theycaught my glance they both began to speak at once, and eagerly, as ifto reassure me. Maudie said the woman's clothes were in excellenttaste, and Kittie murmured that such violent exercise must be veryreducing. Kittie is extremely plump, and she loves good food so muchthat she is growing plumper all the time. In her interest in the danceshe had forgotten her dinner, and now the waiter was taking away aportion of salmon with a delicious green sauce before she had eateneven a mouthful of it. That agonizing sight immediately divertedKittie's mind, and I was glad.
Mollie Merk met my startled eyes and grinned. "Cheer up, Iverson!" sheexclaimed. "Worst's yet to come, you know."
I managed to smile back at her. This was Life, and we were seeing it,but I began to feel that we had seen enough for an evening. I tried toremind myself again that we were in Bohemia, but under the look inMaudie's eyes I felt my face grow hot. It was I who had brought herand Kittie here--I and my new friends. What would Sister Irmingardethink of me if she knew?
I had little time for such mournful reflections. There was a stir onthe musicians' platform as all the players but one laid aside theirinstruments and filed out through a side door. This one, the firstviolin, came down on the floor and walked about among the diners,stopping at different tables. Every time he stopped, I discovered, itwas to play to some particular woman who had caught his eye. He wastall and good-looking in his gipsy costume, with a wide red sasharound his waist, a white-silk shirt open at the neck, short velvettrousers, and a black-velvet coat. Under his dark mustache his teethlooked very white as he smiled, and he smiled often, or sighed andmade eyes at the women as he played to them.
I glanced at Kittie and Maudie. They were watching the gipsy withabsorbed interest.
He must have caught Maudie's eye, for suddenly he crossed to our tableand began to play to her--turning occasionally to Kittie and me for asecond only, while his violin shrieked and moaned and sighed and sangin a way that made our hearts turn over. I could see by their faces,which were pink with excitement, and by their shining eyes, whatemotions the moment held for my young friends, and certainly it wasthrilling enough for three girls just out of school to have a geniusplaying to them alone in one of the gayest restaurants in New York.
For a few moments I was delighted with the gipsy and his music. Then Ibegan to notice the way he looked at us, alternately half-closing andslowly opening his eyes as he put his soul into his music. He seemedto be immensely interested in Maudie, and played to her much longerthan he did to any one else. Several times he came so close to herthat I was afraid he would touch her.
The other musicians had returned by this time, and were playing anaccompaniment to the violinist, who had swung into a Brahms waltz.When he had finished the first movement he stopped playing, tucked hisviolin under his arm, and held out his hand to Maudie, with his mostbrilliant smile. She turned first red, then white, and shrank awayfrom him in her chair, while instin
ctively I, too, threw out my handsto ward him off. He turned to me and took them at once, holding themtight and trying to pull me to my feet. My heart stopped beating as Iresisted his drag on my wrists, and I looked at Mollie Merk and Mrs.Hoppen, expecting them to spring up and interfere. But for a momentthey both sat regarding the scene as indifferently as if they were ata play.
At last Mrs. Hoppen shook her head at the musician with her boredlittle smile, and he bowed and shrugged his shoulders and went off toa table some distance away, where he began to play to another woman.
Mollie Merk leaned toward me. "Say, Iverson," she exclaimed, in a tonethat must have reached the diners in the balcony, "what's up? You'reas white as your copy-paper. Which is it--indigestion or cold feet?"
Her words pulled me together. It was natural that I should look pale,for by this time I was frightened--not for myself, but for Kittie andMaudie. They, I could see, though embarrassed and ill at ease, werenot yet frightened. I knew why. _I_ was there, and they trusted me.They were sure that nothing could harm them while I was with them. Iset my teeth in the determination that nothing should.
More entertainers came into the space shut off by the red cords. Everymoment the room grew closer and hotter, the smoke around us becamethicker, the atmosphere of excitement increased. The faces of Kittieand Maudie began to float before me in a kind of mist. I decided thatif I ever got them out into a clean world again I would have nothingleft to pray for. But I knew I could not wipe the evening and itsincidents from their memories, and that knowledge was the hardestthing I had to bear.
In desperation I turned from the dancers and began to watch thediners. The way these accepted the dancing and the actions of thegipsy had shown me at once what they were, and now they were becominggayer every minute and more noisy. Some of them got up occasionallyand whirled about together on the dancing-floor. Many sangaccompaniments to the violins. These men and women were moths, Ireflected, whirling about a lurid flame of life. There were dozens ofyoung girls in the room--many without chaperons.
Directly opposite me two persons--a man, and a girl in a whitedress--sat at a table alone, absorbed in each other. At first Iglanced at them only occasionally and idly, then with growing interestand at last with horror, for I began to understand. The girl had asweet, good face, but a brief study of the man showed me what he was.He was short and stout, with a bald head and a round, pleasure-lovingface. It was not so much his appearance, however, as the way hewatched the girl which betrayed him to me. He hardly took his eyesfrom her face. Whatever was going on in the dancing-place, he lookedat her; and she, leaning a little forward in her chair, listened tohim as he talked, and swayed toward him. I saw him tap her hand, whichlay on the table, with his fat forefinger. The sight revolted me, butshe did not draw her hand away.
As I watched her I thought of all the dreadful things I had heard andread and seen since I had been in New York, and wondered if the timewould ever come when I would be old enough and wise enough to riseand go to a girl in such a situation and ask her if she needed help.It seemed impossible that women experienced enough to do this withdignity and courage should sit around to-night, all unheeding, and letsuch things go on. Then looking at them again, table by table, I readthe answer. They were themselves the lost and strayed--callous,indifferent, with faces and hearts hardened by the lives they had led.I began to feel sick and faint, and for a moment I closed my eyes.
When I opened them, coming toward us slowly through the crowd wasGodfrey Morris, the assistant of Nestor Hurd, my chief on the_Searchlight_. It was plain that he had just entered, for he waslooking around in search of a table. I shall never forget the feelingthat came over me when I recognized him. Now that he was there, I feltabsolutely safe. I had almost a vision of him picking up Maudie andKittie and me and taking us bodily away, and the relief and gratitudeI felt showed me how great my inward panic had been. I kept my eyes onhim, hoping he would turn and see me, but he was looking in anotherdirection. Still, he was drawing nearer, and I sat tight and waited insilence, though I wanted to call out to him above the uproar aroundus.
It did not surprise me to see the girl in white put out her hand as hepassed her table and touch him on the arm. He stopped at once, lookinga little surprised, and then stood for a moment beside her and thestout man, talking quietly to them both. I waited breathlessly. Nowhe was speaking to the man alone, probably urging him to leave theplace. And then--I heard a sound as unexpected in that place as analtar-bell. Mr. Morris had thrown back his head and laughed, and as helaughed he smote the stout man heavily on the shoulder and droppedinto a chair beside him. The stout man filled a glass. I saw Mr.Morris lift it, bow to the girl in white, and drink its contents.
I lived a long, long time during the next minute. I cannot describe myemotions. I only knew that in that instant life seemed unbearable andNew York became a city I could not remain in any longer. Surelynothing could be right in a place where even Godfrey Morris came toresorts like this, not as a knight to the rescue of helplessness, butas a familiar patron, who was there because he enjoyed it and foundcongenial friends.
It was impossible to take my eyes from the horrible group at thattable. I kept on staring, and, as if he felt my gaze, Mr. Morristurned around and saw me. The next instant he was on his feet, and asecond after that he was shaking hands with Mrs. Hoppen and MollieMerk and me. Evidently, he was neither surprised to find us there norashamed to be found there himself. When he was presented to Kittie andMaudie his manner was exactly as it might have been if he were meetingthem at an afternoon tea, and he settled down comfortably into thesixth place at our table, which Mrs. Morgan had been invited to fill,and chatted as if he had known the girls all his life.
I have no idea what he said. It did not matter. After the first fewmoments Maudie and Kittie were able to talk to him. I heard theirvoices, but not their words. I sat with my eyes on the table-cloth andmy cheeks burning. I wanted to get away that minute. I wanted to go tomy home, out West. Most of all, I wanted to return to the convent andnever, never leave it.
The gipsy was playing among the tables again, and now he was quitenear us. But I had reached the point where I was not even interestedwhen he turned, caught sight of our new companion, and crossed quicklyto our table, his hand outstretched to Mr. Morris, his face shininglike an electric globe when the light has been turned on inside of it.
Mr. Morris greeted him like a long-lost brother. "Hello, Fritz!" heexclaimed, taking his hand in a most friendly grasp. "Business good?How are the kids?"
The gipsy revealed the widest smile of the evening as he answered."_Ach_, Herr Morris," he cried, in a guttural German voice that simplydripped affection, "you remember dose kids? T'ree we had--_aber_ now,_now_ we got anoder one--since Tuesday!"
"Good!" cried Mr. Morris, looking around as if he expected us all toshare his joy over the glad tidings. "Girl or boy?"
"Girl," the gipsy player told him. "T'ree boys we had. Now we hafgirl for change. We t'ink, my wife and I, we make her noospaper woman.Goot idea, _nicht wahr_?"
He laughed, and Mr. Morris laughed with him. "Fine," he declared."Send her down to the _Searchlight_ office in a week or two. We'llgive her Miss Merk's job."
Everybody laughed again, Mollie Merk, of course, loudest of all. Themusician bade us good night, beginning to play again at the tables. Ihad forgotten about Kittie and Maudie, but now I knew they had beenlistening, too, for I heard Kittie speak.
"Why, that gipsy isn't a gipsy at all, is he?" she gasped.
"No more than I am," Mollie Merk told her. "Wears the rig because itpays--pleases romantic girls." She grinned at us, while Mrs. Hoppenleaned forward.
"I'm afraid you hurt his feelings," she told Maudie and me, "byrefusing his invitation to dance a little while ago. That was thegreatest compliment he could pay you, you know."
Mr. Morris looked amused. "Did he invite them to dance?" he inquired,with interest. "Good old Fritz. He doesn't often do that, thisseason."
Maudie and I exchanged a long gl
ance. "I thought--" Maudie began, andthen stopped. I was glad she said no more. I looked again at thegipsy, and, as if something had been stripped from my eyes, I saw himas he was--no reckless and desperate adventurer, but a matter-of-factGerman, his silk shirt rather grimy, his black hair oily, his absurdred sash and shabby velvet coat rebukes to the imagination that hadpictured a wild gipsy heart beating under them.
Mr. Morris was smiling at the girl in white. Now he turned to me andnodded toward her. "That's Miss Hastings and George Brook," he said."Have you met them yet?" I was able to shake my head. "Well, it's hightime you did," were his next words. "I'll bring them over."
He rose, but I caught his arm and gasped out something that stoppedhim. I don't remember what I said, but I succeeded in making himunderstand that I did not want that particular man to meet my friends.Mr. Morris stared at me hard for a moment. Then he sat down again andlooked me straight in the eyes.
"Miss Iverson," he said, quietly, "what have you against Brook? He'sthe foreign editor of the _Searchlight_, and one of the best fellowsalive."
I could not speak. I was too much surprised.
"The girl he's with," Morris went on, "is Marion Hastings--Mrs.Cartwell's social secretary. She and Brook are going to be marriednext week."
He waited for me to reply. I muttered something about not wanting myfriends to meet any one in this place. That was all I said. Myself-control, my poise, had deserted me, but perhaps my burning facewas more eloquent than my tongue. Mr. Morris looked from me toMaudie, and then at Kittie, and finally back at me.
"I see," he said at last, very slowly. "You three actually think youare in a den of iniquity!"
He turned to Mollie Merk and addressed her as crisply and with as muchauthority as if they were in the _Searchlight_ office.
"How did you come to give Miss Iverson that impression?" he demanded.
Mollie Merk looked guilty. "Didn't realize she had it till within thelast half-hour," she muttered.
"I see," said Morris again, in the same tone. "And then it was suchfun for you that you let it go on!"
For a moment Miss Merk seemed inclined to sulk. Then she threw herselfback in her chair and laughed. "Oh, well," she admitted, "'twas fun.Know what started her. Said something about showing her Life--makingher eyes stick out. Adding her friends to the party changed theprogram. Brought 'em here instead. Seeing us drink cocktails startedher panic. Harlem tango did the rest. Her imagination got busy."
I listened to her as one listens to a strange tongue in which onehears an occasional familiar word. She turned to me. "What that dancerepresents," she said, "is a suburbanite catching a cook. Least,that's what the inventor says."
"It's very graceful. My nieces dance it charmingly," Mrs. Hoppenadded, mildly.
Mr. Morris smiled, but not as if he really wanted to. Then he turnedto me. There was a beautiful, understanding look in his gray eyes.
"Do you realize what has happened, Miss Iverson?" he asked. "You'vebeen having a bad dream. You expected something lurid, so you haveseen something lurid in everything you have looked at to-night. Inreality you are in one of the most eminently correct restaurants inNew York. Of course it has its _cabaret_--most of them have, thisseason--but it's an extremely well-conducted and conservative one,with no objectionable features whatever. Now look around you and tryto see things as they are."
He made a gesture with his hand, and I followed it slowly around theroom. At most of the tables ordinary-looking couples sat contentedlymunching food. A German woman near us was telling a friend how shecooked _Wiener Schnitzel_. A tired-looking girl was doing an acrobaticdance in the ring, but it was not vulgar. It was merely foolish anddull. Three men on our left were arguing over some business questionand adding up penciled columns on the table-cloth. Our wild-heartedgipsy, Fritz, was having a glass of beer with some friends off in acorner. The musicians were playing "The Rosary," and several fat womenwere lost in mournful memories. Not far away a waiter dropped a trayand broke some glasses, and the head waiter hastened to him and sworeunder his breath. That was the only lurid thing in the room, and itwas mild indeed to ears familiar with the daily conversation of Mr.Hurd and Colonel Cartwell. Everything else suddenly, unmistakably, wassimple, cheerful, entirely proper, and rather commonplace.
"So much for the restaurant," remarked Mr. Morris, smiling as if hehad observed my change of expression. "Now for the people. That's theeditor of the _Argus_ over there"--he pointed to a thin, blondman--"with his daughters. At the table next to them is Miss Blinn, theartist. The stout old lady who is eating too much is her mother. Thechap with the white hair is the leading editorial-writer of the_Modern Review_, and the lady opposite is his sister. Almost every oneprominent in New York drops into this place at one time or another.Many worthy citizens come regularly. It's quite the thing, thoughdull!"
"I know," I stammered. "I know." I did know, but I was humiliated tothe soul. "Please don't say any more."
It is true that I form impressions quickly. It is also true that I canchange them just as quickly when I am shown that I am wrong. Mr.Morris looked at my face, from which the blood now seemed to bebursting, and took pity on me.
"All I want," he ended, "is to make you realize that you're visiting alegitimate place of amusement and that the performers are honest,hard-working people, though I think myself they're going a bit stale."
"Been doing the same thing too long," corroborated Mollie Merk."Garroti ought to change his program. Just the same," she added,cheerfully, as she called the waiter and paid the bill, "they give youthe best _table d'hote_ dinner in town. If you hadn't been too scaredto eat, Iverson, you'd have realized that much, anyway!"
At this, Kittie James broke into the conversation. Here was somethingKittie understood, though, like myself, she had been somewhat mixed asto the place and the performers. Kittie told Mollie Merk withimpassioned earnestness that the dinner was one of the best she hadever eaten, and that she would never forget the flavor of theartichoke hearts with the mushrooms on them. Mollie Merk seemedpleased and patted Kittie's hand.
"You see," she went on, addressing the others as if I were not there,"Iverson's had a pretty hard time since she struck this town. It'sjolted her sense of values. Thought everything was white. Had someunpleasant experiences. Decided everything was black. Been seeingblack to-night. Take another month or two," she added, kindly, turningto me, "to discover most things are merely gray."
Those were her words. It was a moment of agony for me. I had now gonedown into the abyss of humiliation and struck the bottom hard. Mr.Morris spoke to me, though at first I did not hear him.
"Don't forget one thing, Miss Iverson," he said, gently. "Animagination like yours is the greatest asset a writer can have.You'll appreciate it when you begin work on your novels and plays in ayear or two."
I felt a little better. I could see that Maudie and Kittie wereimpressed.
We drifted out into the street, toward a row of waiting taxi-cabs.There Mrs. Hoppen and Mollie Merk bade us good night, and Mr. Morrisput Maudie and Kittie and me into a taxi-cab and got in after us. Hismanner was beautiful--serious, sympathetic, and deeply respectful. Onthe way to the hotel he told them what good work I was doing, andabout the "model story" I had written two weeks before. I was glad hespoke of those things. I was afraid they had discovered that, afterall, there were still many lessons in life I had not learned.
After I had gone up to my room I went to one of the windows facingMadison Square and looked out. It was not late--hardly eleven o'clock,and the big city below was wide awake and hard at play. Many sad andterrible things were happening in it, but I knew that many kind andbeautiful things were happening, too. I felt sure that hereafter Iwould always be able to tell them apart.
Later, when I closed my eyes, all sorts of pictures crowded upon me. Isaw the mulatto dancer pursuing the Harlem cook. I heard again Fritz'swild gipsy music and saw him wandering among the tables. I saw thestout man and the girl in white, and felt my face burn as I recalledwhat I had th
ought of them. But the thing I saw most clearly, thething that followed me into the land of dreams and drifted about theretill morning, was the face of Godfrey Morris, with a look of sympathyand understanding in his gray eyes.