To Him That Hath

  CHAPTER VIII

  THE WORLD'S DENIAL

  That night Tom confessed he had privately saved a few dollars; and fromthe Morgans' flat he brought David's overcoat and several of the otherarticles they had pawned. David's conscience demanded that the savingsshould not be used, and he wondered what right they had to their ownproperty, redeemed with stolen money. But need conquered ethics. A dayor two later the landlady demanded her rent, giving the choice betweenpayment and the street; the money went to her. Hunger pressed them; theredeemed articles began to return one by one to the pawnshop.

  In a few days the grip left David, and though still weak, he began tocreep about the streets, looking for work. He believed successimpossible--and immediately success came.

  The great stores were enlisting armies of temporary employes for theholiday season, and as at this time there are not enough first-class menand women to fill the ranks, they were accepting the second-class andthe third and the tenth, examining no one closely. David heard of thischance, and, quailing at heart and expecting nothing, joined the line ofapplicants at the big department store of Sumner & Co.

  "What experience?" demanded the superintendent when David reached hisdesk.

  "None," said David.

  The superintendent glanced him over, saw that his face was good.

  "Work for nine a week?"

  "Yes."

  He scratched on a slip of paper and handed it to David.

  "Start in at once in the check-room."

  David reeled away from the desk. That evening he and Tom celebrated theadvent of the Impossible by eating twenty cents' worth of food; and hisexcited hope, fearful, daring, kept sleep from his eyes all night. Heknew he was only a temporary man, but his hope reasoned that if he gaveexceptional satisfaction he might be retained after the greatpost-Christmas discharge. If retained permanently, he might work his wayup in the store; and if he could remain only a few months, at least hewould then be able to say, when seeking a new place and asked for hisrecord, "I worked last for Sumner and Company; I refer you to them." Hishope told him this position might prove the foothold he sought--and hedetermined to exert all that was in him to make it so.

  Toward the end of his fourth day here, a woman for whom he had just laidupon the counter several packages she had checked two or three hoursbefore, declared that a small parcel containing gloves was missing.Weary and exasperated from her day among the jostling shoppers, sheberated David in loud and angry voice. He suggested that possibly shehad not checked the parcel, that she might have checked it in someother store, that perhaps she had ordered it delivered and had forgottenit, that possibly she had dropped it.

  Nothing of the kind! She knew what she'd done with it! They'd beencareless, and given it to some other woman!

  David, still very courteous, suggested that possibly it had been pickedup and taken to the lost-and-found desk. She might inquire there.

  She would not! She had left it here! She had been robbed!

  She was departing ragefully, but David followed her and by using hisbest persuasion secured her grudging consent to wait till he himselfshould inquire at the lost-and-found desk. A few minutes later hereturned with the package. She could say nothing more, for on thewrapper was the stamp of the desk and the hour the parcel had beenturned in. She made a curt apology--it came hard, but still it was anapology--and went out.

  David had his reward. The superintendent over him, attracted by thewoman's angry voice, had drawn near and looked on unseen. He now cameforward. "That was well done, Aldrich," he said. "I couldn't havehandled her better myself."

  David grew warm. Yes, this place might prove his foothold!

  A similar thought came to one of the other four men in the check-room.This man, a regular employe in the room, had recently been reprovedseveral times for negligence and discourtesy, and he knew his hold onhis place was precarious. The fear now struck him, at the greatdischarge might not he be sent away and this new man Aldrich be kept?

  His wits set to work. He now remembered that David had evaded questionsabout his past. Perhaps in it there was something that would change hischief's opinion. That night he followed David, warmed by hisstrengthened hope, from the store, and made inquiries in the littlegrocery shop in David's tenement. Just a poor man who had been having ahard time--this was all he could learn. He hung around the tenement, andpresently David came down and walked away. He followed. After severalblocks David stopped before St. Christopher's and gazed across thestreet at it. The shadowing man wondered. Then it occurred to him thatin there they might know something about this man Aldrich.

  He entered.

  The next morning David was summoned to the office of the superintendentof his department. He was still aglow from the commendation ofyesterday. But the superintendent's face struck him cold.

  "Are you the David Aldrich who stole five thousand dollars from St.Christopher's Mission?" the superintendent asked quietly.

  For a minute David could not speak. His foothold--lost! Again the abyss!

  "I am," he said. But here was a man different from the other employerthat had discharged him. Here a plea might be effective. "I am," herepeated. And then he went on desperately: "But whatever I may havedone, I'm honest now. As honest as any man. And I'll work hard--nothingwill be too hard! I ask only a chance--any sort of a chance. A chance toearn my living!--a chance to remain honest!"

  "I have not acted hastily," the superintendent returned. "I have calledup the Mission and confirmed a report I had from another source. I knowyour whole story. Your pay is in this envelope. That is all."

  David went out, dizzily falling ... falling ... falling into depths hefelt were hopeless. And as he fell, in the sickened swirl of his mindone sudden thought stood forth, sharp, ironic: It was St. Christopher'sthat had pushed him from his foothold, that had sent him plunging backinto the abyss!

  Once more began the search for work. But now fewer men were needed;there was time to question. But he tramped on, and on, looking alwaysfor a man who would not question, and always rebuffed--his clothesgrowing shabbier and shabbier, his shoes growing thinner, his littlemoney wasting away--foot-sore, heart-sore, gripped by despair.

  He had chanced upon at intervals in the Bowery and on Broadway severalof his Croton prison-mates. All of them that had tried to be honest hadbeen conquered by the difficulties, and had gone back to their oldtrades. He now, on his despairing walks, met two of them again, and bothurged him to quit his foolish struggle and join with them. Nothingduring the three terrible months had revealed to him how his moralinstincts had suffered as did the fact that he was now tempted.

  During these black days he saw little of Tom. David did not want totalk, did not want to box, there were no meals; so the boy came homeonly to sleep. David was certain Tom was stealing again, but he had notthe heart for reproof. One can hardly seek to convert a thief to honestywhen one can only offer starvation for reform.

  Since Helen Chambers's call David had now and then had a faint hope thathe might in some way hear from her. But no word came. He understood. Shescorned him for the deed of four years ago, she believed he was nowregularly practising theft and was directing the thefts and lies of aboy. Her sympathy, her instinct to aid, might impel her to establishfriendly relations with a repentant thief, but never with such a thiefas she considered him.

  On his recovery David had resumed his Wednesday evening visits to hisaccustomed doorway near St. Christopher's. One night he saw that whichpoured a new agony into the cup he had thought already overbrimming.When Helen Chambers stepped from the Mission a man he had never beforeseen was beside her--a tall man, of maturity and dignity. With theinstant instinct of the lover he recognized here another lover; and heread, in a smiling glance she turned up as they passed the doorway, thatthis man had her admiration and her confidence.

  The next morning--the night had held the cup constantly to his lips--hewent to the Astor Library and secured a copy of the _Social Register_.The man's name, as it had come to him across
the darkness in Helen's lowresonant voice, was Allen. There were many Allens in the _Register_,but only one that could possibly be the Allen he had seen the nightbefore. The _Register's_ data, and deductions therefrom, informed Davidthat Mr. Henry Allen was forty, a member of half a dozen clubs, a man ofwealth and social standing, and a lawyer of notable achievement.

  Just the sort of husband Helen Chambers deserved! David closed the bookand crept out.

  The evening of the day before he found work in the department store,Kate Morgan had told him she had just secured a new place. "Did you getit through Miss Chambers?" he had suspiciously demanded.

  "No," she had answered, smiling defiantly. At parting she had said withsharp decision, standing at his door: "You've had enough of the honestlife. You're going to be with me on this job. Set that down." Withoutgiving him a chance to reply, she had stepped out and closed the door.

  He did not see her again till the middle of December, when one Sundayevening she knocked, walked in and promptly sent Tom on an errand.

  "I can only stay for two minutes," she said, speaking rapidly and in alow voice. "This is supposed to be my Sunday off, but one of the maidsis sick, so instead of a day I get an hour and a half. Say, it'scertainly a swell house. The family is just a man and his mother. Justthem two in a house big enough for a town--and think of the way we rubribs down here! They've got carloads of silver, all of it solid; and theold lady has simply got barrels of jewelry. They're going to have a bigblow-out on Christmas, so none of the servants get a holiday then. Butalmost all of them are going to get New Year's Eve and New Year's Dayout. The house will be almost empty New Year's Eve. That's when we'llclean it up."

  "You seem to have no doubt that I shall join you," David said dryly.

  "None at all!" she answered promptly.

  "Well, I shall certainly not!"

  "You may think you'll not," she returned, undisturbed. "But you will.Anybody but a fool would have come to his senses long ago. You've foundyou can't get a job. You've got to live. It's steal or starve. Of courseyou're going to be in."

  "I shall not!" David returned doggedly.

  The days of the second half of the month moved slowly by. Davidcontinued walking the streets, occasionally daring to ask for work. Hismoney was all gone, and everything was in the pawnshop except hisovercoat, from which he hardly dared part at this season. His clotheswere now so worn and shapeless as of themselves to insure the refusal ofany place but that of a labourer. A labourer's place he possibly couldhave found--for a labourer's character is not questioned, since usuallythere is opportunity for him to steal no more than the value of a pickand shovel, and the wages left behind would more than cover such a loss.But for a labourer's work David had not a labourer's strength.

  He was forced down ... down; finally to those low services by which thedregs of the city's population keep a decrepit life within themselves.The odd jobs about saloons which are usually done for beer-payment heperformed under the inspiration of the free-lunch counter. He peeledpotatoes in Bowery restaurants where dinners are fifteen cents, his workto pay for a meal; and when the dinner, which he had seen cooked in afilthy kitchen and served in half-washed dishes, was put before him, hisstomach so revolted that he often turned from the untasted food andhurried into the street.

  He was at the bottom of the abyss. Light, hope, were far above--thewalls were smooth and high--his climbing strength was gone. He could notlast much longer. He wondered, darkly, fearfully, what would be the end.Yet he had not given up; there was still bitterness, rebellion, in him,and still an automatic, staggering courage.

  Three days before New Year's Kate Morgan called again. "I'm home tostay; my father's so sick I had to throw up my job," she said with awink. She drew a ring of keys from the pocket of her skirt and silentlyheld them before David's eyes; then, with a sharp little smile, sheslipped them back, and drew out five sheets of paper, on each of whichwas a rough diagram of one of the floors of her late employer's house,with the doors and stairways marked and the location of the valuables.She explained the plans to him, adding details not charted, and onrising to go she handed him the sheets that he might familiarise himselfwith the house.

  "But I shall have nothing to do with this," he said desperately,thrusting back the papers.

  "Oh, yes you will," she returned, putting her hands behind her back.

  He let the sheets fall to the floor, but she went out without givingthem another glance. He looked at the papers, picked them up, stared atthem whitely; and then, in a sort of frenzy, as though he wouldannihilate temptation, he tore the sheets into a thousand flakes andthrust them into his pocket.

  The next morning he set forth with the despairing energy of the man whohas a new fear, who has fiercely summoned all his resources for a laststruggle. But mid-winter is a season when even a skilled man ofblameless reputation has trouble in finding work; for David there was nochance whatever. And then, in his extreme desperation, he determined ona new course--in asking for work he would openly tell his record.Perhaps some one, out of sympathy for the struggle he was making, wouldgive him an opportunity. He had thought of this plan before, but he hadput it aside, because, he had reasoned, to avow himself a thief was tomurder his chances. But the old course had brought him nothing; the newplan held at least a possibility.

  David walked the streets half the day before he could drive himself totry this plan. At length a superintendent consented to see him andlisten to his story and appeal. "I appreciate your frankness," thesuperintendent replied, not unkindly. "But I am under strict orders onthis point; I can take only men of the straightest records. But I hopeyou'll find something."

  David was left without courage to try the plan again that afternoon. Thenext day he could find no one willing to hear him. In the evening KateMorgan called again. Everything was in readiness for their venture ofthe following night, she told him. Once more he declared that he wouldhave nothing to do with the affair. But to himself his words soundedonly of the lips; and his indignation did not quicken the least triflewhen Kate flung a dry laugh into his face.

  The following morning, the last day of December, he spurred his spentcourage on to another attempt. He at length found a wholesale notionstore where a packer was wanted. The head of the packing department waslarge and powerful, with coarse, man-driving features; but, undeterredby this appearance, David recited his story.

  The superintendent stared amazedly at David, and swore. "Well if youain't got the nerve!" he roared. "You admit you're a crook, and yet youask me for a job! What d'you think we're runnin' here?--a reform school?Not on your life! Now you see if you can't find the door out o'here--and quick!"

  David had neither the strength nor the spirit to reply to this man as hehad replied to the owner of the department store in One Hundred andTwenty-fifth Street. When he reached the open air he walked a few paces,then paused and leaned against the front of a building. He felt an utterexhaustion--there was not another effort in him. He was like a horse,driven to the last ounce of its strength, that lies down in its tracksto die; the whip can only make it quiver, cannot make it rise. Hechanced to turn his head, and saw himself in the mirror that backed theshow-window--a thin, stooping figure with a white line of a mouth and agray, haggard face. He was so numb, so spiritually spent, that thisspectre of himself stirred not a single emotion within him.

  That evening he swept a saloon, and ate of the cheese and corn-beefsandwiches at the free-lunch counter till the bartender ordered him out.Then he wandered aimlessly through the night, which was balmy despitethe month, with no desire to return to the dingy four walls of hisunheated room. He remembered in a vague way that this was the night KateMorgan had set for the robbery; and perhaps his staying from home wasdue to the unfelt guidance of his conscience. He had no definitethoughts or sensations; only a vast, stunning sense of absolute defeat.

  A little after eleven o'clock he found himself wandering along the EastRiver, and presently he turned upon a dock and walked toward the waterbetween two rows of t
rucks, facing each other, their shafts raisedsupplicatingly to the stars. He seated himself at the end of the dock,and his chin in his two hands, looked out upon the river. Save for thereflection, like luminous, writhing arms, that the few lights ofBrooklyn reached toward him on the water's surface, and save for theturbulent brilliance under the Williamsburg Bridge's great bow of arclights, the river, which the tide was dragging wildly out to sea, was asblack as blindness.

  He gazed forth into the darkness, forth upon the swirling water--dully,without thought, in the flat stupor of unrising defeat.... Presently abell began to send down the hour from a neighbouring steeple.Mechanically he counted the strokes. Twelve. The number at first had nosignificance, but after a moment its meaning thrilled him through. Thiswas the New Year!... The New Year!... And how was he beginning it?Penniless--friendless--without work--with little strength--with nocourage--without hope. A happy New Year, indeed!

  Suddenly all the bitterness that had been gathering and smoulderingwithin him these last four months, burst out volcanically. And hispassion was not alone in his own behalf; it was in behalf of thethousands of others who had made a similar struggle, and to whom theworld had similarly denied the privilege of honesty. Starved andhopeless! Why? Because he could not work?--because there was nowork?--because the world had decided the moral development of such as herequired further punishment? No. Because the rich, powerful world wasafraid!--afraid of its dollars! Because, if he were taken in, given achance to live honestly, he might steal a bolt of cloth, or a coat, or avase, or a shawl! There was the reason--the only reason. A bolt of clothagainst a human life, begging to live! A coat against a human soul,agonising to be honest! Cloths and coats mean dollars--mean carriages,and diamonds, and wines. Cloths and coats must be guarded.

  But the human life? The human soul?

  In his wild rage David rose, turned his back upon the dark river, andshook his fist at the great indifferent city.