CHAPTER I
THE MAYOR OF AVENUE A
Three or four blocks east of the Bowery and lying north of the Jewishquarter is a little region somewhat less crowded, somewhat quieter,somewhat more clean, than the rest of the tenement country that liesabout it. It is held by Germans--Americanised Germans. But Poles andMagyars, Jews of Roumania, Hungary and Russia, are edging their way intoit; such frequent signs as "_Gyogyszertar_," which, evil as it strikesthe eye, signifies nothing more malignant than "drugstore," announcethis invasion even to casual passers-by. Some day the region will knowthe children of Germany no more; it will be a Babel of the tongues ofcentral Europe. But as yet, if you walk along its four avenues, A, B, Cand D, all lined with little shops, or lounge about its shady Tompkin'sSquare, you will see many a face that will carry your memory back toBerlin and Cologne and the beer-gardens and Sunday promenades of theirwork-people and petty bourgeois.
It was the evening after David's adventure with Kate Morgan. From thesnowy air of broad Avenue A a good-natured crowd was turning into agilded entrance, over which incandescent lights pricked the words"Liberty Assembly Hall." The crowd was chiefly German, but in it weremany of the newer peoples of the neighbourhood. There were broadhusbands and broad wives; children led by hand, babies carried in arms;young people in couples and in hilarious groups; solitary and furtivemen and women. Most were in their finest, and some of the finery wouldnot have made the opera ashamed; but many were dressed inshabbiness--though they, too, wore their best.
David, who had wandered into Avenue A, as he often did in his aimlessnight walks, paused momentarily and listlessly watched the in-goingstream of people. A New Year's ball, he decided; but the word "Mayor"recurred so often in the bits of conversation he overheard that hisinert curiosity prompted him to draw near a friendly-looking man whostood without the entrance.
"What's going on in there?" he asked.
"Installing the Mayor of Avenue A," the man returned.
David had vaguely heard of the "Mayors" who exercise an unofficialauthority in several districts of New York. "How's the Mayor chosen?" heasked. "By election?"
"No. Carl Hoffman's the most popular man on the Avenue; he's got coinand influence; we all want him. That's how it is."
"What does he do?"
"If you need a dollar, and ain't got it, you go to Carl. If a poor womanain't got any coal, she lets Carl know and she's got it. If you'redispossessed or in trouble with the police, Carl fixes you up. If youcan't get work, you go see Carl. He's the poor man's friend--everybody'sfriend."
For several moments David was silent. Then he asked abruptly, "Is this aprivate ceremony?"
"Oh, no; go on in, if you want to."
David joined the entering crowd, mounted a broad flight of stairs,passed through a short hallway, and came into a large hall. Every chairwas taken and people stood in the aisles and along the sides. Threeelectric-light chandeliers, wound in bunting and loaded with glasspendants, were each a glittering sun. The maroon walls were relieved byraised gold-and-white scroll work, and by alternate mirrors andoil-paintings set into the plastering. These paintings were Tyroleanscenes, cascades and moon-lit seas--such as the art-fostering departmentstore supplies at a dollar or two, golden frame included.
At the further end of the hall was a stage, draped with American flags.At the stage's back a band, in purple and gold braid, was blowing outits brass instruments; and at the stage's front, beneath "_OUR MAYOR_"in evergreen letters that hung from the proscenium arch, sat four rotundmen in a row.
David slipped into a corner at the rear, where his shabbiness saw moreof its own kind. A moment later "The Watch on the Rhine" thundered fromthe stage and rolled among the Alps and the cascades and over themoon-lit seas. Then "The Star-Spangled Banner" sent forth itsreverberations, and when its last echo had been lost far down an Alpinegorge, the most rotund of the four rotund men--they were the Mayors ofAvenues A, B, C and D, a neighbour told David--stepped to a table andrapped for order. He assumed his most impressive attitude, gazed slowlyover the polyglot audience, drew a deep breath, and began in a sonorousvoice that, now swelling, now softening, was the perfect servant of hiseloquence.
"It is not within the power of human speech to express how much I, asMayor of Avenue B, feel the great honour of acting as master ofceremonies on this brilliant and distinguished occasion, graced by somuch fairness of the softer sex, made by the Creator as the greatestreward and adornment of life, when your honourable Mayor is to beinstalled to serve his eleventh successive and successful term." Butdespite the impotence of speech, the Mayor of Avenue B filled tenminutes in an attempt to suggest faintly the contents of his pridefulbreast. Then he swept onward into a eulogy of the Mayor of Avenue A,ending with, "And now, Carl Hoffman, rise and receive the oath ofoffice."
Cheers and hand-clapping echoed through the Alps. The tallest of thefour Mayors stepped forward. The applause doubled and the band thunderedinto "Hail the Conquering Hero." The Mayor of Avenue A bowed and smiledand smiled and bowed, and swept his arm, now to this side, now to that,in magnificent salutation. His face was inflated with good feeding, andwas as smooth as a child's balloon; a few hairs lay in pencil linesacross his shiny head; from pocket to pocket athwart his snow-white vesthung a heavy golden chain--in lieu of a hoop, one could fancy, to holdfast the bulging flesh. It was well that his face was broad; a thin facewould have cramped the wide, shining smile he held upon his uproaringconstituency.
When the tumult had somewhat abated, the master of ceremonies, hisportly dignity replaced by portly lightsomeness, caught the Mayor's arm."Here he is, ladies and gents!" he shouted. "Look at him! The championheavyweight, catch-as-catch-can philanthropist of New York. I amauthorized to challenge any other philanthropist of his class in thecity for a match, the gate receipts to the winner, and a thousanddollars side bet!"
The crowd again broke loose. A deep, gruff, joyous voice rose from theMayor's interior. "Moxie, get your wife to sew a button on your mouth!"
The hall was one gleeful roar at this sally.
"Raise your right hand," said the Mayor of Avenue B, when there waspartial quiet. "Now repeat after me: I, Carl Hoffman, do hereby promiseto the best of my ability--"
"Why, sure!" approved the deep voice.
"To be a friend to any man, woman or child that needs a friend. So helpme God!"
"Sure thing!" responded a hearty rumble.
The crowd once more applauded, and David noted that the hands whichclapped longest were feminine.
The Mayor of Avenue A beamed upon the audience. "That's me," he said,with a grand upward sweep of his right arm. "I don't need to tell youwhat I'm goin' to do. I been doin' it for ten years. I guess myrecord'll do all the talkin' that's needed. But this much I'll say formyself: If anybody durin' this new year needs a friend and he don'tchase himself around to the Pan-American Cafe and ask for CarlHoffman--well, he deserves a lot more trouble than he's got!"
He went on and told how glad he was to see his friends, and how proud hewas to be their Mayor, but through it all David was hearing only theoath of office and the Mayor's first few sentences; and when later theushers began to clear away the chairs for dancing, and David slippeddown to the street and walked homeward through the swirling snow, hestill thought only of the Mayor's offer to the man who needed a friend.
The next day at eleven o'clock--he had figured the morning rush would beover by then--David approached the Pan-American Cafe. On the cafe's oneside was a delicatessen store, displaying row on row of wurst to enticethe Germans within, and on the other side a costumer's shop, its windowsfilled with suits of armour, night-mare masks, and gorgeousseventeenth-century court gowns of sateen, spangles and mosquitonetting. The long glass front of the cafe was hung with holiday greens,among which appropriate signs informed the street that a Hungarianorchestra played nightly, that real German beer and indubitable Rhenishwine were purchasable within, and that a superlatively good dinner wasto be had for only thirty cents.
David came t
o a pause at the cafe's storm-door. Doubts and fears thathad been rising now stampeded him: the Mayor's talk was only platformtalk; the Mayor was doubtless like all others who had refused him,insulted him. He walked up and down the avenue, passing and repassingthe cafe and the narrow little shops that edged the sidewalk. Then hetold himself that he had nothing to lose; another refusal would bemerely another refusal. He summoned back his courage, delivered himselfinto its hands, and entered.
He found himself in a wide, long room, whose green walls were hung withsigns of breweries and with placards announcing the balls of "The CarlHoffman Association," "The Twin Brothers," "The Lady Orchids," and adozen other social organisations of the neighbourhood. Six rows oftables, some marble-topped, some linen-covered, with chairs stacked uponthem, stretched the length of the room. Among these black-jacketedwaiters, armed with long mops, were scrubbing the linoleum-coveredfloor.
One of the waiters quickly cleared the chairs from a table and cameforward to meet David. "Nothing to eat, thank you," David said. "I wantto see Mr. Hoffman."
"Sorry--he's out. But he's likely to be in any minute. Just sit down.No, wait--there he is now."
David looked about. Coming in from the street was the ample form of theMayor of Avenue A, his cheeks pink with the cold. "Got four dischargedand paid two fines," the Mayor announced to the waiters who had alllooked up expectantly. "And when I got 'em out o' the court-room I lined'em up and gave 'em gentle hell. They'll keep sober for awhile--yes,sir!"
He turned to David. "Why some decent men ain't never sure the New Year'sreally begun till they've poured themselves neck-full o' whiskey--mebbethe God that made 'em understands, but Carl Hoffman certainly don't."
David admitted that no more did he, and then asked for a few minutes'talk--in private.
"Hey, John, take these things," and the Mayor burdened David's waiterwith overcoat, muffler and hat; and David saw that a waistcoat ofgarlanded silk had replaced the white one of last night. "And, say,boys," he shouted to the others, "suppose you let the rest o' thatscrubbin' go for a bit and get busy at somethin' out in the kitchen."
He led David to a rear corner where, enclosed by heavy red ropes, wasthe platform from which the Hungarian orchestra administered its nightlymusic. They lifted the chairs from a table and sat down facing eachother.
"Well, now, what can I do for you?" the Mayor asked.
David did not give his courage time to escape. "I was at yourinauguration last night," he began, quickly, "and I heard you say thatif any man needed help--"
"The poor man's friend--that's me," broke in the Mayor with a quick nod,folding his plump hands, on one of which burnt a great diamond, upon thetable.
"And the poor man--that's me," said David.
"Well, you've come to the right doctor. What's ailin' you?"
The Mayor's eyes became sharp, and his face became as stern as its pinkfulness would permit. "But one word first. Some people think I'm an easymark. I ain't. I've got two rules: never to give a nickel to a man thatdon't deserve it, and never to give the icy mitt to the man thatdeserves the warm hand. I guess I ain't never broke either rule. Agrafter ain't got no more chance with me than a lump o' lard in a fryin'pan. I ain't sayin' these things to hurt your feelin's, friend. Onlyjust to let you know that if you ain't all on the level you're wastin'your precious time. If you are on the level--fire away. I'm your man."
This was rather disconcerting. "I can only tell you the truth," saidDavid.
"It wouldn't do you no good to tell nothin' else," the Mayor said dryly."I can generally tell when the chicken in a chicken pie is corned beef."
David gathered his strength. "I shall tell you everything. To beginwith, I've been a thief--"
"A thief!" the Mayor ejaculated. He stared. "Tales o' woe always beginwith the best thing a fellow can say about himself. If you start offwith bein' a thief, Lord man, what'll you be when you get through!"
"I'm beginning with the worst. I'm out of prison about four months. Iwas sent up for--for stealing money from a mission--from St.Christopher's Mission--four or five years ago."
Again the Mayor stared, and again his face took on its stern look. "Soyou're that man!" he said slowly. "I remember about it. The Missionain't far from here. Well, friend, one o' my waiters'd fire me out o'here for disorderly conduct if I told you in plain English what I thinko' that trick. But it was a dirty, low-down piece o' business, and whatcame to you is only a little part o' what you should 'a' got."
David rose. It was as he had expected--another refusal. "I see you careto do nothing for me. Good morning."
"Did I say so? Set down. You're talkin' the truth--that's somethin'. Atleast it don't sound much like one o' them fancy little lies a fellowmakes up to make a good impression. Well, what d'you want from me?"
David sat down. He spoke quickly, desperately. "I came back from prisondetermined to live honestly. I've been trying for four months to getwork. No one will have me. I won't tell you what I've been through. Imust have work, if I'm to live at all. I've come to you because Ithought you might help me get work--any kind of work."
For a minute or more the Mayor silently studied David's thin features.Then he said abruptly: "Excuse me for leavin' your troubles, but I beenout in this cold air and I'm as empty as my hat. I've got to have a biteto eat, or I'll all cave in. And you'll have some with me. I don't liketo eat alone.
"Oh, John!" the deep voice roared out. "Say, John, fetch us some eggs.How'll you have your eggs? Scrambled? Scrambled eggs, John, bacon, rollsand coffee for two.
"Now back to your troubles, friend." He shook his head slowly. "You'reup against a stiff proposition. There ain't much of a demand forex-crooks right now."
He once more began to scrutinise David's face. "Don't let this botheryou, friend; I'm just seein' what's inside you," he said, and continuedhis stare.
One minute passed, two minutes, and that fixed gaze did not shift. Davidgrew weak with suspense. He knew he was on trial, and that the nextmoment would hear his sentence.
Suddenly the Mayor thrust a big hand across the table and graspedDavid's. "It ain't the icy mitt for you. Jobs are scarce, but--let'ssee. What kind o' work have you done? I remember readin' about you;wasn't you a professor, or somethin' in that line o' business?"
David swam in a vertigo of vast relief; his hand instinctively clutchedthe edge of the table; the Mayor's face looked blurred, far away.... "Iwas a writer ... for magazines."
"My pull wouldn't help a lot with the literary push." The Mayor's eyesagain became keen. "And I suppose you now want somethin' o' the samesort--somethin' fancy?"
The dizziness was subsiding. "Anything--so it's work!"
The Mayor meditated a moment. "Well, I only know o' one job just now,and you wouldn't have it."
"What is it?" demanded David, tensely.
"The agent o' the house where I live told me a couple o' days ago hewanted a new janitor."
"I'll take it!"
"Sweepin'--scrubbin'--sortin' rubbish--everybody cussin' you--twelvedollars a month."
The wages made David hesitate. He calculated. "I'll take it--if theagent will have me."
"He'll have you. Rogers's got a special interest in chaps that're makin'the fight you're makin'."
David half rose. "Hadn't I better see him at once?" he asked, anxiously."The job may be taken any minute."
"Set down, young man. That job ain't goin' to run away. Here comesbreakfast. I'll go with you when we're through. Gee, I could eat ahouse."
David made no boasts, but when he rose from his first meal since themidnight supper with Kate Morgan thirty-three hours before, he hadeffaced his share of the breakfast. He noted that the Mayor's portionhad hardly been touched, and the Mayor saw he observed this. "I had asudden turn o' the stomach," the Mayor explained. "I never know whenit's goin' to let me eat, or when it's goin' to say there's nothin'doin'."
They walked away through a deep cross street of red tenements withfire-escapes climbing the walls like stark, grotesque vines. D
avid wasfilled with dread lest he might find the position already occupied. Hewanted to run. But despite his suspense he had to notice that the Mayorwas smiling at all the women on both sides of the street, and that everypretty one who passed was followed by a look over the Mayor's shoulder.
At the end of five minutes they turned into a tenement of the bettersort, on the large front window of whose first floor David read in giltletters, "John Rogers--Real Estate."
"Here's where I live--on the floor above," said the Mayor. "You justwait here in the hall a minute or two while I have a chat with Rogers."
The Mayor entered the office, and David paced the narrow hallway. Wouldhe get the job? No--this Rogers would never hire a thief. Anyhow, evenif Rogers would, someone else had the job already. It couldn't be truethat at last he was to gain a foothold--even so poor a foothold. No,this was to be merely one more rejection.
At length the Mayor came out, carefully smoothing the few hairs thatlined his crown like a sheet of music paper. "Rogers is waitin' for you;go right in. See you soon. Good-bye." He shook hands and went out,cautiously replacing his hat.
David entered, palpitant. The office was bare, save for real estate mapson the walls, a few chairs and a desk. Mr. Rogers turned in his swivelchair and motioned David to a seat beside him. "Mr. Hoffman has told meabout you," he said, briefly, and for a moment he silently looked Davidover; and David, for his part, did the same by the man whose "yes" or"no" was about to re-create or destroy him. Mr. Rogers was a slight,spectacled man with dingy brown hair and a reddish pointed beard; andhis plain wrinkled clothes were instantly suggestive of mediocrity. Hisface had the yellowish pallor of old ivory, and its apparent stoliditywould have confirmed the impression of his clothes, had there notgleamed behind his spectacles a pair of quick watchful eyes.
"Do you mind if I ask you about yourself?" Mr. Rogers said, quietly.
"Ask anything you please."
"Mr. Hoffman has told me of your--unfortunate experience of the lastfour or five years. Since coming out you have made a real effort atfinding work?"
David outlined the struggles of the past four months. Mr. Rogers heardhim through without show of emotion other than an increased brightnessof the eyes, then asked: "Have you not, under such hard circumstances,been tempted to steal again?"
David paled, and hesitated. A reformed thief who had attempted theft nolater than yesterday, would certainly not be employed. He saw hischance, so near, fade suddenly away. But he had determined upon absolutefrankness.
"Yes," he admitted in a low tone. Then his voice became tremulous withappeal: "But I yielded only once! I was in the act of stealing--but Istopped myself. I could not. I took nothing!--not a thing!"
David expected to see the yellow face harden, but it did not change."You know the character of the work," Mr. Rogers resumed. "It is notpleasant."
David's hope rushed back. "That makes no difference to me!"
"And the pay is small--only twelve dollars a month and your rent."
"Yes! Yes! That's all right!"
"Then," concluded the low, even voice, "if it's convenient to you, Ishould like to have you begin at once."