CHAPTER V
ON THE UPWARD PATH
Kate's last sentence, "You'll love me yet, David!" recurred to himconstantly during the next two days. He would not, of course--yet hecould but muse upon the possibility. We are all creatures of change. Ourviews of to-day may not be our views of to-morrow, our dislikes of thisyear may be our desires of next. Since, as Kate had said, Helen Chambersdid not live for him, might there not take place within him such achange as would make him yearn for the love he now could not accept?
David looked forward with dread to his next meeting with Kate. He fearedanother such scene, so painful to them both, as the one they had justpassed through. But his fear was needless. Kate's nature was animpetuous one, little schooled to control, but her will was strong andshe was capable of restraint as well as of abandon. She knew enough ofcharacter to see that David could be eventually won to be more thanfriend only by now asking and giving no more than friendship; and shewas strong enough to hold herself to this course.
When she came in three evenings later, both manner and dress were sober,though her eyes showed what was behind her self-control. They greetedeach other with constraint; but she at once said abruptly, "I'm goingto behave," and went on to tell David that, after two days' searching,she had found a position in a department store and had begun work thatmorning.
"I'm a soap saleslady," she said. "Lace-box soap, a three-cake box fornine cents, takes off skin and all--you know the kind. I get fivedollars a week. That's two hundred and sixty dollars for a year's work.I've made that, and more, in a night. Oh, it pays to be honest!"
She had broken the constraint, but nevertheless David was grateful forthe entrance of Rogers who just then chanced in. David introduced thetwo, and after a few moments of chat Rogers invited David and Kate todine with him at the Mayor's cafe, where he had all his meals; and alittle later they set out for the Pan-American.
The restaurant was filled with diners--fair Germans sitting behind bigglass steins, olive-skinned Jews and Hungarians, and women in plenty ofboth hues. Most were more or less Americanised, but many announced bythe queer cut of their clothes that they were recent pilgrims. Sometables were quiet with a day's weariness, some buzzed with business,some (and most of these were Jewish) were eager with discussion onmusic, literature, politics, religion. Above the buzz of four tonguesrose a wild, wailing air of the Carpathians that the orchestra, in redvelvet jackets, were setting free with excited hands from their guitar,mandolin, xylophone and two violins.
The Mayor, in vest of effulgent white, was circulating among hisguests, joking, wishing good appetites, radiating hospitality from hisglowing face. His well-organised kitchen and dining-room apparently ranthemselves, so during the dinner hours there was nothing to interrupthis being merely host. He beckoned Rogers's party, who had paused at thedoor, toward him with a grand wave of his jewelled hand, and led them toa table at the rear of the room.
"Well, friends, if your appetites are as good as my dinner, you'vecertainly got a good time comin'," he said, and moved on to otherguests.
On the way over Kate had announced that she was going to do somestudying at home--reading was one of David's interests, so she haddecided it must be one of hers--and had asked for advice; and this nowled to a discussion upon books between David and Rogers. Daviddiscovered that his employer had no use for poetry, had a fairacquaintance with fiction, and in history and philosophy was much betterread than himself.
Rogers, in his unexcitable way, talked well. At times his remarks werebrilliant in their analysis, and at times there came those quick,caustic thrusts of wit that pierce like a sword to the heart of pretenseand false ideas. He expressed himself with ease in a wide vocabulary,though many of the less common words he mispronounced--a fault that toDavid was elusively familiar. He spoke always in a quiet, even tone,that would have led a casual hearer to believe that he was merely a coldmentality, that he had not the fire of a soul. But David had the feelingnow, as he had had before and as he was often to have again, that inlooking into those glowing eyes he was looking into the crater of avolcano.
During this play of wits Kate could only look silently on. She had knownthat David was in education above the level of her friends, but the sideof himself he was now showing she had not before seen. His richnesswhere she had nothing seemed to remove him to an impossible distance.Her face became drawn with sharp pain.
But presently the talk shifted from books to life, and she forgot herdespair. Here she was at home. She knew life, her impressions weredistinct and decided, and her sentences seemed pieces of her own vividpersonality. The presence of the two men inspired her. David, whothought he knew her, found himself being surprised at the quickness andkeenness of her mind, and Rogers watched her little sparkling face withmore and more interest. She was surprised at herself, too; talking onsubjects of broader interest than personalities was a new experience toher, and she discovered in herself powers never before called out.
As they were sipping their coffee to the frenzied music of a gypsywaltz, Tom, who had spied them from the kitchen, darted in to theirtable. His appearance was much improved by a haircut and a complete newoutfit which a small amount in David's cash, and a larger amount in theMayor's credit, had enabled him to purchase on the instalment plan. Heshook hands all around, unabashed by Rogers's habitual reserve.
"How'd you like de feed?" he demanded eagerly. "If anyt'ing's wrong,I'll fix it. Nuttin'? O' course not. Say, de grub here's swell, ain'tit? T'irty cents is a lot for a dinner, but it's wort' it. We buys onlyde best, we cooks it right, an' we serves it proper, wid table-clot' an'napkins. D'you take notice o' dem? It ain't many places you gitstable-clot' an' napkins!
"Was your waiter all right? Shall I call him down for anyt'ing? No.Well, I'm glad I don't have to say nuttin' to him, for he's a friend o'mine. Say, mebbe you t'ink it's easy to run a place like dis. T'inkagain! First, dere's what're we goin' to have to-day, den dere's gettin'it ready, den dere's servin' it, an' de dishes, an' washin' 'em, an'everyt'ing. It's hustle, an' worry, an' t'ink from when you gets up tillwhen you goes to bed."
And on he went, picturing the responsibility under which he tottered,till they told him goodnight and went out.
Kate was in a glow of spirits when David and Rogers left her at herdoor. She whispered appealingly to David as they parted, "Please talkwith me this way again, David." It had been in his mind that, under thecircumstances, it would be better for Kate if they should cease to meet;but he frankly realised he was the only link which held her to her newhonesty, and to break their friendship would be to snap that link. Andso he answered, "Yes--often;" and this was in fact the first of manysuch hours spent together, in which they were often joined by Rogers. Itseemed to David that Kate's cynicism and sharpness were beginning slowlyto wear away.
Since his talk with Helen David's hope of conquering the future had beenconstantly high. He did not underestimate the struggle before him, butstrength and courage had been flowing into him since food and shelterhad ceased to be worries, and he now felt that under Helen's inspirationhe could do anything. One of his aims he had already achieved, Helen'srespect, though how still seemed to him a miracle. His heart yearnedeven more eagerly than ever for something higher than friendship, but heknew this desire to be, as always, unattainable. He could not hope for asecond miracle, and one that would sink the first to a commonplace.
Her suggestion that he should write a story of the man-making of a boywhom surroundings had forced toward destruction, laid immediate andpowerful hold upon him. He saw, as she had said, that a story of theright kind might contribute in some degree to awakening the public'ssympathy for, and responsibility toward, the hundreds of thousands ofchildren that are going to waste. And he saw, too, that such a bookmight lift him toward the world's respect, where he would be happier,more effective. Selfishly, altruistically, the story was the thing forhim to do.
During the days after their talk, all his spare time, and even while hewent about his work, his imagination was im
passionedly shapingcharacters and plot. He had a note from Helen saying she wanted to seehim the following Friday, and he could hardly wait for it to come, hewas that eager to ask her judgment on his story's outline. When Fridayafternoon did finally arrive, he began to look for her an hour beforeshe could be expected, excitedly pacing his room, and every minuteglancing through his window up to the sidewalk.
* * * * *
When Helen, after leaving her club of schoolgirls that afternoon,entered the reception room on her way out, she found Mr. Allen waitingfor her in the Flemish oak settle.
"You were not expecting me, but I hope you're not displeased," he saidin his grave, pleasant voice, and with the ease of long-accustomedwelcome.
She could not wholly restrain a little air of vexation as she gave himher hand. "Of course I'm glad. But I'm afraid I'll have to disappointyou if you've come to go home with me. I've promised to make a call--inthe neighbourhood. Of course you can walk with me there, if you like."
"Oh, the neighbourhood!" He gave a humorous groan of mock complaint, butdown in his heart the complaint was very real. The neighbourhood wascoming too often between her and his desire to be with her. "Very well.I'll take what I can get."
She threw her sable scarf about her throat and they stepped forth intothe narrow street, paved with new snow that the day had trodden to adirty glaze. He had talked with her before about his ambitions, for hisfuture had been part of his offering when he had offered himself. He nowtold her that he had just been appointed chief counsel of the committeeof the legislature for investigating impure foods. She knew how great adistinction this was, how great a token of the future, and shecongratulated him warmly.
"If these good things you see really do come, you know I don't want toshare them alone," he said in a low voice, when she had finished.
She shook her head slowly. "The more I think, the more I see howunsuited I am for you. Our ideas are so different. You face one pole, Ianother. We would never pull together; we could only achieve thedeadlock of two joined forces that struggle in opposite directions."
"But you know my hope is that we shall not always face in oppositedirections."
She turned upon him a smile that was touched with irony. "You mean youexpect some day to look toward my pole?"
He shrugged his shoulders and laughed. "You know I mean you will someday see the futility of such work as you are doing, and the wrongness ofmany of your ideas--and then you will turn to the true pole."
"Your pole? No. I do not believe, as you do, that only the fit shouldsurvive. I do not believe, as you do, that the hard conditions of lifeare necessary as a kind of sieve, or a kind of civil serviceexamination, to separate the fit from the unfit. I do not believe, asyou do, that the great mass who have failed to pass the meshes of thistest, who are down, have by the mere fact of their being down provedtheir unfitness, shown that they are worthy to be neglected. Yourbelief, summed up, is that the world is made for the strong--for therich man born to opportunities, and for the poor man born with thesuperior brains and energy to create them. To that belief I can nevercome. I believe the world is made also for the weak. Rather, I believeall should be made strong."
With a sweep of her hand she indicated the two rows of tenements whosedingy red walls stretched away and away till they and the narrow streetdisappeared into the wintry twilight.
"All these people here--they are weak because they have never had achance to be otherwise. Give them a fair chance and they will becomestrong--or most of them. That is what I believe--a fair chance for allto become strong."
"And I believe the same. Only I believe that chance exists at presentfor all who are worthy. If there is good stuff in a man, he rises; ifnot, he belongs where he is. The struggle is selective, it develops.Make it easier and you lower the quality of your people."
"Ah, yes, I know you are an unalterable individualist," she sighed."When I realise the great part you are going to have during the nexttwenty or thirty years in shaping the conditions under which we all mustlive, I wish you could be brought to a broader concept of the humanrelationship."
"If I am to play such a part, my own concept is quite broad enough."
"But in ways it is so hopeless! It consigns all these people to outerdarkness. It holds no chance for the man whom circumstances are pressingdown, no chance for any of those helpless people who are reaching vainlyupward, or those who would be reaching upward if their consciousnesswere roused." They were drawing near to David's house, and the sight ofit prompted a specific instance. "No chance for the man who has stolen,who repents, who struggles to reform."
"The repentant thief!" He gave a low laugh. "The one that repented onthe cross is the eternal type of the thief that repents. If he repents,it's at the last minute--when he can steal no more!"
His words half angered her. "I wish you could talk with the one I'mgoing to see now!"
He looked at her in surprise. "That Aldrich fellow you were tellingabout!" he ejaculated.
He felt a further astonishment--that she should be calling upon a man,and evidently in his room. He did not put this into words, but she readit in his face. It angered her more, and she answered his look sharply:
"To have him call at my house or to see me at the Mission would beembarrassing to him. I feel that I can be of some service, and since Imust choose between an uptown convention and helping save a man, I havedecided to sacrifice convention. It seems strange, doesn't it?"
He did not reply to her sarcasm, but he still disapproved. There were somany things of which he disapproved that even had he been free tocriticise he would have felt the futility of striking at any singlefault. He prayed for the eradication of all this part of her life, andher restoration to normal views; first, because he honestly disbelievedin the work that interested her; second, because he reasoned that whileshe gave so much interest to the poor she was likely to have littleinterest left to give to his suit.
They paused before David's window. David, glancing out, saw Allen notten feet away and heard Helen say, "I wish so much you would talk withMr. Aldrich." For a moment his heart stood still. Then he sprang towardthe door, intending to escape the back way, but it occurred to him thatperhaps Allen might not come in, and that to avoid him by running awaywas also to miss Helen. He left the door ajar, to aid a quick flight ifAllen started in, and peered through the window at the couple, as alertas a "set" runner waiting the pistol-shot.
They were a splendid pair, David had to admit to himself--both tall, shewith the grace of perfect womanhood, he with the poise and dignity ofpower and success. She was a woman to honour any man's life; he--Davidnow knew of Allen's brilliant achievements and brilliant future--had alife worth any woman's honouring. Yes, they were a splendid pair.
Presently Allen bowed and went away, and the next moment David openedthe door for Helen. He was grateful to the dusk for muffling hisagitation; and doubly grateful to it when she said, after giving him afirm pressure from her hand:
"I've been trying to arrange with a friend--Mr. Allen--to have a talkwith you some day. I hope you may soon meet."
"Thank you," said David.
She suggested that they walk, and a few minutes later, David recitingthe outline of his story, they entered Second Avenue, the East Side'sboulevard, always thronged with business folk, shoppers, promenaders,students. They forgot the crowds through which they wove their way,forgot even that they walked, and it was a surprise to both when theyfound themselves, just as David finished, before her home.
She looked at his erect figure, at his glowing, excited face. "I thinkit's going to be splendid!" she cried.
"I think so myself," he returned, with an exultant little laugh. "So aman always feels at first. But when the cold and clammy days have come,when your fires have all gone out and there's nothing but ashes left inyour imagination----"
"Then," she broke in quickly, "you must just keep going.
'----tasks in hours of insight will'd, Can be through hours of glo
om fulfill'd.'
That's worth remembering. But let's walk on for a few minutes. There'ssomething I want to say."
She was silent for the greater part of a block. "One of our friends thatwe see much of is a publisher. He tells me that, though a novel may notsell enough to pay for the type-writing, it is pretty certain, if it hasany merit, to yield several hundred dollars. If it has an active sale itmay yield several thousand, and if it gets to the front of the bigsellers it may yield a small fortune. I was thinking that if your bookshould go even moderately well, what a great deal it wouldhelp--toward--I mean what a great deal it would help you."
She looked at him expectantly. Her voice and her manner had had abackground of constraint, and David vaguely felt that her meaning wasnot in her words, but was lurking behind them.
"Yes?" he said, wonderingly.
The constraint was more marked as she continued, with an effort:"Perhaps you might get--five thousand dollars for it."
"Yes?" he said, his wonderment rising.
The constraint and effort were even greater as she replied: "Well, thatwould do so much toward clearing your name!"
Her meaning leaped forth from its lurking place. For a moment he wascompletely stupefied.... She wanted him to repay the stolen money to St.Christopher's!
He felt her eyes upon him, waiting. "Yes--it would help," he said,mechanically.
They turned back. She saw he was far away. She did not speak. First cameto him the absurdity of his trying to repay with his presentearnings--fifty years of utmost saving. But he pressed down the bitterlaugh that rose. She was right; if he was ever to clear his name he mustrefund the money to the Mission. Perhaps the book would repay it;perhaps years and years of work would be required. But repay it he must.There was no other way.
He looked up as they paused again before her house. "Yes--I will repay,"he said.
She reached out her hand. Its grasp was warm, tight.
"I knew it," she said, with a directness, a simplicity, that thrilledhim. "I'm so glad!"