A Top-Floor Idyl Page 4

  CHAPTER IV

  THE BOLT

  "And by the way," asked Gordon, a few days later, "how's Frieda gettingalong?"

  "Very well," I answered. "I think she's painting nymphs and angels, asusual."

  "Angels, eh? The natural history of such fowl is interesting."

  I had met him in the middle of Bryant Park as I was on the way to thePublic Library to look up information in regard to feminine garb of theRevolutionary period. It appeared that he was returning from aninterview with a Fifth Avenue picture dealer. At once we sought a benchand found seats between a doubtfully-clean young gentleman, reading thesporting page of a dilapidated paper, and an old lady, with rheumy eyes,who watched a ragged urchin.

  I nodded, much interested, and he pursued the subject.

  "You may have noticed that the very first angels all belonged to themasculine persuasion and you are, perhaps, also aware that it was ratherlate in the world's growth before women were accorded the possession ofa soul. Hence, at the time, there could be no female angels, eitherworthy or evil. To-day, we have changed all that, as Moliere said. Inorder to flatter the feminine taste people began to talk of little boyangels, because women think more of boy babies than of girl ones. Thetime arrived when men forgot about the women, the dogs and the walnuttrees and, instead of taking a club to the ladies, they began to writesonnets to them. It is evident that no one can rhyme words withouteverlastingly trying to gild the lily. To call a spade a spade, or awoman a woman, became scant courtesy, and, hence, the poets devisedfemale angels. The painters and sculptors naturally pounced upon them,for their decorative effect, and the she-angel took a firmly-establishedplace in art and fiction. Let me see, I think you said that your Murillolady describes her little sprout as an angel. This merely shows her tobe a normal creature of her sex."

  "You are entirely wrong, if by normal you mean just average," Iretorted reproachfully. "Frieda declares that she is the most beautifulthing she ever saw."

  "Frieda is a waddling and inspired goose, whose goslings are all swans,"he asserted disrespectfully. "Through her unbecoming goggles humanityassumes pink and mauve colors instead of remaining drab. It may be goodfor Frieda and enables her to turn out some very attractive stuff, butit isn't the real thing. Well, I'll have to run away! Couple of fellowswaiting to drive me over to Long Beach. By-by!"

  He was gone with his usual startling suddenness, and I went off to thelibrary, pondering. When Gordon is talking to me, I can hardly helpbelieving him. Indeed, if the man had been a life insurance agent hewould have made a fortune. At first, one feels absolutely compelled toaccept all his statements, and it is only after he departs that I beginto wonder whether some flaws can't be picked in his arguments. Ioccasionally discover a few, I am quite sure. Humanity is no more drabthan the flowers of the field, except in terms of the million. There isbut slight beauty in violets by the ton, as I have seen them inSouthern France, brought in cartloads to the perfume factories. Theybecome but a strongly-scented mass of color. I desire to pick mine as Iwander afield, one at a time, and admire the petals, while making myselfbelieve that they grew for my pleasure. Gordon would scoff at the ideaand declare it an accidental meeting, but what does he know of theforces that may direct our footsteps? There is comfort in the Mohammedanbelief that everything is written before-hand.

  The particular book I wanted was being read by a snuffy old gentleman,seated at the long table in the Department of History. I wondered why heshould be interested in the frocks and flounces of a past century, andasked for a volume on Charles the Great, a ponderous tome I carriedreverently to the big oaken table.

  It was exceedingly warm, and flies were buzzing drowsily. A big handsomegirl was extracting wisdom from a dusty folio and taking notes on sheetsof yellow paper. I remember that her face was finely colored and herlashes long. Three chairs away, on the opposite side, a little deformedman looked up from his book, stealthily, and glanced at her. She neversaw him, I am very certain, nor was she ever conscious of the deep-setand suffering eyes that feasted on her beauty. To him she could be nomore than a splendid dream, something as far from his reach as theKoh-i-noor might be from mine. But I wondered whether such visions maynot be predestined parts of life, making for happiness and charm. Theyoung women at Mrs. Milliken's, who sell candy, will hand you outmaterial sugar-plums, yet even those have but an evanescent flavor andbecome only memories.

  Frieda has returned my twenty-dollar bill, which I stuffed in my pocket.

  "One has to be very careful about such things," she told me. "Neither ofus would offend the poor thing for any consideration. I have found outthat she has a little money, but it cannot be very much because she wasvery anxious about the doctor's fee and how much Eulalie would charge.But I didn't think it best to proffer any help just now, saving such aswe can render by making her feel that she has a friend or two in theworld. Isn't it hot?"

  I assured her that it was and said I was very glad that Mrs. Dupont wasnot quite destitute. By this time the baby was a week old and mostreasonably silent. Mrs. Milliken felt reassured, and the two young womenwho sold candy had come up, one evening, to admire the infant. From thegoodness of their hearts they had brought an offering of gummy sweets,which I subsequently confiscated and bestowed upon Eulalie for hersister's children, who, she assures me, are to be envied in thepossession of iron stomachs. The commercial young men have instinctivelyslammed their doors less violently, and the deaf old lady, precluded byage from ascending to top floors, sent up a pair of microscopic blue andwhite socks and a receipt for the fashioning of junket, which, Iunderstand, is an edible substance.

  "Tell you what!" exclaimed Frieda. "You might take me to Camus thisevening. Dutch treat, you know. I insist on it. I'm tired to-day anddon't want to wrestle with my gas-stove. Besides, I want to talk to youabout Kid Sullivan."

  "I'm afraid I'm unacquainted with the youthful Hibernian," I said. "Isit another baby that you take a vicarious interest in?"

  "No, he would have been the lightweight champion, but for his losing afight, quite accidentally," she explained. "He told me exactly how ithappened, but I don't remember. At any rate, it was the greatest pity."

  "My dear Frieda," I told her, "no one admires more than I a truedemocracy of acquaintance and catholicity of friendship, but don't youthink that consorting with prizefighters is a little out of your line?"

  "Don't talk nonsense," she said, in her decided way. "I just had to geta model for Orion, and he's my janitress's brother. The most beautifullad you ever saw. He already has a wife and two little children, and hisshoulders are a dream!"

  "So far," I told her, "I have fought shy of the squared circle in myliterary studies and know little about it. But I surmise that, if yourOrion continues his occupation, he is likely to lose some of his goodlooks. Be sure and paint his face first, Frieda, while the painting isstill good, and before his nose is pushed askew and he becomes adornedwith cauliflower ears."

  "I know nothing of such things," she answered, "and he's a delight topaint."

  "But for that perfectly accidental defeat, the man would have refused toappear as a demigod," I asserted. "A champion would think himself toofar above such an individual."

  "That's neither here nor there," she asserted, impatiently. "When I tryto talk, you're always wandering off into all sorts of devious paths.What I wanted to say was that, if any of your acquaintances happen torequire a very competent truck-driver, the Kid is out of a job. Ofcourse I can't afford to pay him much. He poses for me to oblige hissister."

  "The youth appears to have several strings to his bow," I remarked,wondering why Frieda should ever think I could possibly know people inneed of truck-drivers. But then, she never leaves a stone unturned, whenshe seeks to help more or less deserving people.

  In my honor she put on her most terrific hat, and we went arm in arm toCamus, where she revelled in olives and radishes and conscientiouslywent through the bill of fare.

  "Do you know, Frieda, I am thanking goodness for the advent
of thatbaby," I told her. "It has permitted me to enjoy more of your companythan I have for months and months. Every minute I can feel that you aregrowing nearer and dearer to me."

  She showed her fine teeth, laughing heartily. She delights in havingviolent love made to her by some one who doesn't mean it. To her itconstitutes, apparently, an excruciatingly funny joke. Also to me, whenI consider her hat, but, when she is bareheaded, I am more serious, for,then, she often looks like a real woman, possessing in her heart thegolden casket wherein are locked the winged passions. _Quien sabe?_ Sheis, perhaps, fortunate in that filmy goddesses and ethereal youths haveso filled her thoughts that a mere man, to her, is only the grosscovering of something spiritual that has sufficed for her needs. Poor,dear, fat Frieda! A big gold and crimson love bursting out from beneaththe varnish covering her hazy pigments would probably appal and frightenher.

  "Will you have some of the _sole au vin blanc_?" she asked, bringing medown to earth again.

  I thanked her and accepted, admiring the witchery whereby the WidowCamus can take a vulgar flounder and, with magic passes, translate itinto a fair imitation of a more heavenly fish. One nice thing aboutFrieda is that she never appears to think it incumbent upon hercompanion to devote every second of his attention to her. If I chance tosee a tip-tilted nose, which would serve nicely in the description ofsome story-girl, and wish to study it carefully and, I hope,unobtrusively, she is willing to let her own eyes wander about and enjoyherself, until I turn to her again. I was observing the details of avery fetching and merry little countenance, when a girl rose from anadjoining table and came up to Frieda.

  "I happened to turn my head and see you," she exclaimed. "So I just hadto come over and say howdy. I'm so glad to see you. I have my cousinfrom Mackville with me and am showing him the town."

  She was a dainty thing, modestly clad, crowned with fluffy auburn, andwith a face pigmented with the most genuine of cream and peaches.Frieda presented me, and she smiled, graciously, saying a few brightnothings about the heat, after which she rejoined her companion, arather tall and gawky youth.

  "She posed for me as Niobe two years ago," said my friend. "At present,she teaches physical culture."

  "What!" I exclaimed, "that wisp of a girl."

  "Yes, I don't know how many pounds she can lift; ever so many. She's aperfect darling and looks after an old mother, who still deploresMackville Four Corners. Her cousin is in safe hands."

  I took another look at the six-footer with her, who smoked a cigarettewith evident unfamiliarity.

  "Would," I said, "that every youth, confronted by the perils of New Yorkfor the first time, might be guided in such security. She is showing himthe revelry of Camus and has proved to him that a slightly Bohemianatmosphere is not incompatible with personal cleanliness and a soul keptwhite. It will broaden his horizon. Then she will take him home at arespectable hour, after having demonstrated to him the important factthat pleasure, edible viands and a cheerful atmosphere may be procuredhere out of a two-dollar bill, leaving a little change for carfare."

  "If I were a man," said Frieda, "I should fall in love with her."

  "If you were a man, my dear, you would fall in love a dozen times aday."

  "Gordon McGrath says it's the only safe way," she retorted.

  "Don't be quoting him to me," I advised her. "To him it is a mereegotistic formula. Like yourself, he has always been afraid to descendfrom generalities. I don't like the trait in him, whereas, in you, Iadmire it, because, with you, it is the mere following of a tendency towholesale affection for your fellow-beings. Yet it is a slightly curiousand abnormal condition."

  "Like having to wear spectacles," she helped me out.

  "Just so, whereas in Gordon it is simply the result of a deliberatepolicy, a line of conduct prepared in advance, like a chess-opening.Some day, in that game of his, a little pawn may move in an unexpectedway, and he will be hoist with his own petard."

  "I hope so," she answered cheerfully. "It will probably be very good forhim."

  "But it might also break his heart," I suggested.

  "Don't get gloomy," Frieda advised me. "What about yourself? Here youare abusing your friends because they fight shy of the archer godling. Ishould like to know what you have done to show any superiority."

  "Well, if my memory serves me right, I have proposed to you, once ortwice."

  "O dear no! You may have meant to, perhaps, but never really got to thepoint," she answered, laughing. "I haven't the slightest doubt that onceor twice you came to my flat all prepared for the sacrifice. But,suddenly, you doubtless became interested in some other trifling matter.Give me three lumps of sugar in my coffee, and don't let them splashdown. This is my best gown."

  We left Camus and returned together to Mrs. Milliken's. Frieda had acurious notion to the effect that, as she hadn't seen the baby sinceseveral hours, something very fatal might happen to it, if she failedto run in again. My landlady and her ancient male relative were sittingon the steps, fanning themselves and discussing the price of coal. Bythis time, the woman ate right out of Frieda's hand, although the latterdoes not seem to be aware that she has accomplished the apparentlyimpossible. The old night-watchman informed us that he was enjoying aweek's holiday from the bank. He was spending it, cheerfully, dividinghis leisure between the front steps and the backyard. He also told us ofa vague and ambitious project simmering in his mind. He was actuallyplanning to go all the way to Flatbush and see a niece of his. Forseveral years he had contemplated this trip, which, he apprised us,would take at least an hour each way. I bade him good courage, and wewent upstairs. While Frieda went into Mrs. Dupont's room, I turned onthe gas in mine and sat before my window, with my feet on the ledge,smoking my calabash.

  "Has Monsieur looked upon his bed?" Eulalie startled me by askingsuddenly.

  Now, in order to respond with decent civility, I was compelled to removemy feet from their resting place, to take the pipe from my mouth andturn in my chair. Women can sometimes be considerable nuisances.

  "No," I answered, "I have not looked upon the bed. Why should I? A bedis the last resource of the weary and afflicted, it is one of the thingsone may be compelled to submit to without becoming reconciled to it. Itake good care never to look at it so long as I can hold a book in myhand or watch passers-by in the street."

  "Very well, Monsieur," she answered placidly. "It is all there, and Ihave darned the holes in the socks."

  This was highly interesting and I hastily rose to inspect her handiwork.She had placed my washing on the coverlet and the result looked like animprovement on Celestial efforts. I took up the topmost pair of socksand gazed upon it, while a soft and chastened feeling stole over me.

  "Thank you, Eulalie," I said, with some emotion. "It is exceedinglynice; I am glad you called my attention to it. In the future I shall beobliged, if you will stuff it in the chiffonier. Had I first seen allthis on going to bed, I am afraid I should have pitched it on thefloor, as usual, and been sorry for it next morning."

  She smilingly complied at once with my request and withdrew, bidding mea good night, while I sat again, feeling great contentment. I had nowdiscovered that a man, if lucky, might have his socks darned withoutbeing compelled to take a wife unto himself, with all the uncomfortableappurtenances thereof. It was a new and cheering revelation. No soonerhad I begun to cogitate over the exquisiteness of my fate than I wasdisturbed again, however. Frieda partly obeyed conventionality byknocking upon my open door and walking in.

  "Frances Dupont wants me to thank you ever so much for the pretty roses,David," she told me. "It was really very kind of you to bring them. Ihave snipped the stems and changed the water and put them on the windowsill for the night."

  "Yes," I explained, "I had to change that twenty-dollar bill, and therewas a hungry-looking man at the corner of Fourteenth Street, who offeredthem to me for a quarter. So we had to go over to the cigar store to getthe note broken up into elementals. The fellow really looked as if heneeded money a great deal mor
e than roses, so I gave him a dollar."

  "But then why didn't you take a dollar's worth of flowers?" askedFrieda, high-priestess of the poetic brush, who is a practical woman, ifever there was one.

  "Never thought of it," I acknowledged; "besides, he had only threebunches left."

  "And so you didn't want to clean out his stock in trade. Never mind,Dave, it was very sweet of you."

  She hurried away, and, finally, I heard the front door closing, afterwhich I made a clean copy of that dog story, flattering myself that ithad turned out rather neatly. It was finished at two o'clock, and I wentto bed.

  The next morning was a Sunday. I dawdled at length over my dressing andsallied forth at eleven, after Mrs. Milliken had knocked at my doortwice to know if she could make the room. If I were an Edison, I shouldinvent an automatic room-making and womanless contrivance. These greatmen, after all, do little that is truly useful and practical.

  My neighbor's door was open. I coughed somewhat emphatically, afterwhich I discreetly knocked upon the doorframe.

  "Come in, Mr. Cole," said a cheery, but slightly husky, voice. "Come inand look at the darling."

  "That was my purpose, Madame Dupont," I said most veraciously.

  "Eulalie has gone out again," I was informed, after the infant had beenduly exhibited, as it slept with its two fists tightly closed. "She hasgone for a box of Graham crackers and the Sunday paper."

  I smiled, civilly, and opined that the day's heat would not be sooppressing.

  "Don't you want to sit down for a moment?" she asked me.

  I was about to obey, when I heard the elephantine step of thewasherwoman's sister, who entered, bearing her parcels and the _Courrierdes Etats Unis_.

  "Excuse me for just a second," said the husky little voice.

  I bowed and looked out of the window, upon yards where I caught thecheery note of a blooming wisteria.

  Suddenly, there came a cry. The bedsprings creaked as the young woman,who had raised herself upon one elbow, fell back inertly.

  "_Oh, mon Dieu!_" bellowed Eulalie, open-mouthed and with helpless armshanging down.

  I rushed to the bed, with some vague idea of bringing first aid. In thepoor little jar of roses I dipped my handkerchief and passed it overMrs. Dupont's brow, scared more than half to death. Presently, sheseemed to revive a little. She breathed and sighed, and then came aflood of tears. She stared at me with great, deep, frightened eyes, andwith a finger pointed to a column of the paper. I took it from her andheld it out at a convenient distance from my eyes, about two feet away.There was a printed list referring to reservists gone from New York. Formany weeks, doubtless, she had scanned it, fearing, hopeful, withquick-beating heart that was only stilled when she failed to find thatwhich she tremblingly sought.

  I caught the name, among other announcements of men fallen at the front.

  --Paul Dupont--

  I also looked at her, open-mouthed, stupidly. She stared again at me,as if I could have reassured her, sworn that it was a mistake, told hernot to believe her eyes.

  Then, she rose again on her elbow and turned to the slumbering mite ather side, but, although the salty drops of her anguish fell on thebaby's face, he continued to sleep on.