Gladiator

by Philip Wylie

  VIII

  Greatness seemed to elude Hugo, success such as he had earned wasinadequate, and his friendships as well as his popularity were tingedwith a sort of question that he never understood. By the end of winterhe was well established in Webster as a great athlete. Psi Delta sanghis praises and was envied his deeds. Lefty and Chuck treated him as abrother. And, Hugo perceived, none of that treatment and none of thatsociety was quite real. He wondered if his personality was so meagrethat it was not equal to his strength. He wondered if his strength wasreally the asset he had dreamed it would be, and if, perhaps, otherpeople were not different from him in every way, so that any close humancontact was impossible to him.

  It was a rather tragic question to absorb a man so filled with life andambition as he. Yet every month had raised it more insistently. He sawother men sharing their inmost souls and he could never do that. He sawthose around him breaking their hearts and their lungs for theuniversity, and, although it was never necessary for him to do that, hedoubted that he could if he would. Webster was only a school. Asentiment rather than an ideal, a place rather than a goal of dreams. Hethought that he was cynical. He thought that he was inhuman. It worriedhim.

  His love was a similar experience. He fell in love twice during thatfirst year in college. Once at a prom with a girl who was related toLefty--a rich, socially secure girl who had studied abroad and whoalmost patronized her cousin.

  Hugo had seen her dancing, and her long, slender legs and arms hadissued an almost tangible challenge to him. She had looked over Lefty'sshoulder and smiled vaguely. They had met. Hugo danced with her. "I loveto come to a prom," she said; "it makes me feel young again."

  "How old are you?"

  She ignored the obvious temptation to be coy and he appreciated that."Twenty-one."

  It seemed reasonably old to Hugo. The three years' difference in theirages had given her a pinnacle of maturity.

  "And that makes you old," he reflected.

  She nodded. Her name was Iris. Afterwards Hugo thought that it shouldhave been Isis. Half goddess, half animal. He had never met with thevanguard of emancipated American womanhood before then. "You're thegreat Hugo Danner, aren't you? I've seen your picture in the sportingsections." She read sporting sections. He had never thought of a womanin that light. "But you're really much handsomer. You have more sex andmasculinity and you seem more intelligent."

  Then, between the dances, Lefty had come. "She? Oh, she's a sort ofcousin. Flies in all the high altitudes in town. Blue Book and all that.Better look out, Hugo. She plays rough."

  "She doesn't look rough."

  Both youths watched her. Long, dark hair, willowy body, high, paleforehead, thin nose, red mouth, smiling like a lewd agnostic and dancingclose to her partner, enjoying even that. "Well, look out, Hugo. If shewants to play, don't let her play with your heart. Anything else isquite in the books."

  "Oh."

  She came to the stag line, ignoring a sequence of invitations, and askedhim to dance. They went out on the velvet campus. "I could love you--fora little while," she said. "It's too bad you have to play footballto-morrow."

  "Is that an excuse?"

  She smiled remotely. "You're being disloyal." Her fan moved delicately."But I shan't chide you. In fact, I'll stay over for the game--and I'llenjoy the anticipation--more, perhaps. But you'll have to win it--to winme. I'm not a soothing type."

  "It will be easy--to win," Hugo said and she peered through the darknesswith admiration, because he had made his ellipsis of the object veryplain.

  "It is always easy for you to win, isn't it?" she countered with an easymockery, and Hugo shivered.

  The game was won. Hugo had made his touchdown. He unfolded a note shehad written on the back of a score card. "At my hotel at ten, then."

  "Then." Someone lifted his eyes to praise him. His senses swam incareful anticipation. They were cheering outside the dressing-room. Adifferent sound from the cheers at the fight-arena. Young, hilarious,happy.

  At ten he bent over the desk and was told to go to her room. The clerkshrugged. She opened the door. One light was burning. There was perfumein the air. She wore only a translucent kimono of pale-coloured silk.She taught him a great many things that night. And Iris learnedsomething, too, so that she never came back to Hugo, and kept thelonging for him as a sort of memory which she made hallowed in a shornsoul. It was, for her, a single asceticism in a rather selfish life.

  Hugo loved her for two weeks after that, and then his emotions weariedand he was able to see what she had done and why she did not answer hisletters. His subdued fierceness was a vehement fire to women. Hisfiercer appetite was the cause of his early growth in a knowledge ofthem. When most of his companions were finding their way into themysteries of sex both unhandily and with much turmoil, he learned welland abnormally. It became a part of his secret self. Another barrier tothe level of the society that surrounded him. When he changed the nameof Iris to Isis in his thoughts, he moved away from the Psi Deltas, whowould have been incapable of the notion. In person he stayed among them,but in spirit he felt another difference, which he struggled toreconcile.

  In March the thaws came, and under the warming sun Hugo made adeliberate attempt to fall in love with Janice, who was the daughter ofhis French professor. She was a happy, innocent little girl, with goldhair, and brown eyes that lived oddly beneath it. She worshipped Hugo.He petted her, talked through long evenings to her, tried to be faithfulto her in his most unfettered dreams, and once considered proposing toher. When he found himself unable to do that, he was compelled to resistan impulse to seduce her. Ashamed, believing himself unfit for a nicegirl, he untangled that romance as painlessly as he could, separatinghimself from Janice little by little and denying every accusation ofwaning interest.

  Then for a month he believed that he could never be satisfied by anywoman, that he was superior to women. He read the lives of great loversand adulterers and he wished that he could see Bessie, who had taken hismoney long before in New York City. She appealed to him then more thanall the others--probably, he thought, because he was drunk and had notviewed her in sharp perspective. For hours he meditated on women, whilehe longed constantly to possess a woman.

  But the habitual routine of his life did not suffer. He attended hisclasses and lectures, played on the basketball team, tried tentativelyto write for the campus newspaper, learned to perform indifferently onthe mandolin, and made himself into the semblance of an ideal collegeman. His criticism of college then was at its lowest ebb. He spentChristmas in New York at Lefty Foresman's parents' elaborate home,slightly intoxicated through the two weeks, hastening to the opera, toballs and parties, ill at ease when presented to people whose namesstruck his ears familiarly, seeing for the first time the exaggerationof scale on which the very rich live and wondering constantly why henever met Iris, wishing for and fearing that meeting while he wondered.

  When his first year at college was near to its end, and that still andrespectful silence that marks the passing of a senior class had fallenover the campus, Hugo realized with a shock that he would soon be on hisway back to Indian Creek. Then, suddenly, he saw what an amazing andsplendid thing that year at college had been. He realized how it hadfilled his life to the brim with activities of which he had not dreamed,how it had shaped him so that he would be almost a stranger in his ownhome, how it had aged and educated him in the business of living. Whenthe time of parting with his new friends drew near, he understood thatthey were valuable to him, in spite of his questioning. And they made itclear that he would be missed by them. At last he shared a feeling withhis classmates, a fond sadness, an illimitable poignancy that was youngand unadulterated by motive. He was perversely happy when he becameaware of it. He felt somewhat justified for being himself and living hislife.

  A day or two before college closed, he received a letter from hisfather. It was the third he had received during the year. It said:

  Dear Son--

  Your mother and I have dec
ided to break the news to you before you leave for home, because there may be better opportunities for you in the East than here at Indian Creek. When you went away to Webster University, I agreed to take care of all your expenses. It was the least I could do, I felt, for my only son. The two thousand dollars your mother and I had saved seemed ample for your four years. But the bills we have received, as well as your own demands, have been staggering. In March, when a scant six hundred dollars of the original fund remained, I invested the money in a mine stock which, the salesman said, would easily net the six thousand dollars you appeared to need. I now find to my chagrin that the stock is worthless. I am unable to get back my purchase money.

  It will be impossible during the coming year for me to let you have more than five hundred dollars. Perhaps, with what you earn this summer and with the exercise of economy, you can get along. I trust so. But, anxious as we are to see you again, we felt that, in the light of such information, you might prefer to remain in the East to earn what you can.

  We are both despondent over the situation and we wish that we could do more than tender our regrets. But we hope that you will be able to find some solution to this situation. Thus, with our very warmest affection and our fondest hope, we wish you good fortune.

  Your loving father,

  ABEDNEGO DANNER.

  Hugo read the letter down to the last period after the rather tremuloussignature. His emotions were confused. Touched by the earnest andpathetically futile efforts of his father and by the attempt of thatlonely little man to express what was, perhaps, a great affection, Hugowas nevertheless aghast at a prospect that he had not considered. He wasgoing to be thrown into the world on his own resources. And, resting hisframe in his worn chair--a frame capable of smashing into banks andtaking the needed money without fear of punishment--Hugo began to wonderdismally if he was able even to support himself. No trade, nooccupation, suggested itself. He had already experienced some of themerciless coldness of the world. The boys would all leave soon. And thenhe would be alone, unprovided for, helpless.

  Hugo was frightened. He read the letter again, his wistful thoughts ofhis parents diminishing before the reality of his predicament. Hecounted his money. Eighty dollars in the bank and twelve in his pockets.He was glad he had started an account after his experience with Bessie.He was glad that he had husbanded more than enough to pay his fare toIndian Creek. Ninety-two dollars. He could live on that for a long time.Perhaps for the summer. And he would be able to get some sort of job. Hewas strong, anyway. That comforted him. He looked out of his window andtried to enumerate the things that he could do. All sorts of farm work.He could drive a team in the city. He could work on the docks. Heconsidered nothing but manual labor. It would offer more. Gradually hisfear that he would starve if left to his own devices ebbed from him, andit was replaced by grief that he could not return to Webster. Fourteenhundred dollars--that was the cost of his freshman year. He made a listof the things he could do without, of the work he could do to helphimself through college. Perhaps he could return. The fear slowlydiminished. He would be a working student in the year to come. He hatedthe idea. His fraternity had taken no members from that class of humbleyoung men who rose at dawn and scrubbed floors and waited on tables towin the priceless gem of education. Lefty and Chuck would be chillytoward such a step. They would even offer him money to avoid it. It wasa sad circumstance, at best.

  When that period of tribulation passed, Hugo became a man. But hesuffered keenly from his unwonted fears for some time. The calm andsuave youth who had made love to Iris was buried beneath his frightenedand imaginative adolescence. It wore out the last of his childishness.Immediately afterwards he learned about money and how it is earned. Hesat there in the dormitory, almost trembling with uncertainty and usedmighty efforts to do the things he felt he must do. He wrote a letter tohis father which began: "Dear Dad--Why in Sam Hill didn't you tell meyou were being reamed so badly by your nit-witted son and I'd haveshovelled out and dug up some money for myself long ago?" On rereadingthat letter he realized that its tone was false. He wrote another inwhich he apologized with simple sincerity for the condition he hadunknowingly created, and in which he expressed every confidence that hecould take care of himself in the future.

  He bore that braver front through the last days of school. He shookLefty's hand warmly and looked fairly into his eyes. "Well, so long, oldsock. Be good."

  "Be good, Hugo. And don't weaken. We'll need all your beef next year.Decided what you're going to do yet?"

  "No. Have you?"

  Lefty shrugged. "I suppose I've got to go abroad with the family asusual. They wrote a dirty letter about the allowance I'd not have nextyear if I didn't. Why don't you come with us? Iris'll be there."

  Hugo grinned. "No, sir! Iris once is very nice, but no man's equal toIris twice." His grin became a chuckle. "And that's a poem which you cansay to Iris if you see her--and tell her I hope it makes her mad."

  Lefty's blue eyes sparkled with appreciation. Danner was a wonderfulboy. Full of wit and not dumb like most of his kind. Getting smooth,too. Be a great man. Too bad to leave him--even for the summer."Well--so long, old man."

  Hugo watched Lefty lift his bags into a cab and roll away in the warmJune dust. Then Chuck:

  "Well--by-by, Hugo. See you next September."

  "Yeah. Take care of yourself."

  "No chance of your going abroad, is there? Because we sure could paintthe old Avenue de l'Opera red if you did."

  "Not this year, Chuck."

  "Well--don't take any wooden money."

  "Don't do anything you wouldn't eat."

  Hugo felt a lump in his throat. He could not say any more farewells. Thecampus was almost deserted. No meals would be served after the next day.He stared at the vacant dormitories and listened to the waning sound ofdepartures. A train puffed and fumed at the station. It was filled withboys. Going away. He went to his room and packed. He'd leave, too. Whenhis suit-cases were filled, he looked round the room with damp eyes. Hethought that he was going to cry, mastered himself, and then did cry.Some time later he remembered Iris and stopped crying. He walked to thestation, recalling his first journey in the other direction, hispinch-backed green suit, the trunk he had carried. Grand old place,Webster. Suddenly gone dead all over. There would be a train for NewYork in half an hour. He took it. Some of the students talked to him onthe trip to the city. Then they left him, alone, in the great vacuum ofthe terminal. The glittering corridors were filled with people. Hewondered if he could find Bessie's house.

  At a restaurant he ate supper. When he emerged, it was dark. He askedhis way, found a hotel, registered in a one-dollar room, went out on thestreet again. He walked to the Raven. Then he took a cab. He rememberedBessie's house. An old woman answered the door. "Bessie? Bessie? No girlby that name I remember."

  Hugo described her. "Oh, that tart! She ran out on me--owin' a week'srent."

  "When was that?"

  "Some time last fall."

  "Oh." Hugo meditated. The woman spoke again. "I did hear from one of myother girls that she'd gone to work at Coney, but I ain't had time tolook her up. Owes me four dollars, she does. But Bessie, as you callsher--her name's Sue--wasn't never much good. Still--" the womanscrutinized Hugo and giggled--"Bessie ain't the only girl in the world.I got a cute little piece up here named Palmerlee says only the othernight she's lonely. Glad to interdooce you."

  Hugo thought of his small capital. "No, thanks."

  He walked away. A warm moon was dimly sensible above the lights of thestreet. He decided to go to Coney Island and look for the lost Bessie.It would cost him only a dime, and she owed him money. He smiled alittle savagely and thought that he would collect its equivalent. Thenhe boarded the subway, cursing himself for a fool and cursing hisappetite for the fool's master. Why did he chase that particular littleharlot on an evening when his mind should be bent toward more seriouspurposes
? Certainly not because he had any intention of getting back hismoney. Because he wished to surprise her? Because he was angry that shehad cheated him? Or because she was the only woman in New York whom heknew? He decided it was the last reason. Finally the train reached ConeyIsland, and Hugo descended into the fantastic hurly-burly on the streetbelow. He realized the ridiculousness of his quest as he saw the milesof thronging people in the loud streets.

  "See the fat woman, see Esmerelda, the beautiful fat woman, she weighssix hundred pounds, she's had a dozen lovers, she's the fattest woman inthe world, a sensation, dressed in the robes of Cleopatra, robes thattook a bolt of cloth; but she's so fat they conceal nothing, ladies andgentlemen, see the beautiful fat woman...." A roller coaster circledthrough the skies with a noise that was audible above the crowd'sstaccato voice and dashed itself at the earth below. A merry-go-roundwhirled goldenly and a band struck up a strident march. Hugo smelledstale beer and frying food. He heard the clang of a bell as a weight wasdriven up to it by the shoulders of a young gentleman in a pink shirt.

  "The strongest man in the world, ladies and gentlemen, come in and seeThorndyke, the great professor of physical culture from Munich, Germany.He can bend a spike in his bare hands, an elephant can pass over hisbody without harming him, he can lift a weight of one ton...." Hugolaughed. Two girls saw him and brushed close. "Buy us a drink, sport."

  The strongest man in the world. Hugo wondered what sort of strong man hewould make. Perhaps he could go into competition with Dr. Thorndyke. Hesaw himself pictured in gaudy reds and yellows, holding up an enormousweight. He remembered that he was looking for Bessie. Then he sawanother girl. She was sitting at a table, alone. That fact wassignificant. He sat beside her.

  "Hello, tough," she said.

  "Hello."

  "Wanna buy me a beer?"

  Hugo bought a beer and looked at the girl. Her hair was black andstraight. Her mouth was straight. It was painted scarlet. Her eyes werehard and dark. But her body, as if to atone for her face, was made in aseries of soft curves that fitted exquisitely into her black silk dress.He tortured himself looking at her. She permitted it sullenly. "You canbuy me a sandwich, if you want. I ain't eaten to-day."

  He bought a sandwich, wondering if she was telling the truth. She ateravenously. He bought another and then a second glass of beer. Afterthat she rose. "You can come with me if you wanna."

  Odd. No conversation, no vivacity, only a dull submission that was notin keeping with her appearance.

  "Have you had enough to eat?" he asked.

  "It'll do," she responded.

  They turned into a side street and moved away from the shimmering lightsand the morass of people. Presently they entered a dingy frame house andwent upstairs. There was no one in the hall, no furniture, only aflickering gas-light. She unlocked a door. "Come in."

  He looked at her again. She took off her hat and arranged her dark hairso that it looped almost over one eye. Hugo wondered at her silence. "Ididn't mean to rush," he said.

  "Well, I did. Gotta make some more. It'll be"--she hesitated--"twobucks."

  The girl sat down and wept. "Aw, hell," she said finally, looking at himwith a shameless defiance, "I guess I'm gonna make a rotten tart. I wasin a show, an' I got busted out for not bein' nice to the manager. Isays to myself: 'Well, what am I gonna do?' An' I starts to get hungrythis morning. So I says to myself: 'Well, there ain't but one thing todo, Charlotte, but to get you a room,' I says, an' here I am, so help meGod."

  She removed her dress with a sweeping motion. Hugo looked at her, filledwith pity, filled with remorse at his sudden surrender to her passionategood looks, intensely discomfited.

  "Listen. I have a roll in my pocket. I'm damn glad I came here first. Ihaven't got a job, but I'll get one in the morning. And I'll get you adecent room and stake you till you get work. God knows, I picked you upfor what I thought you were, Charlotte, and God knows too that I haven'tany noble nature. But I'm not going to let you go on the street simplybecause you're broke. Not when you hate it so much."

  Charlotte shut her eyes tight and pressed out the last tears, which raninto her rouge and streaked it with mascara. "That's sure white of you."

  "I don't know. Maybe it's selfish. I had an awful yen for you when I satdown at that table. But let's not worry about it now. Let's go out andget a decent dinner."

  "You mean--you mean you want me to go out and eat--now?"

  "Sure. Why not?"

  "But you ain't--?"

  "Forget it. Come on."

  Charlotte sniffled and buried her black tresses in her black dress. Shepulled it over the curves of her hips. She inspected herself in aspotted mirror and sniffled again. Then she laughed. A throaty, gurglinglaugh. Her hands moved swiftly, and soon she turned. "How am I?"

  "Wonderful."

  "Let's go!"

  She tucked her hand under his arm when they reached the street. Hugowalked silently. He wondered why he was doing it and to what it wouldlead. It seemed good, wholly good, to have a girl at his side again,especially a girl over whom he had so strong a claim. They stoppedbefore a glass-fronted restaurant that advertised its sea food and itssteaks. She sat down with an apologetic smile. "I'm afraid I'm goin' toeat you out of house and home."

  "Go ahead. I had a big supper, but I'll string along with some pie andcheese and beer."

  Charlotte studied the menu. "Mind if I have a little steak?"

  Hugo shook his head slowly. "Waiter! A big T-bone, and some lyonnaisepotatoes, and some string beans and corn and a salad and ice cream.Bring some pie and cheese for me--and a beer."

  "Gosh!" Charlotte said.

  Hugo watched her eat the food. He knew such pity as he had seldom felt.Poor little kid! All alone, scared, going on the street because shewould starve otherwise. It made him feel strong and capable. Before themeal was finished, she was talking furiously. Her pathetic life wasunravelled. "I come from Brooklyn ... old man took to drink, an' ma beatit with a gent from Astoria ... never knew what happened to her.... Ikept house for the old man till he tried to get funny with me....Burlesque ... on the road ... the leading man.... He flew the coop whenI told him, and then when it came, it was dead...." Another job ... themanager ... Coney and her dismissal. "I just couldn't let 'em have itwhen I didn't like 'em, mister. Guess I'm not tough like the othergirls. My mother was French and she brought me up kind of decent.Well...." The little outward turning of her hands, the shrug of hershoulders.

  "Don't worry, Charlotte. I won't let them eat you. To-morrow I'll setyou up to a decent room and we'll go out and find some jobs here."

  "You don't have to do that, mister. I'll make out. All I needed was asquare and another day."

  Charlotte sighed and smoked a cigarette with her coffee. Then they wentout on the street and mixed with the throng. The voices of a score ofbarkers wheedled them. Hugo began to feel gay. He took Charlotte to seethe strong man and watched his feats with a critical eye. He took her onthe roller coaster and became taut and laughing when she screamed andheld him. Then, laughing louder than before, they went throughSteeplechase. She fell in the rolling barrel and he carried her out.They crossed over moving staircases and lost themselves in a maze, andslid down polished chutes into fountains of light and excited screaming.Always, afterwards, her hand found his arm, her great dark eyes lookedinto his and laughed. Always they turned toward the other men and girlswith a proud and haughty expression that pointed to Hugo as her man, herconquest. Later they danced. They drank more beer.

  "Golly," she whispered, as she snuggled against him, "you sure strut amean fox trot."

  "So do you, Charlotte."

  "I been doin' it a lot, I guess."

  The brazen crash of a finale. The table. A babble of voices, voices ofpeople snatching pleasure from Coney Island's gaudy barrel of cheapamusements. Hugo liked it then. He liked the smell and touch of themultitude and the incessant hysteria of its presence. After midnight themusic became more aggravating--muted, insinuating. Several of thedancers were
drunk. One of them tried to cut in. Hugo shook his head.

  "Gee!" Charlotte said, "I was sure hopin' you wouldn't let him."

  "Why--I never thought of it."

  "Most fellows would. He's a tough."

  It was an introduction to an unfamiliar world. The "tough" came to theirtable and asked for a dance in thick accents. Charlotte paled andaccepted. Hugo refused. "Say, bo, I'm askin' for a dance. I gotconcessions here. You can't refuse me, see? I guess you got me wrong."

  "Beat it," Hugo said, "before I take a poke at you."

  The intruder's answer was a swinging fist, which missed Hugo by a widemargin. Hugo stood and dropped him with a single clean blow. The managercame up, expostulated, ordered the tough's inert form from the floor,started the music.

  "You shouldn't ought to have done it, mister. He'll get his gang."

  "The hell with his gang."

  Charlotte sighed. "That's the first time anybody ever stuck up for me.Jeest, mister, I've been wishin' an' wishin' for the day when somebodywould bruise his knuckles for me."

  Hugo laughed. "Hey, waiter! Two beers."

  When she yawned, he took her out to the boulevard and walked at her sidetoward the shabby house. They reached the steps, and Charlotte began tocry.

  "What's the matter?"

  "I was goin' to thank you, but I don't know how. It was too nice of you.An' now I suppose I'll never see you again."

  "Don't be silly. I'll show up at eight in the morning and we'll havebreakfast together."

  Charlotte looked into his face wistfully. "Say, kid, be a good guy andtake me to your hotel, will you? I'm scared I'll lose you."

  He held her hands. "You won't lose me. And I haven't got a hotel--yet."

  "Then--come up an' stay with me. Honest, I'm all right. I can prove itto you. It'll be doin' me a favor."

  "I ought not to, Charlotte."

  She threw her arms around him and kissed him. He felt her breath on hislips and the warmth of her body. "You gotta, kid. You're all I ever had.Please, please."

  Hugo walked up the stairs thoughtfully. In her small room he watched herdisrobe. So willingly now--so eagerly. She turned back the covers of thebed. "It ain't much of a dump, baby, but I'll make you like it."

  Much later, in the abyss of darkness, he heard her voice, sleepy andstill husky. "Say, mister, what's your name?"

  In the morning they went down to the boulevard together. The gay debrisof the night before lay in the street, and men were sweeping it away.But their spirits were high. They had breakfast together in a quietenchantment. Once she kissed him.

  "Would you like to keep house--for me?" he asked.

  "Do you mean it?" She seemed to doubt every instant that good fortunehad descended permanently upon her. She was like a dreamer whoanticipated a sombre awakening even while he clung to the bliss of hisdream.

  "Sure, I mean it. I'll get a job and we'll find an apartment and you canspend your spare time swimming and lying on the beach." He knew a twingeof unexpected jealousy. "That is, if you'll promise not to look at allthe men who are going to look at you." He was ashamed of that statement.

  Charlotte, however, was not sufficiently civilized to be displeased. "Doyou think I'd two-time the first gent that ever worried about what I didin my spare moments? Why, if you brought home a few bucks to most of thebirds I know, they wouldn't even ask how you earned it--they'd be sobusy lookin' for another girl an' a shot of gin."

  "Well--let's go."

  Hugo went to one of the largest side shows. After some questioning hefound the manager. "I'm H. Smith," he said, "and I want to apply for ajob."

  "Doin' what?"

  "This is my wife." The manager stared and nodded. Charlotte took his armand rubbed it against herself, thinking, perhaps, that it was a wifelygesture. Hugo smiled inwardly and then looked at the sprawled form ofthe manager. There, to that seamy-faced and dour man who was almostunlike a human being, he was going to offer the first sale of hismajestic strength. A side-show manager, sitting behind a dirty desk in adirty building.

  "A strong-man act," Hugo said.

  Charlotte tittered. She thought that the bravado of her new friend wasover-stepping the limits of good sense. The manager sat up. "I'd like tohave a good strong man, yes. The show needs one. But you're not thebird. You haven't got the beef. Go over and watch that damned Germanwork."

  Hugo bent over and fastened one hand on the back of the chair on whichthe manager sat. Without evidence of effort he lifted the chair and itsoccupant high over his head.

  "For Christ's sake, let me down," the manager said.

  Hugo swung him through the air in a wide arc. "I say, mister, that I'mthree times stronger than that German. And I want your job. If I don'tlook strong enough, I'll wear some padded tights. And I'll give you ashow that'll be worth the admission. But I want a slice of the entranceprice--and maybe a separate tent, see? My name is Hogarth"--he winked atCharlotte--"and you'll never be sorry you took me on."

  The manager, panting and astonished, was returned to the floor. Hisanger struggled with his pleasure at Hugo's showmanship. "Well, whatelse can you do? Weight-lifting is pretty stale."

  Hugo thought quickly. "I can bend a railroad rail--not a spike. I canlift a full-grown horse with one--one shoulder. I can chin myself on mylittle finger. I can set a bear trap with my teeth--"

  "That's a good number."

  "I can push up just twice as much weight as any one else in the game andyou can print a challenge on my tent. I can pull a boa constrictorstraight--"

  "We'll give you a chance. Come around here at three this afternoon withyour stuff and we'll try your act. Does this lady work in it? That'llhelp."

  "Yes," Charlotte said.

  Hugo nodded. "She's my assistant."

  They left the building, and when she was sure they were out of earshot,Charlotte said: "What do you do, strong boy, fake 'em?"

  "No. I do them."

  "Aw--you don't need to kid me."

  "I'm not. You saw me lift him, didn't you? Well--that was nothing."

  "Jeest! That I should live to see the day I got a bird like you."

  Until three o'clock Hugo and Charlotte occupied their time with feverishactivity. They found a small apartment not far from the sea-shore. Itwas clean and bright and it had windows on two sides. Its furniture wasnearly new, and Charlotte, with tears in her eyes, sat in all thechairs, lay on the bed, took the egg-beater from the drawer in thekitchen table and spun it in an empty bowl. They went out together andbought a quantity and a variety of food. They ate an early luncheon andHugo set out to gather the properties for his demonstration. At threeo'clock, before a dozen men, he gave an exhibition of strength the likeof which had never been seen in any museum of human abnormalities.

  When he went back to his apartment, Charlotte, in a gingham dress whichshe had bought with part of the money he had given her, was preparingdinner. He took her on his lap. "Did you get the job?"

  "Sure I did. Fifty a week and ten per cent of the gate receipts."

  "Gee! That's a lot of money!"

  Hugo nodded and kissed her. He was very happy. Happier, in a certainway, than he had ever been or ever would be again. His livelihood wasassured. He was going to live with a woman, to have one always near tolove and to share his life. It was that concept of companionship, aboveall other things, which made him glad.

  Two days later, as Hugo worked to prepare the vehicles of hisexhibition, he heard an altercation outside the tent that had beenerected for him. A voice said: "Whatcha tryin' to do there, anyhow?"

  "Why, I was making this strong man as I saw him. A man with theexpression of strength in his face."

  "But you gotta bat' robe on him. What we want is muscles. Muscles, bo.Bigger an' better than any picture of any strong man ever made. Put onehere--an' one there--"

  "But that isn't correct anatomy."

  "To hell wit' that stuff. Put one there, I says."

  "But he'll be out of drawing, awkward, absurd."

  "Sa
y, listen, do you want ten bucks for painting this sign or shall Igive it to some one else?"

  "Very well. I'll do as you say. Only--it isn't right."

  Hugo walked out of the tent. A young man was bending over a huge sheetmade of many lengths of oilcloth sewn together. He was a small person,with pale eyes and a white skin. Beside him stood the manager, eyeingcritically the strokes applied to the cloth. In a semi-finished statewas the young man's picture of the imaginary Hogarth.

  "That's pretty good," Hugo said.

  The young man smiled apologetically. "It isn't quite right. You can seefor yourself you have no muscles there--and there. I suppose you'reHogarth?"

  "Yes."

  "Well--I tried to explain the anatomy of it, but Mr. Smoots says anatomydoesn't matter. So here we go." He made a broad orange streak.

  Hugo smiled. "Smoots is not an anatomical critic of any renown. I say,Smoots, let him paint it as he sees best. God knows the other postersare atrocious enough."

  The youth looked up from his work. "Good God, don't tell me you'rereally Hogarth!"

  "Sure. Why not?"

  "Well--well--I--I guess it was your English."

  "That's funny. And I don't blame you." Hugo realized that the youngsign-painter was a person of some culture. He was about Hugo's age,although he seemed younger on first glance. "As a matter of fact, I'm acollege man." Smoots had moved away. "But, for the love of God, don'ttell any one around here."

  The painter stopped. "Is that so! And you're doing this--to make money?"

  "Yes."

  "Well, I'll be doggoned. Me, too. I study at the School of Design in thewinter, and in the summer I come out here to do signs and lightningportraits and whatever else I can to make the money for it. Sometimes,"he added, "I pick up more than a thousand bucks in a season. This is myfourth year at it."

  There was in the young artist's eye a hint of amusement, a suggestionthat they were in league. Hugo liked him. He sat down on a box. "Livehere?"

  "Yes. Three blocks away."

  "Me, too. Why not come up and have supper with--my wife and me?"

  "Are you married?" The artist commenced work again.

  Hugo hesitated. "Yeah."

  "Sure I'll come up. My name's Valentine Mitchel. I can't shake handsjust now. It's been a long time since I've talked to any one who doesn'tsay 'deez' and 'doze.'"

  When, later in the day, they walked toward Hugo's home, he was at a lossto explain Charlotte. The young painter would not understand why he, acollege man, chose so ignorant a mate. On the other hand, he owed it toCharlotte to keep their secret and he was not obliged to make anyexplanation.

  Valentine Mitchel was, however, a young man of some sensitivity. If hewinced at Charlotte's "Pleased to meetcher," he did not show it. Later,after an excellent and hilarious meal, he must have guessed thesituation. He went home reluctantly and Hugo was delighted with him. Hehad been urbane and filled with anecdotes of Greenwich Village andart-school life, of Paris, whither his struggling footsteps had takenhim for a hallowed year. And with his acceptance of Hugo came an equallywarm pleasure in Charlotte's company.

  "He's a good little kid," Charlotte said.

  "Yes. I'm glad I picked him up."

  The gala opening of Hogarth's Studio of Strength took place a few nightsafterwards. It proved even more successful than Smoots had hoped. Theflamboyant advertising posters attracted crowds to see the man who couldset a bear trap with his teeth, who could pull an angry boa constrictorinto a straight line. Before ranks of gaping faces that were supplantedby new ranks every hour, Hugo performed. Charlotte, resplendent in ablack dress that left her knees bare, and a red sash that all butobliterated the dress, helped Hugo with his ponderous props, setting offhis strength by contrast, and sold the pamphlets Hugo had written atSmoots's suggestion--pamphlets that purported to give away the secretof Hogarth's phenomenal muscle power. Valentine Mitchel watched theentire performance.

  When it was over, he said to Hugo: "Now you better beat it back and geta hot bath. You're probably all in."

  "Yes," Charlotte said. "Come. I myself will bathe you."

  Hugo grinned. "Hell, no. Now we're all going on a bender to celebrate.We'll eat at Villapigue's and we'll take a moonlight sail."

  They went together, marvelling at his vitality, gay, young, and livingin a world that they managed to forget did not exist. The night waswarm. The days that followed were warmer. The crowds came and the brassymusic hooted and coughed over them night and day.

  There are, in the lives of almost every man and woman, certain briefepisodes that, enduring for a long or a short time, leave in the memorya sense of completeness. To those moments humanity returns for refuge,for courage, and for solace. It was of such material that Hugo's nexttwo months were composed. The items of it were nearly all sensuous: thesound of the sea when he sat in the sand late at night with Charlotte;the whoop and bellow of the merry-go-round that spun and glitteredacross the street from his tent; the inarticulate breathing and thewhite-knuckled clenchings of the crowd as it lifted its face to hisefforts, for each of which he assumed a slow, painful motion thatexaggerated its difficulty; the smell of the sea, intermingled with athousand man-made odors; the faint, pervasive scent of Charlotte thatclung to him, his clothes, his house; the pageant of the people, alwaysin a huge parade, going nowhere, celebrating nothing but the functionsof living, loud, garish, cheap, splendid; breakfasts at his table withhis woman's voluptuousness abated in the bright sunlight to little morethan a reminiscence and a promise; the taste of beer and pop-corn andfrankfurters and lobster and steak; the affable, talkative company ofValentine Mitchel.

  Only once that he could recall afterwards did he allow his intellect toact in any critical direction, and that was in a conversation with theyoung artist. They were sitting together in the sand, and Charlotte,browned by weeks of bathing, lay near by. "Here I am," Mitchel said withan unusual thoughtfulness, "with a talent that should be recognized,wanting to be an illustrator, able to be one, and yet forced to dawdlewith this horrible business to make my living."

  Hugo nodded. "You'll come through--some winter--and you won't everreturn to Coney Island."

  "I know it. Unless I do it for sentimental reasons some day--in alimousine."

  "It's myself," Hugo said then, "and not you who is doomed to--well, tothis sort of thing. You have a talent that is at least understandableand--" he was going to say mediocre. He checked himself--"applicable inthe world of human affairs. My talent--if it is a talent--has no place,no application, no audience."

  Mitchel stared at Hugo, wondering first what that talent might be andthen recognizing that Hugo meant his strength. "Nonsense. Any male inhis right senses would give all his wits to be as strong as you are."

  It was a polite, friendly thing to say. Hugo could not refrain fromcomparing himself to Valentine Mitchel. An artist--a clever artist andone who would some day be important to the world. Because people couldunderstand what he drew, because it represented a level of thought andexpression. He was, like Hugo, in the doldrums of progress. But Mitchelwould emerge, succeed, be happy--or at least satisfied withhimself--while Hugo was bound to silence, was compelled never to allowhimself full expression. Humanity would never accept and understand him.They were not similar people, but their case was, at that instant,ironically parallel. "It isn't only being strong," he answeredmeditatively, "but it's knowing what to do with your strength."

  "Why--there are a thousand things to do."

  "Such as?"

  Mitchel raised himself on his elbows and turned his water-coloured eyeson the populous beach. "Well--well--let's see. You could, of course, bea strong man and amuse people--which you're doing. You could--oh, thereare lots of things you could do."

  Hugo smiled. "I've been thinking about them--for years. And I can'tdiscover any that are worth the effort."

  "Bosh!"

  Charlotte moved close to him. "There's one thing you can do, honey, andthat's enough for me."

  "I wonder," Hugo said wit
h a seriousness the other two did not perceive.

  The increased heat of August suggested by its very intensity a shortnessof duration, an end of summer. Hugo began to wonder what he would dowith Charlotte when he went back to Webster. He worried about her a gooddeal and she, guessing the subject of his frequent fits of silence, madea resolve in her tough and worldly mind. She had learned more aboutcertain facets of Hugo than he knew himself. She realized that he wassuperior to her and that, in almost any other place than Coney Island,she would be a liability to him. The thought that he would have todesert her made Hugo very miserable. He knew that he would missCharlotte and he knew that the blow to her might spell disaster. Afterall, he thought, he had not improved her morals or raised her vision. Hedid not realize that he had made both almost sublime by the mere act ofbeing considerate. "White," Charlotte called it.

  Nevertheless she was not without an intense sense of self-protection,despite her condition on the night he had found her. She knew thatwomankind lived at the expense of mankind. She saw the emotionalrespect in which Valentine Mitchel unwittingly held Hugo. He hadscarcely spoken ten serious words to her. She realized that the artistsaw her as a property of his friend. That, in a way, made her valuable.It was a subtle advantage, which she pressed with all the skill itrequired. One night when Hugo was at work and the chill of autumn hadbreathed on the hot shore, she told Valentine that he was a very niceboy and that she liked him very much. He went away distraught, which waswhat she had intended, and he carried with him a new and as yetinarticulate idea, which was what she had foreseen.

  He believed that he loved her. He told himself that Hugo was going todesert her, that she would be forsaken and alone. At that point, sherecited to him the story of her life and the tale of her rescue by Hugoand said at the end that she would be very lonely when Hugo was gone.Because Hugo had loved her, Mitchel thought she contained depths andvalues which did not appear. That she contained such depths neither manreally knew then. Both of them learned it much later. Mitchel foundhimself in that very artistic dilemma of being in love with his friend'smistress. It terrified his romantic soul and it involved himinextricably.

  When she felt that the situation had ripened to the point of action, shewaited for the precise moment. It came swiftly and in a better guisethan she had hoped. On a night in early September, when the crowds hadthinned a little, Hugo was just buckling himself into the harness thatlifted the horse. The spectators were waiting for the denouement withbickering patience. Charlotte was standing on the platform, watching himwith expressionless eyes. She knew that soon she would not see Hugo anymore. She knew that he was tired of his small show, that he was chafingto be gone; and she knew that his loyalty to her would never let him gounless it was made inevitable by her. The horse was ready. She watchedthe muscles start out beneath Hugo's tawny skin. She saw his lips set,his head thrust back. She worshipped him like that. Unemotionally, shesaw the horse lifted up from the floor. She heard the applause. Therewas a bustle at the gate.

  Half a dozen people entered in single file. Three young men. Threegirls. They were intoxicated. They laughed and spoke in loud voices. Shesaw by their clothes and their manner that they were rich. Slumming inConey Island. She smiled at the young men as she had always smiled atsuch young men, friendlily, impersonally. Hugo did not see theirentrance. They came very near.

  "My God, it's Hugo Danner!"

  Hugo heard Lefty's voice and recognized it. The horse was dropped to thefloor. He turned. An expression of startled amazement crossed hisfeatures. Chuck, Lefty, Iris, and three people whom he did not know werestaring at him. He saw the stupefied recognition on the faces of hisfriends. One despairing glance he cast at Charlotte and then he went onwith his act.

  They waited for him until it was over. They clasped him to their bosoms.They acknowledged Charlotte with critical glances. "Come on and join theparty," they said.

  After that, their silence was worse than any questions. They talkedfreely and merrily enough, but behind their words was a deep reserve.Lefty broke it when he had an opportunity to take Hugo aside. "What inhell is eating you? Aren't you coming back to Webster?"

  "Sure. That is--I think so. I had to do this to make some money. Justabout the time school closed, my family went broke."

  "But, good God, man, why didn't you tell us? My father is an alumnus andhe'd put up five thousand a year, if necessary, to see you kept on thefootball team."

  Hugo laughed. "You don't think I'd take it, Lefty?"

  "Why not?" A pause. "No, I suppose you'd be just the God-damned kind ofa fool that wouldn't. Who's the girl?"

  Hugo did not falter. "She's a tart I've been living with. I never knew abetter one--girl, that is."

  "Have you gone crazy?"

  "On the contrary, I've got wise."

  "Well, for Christ's sake, don't say anything about it on the campus."

  Hugo bit his lip. "Don't worry. My business is--my own."

  They joined the others, drinking at the table. Charlotte was telling ajoke. It was not a nice joke. He had not thought of her jokesbefore--because Iris and Chuck and Lefty had not been listening to them.Now, he was embarrassed. Iris asked him to dance with her. They went outon the floor.

  "Lovely little thing, that Charlotte," she said acidly.

  "Isn't she!" Hugo answered with such enthusiasm that she did not speakduring the rest of the dance.

  Finally the ordeal ended. Lefty and his guests embarked in an automobilefor the city.

  "You know such people," Charlotte half-whispered. Hugo's cheeks stillflamed, but his heart bled for her.

  "I guess they aren't much," he replied.

  She answered hotly: "Don't you be like that! They're nice people.They're fine people. That Iris even asked me to her house. Gave me acard to see her." Charlotte could guess what Iris wanted. So could Hugo.But Charlotte pretended to be innocent.

  He kissed Charlotte good-night and walked in the streets until morning.Hugo could see no solution. Charlotte was so trusting, so good to him.He could not imagine how she would receive any suggestion that she go toNew York and get a job, while he returned to college, that he see herduring vacations, that he send money to her. But he knew that a hotfire dwelt within her and that her fury would rise, her grief, and thathe would be made very miserable and ashamed. She chided him at breakfastfor his walk in the dark. She laughed and kissed him and pushed himbodily to his work. He looked back as he walked down to the curb. Shewas leaning out of the window. She waved her hand. He rounded the cornerwith wretched, leaden steps. The morning, concerned with the pettybusiness of receipts, refurbishings, cleaning, went slowly. When hereturned for lunch it was with the decision to tell her the truth abouthis life and its requirements and to let her decide.

  She did not come to the door to kiss him. (She had imagined that lonelyreturn.) She did not answer his brave and cheerful hail. (She had letthe sound of it ring upon her ear a thousand times.) She was gone. (Sheknew he would sit down and cry.) Then, stumbling, he found the twonotes. But he already understood.

  The message from Valentine Mitchel was reckless, impetuous. "DearHugo--Charlotte and I have fallen in love with each other and I've runaway with her. I almost wish you'd come after us and kill me. I hatemyself for betraying you. But I love her, so I cannot help it. I'velearned to see in her what you first saw in her. Good-bye, good luck."

  Hugo put it down. Charlotte would be good to him. In a way, he didn'tdeserve her. And when he was famous, some day, perhaps she would leavehim, too. He hesitated to read her note. "Good-bye, darling, I do notlove you any more. C."

  It was ludicrous, transparent, pitiful, and heroic. Hugo saw all thosequalities. "Good-bye, darling, I do not love you any more." She hadwritten it under Valentine's eyes. But she was shrewd enough to placateher new lover while she told her sad little story to her old. She wouldwant him to feel bad. Well, God knew, he did. Hugo looked at the room.He sobbed. He bolted into the street, tears streaming down his cheeks;he drew his savings from the bank--seven hund
red and eighty-four dollarsand sixty-four cents; he rushed to the haunted house, flung his clothesinto a bag; he sat drearily on a subway for an hour. He paced the smoothfloor of a station. He swung aboard a train. He came to Webster, hishead high, feeling a great pride in Charlotte and in his love for her,walking in glad strides over the familiar soil.