To Him That Hath

by Leroy Scott

  CHAPTER IV

  PUCK MASQUERADES AS CUPID

  David had suggested school to Tom, but the boy would none of it.

  "What, set in one o' dem agony seats, biffin' your brain wid books, askinny lady punchin' holes t'rough you wid her eyes! Not for mine,pard!"

  A job was what he wanted, and David at length concluded that after Tomhad been tamed by the discipline of a few months of regular work, hewould perhaps be more amicable toward education.

  There were but two men of whom David could ask aid in finding a placefor the boy, Mr. Rogers and the Mayor of Avenue A. Mr. Rogers wasbeginning to be something of a puzzle to David. One thing that madeDavid wonder was the smallness of Mr. Rogers's business compared withhis ability. They had had a few short talks and David had discoveredthere lurked behind that reserved exterior a sharp intelligence whichnow and then flashed out unexpected poniards of bitter wit. Davidcontrasted him with another rental agent he had met, doing several timesRogers's business, and the second man seemed a nonentity. Yet Rogers wasthe agent of but half a dozen tenements, and made no effort to extendhis clientage.

  David also wondered at what he could regard only as idiosyncrasies. Thedingy brown of Rogers's hair seemed to him hardly a natural colour; heguessed hair dye. But hair dye he associated with vanity, with the manwho would falsify his gray hair to extend his beauship, and vanityRogers apparently had not. And one day, while sweeping out Rogers'soffice, David had tried on Rogers's spectacles, which had been left onthe desk, and had discovered he could see through them as well as withhis naked eyes. The lenses were blanks. Why should the man wear blankspectacles, why should he dye his hair? Mere idiosyncracies ofcourse--yet rather queer ones.

  Rogers was always kind and courteous to David, and David heard fromtenants and neighbours many stories of the agent's warm heart--of rentadvanced from the agent's own pocket when a tenant was out of work, offood that came covertly to fatherless families, of mysterious money anddelicacies that came to the sick poor. Yet he was invariably cold anddistant to David, and cold and distant to all others; so much so that totry to thank him was an embarrassment. Sometimes, when musing aboutRogers's business restraint, his colourless dress, his reserve, hisstealthy generosity, it seemed to David that Rogers sought obscurity andanonymity with the zeal that other men seek fame and brass tablets.

  It was the reserve of Rogers and the constraint David felt in hispresence, and even more the knowledge of the greater influence of theMayor of Avenue A, that made David choose to ask the latter's aid inseeking work for Tom. So about four o'clock of the afternoon followingHelen's call, he walked into the Pan-American Cafe. At a large table ina front corner sat the Mayor, two other men, and half a dozen women, alldrinking of coffee and eating of cake, and all shaking with full-voicedlaughter that bubbled straight from the diaphragm. David was in nohurry, so he sat down in the opposite corner of the almost empty cafe towait the departure of the Mayor's friends.

  The ladies about the Mayor were hearty beauties of from ten to twentyyears' acquaintance with womanhood; and among them there was anabundance of furs and diamonds. Most of them were misses, David learnedfrom the way the Mayor addressed them. The Mayor, David soon perceived,was the center of their interest. Their pleasantries, theirwell-seasoned smiles, their playful blushes, were all directed at him,and now and then one of his sallies was reproved by a muff's soft blowupon his mouth. The role of target seemed to please him; he bent now tothis one, now to that, made sweeping flourishes, made retorts that drewupon him more of the same pleasant missiles. It began to dawn upon Davidthat his saviour was very much of a gallant.

  Presently the Mayor, rising to greet a newcomer, noticed David. After afew moments he excused himself and took a chair at David's table. A silkvest that was a condensed flower garden made the mayoral front agorgeous sight to behold.

  There was a new respect in the Mayor's manner. "I see you're flyin' inhigh society these days," he began, in a whisper.

  "You refer to Miss Chambers? She's merely interested in me as youare--in my reform." David said this quietly, as though the subject wasclosed.

  His dignity was not lost on the Mayor. "Say, you've taken an all-firedbrace to yourself in the last ten days, ain't you! As for your ladyfriend--well, if the way she was talkin' to you is the way reformerstalk, gee I wish some one like her'd try to make a man out o' me! She'sall right, friend. I've seen her before and I've heard a lot about her.But her old man--Lord, but I'd like to set for a week or so on hiswindpipe! Real estate is one o' his thousand lines, you know. He owns alot o' tenements in this part o' town--none near St. Christopher's, o'course--and as a landlord, say, he's just partic'lar hell!"

  "I've come to ask another favour of you," David cut in, quickly. "You'veseen the boy that stays with me. I want to get him a job if I can. Ithought possibly you might be able to help me."

  "I've seen the kid, yes. Somethin' of a sleight o' hand performance,ain't he?--now he's there and now he ain't. Where'd you pick him up?"

  "We just fell in with each other a couple of months ago. There's a manin him."

  "I see. And you're trying to dig it out. You'll have to do a littleblastin' on the job, don't you think? As for gettin' him work"--he shookhis head slowly--"there's about five thousand families on Avenue A, andeach family's got five boys, and about once in so often the street outthere is blockaded with their mas beggin' me to get 'em jobs. There'show I'm fixed."

  "You can't help me then?"

  "You've sized it up. Sorry. Wish I could."

  After a moment David asked hesitantly: "You couldn't use a boy here,could you?"

  "Here! Nothin' I could use a boy for."

  "Help in the kitchen, carry things up from the cellar, clean up," Davidsuggested.

  The Mayor shook his head.

  "It would be great for the boy if he could work a while for some onelike you that would understand him, make allowances, and break him inproperly," David went on eagerly. "He's never held a job, and a strangerwouldn't have much charity for his shortcomings, wouldn't keep him long.You don't need him, but still you can make things for him to do. Inthree or four weeks I'll have found another job for him, and by thenyou'll have him worked into shape to hold it. Of course I'll pay hiswages myself--say three dollars a week; only he must think it's comingfrom you."

  The Mayor's look changed to that sharp, penetrating gaze with which hehad searched David's interior on his first visit. "Yes, you're in deadearnest," he grunted after a few seconds.

  He raised a fat forefinger. "See here, friend. You're cuttin' into mybusiness. I'm an octopus, a trust--you understand?--and any man thattries any philanthropic stunts in my part o' town, I run him out o'business. See? Now you send the kid around and I'll let him bust thingshere for a while. But keep your coin. I reckon three dollars ain'tgoin' to put Carl Hoffman on the bum."

  David thanked him warmly. "But you don't need the boy," he ended in adetermined voice, "so I can't let you pay him."

  The Mayor regarded David steadily for a moment. "Have it your own way,"he said abruptly; and suddenly his big fist reached across the table,and to David it was like shaking hands with a fervent pillow. "Friend,I've sized you up for the real thing. You made your mistake, and it wasa bad one--but we all make 'em. You belong 'way up. I'm proud to knowyou."

  David flushed and was stammering out his appreciation, when the Mayorinterrupted with, "Oh, a friend that's good enough for Miss Chambers isgood enough for me."

  He glanced over his shoulder at the group he had left, then leanedconfidentially across the table and asked in a whisper: "What d'youthink o' the bunch?--the ladies I mean."

  "Why, they seem to be very fine," David answered, surprised. "And theyadmire you."

  "Friend," said the Mayor with an approving nod, "you certainly ain'tbeen lookin' on with your blind eye. They do that! And every afternoonit's the same--either them, or some other bunch. And d'you know whatthey're after?"

  "No."

  "Me. They want to marry me. And there ain't
a girl on the avenue betweenfifteen and seventy that ain't tryin' to do the same. Friend, I can'thelp bein' pop'lar with the ladies. I like 'em--God bless 'em! But whenyou've got a whole avenue tryin' to marry you, it's hell!"

  He shook his head with an air of sadness. "I don't want to marry. I wasmarried once for about a year. It was when I was a kid. I guess she wasa pretty nice girl, but she was too much like her mother, and when shewent I swore I'd keep out o' that kind o' trouble. But they're closin'in on me. One of 'em's sure to get me. I don't know which one, or mebbeI could head her off. I ought to keep away from 'em, but I can't leave'em alone, and they won't leave me alone. Oh, hell!"

  He rose with a groan. "Well, send round the kid," he said, and carefullypulling down his vest and smoothing his dozen hairs, he rejoined hisfriends. As David left the cafe he heard a deep roar from the Mayor, andhad a glimpse of a fair suitress of forty rebuking the Mayor's mouthwith her muff.

  David sent Tom to the Mayor, and walked over to a hardware store on theBowery to order some new ash cans. As he was returning through theBowery a man stepped to his side with a quiet, "Hello, pal." Startled,David looked about. Beside him was a wiry, gray man, with deep-linedface and a keen, shifty eye. It was a man David had known in prison--acynical, hardened gentleman who had been running counter to the law forthirty years, during which time he had participated in scores of daringrobberies and had known most of the country's cleverest criminals. BillHalpin was his name--at least the most recent of his dozen or two.

  Halpin had taken a fancy to David while they were prison-mates, whyDavid could not understand; and his greeting was warm to come from oneof his contemptuous nature. The two walked on together, and David, inresponse to Halpin's queries, told that he had gone to work with thedetermination to live honestly. Halpin gave a sneer of unbelief--hesneered at all things save the frankly evil--but said nothing. When theyreached David's tenement, David asked him in, but he said he had anengagement with a pal, and went away after promising to come around someother time.

  David shovelled the furnace full of coal and was beginning hispreparations for dinner, aglow with his new hopes and with the thoughtthat he had regained Helen for his friend, when there was a knock at hisdoor. He opened the door, expecting his usual caller--a tenant with agrievance. Kate Morgan stepped into the room.

  David had seen her in finery before, but never in such finery as now.There was a white velvet hat with two great black plumes that curleddown upon her back hair; a long black coat, through whose open frontglowed the warm red of a gown; a black fur scarf round her neck and ablack muff enclosing her white-gloved hands.

  She stepped into the room and her eyes--brighter than ever were the eyesof the furs' original owners--gleamed over the scarf with hard defiance.

  "Good evening, _Mister_ Aldrich."

  David flushed. "Good evening." He drew his one rocking-chair toward her."Won't you sit down?"

  She sank into the chair, threw open the coat so that the full glory ofits white satin lining and of the red dress were displayed, and thrustout a little patent-leathered foot.

  "I saw you with Miss Chambers last night," she said, her brilliant eyesdarting contempt at him. "Of course you told her all about that Allenaffair. You're not only a coward. You're a squealer."

  David was standing with his back to his mantel, and Kate had to see theerectness, the confidence, the decision, that had come to him since thenight of their adventure. "I don't know why you're saying these things,"he returned quietly, "but if saying them pleases you, go on."

  "Well, ain't we got high and dignified since we became a janitor!" shesneered. "A janitor! Sweeping--scrubbing--listening to the kicks ofdirty tenants--digging with your hands in the garbage to separate paper,tin cans, greasy bones. Lord, but ain't you high up in life!"

  "Go on," said David.

  She drew out her cigarette box--she knew he disliked to see hersmoke--lighted a cigarette, and blew a little cloud toward him.

  "A janitor! What a poor, weak, miserable soul you've got. Think of a manturning from excitement, an easy life, good things, and taking up this!But you're not a real man. You'd rather do dirty work for a year thanearn a year of good times by a night's work. Wouldn't you like to knowwhat I cleaned up the other night after you sneaked out?"

  "What you wanted, I suppose."

  "That's it--I got all I went after! I'm on Easy Street for a year. AndI'm enjoying life, too. You set that down. While you clean up otherpeople's dirt, and live in a basement, and cook yourself three-centdinners!"

  All her fierceness, all her scorn, were in her words, gave them a jaggededge; and she thrust them in deep and twisted them vindictively. David,very white, looked steadily down at her, but made no reply.

  "And besides, you're a squealer!"

  He continued silent.

  She sent out a puff of smoke, her eyes blazing at him, and thrust again:

  "And a damned coward!"

  David grew yet paler, but he continued his steady, silent gaze.

  She sat looking up at him for several moments, without speaking again.Then slowly something of the fierce scorn, the wild desire to pain him,went out of her face.

  "And so you're going to stick to honesty?" she presently asked,abruptly, her voice still hard. "As tough as it is?"

  "Yes," said David, quietly as before.

  "And nothing can change you?"

  He shook his head.

  She continued staring up at him. For an instant faint twitches broke herface's hard surface, but it tightened again. Suddenly, to David'sastoundment, she whirled about in her chair, presenting him her back;and he saw a white hand clench and her little body grow rigid. Thensuddenly she sprang up, hurled her cigarette box across the room, andturned upon him with a deep gasp, her face convulsed.

  "Here I am!" she cried, stretching out to him her open hands. "I triedto get you to come to my way. You wouldn't come. I've come to your way.Here I am!"

  This whizzing from one pole to the other was too great a speed forDavid. "What?" he gasped.

  "I lied about New Year's night! I took nothing--not a thing! Youwouldn't let me. I've acted to you like a devil. You're not a coward.You did not leave me in Allen's house. I saw you waiting behind thepalm. I've tried to keep away from you. I didn't want to give in. ButI've come! I've give in! I'll be whatever you want me to be,David!--whatever you want me to be!"

  David was not yet at the other pole. "Whatever I want you to be?" hesaid dazedly.

  "Yes! Yes! I'll be honest--be anything!" she answered, breathless. Shemoved a quick step nearer, and went on in an appealing, breaking voice:"But don't you see, David? Don't you see? I love you! Take me!"

  David was there. A wave of pain, of self-shame, of infinite regret,swept through him. For a moment, while he tried to get hold of himself,he looked down into the quivering, passionate, tear-lit face; then hetook the hands outstretched to him.

  "Kate," he said imploringly, "I'm so sorry--so sorry! Forget me. I amnobody--nothing."

  "I love you!"

  "Think how poor I am, how far down."

  "I love you!"

  The low tensity of that iterated cry shamed out of existence allevasive reasons--drove David straight to what he thought his uttermostanswer. "Forgive me," he said, sick with loathing of himself. "Butyou've forced me to say it.... I don't love you."

  "I love you!"

  She had paled at his words, and her cry was only a whispered gasp; buther fixed upward gaze, passionate, appealing, mandatory, did not waveran instant. David had but one word left--and that, he had thought, wasto be forever unspoken. But it had to be spoken now. After a moment, inwhich her face seemed to swim before him, he said, huskily:

  "I love someone else."

  She drew suddenly back, there was a sharp indrawing of the breath, theface hardened, the eyes above the fur neckpiece gleamed fiercely.

  "Who?"

  He shook his head.

  "Who?"

  "I cannot say."

  The eyes narrowe
d to slits, and she looked him through as on the day shehad guessed he was just from prison--only now her intuition wasquickened a hundred fold. They stood motionless a few seconds, he tryingto parry her instinct; then from her came a low, sharp "A-a-h!" and,after a second, "So it's her!"

  He shivered. There was another moment of tense silence. Then she said,abruptly:

  "It's Miss Chambers?"

  He did not move an eyelash.

  "You love Miss Chambers!" she announced decisively.

  Her hands clenched. "I hate her! Why shouldn't she stay in her ownworld! Why should she come mixing in my affairs! Oh! I could----!" Shefinished with a tensing of her whole figure.

  She glared silently at David for a moment; then a harsh, mocking laughbroke from her.

  "So, you're in love with Miss Chambers! Miss Chambers--a janitor. What alovely match! Of course you've told her, and she's said yes!"

  "I shall never tell her," David said quietly.

  The bitterness and mockery began to fade slowly from her face, andmeditation came in their stead; and when she spoke again her tone wasthe tone of argument. "Don't you know that she's far, far above you?You're a fool to think of her! Why, you can never get her--never! Yousee that, don't you?"

  "Yes." He raised a peremptory, entreating hand. "Please!--let's notspeak of her."

  Her whole body quickened. "After her, do you like any woman better thanme?" she demanded.

  He shook his head. "No."

  "She's out of the question for you--she doesn't live!" She crept slowlytoward David, her eyes burning into his. "There's no one between us,"she said in a low, choked voice. Then her voice blazed up, her wordsrushed out. "You do not want me now, but you will! I'll make you loveme. I'll be anything you like--I'll be honest!--I'll work! Yes, yes,I'll make you love me, David!"

  Her hands had clutched his, and she now held up her quivering face."I'm going to be honest for your sake, David. Kiss me!"

  David was agonised with the pang of her tragedy, with the shame of hisown great part in it. "Forgive me," he whispered huskily; and he stoopedand pressed his lips to hers.

  She gave a little cry and flung her arms about his neck and held himtight. Then breathing against his cheek, "You'll love me yet, David!"she abruptly withdrew her arms, and the next moment was out of theroom.