by Frank Norris
Somewhat later in the evening young Haight was alone with Turner, and their conversation had taken a very unusual and personal turn. All at once Turner exclaimed:
“I often wonder what good I am in the world to anybody. I don’t know a thing, I can’t do a thing. I couldn’t cook the plainest kind of a meal to save me, and it took me all of two hours yesterday to do just a little buttonhole stitching. I’m not good for anything. I’m not a help to anybody.”
Young Haight looked into the blue flame of the gas-log, almost the only modern innovation throughout the entire house, and was silent for a moment; then he leaned his elbows on his knees and, still looking at the flame, replied:
“I don’t know about that. You have been a considerable help to me.”
“To you!” exclaimed Turner, surprised. “A help to you? Why, how do you mean?”
“Well,” he answered, still without looking at her, “one always has one’s influence, you know.”
“Ah, lots of influence I have over anybody,” retorted Turner, incredulously.
“Yes, you have,” he insisted. “You have plenty of influence over the people that care for you. You have plenty of influence over me.”
Turner, very much embarrassed, and not knowing how to answer, bent down to the side of the mantelpiece and turned up the flame of the gas-log a little. Young Haight continued, almost as embarrassed as she:
“I suppose I’m a bad lot, perhaps a little worse than most others, but I think — I hope — there’s some good in me. I know all this sounds absurd and affected, but really I’m not posing; you won’t mind if I speak just as I think, for this once. I promise,” he went on with a half smile, “not to do it again. You know my mother died when I was little and I have lived mostly with men. You have been to me what the society of women has been to other fellows. You see, you are the only girl I ever knew very well — the only one I ever wanted to know. I have cared for you the way other men have cared for the different women that come into their lives; as they have cared for their mothers, their sisters — and their wives. You have already influenced me as a mother or sister should have done; what if I should ever ask you to be — to be the other to me, the one that’s best of all?”
Young Haight turned toward her as he finished and looked at her for the first time. Turner was still very much embarrassed.
“Oh, I’m very glad if I’ve been a help to — to anybody — to you,” she said, confusedly. “But I never knew that you cared — that you thought about me — in that way. But you mustn’t, you know, you mustn’t care for me in that way. I ought to tell you right away that I never could care for you more than — I always have done; I mean care for you only as a very, very good friend. You don’t know, Dolly,” she went on eagerly, “how it hurts me to tell you so, because I care so much for you in every other way that I wouldn’t hurt your feelings for anything; but then you know at the same time it would hurt you a great deal more if I shouldn’t tell you, but encourage you, and let you go on thinking that perhaps I liked you more than any one else, when I didn’t. Now wouldn’t that be wrong? You don’t know how glad it makes me feel that I have been of some good to you, and that is just why I want to be sincere now and not make you think any less of me — think any worse of me.”
“Oh, I know,” answered young Haight. “I know I shouldn’t have said anything about it. I knew beforehand, or thought I knew, that you didn’t care in that way.”
“Maybe I have been wrong,” she replied, “in not seeing that you cared so much, and have given you a wrong impression. I thought you knew how it was all the time.”
“Knew how what was?” he asked, looking up.
“Why,” she said, “knew how Van and I were.”
“I knew that Van cared for you a great deal.”
“Yes, but you know,” she went on, hesitating and confused, “you know we are engaged. We have been engaged for nearly two years.”
“But he don’t consider himself as engaged!” The words were almost out of Haight’s mouth, but he shut his teeth against them and kept silence — he hardly knew why.
“Suppose Vandover were out of the question,” he said, getting up and smiling in order not to seem as serious as he really was.
“Ah,” she said, smiling back at him. “I don’t know; that’s a hard question to answer. I’ve never asked myself that question.”
“Well, I’m saving you the trouble, you see,” he answered, still smiling. “I am asking it for you.”
“But I don’t want to answer such a question off-hand like that; how can I tell? It would only be perhaps, just now.”
Young Haight answered quickly that “just now” he would be contented with that “perhaps”; but Turner did not hear this. She had spoken at the same time as he, exclaiming, “But what is the good of talking of that? Because no matter what happened I feel as though I could not break my promise to Van, even if I should want to. Because I have talked like this, Dolly,” she went on more seriously, “you must not be deceived or get a wrong impression. You understand how things are, don’t you?”
“Oh, yes,” he answered, still trying to carry it off with a laugh. “I know, I know. But now I hope you won’t let anything I have said bother you, and that things will go on just as if I hadn’t spoken, just as if nothing had happened.”
“Why, of course,” she said, laughing with him again. “Of course, why shouldn’t they?”
They were both at their ease again by the time young Haight stood at the door with his hat in his hand ready to go.
He raised his free hand over her head, and said, with burlesque, dramatic effect, trying to keep down a smile:
“Bless you both; go, go marry Vandover and be happy; I forgive you.”
“Ah — don’t be so utterly absurd,” she cried, beginning to laugh.
Chapter Seven
On a certain evening about four months later Ellis and Vandover had a “date” with Ida Wade and Bessie Laguna at the Mechanics’ Fair. Ellis, Bessie, and Ida were to meet Vandover there in the Art Gallery, as he had to make a call with his father, and could not get there until half-past nine. They were all to walk about the Fair until ten, after which the two men proposed to take the girls out to the Cliff House in separate coupés. The whole thing had been arranged by Ellis and Bessie, and Vandover was irritated. Ellis ought to have had more sense; rushing the girls was all very well, but everybody went to the Mechanics’ Fair, and he didn’t like to have nice girls like Turner or Henrietta Vance see him with chippies like that. It was all very well for Ellis, who had no social position, but for him, Vandover, it would look too confounded queer. Of course he was in for it now, and would have to face the music. You can’t tell a girl like that that you’re ashamed to be seen with her, but very likely he would get himself into a regular box with it all.
When he arrived at the Mechanics’ Pavilion, it was about twenty minutes of ten, and as he pushed through the wicket he let himself into a huge amphitheatre full of colour and movement.
There was a vast shuffling of thousands of feet and a subdued roar of conversation like the noise of a great mill; mingled with these were the purring of distant machinery, the splashing of a temporary fountain and the rhythmic clamour of a brass band, while in the piano exhibit the hired performer was playing a concert-grand with a great flourish. Nearer at hand one could catch ends of conversation and notes of laughter, the creaking of boots, and the rustle of moving dresses and stiff skirts. Here and there groups of school children elbowed their way through the crowd, crying shrilly, their hands full of advertisement pamphlets, fans, picture cards, and toy whips with pewter whistles on the butts, while the air itself was full of the smell of fresh popcorn.
Ellis and Bessie were in the Art Gallery upstairs. Mrs. Wade, Ida’s mother, who gave lessons in hand painting, had an exhibit there which they were interested to find; a bunch of yellow poppies painted on velvet and framed in gilt. They stood before it some little time hazarding their opinions and then moved
on from one picture to another; Ellis bought a catalogue and made it a duty to find the title of every picture. Bessie professed to be very fond of painting; she had ‘taken it up’ at one time and had abandoned it, only because the oil or turpentine or something was unhealthy for her. “Of course,” she said, “I’m no critic, I only know what I like. Now that one over there, I like that. I think those ideal heads like that are lovely, don’t you, Bandy? Oh, there’s Van!”
“Hello!” said Vandover, coming up. “Where’s Ida?”
“Hello, Van!” answered Bessie. “Ida wouldn’t come. Isn’t it too mean? She said she couldn’t come because she had a cold, but she was just talking through her face, I know. She’s just got kind of a streak on and you can’t get anything out of her. You two haven’t had a row, have you? Well, I didn’t think you had. But she’s worried about something or other. I don’t believe she’s been out of the house this week. But isn’t it mean of her to throw cold water on the procession like this? She’s been giving me a lecture, too, and says she’s going to reform.”
“Well,” said Vandover, greatly relieved, “that’s too bad. We could have had a lot of fun to-night. I’m awfully sorry. Well, what are you two going to do?”
“Oh, I guess we’ll follow out our part of the programme,” said Ellis. “You are kind of left out, though.”
“I don’t know,” answered Vandover. “Maybe I’ll go downtown, and see if I can find some of the boys.”
“Oh, Dolly Haight is around here somewheres,” said Ellis. “We saw him just now over by the chess machine.”
“I guess I’ll try and find him, then,” responded Vandover. “Well, I hope you two enjoy yourselves.” As he was turning away Bessie Laguna came running back, and taking him a little to one side said:
“You’d better go round and see Ida pretty soon if you can. She’s all broke up about something, I’m sure. I think she’d like to see you pretty well. Honestly,” she said, suddenly very grave, “I never saw Ida so cut up in my life. She’s been taking on over something in a dreadful way, and I think she’d like to see you. She won’t tell me anything. You go around and see her.”
“All right,” answered Vandover smiling, “I’ll go.”
As he was going down the stairs on his way to find young Haight it occurred to him what Ida’s trouble might be. He was all at once struck with a great fear, so that for an instant he turned cold and weak, and reached out his hand to steady himself against the railing of the stairs. Ah, what a calamity that would be! What a calamity! What a dreadful responsibility! What a crime! He could not keep the thought out of his mind. He tried to tell himself that Ida had practically given her consent by going into such a place; that he was not the only one, after all; that there was nothing certain as yet. He stood on the stairway, empty for that moment, biting the end of his thumb, saying to himself in a low voice:
“What a calamity, what a horrible calamity that would be! Ah, you scoundrel! You damned fool, not to have thought!” A couple of girls, the counter girls at one of the candy booths, came down the stairs behind him with a great babble of talk. Vandover gave an irritated shrug of his shoulders as if freeing himself from the disagreeable subject and went on.
He could not find young Haight down stairs and so went up into the gallery again. After a long time he came upon him sitting on an empty bench nursing his cane and watching the crowd go past.
“Hello, old man!” he exclaimed. “Ellis told me I would find you around somewhere. I was just going to give you up.” He sat down beside his chum, and the two began to talk about the people as they passed. “Ah, get on to the red hat!” exclaimed Vandover on a sudden. “That’s the third time she’s passed.”
“Has Ellis gone off with Bessie Laguna?” asked young Haight.
“Yes,” answered Vandover. “They’re going to have a time at the Cliff House.”
“That’s too bad,” young Haight replied. “Ellis has just thrown himself away with that girl. He might have known some very nice people when he first came here. Between that girl and his whisky he has managed to spoil every chance he might have had.”
“There’s Charlie Geary,” Vandover exclaimed suddenly, whistling and beckoning. “Hey, there, Charlie! where you going? Oh,” he cried on a sudden as Geary came up, “oh, get on to his new store clothes, will you?” They both pretended to be overwhelmed by the elegance of Geary’s new suit.
“O-oh!” cried young Haight. “The bloody, bloomin’, bloated swell. Just let me touch them!”
Vandover shaded his eyes and turned away as though dazzled. “This is too much,” he gasped. “Such magnificence, such purple and fine linen.” Then suddenly he shouted, “Oh, oh! look at the crease in those trousers. No; it’s too much, I can’t stand it.”
“Oh, shut up,” said Geary, irritated, as they had intended he should be. “Yes,” he went on, “I thought I’d blow myself. I’ve been working like a dog the whole month. I’m trying to get in Beale’s office. Beale and Storey, you know. I got the promise of a berth last week, so I thought I’d blow myself for some rags. I’ve been over to San Rafael all day visiting my cousins; had a great time; went out to row. Oh, and had a great feed: lettuce sandwiches with mayonnaise. Simply out of sight. I came back on the four o’clock boat and held down the ‘line’ on Kearney Street for an hour or two.”
“Yes?” young Haight said perfunctorily, adding after a moment, “Isn’t this a gay crowd, a typical San Francisco crowd and—”
“I had a cocktail in the Imperial at about quarter of five,” said Geary, “and got a cigar at the Elite; then I went around to get my clothes. Oh, you ought to have heard the blowing up I gave my tailor! I let him have it right straight.”
Geary paused a moment, and Vandover said: “Come on, let’s walk around a little; don’t you want to? We might run on to the red hat again.”
“I told him,” continued Geary without moving, “that if he wanted to do any more work for me, he’d have to get in front of himself in a hurry, and that I wasn’t full of bubbles, if he was. ‘Why,’ says he, ‘why, Mr. Geary, I’ve never had a customer talk like this to me before since I’ve been in the business!’ ‘Well, Mr. Allen,’ says I, ‘it’s time you had! Oh, sure, I gave it to him straight.”
“Vandover has gone daft over a girl in a red hat,” said young Haight, as they got up and began to walk. “Have you noticed her up here?”
“I went to the Grillroom after I left the tailor’s,” continued Geary, “and had supper downtown. Ah, you ought to have seen the steak they gave me! Just about as thick as it was wide. I gave the slavey a four-bit tip. Oh, it’s just as well, you know, to keep in with them, if you go there often. I lunch there four or five times a week.”
They descended to the ground floor and promenaded the central aisle watching for pretty girls. In front of a candy-counter, where there was a soda fountain, they saw the red hat again. Vandover looked her squarely in the face and laughed a little. When he had passed he looked back; the girl caught his eye and turned away with a droll smile. Vandover paused, grinning, and raising his hat; “I guess that’s mine,” he said.
“You are not going, are you?” exclaimed young Haight, as Vandover stopped. “Oh, for goodness’ sake, Van, do leave the girls alone for one hour in the day. Come on! Come on downtown with us.”
“No, no,” answered Vandover. “I’m going to chase it up. Good-bye. I may see you fellows later,” and he turned back and went up to the girl.
“Look at that!” said young Haight, exasperated. “He knows he’s liable to meet his acquaintances here, and yet there he goes, almost arm in arm with a girl like that. It’s too bad; why can’t a fellow keep straight when there are such a lot of nice girls?”
Geary never liked to see anything done better than he could do it himself. Just now he was vexed because Vandover had got in ahead of him. He looked after the girl a moment and muttered scornfully:
“Cheap meat!” adding, “Ah, you bet I wouldn’t do that. I flatter myself that
I’m a little too clever to cut my own throat in that fashion. I look out after my interests better than that. Well, Dolly,” he concluded, “I’ve got a thirst on. Van and Ellis have gone off with their girls; let’s you and I go somewhere and have something wet.”
“All right. What’s the matter with the Luxembourg?” answered young Haight.
“Luxembourg goes, then,” assented Geary, and they turned about and started for the door. As they were passing out some one came running up behind them and took an arm of each: it was Vandover.
“Hello,” cried Geary, delighted, “your girl shook you, didn’t she?”
“Not a bit of it,” answered Vandover. “Oh, but say, she is out of sight! Says her name is Grace Irving. No, she didn’t shake me. I made a date with her for next Wednesday night. I didn’t want to be seen around here with her, you know.”
“Of course she will keep that date!” said Geary.
“Well, now, I think she will,” protested Vandover.