“It’s not a job I want for them now. I want some money for them. I want you to give it to them. I want you to come and see them and understand the situation and help them. Will you do it for me, Mr. Robison?”
The lawyer was irritated, for if he refused to see the girls Father Dowling could certainly accuse him of a complete lack of charity. But he resented being dragged from his house in this way. “Please come, won’t you?” Father Dowling pleaded. “It will be a great personal favor to me, and certainly you’ll please God. It won’t take more than a half an hour, and I’ll tell you all the special circumstances.”
While still hesitating, Mr. Robison amused himself by fancying he could see himself and the priest walking into some poor girl’s home like two benevolent patrons of the whole parish. There would be an old woman who would dust off a chair in great confusion. The man of the house would be ashamed of his unshaven face and become inarticulate. And while he was having these thoughts the priest was begging him to go with him. “I’ll get the car,” he said. “We’ll drive there.”
“No, let’s walk. It’s not more than fifteen minutes away,” Father Dowling said.
“Why walk when we can go in the car?”
“It won’t seem so grand, don’t you see?”
“Ah, yes, quite true, quite true.”
They went out together, with the priest leaning close to Mr. Robison, who walked erectly, carrying a cane, wearing a hard hat and a white scarf, and listening to the young priest with a judicial expression on his crisp, ruddy face. Father Dowling had wanted to appear grave and judicial, too, but as they walked along together he found himself taking hold of the lawyer’s arm, talking impulsively about Ronnie and Midge, leaning forward so he could half see the lawyer’s face, his words full of passion and conviction. Words poured out of him and he never stopped to wonder why the lawyer was not answering. He told about his first meeting with the girls, that night when he had gone to see them to help them, and all he had tried to do for them, and how he had worried and hoped to keep them off the streets. By this time they had left the good old residential district and were in the rooming-house neighborhood, and the lawyer was looking up anxiously at all the houses. The priest went on, “I’ve given all I can of my own money. I’d give more, but I’m no longer able to help them. I want you to do something for them. Somebody has to help them. They must be kept off the streets. Don’t you understand that?” he said. “I’ve worried so much about them. When you see them you’ll like them as I like them. You may be just as anxious about them as I am.”
“Where have you been seeing them, Father?”
“I’ve been going around to the hotel where they live.”
“Is that where they do their entertaining?”
“You mean is that where they took men?”
“Yes.”
“It is.”
“Lord in heaven, Father. You haven’t let people see you going around there, have you?”
“I’ve gone at night. Nobody has noticed me.” Father Dowling got a bit excited and almost angry at the lawyer. “What would it matter if they had noticed me? Tell me that. Are there some places where a priest must not go, some people that must not be touched?” But he restrained his irritation and with extraordinary diplomacy said, “Of course, I understand your point of view. It worried me a good deal, too. You understand how it would worry me, don’t you?”
“I imagine it would give you the gravest concern.”
“It concerned me night and day.”
“I’m glad you realized the implications.”
Looking quickly into the young priest’s face, Mr. Robison felt all his sincerity, he felt even some of his love, so he, himself, became uneasy and then gradually inarticulate. A moment ago he had been bursting with shrewd criticism, but now he kept thinking of the surprising eagerness and love he had just seen in Father Dowling’s face. In spite of himself, he was curious to understand this love, this eagerness which did not seem like any emotion he had ever felt.
By this time they were near the old hotel with the broken sign. They were across the road, opposite the quick lunch, the counter lined with customers. Suddenly Father Dowling said, “This is the place. You come in with me. We’ll go up and I’ll introduce the girls to you and say you’re thinking of helping them, eh?”
“Wait a minute, wait a minute, Father.”
“What’s the matter?”
“We shouldn’t barge into this thing in such a rush,” he said testily.
Mr. Robison looked up at the hotel with the darkened windows, the narrow entrance and the faded yellow bricks. The stream of light from the lunch-counter window, gleaming on a narrow strip of pavement, made the house next door darker and dirtier. He was uneasy and very cautious. “What a miserable little place,” he said. “This is where you’ve been coming, Father?”
“It looks brighter on other nights when the barber shop is lit up.”
“Maybe this isn’t the right night for a visit, then.”
“Nobody will notice you, Mr. Robison. Just follow me inside and up the stairs.”
“No, no, Father. Leave go of my arm. I’ll wait here. You go in. You know the place. If you find them tell them to come out. I don’t really know that I ought to be here at all,” he added irritably.
Father Dowling went into the hotel and up the stairs and he rapped on the white door. There was no answer. He was so impatient and excited that he began to pound on the door, listening, pounding, waiting, hearing only the beating of his own heart. He looked along the narrow, dimly lit corridor. “Why should they be out on such a night? Lord, don’t let them be far away.” He turned, sighed and came down the stairs very slowly, glancing toward the desk where the proprietor was sitting with the old imperturbable expression on his face, as if he hadn’t even noticed the priest coming in. Father Dowling was so disappointed he forgot his contempt for Mr. Baer and he said ingratiatingly, “Excuse me. Could you tell me if the two girls went out?”
“Certainly, neighbor. They went out about fifteen minutes ago. Maybe one of them or both will be back at any time. Stick around. There’s the Sunday newspapers over there.”
“Thanks very much,” Father Dowling said. “It’s very important that I see them. I’ll loaf outside.” And he went out and crossed the street to Mr. Robison, who was pacing up and down and muttering to himself. “They’re not in,” he said. “Not at this moment, anyway.”
“Ah, well, maybe it’s better that way.” The lawyer was much relieved. “Some other time, Father. We tried, that’s the main thing,” he said. “Let’s walk home together.”
But the priest took hold of Mr. Robison’s arm and said firmly, “We can’t do that. They’ll be back. They may be just a little piece away. Just let’s walk up and down here for a few minutes, anyway.” And he kept hold of Mr. Robison’s arm as they went up the street. To make it appear like a normal everyday bit of parish work, Father Dowling began to make an impersonal conversation about other interesting matters, for instance, the possibility of a war in Europe and whether it might mean the collapse of European civilization; but having started such a conversation he listened without any interest to Mr. Robison’s opinions, and his eyes kept shifting across the street, seeking out and trying to recognize the form of any woman far up the avenue, longing to see the girls, but dreading to find them actually on the streets. Silent, and in step, they walked on. Suddenly a cat darted across the road, slowing down, its tail sticking up stiffly, and from the other side of the road the cat watched them walking on.
And when they turned the corner by the hospital, Father Dowling saw Ronnie coming toward them, loafing, hunting. The sight of her in her old coat, with her head moving so alertly, filled him with such compassion that he stood still and held the lawyer’s arm tight. “There’s the tall girl I told you about,” he said. “The poor kid. Look at her. Wait here a moment,” and he hurried up to Ronnie and stopped her.
“Ronnie, I’ve been looking for you. It’s important. Wh
ere’s Midge?”
“Hello, Father,” she said. She did not seem glad to see him. It was a good evening and she had expected, if she hustled, to do very well in such weather. “I have a date with a girl to-night, Father,” she said.
“No, no, Ronnie. You must do as I say to-night,” he said, taking hold of her arm. “The gentleman back there is going to help you. See him waiting there. I’ve told him all about you and Midge. Come and meet him now. Please be nice to him. Be a good girl, Ronnie,” and the priest was pulling her along toward Mr. Robison, who was standing there with his head thrust forward aggressively. Ronnie stood two paces behind the priest, eyeing the prosperous lawyer, and when she was introduced, she stepped forward apprehensively. After one quick, shrewd glance, the lawyer dropped his eyes and said, “How do you do, Miss.”
“Hello,” Ronnie said.
“Father Dowling wanted me to meet you and your friend.”
“You may meet Midge and you may not. You can’t be sure about Midge.”
They walked on again, the three of them now, going toward the lighted avenue, the lawyer walking near the curb, and next to him Father Dowling, and then Ronnie, who kept her head down and would not speak, and even dragged her feet. Father Dowling tried to make a conversation, but Ronnie was resenting the way Mr. Robison had looked at her. They kept on walking for twenty minutes, going right over to the avenue. From time to time Mr. Robison took out his watch and made an impatient clucking noise with his teeth. He was dreading the notion of the three of them walking down the crowded avenue together.
Then a man with a white beard, in an old tattered brown coat, stooped at the waist, and with his shoulders thrust forward, passed by and he was whistling loudly between his teeth and looking straight ahead.
“I’ve seen that poor fellow many times around here. Haven’t you?” Father Dowling said suddenly to Mr. Robison.
“I’ve never seen him in my life before,” Mr. Robison said shortly.
“Father’s right. I’ve seen him five hundred times,” Ronnie said bluntly. “That’s Whistling Joe. He whistles when he sees a girl. He’s a bit daffy.”
“Very interesting,” Mr. Robison said.
Father Dowling was hoping that they might meet Midge before the lawyer got into a very bad temper. He wished he could start an interesting conversation.
They saw Midge standing on a corner by a hosiery store that had a large plate-glass window. She saw them at once and came up looking quite pretty, smiling very slyly and winsomely at the well-dressed and prosperous-looking lawyer. Her face was no longer round. Her cheek bones protruded slightly, but her eyes were much bigger and rather brilliant. When she was introduced to the lawyer she made a little bow and said, “I’m awfully pleased to meet your friend, Father,” and he couldn’t help smiling at her. Her presence, her composure, made them all feel better. Father Dowling, starting to laugh, said amiably, “Now I just want us to have a conversation. I want Mr. Robison to take an interest in you girls. Perhaps we’d better go back to the hotel and sit down.”
“No. Under no circumstances,” Mr. Robison said hastily.
“What’s the matter with the hotel?” Ronnie said. “Gee, you don’t seem to be in a good humor to-night.”
“I won’t go into that place. That’s settled.”
“That’s settled,” Midge said. “What’s the matter with you, Ronnie? Let the gentleman take us wherever he thinks best.”
“Mr. Robison, I wonder if we could go up to your place,” the priest said. “Perhaps you would prefer to go where you would have privacy and feel more at home.” The lawyer shook his head sharply, but Father Dowling was tugging at his arm, pulling him a few paces away, while the girls watched very haughtily, and he was whispering, “Mr. Robison, I’d give a good deal if these two poor girls could go to your home. I’d give a good deal if they could see your daughter and see how lovely and fresh she is. In this simple way we might do more than all my preaching could ever do. Would you do that, Mr. Robison?”
“Good God, Father, have you lost your wits?”
“It’s the kind of thing you can handle perfectly, Mr. Robison.”
The lawyer was secretly pleased by the priest’s compliment. They both turned and looked at the two girls, who were standing close together, shabby, awkward, full of doubt and suspicion. The stiffness went out of Mr. Robison’s manner. Some of the warm good humor that was usually in him returned and he smiled broadly. Besides, he felt that he would be more secure in his own home, although he hoped that his wife would not come into the drawing-room.
“I’ll get a taxi, Father,” he said. “I’ll just leave the whole thing in your hands and if you want to go to my home, we’ll be glad to have you.”
While he was out on the curb waving his hand for a taxi, Ronnie said to the priest, “Why should we go? He won’t do anything for us. I could tell that as soon as he looked at me. He looked at me and made me hate him. He’s an old bastard.”
“Please, child, don’t talk like that. Do it for my sake,” Father Dowling whispered.
They got into the cab with Father Dowling sitting in the back seat between the two girls and Mr. Robison on the stool in front of them, his hands clasping his cane that stuck up stiffly. There were few words spoken during the short drive. Midge lit a cigarette, and in the match-flare light, Ronnie blinked her eyes, Mr. Robison opened his mouth but said nothing, and the priest jerked his head back and said suddenly, “Easter is a full week earlier this year. Does anybody know how you tell when it’s Easter each year?” But when no one answered him, he sat back contentedly, full of fine expectations. For the first time he was taking the girls among his own people. For the first time they would go into a good home and feel the warmth and kindliness of his people, and he was secretly hoping that Mrs. Robison would be there because she was such a splendid woman.
There was not even any conversation when they reached the house and Mr. Robison led the way into the drawing-room. Father Dowling began to beam good-humoredly because he felt at home here, where he had so often played cards and where many important world problems had been discussed. After taking off his coat and hat, Mr. Robison listened a moment apprehensively and said, “Now don’t be shy, girls, sit down for a moment and let’s talk a bit. Father Dowling has been talking to me about you. I’m your friend, you know.”
Midge and Ronnie were leaning close together on a small settee, their eyes furtively seeking out the splendors of the room. Sometimes they glanced appealingly at Father Dowling. Ronnie was still sullen and suspicious; Midge was peering at the furniture and rugs with the wonder and pleasure of a child. And sitting there with their faces heavily powdered and too brightly rouged and their lips so vivid, they did not look very respectable.
“Some dump,” Midge whispered.
“What are we doing here?” Ronnie answered.
“I told Mr. Robison that things were not going very well with you,” Father Dowling began quietly. He saw that the girls were uneasy. He pitied them and wanted to shield them from shame or hesitancy. He stood up. Walking over to them, he said, “Take off your coats, girls. Don’t feel uneasy,” and he helped them take off their coats and smiled encouragingly as they sat there in the good dresses he had given them. And his manner was so simple and confident that both girls smiled timidly, forgetting they had ever mocked him, feeling that he was some one who had been close to them for a long time.
“Now, just what is it you’d like me to do for the girls?” Mr. Robison said. He had lit a cigar and was regarding Father Dowling and the two girls very shrewdly.
“What they actually need is work. Or if an effort were being made to get work for them, then they would need a little to keep them during that time. That’s all. They’re both very anxious to work. Aren’t you?”
“Yes, Father,” Midge said. “We’re good, willing workers.”
“Would you do domestic work?” Mr. Robison asked.
Both girls nodded and smiled. “Domestic work would just suit us,” M
idge said. She was feeling more confident. Then Father Dowling said quietly, “If you could give them something to keep them in a cheap room till work was found for them it would be a perfect act of charity. I know it’s been a hard winter and I know it’s been difficult for men like you, but think of the predicament of these poor girls. You’ve never turned us down whenever we asked for anything, Mr. Robison. I know you won’t now. The depth of the requirement is great here. Ah, I know that a deep charity is required, too.”
While the priest was talking in this way, Mrs. Robison had come into the room and was listening, with her slender white hands folded at her waist and her eyes shifting around the room in astonishment. She was a tall woman with a few beautiful white streaks in her hair, who was still slender, whose skin was soft and pink, and who wore a plain black gown with a very low neck. No woman in the neighborhood, or for that matter in the whole city, had a more charming manner or more self-assurance, and it had always been a great satisfaction to the priests at the Cathedral to see her so devout in observing all the feast days and holy days and giving splendid leadership to all her co-religionists in the nicest social matters: and she was without ostentation, too, for she went to the very early masses by herself, whereas her husband and daughter went to the solemn high mass at eleven o’clock and bowed and nodded to everybody. And as she entered the room and looked at the two girls and the priest, she pursed her lips and was a bit amused and might merely have said, “Good evening,” and have left them, if her husband had not stiffened and remained rigid in his chair, with his face revealing many flustered expressions. “Hello, a conference?” she asked mildly.
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