"Janet, you"re the greatest girl in the world."
Yes, she was happiest when she felt she was helping him, it gave her confidence that she could do more, lead him into paths beyond which they might explore together. She was useful. Sometimes, however, he seemed to her oversanguine; though he had worked hard, his success had come too easily, had been too uniform. His temper was quick, the prospect of opposition often made him overbearing, yet on occasions he listened with surprising patience to his subordinates when they ventured to differ from his opinions. At other times Janet had seen him overrule them ruthlessly; humiliate them. There were days when things went wrong, when there were delays, complications, more matters to attend to than usual.
On one such day, after the dinner hour, Mr. Orcutt entered the office.
His long, lean face wore a certain expression Janet had come to know, an expression that always irritated Ditmar--the conscientious superintendent having the unfortunate faculty of exaggerating annoyances by his very bearing. Ditmar stopped in the midst of dictating a peculiarly difficult letter, and looked up sharply.
"Well," he asked, "what"s the trouble now?"
Orcutt seemed incapable of reading storm signals. When anything happened, he had the air of declaring, "I told you so."
"You may remember I spoke to you once or twice, Mr. Ditmar, of the talk over the fifty-four hour law that goes into effect in January."
"Yes, what of it?" Ditmar cut in. "The notices have been posted, as the law requires."
"The hands have been grumbling, there are trouble makers among them. A delegation came to me this noon and wanted to know whether we intended to cut the pay to correspond to the shorter working hours."
"Of course it"s going to be cut," said Ditmar. "What do they suppose?
That we"re going to pay "em for work they don"t do? The hands not paid by the piece are paid practically by the hour, not by the day. And there"s got to be some limit to this thing. If these d.a.m.ned demagogues in the legislature keep on cutting down the hours of women and children every three years or so--and we can"t run the mill without the women and children--we might as well shut down right now. Three years ago, when they made it fifty-six hours, we were fools to keep up the pay. I said so then, at the conference, but they wouldn"t listen to me. They listened this time. Holster and one or two others croaked, but we shut "em up. No, they won"t get any more pay, not a d.a.m.ned cent."
Orcutt had listened patiently, lugubriously.
"I told them that."
"What did they say?"
"They said they thought there"d be a strike."
"Pooh! Strike!" exclaimed Ditmar with contemptuous violence. "Do you believe that? You"re always borrowing trouble, you are. They may have a strike at one mill, the Clarendon. I hope they do, I hope Holster gets it in the neck--he don"t know how to run a mill anyway. We won"t have any strike, our people understand when they"re well off, they"ve got all the work they can do, they"re sending fortunes back to the old country or piling them up in the banks. It"s all bluff."
"There was a meeting of the English branch of the I. W. W. last night.
A committee was appointed," said Orcutt, who as usual took a gloomy satisfaction in the prospect of disaster.
"The I. W. W.! My G.o.d, Orcutt, don"t you know enough not to come in here wasting my time talking about the I. W. W.? Those anarchists haven"t got any organization. Can"t you get that through your head?"
"All right," replied Orcutt, and marched off. Janet felt rather sorry for him, though she had to admit that his manner was exasperating. But Ditmar"s anger, instead of cooling, increased: it all seemed directed against the unfortunate superintendent.
"Would you believe that a man who"s been in this mill twenty-five years could be such a fool?" he demanded. "The I. W. W.! Why not the Ku Klux?
He must think I haven"t anything to do but chin. I don"t know why I keep him here, sometimes I think he"ll drive me crazy."
His eyes seemed to have grown small and red, as was always the case when his temper got the better of him. Janet did not reply, but sat with her pencil poised over her book.
"Let"s see, where was I?" he asked. "I can"t finish that letter now. Go out and do the others."
Mundane experience, like a badly mixed cake, has a tendency to run in streaks, and on the day following the incident related above Janet"s heart was heavy. Ditmar betrayed an increased shortness of temper and preoccupation; and the consciousness that her love had lent her a clairvoyant power to trace the source of his humours though these were often hidden from or unacknowledged by himself--was in this instance small consolation. She saw clearly enough that the apprehensions expressed by Mr. Orcutt, whom he had since denounced as an idiotic old woman, had made an impression, aroused in him the ever-abiding concern for the mill which was his life"s pa.s.sion and which had been but temporarily displaced by his infatuation with her. That other pa.s.sion was paramount. What was she beside it? Would he hesitate for a moment to sacrifice her if it came to a choice between them? The tempestuousness of these thoughts, when they took possession of her, hinting as they did of possibilities in her nature hitherto unguessed and unrevealed, astonished and frightened her; she sought to thrust them away, to rea.s.sure herself that his concern for the successful delivery of the Bradlaugh order was natural. During the morning, in the intervals between interviews with the superintendents, he was self-absorbed, and she found herself inconsistently resenting the absence of those expressions of endearment--the glances and stolen caresses--for indulgence in which she had hitherto rebuked him: and though pride came to her rescue, fuel was added to her feeling by the fact that he did not seem to notice her coolness. Since he failed to appear after lunch, she knew he must be investigating the suspicions Orcutt had voiced; but at six o"clock, when he had not returned, she closed up her desk and left the office. An odour of cheap perfume pervading the corridor made her aware of the presence of Miss Lottie Myers.
"Oh, it"s you!" said that young woman, looking up from the landing of the stairs. "I might have known it you never make a get-away until after six, do you?"
"Oh, sometimes," said Janet.
"I stayed as a special favour to-night," Miss Myers declared. "But I"m not so stuck on my job that I can"t tear myself away from it."
"I don"t suppose you are," said Janet.
For a moment Miss Myers looked as if she was about to be still more impudent, but her eye met Janet"s, and wavered. They crossed the bridge in silence. "Well, ta-ta," she said. "If you like it, it"s up to you.
Five o"clock for mine,"--and walked away, up the ca.n.a.l, swinging her hips defiantly. And Janet, gazing after her, grew hot with indignation and apprehension. Her relations with Ditmar were suspected, after all, made the subject of the kind of comment indulged in, sotto voce, by Lottie Myers and her friends at the luncheon hour. She felt a mad, primitive desire to run after the girl, to spring upon and strangle her and compel her to speak what was in her mind and then retract it; and the motor impulse, inhibited, caused a sensation of sickness, of unhappiness and degradation as she turned her steps slowly homeward.
Was it a misinterpretation, after all--what Lottie Myers had implied and feared to say?...
In Fillmore Street supper was over, and Lise, her face contorted, her body strained, was standing in front of the bureau "doing" her hair, her glance now seeking the mirror, now falling again to consult a model in one of those periodicals of froth and fashion that cause such numberless heart burnings in every quarter of our democracy, and which are filled with photographs of "prominent" persons at race meetings, horse shows, and resorts, and with actresses, dancers,--and mannequins. Janet"s eyes fell on the open page to perceive that the coiffure her sister so painfully imitated was worn by a young woman with an insolent, vapid face and hard eyes, whose knees were crossed, revealing considerably more than an ankle. The picture was labelled, "A dance at Palm Beach--A flashlight of Mrs. "Trudy" Gascoigne-Sch.e.l.l,"--one of those mysterious, hybrid names which, in connection with the thoughts of New York and the visible rakish image of the lady herself, cause involuntary shudders down the spine of the reflecting American provincial. Some such responsive quiver, akin to disgust, Janet herself experienced.
"It"s the very last scream," Lise was saying. "And say, if I owned a ball dress like that I"d be somebody"s Lulu all right! Can I have the pleasure of the next maxixe, Miss b.u.mpus?" With deft and rapid fingers she lead parted her hair far on the right side and pulled it down over the left eyebrow, twisted it over her ear and tightly around her head, inserting here and there a hairpin, seizing the hand mirror with the cracked back, and holding it up behind her. Finally, when the operation was finished to her satisfaction she exclaimed, evidently to the paragon in the picture, "I get you!" Whereupon, from the wardrobe, she produced a hat. "You sure had my number when you guessed the feathers on that other would get draggled," she observed in high good humour, generously ignoring their former unpleasantness on the subject. When she had pinned it on she bent mockingly over her sister, who sat on the bed. "How d"you like my new toque? Peekaboo! That"s the way the guys rubberneck to see if you"re good lookin"."
Lise was exalted, feverish, apparently possessed by some high secret; her eyes shone, and when she crossed the room she whistled bars of ragtime and executed mincing steps of the maxixe. Fumbling in the upper drawer for a pair of white gloves (also new), she knocked off the corner of the bureau her velvet bag; it opened as it struck the floor, and out of it rolled a lilac vanity case and a yellow coin. Casting a suspicious, lightning glance at Janet, she s.n.a.t.c.hed up the vanity case and covered the coin with her foot.
"Lock the doors!" she cried, with an hysteric giggle. Then removing her foot she picked up the coin surrept.i.tiously. To her amazement her sister made no comment, did not seem to have taken in the significance of the episode. Lise had expected a tempest of indignant, searching questions, a "third degree," as she would have put it. She snapped the bag together, drew on her gloves, and, when she was ready to leave, with characteristic audacity crossed the room, taking her sister"s face between her hands and kissing her.
"Tell me your troubles, sweetheart!" she said--and did not wait to hear them.
Janet was incapable of speech--nor could she have brought herself to ask Lise whether or not the money had been earned at the Bagatelle, and remained miraculously unspent. It was possible, but highly incredible.
And then, the vanity case and the new hat were to be accounted for! The sight of the gold piece, indeed, had suddenly revived in Janet the queer feeling of faintness, almost of nausea she had experienced after parting with Lottie Myers. And by some untoward a.s.sociation she was reminded of a conversation she had had with Ditmar on the Sat.u.r.day afternoon following their first Sunday excursion, when, on opening her pay envelope, she had found twenty dollars.
"Are you sure I"m worth it?" she had demanded--and he had been quite sure. He had added that she was worth more, much more, but that he could not give her as yet, without the risk of comment, a sum commensurate with the value of her services.... But now she asked herself again, was she worth it? or was it merely--part of her price? Going to the wardrobe and opening a drawer at the bottom she searched among her clothes until she discovered the piece of tissue paper in which she had wrapped the rose rescued from the cl.u.s.ter he had given her. The petals were dry, yet they gave forth, still, a faint, reminiscent fragrance as she pressed them to her face. Janet wept....
The following morning as she was kneeling in a corner of the room by the letter files, one of which she had placed on the floor, she recognized his step in the outer office, heard him pause to joke with young Caldwell, and needed not the visual proof--when after a moment he halted on the threshold--of the fact that his usual, buoyant spirits were restored. He held a cigar in his hand, and in his eyes was the eager look with which she had become familiar, which indeed she had learned to antic.i.p.ate as they swept the room in search of her. And when they fell on her he closed the door and came forward impetuously. But her exclamation caused him to halt in bewilderment.
"Don"t touch me!" she said.
And he stammered out, as he stood over her:--"What"s the matter?"
"Everything. You don"t love me--I was a fool to believe you did."
"Don"t love you!" he repeated. "My G.o.d, what"s the trouble now? What have I done?"
"Oh, it"s nothing you"ve done, it"s what you haven"t done, it"s what you can"t do. You don"t really care for me--all you care for is this mill--when anything happens here you don"t know I"m alive."
He stared at her, and then an expression of comprehension, of intense desire grew in his eyes; and his laugh, as he flung his cigar out of the open window and bent down to seize her, was almost brutal. She fought him, she tried to hurt him, and suddenly, convulsively pressed herself to him.
"You little tigress!" he said, as he held her. "You were jealous--were you--jealous of the mill?" And he laughed again. "I"d like to see you with something really to be jealous about. So you love me like that, do you?"
She could feel his heart beating against her.
"I won"t be neglected," she told him tensely. "I want all of you--if I can"t have all of you, I don"t want any. Do you understand?"
"Do I understand? Well, I guess I do."
"You didn"t yesterday," she reproached him, somewhat dazed by the swiftness of her submission, and feeling still the traces of a lingering resentment. She had not intended to surrender. "You forgot all about me, you didn"t know I was here, much less that I was hurt. Oh, I was hurt!
And you--I can tell at once when anything"s wrong with you--I know without your saying it."
He was amazed, he might indeed have been troubled and even alarmed by this pa.s.sion he had aroused had his own pa.s.sion not been at the flood.
And as he wiped away her tears with his handkerchief he could scarcely believe his senses that this was the woman whose resistance had demanded all his force to overcome. Indeed, although he recognized the symptoms she betrayed as feminine, as having been registered--though feebly compared to this! by incidents in his past, precisely his difficulty seemed to be in identifying this complex and galvanic being as a woman, not as something almost fearful in her significance, outside the bounds of experience....