Текст книги "Jennie Gerhardt"

Автор книги: Теодор Драйзер

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Текущая страница: 15 (всего у книги 28 страниц)

CHAPTER XXXI

There was peace and quiet for some time after this storm. Jennie went the next day and brought Vesta away with her. The joy of the reunion between mother and child made up for many other worries. “Now I can do by her as I ought,” she thought; and three or four times during the day she found herself humming a little song.

Lester came only occasionally at first. He was trying to make himself believe that he ought to do something toward reforming his life—toward bringing about that eventual separation which he had suggested. He did not like the idea of a child being in this apartment—particularly that particular child. He fought his way through a period of calculated neglect, and then began to return to the apartment more regularly. In spite of all its drawbacks, it was a place of quiet, peace, and very notable personal comfort.

During the first days of Lester’s return it was difficult for Jennie to adjust matters so as to keep the playful, nervous, almost uncontrollable child from annoying the staid, emphatic, commercial-minded man. Jennie gave Vesta a severe talking to the first night Lester telephoned that he was coming, telling her that he was a very bad-tempered man who didn’t like children, and that she mustn’t go near him. “You mustn’t talk,” she said. “You mustn’t ask questions. Let mamma ask you what you want. And don’t reach, ever.”

Vesta agreed solemnly, but her childish mind hardly grasped the full significance of the warning.

Lester came at seven. Jennie, who had taken great pains to array Vesta as attractively as possible, had gone into her bedroom to give her own toilet a last touch. Vesta was supposedly in the kitchen. As a matter of fact, she had followed her mother to the door of the sitting-room, where now she could be plainly seen. Lester hung up his hat and coat, then, turning, he caught his first glimpse. The child looked very sweet—he admitted that at a glance. She was arrayed in a blue-dotted, white flannel dress, with a soft roll collar and cuffs, and the costume was completed by white stockings and shoes. Her corn-coloured ringlets hung gaily about her face. Blue eyes, rosy lips, rosy cheeks completed the picture. Lester stared, almost inclined to say something, but restrained himself. Vesta shyly retreated.

When Jennie came out he commented on the fact that Vesta had arrived. “Rather sweet-looking child,” he said. “Do you have much trouble in making her mind?”

“Not much,” she returned.

Jennie went on to the dining-room, and Lester overheard a scrap of their conversation.

“Who are he?” asked Vesta.

“Sh! That’s your Uncle Lester. Didn’t I tell you you mustn’t talk?”

“Are he your uncle?”

“No, dear. Don’t talk now. Run into the kitchen.”

“Are he only my uncle?”

“Yes. Now run along.”

“All right.”

In spite of himself Lester had to smile.

What might have followed if the child had been homely, misshapen, peevish, or all three, can scarcely be conjectured. Had Jennie been less tactful, even in the beginning, he might have obtained a disagreeable impression. As it was, the natural beauty of the child, combined with the mother’s gentle diplomacy in keeping her in the background, served to give him that fleeting glimpse of innocence and youth which is always pleasant. The thought struck him that Jennie had been the mother of a child all these years; she had been separated from it for months at a time; she had never even hinted at its existence, and yet her affection for Vesta was obviously great. “It’s queer,” he said. “She’s a peculiar woman.”

One morning Lester was sitting in the parlour reading his paper when he thought he heard something stir. He turned, and was surprised to see a large blue eye fixed upon him through the crack of a neighbouring door—the effect was most disconcerting. It was not like the ordinary eye, which, under such embarrassing circumstances, would have been immediately withdrawn; it kept its position with deliberate boldness. He turned his paper solemnly and looked again. There was the eye. He turned it again. Still was the eye present. He crossed his legs and looked again. Now the eye was gone.

This little episode, unimportant in itself, was yet informed with the saving grace of comedy, a thing to which Lester was especially responsive. Although not in the least inclined to relax his attitude of aloofness, he found his mind, in the minutest degree, tickled by the mysterious appearance; the corners of his mouth were animated by a desire to turn up. He did not give way to the feeling, and stuck by his paper, but the incident remained very clearly in his mind. The young wayfarer had made her first really important impression upon him.

Not long after this Lester was sitting one morning at breakfast, calmly eating his chop and conning his newspaper, when he was aroused by another visitation—this time not quite so simple. Jennie had given Vesta her breakfast, and set her to amuse herself alone until Lester should leave the house. Jennie was seated at the table, pouring out the coffee, when Vesta suddenly appeared, very business-like in manner, and marched through the room. Lester looked up, and Jennie coloured and arose.

“What is it, Vesta?” she inquired, following her.

By this time, however, Vesta had reached the kitchen, secured a little broom, and returned, a droll determination lighting her face.

“I want my little broom,” she exclaimed and marched sedately past, at which manifestation of spirit Lester again twitched internally, this time allowing the slightest suggestion of a smile to play across his mouth.

The final effect of this intercourse was gradually to break down the feeling of distaste Lester had for the child, and to establish in its place a sort of tolerant recognition of her possibilities as a human being.

The developments of the next six months were of a kind to further relax the strain of opposition which still existed in Lester’s mind. Although not at all resigned to the somewhat tainted atmosphere in which he was living, he yet found himself so comfortable that he could not persuade himself to give it up. It was too much like a bed of down. Jennie was too worshipful. The condition of unquestioned liberty, so far as all his old social relationships were concerned, coupled with the privilege of quiet, simplicity, and affection in the home was too inviting. He lingered on, and began to feel that perhaps it would be just as well to let matters rest as they were.

During this period his friendly relations with the little Vesta insensibly strengthened. He discovered that there was a real flavour of humour about Vesta’s doings, and so came to watch for its development. She was forever doing something interesting, and although Jennie watched over her with a care that was in itself a revelation to him, nevertheless Vesta managed to elude every effort to suppress her and came straight home with her remarks. Once, for example, she was sawing away at a small piece of meat upon her large plate with her big knife, when Lester remarked to Jennie that it might be advisable to get her a little breakfast set.

“She can hardly handle these knives.”

“Yes,” said Vesta instantly. “I need a little knife. My hand is just so very little.”

She held it up. Jennie, who never could tell what was to follow, reached over and put it down, while Lester with difficulty restrained a desire to laugh.

Another morning, not long after, she was watching Jennie put the lumps of sugar in Lester’s cup, when she broke in with, “I want two lumps in mine, mamma.”

“No, dearest,” replied Jennie, “you don’t need any in yours. You have milk to drink.”

“Uncle Lester has two,” she protested.

“Yes,” returned Jennie; “but you’re only a little girl. Besides you mustn’t say anything like that at the table. It isn’t nice.”

“Uncle Lester eats too much sugar,” was her immediate rejoinder, at which that fine gourmet smiled broadly.

“I don’t know about that,” he put in, for the first time deigning to answer her directly. “That sounds like the fox and grapes to me.” Vesta smiled back at him, and now that the ice was broken she chattered on unrestrainedly. One thing led to another, and at last Lester felt as though, in a way, the little girl belonged to him; he was willing even that she should share in such opportunities as his position and wealth might make possible—provided, of course, that he stayed with Jennie, and that they worked out some arrangement which would not put him hopelessly out of touch with the world which was back of him, and which he had to keep constantly in mind.

CHAPTER XXXII

The following spring the show-rooms and warehouse were completed, and Lester removed his office to the new building. Heretofore, he had been transacting all his business affairs at the Grand Pacific and the club. From now on he felt himself to be firmly established in Chicago—as if that was to be his future home. A large number of details were thrown upon him—the control of a considerable office force, and the handling of various important transactions. It took away from him the need of travelling, that duty going to Amy’s husband, under the direction of Robert. The latter was doing his best to push his personal interests, not only through the influence he was bringing to bear upon his sisters, but through his reorganisation of the factory. Several men whom Lester was personally fond of were in danger of elimination. But Lester did not hear of this, and Kane senior was inclined to give Robert a free hand. Age was telling on him. He was glad to see some one with a strong policy come up and take charge. Lester did not seem to mind. Apparently he and Robert were on better terms than ever before.

Matters might have gone on smoothly enough were it not for the fact that Lester’s private life with Jennie was not a matter which could be permanently kept under cover. At times he was seen driving with her by people who knew him in a social and commercial way. He was for brazening it out on the ground that he was a single man, and at liberty to associate with anybody he pleased. Jennie might be any young woman of good family in whom he was interested. He did not propose to introduce her to anybody if he could help it, and he always made it a point to be a fast traveller in driving, in order that others might not attempt to detain and talk to him. At the theatre, as has been said, she was simply “Miss Gerhardt.”

The trouble was that many of his friends were also keen observers of life. They had no quarrel to pick with Lester’s conduct. Only he had been seen in other cities, in times past, with this same woman. She must be some one whom he was maintaining irregularly. Well, what of it? Wealth and youthful spirits must have their fling. Rumours came to Robert, who, however, kept his own counsel. If Lester wanted to do this sort of thing, well and good. But there must come a time when there would be a show-down.

This came about in one form about a year and a half after Lester and Jennie had been living in the north side apartment. It so happened that, during a stretch of inclement weather in the fall, Lester was seized with a mild form of grip. When he felt the first symptoms he thought that his indisposition would be a matter of short duration, and tried to overcome it by taking a hot bath and a liberal dose of quinine. But the infection was stronger than he counted on; by morning he was flat on his back, with a severe fever and a splitting headache.

His long period of association with Jennie had made him incautious. Policy would have dictated that he should betake himself to his hotel and endure his sickness alone. As a matter of fact, he was very glad to be in the house with her. He had to call up the office to say that he was indisposed and would not be down for a day or so; then he yielded himself comfortably to her patient ministrations.

Jennie, of course, was delighted to have Lester with her, sick or well. She persuaded him to see a doctor and have him prescribe. She brought him potions of hot lemonade, and bathed his face and hands in cold water over and over. Later, when he was recovering, she made him appetising cups of beef-tea or gruel.

It was during this illness that the first real contretemps occurred. Lester’s sister Louise, who had been visiting friends in St. Paul, and who had written him that she might stop off to see him on her way, decided upon an earlier return than she had originally planned. While Lester was sick at his apartment she arrived in Chicago. Calling up the office, and finding that he was not there and would not be down for several days, she asked where he could be reached.

“I think he is at his rooms in the Grand Pacific,” said an incautious secretary. “He’s not feeling well.” Louise, a little disturbed, telephoned to the Grand Pacific, and was told that Mr. Kane had not been there for several days—did not, as a matter of fact, occupy his rooms more than one or two days a week. Piqued by this, she telephoned his club.

It so happened that at the club there was a telephone boy who had called up the apartment a number of times for Lester himself. He had not been cautioned not to give its number—as a matter of fact, it had never been asked for by any one else. When Louise stated that she was Lester’s sister, and was anxious to find him, the boy replied, “I think he lives at 19, Schiller Place.”

“Whose address is that you’re giving?” inquired a passing clerk.

“Mr. Kane’s.”

“Well, don’t be giving out addresses. Don’t you know that yet?”

The boy apologised, but Louise had hung up the receiver and was gone.

About an hour later, curious as to this third residence of her brother, Louise arrived at Schiller Place. Ascending the steps—it was a two-apartment house—she saw the name of Kane on the door leading to the second floor. Ringing the bell, she was opened to by Jennie, who was surprised to see so fashionably attired a young woman.

“This is Mr. Kane’s apartment, I believe,” began Louise, condescendingly, as she looked in at the open door behind Jennie. She was a little surprised to meet a young woman, but her suspicions were as yet only vaguely aroused.

“Yes,” replied Jennie.

“He’s sick, I believe. I’m his sister. May I come in?”

Jennie, had she had time to collect her thoughts, would have tried to make some excuse, but Louise, with the audacity of her birth and station, swept past before Jennie could say a word. Once inside Louise looked about her inquiringly. She found herself in the sitting-room, which gave into the bedroom where Lester was lying. Vesta happened to be playing in one corner of the room, and stood up to eye the new-comer. The open bedroom showed Lester quite plainly lying in bed, a window to the left of him, his eyes closed.

“Oh, there you are, old fellow!” exclaimed Louise. “What’s ailing you?” she hurried on.

Lester, who at the sound of her voice had opened his eyes, realised in an instant how things were. He pulled himself up on one elbow, but words failed him.

“Why, hello, Louise,” he finally forced himself to say, “Where did you come from?”

“St. Paul. I came back sooner than I thought,” she answered lamely, a sense of something wrong irritating her. “I had a hard time finding you, too. Who’s your—” she was about to say “pretty housekeeper,” but turned to find Jennie dazedly gathering up certain articles in the adjoining room and looking dreadfully distraught.

Lester cleared his throat hopelessly.

His sister swept the place with an observing eye. It took in the home atmosphere, which was both pleasing and suggestive. There was a dress of Jennie’s lying across a chair, in a familiar way, which caused Miss Kane to draw herself up warily. She looked at her brother, who had a rather curious expression in his eyes—he seemed slightly nonplussed, but cool and defiant.

“You shouldn’t have come out here,” said Lester finally, before Louise could give vent to the rising question in her mind.

“Why shouldn’t I?” she exclaimed, angered at the brazen confession. “You’re my brother, aren’t you? Why should you have any place that I couldn’t come. Well, I like that—and from you to me.”

“Listen, Louise,” went on Lester, drawing himself up further on one elbow. “You know as much about life as I do. There is no need of our getting into an argument. I didn’t know you were coming, or I would have made other arrangements.”

“Other arrangements, indeed,” she sneered. “I should think as much. The idea!”

She was greatly irritated to think that she had fallen into this trap; it was really disgraceful of Lester.

“I wouldn’t be so haughty about it,” he declared, his colour rising. “I’m not apologising to you for my conduct. I’m saying I would have made other arrangements, which is a very different thing from begging your pardon. If you don’t want to be civil, you needn’t.”

“Why, Lester Kane!” she exclaimed, her cheeks flaming. “I thought better of you, honestly I did. I should think you would be ashamed of yourself living here in open—” she paused without using the word—“and our friends scattered all over the city. It’s terrible! I thought you had more sense of decency and consideration.”

“Decency nothing,” he flared. “I tell you I’m not apologising to you. If you don’t like this you know what you can do.”

“Oh!” she exclaimed. “This from my own brother! And for the sake of that creature! Whose child is that?” she demanded, savagely and yet curiously.

“Never mind, it’s not mine. If it were it wouldn’t make any difference. I wish you wouldn’t busy yourself about my affairs.”

Jennie, who had been moving about the dining-room beyond the sitting-room, heard the cutting references to herself. She winced with pain.

“Don’t flatter yourself. I won’t any more,” retorted Louise. “I should think, though, that you, of all men, would be above anything like this—and that with a woman so obviously beneath you. Why, I thought she was—” she was again going to add “your housekeeper,” but she was interrupted by Lester, who was angry to the point of brutality.

“Never mind what you thought she was,” he growled. “She’s better than some who do the so-called superior thinking. I know what you think. It’s neither here nor there, I tell you. I’m doing this, and I don’t care what you think. I have to take the blame. Don’t bother about me.”

“Well, I won’t, I assure you,” she flung back. “It’s quite plain that your family means nothing to you. But if you had any sense of decency, Lester Kane, you would never let your sister be trapped into coming into a place like this. I’m disgusted, that’s all, and so will the others be when they hear of it.”

She turned on her heel and walked scornfully out, a withering look being reserved for Jennie, who had unfortunately stepped near the door of the dining-room. Vesta had disappeared. Jennie came in a little while later and closed the door. She knew of nothing to say. Lester, his thick hair pushed back from his vigorous face, leaned back moodily on his pillow. “What a devilish trick of fortune,” he thought. Now she would go home and tell it to the family. His father would know, and his mother. Robert, Imogene, Amy—all would hear. He would have no explanation to make—she had seen. He stared at the wall meditatively.

Meanwhile Jennie, moving about her duties, also found food for reflection. So this was her real position in another woman’s eyes. Now she could see what the world thought. This family was as aloof from her as if it lived on another planet. To his sisters and brothers, his father and mother, she was a bad woman, a creature far beneath him socially, far beneath him mentally and morally, a creature of the streets. And she had hoped somehow to rehabilitate herself in the eyes of the world. It cut her as nothing before had ever done. The thought tore a great, gaping wound in her sensibilities. She was really low and vile in her—Louise’s—eyes, in the world’s eyes, basically so in Lester’s eyes. How could it be otherwise? She went about numb and still, but the ache of defeat and disgrace was under it all. Oh, if she could only see some way to make herself right with the world, to live honourably, to be decent. How could that possibly be brought about? It ought to be—she knew that. But how?