Chapter II: Waste Not Your Hour

YES, he was lonely, that was the trouble.

Dr. Zerneke had told him to make friends. But he had made friends already, and had had to drop them....

Well, he must make some new friends.

He took out his memo-book, in which he had written the names, addresses and telephone numbers of two girls he had met last week at that dance.

They had been very interesting girls. One of them was a field-worker for some sort of agency which looked after delinquent children; she had snapping black eyes and curly black hair, and she had talked very interestingly about her work, in the intervals between dances. Her name was Jennie Michaelson; a very intelligent girl, whom he had been eager to know further. And she liked him. He wondered that he had let so long a time slip by--more than a week--without calling her up. He looked at his watch. It was only eight-thirty. She might be in from dinner, and they could go to a restaurant and talk. She lived on the West side....

He hesitated, at the moment of going to the telephone, and sat there in the big chair beneath the bridge-lamp, looking at his memo-book. There was another new girl in it somewhere. Louise--he couldn’t remember her last name: a fine, healthy, lovely blonde, and a wonderful dancer. Yes--there she was: Louise Van Strohm. She was a student at the University of Chicago, majoring in biology. It was her idea of adventure to go around the world and down into deep seas seeing strange and curious forms of life, like Will Beebe. She would, too, some time, she said. She lived near the University. She was fond of music, and the concerts in Jackson Park were commencing. She had mentioned it herself. There was one to-night. Or they could go somewhere and dance--better still! He looked at her ’phone number....

Again he hesitated, wondering whether what he most wanted to do was talk or dance. If he wanted to talk, Jennie would be the more interesting; if to dance, Louise danced like a dream. It was difficult to decide which girl he most wanted to see to-night....

He sat there in his easy chair under the lamp, trying to decide between Jennie and Louise.

The clock on the mantel chimed the hour of nine.

Of course, he had no assurance that either Jennie or Louise would be in at this hour. Girls had other things to do with their evenings than sit around in a furnished room waiting for the’phone to ring--especially girls like these. It was no way to go about it, to call them up at that hour. Girls had to be dated up beforehand. He’d be a fool to think he could get them at a moment’s notice. In fact, he should have dated them up for some evening there at the dance. By now they had forgotten all about him. After all, if a man asked a girl for her telephone number, and then didn’t call up for a week, she would naturally conclude that he couldn’t be very much interested in continuing the acquaintance. It would be rather embarrassing to call up now....

And if he did go to see one of these girls, what would he say to her? A year ago, at college, he’d have known what to say. But he was a thousand years older, now. Louise was twenty, Jennie twenty-two; Dr. Zerneke had told him their ages. They were only kids. He didn’t know how to get along with girls of that age any more....

To be sure, he had got along with them well enough that night at the dance. But that was because of the stimulus of the music, the costumes, and the drink or two that everybody had under his and her belt. But to see these girls again in cold blood ... His spirit faltered at the frightful difficulties of talking to a strange girl....

Well, no doubt it could be done. People did, somehow, get acquainted with each other.... And his imagination flew on to envisage a time when he and these girls might be better friends.... The trouble was, it would be awkward to be always pretending to have a sick wife in Colorado. Maybe they wouldn’t want to play around with a man who had a sick wife in Colorado. Of course, he could be a recent widower, if he preferred. Or a divorced man--one whose wife had run away: that was near enough to the truth.... And he speculated upon just what Jennie and Louise would think of a young divorced man with an infant child. When they knew him better, they would ask to see the baby. Girls seemed to be interested in babies--almost all girls. They might like him none the worse for having a baby.... But there was the rub. He couldn’t ever tell them the truth about that baby. There would be always an invisible barrier, in his relations with them, from the very beginning. It would spoil any friendship he might try to have with them.... Things would come up in conversation about illegitimacy--things like that did come up in conversation with girls nowadays!--and he would have to hide his own thoughts. Because he couldn’t go around telling everybody his story. And he would be ashamed of having to treat these girls as if they were enemies from whom his thoughts must needs be concealed. Their friendship would be a farce from the outset....

The clock chimed the half-hour.

It was really too late to call up those girls to-night. Besides, he didn’t want to go out. He wasn’t in the mood for girls. He would stay at home and read a book.

He went to the book-case, took one down at random, glanced through its pages, and threw it aside. After a few restless turns up and down the room he abruptly put on his hat.

It was too beautiful an evening to stay indoors. He would take a walk in the park.

He found himself accidentally on the street where he had lived at Mrs. Czermak’s.... He walked past the house, looking at the lighted windows. His old room was dark. Had they rented it to somebody else yet? He hadn’t asked, and they hadn’t told him.... The upstairs room, next to the nursery, showed a glow of light at the edges of the curtains. That was the girls’ room--Rose Czermak’s and Monica’s....

What did Monica think of him?

He turned, and walked back, on the other side of the street, looking at the house.

He could make some inquiry about the baby, as an excuse for coming. Yes, he hadn’t told them that his mother was coming. He ought to do that. He halted.... No, it wouldn’t be very sensible to go to see them in his present mood. Monica might be there. Better let well enough alone.... He could telephone them about his mother.... He went on....

Walking through Lincoln Park, he reached the Lake front. The full white moon was lifting itself out of the waters of the lake. He stood and watched it....

What was Monica doing?

But he reminded himself that he was supposed to have a sick wife in Colorado. Monica wouldn’t be thinking of him. Besides, to a girl nowadays, a kiss meant nothing. She had doubtless forgotten all about it.

And besides, his mother was coming in four days. He had best keep out of trouble....