Chapter III (3)

She returned to the room that she had left, and sat down. The pain in her head gave an added edge to the anger within her. The skulking meanness of it--oh, she’d love to break his head in two! Then another voice within her said: “You know perfectly well that’s what almost any man’ll do, ’specially ’f he’s drunk, as well as you are. Don’t act like a school-kid--you knew it all the time, but you kept on drinking last night, long past your limit ... fool.”

Her anger against Campbell subsided to a more practical disgust. If she had loved him, she would not have minded this finale, but as it was she felt like a swindled imbecile. Campbell would have to be put in his place once more, and treated with a cool aloofness. He had benefited by an accident wedded to her own weakness, and the only grim satisfaction left would be to ignore him from now on. She didn’t blame him, particularly--all men seemed to be cut out of the same stuff--but it would have to be impressed upon him that his victory had been an empty one, and that she was still her own mistress. After all, she still felt intact and undisturbed--it would take more than a dozen Campbells to break her spirit--and she would sever her relations with him merely as a matter-of-fact self-protection.

When she had washed, and dressed herself, she walked back to the parlor and pulled back the shades at the window, and looked down at the street far below. It was crowded with people and vehicles--the hour might be around noon. She glanced back at a clock on the top of the sideboard. Eleven-thirty--she would have to telephone the “Parlor” and give them the old illness-excuse.... Where had every one disappeared to--where was Donovan, who lived in the apartment? She heard the front door close, and she sat down, waiting, and shrinking a little ... she didn’t care to meet any one at this exact moment. Campbell walked into the parlor, and when he saw her, he greeted her with a solicitous joviality.

“We-ell, there she is--fresh as a daisy ’n’ everything,” he said. “I’ve bought some stuff and we’ll cook breakfast on Jack’s little electric stove. He’s still dead to the world, I guess.”

She rose from the chair, without answering, and walked to the hallway, where she removed her coat and hat from the rack and started to put them on. He followed her and dropped a hand on her shoulder.

“Now, what’s up?” he asked.

“We’re never going to see each other again,” she replied, “and I’m not very anxious to talk to you. I don’t blame you for anything, but you’re not the kind of a man I’m looking for. You’re just no better ’r worse than most people, that’s all. I’d feel just the same about it ’f you hadn’t acted like you did. I held on to you because you could make me laugh and forget my troubles, but I knew it couldn’t last much longer.”

“Don’t act like desp’rate Tessie in a movie-film,” he said. “Come on, sit down and let’s talk it over. Nothing so terrible has happened.”

“I’m not worrying about what happened,” she answered. “’F I cared for you I wouldn’t give it a thought. I don’t, though, and there’d be no use in risking a second dose of the same fool stunt. We’ll call it quits now, and stop seeing each other.”

“Well, I’ve got something to tell you, and it won’t hurt you to sit down a minute and listen,” he urged.

“All right, just a few minutes, and then I’ll be going,” she said, wearily.

They sat on opposite chairs in the parlor, and as he looked at her, an irresistible impulse came to him. She certainly did have a marvelous spirit and independence--no girl of his acquaintance had ever acted with such a careless, untouched remoteness on the morning after, unless she was a plain hooker--not in a way that convinced you of its genuineness, at any rate--and, strangely enough, as he sat here now, she was still as desirable as she had ever been. Well, guess he would have to take the plunge--you couldn’t resist it forever. The old chain-and-jail wind-up.

“I want you to marry me, Blanche,” he said. “I’ll go down to the Municipal Building with you this afternoon, and we’ll get the license. I mean every word of it. You’re an ace-high full to me and I can’t give you up. I guess I’ve always been in love with you, but I didn’t want to admit it to myself. You’ll marry me to-day and we’ll live happy ever afterwards, just like they do in the books.”

He looked at her with a confident, admiring smile, as though her assent were predetermined. She arose and smiled pityingly at him, as she tucked her hair beneath her hat.

“Listen, Joe, I wouldn’t marry you on a bet,” she replied. “You prob’bly think I’ve been egging you on to ask me all the time, and there’s where you’ve made a big mistake, Joe Campbell. ’F I ever marry any man I’ll have to be wild about him, and ’f I am, I won’t even care so much whether he marries me ’r not. And, what’s more, I’ll have to have a pile of respect for his mind, and I’ll have to feel like listening to what he says, all the time.”

He stared at her, without answering.

“Well, it’s no use talking any more,” she said. “So long, Joe, I’m going now.”

He had expected that she would first doubt the sincerity of his proposal and then eagerly accept him. He still believed that she was merely leading him on, to revenge herself, and that all of her words had been said for their effect, and that she only wanted him to be persistently begging and humble. He followed her into the hallway, and caught her arm.

“I’m sorry for what happened last night,” he said. “I’ll make it up to you, Blan. I mean it, dear. I’m crazy about you, and I want to make you happy, and I’ll do anything you say. Why, I’ll even stop drinking, if you say the word. You’ve just got to marry me, you’ve got to, Blanche. You know you care for me, you know you do.”

“You’d better guess again, Joe,” she said, coolly, as she broke away from him. “I’m not going to see you again, and what’s more, don’t pester me with any ’phone-calls ’r letters, either. It won’t do you a bit of good.... Good-bye, and good luck, old boy.”

It gave her a surface thrill to slap his face in this dramatic and careless fashion. He thought that he was a precious catch, didn’t he? Well, he might lose some of his huge conceit after she had finished with him.

He caught her arm once more.

“Come on, you’ve razzed me enough now, haven’t you?” he asked. “I’ve been taking it like a man, but don’t smear it on so thick. Come on, be good to me, Blanche.”

She broke away again and walked swiftly down the hallway. He started after her and then halted, still and perplexed, as she reached the door. Then a rage quickly possessed him--imagine, this hussy turning _him_ down after he had been really anxious to make amends.

“All right, then, you can go to hell for all I care,” he called after her, as she was passing through the doorway.

She made no reply as she slammed the door behind her--he could have said that immediately and spared himself the trouble of his other words. These men, they thought that all they had to do was to utter the magical words--ma-arry me--and a girl would be delighted at the rare, luring condescension and instantly fall into their arms. Well, perhaps he wouldn’t be quite so conceited from now on--the cheap sneak. When she married a man it would be soberly and of her own free will, because she longed to hear his words, and be physically near him, and because she looked up to his mental gifts, and good taste, and re-fine-ment. Oh, ye-es, in a way she was an idiot for not having accepted _Campbell’s_ proposal, since he could certainly have given the leisure and opportunities which she craved, but ... she’d be damned if _she_ would ever marry a man just because she was ashamed to leave him on the day after a drunken party!

After she had telephoned the “Parlor” and told Madame Jaurette that she could not come down because of an intense toothache, she returned to her home. Her mother had gone to the butcher shop and Mabel was sitting alone in the living-room.

“Well, sma-artie, where’ve you been all night?” Mabel asked. “Ma was in a awful stew about you--she was gonna call up the p’lice, but I stopped her. An’ _pa_, he’s gonna ask you _some_ questions when he gets back, believe me.”

“What’s all the fuss about?” Blanche asked, wearily. “I went to a wild party and passed out, and they had to let me sleep there overnight.”

“An’ Joe Campbell, he got lost in the crush, ’r else he went back to his place to sleep, I s’pose,” Mabel answered, sarcastically. “You c’n tell it to ma but not to me. I never thought you’d give in to him that easy, Blan. He hasn’t asked you to marry him, has he?”

“Yes, but I turned him down,” Blanche replied.

“Turned him down--well, of all the fool things,” Mabel cried. “I’ll bet you’re jes’ sayin’ you did ’cause you don’t want to admit what a simp you’ve been.”

“No, it’s true ... he wanted to marry me right this afternoon.”

Mabel was silent for a moment, as she regarded her sister with an irritated surprise, and then she said: “You’ve got me guessing. Here’s a fine fella, not so bad-lookin’ either, an’ you’ve been goin’ with him, off and on, f’r over two years, an’ he’s got loads of money, an’ ... you won’t marry him. There’s darn few fellas that’ll ask a girl right after they’ve slipped one over on her. What’re you waitin’ for, anyway?”

“Not for anything you could understand,” Blanche responded. “When I marry a man I’m going to love him first--that’s what you can’t get into your head--and it’ll have to be real love, too, and not just because he has a handsome face and knows how to kid now and then.”

“Then why’d you stay with Joe last night?” Mabel asked. “’F you’re so darn up’n the air about it, you didn’t have to peel your clothes off f’r a fella you don’t care about.”

“I passed out of the picture, and the next thing I knew it was morning,” Blanche said, trying to be patient with this querulous, unseeing sister of hers, but feeling a rising strain.

It was bad enough that it had happened--why did she have to paw over the details?

“Well, he played a dirty, rotten trick on you then,” Mabel answered, indignantly, “an’ ’f it was me, I’d sure get back at him some way. ’F I didn’t wanna marry him, then I’d scare him outa his wits an’ make him come across with plenty uh money, I would. ’R else I’d see he was sent to the hospital f’r a nice, long stretch.”

“It was my fault just’s much as his,” Blanche replied, dully. “No man’s ’n angel, and a girl shouldn’t get drunk with him ’f she doesn’t want to go the limit. I can usually take care of myself, but I took too many cocktails last night. I was feeling blue and forgot when to stop. ’F you want to do me a favor, then you’ll talk about something else. I’ll never see him again, and he doesn’t matter to me.”

“Try an’ talk to you,” Mabel responded, disgustedly. “The last person you ever look out f’r is yourself. You ought to be sent to the booby-hatch!”

Blanche went into her room without answering ... what was the use? Mabel meant well enough, but she couldn’t see that money and gay times and “getting back” at people were not the only things in the world.

When her mother returned, Blanche pretended to be asleep, and she remained upon her bed until evening, with all her thoughts darting about and then hopelessly evaporating, and with occasional intervals of semi-drowsiness. When she came to the supper-table, where the remainder of her family were seated, the firing started.

“Well, give an account uh yourself,” her father said. “Where was you till twelve this morning?”

“I stayed with some friends,” Blanche answered--she wasn’t _afraid_ to tell them the truth, of course not, but she wanted to avoid the senseless wrangling, and the loud accusations, and the outraged advice that would ensue if she did. “I drank a little too much and I had to sleep it off, that’s all.”

“An’ how about Campbell--was he with you?” her father asked, gruffly.

“He was gone when I woke up this morning,” Blanche answered, seeking only to brush aside her father’s words.

“Well, it sounds damn fishy to me,” her father replied. “’F he did anything wrong to you I’ll have it out with him, and he’ll have to marry you then, ’f he knows what’s good f’r him.”

“That’s what I say,” Harry broke in. “I like Joe all right, but he’d better go slow with any sister uh mine, I don’t care ’f he was the Gov’ner himself!”

“You’re getting terribly concerned about me all at once, aren’t you?” Blanche asked, speaking to Harry. “You’d better not jump at conclusions--you don’t know a thing about it.”

“I’ll make it my business to find out,” Harry answered, looking steadily at her.

“Well, I’m gonna stick up f’r Blanie this time,” Mabel said. “You’re both makin’ a big fuss about nothin’, an’ what’s more, you’ve got no right to be sayin’ she’s a bad girl. You oughta be ashamed uh yourselves. All she did was stay overnight with some people she knew ’cause she wasn’t in no condition to come home. I’ve done it myself, once ’r twice, an’ you never waded into me. Blanche may be a nut in some ways but she’s not fool enough to let Joe Campbell put it over on her, an’ you oughta believe her.”

Blanche gave her sister a grateful, surprised look--Mabel did have a good streak in her, in spite of her blind reproaches.

“I’m not accusin’ her of anythin’,” the father said, impressed by this defense from his favorite daughter. “I only wanted to find out what happened, like any father would. ’S a matter uh fact, you’d both better cut out all this booze you’re swillin’. ’F you don’t, you’ll wake up some fine mornin’ an’ find yourselves in f’r it.”

“An’ they oughta stay home more, too,” the mother said, breaking in with her endless complaint, not because she hoped to effect anything, but merely to maintain her position. “I was worried to death, I was, when I got up this mornin’ an’ Blanie wasn’t here. You never can tell what’ll happen to a girl, you never. Don’t I read all kindsa things in the paper ev’ry day--murders ’n’ rapes ’n’ what not!”

“I’ll see that they stay home--they’re runnin’ too loose to suit me, these days,” the father replied.

He knew that he would do nothing of the kind, but the words soothed his sense of authority.

When the supper was finished, Blanche put on her hat and coat, and said: “I’m going out for a walk. I’ll be back early, I guess.”

“You’d better,” her father responded. “I won’t swallow another stayin’ over with friends story, this time.”

Blanche turned away without replying--words, words, and what did they all amount to? Threats, and promises, and “reasons” ... and people scarcely ever meant them.

After she had left the apartment she strolled aimlessly up one street and down another, craving the motion that could add a fillip to the dullness of her thoughts. Would she ever meet people who could help her, and who would understand her longings and prod her with worthwhile criticisms and encouragements--people, for instance, as superior to Rosenberg as Rosenberg had been to the rest of the men whom she knew? How could she run across them?... As she walked along, different men stopped beside her for a moment, with their “Nice evening, isn’t it?” and “You look sorta lonesome, how about it?” and “Pardon me, but haven’t I met you somewhere before?” and “D’you mind if I talk to you a while?” Sometimes they called to her from automobiles, but they were merely irritating reminders of a real and grossly intruding world, and she ignored them--it never paid to take a chance, for they always turned out to be common and cheap. It stood to reason--why would an enticing man be so “hard up” that he would have to solicit women on the street?

She didn’t know where she was going, but she wanted to imagine that she was searching for some destination that would greet her unexpectedly--a vague, half-laughed-at hope--and she kept on strolling down the hard, flatly dirty, noisy streets.

PART TWO