evening found that he "wanted to be around with folks."
He had a sort of youthful defiant despair, so he jested much at
the card-table, by way of practising his new game of keeping
people from knowing what he was thinking. He took sophisticated
pleasure in noting that Mrs. Arty no longer condescended to him.
He managed to imitate Tom's writing on a card which he left with
a bunch of jonquils in Nelly's room, and nearly persuaded even
Tom himself that Tom was the donor. Probably because he didn't
much care what happened he was able to force Mr. Mortimer R.
Guilfogle to raise his salary to twenty-three dollars a week.
Mr. Guilfogle went out of his way to admit that the letters to
the Southern trade had been "a first-rate stunt, son."
John Henson, the head of the Souvenir Company's manufacturing
department, invited Mr. Wrenn home to dinner, and the account of
the cattle-boat was much admired by Mrs. Henson and the three
young Hensons.
A few days later, in mid-June, there was an unusually cheerful
dinner at the boarding-house. Nelly turned to Mr. Wrenn--yes,
he was quite sure about it; she was speaking exclusively to him,
with a lengthy and most merry account of the manner in which the
floor superintendent had "called down" the unkindest of the
aislesmen.
He longed to give his whole self in his answer, to be in the
absolute community of thought that lovers know. But the image
of Istra was behind his chair. Istra--he had to see her--now,
this evening. He rushed out to the corner drug-store and
reached her by telephone.
Yes-s, admitted Istra, a little grudgingly, she was going to be
at the studio that evening, though she--well, there was going to
be a little party--some friends--but--yes, she'd be glad to have
him come.
Grimly, Mr. Wrenn set out for Washington Square.
Since this scientific treatise has so exhaustively examined Mr.
Wrenn's reactions toward the esthetic, one need give but three
of his impressions of the studio and people he found on
Washington Square--namely:
(a) That the big room was bare, ill kept, and not comparable to
the red-plush splendor of Mrs. Arty's, for all its pretension to
superiority. Why, a lot of the pictures weren't framed! And you
should have seen the giltness and fruit-borderness of the frames
at Mrs. Arty's!
(b) That the people were brothers- in-talk to the inmates of the
flat on Great James Street, London, only far less, and friendly.
(c) That Mr. Wrenn was now a man of friends, and if the
"blooming Bohemians," as he called them, didn't like him they
were permitted to go to the dickens.
Istra was always across the room from him somehow. He found
himself glad. It made their parting definite.
He was going back to his own people, he was deciding.
As he rose with elaborate boarding-house apologies to the room
at large for going, and a cheerful but not intimate "Good night"
to Istra, she followed him to the door and into the dark long
hallway without.
"Good night, Mouse dear. I'm glad you got a chance to talk to
the Silver Girl. But was Mr. Hargis rude to you? I heard him
talking Single Tax--or was it Matisse?--and he's usually rude
when he talks about them."
"No. He was all right."
"Then what _is_ worrying you?"
"Oh--nothing. Good ni----"
"You _are_ going off angry. _Aren't_ you?"
"No, but--oh, there ain't any use of our--of me being----
_Is_ there?"
"N-no----"
"Matisse--the guy you just spoke about--and these artists here
tonight in bobtail dress-suits--I wouldn't know when to wear one
of them things, and when a swallow-tail-- if I had one, even--or
when a Prince Albert or----"
"Oh, not a Prince Albert, Mouse dear. Say, a frock-coat."
"Sure. That's what I mean. It's like that Matisse guy. I
don't know about none of the things you're interested in. While
you've been away from Mrs. Arty's--Lord, I've missed you so! But
(he seemed peculiarly to resent the unfortunate French artist)
"on me I sort of get onto myself--and now it ain't like it was
in England; I've got a bunch of my own I can chase around with.
Anyway, I got onto myself tonight. I s'pose it's partly because
I been thinking you didn't care much for _my_ friends."
"But, Mouse dear, all this isn't news to me. Surely you, who've
gipsied with me, aren't going to be so obvious, so banal, as to
blame _me_ because you've cared for me, are you, child?"
"Oh no, no, no! I didn't mean to do that. I just wanted--oh,
gee! I dunno--well, I wanted to have things between us definite."
"I do understand. You're quite right. And now we're jus t
friends, aren't we?"
"Yes."
"Then good-by. And sometime when I'm back in New York--I'm
going to California in a few days--I think I'll be able to get
back here--I certainly hope so--though of course I'll have to
keep house for friend father for a while, and maybe I'll marry
myself with a local magnate in desperation--but, as I was
saying, dear, when I get back here we'll have a good dinner,
_nicht wahr?_"
"Yes, and--good-by."
She stood at the top of the stairs looking down. He slowly
clumped down the wooden treads, boiling with the amazing
discoveries that he had said good-by to Istra, that he was not
sorry, and that now he could offer to Nelly Croubel everything.
Istra suddenly called, "O Mouse, wait just a moment."
She darted like a swallow. She threw her arm about his shoulder
and kissed his cheek. Instantly she was running up-stairs
again, and had disappeared into the studio.
Mr. William Wrenn was walking rapidly up Riverside Drive,
thinking about his letters to the Southern merchants.
While he was leaving the studio building he had perfectly seen
himself as one who was about to go through a tumultuous agony,
after which he would be free of all the desire for Istra and
ready to serve Nelly sincerely and humbly.
But he found that the agony was all over. Even to save his
dignity as one who was being dramatic, he couldn't keep his
thoughts on Istra.
Every time he thought of Nelly his heart was warm and he
chuckled softly. Several times out of nothing came pictures of
the supercilious persons whom he had heard solving the problems
of the world at the studio on Washington Square, and he
muttered: "Oh, hope they choke. Istra's all right, though; she
learnt me an awful lot. But--gee! I'm glad she ain't in the same
house; I suppose I'd ag'nize round if she was."
Suddenly, at no particular street corner on Riverside Drive, just
_a_ street, he fled over to Broadway and the Subway. He had to
be under the same roof with Nelly. If it were only possible to
see her that night! But it was midnight. However, he formulated
a plan. The next morning he would leave the office, find h
er at
her department store, and make her go out to Manhattan Beach
with him for dinner that night.
He was home. He went happily up the stairs. He would dream of
Nelly, and----
Nelly's door opened, and she peered out, drawing her _peignoir_
about her.
"Oh," she said, softly, "is it you?"
"Yes. My, you're up late."
"Do you---- Are you all right?"
He dashed down the hall and stood shyly scratching at the straw
of his newest hat.
"Why yes, Nelly, course. Poor---- Oh, don't tell me you have a
headache again?"
"No---- I was awful foolish, of course, but I saw you when you
went out this evening, and you looked so savage, and you didn't
look very well."
"But now it's all right."
"Then good night."
"Oh no--listen--please do! I went over to the place Miss Nash is
living at, because I was pretty sure that I ain't hipped on
her--sort of hypnotized by her--any more. And I found I ain't!
_I ain't!_ I don't know what to say, I want to--I want you to
know that from going to try and see if I can't get you to care
for me." He was dreadfully earnest, and rather quiet, with the
dignity of the man who has found himself. "I'm scared," he went
on, "about saying this, because maybe you'll think I've got an
idea I'm kind of a little tin god, and all I've got to do is to
say which girl I'll want and she'll come a-running, but it isn't
that; _it isn't_. It's just that I want you to know I'm going
to give _all_ of me to you now if I can get you to want me. And
I _am_ glad I knew Istra--she learnt me a lot about books and all,
so I have more to me, or maybe will have, for you. It's
--Nelly--promise you'll be--my friend--promise---- If you knew how
I rushed back here tonight to see you!"
"Billy----"
She held out her hand, and he grasped it as though it were the
sacred symbol of his dreams.
"To- morrow," she smiled, with a hint of tears, "I'll be a
reg'lar lady, I guess, and make you explain and explain like
everything, but now I'm just glad. Yes," defiantly, "I _will_
admit it if I want to! I _am_ glad!"
Her door closed.
CHAPTER XIX
TO A HAPPY SHORE
Upon an evening of November, 1911, it chanced that of Mrs. Arty's
flock only Nelly and Mr. Wrenn were at home. They had finished
two hot games of pinochle, and sat with their feet on a small
amiable oil-stove. Mr. Wrenn laid her hand against his cheek
with infinite content. He was outlining the situation at the
office.
The business had so increased that Mr. Mortimer R. Guilfogle,
the manager, had told Rabin, the head traveling-salesman, that
he was going to appoint an assistant manager. Should he, Mr.
Wrenn queried, try to get the position? The other candidates,
Rabin and Henson and Glover, were all good friends of his, and,
furthermore, could he "run a bunch of guys if he was over them?"
"Why, of course you can, Billy. I remember when you came here
you were sort of shy. But now you're 'most the star boarder!
And won't those others be trying to get the job away from you?
Of course!"
"Yes, that's so."
"Why, Billy, some day you might be manager!"
"Say, that would be great, wouldn't it! But hones', Nell, do you
think I might have a chance to land the assistant's job?"
"I certainly do."
"Oh, Nelly--gee! you make me--oh, learn to bank on myself----"
He kissed her for the second time in his life.
"Mr. Guilfogle," stated Mr. Wrenn, next day, "I want to talk to
you about that assistant managership."
The manager, in his new office and his new flowered waistcoat,
had acted interested when Our steady and reliable Mr. Wrenn came
in. But now he tried to appear dignified and impatient.
"That----" he began.
"I've been here longer than any of the other men, and I know
every line of the business now, even the manufacturing. You
remember I held down Henson's job when his wife was sick."
"Yes, but----"
"And I guess Jake thinks I can boss all right, and Miss
Leavenbetz, too."
"Now will you kindly 'low _me_ to talk a little, Wrenn? I know
a _little_ something about how things go in the office myself!
I don't deny you're a good man. Maybe some day you may get to be
assistant manager. But I'm going to give the first try at it to
Glover. He's had so much more experience with meeting people
directly--personally. But you're a good man----"
"Yes, I've heard that before, but I'll be gol-darned if I'll
stick at one desk all my life just because I save you all the
trouble in that department, Guilfogle, and now----"
"Now, now, now, now! Calm down; hold your horses, my boy. This
ain't a melodrama, you know."
"Yes, I know; I didn't mean to get sore, but you know----"
"Well, now I'll tell you what I'm going to do. I'm going to
make you head of the manufacturing department instead of getting
in a new man, and shift Henson to purchasing. I'll put Jake on
your old job, and expect you to give him a lift when he needs
it. And you'd better keep up the most important of the
jollying- letters, I guess."
"Well, I like that all right. I appreciate it. But of course
I expect more pay--two men's work----"
"Let's see; what you getting now?"
"Twenty-three."
"Well, that's a good deal, you know. The overhead expenses have
been increasing a lot faster than our profits, and we've----"
"Huh!"
"----got to see where new business is coming in to justify the
liberal way we've treated you men before we can afford to do
much salary-raising--though we're just as glad to do it as you
men to get it; but----"
"Huh!"
"----if we go to getting extravagant we'll go bankrupt, and then
we won't any of us have jobs.... Still, I _am_ willing to raise
you to twenty- five, though----"
"Thirty-five!"
Mr. Wrenn stood straight. The manager tried to stare him down.
Panic was attacking Mr. Wrenn, and he had to think of Nelly to
keep up his defiance. At last Mr. Guilfogle glared, then roared:
"Well, confound it, Wrenn, I'll give you twenty-nine-fifty, and not
a cent more for at least a year. That's final. _Understand?_"
"All right," chirped Mr. Wrenn.
"Gee!" he was exulting to himself, "never thought I'd get
anything like that. Twenty-nine-fifty! More 'n enough to marry
on now! I'm going to get _twenty-nine-fifty!_"
"Married five months ago to-night, honey," said Mr. Wrenn to
Nelly, his wife, in their Bronx flat, and thus set down October
17, 1913, as a great date in history.
"Oh, I _know_ it, Billy. I wondered if you'd remember. You just
ought to see the dessert I'm making--but that's a s'prise."
"Remember! Should say I did! See what I've got for somebody!"
He opened a parcel and displayed a pair of red-worsted
bed-slippers, a creation of one of the greatest red-worst
ed
artists in the whole land. Yes, and he could afford them, too.
Was he not making thirty-two dollars a week--he who had been poor!
And his chances for the assistant managership "looked good."
"Oh, they'll be so comfy when it gets cold. You're a dear! Oh,
Billy, the janitress says the Jewish lady across the court in
number seventy is so lazy she wears her corsets to bed!"
"Did the janitress get the coal put in, Nell?"
"Yes, but her husband is laid off again. I was talking to her
quite a while this afternoon.... Oh, dear, I do get so lonely
for you, sweetheart, with nothing to do. But I did read some
_Kim_ this afternoon. I liked it."
"That's fine!"
"But it's kind of hard. Maybe I'll---- Oh, I don't know. I guess I'll have to read a lot."
He patted her back softly, and hoped: "Maybe some day we can get a little house out of town, and then you can
garden.... Sorry old Siddons is laid off again.... Is the gas-stove working all right now?"
"Um- huh, honey. I fixed it."
"Say, let me make the coffee, Nell. You'll have enough to do with setting the table and watching the sausages."
"All rightee, hun. But, oh, Billy, I'm so, shamed. I was going to get some potato salad, and I've just remembered I
forgot." She hung her head, with a fingertip to her pretty lips, and pretended to look dreadfully ashamed. "Would
you mind so ver-ee much skipping down to Bachmeyer's for some? Ah-h, is it just fearful neglected when it comes
home all tired out?"
"No, indeedy. But you got to kiss me first, else I won't go at all."
Nelly turned to him and, as he held her, her head bent far back. She lay tremblingly inert against his arms, staring
up at him, panting. With her head on his shoulder--a soft burden of love that his shoulder rejoiced to bear--they
stood gazing out of the narrow kitchen window of their sixth-story flat and noticed for the hundredth time that the
trees in a vacant lot across were quite as red and yellow as the millionaire trees in Central Park along Fifth Avenue.
"Sometime," mused Mr. Wrenn, "we'll live in Jersey, where there's trees and trees and trees--and maybe there'll be
kiddies to play under them, and then you won't be lonely, honey; they'll keep you some busy!"
"You skip along now, and don't be talking nonsense, or I'll not give you one single wee bit of dinner!" Then she
blushed adorably, with infinite hope.
He hastened out of the kitchen, with the happy glance he never failed to give the living-room--its red-papered walls
with shiny imitation-oak woodwork; the rows of steins on the plate-rack; the imitation-oak dining-table, with a vase