Maggie: A Girl of the Streets and Other Writings About New York (Barnes & Noble Classics Series) (14 page)

“Sit down, and call your lady-friend over,” she said cordially to Pete. At his beckoning Maggie came and sat between Pete and the mere boy.

“I thought yeh were gone away fer good,” began Pete, at once. “When did yeh git back? How did dat Buff‘lo bus’ness turn out?”

The woman shrugged her shoulders. “Well, he didn’t have as many stamps
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as he tried to make out, so I shook him, that’s all.”

“Well, I’m glad teh see yehs back in deh city,” said Pete, with awkward gallantry.

He and the woman entered into a long conversation, exchanging reminiscences of days together. Maggie sat still, unable to formulate an intelligent sentence upon the conversation and painfully aware of it.

She saw Pete’s eyes sparkle as he gazed upon the handsome stranger. He listened smilingly to all she said. The woman was familiar with all his affairs, asked him about mutual friends, and knew the amount of his salary.

She paid no attention to Maggie, looking toward her once or twice and apparently seeing the wall beyond.

The mere boy was sulky. In the beginning he had welcomed with acclamations the additions.

“Let’s all have a drink! What’ll you take, Nell? And you, Miss what’s-your-name. Have a drink, Mr.___, , you, I mean.”

He had shown a sprightly desire to do the talking for the company and tell all about his family. In a loud voice he declaimed on various topics. He assumed a patronizing air toward Pete. As Maggie was silent, he paid no attention to her. He made a great show of lavishing wealth upon the woman of brilliance and audacity.

“Do keep still, Freddie! You gibber like an ape, dear,” said the woman to him. She turned away and devoted her attention to Pete.

“We’ll have many a good time together again, eh?”

“Sure, Mike,” said Pete, enthusiastic at once.

“Say,” whispered she, leaning forward, “let’s go over to Billie’s and have a heluva time.”

“Well, it’s dis way! See?” said Pete. “I got dis lady frien’ here.”

“Oh, t’hell with her,” argued the woman.

Pete appeared disturbed.

“All right,” said she, nodding her head at him. “All right for you! We’ll see the next time you ask me to go anywheres with you.”

Pete squirmed.

“Say,” he said, beseechingly, “come wid me a minit an’ I’ll tell yer why.”

The woman waved her hand.

“Oh, that’s all right, you needn’t explain, you know. You wouldn’t come merely because you wouldn’t come, that’s all there is of it.”

To Pete’s visible distress she turned to the mere boy, bringing him speedily from a terrific rage. He had been debating whether it would be the part of a man to pick a quarrel with Pete, or would he be justified in striking him savagely with his beer glass without warning. But he recovered himself when the woman turned to renew her smilings. He beamed upon her with an expression that was somewhat tipsy and inexpressibly tender.

“Say, shake that Bowery jay,” requested he, in a loud whisper.

“Freddie, you are so droll,” she replied.

Pete reached forward and touched the woman on the arm.

“Come out a minit while I tells yeh why I can’t go wid yer. Yer doin’ me dirt, Nell! I never taut ye’d do me dirt, Nell. Come on, will yer?” He spoke in tones of injury.

“Why, I don’t see why I should be interested in your explanations,” said the woman, with a coldness that seemed to reduce Pete to a pulp.

His eyes pleaded with her. “Come out a minit while I tells yeh,”

The woman nodded slightly at Maggie and the mere boy, “Scuse me.”

The mere boy interrupted his loving smile and turned a shriveling glare upon Pete. His boyish countenance flushed and he spoke, in a whine, to the woman:

“Oh, I say, Nellie, this ain’t a square deal, you know. You aren’t goin’ to leave me and go off with that duffer, are you? I should think—”

“Why, you dear boy, of course I’m not,” cried the woman, affectionately. She bended over and whispered in his ear. He smiled again and settled in his chair as if resolved to wait patiently.

As the woman walked down between the rows of tables, Pete was at her shoulder talking earnestly, apparently in explanation. The woman waved her hands with studied airs of indifference. The doors swung behind them, leaving Maggie and the mere boy seated at the table.

Maggie was dazed. She could dimly perceive that something stupendous had happened. She wondered why Pete saw fit to remonstrate with the woman, pleading for forgiveness with his eyes. She thought she noted an air of submission about her leonine
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Pete. She was astounded.

The mere boy occupied himself with cock-tails and a cigar. He was tranquilly silent for half an hour. Then he bestirred himself and spoke.

“Well,” he said, sighing, “I knew this was the way it would be.” There was another stillness. The mere boy seemed to be musing.

“She was pulling m’leg. That’s the whole amount of it,” he said, suddenly. “It’s a bloomin’ shame the way that girl does. Why, I’ve spent over two dollars in drinks to-night. And she goes off with that plug-ugly who looks as if he had been hit in the face with a coin-dye.
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I call it rocky treatment for a fellah like me. Here, waiter, bring me a cock-tail and make it damned strong.”

Maggie made no reply. She was watching the doors. “It’s a mean piece of business,” complained the mere boy. He explained to her how amazing it was that anybody should treat him in such a manner. “But I’ll get square with her, you bet. She won’t get far ahead of yours truly, you know,” he added, winking. “I’ll tell her plainly that it was bloomin’ mean business. And she won’t come it over me with any of her ‘now-Freddie-dears.’ She thinks my name is Freddie, you know, but of course it ain’t. I always tell these people some name like that, because if they got onto your right name they might use it sometime. Understand? Oh, they don’t fool me much.”

Maggie was paying no attention, being intent upon the doors. The mere boy relapsed into a period of gloom, during which he exterminated a number of cock-tails with a determined air, as if replying defiantly to fate. He occasionally broke forth into sentences composed of invectives joined together in a long string.

The girl was still staring at the doors. After a time the mere boy began to see cobwebs just in front of his nose. He spurred himself into being agreeable and insisted upon her having a charlotte-russe
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and a glass of beer.

“They’s gone,” he remarked, “they’s gone.” He looked at her through the smoke wreaths. “Shay, lil’ girl, we mightish well make bes’ of it. You ain’t such bad lookin’ girl, y‘know. Not half bad. Can’t come up to Nell, though. No, can’t do it! Well, I should shay not! Nell fine-lookin’ girl! F—i—n—ine. You look damn bad longsider her, but by y’self ain’t so bad. Have to do anyhow. Nell gone. O’ny you left. Not half bad, though.”

Maggie stood up.

“I’m going home,” she said.

The mere boy started.

“Eh? What? Home,” he cried, struck with amazement. “I beg pardon, did hear say home?”

“I’m going home,” she repeated.

“Great Gawd, what hava struck,” demanded the mere boy of himself, stupefied.

In a semi-comatose state he conducted her on board an uptown car,
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ostentatiously paid her fare, leered kindly at her through the rear window and fell off the steps.

A FORLORN WOMAN WENT along a lighted avenue. The street was filled with people desperately bound on missions. An endless crowd darted at the elevated station stairs and the horse cars were thronged with owners of bundles.

The pace of the forlorn woman was slow. She was apparently searching for some one. She loitered near the doors of saloons and watched men emerge from them. She scanned furtively the faces in the rushing stream of pedestrians. Hurrying men, bent on catching some boat or train, jostled her elbows, failing to notice her, their thoughts fixed on distant dinners.

The forlorn woman had a peculiar face. Her smile was no smile. But when in repose her features had a shadowy look that was like a sardonic grin, as if some one had sketched with cruel forefinger indelible lines about her mouth.

Jimmie came strolling up the avenue. The woman encountered him with an aggrieved air.

“Oh, Jimmie, I’ve been lookin’ all over fer yehs—,” she began.

Jimmie made an impatient gesture and quickened his pace.

“Ah, don’t bodder me! Good Gawd!” he said, with the savageness of a man whose life is pestered.

The woman followed him along the sidewalk in somewhat the manner of a suppliant.

“But, Jimmie,” she said, “yehs told me ye’d—”

Jimmie turned upon her fiercely as if resolved to make a last stand for comfort and peace.

“Say, fer Gawd’s sake, Hattie, don’ foller me from one end of deh city teh deh odder. Let up, will yehs! Give me a minute’s res’. can’t yehs? Yehs makes me tired, allus taggin’ me. See? Ain’ yehs got no sense? Do yehs want people teh get onto me? Go chase yerself, fer Gawd’s sake.”

The woman stepped closer and laid her fingers on his arm. “But, look-a here—”

Jimmie snarled. “Oh, go teh hell.”

He darted into the front door of a convenient saloon and a moment later came out into the shadows that surrounded the side door. On the brilliantly lighted avenue he perceived the forlorn woman dodging about like a scout. Jimmie laughed with an air of relief and went away.

When he arrived home he found his mother clamoring. Maggie had returned. She stood shivering beneath the torrent of her mother’s wrath.

“Well, I’m damned,” said Jimmie in greeting.

His mother, tottering about the room, pointed a quivering forefinger.

“Lookut her, Jimmie, lookut her. Dere’s yer sister, boy. Dere’s yer sister. Lookut her! Lookut her!”

She screamed in scoffing laughter.

The girl stood in the middle of the room. She edged about as if unable to find a place on the floor to put her feet.

“Ha, ha, ha,” bellowed the mother. “Dere she stands! Ain’ she purty? Lookut her! Ain’ she sweet, deh beast? Lookut her! Ha, ha, lookut her!”

She lurched forward and put her red and seamed hands upon her daughter’s face. She bent down and peered keenly up into the eyes of the girl.

“Oh, she’s jes’ dessame as she ever was, ain’ she? She’s her mudder’s purty darlin’ yit, ain’ she? Lookut her, Jimmie! Come here, fer Gawd’s sake, and lookut her.”

The loud, tremendous sneering of the mother brought the denizens of the Rum Alley tenement to their doors. Women came in the hallways. Children scurried to and fro.

“What’s up? Dat Johnson party on anudder tear?”

“Naw! Young Mag’s come home!”

“Deh hell yeh say?”

Through the open doors curious eyes stared in at Maggie. Children ventured into the room and ogled her, as if they formed the front row at a theatre. Women, without, bended toward each other and whispered, nodding their heads with airs of profound philosophy. A baby, overcome with curiosity concerning this object at which all were looking, sidled forward and touched her dress, cautiously, as if investigating a red-hot stove. Its mother’s voice rang out like a warning trumpet. She rushed forward and grabbed her child, casting a terrible look of indignation at the girl.

Maggie’s mother paced to and fro, addressing the doorful of eyes, expounding like a glib showman at a museum. Her voice rang through the building.

“Dere she stands,” she cried, wheeling suddenly and pointing with dramatic finger. “Dere she stands! Lookut her! Ain’ she a dindy? An’ she was so good as to come home teh her mudder, she was! Ain’ she a beaut’? Ain’ she a dindy? Fer Gawd’s sake!”

The jeering cries ended in another burst of shrill laughter.

The girl seemed to awaken. “Jimmie—”

He drew hastily back from her.

“Well, now, yer a hell of a t’ing, ain’ yeh?” he said, his lips curling in scorn. Radiant virtue sat upon his brow and his repelling hands expressed horror of contamination.