“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-die. 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 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. On’y 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 up-town car, ostentatiously paid her fare, leered
kindly at her through the rear window and fell off
the steps.
Chapter XV
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.
