Some fine instinct that Rome must have bequeathed to us caused nearly everyone to turn and look at them there was a subtle feeling that two gladiators had met in the arena. Two or three Give and Takes with tight coat sleeves drew nearer.
One moment, Mr. OSullivan, said Dempsey. I hope youre enjoying yourself. Where did you say you live?
The two gladiators were well matched. Dempsey had, perhaps, ten pounds of weight to give away. The OSullivan had breadth with quickness. Dempsey had a glacial eye, a dominating slit of a mouth, an indestructible jaw, a complexion like a belles and the coolness of a champion. The visitor showed more fire in his contempt and less control over his conspicuous sneer. They were enemies by the law written when the rocks were molten. They were each too splendid, too mighty, too incomparable to divide pre-eminence. One only must survive.
I live on Grand, said OSullivan, insolently; and no trouble to find me at home. Where do you live?
Dempsey ignored the question.
You say your names OSullivan, he went on. Well, Big Mike says he never saw you before.
Lots of things he never saw, said the favourite of the hop.
As a rule, went on Dempsey, huskily sweet, OSullivans in this district know one another. You escorted one of our lady members here, and we want a chance to make good. If youve got a family tree lets see a few historical OSullivan buds come out on it. Or do you want us to dig it out of you by the roots?
Suppose you mind your own business, suggested OSullivan, blandly.
Dempseys eye brightened. He held up an inspired forefinger as though a brilliant idea had struck him.
Ive got it now, he said cordially. It was just a little mistake. You aint no OSullivan. You are a ring-tailed monkey. Excuse us for not recognising you at first.
Ive got it now, he said cordially. It was just a little mistake. You aint no OSullivan. You are a ring-tailed monkey. Excuse us for not recognising you at first.
OSullivans eye flashed. He made a quick movement, but Andy Geoghan was ready and caught his arm.
Dempsey nodded at Andy and William McMahan, the secretary of the club, and walked rapidly toward a door at the rear of the hall. Two other members of the Give and Take Association swiftly joined the little group. Terry OSullivan was now in the hands of the Board of Rules and Social Referees. They spoke to him briefly and softly, and conducted him out through the same door at the rear.
This movement on the part of the Clover Leaf members requires a word of elucidation. Back of the association hall was a smaller room rented by the club. In this room personal difficulties that arose on the ballroom floor were settled, man to man, with the weapons of nature, under the supervision of the board. No lady could say that she had witnessed a fight at a Clover Leaf hop in several years. Its gentlemen members guaranteed that.
So easily and smoothly had Dempsey and the board done their preliminary work that many in the hall had not noticed the checking of the fascinating OSullivans social triumph. Among these was Maggie. She looked about for her escort.
Smoke up! said Rose Cassidy. Wasnt you on? Demps Donovan picked a scrap with your Lizzie-boy, and theyve waltzed out to the slaughter room with him. Hows my hair look done up this way, Mag?
Maggie laid a hand on the bosom of her cheesecloth waist.
Gone to fight with Dempsey! she said, breathlessly. Theyve got to be stopped. Dempsey Donovan cant fight him. Why, hell hell kill him!
Ah, what do you care? said Rosa. Dont some of em fight every hop?
But Maggie was off, darting her zig-zag way through the maze of dancers. She burst through the rear door into the dark hall and then threw her solid shoulder against the door of the room of single combat. It gave way, and in the instant that she entered her eye caught the scene the Board standing about with open watches; Dempsey Donovan in his shirt sleeves dancing, light-footed, with the wary grace of the modern pugilist, within easy reach of his adversary; Terry OSullivan standing with arms folded and a murderous look in his dark eyes. And without slacking the speed of her entrance she leaped forward with a scream leaped in time to catch and hang upon the arm of OSullivan that was suddenly uplifted, and to whisk from it the long, bright stiletto[13] that he had drawn from his bosom.
The knife fell and rang upon the floor. Cold steel drawn in the rooms of the Give and Take Association! Such a thing had never happened before. Every one stood motionless for a minute. Andy Geoghan kicked the stiletto with the toe of his shoe curiously, like an antiquarian who has come upon some ancient weapon unknown to his learning.
And then OSullivan hissed something unintelligible between his teeth. Dempsey and the board exchanged looks. And then Dempsey looked at OSullivan without anger, as one looks at a stray dog, and nodded his head in the direction of the door.
The back stairs, Giuseppi, he said, briefly. Somebodyll pitch your hat down after you.
Maggie walked up to Dempsey Donovan. There was a brilliant spot of red in her cheeks, down which slow tears were running. But she looked him bravely in the eye.
I knew it, Dempsey, she said, as her eyes grew dull even in their tears. I knew he was a Guinea. His names Tony Spinelli. I hurried in when they told me you and him was scrappin. Them Guineas always carries knives. But you dont understand, Dempsey. I never had a fellow in my life. I got tired of comin with Anna and Jimmy every night, so I fixed it with him to call himself OSullivan, and brought him along. I knew thered be nothin doin for him if he came as a Dago[14]. I guess Ill resign from the club now.
Dempsey turned to Andy Geoghan.
Chuck that cheese slicer out of the window, he said, and tell em inside that Mr. OSullivan has had a telephone message to go down to Tammany Hall.
And then he turned back to Maggie.
Say, Mag, he said, Ill see you home. And how about next Saturday night? Will you come to the hop with me if I call around for you?
It was remarkable how quickly Maggies eyes could change from dull to a shining brown.
With you, Dempsey? she stammered. Say will a duck swim?
The Trimmed Lamp
Of course there are two sides to the question. Let us look at the other. We often hear shop-girls spoken of. No such persons exist. There are girls who work in shops. They make their living that way. But why turn their occupation into an adjective? Let us be fair. We do not refer to the girls who live on Fifth Avenue as marriage-girls.
Lou and Nancy were chums. They came to the big city to find work because there was not enough to eat at their homes to go around. Nancy was nineteen; Lou was twenty. Both were pretty, active, country girls who had no ambition to go on the stage.
The little cherub that sits up aloft guided them to a cheap and respectable boarding-house. Both found positions and became wage-earners. They remained chums. It is at the end of six months that I would beg you to step forward and be introduced to them. Meddlesome Reader: My Lady friends, Miss Nancy and Miss Lou. While you are shaking hands please take notice cautiously of their attire. Yes, cautiously; for they are as quick to resent a stare as a lady in a box at the horse show is.
Lou is a piece-work ironer in a hand laundry. She is clothed in a badly-fitting purple dress, and her hat plume is four inches too long; but her ermine muff and scarf cost $25, and its fellow beasts will be ticketed in the windows at $7.98 before the season is over. Her cheeks are pink, and her light blue eyes bright. Contentment radiates from her.
Nancy you would call a shop-girl because you have the habit. There is no type; but a perverse generation is always seeking a type; so this is what the type should be. She has the high-ratted pompadour[15], and the exaggerated straight-front. Her skirt is shoddy, but has the correct flare. No furs protect her against the bitter spring air, but she wears her short broadcloth jacket as jauntily as though it were Persian lamb[16]! On her face and in her eyes, remorseless type-seeker, is the typical shop-girl expression. It is a look of silent but contemptuous revolt against cheated womanhood; of sad prophecy of the vengeance to come. When she laughs her loudest the look is still there. The same look can be seen in the eyes of Russian peasants; and those of us left will see it someday on Gabriels[17] face when he comes to blow us up. It is a look that should wither and abash man; but he has been known to smirk at it and offer flowers with a string tied to them.
Now lift your hat and come away, while you receive Lous cheery See you again, and the sardonic, sweet smile of Nancy that seems, somehow, to miss you and go fluttering like a white moth up over the housetops to the stars.
The two waited on the corner for Dan. Dan was Lous steady company. Faithful? Well, he was on hand when Mary would have had to hire a dozen subpoena servers to find her lamb.
Aint you cold, Nance? said Lou. Say, what a chump you are for working in that old store for $8. a week! I made $18.50 last week. Of course ironing aint as swell work as selling lace behind a counter, but it pays. None of us ironers make less than $10. And I dont know that its any less respectful work, either.
You can have it, said Nancy, with uplifted nose. Ill take my eight a week and hall bedroom. I like to be among nice things and swell people. And look what a chance Ive got! Why, one of our glove girls married a Pittsburg steel maker, or blacksmith or something the other day worth a million dollars. Ill catch a swell myself some time. I aint bragging on my looks or anything; but Ill take my chances where theres big prizes offered. What show would a girl have in a laundry?
Why, thats where I met Dan, said Lou, triumphantly. He came in for his Sunday shirt and collars and saw me at the first board, ironing. We all try to get to work at the first board. Ella Maginnis was sick that day, and I had her place. He said he noticed my arms first, how round and white they was. I had my sleeves rolled up. Some nice fellows come into laundries. You can tell em by their bringing their clothes in suit cases; and turning in the door sharp and sudden.