Mr. Fink sprang to his feet Maggie caught him again on the jaw with a wide swing of her other hand. She closed her eyes in that fearful, blissful moment before his blow should come she whispered his name to herself she leaned to the expected shock, hungry for it.
In the flat below Mr. Cassidy, with a shamed and contrite face was powdering Mames eye in preparation for their junket. From the flat above came the sound of a womans voice, high-raised, a bumping, a stumbling and a shuffling, a chair overturned unmistakable sounds of domestic conflict.
Mart and Mag scrapping? postulated Mr. Cassidy. Didnt know they ever indulged. Shall I trot up and see if they need a sponge holder?
One of Mrs. Cassidys eyes sparkled like a diamond. The other twinkled at least like paste.
Oh, oh, she said, softly and without apparent meaning, in the feminine ejaculatory manner. I wonder if wonder if! Wait, Jack, till I go up and see.
Up the stairs she sped. As her foot struck the hallway above out from the kitchen door of her flat wildly flounced Mrs. Fink.
Oh, Maggie, cried Mrs. Cassidy, in a delighted whisper; did he? Oh, did he?
Mrs. Fink ran and laid her face upon her chums shoulder and sobbed hopelessly.
Mrs. Cassidy took Maggies face between her hands and lifted it gently. Tear-stained it was, flushing and paling, but its velvety, pink-and-white, becomingly freckled surface was unscratched, unbruised, unmarred by the recreant fist of Mr. Fink.
Tell me, Maggie, pleaded Mame, or Ill go in there and find out. What was it? Did he hurt you what did he do?
Mrs. Finks face went down again despairingly on the bosom of her friend.
For Gods sake dont open that door, Mame, she sobbed. And dont ever tell nobody keep it under your hat. He he never touched me, and hes oh, Gawd hes washin the clothes hes washin the clothes!
The Guilty Party
A red-haired, unshaven, untidy man sat in a rocking chair by a window. He had just lighted a pipe, and was puffing blue clouds with great satisfaction. He had removed his shoes and donned a pair of blue, faded carpet-slippers. With the morbid thirst of the confirmed daily news drinker, he awkwardly folded back the pages of an evening paper, eagerly gulping down the strong, black headlines, to be followed as a chaser by the milder details of the smaller type.
In an adjoining room a woman was cooking supper. Odors from strong bacon and boiling coffee contended against the cut-plug fumes from the vespertine pipe.
Outside was one of those crowded streets of the east side, in which, as twilight falls, Satan sets up his recruiting office. A mighty host of children danced and ran and played in the street. Some in rags, some in clean white and beribboned, some wild and restless as young hawks, some gentle-faced and shrinking, some shrieking rude and sinful words, some listening, awed, but soon, grown familiar, to embrace here were the children playing in the corridors of the House of Sin. Above the playground forever hovered a great bird. The bird was known to humorists as the stork. But the people of Chrystie street were better ornithologists. They called it a vulture.
A little girl of twelve came up timidly to the man reading and resting by the window, and said:
Papa, wont you play a game of checkers with me if you arent too tired?
The red-haired, unshaven, untidy man sitting shoeless by the window answered, with a frown.
Checkers. No, I wont. Cant a man who works hard all day have a little rest when he comes home? Why dont you go out and play with the other kids on the sidewalk?
The woman who was cooking came to the door.
John, she said, I dont like for Lizzie to play in the street. They learn too much there that aint good for em. Shes been in the house all day long. It seems that you might give up a little of your time to amuse her when you come home.
Let her go out and play like the rest of em if she wants to be amused, said the red-haired, unshaven, untidy man, and dont bother me.
Youre on, said Kid Mullaly. Fifty dollars to $25 I take Annie to the dance. Put up.
The Kids black eyes were snapping with the fire of the baited and challenged. He drew out his roll and slapped five tens upon the bar. The three or four young fellows who were thus taken more slowly produced their stake. The bartender, ex-officio stakeholder, took the money, laboriously wrapped it, recorded the bet with an inch-long pencil and stuffed the whole into a corner of the cash register.
And, oh, whatll be done to youll be a plenty, said a bettor, with anticipatory glee.
Thats my lookout, said the Kid, sternly. Fill em up all around, Mike.
After the round Burke, the Kids sponge, sponge-holder, pal, Mentor and Grand Vizier[369], drew him out to the bootblack stand at the saloon corner where all the official and important matters of the Small Hours Social Club were settled. As Tony polished the light tan shoes of the clubs President and Secretary for the fifth time that day, Burke spake words of wisdom to his chief.
Cut that blond out, Kid, was his advice, or therell be trouble. What do you want to throw down that girl of yours for? Youll never find one thatll freeze to you like Liz has. Shes worth a hallful of Annies.
Im no Annie admirer! said the Kid, dropping a cigarette ash on his polished toe, and wiping it off on Tonys shoulder. But I want to teach Liz a lesson. She thinks I belong to her. Shes been bragging that I darent speak to another girl. Liz is all right in some ways. Shes drinking a little too much lately. And she uses language that a lady oughtnt.
Youre engaged, aint you? asked Burke.
Sure. Well get married next year, maybe.
I saw you make her drink her first glass of beer, said Burke. That was two years ago, when she used to came down to the corner of Chrystie bare-headed to meet you after supper. She was a quiet sort of a kid then, and couldnt speak without blushing.
Shes a little spitfire, sometimes, now, said the Kid. I hate jealousy. Thats why Im going to the dance with Annie. Itll teach her some sense.
Well, you better look a little out, were Burkes last words. If Liz was my girl and I was to sneak out to a dance coupled up with an Annie, Id want a suit of chain armor on under my gladsome rags, all right.
Through the land of the stork-vulture wandered Liz. Her black eyes searched the passing crowds fierily but vaguely. Now and then she hummed bars of foolish little songs. Between times she set her small, white teeth together, and spake crisp words that the east side has added to language.
Lizs skirt was green silk. Her waist was a large brown-and-pink plaid, well-fitting and not without style. She wore a cluster ring of huge imitation rubies, and a locket that banged her knees at the bottom of a silver chain. Her shoes were run down over twisted high heels, and were strangers to polish. Her hat would scarcely have passed into a flour barrel.
The Family Entrance of the Blue Jay Café received her. At a table she sat, and punched the button with the air of milady ringing for her carriage. The waiter came with his large-chinned, low-voiced manner of respectful familiarity. Liz smoothed her silken skirt with a satisfied wriggle. She made the most of it. Here she could order and be waited upon. It was all that her world offered her of the prerogative of woman.
Whiskey, Tommy, she said as her sisters further uptown murmur, Champagne, James.
Sure, Miss Lizzie. Whatll the chaser be?
Seltzer[370]. And say, Tommy, has the Kid been around to-day?
Why, no, Miss Lizzie, I havent saw him to-day.
Fluently came the Miss Lizzie, for the Kid was known to be one who required rigid upholdment of the dignity of his fiancee.
Im lookin for m, said Liz, after the chaser had sputtered under her nose. Its got to me that he says hell take Annie Karlson to the dance. Let him. The pink-eyed white rat! Im lookin for m. You know me, Tommy. Two years me and the Kids been engaged. Look at that ring. Five hundred, he said it cost. Let him take her to the dance. Whatll I do? Ill cut his heart out. Another whiskey, Tommy.
I wouldnt listen to no such reports, Miss Lizzie, said the waiter smoothly, from the narrow opening above his chin. Kid Mullalys not the guy to throw a lady like you down. Seltzer on the side?
Two years, repeated Liz, softening a little to sentiment under the magic of the distillers art. I always used to play out on the street of evenins cause there was nothin doin for me at home. For a long time I just sat on doorsteps and looked at the lights and the people goin by. And then the Kid came along one evenin and sized me up, and I was mashed on the spot for fair. The first drink he made me take I cried all night at home, and got a lickin for makin a noise. And now say, Tommy, you ever see this Annie Karlson? If it wasnt for peroxide the chloroform limit would have put her out long ago. Oh, Im lookin for m. You tell the Kid if he comes in. Me? Ill cut his heart out. Leave it to me. Another whiskey, Tommy.
A little unsteadily, but with watchful and brilliant eyes, Liz walked up the avenue. On the doorstep of a brick tenement a curly-haired child sat, puzzling over the convolutions of a tangled string. Liz flopped down beside her, with a crooked, shifting smile on her flushed face. But her eyes had grown clear and artless of a sudden.
Let me show you how to make a cats-cradle, kid, she said, tucking her green silk skirt under her rusty shoes.
And while they sat there the lights were being turned on for the dance in the hall of the Small Hours Social Club. It was the bi-monthly dance[371], a dress affair in which the members took great pride and bestirred themselves huskily to further and adorn.
At 9 oclock the President, Kid Mullaly, paced upon the floor with a lady on his arm. As the Loreleys[372] was her hair golden. Her yes was softened to a yah, but its quality of assent was patent to the most Milesian[373] ears. She stepped upon her own train and blushed, and she smiled into the eyes of Kid Mullaly.
And then, as the two stood in the middle of the waxed floor, the thing happened to prevent which many lamps are burning nightly in many studies and libraries.
Out from the circle of spectators in the hall leaped Fate in a green silk skirt, under the nom de guerre[374] of Liz. Her eyes were hard and blacker than jet. She did not scream or waver. Most unwomanly, she cried out one oath the Kids own favorite oath and in his own deep voice; and then while the Small Hours Social Club went frantically to pieces, she made good her boast to Tommy, the waiter made good as far as the length of her knife blade and the strength of her arm permitted.