A Girl of the Streets
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Stephen Crane >> A Girl of the Streets
"Well, why deh hell don' yeh try teh t'row us out?" cried Jimmie
and his ally with copious sneers.
The bravery of bull-dogs sat upon the faces of the men.
Their clenched fists moved like eager weapons.
The allied two jostled the bartender's elbows, glaring at him
with feverish eyes and forcing him toward the wall.
Suddenly Pete swore redly. The flash of action gleamed from
his eyes. He threw back his arm and aimed a tremendous, lightning-
like blow at Jimmie's face. His foot swung a step forward and the
weight of his body was behind his fist. Jimmie ducked his head,
Bowery-like, with the quickness of a cat. The fierce, answering
blows of him and his ally crushed on Pete's bowed head.
The quiet stranger vanished.
The arms of the combatants whirled in the air like flails.
The faces of the men, at first flushed to flame-colored anger, now
began to fade to the pallor of warriors in the blood and heat of a
battle. Their lips curled back and stretched tightly over the gums
in ghoul-like grins. Through their white, gripped teeth struggled
hoarse whisperings of oaths. Their eyes glittered with murderous fire.
Each head was huddled between its owner's shoulders, and arms
were swinging with marvelous rapidity. Feet scraped to and fro
with a loud scratching sound upon the sanded floor. Blows left
crimson blotches upon pale skin. The curses of the first quarter
minute of the fight died away. The breaths of the fighters came
wheezingly from their lips and the three chests were straining and
heaving. Pete at intervals gave vent to low, labored hisses, that
sounded like a desire to kill. Jimmie's ally gibbered at times like
a wounded maniac. Jimmie was silent, fighting with the face
of a sacrificial priest. The rage of fear shone in all their
eyes and their blood-colored fists swirled.
At a tottering moment a blow from Pete's hand struck the ally
and he crashed to the floor. He wriggled instantly to his feet and
grasping the quiet stranger's beer glass from the bar, hurled it at
Pete's head.
High on the wall it burst like a bomb, shivering fragments
flying in all directions. Then missiles came to every man's hand.
The place had heretofore appeared free of things to throw, but
suddenly glass and bottles went singing through the air. They were
thrown point blank at bobbing heads. The pyramid of shimmering
glasses, that had never been disturbed, changed to cascades as
heavy bottles were flung into them. Mirrors splintered to nothing.
The three frothing creatures on the floor buried themselves in
a frenzy for blood. There followed in the wake of missiles and
fists some unknown prayers, perhaps for death.
The quiet stranger had sprawled very pyrotechnically out on
the sidewalk. A laugh ran up and down the avenue for the half
of a block.
"Dey've trowed a bloke inteh deh street."
People heard the sound of breaking glass and shuffling feet
within the saloon and came running. A small group, bending down to
look under the bamboo doors, watching the fall of glass, and three
pairs of violent legs, changed in a moment to a crowd.
A policeman came charging down the sidewalk and bounced
through the doors into the saloon. The crowd bended and surged in
absorbing anxiety to see.
Jimmie caught first sight of the on-coming interruption. On his feet
he had the same regard for a policeman that, when on his truck,
he had for a fire engine. He howled and ran for the side door.
The officer made a terrific advance, club in hand. One comprehensive
sweep of the long night stick threw the ally to the floor and forced
Pete to a corner. With his disengaged hand he made a furious effort
at Jimmie's coat-tails. Then he regained his balance and paused.
"Well, well, you are a pair of pictures. What in hell yeh
been up to?"
Jimmie, with his face drenched in blood, escaped up a side street,
pursued a short distance by some of the more law-loving, or excited
individuals of the crowd.
Later, from a corner safely dark, he saw the policeman, the
ally and the bartender emerge from the saloon. Pete locked the
doors and then followed up the avenue in the rear of the crowd-
encompassed policeman and his charge.
On first thoughts Jimmie, with his heart throbbing at battle heat,
started to go desperately to the rescue of his friend, but he halted.
"Ah, what deh hell?" he demanded of himself.
Chapter XII
In a hall of irregular shape sat Pete and Maggie drinking
beer. A submissive orchestra dictated to by a spectacled man with
frowsy hair and a dress suit, industriously followed the bobs of
his head and the waves of his baton. A ballad singer, in a dress
of flaming scarlet, sang in the inevitable voice of brass. When
she vanished, men seated at the tables near the front applauded
loudly, pounding the polished wood with their beer glasses. She
returned attired in less gown, and sang again. She received
another enthusiastic encore. She reappeared in still less gown and
danced. The deafening rumble of glasses and clapping of hands that
followed her exit indicated an overwhelming desire to have her come
on for the fourth time, but the curiosity of the audience was not
gratified.
Maggie was pale. From her eyes had been plucked all look of
self-reliance. She leaned with a dependent air toward her
companion. She was timid, as if fearing his anger or displeasure.
She seemed to beseech tenderness of him.
Pete's air of distinguished valor had grown upon him until it
threatened stupendous dimensions. He was infinitely gracious to
the girl. It was apparent to her that his condescension was a marvel.
He could appear to strut even while sitting still and he showed that
he was a lion of lordly characteristics by the air with which he spat.
With Maggie gazing at him wonderingly, he took pride in commanding
the waiters who were, however, indifferent or deaf.
"Hi, you, git a russle on yehs! What deh hell yehs lookin' at?
Two more beehs, d'yeh hear?"
He leaned back and critically regarded the person of a girl
with a straw-colored wig who upon the stage was flinging her heels
in somewhat awkward imitation of a well-known danseuse.
At times Maggie told Pete long confidential tales of her
former home life, dwelling upon the escapades of the other members
of the family and the difficulties she had to combat in order to
obtain a degree of comfort. He responded in tones of philanthropy.
He pressed her arm with an air of reassuring proprietorship.
"Dey was damn jays," he said, denouncing the mother and brother.
The sound of the music which, by the efforts of the frowsy-
headed leader, drifted to her ears through the smoke-filled
atmosphere, made the girl dream. She thought of her former
Rum Alley environment and turned to regard Pete's strong protecting
fists. She thought of the collar and cuff manufactory and the
eternal moan of the proprietor: "What een hell do you sink I pie
fife dolla a week for? Play? No, py damn." She contemplated
Pete's man-subduing eyes and noted that wealth and prosperity was
indicated by his clothes. She imagined a future, rose-tinted,
because of its distance from all that she previously had experienced.
As to the present she perceived only vague reasons to be
miserable. Her life was Pete's and she considered him worthy of
the charge. She would be disturbed by no particular apprehensions,
so long as Pete adored her as he now said he did. She did not feel
like a bad woman. To her knowledge she had never seen any better.
At times men at other tables regarded the girl furtively.
Pete, aware of it, nodded at her and grinned. He felt proud.
"Mag, yer a bloomin' good-looker," he remarked, studying her
face through the haze. The men made Maggie fear, but she blushed
at Pete's words as it became apparent to her that she was the apple
of his eye.
Grey-headed men, wonderfully pathetic in their dissipation,
stared at her through clouds. Smooth-cheeked boys, some of them
with faces of stone and mouths of sin, not nearly so pathetic as
the grey heads, tried to find the girl's eyes in the smoke wreaths.
Maggie considered she was not what they thought her. She confined
her glances to Pete and the stage.
The orchestra played negro melodies and a versatile drummer
pounded, whacked, clattered and scratched on a dozen machines to
make noise.
Those glances of the men, shot at Maggie from under half-closed lids,
made her tremble. She thought them all to be worse men than Pete.
"Come, let's go," she said.
As they went out Maggie perceived two women seated at a table
with some men. They were painted and their cheeks had lost their
roundness. As she passed them the girl, with a shrinking movement,
drew back her skirts.
Chapter XIII
Jimmie did not return home for a number of days after the
fight with Pete in the saloon. When he did, he approached with
extreme caution.
He found his mother raving. Maggie had not returned home.
The parent continually wondered how her daughter could come to such
a pass. She had never considered Maggie as a pearl dropped
unstained into Rum Alley from Heaven, but she could not conceive
how it was possible for her daughter to fall so low as to bring
disgrace upon her family. She was terrific in denunciation of the
girl's wickedness.
The fact that the neighbors talked of it, maddened her. When
women came in, and in the course of their conversation casually
asked, "Where's Maggie dese days?" the mother shook her fuzzy head
at them and appalled them with curses. Cunning hints inviting
confidence she rebuffed with violence.
"An' wid all deh bringin' up she had, how could she?"
moaningly she asked of her son. "Wid all deh talkin' wid her I did
an' deh t'ings I tol' her to remember? When a girl is bringed up
deh way I bringed up Maggie, how kin she go teh deh devil?"
Jimmie was transfixed by these questions. He could not
conceive how under the circumstances his mother's daughter and his
sister could have been so wicked.
His mother took a drink from a squdgy bottle that sat on the
table. She continued her lament.
"She had a bad heart, dat girl did, Jimmie. She was wicked
teh deh heart an' we never knowed it."
Jimmie nodded, admitting the fact.
"We lived in deh same house wid her an' I brought her up an'
we never knowed how bad she was."
Jimmie nodded again.
"Wid a home like dis an' a mudder like me, she went teh deh
bad," cried the mother, raising her eyes.
One day, Jimmie came home, sat down in a chair and began to
wriggle about with a new and strange nervousness. At last he spoke
shamefacedly.
"Well, look-a-here, dis t'ing queers us! See? We're queered!
An' maybe it 'ud be better if I--well, I t'ink I kin look 'er up
an'--maybe it 'ud be better if I fetched her home an'--"
The mother started from her chair and broke forth into a storm
of passionate anger.
"What! Let 'er come an' sleep under deh same roof wid her
mudder agin! Oh, yes, I will, won't I? Sure? Shame on yehs,
Jimmie Johnson, for sayin' such a t'ing teh yer own mudder--teh yer
own mudder! Little did I t'ink when yehs was a babby playin' about
me feet dat ye'd grow up teh say sech a t'ing teh yer mudder--yer
own mudder. I never taut--"
Sobs choked her and interrupted her reproaches.
"Dere ain't nottin' teh raise sech hell about," said Jimmie.
"I on'y says it 'ud be better if we keep dis t'ing dark, see?
It queers us! See?"
His mother laughed a laugh that seemed to ring through the
city and be echoed and re-echoed by countless other laughs.
"Oh, yes, I will, won't I! Sure!"
"Well, yeh must take me fer a damn fool," said Jimmie,
indignant at his mother for mocking him. "I didn't say we'd make
'er inteh a little tin angel, ner nottin', but deh way it is now
she can queer us! Don' che see?"
"Aye, she'll git tired of deh life atter a while an' den
she'll wanna be a-comin' home, won' she, deh beast! I'll let 'er
in den, won' I?"
"Well, I didn' mean none of dis prod'gal bus'ness anyway,"
explained Jimmie.
"It wasn't no prod'gal dauter, yeh damn fool," said the
mother. "It was prod'gal son, anyhow."
"I know dat," said Jimmie.
For a time they sat in silence. The mother's eyes gloated on
a scene her imagination could call before her. Her lips were set
in a vindictive smile.
"Aye, she'll cry, won' she, an' carry on, an' tell how Pete,
or some odder feller, beats 'er an' she'll say she's sorry an' all
dat an' she ain't happy, she ain't, an' she wants to come home agin,
she does."
With grim humor, the mother imitated the possible wailing
notes of the daughter's voice.
"Den I'll take 'er in, won't I, deh beast. She kin cry 'er two eyes out
on deh stones of deh street before I'll dirty deh place wid her.
She abused an' ill-treated her own mudder--her own mudder what
loved her an' she'll never git anodder chance dis side of hell."
Jimmie thought he had a great idea of women's frailty, but he
could not understand why any of his kin should be victims.
"Damn her," he fervidly said.
Again he wondered vaguely if some of the women of his acquaintance
had brothers. Nevertheless, his mind did not for an instant
confuse himself with those brothers nor his sister with theirs.
After the mother had, with great difficulty, suppressed the
neighbors, she went among them and proclaimed her grief.
"May Gawd forgive dat girl," was her continual cry. To attentive
ears she recited the whole length and breadth of her woes.
"I bringed 'er up deh way a dauter oughta be bringed up an'
dis is how she served me! She went teh deh devil deh first chance
she got! May Gawd forgive her."
When arrested for drunkenness she used the story of her
daughter's downfall with telling effect upon the police justices.
Finally one of them said to her, peering down over his spectacles:
"Mary, the records of this and other courts show that you are the
mother of forty-two daughters who have been ruined. The case
is unparalleled in the annals of this court, and this court
thinks--"
The mother went through life shedding large tears of sorrow.
Her red face was a picture of agony.
Of course Jimmie publicly damned his sister that he might
appear on a higher social plane. But, arguing with himself,
stumbling about in ways that he knew not, he, once, almost came to
a conclusion that his sister would have been more firmly good had
she better known why. However, he felt that he could not hold such
a view. He threw it hastily aside.
Chapter XIV
In a hilarious hall there were twenty-eight tables and twenty-
eight women and a crowd of smoking men. Valiant noise was made on
a stage at the end of the hall by an orchestra composed of men who
looked as if they had just happened in. Soiled waiters ran to and
fro, swooping down like hawks on the unwary in the throng;
clattering along the aisles with trays covered with glasses;
stumbling over women's skirts and charging two prices for
everything but beer, all with a swiftness that blurred the view of
the cocoanut palms and dusty monstrosities painted upon the walls
of the room. A bouncer, with an immense load of business upon his
hands, plunged about in the crowd, dragging bashful strangers to
prominent chairs, ordering waiters here and there and quarreling
furiously with men who wanted to sing with the orchestra.
The usual smoke cloud was present, but so dense that heads and
arms seemed entangled in it. The rumble of conversation was
replaced by a roar. Plenteous oaths heaved through the air.
The room rang with the shrill voices of women bubbling o'er with
drink-laughter. The chief element in the music of the orchestra
was speed. The musicians played in intent fury. A woman was
singing and smiling upon the stage, but no one took notice of her.
The rate at which the piano, cornet and violins were going, seemed
to impart wildness to the half-drunken crowd. Beer glasses were
emptied at a gulp and conversation became a rapid chatter.
The smoke eddied and swirled like a shadowy river hurrying toward
some unseen falls. Pete and Maggie entered the hall and took chairs
at a table near the door. The woman who was seated there made
an attempt to occupy Pete's attention and, failing, went away.
Three weeks had passed since the girl had left home. The air of
spaniel-like dependence had been magnified and showed its direct
effect in the peculiar off-handedness and ease of Pete's ways toward her.
She followed Pete's eyes with hers, anticipating with smiles
gracious looks from him.
A woman of brilliance and audacity, accompanied by a mere boy,
came into the place and took seats near them.
At once Pete sprang to his feet, his face beaming with glad surprise.
"By Gawd, there's Nellie," he cried.
He went over to the table and held out an eager hand to the woman.
"Why, hello, Pete, me boy, how are you," said she, giving him her fingers.
Maggie took instant note of the woman. She perceived that her
black dress fitted her to perfection. Her linen collar and cuffs
were spotless. Tan gloves were stretched over her well-shaped
hands. A hat of a prevailing fashion perched jauntily upon her
dark hair. She wore no jewelry and was painted with no apparent
paint. She looked clear-eyed through the stares of the men.
"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 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 shrivelling
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 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-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.