THE STOIC. Theodore Dreiser

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      On fully awakening this morning, and while dressing, he began growling at Rosalie about a party of the night before into which she had inveigled him, and at which he had become intoxicated and belittled and ridiculed those around him until they were heartily glad to be rid of him.

      “Such people! Such bounders!” he cried. “Why didn’t you tell me those newspapermen were going to be there? Actors are bad enough, God knows, but those newspaper snoops, and those publicity hounds who came with your actress friends! Bah!”

      “But I didn’t know they were coming, Bruce,” pleaded Rosalie, who, pale and picturesque, was doing her best to toast a slice of bread over a gas jet. “I thought it was just for the stars of the show.”

      “Stars! You call those people stars! If they’re stars, then I’m a whole sidereal system!” (A comparison entirely lost on Rosalie, who had no notion of what he was talking about.) “Those bums! You wouldn’t know a star from an oil lamp!”

      Then he yawned, wondering how long before he would find nerve enough to brace up and quit this. How low was he going to fall? Sharing with girls who earned no more than enough for themselves, and then drinking and gambling with men with whom he couldn’t share and share alike!

      “God, I can’t stand this!” he cried. “I’ll have to quit. I just can’t hang around here any longer. It’s too damned degrading!”

      He walked the length of the room and back again, his hands thrust angrily into his pockets, while Rosalie stood silently near him. Fear would not permit her to speak.

      “Well, do you hear me?” he demanded. “Are you going to stand there like a dummy? Oh, you women! You either fight like cats, or lie down and say nothing! God, if I could find one woman, just one, with a little sense in her nut, I’d . . . I’d . . .”

      Rosalie looked up at him, her mouth twisted into a tortured smile. “Well, what would you do?” she said, quietly.

      “I’d hang on to her! I might even love her! But, my God, what’s the use? Here I am, fiddling around in this hole, and accomplishing what? I belong to another world, and I’m going to get back into it! You and I are going to have to separate. It can’t be otherwise. I can’t go on like this a day longer!”

      And so saying he went to the closet, and taking out his hat and overcoat, moved toward the door. Rosalie, however, edged in before him, throwing her arms around him and pressing her face to his. She was weeping.

      “Oh, Bruce, oh, please! What have I done? Don’t you love me any more? Isn’t it enough that I’ll do anything you want? I don’t ask anything of you, do I? Please, Bruce, you won’t leave me, will you, Bruce?”

      But Tollifer, pushing her aside, broke away.

      “Don’t, Rosalie, don’t,” he went on. “I won’t stand for it! You can’t hold me this way. I’m getting out because I have to!”

      He opened the door, but as he moved, Rosalie threw herself between him and the stairs.

      “Oh, Bruce,” she cried, “for God’s sake, you can’t go! Listen, you can’t leave me this way! I’ll do anything, anything at all, I tell you! Oh, Bruce, I’ll get more money, I’ll get a better job. I know I can. We can move to another apartment. I’ll fix it all. Bruce, please sit down, and don’t carry on this way. I’ll kill myself if you leave me!”

      But Tollifer was adamant by this time. “Oh, cut that, Rosie! Don’t be a damn fool! I know you’re not going to kill yourself, and you know it, too. Brace up! Just be calm, and I’ll see you tonight or tomorrow, maybe, but I’ve got to make a new deal, that’s all there is to it. Do you get that?”

      Rosalie weakened under his gaze. She realized now that the inevitable was not to be avoided. She knew she could not hold him if he wished to go.

      “Oh, Bruce,” she pleaded once more, pressing close to him. “I won’t let you go! I won’t! I won’t! You can’t go this way!”

      “Can’t I?” he demanded. “Well, just watch me!” And he pulled her away from the door and went out, hurrying down the stairs. Rosalie, breathless and filled with terror, stood staring as the house door slammed, then turned wearily and re-entered the room, closing the door and leaning against it.

      It was nearly time to go to rehearsal, but she shuddered as she thought of it. She didn’t care now. There was nothing . . . unless, maybe, he would come back . . . he would have to come back for his clothes . . .

      Chapter 9

       Table of Contents

      The thought which Tollifer was cherishing at this time was that he might get a job in a brokerage house or trust company dealing with the affairs, or, more particularly, the fortunes, of widows or daughters of men of wealth. His difficulty, however, was that he had passed out of the group of society handy men that flourished not only on the fringe, but in the very heart, of New York society of that day. Such men were not only useful, but at times absolutely essential, to those with money but no background who sought to enter society, as well as to pass'e d'ebutantes who, because of encroaching years, wished to maintain a conspicuous place.

      The qualifications were considerable, including the best American descent, appearance, social flair, and a sophisticated interest in yachting, racing, polo, tennis, riding, driving—especially the four-in-hand coach—the opera, the theater, the sporting ring. These men followed the wealthy to Paris, Biarritz, Monte Carlo, Nice, Switzerland, Newport, Palm Beach; the duck blinds of the south and the country clubs everywhere. In New York their principal haunts were the smart restaurants, the “Diamond Horseshoe” of the opera, and the theaters. It was necessary that they dress well and appropriately for any occasion; be of service and skill in obtaining the best seats for a horse show, a tennis match, a football game, or the current popular play. It helped if they were able to take a hand at cards and explain the finer points of the game, or, on occasion, give advice or make suggestions as to clothes, jewels, or the decoration of a room. But, above all, they must see that the names of their patrons appeared with comparative frequency in Town Topics or the newspaper society colums.

      To work at this sort of thing continuously, however, meant that in some not too discreditable way, the handy man must be rewarded for the efforts, and sometimes sacrifices, he had to make, particularly the sacrifice of the zest and thrill which otherwise would come to him through his companionship with youth and beauty. For principally his attentions must be devoted to the middle-aged, those like Aileen, who feared the dreadful hour of social or emotional boredom.

      Well, Tollifer had been through all that, years of it, and at about thirty-one or -two, had begun to tire of it. And, from sheer boredom and sometimes sickness of heart over the whole thing, he would disappear, to drink and amuse himself with a beauty of the stage world who had fire and love and devotion to offer him. Just the same, at this time he was once more entertaining the thought of visiting such restaurants, bars, hotels, and other places as were frequented by the people who could do him the most good. He was going to brace up, stay sober, get a little money from somewhere—from Rosalie, maybe—and with it make such a sartorial and financial display as would cause him to be looked upon again as a possibility in the social sense. And then . . . well, watch him this time!

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