Jennie Gerhardt. Theodore Dreiser

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СКАЧАТЬ was far off and immensely superior. They went about too timid to touch anything, for fear of giving offense. The great red-carpeted hallway, which they were set to sweep, overawed them so that they constantly kept their eyes down and spoke in their lowest tones. When it came to scrubbing the steps, and polishing the brass work of the splendid stairs, both needed to steel themselves, the mother against her timidity, the daughter against her shame at so public an exposure. Wide beneath lay the imposing lobby, and men, lounging, smoking, passing constantly in and out, could see them both.

      “Isn’t it fine?” said Genevieve nervously, more to be dulling the sound of her own conscience than anything else.

      “Yes,” returned her mother, who, upon her knees, was wringing out her cloth with earnest but clumsy hands.

      “It must cost a good deal to live here, don’t you think?”

      “Yes,” said her mother. “Don’t forget to rub into these little corners. Look here what you’ve left.”

      Jennie, actually reassured by this correction, fell earnestly to her task, and polished vigorously without lifting her eyes.

      In this manner they worked carefully downward until about five o’clock, when it was dark outside, and all the lobby was brightly lighted. Now they were very near the bottom of the stairway.

      Through the big swinging doors there entered from the chilly world without a tall, distinguished, middle-aged gentleman, whose silk hat and loose military cape-coat marked him at once, among the crowd of general idlers, as some one of importance. His face was of a dark and solemn cast, but broad and sympathetic in its lines, and his bright eyes were heavily shaded with thick, bushy, black eye-brows. He carried a polished walking-stick, evidently more for the pleasure of the thing than anything else. Passing to the desk, he picked up the key that had already been laid out for him, and coming to the staircase, started up.

      The middle-aged woman, scrubbing at his feet, he acknowledged by not only walking around her, but by graciously waving his hand, as much as to say, “Don’t move for me.”

      The daughter, however, caught his eye by standing up, her troubled glance showing that she feared that she was in his way.

      He bowed, smiled pleasantly, and addressing her said:

      “You shouldn’t have troubled yourself.”

      Jennie only smiled.

      When he had reached the upper landing, a sidewise glance told him, more keenly than even his first view, of her uncommon features. He saw the high, white forehead, with its smoothly parted and plaited hair. The eyes he knew were blue, the complexion fair. He had even time to admire the mouth and full cheeks, but most of all, the well-rounded, graceful form, full of youth, health, and all that futurity of hope, which to the middle-aged and waning, is so suggestive of all that is worth begging of Providence. Without another look, he went dignifiedly upon his way, carrying her impression with him. This was the Honorable George Sylvester Brander, junior senator from Ohio.

      A few moments after he had gone, and Jennie had become engrossed with her labor as before, the fact that she also had observed him disclosed itself.

      “Wasn’t that a fine-looking man who went up just now?”

      “Yes, he was,” said her mother.

      “He had a gold-headed cane.”

      “You mustn’t stare at people when they pass,” cautioned her mother wisely. “It isn’t nice.”

      “I didn’t stare at him,” returned Jennie innocently. “He bowed to me.”

      “Well, don’t you pay any attention to anybody,” said her mother. “They may not like it.”

      Jennie fell to her task in silence, but the finery of the world was having its say. She could not help giving ear to the sounds, the brightness, and the buzz of conversation and laughter which went about. In one section of the parlor floor was the dining-room, and from the clink of dishes one could tell that supper was being prepared. In another was the parlor proper, and there someone came to play on the piano. All that feeling of rest and relaxation which comes before the evening meal pervaded the place. It touched the heart of the innocent working-girl with hope, for hers were the years, and poverty could not as yet fill her young mind with cares. She rubbed diligently always, and sometimes forgot the troubled mother at her side, whose kindly eyes were becoming invested with crow’s-feet, and whose lips half-repeated the hundred cares of the day. She could only think that all of this was very fascinating, and wish that a portion of it might come to her.

      At half-past five, the housekeeper, remembering them, came and told them that they might go. The fully finished stairway was relinquished by both with a sigh of relief, and passing out into the side street, by the rear entrance, after putting their implements away, the couple hastened homeward, the mother, at least, pleased to think that at last she had something to do.

      As they passed several fine houses, Jennie was again touched by something of that which the unwonted novelty of the hotel life had driven swiftly home.

      “Isn’t it fine to be rich?” she said.

      “Yes,” answered her mother, who was thinking of the suffering Veronica.

      “Did you see what a big dining-room they had there?”

      “Yes.”

      They went on past the low cottages and among the dead leaves of the year.

      “I wish we were rich,” murmured Jennie with a sigh.

      “I don’t know just what to do,” confided her mother after a time, when her own deep thoughts would no longer bear silence. “I don’t believe there’s a thing to eat in the house.”

      “Let’s stop and see Mr. Bauman again,” exclaimed Jennie, her natural sympathies restored by the hopeless quality in her mother’s voice.

      “Do you think he would trust us any more?”

      “Let’s tell him where we’re working. I will.”

      “Well,” said her mother wearily.

      Into the small, dimly lighted grocery store, which was two blocks from their house, both of the wayfarers ventured nervously. Mrs. Gerhardt was about to begin, but Jennie spoke first.

      “Will you let us have some bread tonight, and a little bacon? We’re working now at the Columbus House, and we’ll be sure to pay you Saturday.”

      “Yes,” added Mrs. Gerhardt, “I have something to do.”

      Bauman, who had long supplied them before illness and trouble began, knew that they told the truth.

      “How long have you been working there?” he asked.

      “Just this afternoon.”

      “You know, Mrs. Gerhardt,” he said, “how it is with me. I don’t want to refuse you. Mr. Gerhardt is good for it, but I am poor, too. Times are hard,” he explained further. “I have my family to keep.”

      “Yes, I know,” said Mrs. Gerhardt weakly.

      Her old red cotton shawl СКАЧАТЬ