Just Around the Corner: Romance en casserole
The cool air blew color and verve into her face; and her hair,
responding to the night damp, curled in little grape-vine tendrils round
her face.
"You're some swell little goil," remarked Mr. Barker, a cigar hung idle
from one corner of his mouth.
"And you are some driver!" she retorted. "You run a car like a real
chauffeur."
"I wouldn't own a car if I couldn't run it myself," he said. "I ran this
car all through France last fall. There ain't no fun bein' steered like
a mollycoddle."
"No one could ever accuse you of being a mollycoddle, Mr. Barker."
He turned and loosened the back of her seat until it reclined like a
Morris chair. "My own invention," he said; "to lie back and watch the
stars on a clear night sort of--of gives you a hunch what's goin' on up
there."
She looked at him in some surprise. "You're clever, all right," she
said, rather seriously.
"Wait till you know me better, kiddo. I'll learn you a whole lot about
me that'll surprise you."
His hand groped for hers; she drew it away gently, but her voice was
also gentle:
"Here we are home, Mr. Barker."
In front of her lower West Side rooming-house he helped her carefully to
alight, regarding her sententiously in the flare of the street lamp.
"You're my style, all right, kiddo. My speedometer registers you pretty
high."
She giggled.
"I'm here to tell you that you look good to me, and--and--I--anything on
fer to-morrow night?"
"No," she said, softly.
"Are you on?"
She nodded.
"I'll drop in and see you to-morrow," he said.
"Good," she replied.
"If nothin' unexpected comes up to-morrow night we'll take one swell
spin out along the Hudson Drive and have dinner at the Vista. There's
some swell scenery out along the Palisade drive when the moon comes up
and shines over the water."
"Oh, Mr. Barker, that will be heavenly!"
"I'm some on the soft-soap stuff myself," he said.
"You're full of surprises," she agreed.
"I'll drop in and see you to-morrow, kiddo."
"Good night," she whispered.
"Good night, little sis," he replied.
They parted with a final hand-shake; as she climbed up to her room she
heard the machine chug away.
The perfume of her rose floated about her like a delicate mist. She
undressed and went to bed into a dream-world of shimmering women and
hidden music, a world chiefly peopled by deferential waiters and
scraping lackeys. All the night through she sped in a silent
mahogany-colored touring-car, with the wind singing in her ears and
lights flashing past like meteors.
* * * * *
When Miss Gertrude arrived at the Knockerbeck parlors next morning a
little violet offering wrapped in white tissue-paper lay on her desk.
They were fresh wood violets, cool and damp with dew. She flushed and
placed them in a small glass vase behind the cold-cream case.
Her eyes were blue like the sky when you look straight up, and a smile
trembled on her lips. Ten minutes later Mr. Barker, dust-begrimed and
enveloped in a long linen duster, swaggered in. He peeled off his stout
gloves; his fingers were black-rimmed and grease-splotched.
"Mornin', sis; here's a fine job for you. Took an unexpected business
trip ten miles out, and the bloomin' spark-plug got to cuttin' up like a
balky horse."
He crammed his gloves and goggles into spacious pockets and looked at
Miss Gertrude with warming eyes.
"Durned if you ain't lookin' pert as a mornin'-glory to-day!"
She took his fingers on her hand and regarded them reprovingly.
"Shame on you, Mr. Barker, for getting yourself so mussed up!" cried
Miss Sprunt.
"Looks like I need somebody to take care of me, doan it, sis?"
"Yes," she agreed, unblushingly.
Once in warm water, his hands exuded the odor of gasolene. She sniffed
like a horse scenting the turf.
"I'd rather have a whiff of an automobile," she remarked, "than of the
best attar of roses on the market."
"You ain't forgot about to-night, sis?"
She lowered her eyes.
"No, I haven't forgotten."
"There ain't nothin' but a business engagement can keep me off. I gotta
big deal on, and I may be too busy to-night, but we'll go to-morrow
sure."
"That'll be all right, Mr. Barker; business before pleasure."
"I'm pretty sure it'll be to-night, though. I--I don't like to have to
wait too long."
He reached across the table suddenly and gripped hold of her working
arm.
"Say, kiddo, I like you."
"Silly!" she said, softly.
"I ain't foolin'."
"I'll be ready at six," she said, lightly. "If you can't come let me
know."
"I ain't the sort to do things snide," he said. "If I can't come I'll
put you wise, all right."
"You certainly know how to treat a girl," she said.
"Let me get to likin' a goil, and there ain't nothin' I won't do for
her."
"You sure can run a machine, Mr. Barker."
"You wait till I let loose some speed along the Hudson road, and then
you'll see some real drivin'; last night wasn't nothin'."
"Oh, Mr. Barker!"
"Call me Jim," he said.
"Jim," she repeated, softly, after him.
The day was crowded with appointments. She worked unceasingly until the
nerves at the back of her head were strained and aching, and tired
shadows appeared under her eyes. The languor of spring oppressed her.
To her surprise, Mr. Chase appeared at four o'clock. At the sight of him
the point of her little scissors slipped into the unoffending cuticle of
the hand she was grooming. She motioned him to a chair along the wall.
"In just a few minutes, Mr. Chase."
"Thank you," he replied, seating himself and watching her with
interested, near-sighted eyes.
A nervousness sent the blood rushing to her head. The low drone of
Ethyl's voice talking to a customer, the tick of the clock, the click
and sough of the elevator were thrice magnified. She could feel the gush
of color to her face.
The fat old gentleman whose fingers she had been administering placed a
generous bonus on the table and ambled out. She turned her burning eyes
upon Mr. Chase and spoke slowly to steady her voice. She was ashamed of
her unaccountable nervousness and of the suffocating dryness in her
throat.
"Ready for you, Mr. Chase."
He came toward her with a peculiar slowness of movement, a
characteristic slowness which was one of the trivial things which burned
his attractiveness into her consciousness. In the stuffiness of her own
little room she had more than once closed her eyes and deliberately
pictured him as he came toward her table, gentle yet eager, with a
deference which was new as it was delightful to her.
As he approached her she snapped a flexible file between her thumb and
forefinger, and watched it vibrate and come to a jerky stop; then she
looked up.
"Good afternoon, Mr. Chase."
"Good afternoon, Miss Sprunt. You see, I am following your advice." He
took the chair opposite her.
"I--I want to thank you for the violets. They are the first real hint of
May I've had."
"You knew they came from me?"
"Yes."
"How?"
"Why--I--why, I just knew."
She covered her confusion by removing and replacing crystal
bottle-stoppers.
"I'm glad that you knew they came from me, Miss Sprunt."
"Yes, I knew that they could come from no one but you--they were so
simple and natural and--sweet."
She laughed a pitch too high and plunged his fingers into water some
degrees too hot. He did not wince, but she did.
"Oh, Mr. Chase, forgive me. I--I've scalded your fingers."
"Why," he replied, not taking his eyes from her face, "so you have!"
They both laughed.
Across the room Miss Ethyl coughed twice. "I always say," she observed
to her customer, "a workin'-girl can't be too careful of her actions.
That's why I am of a retiring disposition and don't try to force myself
on nobody."
Mr. Chase regarded the shadows beneath Miss Sprunt's eyes with a pucker
between his own.
"You don't get much of the springtime in here, do you, Miss Sprunt?"
"No," she replied, smiling faintly. "The only way we can tell the
seasons down here is by the midwinter Elks convention and the cloak
drummers who come to buy fur coats in July."
"You poor little girl," he said, slowly. "What you need is air--good,
wholesome air, and plenty of it."
"Oh, I get along all right," she said, biting at her nether lip.
"You're confined too closely, Miss Sprunt."
"Life isn't all choice," she replied, briefly.
"Forgive me," he said.
"I walk home sometimes," she said.
"You're fond of walking?"
"Yes, when I'm not too tired."
"Miss Sprunt, would--would you walk with me this evening? I know a quiet
little place where we could dine together."
"Oh," she said, "I--I already have an engagement. I--"
She colored with surprise.
"You have an engagement?" His tones were suddenly flat.
"No," she replied, in tones of sudden decision, "I'd be pleased to go
with you. I can do what I planned to-night any other time."
"Thank you, Miss Sprunt."
Her fingers trembled as she worked, and his suddenly closed over them.
"You poor, tired little girl," he repeated.
She gulped down her emotions.
"Miss Sprunt, this is neither the time nor the place for me to express
myself, yet somehow our great moments come when we least expect them."
She let her limp fingers rest in his; she was strangely calm.
"I know it is always a great pleasure to have you come in, Mr. Chase."
"The first time I dropped in was chance, Miss Sprunt. You can see for
yourself that I am not the sort of fellow who goes in for the little
niceties like manicures. I'm what you might call the seedy kind. But the
second time I dropped in for a manicure was not accident, nor the third
time, nor the tenth--it was _you_."
"You've been extravagant all on account of me?" she parried.
"I've been more than that on account of you, dear girl. I've been
consumed night and day by the sweet thought of you."
"Oh-h-h!" She placed one hand at her throat.
"Miss Sprunt, I am not asking anything of you; I simply want you to know
me better. I want to begin to-night to try to teach you to reciprocate
the immense regard--the love I feel for you."
She closed her eyes for a moment; his firm clasp of her hand tightened.
"You'll think I'm a bold girl, Mr. Chase; you'll--you'll--"
"Yes?"
"You'll think I'm everything I ought not to be, but you--you can't teach
me what I already know."
"Gertrude!"
She nodded, swallowing back unaccountable tears.
"I never let myself hope, because I didn't think there was a chance, Mr.
Chase."
"Dear, is it possible without knowing me--who, what I am--you--"
"I only know _you_," she said, softly. "That is all that matters."
"My little girl," he whispered, regarding her with unshed tears shining
in his eyes.
She placed her two hands over her face for a moment.
"What is it, dear?"
She burrowed deeper into her hands.
"I'm so happy," she said, between her fingers.
They regarded each other with almost incredulous eyes, seeking to probe
the web of enchantment their love had woven.
"I do not deserve this happiness, dearest." But his voice was a paean of
triumph.
"It is I who do not deserve," she said, in turn. "You are too--too
everything for me."
They talked in whispers until there were two appointees ranged along the
wall. He was loath to go; she urged him gently.
"I can't work while you are here, dear; return for me at six--no," she
corrected, struck by a sudden thought, "at six-thirty."
"Let me wait for you, dearest," he pleaded.
She waggled a playful finger at him.
"Good-by until later."
"Until six-thirty, cruel one."
"Yes."
"There is so much to be said, Gertrude dear."
"To-night."
He left her lingeringly. They tried to cover up their fervent,
low-voiced farewells with passive faces, but after he had departed her