Jennie Gerhardt - Драйзер Теодор. Страница 29
consolation of a creature sent to wander in a vale whose explanation was
not here but in heaven. Slowly Gerhardt walked on, and as he brooded on
the words and the duties which the sacrament involved the shade of
lingering disgust that had possessed him when he had taken the child to
church disappeared and a feeling of natural affection took its place.
However much the daughter had sinned, the infant was not to blame. It
was a helpless, puling, tender thing, demanding his sympathy and his
love. Gerhardt felt his heart go out to the little child, and yet he could not yield his position all in a moment.
"That is a nice man," he said of the minister to his wife as they walked along, rapidly softening in his conception of his duty.
"Yes, he was," agreed Mrs. Gerhardt timidly.
"It's a good-sized little church," he continued.
"Yes."
Gerhardt looked around him, at the street, the houses, the show of brisk
life on this sunshiny, winter's day, and then finally at the child that his wife was carrying.
"She must be heavy," he said, in his characteristic German. "Let me take her."
Mrs. Gerhardt, who was rather weary, did not refuse.
"There!" he said, as he looked at her and then fixed her comfortably upon his shoulder. "Let us hope she proves worthy of all that has been done to-day."
Mrs. Gerhardt listened, and the meaning in his voice interpreted itself
plainly enough. The presence of the child in the house might be the cause of recurring spells of depression and unkind words, but there would be
another and greater influence restraining him. There would always be her
soul to consider. He would never again be utterly unconscious of her soul.
CHAPTER XVI
During the remainder of Gerhardt's stay he was shy in Jennie's presence
and endeavoured to act as though he were unconscious of her existence.
When the time came for parting, he even went away without bidding her
good-bye, telling his wife she might do that for him; but after he was
actually on his way back to Youngstown he regretted the omission. "I might have bade her good-bye," he thought to himself as the train
rumbled heavily along. But it was too late.
For the time being the affairs of the Gerhardt family drifted. Jennie
continued her work with Mrs. Bracebridge. Sebastian fixed himself
firmly in his clerkship in the cigar store. George was promoted to the
noble sum of three dollars, and then three-fifty. It was a narrow, humdrum life the family led. Coal, groceries, shoes, and clothing were the
uppermost topics of their conversation; every one felt the stress and strain of trying to make ends meet.
That which worried Jennie most, and there were many things which
weighed upon her sensitive soul, was the outcome of her own life— not
so much for herself as for her baby and the family. She could not really
see where she fitted in. "Who would have me?" she asked herself over and over. "How was she to dispose of Vesta in the event of a new love affair?" Such a contingency was quite possible. She was young, good-looking, and men were inclined to flirt with her, or rather to attempt it.
The Bracebridges entertained many masculine guests, and some of them
had made unpleasant overtures to her.
"My dear, you're a very pretty girl," said one old rake of fifty- odd when she knocked at his door one morning to give him a message from his
hostess.
"I beg your pardon," she said, confusedly, and coloured.
"Indeed, you're quite sweet. And you needn't beg my pardon. I'd like to talk to you some time."
He attempted to chuck her under the chin, but Jennie hurried away. She
would have reported the matter to her mistress but a nervous shame
deterred her. "Why would men always be doing this?" she thought. Could it be because there was something innately bad about her, an inward
corruption that attracted its like?
It is a curious characteristic of the non-defensive disposition that it is like a honey-jar to flies. Nothing is brought to it and much is taken away.
Around a soft, yielding, unselfish disposition men swarm naturally. They
sense this generosity, this non- protective attitude from afar. A girl like Jennie is like a comfortable fire to the average masculine mind; they
gravitate to it, seek its sympathy, yearn to possess it. Hence she was
annoyed by many unwelcome attentions.
One day there arrived from Cincinnati a certain Lester Kane, the son of a wholesale carriage builder of great trade distinction in that city and
elsewhere throughout the country, who was wont to visit this house
frequently in a social way. He was a friend of Mrs. Bracebridge more than of her husband, for the former had been raised in Cincinnati and as a girl had visited at his father's house. She knew his mother, his brother and
sisters and to all intents and purposes socially had always been
considered one of the family.
"Lester's coming to-morrow, Henry," Jennie heard Mrs. Bracebridge tell her husband. "I had a wire from him this noon. He's such a scamp. I'm going to give him the big east front room upstairs. Be sociable and pay
him some attention. His father was so good to me."
"I know it," said her husband calmly. "I like Lester. He's the biggest one in that family. But he's too indifferent. He doesn't care enough."
"I know, but he's so nice. I do think he's one of the nicest men I ever knew."
"I'll be decent to him. Don't I always do pretty well by your people?"
"Yes, pretty well."
"Oh, I don't know about that," he replied dryly.
When this notable person arrived Jennie was prepared to see some one of
more than ordinary importance, and she was not disappointed. There
came into the reception-hall to greet her mistress a man of perhaps thirty-six years of age, above the medium in height, clear- eyed, firm-jawed,
athletic, direct, and vigorous. He had a deep, resonant voice that carried clearly everywhere; people somehow used to stop and listen whether they
knew him or not. He was simple and abrupt in his speech.
"Oh, there you are," he began. "I'm glad to see you again. How's Mr.
Bracebridge? How's Fannie?"
He asked his questions forcefully, whole-heartedly, and his hostess
answered with an equal warmth. "I'm glad to see you, Lester," she said.
"George will take your things upstairs. Come up into my room. It's more comfy. How are grandpa and Louise?"
He followed her up the stairs, and Jennie, who had been standing at the
head of the stairs listening, felt the magnetic charm of his personality. It seemed, why she could hardly say, that a real personage had arrived. The
house was cheerier. The attitude of her mistress was much more
complaisant. Everybody seemed to feel that something must be done for
this man.
Jennie went about her work, but the impression persisted; his name ran in her mind. Lester Kane. And he was from Cincinnati. She looked at him
now and then on the sly, and felt, for the first time in her life, an interest in a man on his own account. He was so big, so handsome, so forceful.
She wondered what his business was. At the same time she felt a little
dread of him. Once she caught him looking at her with a steady, incisive
stare. She quailed inwardly, and took the first opportunity to get out of his presence. Another time he tried to address a few remarks to her, but she