"She needs an old-time spankin'."
"Them girls down at the theayter where she works put them ideas in her head. It's only of late with her, Jimmie. Wasn't she like a little baby when I had her across from me in the notions?"
"She's gotta keep her face clean or I'll--"
"She needs somebody strong like her papa was to handle her, Jimmie. She's stubborn in ways, like you, and needs somebody older, my boy--somebody strong that can handle her and love her all at once."
"She's gotta quit sneakin' home at all hours. She don't pay no attention to me; but she's gotta quit or I--I'll go down and smash up that whole theayter crowd of 'em!"
"If she'd 'a' had a father to grow up under it would 'a' been different. He was one of the strongest men in the power-house, Jimmie. Mechanics make strong men, my boy, and that's why my heart's set on you, Jimmie, takin' up where he left off."
"It's that job of hers, ma; it ain't no hang-out for her down there round the lights. She's gettin' too gay. I'll smash that ticket-speculator to gelatin if he don't show up or leave her alone!"
"'Sh-h-h, Jimmie! He's her young man; she says he's a upright and honorable young man with intentions."
"Where she hidin' him, then?"
"He--he's bashful about comin', Jimmie. Last night on her knees right here by this bed she told me, Jimmie, with her eyes like saucers, that he's said everything but come right out and ask her."
"What's the matter? Is he tongue-tied?"
"A fine fellow, she says, Jimmie--up to date as a new dime, makin' from thirty to forty a week. Get that, Jimmie? Gawd--forty a week! On forty a week, Jimmie, what they could do for themselves and for you!"
"I wanna look him over first. I knew a fellow in that game got forty a week and ninety days once, too."
"Jimmie!"
"There's a bunch of speculators used to hang round the Forty-second Street telegraph office, with one eye always on the cop and the other always open for rubes. They was all hunchbacks from dodging the law."
"He ain't one of them kind, Jimmie."
"Then why don't he have a roof over his head instead of doing sidewalk business?"
"Ticket-speculatin' is like any other business, Essie says. Profit is profit, whether you make it on a sheet of music, a washboard, or a theayter ticket."
"Then why don't he show his face round here, instead of runnin' her round night after night when she ought to be home sleepin'?"
"Gawd, Jimmie! I don't know, except what she says. I just feel like I couldn't stand her not bringing him to-night--like--like I couldn't stand it, Jimmie."
"Lay easy there, ma."
"They're young, I guess, and gotta have life; but I lay here with it in front of me all night, long after she gets home and is sleepin' here next to me as light as a daisy. She's so little and pretty, Jimmie."
"I wanna get my glims on him--"
"What, Jimmie?"
"I wanna see him."
"Me, too, Jimmie. I wouldn't care much about anything else if I could see him once; and if he is big and strong like your father was--"
"That gang don't come big and strong. They got big heads and little necks."
"The kind of fellow that would know how to treat you when you got stubborn, and would put his hand on your shoulder and not try to drive you. If he was a man like that, Jimmie, the kind you and Essie needs, I--I'd stop fightin'; I'd fold my hands and say to God: 'Ready! Ready right this minute!'"
"Ready for what, ma?"
"Ready, Jimmie, my boy. Just hands folded and ready--that's all."
"Aw, cut it, can't you, ma? I--ma, quit scarin' a fellow. Quit battin' your eyes like that. Tryin' to flirt with me, ain't you, ma? Quit it, now! Lemme get you some of that black medicine--you're gettin' one of your spells. Lemme run down-stairs and send Lizzie Marks for old man Gibbs?"
"No, no, Jimmie--don't leave me! Hold me, my boy, so I can feel your face. Don't cry, Jimmie; there ain't nothin' to cry about."
"Cut the comedy, ma! I ain't cryin'; I'm sweatin'."
"Jimmie, are--you--there? I feel so--so heavy."
"Sure I am, ma--right here, holding you in my arms. Feel! There's the scar where old Gibbs sewed my face the time I got hit with a bat--feel, ma--see, it's me."
"What's that, Jimmie, on the foot of the bed movin'?"
"See, ma--that's your flowered glad-rag. You're go-goin' to put it on when Essie and her gen'l'man friend come in. It ain't movin'; I shoved it."
"Don't muss it, Jimmie."
"No. See, I smoothed out its tail--it's a sash for you, ma."
"Jimmie, you won't leave me? It gets so dark and--the mice--"
"You couldn't pry me away with a crowbar, ma! I'll hold you till you yell leggo. Lemme go for old Gibbs, ma; you're breathing heavy as a pump."
"No, no, Jimmie; don't leave me."
"Sure I won't; but you're all twitchin' and jumpin', ma. Just leave me run down and send Lizzie Marks for him."
"No, no, Jimmie; I'm all right."
"Sure, ma? You--you're actin' up so funny."
"It ain't nothin'--only I'm an old woman, Jimmie. All of a sudden I got old and broke. It ain't the same in the department, Jimmie, with Essie gone from the notions across the aisle. Always when we were overstocked in the corsets she--she--Essie--"
"Aw, ma, you ain't talkin' straight. Lemme have old man Gibbs."
"I'm talking straight, Jimmie. Ain't I layin' right here in your arms and ain't my hair caught round one of your brass buttons?--quit pullin', Jimmie! Essie's hair is so bright, Jimmie. I can see it shinin' in the dark when she's sleepin'."
"Some hair the kid's got! Remember the night you took me and her to--"
"'Sh-h-h-h! Ain't that them coming? Ain't it, Jimmie? I ain't equal to gettin' up, Jimmie. Bring 'em in here and tell--"
"Like fun it's them! Whatta you bet right now they're holding down a table for two at the Palais du Danse? Swell joint!"
"Oh, Gawd, Jimmie!"
"I was kiddin', ma--only kiddin'. Open your eyes, ma. Gwan! Be a sport and open up! Remember, ma, when I was a kid, how I used to make you laff and laff, makin' a noise like a banjo--plunka-plunk-plunk-plunk-plunka-plunk?"
"Yes, Jimmie."
"I knew I'd get a laff out of you--plunka-plunk-plunka-plunk!"
"Yes, Jimmie, my boy! Go on! I like to lay here and remember back. Essie was always grabbin' your spoon--I used to slap her little hands and--"
"Ma, open your eyes! Don't go off in one of 'em again."
"See, they're open, Jimmie! I can see your gold buttons shinin' and shinin'--I ain't sleepin'; I'm only waitin'."
"She ain't had time to get home yet, ma. They gotta pick up programs and turn in lost articles and all."
"Put your arms round me, Jimmie. I keep slippin' and slippin'."
"Lemme run for old man Gibbs, ma? Please!"
"No, no, Jimmie. Sing like you used to when you was a little kid, Jimmie; I used to laff and laff."
"Plunka-plunk-plunk-plunk!"
"'Sh-h-h! There's the chimes--you won't never tell me the right time nights, when I ask you, Jimmie."
"It ain't late, ma."
"'Sh-h-h! What time is that? Listen!"
"It's early. Don't you count chimes, ma--it's a sign of snow to count 'em, and Essie's got her thin jacket on. Listen! This is a swell one I know: Plunk! Plunk! Plunk! Plunk!"
"'Sh-h-h, Jimmie! One--two--three--four--five--six--seven--eight--nine--ten--"
"See, it ain't late."
"'Leven! You can't cheat me; I heard the last one."
"'Leven already? Well, whatta you know about that? Them chimes is always ahead of themselves."
"Jimmie, my boy, quit playin' with your old ma."
"They'll be comin' soon now."
"Don't leave me, Jimmie."
"Sure, I won't--see!"
"Jimmie! Jim-mie--"
"Ma! Ma, for Gawd's sakes, open your eyes! Ma darlin'--please--please--"
"Sing, Jimmie, like--a banjo."
"Plunka-plunk-plunka-plunk!"
* * * * *
On that last boom of eleven the Stuyvesant Theater swung its doors outward as the portals of a cuckoo clock fly open on the hour, and women in fur-collared, brocaded coats, which wrapped them to the ankles, and carefully curved smiles that Watteau knew so well and Thackeray knew too well, streamed out into the radium-white flare of Broadway, their delicate fingers resting lightly on the tired arms of tired business men, whose faces were like wood-carving and whose wide white shirt-fronts covered their hearts like slabs.
Almost before the last limousine door had slammed, and the last tired business man had felt the light compelling pressure of the delicate finger-tips on his arm and turned his tired eyes from the white lights to the whiter lights of cafes and gold-leaf hotels, the interior of the Stuyvesant Theater, warm and perfumed as the interior of a jewel-box, blinked into soft darkness. Small figures, stealthy _espions_ of the night, padded down thick-carpeted aisles flashing their pocket searchlights now here, now there, folding rows of velvet seats against velvet backs, reaching for discarded programs and seat-checks, gathering up the dainty debris of petals fallen from too-blown roses, an occasional webby handkerchief, an odd glove, a ribbon.
Then the dull-red eyes above the fire-exits blinked out, the sea of twilight deepened, and the small searchlights flashed brighter and whiter, glow-worms in a pit of night.
"For Pete's sakes! Tell Ed to give back them lights; my lamp's burnt out."