She sobbed in her throat and made a cup of her hands to halloo; but her voice would not come, and she ran faster.
A policeman glanced after her and struck asphalt. A dog yapped at her tall heels. Even as she sped, her face upturned and her mouth dry and open, the figure swerved suddenly into a red-lighted doorway with a crescent burning above it; and, with her eyes on that Mecca, she pulled at her strength and gathered more speed.
The crescent grew in size and redness, and its lettering sprang out; and suddenly she stopped, as suddenly as an engine jerking up before a washout.
CRESCENT POOL AND BILLIARD ROOM-- OPEN ALL NIGHT
And her heart folded inward like the petals of a moonflower.
Stretched to the limit of their resilience, the nerves act reflexly. The merest second of incertitude, and then automatically she swung about, turned her blood-driven face toward the place from whence she came and groped her way homeward as Polymestor must have groped after being blinded in the presence of Hecuba.
Tears hot from the geyser of shame and pain magnified her eyes like high-power spectacle-lenses; and when she reached the dim entrance of the cliff dwelling she called home an edge of ice stiffened round her heart and her feet would not enter.
A silhouette lurched round a black corner and zigzagged toward her, and she held herself flat as a lath against the building until it and its drunken song had lurched round another corner; a couple hurried past with interlinked arms; their laughter light as foam. More silhouettes--a flat-chested woman, who wore her shame with the conscious speciousness of a prisoner promenading in his stripes; a loutish fellow, who whistled as he hurried and vaulted up the steps of the Electric Institute three steps at a bound; an old man with an outline like a crooked finger; a shawled woman; a cab lined with vague faces, and streamers of laughter floating back from it; and, standing darkly against the cold wall, Essie, with the tears drying on her cheeks, and her whole being suddenly galvanized by a new thought.
A momentary lull in the drippy streamlet of pedestrians; she leaned out into the darkness and peered up, then down the aisle of street. A shadow came gliding toward her, and she stepped forward; but when the street-lamp fell on the cold eyes and cuttlefish stare she huddled back into her corner until the steps had receded like the stick-taps of a blind man.
Two women in the professional garb of nurses twinkled past, twitting each to each like sparrows; a man whose face was narrow and dark, bespeaking in his ancestry a Latin breed, kept close to the shadow of the buildings; and, with her finger-nails cutting her palms, she stepped out from her lair directly in his path and clasped her hands tighter to keep them from trembling.
"You--please!"
He glanced down at her yellowish face, with the daubed-on red standing out frankly, tossed her a sneer and a foreign expression, and brushed by. She darted back as though he had struck at her, and panic closed her in.
A young giant, tall as a Scandinavian out of Valhalla, with wide shoulders, a wide stride, and heavy-soled, laced-to-the-knee boots that clattered loudly, ran up the steps of the Electric Institute, and she flashed across the sidewalk, her arm reaching out.
"You--please!"
He paused, with the street lamp full on his smiling mouth and wide-apart, smiling eyes, one foot in the act of ascending, after the manner of tailors' fashion-plates, which are for ever in the casual attitude of mounting stairs.
"You--please! Please--"
"Aw, little lady, go home and go to bed. This ain't no time and place for a little thing like you. Here, take this and go home, little girl."
She arrested his arm on its way to his pocket, her breath crowding out her words, and the stinging red of shame burning through her rouge.
"No, no! For Gawd's sakes, no! It's--my mother--"
He brought his feet down to a level.
"Your mother?"
"Yes; she's sick--maybe dyin'. I--please--she wants to see somebody that can't--can't--"
"What, little lady?"
"She's sick--dyin' maybe. She wants to see somebody that can't--can't--"
"Take your time, little lady--can't _what_?"
"Can't come."
"Who can't come?"
"He--my young--he's a young man. She's never seen him; and if--please, if you'd come and act super--just like you was fillin' in at a show; if you'd act like my young man just for a minute--please! My friend, he can't come--he can _never_ come; but she--she wants him. You come, please! You come, please!"
She tugged at his arm, and he descended another step and peered into the exacerbated anxiety of her face.
"On the level, little lady?"
"Please--just for a minute! For somebody that's sick--maybe dyin'. Just tell her you're my young man--tell her everything's all right--everything's comin' all right for all of us, for her and--and my little brother, and--and me--you and me--like you was my young man, please, lovin' and all. And tell her how pretty her poor hair is and how everything's goin'--goin' to be all right. Come, please--it's just next door."
"Why, you poor little thing! I ain't much on play-actin'; and look at my hands all black from the power-house!"
"Please! That ain't nothin'. It'll be only a minute. Just kinda say things after me and don't let her know--don't let her know that I--I ain't got any young man. Don't let her know!"
"You poor little thing, you--shaking like a leaf! Lead the way; but not so fast, little lady--you'll give out."
She cried and laughed her relief and dragged him across the sidewalk; and every step up the two flights she struggled to keep her hysterical voice within the veil of a whisper.
"Just say everythin' right after me. You--you're my young man and real sweet on me; and we're going to get--you know; everythin' is goin' to be fine, and my little brother's going to the Electric Institute, and everythin's goin' to be swell. Be right lovin' to her, sir--she's so sick. Oh, Gawd, I--"
"Don't cry, little girl."
"I ain't cryin'."
"Careful; don't stumble."
"Don't _you_ stumble. Can you see? The landing's so dark."
"Yes; I can see by the shine of your hair, little lady."
"'Sh-h-h-h!"
The door stood open at the angle she had left it, and by proxy of the slab of mirror over the mantelpiece she could see her mother's head propped against her brother's gold-braided shoulder, and the bright eyes shining out like a gazelle's in the dark.
"Essie?"
"We are here, ma--me and Joe." She threw a last appeal over her shoulder and led the way into the bedroom; her companion followed, stooping to accommodate his height to the doorway.
"Ma dearie, this is Joe."
"Joe! It ain't like me, Joe, not to get up; but I just ain't got the strength--to-night, Joe."
He bent his six-feet-two over the bed and smiled at her from close range.
"Well, well, well! So this is ma dear, dearie?"
"That's her, Joe."
"This won't do one bit, ma. Me and the little lady's got to get you cured up in a hurry--don't we, little lady?"
"Ma dearie, Joe's been wantin' and wantin' to come for so long."
[Illustration: SHE HELD UP A HAND AS LIGHT AS A LEAF, AND HE TOOK IT IN A WIDE, GENTLE CLASP THAT ENVELOPED IT]
"For so long I been wantin' to come, ma dearie; but--"
"But he's so bashful. Ain't you, Joe? Bashful as a banshee."
"Bashful ain't no name for me, ma. I'd shy at a baby."
"Honest, ma dearie, he's as shy as anything."
"If I wasn't, wouldn't I have been up to see my little lady's mother long ago--wouldn't I? Ain't you going to shake hands with me, ma dearie?"
She held up a hand as light as a leaf, and he took it in a wide, gentle clasp that enveloped it.
"Ma dearie!"
Her violet lids fluttered, and she lay back from the gold-braided shoulder to her pillow, but smiling.
"I like your hand, Joe; I like it."
"I want you to, ma."
"We--I was afraid, Joe, I wouldn't, you never comin' at all. Shake it, Jimmie, and see."
"Aw!"
"It's a strong hand, like your papa's was, Essie. Shake it, Jimmie. I feel just like cryin', it's so good. Shake it, Jimmie."
Across the chasm of youth's prejudice Jimmie held out a reluctant hand.
"And this is the big brother, is it, little lady?"
"That's what he calls hisself, Joe--he calls me his little sister."
"He's gotta be a big brother to her, Joe; she's so--so little."
"Shake, old man; and take off that grouch. Over where I live a fellow'd be fined ten cents for that scowl. If we got anything to square, you and me'll square it outside after school. What do you say to that, ma dearie? Ain't it right?"
"Jimmie's tired out, Joe."
"Like fun I am!"
"He's been proppin' me up all these hours so I could breathe easier--plunkin' and doin' all his funny kid stunts for his old ma, Essie--plunkin' like a banjo, and plunkin'. I liked it. Sometimes it was like I was floatin' in a skiff with your papa on Sunday afternoons in the park, Essie. I liked it. He's all tired out--ain't you, Jimmie, my boy?"
"Naw!"
"He's sore at his sister, Joe. But he's a good boy and _smart_; you wouldn't believe it, Joe, but when it comes to mechanics he--he's just grand."
"Aw, cut it, ma! I ain't strikin' to make a hit."