When Trampy received the visit of the Gerichtsdiener, with the bill of costs to pay—for the Kolossal sued the Kaiserin for damages and the Kaiserin came down upon Trampy—when Trampy learned that, he became a limp rag. Already he saw himself dragged before the courts, his whole past laid bare: two wives on his hands, for all he knew; Lily crushing him with her scorn; Jimmy triumphant.
Trampy had a moment of real despair. Lily preferred him like that, humbled at her feet. She seemed to understand her husband, a man spoiled by easy conquests, a boozer, a rake, who had taken too much upon himself when he wedded a wife. Trampy was certainly not made for marriage: having a wife was a different thing from having thirty-six girls. His heart, weakened with premature enjoyment, was no longer made for real love. All this he too now perceived; and, in spite of himself, realizing his unworthiness, he felt overcome by an ever-increasing jealousy.
Those were melancholy weeks in the small room. He sat for hours brooding over his disgrace. Lily silently turned this time of rest to account and mended her costumes, sewed spangles on her bodices, beside the earthenware stove, on which the stew was bubbling; and then came the meal, on the table hastily cleared of the mass of ribbons, thread and needles, to make room for the plates. Trampy choked as he swallowed that dinner which he had not earned, sighed sadly for the good cheer of his dreams, the champagne suppers with girls. He gulped down his meagre fare in silence, he who had known the gay junketings, the noisy laughter and the “Roman nights!” To go from there and drown his sorrows in the bar next door was but a step. And Trampy had sorrows outside his recent defeat: sorrows which were even more bitter. He felt that, this time, he was losing Lily.
Lily was surrounded with sympathy. When she went the round of the agencies, the pros courted her. They looked upon Lily in the light of a wife tired of her husband. They prowled round that possible prey. A Lily was worth the having, meant an assured income for whoever succeeded in winning her affections and managing her properly: not with brutality, no, rather not; home joys, like Mr. Fuchs! Who was destined one day to own those full-blown seventeen years, those twinkling legs, that lissom body, trained to spin round and round, unerring and exact? What lucky dog would have her for himself, would succeed in making her love him? They pitied Lily openly, to disgust her with her husband and hasten on the catastrophe. Trampy? He was no husband for her! They, ah, yes, now that was a different matter! And they talked of the dangers attendant upon Trampy’s mode of life; the impersonator told her of the terrible diseases brought on by constant tippling; they exaggerated it all on purpose, amused themselves by frightening her; until Lily, sometimes, would look upon herself as a pretty little gazelle chained to a mangy bear.
Trampy suspected all this, having himself, in the old days, in the time of his glory, been one of those who hovered round wives ready for divorce, helping them, if need be. He could have smashed the face of that green-eyed impersonator. There was also that architect, that theater-builder, Harrasford’s friend: he was passing through Berlin and Lily had taken his fancy the other evening, at the café; he had patted her cheek gaily:
“I knew you when you were ‘that high.’ You used to sit on my knee. How beautiful you’ve grown!”
There appeared to be an infinity of people who had known Lily when she was “that high.” They paid her more and more attention ... and then they believed her to be looked after by Jimmy. That again was a friendship dating back to her childhood, they said: Jimmy, the bill-topper. He, too, had known her when she was “that high.”
The greater part of this talk reached Trampy’s ears. Oh, he could have killed that Jimmy! But he was obliged to hold his tongue. Jimmy had him under his heel, with that crushing lawsuit.
They did not even dare speak of it, so painful was the subject. The little table by the earthenware stove separated them like a wall; and there was one thing always between them: Jimmy. Trampy never mentioned his name now. He would have had too much to say.... And there were continual summonses, always; and lawyers, always; and costs, always. Money melted away, like butter in the sun. Lily was tired of it; and an agony overcame her at the thought of leading a life like that for the rest of her days:
“Oh,” she said, “he’s taking the very bread from our mouths, with his lawsuit! And I haven’t a decent hat to wear.”
“He’ll drive us to the workhouse,” grumbled Trampy, staring before him, with folded arms.
“It’s your fault!” Lily began, but soon stopped: the subject led to a surfeit of quarreling.
But, in her own mind:
“That son of a gun of a Jimmy!” she thought. “All the same, who would ever have believed it of him? Can he guess that all of this falls upon me?”
“Suppose you were to go and see him,” said Trampy, at his wits’ end, one day when he had exhausted himself in stormy explanations with the manager of the Kaiserin.
“I go and see Jimmy?” exclaimed Lily. “What for?”
“To try and arrange things,” replied Trampy, dropping his head. “No one but you could ...”
“I’ll think about it, I’ll see,” said Lily.
But she had to get used by degrees to the idea of going and seeing that Jimmy who was now ruining her. A strange curiosity, nevertheless, drove her toward that conqueror, once a bike-cleaning workman, who was now topping the bill at Berlin and making as much money by himself as a whole program put together. He would receive her kindly, she was sure of that. Oh and then she wanted to tell him that she had had nothing to do with that business of the patents ... that she did not approve of Trampy’s conduct ...! And then he could give her news of Pa and Ma, as he had come from London, where he must have seen them! And she was dying to know! The idea was increasing with her that life with Trampy had become impossible. And, in case she should leave him, she dreaded finding herself alone. Already there were all those offers being made to her, a married woman, driving her mad! She, Lily Clifton, was treated like a “Parisienne”: she hated that sort! To walk about the stage, two by two, might pass; but it was possible to go too far, like the conductor of the orchestra, who, the other day, tried to kiss her in her dressing-room, married woman though she was! Then what would it be when she traveled alone! On the continent, too! Oh, she would have liked to be a good little wife! But, as that could not be, better go back to her Pa and Ma and have a home, a real one, with a servant in it. She was yearning for a home. But how would she be received in that case? Would they put the blame on her? Had they forgiven her? Had she a Pa and Ma still? That was what she wanted to know.
Lily would have liked to look handsome and elegant on the day when she went to Jimmy, so as to show him that he was not the only one who made a lot of money; but she felt very small and terribly excited. The hotel itself, the great clock, the waiters, everything made an impression on her, so different from her boarding-house in the Akerstrasse. She felt like running away after knocking at his door; and Jimmy opened it with the preoccupied air of a man who is disturbed at an inconvenient moment. But suddenly he put out his hand in hearty greeting:
“Hullo, Lily! Come in.”
Lily entered a bright sitting-room, neatly furnished with a sofa and comfortable chairs; no bed; a room which served only for that. She at once felt more at her ease. Jimmy motioned her to a seat near a table covered with papers, full of marks and signs which she did not understand, and books, rulers and compasses. She tried to be simple and dignified; apologized for interrupting him:
“Brain-work, I see,” she said, pointing to the papers. “That’s hard, too, I suppose,” she added, to say something, for a start, like talking about the weather.
“A matter of habit, like the bike,” said Jimmy, in a tone of conviction. “Sit down, Lily, there in that big arm-chair; you’re not disturbing me.”
“’K you,” said Lily, sitting down, feeling reassured by his cordial welcome and thinking that, at least, he was polite.
“I am glad to see you again, Lily,” Jimmy went on, taking a chair himself. “Always glad to see you. And how are you? Keeping well?”
“’K you,” said Lily.
“I’m very glad to hear it,” said Jimmy, scrutinizing Lily with great kindness and trying not to see her preoccupied expression. “I know what brings you here, Lily. You’re a dear little thing, a kid, eh? A real kid at heart, aren’t you? I bet you I guess. I’ve come from London. You want to hear the latest news of your Pa and Ma, eh? You’re not angry with them, I hope? Oh, it would be wrong of you to be angry with them still! They’re very fond of you, you know. They cried when you went away, Lily. Your ... going away,” Jimmy insisted, with a quaver in his voice, “was ... a great blow ... to them ... too.”
“How do they get on without me?” asked Lily eagerly, not wishing to break down and cry before Jimmy. “Poor Pa! Yes, he was fond of me. He never let me fall on purpose. He did not force me to work when I was ill.”
“Your Pa!” Jimmy broke in, glad of the chance to give a fresh turn to the conversation. “Why, there’s no harm in him! Your Pa’s an artiste in love with his art, that’s all! I shouldn’t be surprised if the troupe made a hit yet. It’s had a success of a sort already—in the small halls—at Maidstone and Tunbridge Wells. Your Pa just does without you as well as he can. He runs after his pupils all day long, damn it!” said Jimmy, with a laugh. “Your cousin stars.”
COUSIN DAISY
“Who stars?” asked Lily.
“Your cousin Daisy. She came as soon as you ... as you went away and offered to take your place. Pa Clifton sent her to the right-about, treated her like a ... like an I don’t know what, but she returned to the charge. She’s doing very well now. She tries to be like you.”
“No! Impossible!” exclaimed Lily. “What, that fat freak?”
“And your Pa will succeed,” Jimmy hastened to add. “You’ll see. You ought to be proud of having a Pa like that.”
“Yes, in a sense,” said Lily, who felt a certain satisfaction at being the daughter of her Pa.
He was a bit harsh at times; but a man like her Pa, or like Jimmy, was much better than her loafer of a tramp cyclist!
“And ... Ma?” asked Lily.
“Your Ma,” said Jimmy, in a lower voice, “cried ... oh, how she cried when she found that you had gone! No doubt, she exaggerated any wrong she had done you. It seems she fell upon her knees and prayed and asked for forgiveness.”
“Forgiveness? What for? Of whom?” Lily inquired.
“Why,” said Jimmy, in a serious tone, “of whom do you think people ask forgiveness, when they are alone, on their knees?”
“Oh,” said Lily, greatly touched, “I understand! So they didn’t put the blame on me?”
“What blame?”
“For my marriage,” said Lily, lowering her eyes.
“No ... if you had gone off to live with him ... oh, not you, not you, I know!” protested Jimmy, seeing a gesture of Lily’s. “But marriage is different, I suppose. You had the right, you were old enough to go away with the man you loved.”
Jimmy turned pale as he said this; but Lily, hanging her head and red with shame, did not notice it.
“What!” said Jimmy. “You’re blushing! Do you regret it?”
Lily did not reply.
“Then,” continued Jimmy slowly, “what they said—I wouldn’t believe it, but you know they say a lot of things—is it true?”
She nodded yes and raised her eyes to him with a sad, weary smile.
“He doesn’t love you? And ... and ... you, Lily,” asked Jimmy, taking her hand in his, “don’t you love him?”
“Certainly not!” said Lily, with such an accent of conviction and such a look of disgust that Jimmy was, at one and the same time, delighted to the bottom of his heart and pained to the verge of tears.
Poor Lily! He now noticed her pallor, the dark rims round her eyes, that exquisite face refined by inmost grief. Lily, upon whom, since her visit to the shop in Gresse Street, he had built his hopes of happiness! It seemed to him like yesterday and already it was the distant past. Was that what her rebellion, her bid for freedom had ended in? Was that the crowning point of her hard life? Lily, fashioned to be the companion of a loving heart, was the prey of a footy rotter! Oh, if Jimmy had not controlled himself, if he had not clenched his teeth, for fear of talking! If he had listened to his anger, let loose the storm that raged within him, shouted out what he felt! But what would be the good of telling her his love? Why add to Lily’s sorrows by letting her know what might have been and thus cause trouble in her household, when he wished for one thing only, Lily’s happiness? Suppose she did not love her husband: Trampy, alas, unworthy though he was, remained her husband, nevertheless! And there was no hope of breaking the chain. The letters from Denver and Houston were anything but encouraging. No proofs, no recollections of Trampy’s marriage over there. So there seemed no way out.
Nor did he wish to incense Trampy’s jealousy. Lily would have had to bear the brunt of it ... as in the old days, with Ma’s temper. Oh, there was no doubt about it: Jimmy, to hold his tongue now, needed more courage than when risking his life six times in six seconds! But what was the use of fighting against fate? Better submit, when there was no remedy, and strive for peace!
“Everything gets straight sooner or later,” Jimmy went on. “Many lives that once seemed spoiled have become quite endurable. Time is the great healer. Trampy, no doubt, will get over his faults. He will learn to appreciate you. Have patience. Don’t exaggerate your bothers, Lily. There are others unhappier than yourself. You have a claim to happiness. You will know it yet. Just think. You’re so young, you have all your life before you.”
“The simpleton!” thought Lily. “It’s easy for him to talk. But then ... why was he so jealous? Why did he tell Pa about me? But for him, I should be at home now!”
It was certain that, notwithstanding his kindly reception, Jimmy now seemed to be taking Trampy’s part, as formerly he had sided with Pa and Ma. And he was lalerperlooser enough to ask Lily if her husband knew that she had come to see him:
“I hope he knows, Lily. We must have no secrets: did you tell him?”
“He sent me,” she said, resolving to tell everything frankly, since that was what she had come for and not, after all, to talk about love ... money, only, and business ... it was a question of bread and butter to her.
“Ah! He did!” said Jimmy, a little surprised.
“Yes,” said Lily, “it’s about that lawsuit.”
“Speak quite frankly, Lily. Tell me everything,” said Jimmy, very calm.
“Well,” said Lily, yielding before his air of candor, “Trampy is at the end of his tether; he has no money”—she colored up to the eyes—“no money, no work; the law-costs ...”
“And whose fault is that?” interrupted Jimmy, rising and picking up a cigarette, so as to have something to fumble at with his fingers. “Whose fault is it, Lily, if not that ... well, if not Trampy’s? Isn’t it fair that he should pay for it? It would really become too easy, else, to steal other people’s ideas! You know quite well, Lily—you saw it at my place, on the wall—is it my invention or is it not? And here comes Trampy,” he continued, crunching up his cigarette with a nervous gesture, “and patents it ... as if it were his own. It’s a bit too much, you know!”
“Jimmy,” cried Lily, starting up from her chair, “I swear to you that I had nothing to do with it! If I had known, Jimmy, I would have stopped it! I call it stealing, as you do.”
“Oh, I’m quite sure of that, Lily! I never thought it was you! Calm yourself; sit down, do,” said Jimmy, relieved at the sight of Lily’s indignation, as she stood before him with blazing eyes and her face crimson with shame.
“Important tricks like that!” went on Lily, sitting down again. “No, those have no right to be copied. It’s brain-work. You designed it yourself.”
“Yes, but about the present,” said Jimmy, with a serious air. “I can’t give in to Trampy. I’m bound to defend myself. You came to see me about my action, Lily. I can’t say anything on the subject. It’s ... Trampy’s business, I suppose! Why, what would you do in my place, Lily?”
“I should do as you’re doing, Jimmy, you’re perfectly right,” said Lily, very low, without raising her head. “But couldn’t one come to terms ... avoid a lawsuit ... and not waste all that money on jossers? What do you gain by it yourself? We can’t pay up, Jimmy: those costs are breaking us.”
“What do you mean by ‘us’?”
“Trampy isn’t working,” continued Lily. “He hasn’t done anything for a long time.”
“But then,” asked Jimmy, stopping in front of her, “how does he live?”
“I ... I’m earning money,” explained Lily, blushing, ashamed to own her distress.
Oh, it was hard for her, Lily Clifton, to have no money and to confess it to Jimmy, that josser, who was making his five hundred marks a day! Jimmy saw her before him, huddled in her chair ... her faded hat, her mean gown. He took in everything at a glance. Poor Lily, who used to dream of dresses, to be reduced to that! Then he understood. Pity moved him at the sight of that poor Lily. It was all very well for him to say, just now, “Business is business,” and to ask, “What would you do in my place?” He knew what he would do. A lawsuit was not a question of sentiment, everybody knew that; but still, it was no longer between men....
“Listen, Lily,” he said, putting his hand kindly on her shoulder, “if all this is to fall upon you, we must see how we can arrange matters. Sorry you didn’t come sooner; I don’t want to add to your burdens, Lily, heaven knows I don’t! I never thought of that. I ought to have suspected, perhaps. However, I will withdraw the case. I’ll manage. And the costs ... well, I’ll pay them myself, if necessary, for you, Lily, for you; because I knew you when you were ‘that high’ ... no, not quite so small; how old were you? Thirteen ... and such a little thing, such a dear little wee thing. Do you remember when I made night and day in your cabin, by just touching my levers? And then it seems to me that I always knew you: in Mexico, in India, in South Africa, at the time of the elephants and the tiny birds. And then later, that other Lily, the London one: the one of only a few months ago. The one for whom ...” continued Jimmy, in a voice smothered with emotion. “The Lily of Rathbone Place. The Lily of Gresse Street. That little toque, which suited you so well and which you complained of ... you poor little Lily!... You poor silly little thing! There, go home now and make your mind easy, as far as I’m concerned, Lily. None of your troubles shall come from me. Besides, as they say, a bad settlement is better than the best lawsuit. I’m doing it for your sake. Well, is that all right?”
“Oh, how kind you are!” she said, raising her eyes to him, with a tear in them. “Why, Jimmy, you’re not so bad, after all!”
“Pooh!” said Jimmy, lighting a cigarette. “I’m no better than most, Lily, and no worse. Flesh and blood, like the rest. And, besides, for you, Lily ... If ever you need me, Lily, if I can be of any use to you ...”
“For me,” thought Lily, as she returned home, “for me. Ah, if I had known! Ah, when I think that he, too, wanted to marry me, what a fool I was!” she said, with a sigh.
She still felt in her own palm the gentle, manly pressure of Jimmy’s hand. She still heard the kind words with which he had comforted her on the threshold. Goodness, how happy she would have been with a man like him! Her ill-will disappeared. He was no longer a cur, that josser, but a gentleman, rather, a brother, a friend.... And she was proud, also, that Jimmy, who was so busy and making such a lot of money, had promised to come and applaud her, one of these evenings, at her theater, at Kleim’s Garden, before his own turn at the Kolossal. Oh, wouldn’t she work hard that night! She would do all her tricks! She was bent on pleasing him. And how vulgar and common Trampy appeared in comparison. However, there was no help for it now; and Lily hastened home to bring him the good news.... In any case, Trampy would be grateful to her for what she had done for him. As a matter of fact, it had cost her an effort to go and pay this visit.
She happened to run up against Trampy coming out of the bar, where, according to his custom, he had been drowning his cares. He had a moment of delight on learning the result of the visit, but, mad with jealousy, at once adopted a lofty tone, so as not to have to thank her:
“I knew he would knuckle under!” he said, without looking at Lily. “The braggart! He prefers a settlement, eh? And quite right too! He knows he’s in the wrong. He’s retreating, he’s afraid.”
“Afraid of what?” asked Lily, bewildered.
“Afraid of me. He knows it won’t pay to try my patience too far!”
“Afraid? Jimmy?” said Lily, indignant at all that foolery. “Do you think he’s done that because he’s afraid?”
“And for what other reason would he have given in so soon?”
“He did it to please me, he did it for me, damn it, for me!” said Lily. “You’re rid of your lawsuit: you ought to talk differently and thank me!”
“And why should he do it to please you? What is there between you?” asked Trampy, looking her in the face.
“You’re drunk!” said Lily furiously, with her hand ready to scratch.
“No scenes in the street!” said Trampy. “We’ll go into this at home ...”
“Then I shan’t come in!” said Lily, abruptly turning her back on him. “I’m going to the theater!”
She had nothing to do on the stage; only the idea of being alone in the room with Trampy seemed intolerable to her. At the least discussion, Lily felt it, she would have thrown the lamp at his head, so great was her indignation at his insolence!
She was boiling over with anger when she reached the theater. There were people practising; it was the time for it. Lily went up to her dressing-room, shifted things in her trunk, anyhow, for something to do. The idea that her husband thought her capable of anything wrong made her angry. Oh, to get a divorce, to part from him! As this could not go on for ever, it might as well be done at once; but it would be better if there were no fault on her part. A divorce, yes; but with the honors on her side; a divorce in her favor! Patience, the opportunity would come! It ought to be quite easy, with the girls whom Trampy beguiled, the love letters which he received, to catch him in the act, cover him with ridicule, get the best of him. Oh, if she only could! To be a poor little victim, how touching! A dear little outraged wife!
“You fool, if I catch you!” she said.
Then another idea passed through her brain. Oh, if it were true! She would have danced for joy! Trampy’s marriage in America.
“Is it true? Is it true? God above, grant that it be true!”
It was possible. Already, a few days before, the Jim Crows who hovered round her had talked about it, in covert words, in the hope of making things worse. There must be some truth in it. There was so much news going from mouth to mouth: Lillian, Edith and Polly were the rage in Chicago.... That poor boy-violinist: at Budapest, the stuffed seat to his trousers had slipped from its place and allowed the dog’s teeth to reach the living flesh; he had had to spend a week in bed with poultices.... Harrasford was contemplating a theatrical trust on the Continent, planning a model music-hall in Paris.... There were Jimmy’s successes, his ambitions.... Amid all this news, to which Lily listened, sometimes absent-mindedly, sometimes with interest, among these adventures dating from everywhere—names which she greeted like old acquaintances, with a little nod: “Denver? Yes, I know; a big flat stage. Mexico? I remember!”—among all those tales, Lily pricked her ears when she heard the name of Ave Maria coupled with Trampy’s. She had a vague recollection of Ave Maria’s flight, after her departure from Mexico; was it with Trampy? Were they really married then? Oh, if it were only true! God above, grant that it were true!
Lily, haunted by this idea of a divorce which would set her free, had rummaged in Trampy’s trunk, among his programs and posters. It was full of letters, photographs of girls in outrageous hats, in tucked-up skirts, in tights, with inscriptions. All this dated back to before the marriage, a collection of treasures which he had not had the courage to destroy. She had hoped to find some proof, some clue; but no, there was nothing serious in it. Lily did not give up, for all that; on the contrary. After the visit to Jimmy, which made Trampy so meanly jealous, she lost no opportunity of inquiring. But Martello himself, the father, never had news of his daughter. He hadn’t heard for ever so long; and it was to no avail that Lily asked about Ave Maria, the one who ran away with a man, a great artiste; she always received the same reply:
“Ave Maria? Don’t know the name. Ave Maria? Haven’t seen her since ...”
But Jimmy, always; Jimmy here, Jimmy there; they talked about him all the time: his ideas; something new he had invented; something no one had ever seen: much cleverer than “Bridging the Abyss,” it seemed; but nobody knew what.
“I know!” said Lily, with a well-informed air and very proud of knowing Jimmy and of letting people think ...
“Do you know Jimmy?”
“Ever since I was that high,” answered Lily. “He used to hold me on his knees.”
“And what is his new trick?”
“I’m not allowed to tell. He asked me not to say.”
Everybody praised her for her discretion. The sympathy with which she was surrounded increased.
“Jimmy,” they hinted. “Now there’s a fellow you ought to have married, instead of your ...”
“Not a word against my husband,” she said, like a good and devoted little wife. “I won’t have him insulted.”
That did not prevent her from laughing with her friends. She felt a need of forgetting, or she would have died of boredom, with a husband like that. She was heavy at heart, sometimes. She was a woman, not an icicle. She felt herself made for love. She was flesh and blood, like Jimmy. She would have liked some one to console her, to talk softly to her, as Glass-Eye Maud used to do. There were plenty willing to play the part of Glass-Eye Maud, no doubt: the female-impersonator, for instance, with the green eyes. Oh, she would have liked to be hugged, kissed full on the mouth, or else stroked and petted gently! No home, no happiness; marriage without love; that was her life henceforth. These stage friendships were a relief.
The Bambinis romped with her. She loved their gaiety, liked to touch their sturdy little limbs. That evening, Lily, who was ready for her performance early, was having fun with them. Dressed in her pink tights, she looked like a blithe nymph playing with rollicking cupids.
“What a charming group!” said a voice behind her. “If I were a painter, Lily, I would do you like that!”
It was Jimmy, who had come to see her on the stage, as he had promised.
“Am I spoiling your game?” he asked. “It’s so pretty! It makes me want to kiss the lot of you!”
“Well, booby!” said Lily, all excited and laughing. “Why don’t you? You daren’t!”
“I daren’t! I’ll show you whether I dare ... and ... I’m stronger than I look!”
And thereupon he caught hold of Lily and lifted her like a feather—Lily, all taken aback, had not time to say “Oof!” so great was her surprise—and Jimmy crossed the whole stage with Lily in his arms, shouting to the manager:
“Look what a dear little baby I’ve found! Isn’t she sweet, eh?”
And then, in the wings, he gave her a good big kiss on the cheek before putting her down.
The people around them laughed, applauded that stage joke:
“Jimmy, her old friend,” they said, “knew her when she was that high.”
Lily was very proud of it. And, a few minutes after, when he had left her to take a seat in front, Lily jumped into the saddle and rode round and round, without a hitch, smiling to the audience, smiling to Jimmy in a front box, Jimmy to whom she was grateful for coming to see her: a famous bill-topper putting himself out for her ... before everybody! She was faultless that evening, did a dozen twirls on the back-wheel, made a record, was grand.
Trampy, meanwhile, was waiting for Lily outside, in the passage leading to the stage-door. He had not seen Jimmy kiss Lily, but he saw him carry her across the stage, just as he was coming on himself, so he had turned and hurried out to avoid scandal ... giving way to his wife, who worked while he did not. He had gone out at once, time to run to the bar and drown two or three sorrows, and he was waiting for her now, without paying any attention to the girls passing. As soon as he saw Lily, he seized her by the arm:
“I’ve had enough of this,” he said. “I saw you, you and your Jimmy! You can’t deny it this time!”
“Oh, Trampy, don’t insult me like that!” protested Lily. “Why do you always say ‘my’ Jimmy? One can have a laugh and a joke on the stage without meaning wrong, you know one can. Besides, if you didn’t like to see him carry me in his arms, you ought to have smashed his face, without so much talk.”
“I didn’t want to make a fuss.”
“You were afraid to. You’re afraid of him, that’s what you are!”
“Stop jeering at me!” said Trampy, shaking her violently. “You’re dragging me in the mud; it’s like those whippings of yours! I’m tired of the affronts you put upon me! You ought to have married your Jimmy and left me in peace.”
“I can’t say,” sneered Lily, “that I remember running after you!”
“That Jimmy!” repeated Trampy. “I’ll kill that fellow like a dog! If I don’t do it now, I will later, in a year, in a hundred years, if necessary. I’ll kill him like a dog!”
Lily gave a little laugh as she went out, followed by Trampy. She did not wish, in that lobby, before the people passing, to look like a woman insulted by her husband. She laughed bravely, as she used to, on the stage, with Ma, in the days of the great smackings. To see her laugh, one would have thought that Trampy was telling her a story; and he repeated:
“I’ll kill him like a dog, like a dog!”
“Pooh!” said Lily, who knew Trampy. “You talk too much to act.”
“We shall see. Where’s your Jimmy hiding?”
“You’d be nicely caught, if you met him,” said Lily, who had just noticed Jimmy leaving the music-hall to go to the Kolossal: “there he is, behind you.”...
“What’s that? Don’t you try to get at me!” said Trampy.
“I tell you, he’s behind you, damn it! Turn round and you’ll see ... if you have eyes to see with.”
Trampy turned round, half-reluctantly: he didn’t like those jokes, but he didn’t wish to seem afraid.
“Where? Where do you see Jimmy?” he grumbled.
“There, in front of you,” insisted Lily, pointing with her finger and pushing him by the shoulder. “Off you go!”
There was no drawing back. He marched straight up to Jimmy, who did not even recognize him and who stopped politely. But Trampy had time for reflection, no doubt: a clearer perception of professional brotherhood. Better, after all, to remain friends ... among artistes. And, when he stood before him:
“H’m, h’m. Have you got a light about you, Jimmy? Give us a match,” said Trampy, taking a cigar from his pocket.
It stifled Lily, for the moment. She would rather have received twenty “contracts” with the steel buckle than see that cowardice in her husband. She had her Pa’s blood in her, damn it!
“What!” she thought. “He believes me to misconduct myself with Jimmy, and he is too much of a coward to object!”
But there was nothing to be done. Trampy was as incapable of anger as of love. All those years of a low life had degraded him to that point. And Trampy had even lost the right to bear Jimmy a grudge, made as though he had forgotten everything, said that, after all, it was much better to be friends. And all this under Lily’s critical eye!
Jimmy! To be obliged to look pleasant at Jimmy! It gave him a lump in his throat. Fortunately, he had the others, the crowd of assiduous pros who thronged round his wife. Against those he gave free scope to his jealousy, and showed himself as strict with the rest as he had been accommodating with Jimmy. He meant to keep an eye on his wife:
“A married woman, on the stage, alone! I won’t have any more of that!”
He hit upon a contrivance to be always with her: he would be her “comic.” It was a new system which had come into fashion: the most plastic performances spoiled by the juxtaposition of their caricatures; acrobats, Olympian gods, parodied by a merry-andrew in a ridiculous coat: just as though Nunkie Fuchs, for instance, had taken it into his head to appear with his Three Graces and mimic their tricks, kicking about at the end of a wire with his fat, fatherly paunch and his round, silly face.
And Trampy, riding behind Lily, would simply give a parody of her tricks; it meant little work to him and was as good a way as another of going on the stage with her and establishing his title to her work and her salary....
And off they went again, with the basket trunk, and the bikes; and on the stage, every night, Lily, looking like a goddess, and Trampy, dressed in rags, went through their tricks and smiled ... applause for her, always; none for him, ever. Lily wore a very sad look in consequence, when they returned to the wings: a poor little wife, so sorry for her husband; but she triumphed at the bottom of her heart, while Trampy turned green with spite. He was furious with Lily: tried to make her fall, pushed her in turning; but Lily was too clever and sat as firmly on her bike as Ave Maria walked her slack-wire, when the brother used to shake it on purpose, whip in hand and snarling as if to bite.
Oh, if Lily had not made efforts to be a good little wife! Trampy was becoming unbearable. She posed as the poor little thing, despised, deceived and betrayed by her husband; she loved to hear people tell her so, called them to witness and continued, but without result, to make inquiries about Ave Maria.
And there were everlasting scenes at home. Lily had enough of it, more than enough of it! She had even decided to go away, to return to London; but, worn out with worry, she had to take to her bed, with a high fever. It was the finishing stroke: no work,—all the savings gone....
Trampy, fortunately, found an engagement:
“It’s all right, the neighbors will look after you,” he said, as he took his leave. “A man’s duty is to see that his wife doesn’t starve, eh, darling? I’m going to make money, too, and I’ll bring you heaps when I come back; and I’ll send you some. That’s the sort of man I am. I don’t talk of ‘my money!’”
Lily was left alone in Berlin.
Generally, she hated the hotels frequented by artistes, but she was very glad to be in one this time. She, poor little broken-down thing, was not left to the care of a common servant; she had nice, kind nurses.... And she had no lack of friends who took interest in her, very sincerely, for that matter, for she was a favorite with all of them, that pretty Miss Lily, who would soon be free....
Lily let herself be coddled. Pending the arrival of the money which Trampy was to send, she wanted for nothing, especially in the way of luxuries: chocolates, sweets, flowers, they brought her everything. Her friends passing through Berlin, the impersonator, the Paras, many others, hearing that she was ill, came to see her, treated her as a lady, cried out how well she was looking, how pretty she was and how it suited her to be ill in bed.
Lily thought that very nice, put on a languid air, like a poor little jaded thing that had got out of gear:
“I shall die of overdoing it, I know I shall,” she said. “I’ve been at the bike ever since I was that high”—raising her hand twelve inches above the bed—“and my heart’s worn out by the hard work. My knees, too. Sit down there on the basket trunk. You at the foot of the bed. Have a chocolate.”
Then she turned over in her sheets, which molded her firm, plump shape, took a bag of sweets from the chair beside her and offered it round. Poor little martyr, she had been forbidden them by the doctor, because of a cough.... But she took them all the same, merely for the sake of taking them, with a graceful movement, her bare arm outstretched, her wrist making a supple curve, like a swan’s neck, as she dipped her pretty hand into the bag.
In addition to her regular friends, such as the impersonator or the Paras, others, the people staying in the hotel, would tap discreetly at the glass door between her room and the passage, come in on tip-toe, speak in a whisper.
“What nonsense!” Lily would say. “I’m not dead yet, you know!”
And she laughed, and “Ugh! Ugh!” a cough or so, a matter of lifting her embroidered handkerchief to her mouth, a favorite gesture. And there were stories from all parts, the cackle of the profession. The Paras were living together now, as they explained to her. The parrots? No go; given them up; one had its neck wrung by a monkey in Chicago; another died of consumption at Stockholm; the rest of the troupe sold to the stage-doorkeepers of the different variety-theaters. His sight was beginning to fail. She wanted smartness; wasn’t—how should he put it? The husband looked for a word—wasn’t “Tottie” enough. However, they managed somehow, as “eccentric duetists.” Lily thought that very nice, those two talents combined, very original; but could they give her any news of Ave Maria ... a great artiste ... on the wire?...
If ever Lily might have hoped to receive news of Ave Maria, it was during this illness, from the artistes who visited her, on their way from anywhere to God knows where. Lily had news of everybody: of Mirzah, the white elephant, who had to be pole-axed for killing his keeper; of Captain North’s seals; of the Three Graces, who were doing triumphantly in England; of Poland, the Parisienne, now starring at Bill and Boom’s. Tom was talked about: biceps like thighs, now: a hornpipe danced on the hands. She had news of the Pawnees, of the Hauptmanns. Roofer was sending out four new troupes, to Canada, Australia, India, Cape Colony: the Greater-England Girls. She had news of the New Zealanders and of her cousin Daisy, who seemed to find the star business jolly hard work:
“The wind-bag!” said Lily.
They talked of Jimmy, of dogs, cats and monkeys and of Tom Grave and Butt Snyders, those great breakneck acrobats: they talked of one and all, but not a word of Ave Maria. They knew her by reputation, as one who had been through the mill, more than Lily had, as Lily modestly admitted.
“Darling,” said the impersonator affectionately, “don’t bother about that Ave Maria of yours. I’m jealous. Be mine, darling! How well we two should get on together, eh, Lily?”
“Hands off!” said Lily. “Be good ... there ... like that ... down by your sides ... or you’ll get a smacking!”
Concerts were got up for Lily’s amusement. Sketch-comedians pulled their faces: a musician twanged his banjo. At other times, by closing her eyes, Lily could have imagined herself in an aviary: the Whistling Wonder imitated the nightingale, the thrush, the lark. Another, an equilibrist, showed her how, when he was obliged to stay in bed with a broken leg and had nobody to wait on him, he used to wait on himself by going round the room on his hands ... like that. Lily was given, for nothing, a performance which was worth a whole music-hall program. To put everybody at their ease, Lily told them to smoke, took a puff or two at a cigarette herself—“Ugh! Ugh!”—almost choked....
They amused themselves, among themselves, free from any constraint due to the presence of jossers. Lily joked with them as she used to do with the apprentices in the mornings, when they showed one another their bruises of the day before. She made them look at her pigeon’s egg, on the side of her foot, the little ball-shaped muscle special to her profession, like the triceps of the pugilist or the dancing-girls’ calves. She was vain enough to put on a silk stocking, poked out her foot from under the bedclothes, let them feel “her egg,” made it jump under their fingers by a sudden contraction.
“Is that all you’ve got to show us, darling?” asked the impersonator.
“You don’t want much, I don’t think!” said Lily, pulling back her foot under the quilt.
The incident was interrupted by new-comers who had also known Lily when she was that high. They brought fresh news from Lisle Street. They had had a drink with P. T. Clifton himself, had had a drink with an author who was writing a book on the business.
“Another josser who’s sure to talk a lot of nonsense!” cried Lily. “If only they told the truth and described us as we are, a sight better than the society ladies, who come and wait for pros outside the stage-door!”
And they went on. The healths they had drunk with this girl and that girl; and new turns: competitors who were cropping up ... names ... names ... Ave Maria? Dead, they said: somewhere in Ecuador or Peru.
Then Lily stretched herself to her full length in the sheets, feeling weary, weary, crushed under all that talk.
And Trampy just didn’t write, sent no money at all. She blushed for him ... in spite of her wish to catch him tripping, before witnesses. She was ashamed to be his wife, his only wife, his little wife for ever.
On that day, as it happened, Jimmy came to pay her a visit. His engagement at the Kolossal was ending. He was to perform at the London Hippodrome, before going to the States. A certain air of respect surrounded him from the moment he entered the room, that Jimmy who already stood higher than any of them among the famous bill-toppers! And they gradually retired, as though Lily would prefer that. It was no use her saying, “Do stay!” They went all the same; and Lily was left alone with him, a little embarrassed and yet flattered at being thought on such good terms with Jimmy. As for him, he had just heard about Lily’s illness, Trampy’s absence, and hurried to see her, bringing her the good news that the lawsuit was over. Trampy would have nothing more to pay....
From that day, Jimmy was sometimes seen at Lily’s. He spoke little, sat down on the basket trunk, listened, thought of things. He was known to have his mind full of an invention superior to “Bridging the Abyss,” one could expect anything from him: a wonderful chap Jimmy, a bit cracked, though, with ideas of his own which went the round of the profession and were variously appreciated. A fund for stage-children; a reserve upon their earnings, to be banked and kept untouched till they came of age; a home of rest for the old and the sick; a weekly matinée for the benefit of the fund....
Jimmy described the piteous lot of those who grow old in a profession intended for youth: but a few shillings a month paid into the fund, a benefit performance or two ... and our home is established and endowed and we should see no more stars flung aside, to die in hopeless poverty, after amusing crowds of people for years and years.
“I’m with you,” said Lily, laughing. “Put me down for a pension for my old age ... if ever I reach old age ... ugh, ugh!”
And she coughed, with the embroidered handkerchief at her lips.
But Lily’s joke was left unechoed: everybody talked professional shop, quoted figures; the habit of signing contracts, of avoiding the traps laid by the agents had given them all a keen sense of business. And the frequent traveling, in the absence of education, had made them sharp at understanding, quick in the uptake. Their clean-shaven faces fell into wise folds, like lawyers’.
Jimmy also explained his idea about the apprentices, the compulsory so much per cent., the inalienable deposit paid in by the Pas and Mas ... and, much more still, by the profs and managers....
“Good!” said Lily. “I’m with you!”
There was a general laugh. The Whistling Wonder interrupted the conversation by quacking like a duck at Jimmy and cooing like a pigeon at Lily. Jimmy got up and said good-by, pleased to see Lily making daily progress.
“Ah, Lily,” they said again, when he had gone, “that’s the one you ought to have married, not the other!”
And thereupon they began to pursue their favorite theme and amuse themselves by describing the awful troubles which she would get into one day with “the other,” that drunkard;—the man with the thirty-six girls! And they laughed and they laughed, my! Lily herself held her sides with laughing.
All this was stage effect, professional exaggeration. Lily dared not indulge in it before Jimmy. She was more sincere, always a little embarrassed, in the presence of that man toward whom everybody was driving her, as though they all saw farther into her life than she herself could. She was no longer ill, only tired, with an accumulation of past wearinesses that made her love to lie down flat. But she would get up to-morrow, instead of remaining in bed to see her friends; no humbug before Jimmy.
The next day when he came, Lily was alone. So much the better, he had something to say to her. He had made up his mind that day. His own present prosperity formed too great a contrast with the poverty of Lily ... that poor kiddie who had run away from home in pursuit of happiness and whom he now found here, in this squalid room.... It was all very well to theorize about children who have earned fortunes and who haven’t a farthing; but that was mere talk! Suppose he helped Lily a little in the meantime. He had prepared all sorts of good reasons; he had found a smart excuse, the great excuse of the music-hall, that he had been betting on horses and losing. He would ask Lily to keep his money for him, as a kindness, otherwise he simply couldn’t help it, his money burned a hole in his pocket. Then, on second thought, why all that fuss? Hadn’t he known her since she was that high? And, the moment he came in, he just handed Lily a thousand-mark note:
“For the law-costs, Lily! And, anything over, for your expenses, till Trampy’s money comes. Only too pleased to be of any use. You can pay it back when it suits you. And good-by, Lily, ta-ta!”
And he hurried out, leaving Lily with the thousand marks in her hand.
Lily was stupefied and confused. She asked herself why? why? a real piece of brain-work, which made her head ache. Anyhow she would give back the money to-morrow! She wouldn’t keep it! Trampy would be sure to bring some; it was impossible that he should bring nothing; but, come what may, she would give back the money to-morrow! She took the great oath of the stage upon it: three fingers of her right hand uplifted; her left hand on the lucky charm. And then she went and shut the door, turned the key in the lock and lay down....
A noise woke her: some one was knocking outside; but, before she could get out of bed, one of the glass panes of the door broke into fragments. Somebody had smashed it with his elbow. A hand came through the opening, turned back the key. The door opened and Trampy entered, raging, growling:
“There’s a man here!”
“You won’t find him; you can kill me if you do!” cried Lily.
She expected a terrible scene. Trampy, drunk, had the look which he wore on his bad days. He peered into the corners, turned a cunning eye on Lily.
Trampy had spent the evening at the café and there heard of the visits which Lily received during his absence. The neighbors he didn’t mind about, but Jimmy. Jimmy again! The damned dog! Why should he poke his nose in? And, perhaps, at heart, Trampy was not sorry to have a scene with Lily, for he wasn’t bringing home a pfennig, having spent all his money on champagne with girls. He felt himself at fault. He would get out of it with violence.
“There’s a man here!” repeated Trampy, walking up to Lily like a madman.
She was humiliated to the core when she saw Trampy, dazed with tobacco, heavy with beer, stoop and look under the bed. And, suddenly, seeing the banknote which Lily had laid on the table, Trampy shouted:
“You can’t deny it this time. Tell me where the money comes from!”
“It’s from Jimmy,” said Lily, beside herself. “He thinks of me, Jimmy does, while you leave me here to starve. It’s ... it’s for the law-costs.”
“Oh, that’s another thing!” said Trampy, putting the note in his pocket.
“Let the money be!” cried Lily, leaping out of bed. “Don’t you touch it!”
“Everything here belongs to me, I should think,” said Trampy, a little more calmly, already overcome with drunken drowsiness. “Everything, even a dear little wifie,” he continued, putting his snout under Lily’s disgusted nose.
But she gave a movement of revulsion so spontaneous that Trampy turned pale under the insult:
“W-what! N-no love?” he stammered. “I’m not used to that. I can get l-l-love for the asking ... at the ca-ca-café ... or the th-theater ... or anywhere.”
And Trampy, making a false step, caught hold of the curtain and drew it back.
In the pitiless light of the morning, he appeared to Lily like a drowned man, with a puffed-out face, swollen eyes and wan cheeks. To think that she belonged to that! Lily spat at him in contempt. Oh, rather sleep with lizards and guinea-pigs than that; rather with a woolly dog, like Poland, that Parisienne! Oh, to get rid of him and be free again, thought Lily, never again to have Trampy before her eyes! And, suddenly, her mind was made up. She dressed herself hurriedly.
“Where are you going?” asked Trampy.
“I’m off!” said Lily. “I’ve had enough of this!”
“What’s that?” said Trampy, dull-mouthed, flinging his body across the bed. “What’s that? Say it again!”
“I say I hate the sight of you! I’m going back to my Pa and Ma!”
“You, you’re going back to ... well, good-by, darling, goo-good ... goo-good-by,” stammered Trampy, sprawling on the bed, among the disordered clothes....
Lily moved freely round the room, without even troubling about him, like one who has made up her mind once and for all. She packed up her things in the basket trunk. She put her bike outside the door; and, just as she was going to look for a neighbor to help her down with her trunk, an idea entered her head. She stopped on the threshold, came back to Trampy, slipped her hand into his pocket and gingerly took out the banknote:
“An insult like that!” she muttered. “I’d rather starve than not give Jimmy back the money!”