The Bill-Toppers

Ma, standing by him, interested herself less in the show and, neglecting the artiste, watched the daughter and the faces she made at the gentlemen: the brazen flapper, whose sole attraction lay in the wickedness in her blood! She never lost sight of Lily and watched her closely, for Ma seemed always to catch her throwing an appealing glance to the seducers in the front boxes, to some St. George in full dress who would dart across the footlights to carry off her daughter.

Thus caught between Pa and Ma, Lily’s situation was hard indeed. As for the audience, she never troubled about it, from custom, like a true professional, who gives her performance mechanically, without minding about the rest. The audience, to Lily, was, behind a streak of flame, in the semi-darkness, a confused mass of black and gray. All this had no existence for Lily or the apprentices. The audience didn’t pay them! The audience wouldn’t give her a whacking if the show went badly! Pa, in the wings, frightened her much more than all the audiences in the world; and Ma was worse still, when a gentleman smiled at her from a box. Then Lily would stare at her Ma with the terrified eye of a parrot contemplating Para’s whip. She even exaggerated, pinched her lips, like a school-girl applying herself to her book for fear of the ferule. Ma did not ask so much as that. Sometimes, when Lily, after a successful trick, threw out her chest to draw breath more easily and rode round the stage with a pretty smile on her lips, Ma saw no harm in it, even rejoiced within herself at her daughter’s beauty. Ma knew how to be just and not to be angry for nothing. But what she could not forgive, what exasperated her was, just that very evening, with her own eyes, to see Lily smile at some person unknown and shoot fiery glances at the front boxes, the little devil, who would bring them to the grave with shame!

For Lily, it must be confessed, flung prudence to the winds that night. Her head was turned with all those love stories. They sang in her ears, they distended her nostrils. Oppressed on every side, she escaped in imagination toward that spacious house, toward the confused mass in which her lover sat hidden. And, in spite of Pa and in spite of Ma, who stood watching her in the wings, Lily searched the audience with her eyes. Was it really Trampy? Had he come back? She had not met him for some time. She wanted to know and he would surely reveal himself. Ma might say what she pleased. Even in the final pyramid, she looked, while, with one apprentice on her shoulders, another forked before her, another standing behind, two others on either side, she twice went round the stage, with flags waving, to the hurricane of the orchestra. And then ting! And darkness anew, the stage suddenly invaded by scene-shifters dragging heavy sets along; and Lily, passing out, was seized by her Ma, who said:

“Who were you laughing at?”

“I wasn’t laughing, Ma!”

“I’ll teach you to make eyes at gentlemen, you baggage you! I saw you this time! I saw you!” grumbled Ma, who had the engagement ring still upon her mind. “You shall pay for this, Lily; we’ll see if I can drive the devil out of you or not!”

And Ma squeezed Lily’s arm as if she meant to break it, but all this noiselessly, in the shadow, behind the scenery, for fear of the stage manager. Besides, it was nobody’s business what a mother thought fit to say to her daughter, and Lily, when people passed, pluckily tried to smile, so as to put them off, not to let them know that she was being beaten, a big girl like her; but, as soon as they were gone, she resumed her rebellious face.

“I wasn’t laughing, I wasn’t laughing, Ma!”

“That’s to teach you to lie!” said Ma, catching her a blow in the back of the neck.

The door of the staircase had swung to behind them; and, in the empty passage, the thumps continued all the way to the dressing-room, which the apprentices had not yet reached. Then, once inside, Ma pushed the bolt and made a rush at Lily. And Lily raised her elbow in vain: accompanied by a furious series of grunts—“Ugh! Ugh! Ugh!”—Ma’s diligent fist “signed a contract on her back”:

“And don’t you dare to cry out, or I’ll give it you twice as hard!”

Lily, bruised all over, felt inclined to scratch her mother, like a wildcat; but the apprentices were coming. So she cooled her head in a basin of cold water and dressed with all speed, assisted by Ma, who perhaps regretted having been so hasty; but you had to be, with devils like that! And Ma’s anger returned when, on reaching the stage again, she was herself, in accordance with Jimmy’s orders, handed a bouquet intended for Miss Lily. What, another! Lily, following her down the stairs with the New Zealanders, saw Ma take the bouquet and toss it through the open door.

“Come along,” said Ma. “Give me your arm, Lily.”

And the New Zealanders walked away from the brightly lit-up music-hall, plunged through the drifting crowd, crossed the eddy of cabs, motors, ’buses and, on the pavements, through the windows, had visions of elegant couples at sumptuous tables. Then they all went through the dark streets; and Lily, escorted by Pa and Ma, followed the herd of girls. Her face was hard and, from an angry brow, she shot glances askance at flight.

Now Trampy—even if he had to marry her for it, by Jove!—had set his mind on having Lily, at any cost; and that not only because of her prettiness, but also that he might play Clifton a damned good trick and teach him that he must smart for treating a gentleman as he had treated him in Mexico. It would be paying him out with interest to take his Lily from him. Besides, think of the credit it would give Trampy in the profession to have for his wife the prettiest, the cleverest girl on the boards, each of whose shows, when she performed alone, would be worth at least three pounds, as much as a whole troupe! He suspected in her the ripe fruit that was bound to drop; and he shook the tree to hasten the fall. He considered his reputation at stake: he, the man with the thirty-six girls, as he was called at the music-hall. He got caught in his own toils and wanted Lily madly, out of revenge and pride ... and jealousy too, for he suspected that Jimmy was courting her; and the idea that he had a rival inflamed his ardor.

In the evening, pen in hand, in his dressing-room, or else at a table in a café, after a second and a third glass of old port, he prepared his batteries: letters, post-cards, he excelled in everything, was careful about his phrases, with the vanity of an author whose writings are widely quoted. Lily was “fascinating” and “bewildering;” he compared her to “those strange Indian poppies whose scent intoxicates a man and sometimes gives him death.” Gee, but that set Lily dreaming! Fancy having all that in her! Who on earth would have thought it? Never mind, it was very nice.

And the way in which she received her correspondence amused her as much as the rest. Trampy, it goes without saying, did not write direct: a few pence to Tom, who hated Clifton, and Lily received the cards in secret, devoured them when she was alone and then quickly tore them into little pieces and sent them flying through the window.

Her trouble was how to answer. She really did not know what to say:

By return of post, she received “a thousand kisses on her rosy cheeks, on her fair tresses, everywhere,” kisses without end.

“He’s mad,” thought Lily.

But she was greatly flattered by Trampy’s attentions. He treated her as a woman, not as a child, as Pa and Ma went out of their way to do. Her life, after all, would be more agreeable if she was Trampy’s wife; and he was delivering the attack in person, since his return from Lancashire, where he had traveled about with his property red-hot stove. He overwhelmed her with bouquets, even as a general bombards a bastion before the final assault, and he managed to meet her now. He dazzled Lily with his big gold watch-chain and the diamond in his tie. When he was able to whisper a word to her, it was always the same thing—“Motor-cars! Paris gowns! Jewels! Flowers!”—until Lily thought she saw all the shop-windows in Regent Street poured out at her feet.

Jimmy made but a sorry lover, compared with Trampy. He never promised anything, silk dresses, diamonds or jewels. “The husband at work, the wife at home.” Gee, there were no ostrich-feathers in that! But he adored her all the same, as Lily was well able to see; and she had many occasions to talk to both of them. Not that Lily was less closely watched. She never went out alone, but it was not always Ma who was at her heels: it was sometimes Glass-Eye. With faithful Glass-Eye, things took their own course and the interviews with Trampy became easy. As for Jimmy, he saw her every day at practice and he took that opportunity to tell her of his ideas, his plans for the future.

“I shall succeed, you will see, Lily,” he said. “I shall do something some day. I’m a bit of a mechanic, a bit of an electrician, that is to say, a bit of a wizard. Others have started lower down and climbed very high.”

“Yes,” replied Lily, “I know. It’s like Pa. He wasn’t much before he got me into shape; and look at him now!”

This was said with an artless candor that enraptured Jimmy.

“What a dear little girlie you are!” he said. “What an adorable kid!”

“That’s right,” retorted Lily. “Why not a baby, while you’re about it, a school-girl in the biking-class and so on? Some people treat me as a woman, Jimmy, and propose to marry me!”

“What’s that?”

“What I say, Jimmy.”

“And this man making up to you is worthy of you, I suppose? And do you love him?” asked Jimmy, greatly upset.

“Pooh!” said Lily. “I’m not quite sure.”

“But you wouldn’t marry him unless you loved him?”

“I should marry him to change my life.”

“A change, Lily,” said Jimmy, with feeling, “is not always a change for the better! And your life is a little pleasanter now, you told me so yourself. Your mother is sorry. You’re getting pocket-money; ten shillings a week, eh? Why, Lily, that’s splendid!”

“Well; and I earn it, I suppose,” said Lily. “And Ma isn’t a bit sorry. Pa said he wouldn’t have it, that’s all. They were afraid of my running away if it went on. I am no longer a child!”

“No,” said Jimmy, taking her hands, “an adorable girl; that’s what you are. Oh, a man whom you would love should do great things! He would love you with all his heart! And your life would be different then! No, you would not be a performing dog, as you call it; you would be a darling little wife. It’s all very well to rove about the world, from theater to theater, riding round and round on your bike....”

“I adore the stage, for all that!” interrupted Lily.

“But that can’t go on for ever,” continued Jimmy. “You’re entitled to have a nicer life: a home of your own, Lily; you have the making of a lady in you, if you were taught. In a year or two, Lily, you would be the equal of any lady in the land.”

“Learning, more learning, always learning! I’ve had enough of it in my life!” muttered Lily, affected, nevertheless, by Jimmy’s intense excitement, and lowering her eyes under his glance.

“Why, yes, Lily, always learning, that’s life!” said Jimmy. “But the other chap, of course, promises you the earth! Some millionaire, I suppose: an admirer in the front boxes?”

“He’s an artiste,” said Lily.

“Why,” said Jimmy, stepping back, without letting go of her. “But, no, it’s impossible; you’re not thinking of Trampy!”

“Why not?” said Lily angrily, trying to release herself from Jimmy’s passionate grasp.

“Why, because ... because he’s a drunkard ... a ... The other day I saw him at the bar of the Crown, as I was passing. He was blind-drunk.”

“What’s the good of talking?” said Lily. “He’s miserable. He worships me. He drinks to forget. He told me so himself!”

“But they say he’s married,” said Jimmy. “Why ...”

“It’s mean and jealous of you to say that,” said Lily, suddenly withdrawing her hands. “You deserve a smacking! How can he be married, when he wants to marry me?”

And with that she left him and went up to the dressing-room.

Jimmy was heartbroken.

“It’s a joke of Lily’s ... as in my shop, some months ago, when she pretended to have a sweetheart, though she hadn’t!”

But, argue as he would, Jimmy thought with terror of Trampy’s habits of conquest, of his reputation in the profession as a Don Juan. He bitterly regretted waiting so long to speak to Lily. He had thought that he was pleasing her by keeping in the background, for fear of causing her annoyance at home: was his sole offense now that of coming too late?

Oh, if he had only had evidence to hand! But Trampy’s marriage was one of those vague rumors. One could say nothing for certain. However, the danger, no doubt, was not yet imminent. And Jimmy had a friend who was doing America in the theaters of the Eastern and Western Trust: he resolved to write to him; the friend would receive his letter at the Majestic, Houston, Texas, or at the Denver Orpheum. The thing had happened over there; they would probably remember it in the theaters he passed through; he could make inquiries, perhaps even obtain proofs. That exquisite Lily, that masterpiece of grace: what a darling wife she would make! And all for Trampy! Jimmy was determined to do everything to prevent it.

He did not despair of supplying Lily, before long, with the proof that Trampy was married; he would give the name, the date; he would compel Trampy to admit it. But he was not sure enough yet to accuse him openly: Lily would have seen nothing in it but a ridiculous jealousy and would never have forgiven him.

Then Jimmy was worried: people came to him for this, for that, for the thousand details of the stage.

Lily, on her side, left the theater. That day, she was accompanied by Maud, who fixed her with her glass eye, while the other was engaged in watching the flies. Of course, Trampy was prowling round the theater to see her part of the way home; for he, too, had decided to carry things with a high hand. And he set to work at a quicker pace than ever.

He had none of Jimmy’s scruples; he was not afraid of exaggerating: far from it. Lily always left him under the impression of a glimpse of paradise. This time, however, she failed to smile when Trampy vowed that she was “the sweetest little thing that one could lay eyes on, by Jove!” For a long time, but especially since that morning, she had been burning to put a question to him. Possibly she had no intention of marrying him, but she wouldn’t allow him to make a fool of her; and she interrupted him in his compliments to ask if what they said was true.

“Who says so? It’s a lie!” Trampy hastened to answer.

“I mean your marriage,” replied Lily.

“I thought as much,” said Trampy.

“Tell me the truth,” persisted Lily innocently, looking him straight in the eyes.

“If I was married, Lily, would I want to marry you?”

“Of course not,” said Lily, already shaken.

“Who’s been talking to you about that?” asked Trampy. “Your Pa, eh? And Jimmy: I’ll bet that Jimmy ...?”

“Jimmy too.”

“If I don’t box that fellow’s ears!” shouted Trampy. “Can’t you see that he’s jealous? Why? He didn’t even give you my bouquets! He handed them to your Ma! And so I’ve been married, eh? Whereabouts? In America, I’ll wager?”

“Yes, somewhere on the Western Tour.”

“Of course,” said Trampy. “That’s what I’ve heard myself. Still, it seems to me that, if I had a wife, I ought to be the first to know it; don’t you think so, Lily?”

This was proof positive. Lily could find nothing to answer.

“Come and have a drink, Lily?”

“They’re waiting for me at home,” said Lily.

Trampy went into the bar alone, in a desperate state of love which made him call for a port and another, by Jove! Then he sat down at a table in a corner, lit a cigar and examined his glass, as though truth lay at the bottom. For he could not tell for certain. Was he married or was he not? That’s what he himself would like to know! According to him, upon his soul and conscience, he was not a married man; he did himself that justice. Opportunities, certainly, had not been wanting ... with all the girls he had known ... enough to fill a dozen beauty-shows. Sometimes even he had had a narrow escape, as in that damned town in the West, in one of those states where you can’t so much as take a girl to supper without finding yourself married to her in the morning, all for entering yourself in the hotel book as “Mr. and Mrs. Trampy,” in other words, as man and wife. And yet he couldn’t ask the girl who adored him to sleep on the mat! Yes, a poor girl who had found glowing words in which to tell him her love, one night in Mexico, words which had set Trampy quivering with longing compassion: was he to be reproached with that? He had made her happy, after all; and, on the whole, this lark was one of his pleasantest memories; it hadn’t lasted too long: a matter of a few weeks at most. He had left Mexico, taking the girl with him, and played Trampy Wheel-Pad in the Western States, with any amount of success, by Jove! Encores, packets of tobacco, a new suit of clothes! And, by way of entr’acte, the girl—“Tramp Wheel-Pad’s Jumping Flea,” as she was called—turned somersaults and flip-flaps. But she would have killed him, this dark girl with great dark eyes,—this girl with a boy’s figure, all muscle and sinew, keeping him awake all night and talking of nothing but smackings, as though she had never learned anything else. And so much in love that she would bite and scratch: a very tigress. Any one but himself would have wearied of it. And then, one fine morning, for coupling their names in the visitors’ book, they found themselves married, in the name of the law! And that was what people called a marriage! So little married were they, according to him, that he had given her the slip then and there, leaving her all the money he possessed, however: he was not the man to look at fifteen dollars, when honor demanded it. Trampy had had more stories of this kind in his life; they left as much impression on his mind as the recollection of a “schooner” swallowed at a bar on a summer night.

It was dishonest, he considered, to pretend that he was married. Not that he was perfect: far from it! He did not set up as a model. He had had scandals in his life: he admitted it humbly; and, if some jealous person, some Jimmy, for instance, wanted to do him harm, all he had to do was to dig in the heap, instead of hawking round that story of an imaginary marriage.

His differences with Poland, the Parisienne, for instance: a regular Mrs. Potiphar, that one. He had found it a hard job to get away from her. And ever and ever so many others! He couldn’t remember. People were always talking ill of him. There was more than that, however: he, too, was capable of manly ambition; he, too, had taken a breakneck risk. He had perfected and patented at Washington an invention of which he had seen a drawing, by accident, in a scientific journal—Engineering, or another—a purely theoretical invention. The inventor himself, a young London electrician, declared it to be unrealizable. Well, he, Trampy—Poland had helped him with her purse; she was very nice about it—he, Trampy, had had the thing made. He had deposited the models at the Patent Office; and the apparatus itself was now in a London storage. He would get it out, some day, and show them all what he was capable of.

Now he was wrong, perhaps, in abandoning Poland, after accepting her services; but, after all, those were matters which concerned nobody but himself. It was not fair play to tell Lily about them: she, he felt, would always be the girl of his heart, the thirty-seventh and last, and it would take a better man than Jimmy to snatch her from him!

Already, it was much to have pacified Lily on that incident of the marriage: Lily believed him. One thing, however, disquieted Trampy: bigamy, all the same, meant doing time. Now, if some jealous person produced the proof of that marriage, contracted under the Western law ... suppose it were valid ... really valid? H’m! Was he going to lose Lily for that? And his liberty into the bargain? That Lily who was worth her weight in gold, love and fortune in one!

Trampy resolved to broach this delicate subject:

“Suppose I was married,” he hinted, one day, “that wouldn’t matter. Couldn’t we ... live together ... eh?”

“I like your style!” said Lily, feeling slightly indignant at such a proposal. “What do you take me for?”

“I was only joking,” Trampy hastened to say. “If you want to be married, I’m quite agreeable.”

“I insist upon it!”

“So then you prefer to take strangers into our confidence?”

“What strangers?” asked Lily, in surprise.

“Why, the quill-drivers at Somerset House and those damned fire-escapes.”

Lily had enough religion to know that the fire-escape was the clergyman:

“As for that,” she said, “we shall see later; but I want the registrar’s office. If I’m to be your little wife, I want to be so for good and all: marriage or nothing!”

“I shall be delighted, Lily!”

“And I’m determined!”

Lily was the more bent upon it, because marriage made her free: that was the essential point. If she were not married, her parents could make her come back, she thought ... keep her with them ... gee! It gave her cold shivers down the back! Once married, she was protected by law; Pa and Ma had nothing to say; and so she was very keen upon marriage.

“What a dear little wife she’ll make!” thought Trampy. “And how she loves me!”

That, however, did not advance matters. It was all very well for him to put his arm round her waist, to talk softly to her, to whisper those words which had already won him so many conquests:—one day, even, he had kissed her on the lips,—Lily thought that very nice; it was all very well for him to cut a dash at the bar, to stand her a claret and a biscuit; it was all very well for him to sing his love-litany: all this did not help him; at the rate at which he was going, he wouldn’t get anywhere in six months.

Lily, between those two jossers, amused herself immensely. How lucky she was! Two men, at her age! They irritated her, sometimes; when they went too far—Trampy, especially, who got excited at the game—anyhow, it was a homage paid to her beauty. Between that and going away with him there was all the difference in the world! To leave home was quite another matter. Why, goodness, if things went on as they were, she could do without marriage at all!

“Lily, come down!” Pa’s voice thundered from below.

Lily was out of bed in a bound. She could hardly tie her skirt-strings for trembling. Why was Pa in such a rage?

The moment Lily entered her parents’ room, she realized what it was. Pa was holding a letter in his hand and scowling at her.

“These are nice stories I hear!” he cried. “You let men kiss you? You’ve got a love affair? Come, Lily, is this true?”

“It’s Jimmy’s doing,” thought Lily. “The mean cur! He’s given me away!”

Pa went on hotly:

“And you’re going to marry, are you? To marry Trampy? Here, read that!”

Lily felt hopeless. She took the letter, but did not attempt to read it. White with fear, could she have sprung through the window and fled, she would have done so.

“Well,” Pa went on apace, growing more and more excited, “is all this true? All that they tell me: about your receiving letters, post-cards, jewelry ... and that ring! I’ve seen it! You’re going to marry Trampy, are you? Oh, the man who writes to me knows all about it, saw you with him at the corner of Oxford Street and Newman Street. Is that true, miss? What did you have to tell him, pray? Speak out!”

Lily, terror-stricken, could only droop her head.

“It’s true then that you want to get married, you baggage!”

“Pa!” cried Lily.

But he, with an “Ah!” of rage, sprang upon her, clutched her mass of hair, banged her head against the wall:

“On your knees! Say, ‘I—beg—your—par—don—’”

And, Bang! Bang! Bang! The phrase was punctuated with thumps.

“Oh, Clifton,” implored Ma, “stop! Not so hard!”

“Beg—par—don! Beg—par—don!” continued Pa, without relenting.

Lily was half-stunned, the world throbbed before her eyes, and, delirious with wrath, she hissed:

“Never!”

“But I say, I say you shall not marry him! I’ll kill you first!”

“Yes, I will marry him, yes, yes, I will marry him! kill me, if you like! God is my witness that I had not thought of getting married, but, as you say so, I will!”

His fist closed her mouth. She clasped her arms about her head, to protect herself as best she could, but soon sank to the floor, fainting....

For three days she was in bed, broken, dazed—then, no sooner on her feet, than off to the theater, guarded by Pa and Ma. If they could, they would have padlocked a chain to her ankle and a collar about her neck. Ma chilled Lily with her scornful pity, or racked her with repeated insults:

“A disgrace to the family! You’ll be the death of us!”

She would shower cuffs upon Lily, throw books at her head, or whatever came readiest to hand. Lily hid the books, the umbrellas, shrank into corners, longing to cry; but the tears refused to come. She was too angry. And, with head down, but eyes alert, she crouched like a dog rebelling under blows, with lips drawn back above her teeth, ready to bite.

“I’m going out, or I’ll kill her!” growled Pa, slamming the door behind him.

Pa was thoroughly upset: for Lily to leave him! Just when Hauptmann was starting a fifth troupe; when Pawnee was drawing full houses with his three stars; when competition was increasing and threatening: it meant disaster, certain ruin, the disbanding of his troupe, his contracts canceled. He seethed with indignation; or else, in despair, felt like taking Lily in his arms, seating her on his knee, begging her to tell him that it was all a nightmare, that she would never marry, never marry that Trampy: his good little Lily ... whom her Pa would cover with diamonds! She should have all she wished, and everything, if only she would assure him that it was not true that Trampy, that ungrateful cur, whom he, Pa, had picked out of the gutter, was going to steal his Lily! That damned Jim Crow! Pa, in his fury, bought a revolver to scatter the footy rotter’s brains with, but Trampy received the tip from Tom and vanished, hey, presto, leaving no trace, allowing no sign of himself to crop up anywhere. Pa’s rage was vented on his daughter.

Happily for her, Lily now was a model of conduct. She felt thoroughly calm. Peace seemed to reign in the house. Lily was such a gentle little thing! One day—the very day on which Tom passed her a note from Trampy and she made a package of her new dress and of her photographs, and souvenirs—that evening, as she kissed her father and mother, tears came to her eyes. Then, instead of going to the kitchen, she fetched her bundle, stealthily opened the street-door and ran to the corner, where Trampy was waiting in a hansom, and hi, off for the holidays, the champagne, the long-dreamed-of Paradise!

They were seated on the basket trunk marked, “Trampy Wheel-Pad,” in big black letters. The steamer had left Harwich and was making for Holland. The English coast was disappearing in the mist. On the deck, a heap of luggage and parcels made a sort of nest for them. Trampy, with his dear little wife by his side, was thinking of the future ... so many things which he had flashed before Lily’s eyes and which he could not give her ... not directly, at least ... but, pooh, she’d get used to it by degrees. The great thing, to Trampy, was that he had his Lily! He was going to stuff himself to the throat with love and, first of all, to seek a shelter for his sweet wife and himself. England was no place for them. Pa was prowling round and Jimmy, too. Once their anger was over and they found themselves face to face with the irreparable, everything would calm down; meantime, the wisest thing for Trampy and Lily was to be prudent and run away as fast as they could. Trampy had his plan, he had seen the agents: Holland and Belgium first; then a performance at Ludwig’s Concert House, in Hamburg, and a brilliant first appearance before a hall filled with managers. Already he saw himself in the famous little room of the Café Grüber, where so many contracts were signed during the few days that the hearing-season lasted, and then he would have the whole continent, from St. Petersburg to Lisbon, make heaps of money, treat Lily like the little peach she was and cover her with diamonds, by Jove! Trampy, meanwhile, was none too easy in his mind: funds were low; the two pounds paid at the registrar’s office had lightened his purse still more. Fortunately, the fire-escape had not had his seven-and-six-pence: that was so much saved.

“A poor consolation,” thought Trampy. “The price of a dog-license.”

But he was gay, nevertheless, in his wife’s company. He forgot his thirty-six girls. He told Lily stories, made her squirm with laughter, played with her, dazzled her with the champagne suppers ... which they would have later on. Or else, like the consummate mummer that he was, he put on the gloomy countenance of a man about to reveal the secret of his heart:

“I’m a wretch,” he muttered, while Lily, in her innocence—Lily, who had been living on tenter-hooks since her flight from home a few days before—turned her frightened eyes upon him. “A miserable wretch ... married. Yes, it’s true; I’m married, Lily.”

“It’s true what they said? You’re married?”

“Yes, I am.”

“Oh, I knew it!” said Lily, in despair. “But then ... if you are ... I’m not!”

“You silly little thing!” said Trampy, kissing her and taking her on his knee. “Yes, I’m married; yes; and no one shall separate us. Haven’t I the prettiest little wife—here, on my knee—my little Lily?”

“Oh, how you frightened me!” said Lily, nestling against him. “Oh, don’t ever let us part!”

With a wife like that, said Trampy to himself, a little discomfort more or less made no difference. As long as she had her dear husband, she would be happy. She would have eyes for nothing but him and would not care a fig for all the rest.

Now she loved him: there was no doubt about that. She had left everything for him! He could even have had her without marriage, by Jove, and saved two pounds, if he had insisted! So he thought, at least, and he put a conquering arm round Lily’s waist, while she, with her head on his shoulder, dreamed and dreamed, her eyes fixed upon the horizon. She was married! She had dared! She would be, at last, the little lady she had always been by instinct! And Lily went on building her castles in Spain until, after the smooth crossing, arriving at the Hook of Holland, she would not have been surprised to find her own motor-car and servants waiting for her on the quay. But no, she had to carry her bag herself, under the fine drizzle, upon the slippery pavement, to the train ... and third-class to Rotterdam. It was all very well for Trampy to adopt a triumphant air, but Lily was greatly vexed at the idea of going with her husband to a little hotel frequented by artistes, bill-toppers though they were. She would have liked something different.

Trampy observed that, with her Pa....

“With Pa,” said Lily, “it was not the same thing ... and I’m not with Pa now.”

Trampy showed himself accommodating. That evening, Lily had the proud satisfaction of walking into a smart hotel, with waiters in the hall, as at the Horse Shoe. She carried her head high, conscious of being looked at. She would have liked always to shine like that—to sit down to meals amid the rustling of silk dresses ... but she felt uneasy in her modest attire. Trampy would be only too pleased to give her a new outfit, later on, yes; but as he explained to Lily, he had had so many expenses recently, wouldn’t it be better to take rooms somewhere, in a sort of place like Lisle Street, or St. Pauli, at Hamburg? Lily yielded to these arguments, she had to; but it was a bitter grief for her to leave that fine hotel, where everybody saw her as a lady ... perhaps because of her big hat, on which a bird, flat-spread, opened wide its wings and held in its beak a diamond the size of an egg.

And, thenceforth, the mean life returned: Lily relapsed among the potatoes and the wash-hand-basin salads. There were occasional revolts, tart words, sudden disputes, which, at times, wrinkled her forehead with anger....

Nevertheless, she had her good moments: she enjoyed the sensation of being a lady who does no work, of wearing gloves and a big hat and of looking at the time on her fine gold watch while her husband is on the stage. It seemed pleasant to her no longer to appear before the audience doing her performing-dog tricks, with Pa scrutinizing her from the wings. It was her turn now to make one of the small nation: pas, mas, profs, bosses, brothers, sisters, sons, daughters, all watching their bread-winners on the boards. She mingled with them, or else sat down prettily in a corner, talked to the artistes: other Martellos, other Nunkies; new faces every week, according to the theaters they were at: owners of troupes; sketch comedians, serio-comics; dancers of the Roofer class; laced-up, glittering “Mdlles.;” or else, from time to time, some josser, a friend of the manager’s or an agent, prowling around among the flesh-colored tights. Lily had seen all this a hundred times, a thousand times before, when she was with her parents; and the mere thought of Ma made her talk nicely, from bravado, to all of them, though she was married now. Lily bore Pa no malice, in spite of the buckled belt. Pa was a man, with hair on his chest and harsh like all of them ... no, not all ... and not so bad, perhaps ... not always ... no; however, a man.... But her Ma, a lady, ought to have stood up for her! If Ma could see her now, gee! Lily felt a lump in her throat at the notion. And it was their fault that she had run away! It served them right! She was much happier, now, when she was a lady in her turn. Her talent and her beauty received the homage due to them. Lily Clifton, the New Zealander, what ho! A famous name in the profession! She was one of those whom the stage people point out to one another:

“Gee!” she sometimes heard a voice say behind her. “Fancy owning a girl like that and not having the sense to keep her!”

Lily was flattered to the core at hearing her parents blamed; she felt inclined to rise and say, “’K you,” with the great stage bow: her right hand on her heart, the other raising her dress, her body bent forward in a sweeping curtsey.

She took part in the conversations: she knew a little Spanish, which she had learned in Mexico, and a little German, which she had picked up in America from the Three Graces; and besides they all jabbered English, they were all “families,” “misses,” “the’s,” with impossible accents, suggesting some of those cosmopolitan towns beyond the “Rockies.” In this medley, she was at her ease; but she did not at all like being called Lily, now that she was a lady:

“Call me Mrs. Trampy,” she said.

After the show, she would sit in the restaurant with Trampy. There, amid clouds of tobacco-smoke, they all supped in a crowd. There were separate tables, at which silent little parties gobbled down their cutlets and compote in ten minutes and then slipped away quietly. Sometimes, a whole band of girls would swoop down at once, like a flight of thrushes, or exchange funny remarks over other people’s heads and blow volleys of kisses in every direction.

Trampy, always full of good stuff, amused the company. He lorded it in the select corner, the corner of the stage-manager and the pretty girls. After supper, he cocked a cigar between his teeth and told thick stories in the midst of an admiring throng. Lily followed with her lips, so as not to lose a word, but, when the final point was at hand, she blushed in advance, turned away her head, as though tired of listening without understanding, and talked to her neighbor, like a lady who respects herself. Or, sometimes, it was more than she could help and Lily would laugh and laugh:

“Oh, dear! Oh, my!”

Then they would “talk shop” among pros, they passed one another the papers: Der Artist, The Era, Das Program, they discussed engagements, quoted personal anecdotes: the Ma who made her star go down to the kitchen, lest the landlady, when peeling the potatoes, should slip one into her pocket. Yes, her own daughter, a star who brought her in a hundred marks a day!

“That’s just like it!” thought Lily.

They made fun of that prof who pinched his apprentices till the blood came, while pretending to smile, or clawed them like a monkey. And the company laughed and laughed, especially when Trampy put out his hand to Lily to show her how the monkeys ... Lily would jump back and the crowd roared with laughter. And the glasses of beer and Moselwein accumulated on the table; and round backs were bent over interminable games of cards....

And then, gradually, the room emptied; the girls went away and Lily, waiting for her husband, sank into her chair and yawned as though her jaws would drop. As they left, she reproached Trampy for his coarseness: those horrid stories which made her blush before everybody’s eyes. Her Pa would never have permitted himself ... She was not accustomed ...

“That didn’t keep you from splitting your sides with laughter,” said Trampy.

“What an idea!” replied Lily, in a vexed tone. “Do you think I’m going to play the goody goody ‘lalerperlooser’? One has to do as others do and not make one’s self conspicuous.”

“Quite right!” said Trampy.

But she turned crimson with rage when Trampy, some other night, forgot himself so far as to monkey-claw the girls. There were short violent scenes when they returned home, chairs upset, angry words. Trampy could not understand this jealousy. When he was confronted with these outbursts, he was greatly surprised, sought for a reason, muttered Jimmy’s name—that was his sensitive point: he thought of it in spite of himself—ironically inquired of Lily if it was Jimmy who had put all that nonsense into her head. Lily was sorry to see the conversation take this turn. She flung her arms round her husband’s neck, loved him, kissed him prettily, the great silly: he knew better; he knew she never thought of Jimmy:

“Kiss me, darling! I wish you would make me happy,” said Lily, moved to pity for herself. “I want to be a good little wife!”

Thereupon they made it up. Lily did not feel, with her husband, that thrill which she had often noticed in other women: but she wanted to love him, stubbornly pursued the idea, fagged away at her love like a little school-girl only too anxious to learn. Trampy, on his side, could be amiable when he liked. He became the old Trampy again at times and treated Lily like a little playfellow. They would both run about in the Biergarten, in the morning, at practice-time, larking like children, hiding behind the tables, and their laughter enlivened the empty place, still soiled with the remnants of last night’s meal and littered with programs and cigar-stumps.

And time passed like this for weeks ... it was months now ... an existence like another, with good in it and bad ... and monotonous and common....

“I should have been better off, perhaps, at home,” she thought. “If this is marriage, it’s not much.”

For, she saw it quite clearly, that wasn’t love; Trampy didn’t understand her. A “girl” and a wife were all the same to Trampy: a mere pastime, both of them. He spoke of it lightly, through the smoke of his cigar. She learned to know him, heard him boast of his prowess, caught passing words:

“Girls, girls, my!”

She would have laughed, she would even have felt flattered at being chosen among so many, if he had put an end to his conquests. But he continued to prowl round the stage-girls, as he used to do before he was married. If even he had shone upon the stage, she would have understood that he had got “swelled head,” that he was yielding to temptation; but his success was only middling. He had not made a hit at Hamburg. The manager of Ludwig’s had told him flatly that he would do well to practise and practise a great deal. Trampy posed as a victim of jealousy, spoke of showing them—all of them, if once he put his back to it!—a new turn, a discovery that would show what he was made of! Meanwhile he had a new idea, as a sketch comedian, with a make-up of his own invention, the face painted white on one side and red on the other, with wrinkles cunningly drawn—a laughing Johnny and a crying Johnny, two men in one. He pestered Lily with his plans, made her cut out dresses for him, came back from the old-clothes shop laden with uniforms in rags, into which Lily had to put patches. And shoes, in particular, ran in his head; shoes of which the soles and the uppers yawned like lips; talking shoes, which said, “Papa!” and “Mamma!” This last suggestion made Lily laugh.

Trampy haunted the bazaars, bought children’s toys, took the stomachs out of the cardboard dogs and rabbits to make his quackers, sought about for his right note, pursued inspiration to the bottom of the glasses.

Lily was sometimes driven to exasperation. This tramp-cyclist, this sketch-comedian was making her, Lily Clifton, patch up his dresses! And her husband rewarded her for it by making love to the girls, poor idiot! Oh, if Pa and Ma had not been so harsh with her! Lily always harked back to that, stiffened herself with the thought, remembered the Marjutti girl, in whom love of art produced wonders and whose Pa and Ma were so gentle and kind.

“They should have treated me like that,” she concluded, “and I should have been at home still!”

She regretted her marriage. And there were some who pitied her for belonging to Trampy: they looked upon him as not worthy of her, blamed him for openly carrying on with girls. Others asked, as though it did not matter, was she really married or were they just “living together?”

“What? Am I married? Is that what they think about me?” she said, a little annoyed. “Of course I am! At the Kennington registry-office!”

And yet a doubt entered her mind too. Was she really married, after all? Lily did not know much about it. Had the banns been published? And those two witnesses picked up in the street ... a ceremony that took just five minutes ... like a conjuring trick. If it was true that they were “living together” without her knowing it, she would not stay with him. She would go back home at once. Marriage, certainly, was never intended for her. This she realized now. When she thought of the Gilson girl, mad on her man, and of others whom she sometimes caught in the dressing-rooms and passages eating each other up with kisses, she was at a loss to understand. How could they make so much fuss about it?

Poor little wife, with so little love for her husband and no admiration at all! As an artiste she thought him lamentable. Trampy, who had seemed so great to her in Mexico ... why, she had shot miles ahead of him since! She felt that he was getting second-rate. He himself was well aware of it, for that matter; blamed everybody: suspected a hoodoo somewhere: some son of a gun bringing him ill-luck. And he was always casting about for an easy means of success ... another new plan ... always something new ... a high-sounding title: “Rusty Bike,” an old jigger which, at each turn of the wheel, would grate like a cart, “Crrrra! Crrrra!” and bring the house down with laughter, while Lily, in the wings, was to sound an accompaniment on a grating rattle:

“Crrrra! Crrrra!”

“All that set-out for nothing!” said Lily to herself. “It would be much simpler to have a little talent.”

She felt herself overcome with contempt for her husband: what a sorry bread-winner he made! Why take a wife, when you had only that to keep her on? Lily did not know whether to laugh or to cry when she saw Trampy come down from his dressing-room, proud as a peacock, his chest swelling at the sight of so many girls at a time, a treat of which he never wearied. He was magnificent, was Trampy, against that background of shoulders, thighs and calves: in his element as a fish in water. Nor did he make any bones about smiling to them or monkey-clawing them as they came off the stage. The presence of his wife did not hinder him. He was sure of her love: he knew she must adore him, as all the others did. And, leaving Lily in a corner, in the shade of a pillar, with his eyes he devoured all that powdered flesh, all those coarse wigs.

Lily hated him at such times. She could have boxed his ears. She had enough of it, at last. One evening, she caught hold of his arm to take him away, furious that a gentleman could find a pleasure in making his wife look so ridiculous! And Trampy, more or less flattered at what he considered a fond wife’s jealousy, was turning to go, when a lady with plumes on her head and a woolly dog under her arm greeted him with:

“Hullo, old boy! Glad to see you, Trampy!”

Lily—it was a distant memory, but no matter—recognized Poland, the Parisienne, with the painted face and the violent scent. Trampy took a step backward. He expected a scene, though he owed her nothing, after all; but she did not seem angry, no. On the contrary, she looked at him with a roguish eye. She knew of Trampy’s marriage, no doubt, as she knew of his conquests, having been his victim herself.

“Hullo, old boy!” repeated Poland, sizing up Lily with an appraising glance and then fixing her eyes upon Trampy. “Still having your successes, old boy? Is this your number thirty? Thirty-six? Thirty-eight, eh?”

“What!” Lily broke in, astounded at these manners. “What number thirty-six, thirty-eight?”

“Ugh! A number in a lottery,” said Trampy, looking quite vain between those two women in love with him. “Yes, a number ... with which I drew a prize!... Why, by Jove,” he continued, addressing Poland, “this is my wife!... Lily Clifton! ... the New Zealander on Wheels.”

“Oh, yes,” said Poland to Lily. “I did hear that you ran away: tired of this, eh?”

And, tapping the back of her left hand with the palm of her right, she made the professional gesture that denotes a whipping.

“Yes, I was a bit,” said Lily, feeling rather proud than otherwise. “I’ve been through the mill, I have!”

“You’ve had your fair share, eh?” insisted Poland. “You’re not the first that has left her family to escape being whipped. You did quite right,” she concluded.

Trampy was dumfounded and utterly floored by the revelation. What! He! He! Lily had married him because of that! Because ... And people said it! And talked about it!

“Come along, Lily,” said Trampy. “Let’s go home.”

And, giving no further heed to Poland, who followed him with a mocking smile, he took Lily by the arm and went out with her.

Lily felt her arm shake. Trampy was furious, evidently. She saw her mistake, too late. There would be a stormy scene when they got in. Well, who cared? She was resolved, under that obstinate forehead of hers, to face the facts. She had had enough of this husband. And she meant to know, that very moment, if she was married or not ... because with him one never knew. When she admitted that she had married him because of “that,” Trampy, in his humiliation would put her out of doors at once; if the marriage wasn’t valid, he would get rid of her. There was no doubt about it.

And she did not have to wait, for Trampy, even before they were out of the theater, in the passage, among the trunks and properties, Trampy, unable to restrain himself any longer, seized her by the wrists and looked her straight in the face:

“Is it true?” he asked, in a voice trembling with rage.

Lily, without replying, lowered her eyes as though to say yes, like a good little wife, oh, so sorry to offend her husband!

“And,” said Trampy, choking with shame, “you married me for ‘that:’ me, Trampy!”

“Yes,” said Lily confusedly.

“Damn you!” cried Trampy. “Oh, if we weren’t married for good, wouldn’t I just make you sleep out to-night!”