Jennie Gerhardt: A Novel

"She can hardly handle these knives."

"Yes," said Vesta instantly. "I need a little knife. My hand is just so very little."

She held it up. Jennie, who never could tell what was to follow, reached over and put it down, while Lester with difficulty restrained a desire to laugh.

Another morning, not long after, she was watching Jennie put the lumps of sugar in Lester's cup, when she broke in with, "I want two lumps in mine, mamma."

"No, dearest," replied Jennie, "you don't need any in yours. You have milk to drink."

"Uncle Lester has two," she protested.

"Yes," returned Jennie; "but you're only a little girl. Besides you mustn't say anything like that at the table. It isn't nice."

"Uncle Lester eats too much sugar," was her immediate rejoinder, at which that fine gourmet smiled broadly.

"I don't know about that," he put in, for the first time deigning to answer her directly. "That sounds like the fox and grapes to me." Vesta smiled back at him, and now that the ice was broken she chattered on unrestrainedly. One thing led to another, and at last Lester felt as though, in a way, the little girl belonged to him; he was willing even that she should share in such opportunities as his position and wealth might make possible – provided, of course, that he stayed with Jennie, and that they worked out some arrangement which would not put him hopelessly out of touch with the world which was back of him, and which he had to keep constantly in mind.

CHAPTER XXXII

The following spring the show-rooms and warehouse were completed, and Lester removed his office to the new building. Heretofore, he had been transacting all his business affairs at the Grand Pacific and the club. From now on he felt himself to be firmly established in Chicago – as if that was to be his future home. A large number of details were thrown upon him – the control of a considerable office force, and the handling of various important transactions. It took away from him the need of traveling, that duty going to Amy's husband, under the direction of Robert. The latter was doing his best to push his personal interests, not only through the influence he was bringing to bear upon his sisters, but through his reorganization of the factory. Several men whom Lester was personally fond of were in danger of elimination. But Lester did not hear of this, and Kane senior was inclined to give Robert a free hand. Age was telling on him. He was glad to see some one with a strong policy come up and take charge. Lester did not seem to mind. Apparently he and Robert were on better terms than ever before.

Matters might have gone on smoothly enough were it not for the fact that Lester's private life with Jennie was not a matter which could be permanently kept under cover. At times he was seen driving with her by people who knew him in a social and commercial way. He was for brazening it out on the ground that he was a single man, and at liberty to associate with anybody he pleased. Jennie might be any young woman of good family in whom he was interested. He did not propose to introduce her to anybody if he could help it, and he always made it a point to be a fast traveler in driving, in order that others might not attempt to detain and talk to him. At the theater, as has been said, she was simply "Miss Gerhardt."

The trouble was that many of his friends were also keen observers of life. They had no quarrel to pick with Lester's conduct. Only he had been seen in other cities, in times past, with this same woman. She must be some one whom he was maintaining irregularly. Well, what of it? Wealth and youthful spirits must have their fling. Rumors came to Robert, who, however, kept his own counsel. If Lester wanted to do this sort of thing, well and good. But there must come a time when there would be a show-down.

This came about in one form about a year and a half after Lester and Jennie had been living in the north side apartment. It so happened that, during a stretch of inclement weather in the fall, Lester was seized with a mild form of grip. When he felt the first symptoms he thought that his indisposition would be a matter of short duration, and tried to overcome it by taking a hot bath and a liberal dose of quinine. But the infection was stronger than he counted on; by morning he was flat on his back, with a severe fever and a splitting headache.

His long period of association with Jennie had made him incautious. Policy would have dictated that he should betake himself to his hotel and endure his sickness alone. As a matter of fact, he was very glad to be in the house with her. He had to call up the office to say that he was indisposed and would not be down for a day or so; then he yielded himself comfortably to her patient ministrations.

Jennie, of course, was delighted to have Lester with her, sick or well. She persuaded him to see a doctor and have him prescribe. She brought him potions of hot lemonade, and bathed his face and hands in cold water over and over. Later, when he was recovering, she made him appetizing cups of beef-tea or gruel.

It was during this illness that the first real contretemps occurred. Lester's sister Louise, who had been visiting friends in St. Paul, and who had written him that she might stop off to see him on her way, decided upon an earlier return than she had originally planned. While Lester was sick at his apartment she arrived in Chicago. Calling up the office, and finding that he was not there and would not be down for several days, she asked where he could be reached.

"I think he is at his rooms in the Grand Pacific," said an incautious secretary. "He's not feeling well." Louise, a little disturbed, telephoned to the Grand Pacific, and was told that Mr. Kane had not been there for several days – did not, as a matter of fact, occupy his rooms more than one or two days a week. Piqued by this, she telephoned his club.

It so happened that at the club there was a telephone boy who had called up the apartment a number of times for Lester himself. He had not been cautioned not to give its number – as a matter of fact, it had never been asked for by any one else. When Louise stated that she was Lester's sister, and was anxious to find him, the boy replied, "I think he lives at 19 Schiller Place."

"Whose address is that you're giving?" inquired a passing clerk.

"Mr. Kane's."

"Well, don't be giving out addresses. Don't you know that yet?"

The boy apologized, but Louise had hung up the receiver and was gone.

About an hour later, curious as to this third residence of her brother, Louise arrived at Schiller Place. Ascending the steps – it was a two-apartment house – she saw the name of Kane on the door leading to the second floor. Ringing the bell, she was opened to by Jennie, who was surprised to see so fashionably attired a young woman.

"This is Mr. Kane's apartment, I believe," began Louise, condescendingly, as she looked in at the open door behind Jennie. She was a little surprised to meet a young woman, but her suspicions were as yet only vaguely aroused.

"Yes," replied Jennie.

"He's sick, I believe. I'm his sister. May I come in?"

Jennie, had she had time to collect her thoughts, would have tried to make some excuse, but Louise, with the audacity of her birth and station, swept past before Jennie could say a word. Once inside Louise looked about her inquiringly. She found herself in the sitting-room, which gave into the bedroom where Lester was lying. Vesta happened to be playing in one corner of the room, and stood up to eye the new-comer. The open bedroom showed Lester quite plainly lying in bed, a window to the left of him, his eyes closed.

"Oh, there you are, old fellow!" exclaimed Louise. "What's ailing you?" she hurried on.

Lester, who at the sound of her voice had opened his eyes, realized in an instant how things were. He pulled himself up on one elbow, but words failed him.

"Why, hello, Louise," he finally forced himself to say. "Where did you come from?"

"St. Paul. I came back sooner than I thought," she answered lamely, a sense of something wrong irritating her. "I had a hard time finding you, too. Who's your – " she was about to say "pretty housekeeper," but turned to find Jennie dazedly gathering up certain articles in the adjoining room and looking dreadfully distraught.

Lester cleared his throat hopelessly.

His sister swept the place with an observing eye. It took in the home atmosphere, which was both pleasing and suggestive. There was a dress of Jennie's lying across a chair, in a familiar way, which caused Miss Kane to draw herself up warily. She looked at her brother, who had a rather curious expression in his eyes – he seemed slightly nonplussed, but cool and defiant.

"You shouldn't have come out here," said Lester finally, before Louise could give vent to the rising question in her mind.

"Why shouldn't I?" she exclaimed, angered at the brazen confession. "You're my brother, aren't you? Why should you have any place that I couldn't come. Well, I like that – and from you to me."

"Listen, Louise," went on Lester, drawing himself up further on one elbow. "You know as much about life as I do. There is no need of our getting into an argument. I didn't know you were coming, or I would have made other arrangements."

"Other arrangements, indeed," she sneered. "I should think as much. The idea!"

She was greatly irritated to think that she had fallen into this trap; it was really disgraceful of Lester.

"I wouldn't be so haughty about it," he declared, his color rising. "I'm not apologizing to you for my conduct. I'm saying I would have made other arrangements, which is a very different thing from begging your pardon. If you don't want to be civil, you needn't."

"Why, Lester Kane!" she exclaimed, her cheeks flaming. "I thought better of you, honestly I did. I should think you would be ashamed of yourself living here in open – " she paused without using the word – "and our friends scattered all over the city. It's terrible! I thought you had more sense of decency and consideration."

"Decency nothing," he flared. "I tell you I'm not apologizing to you. If you don't like this you know what you can do."

"Oh!" she exclaimed. "This from my own brother! And for the sake of that creature! Whose child is that?" she demanded, savagely and yet curiously.

"Never mind, it's not mine. If it were it wouldn't make any difference. I wish you wouldn't busy yourself about my affairs."

Jennie, who had been moving about the dining-room beyond the sitting-room, heard the cutting references to herself. She winced with pain.

"Don't flatter yourself. I won't any more," retorted Louise. "I should think, though, that you, of all men, would be above anything like this – and that with a woman so obviously beneath you. Why, I thought she was – " she was again going to add "your housekeeper," but she was interrupted by Lester, who was angry to the point of brutality.

"Never mind what you thought she was," he growled. "She's better than some who do the so-called superior thinking. I know what you think. It's neither here nor there, I tell you. I'm doing this, and I don't care what you think. I have to take the blame. Don't bother about me."

"Well, I won't, I assure you," she flung back. "It's quite plain that your family means nothing to you. But if you had any sense of decency, Lester Kane, you would never let your sister be trapped into coming into a place like this. I'm disgusted, that's all, and so will the others be when they hear of it."

She turned on her heel and walked scornfully out, a withering look being reserved for Jennie, who had unfortunately stepped near the door of the dining-room. Vesta had disappeared. Jennie came in a little while later and closed the door. She knew of nothing to say. Lester, his thick hair pushed back from his vigorous face, leaned back moodily on his pillow. "What a devilish trick of fortune," he thought. Now she would go home and tell it to the family. His father would know, and his mother. Robert, Imogene, Amy all would hear. He would have no explanation to make – she had seen. He stared at the wall meditatively.

Meanwhile Jennie, moving about her duties, also found food for reflection. So this was her real position in another woman's eyes. Now she could see what the world thought. This family was as aloof from her as if it lived on another planet. To his sisters and brothers, his father and mother, she was a bad woman, a creature far beneath him socially, far beneath him mentally and morally, a creature of the streets. And she had hoped somehow to rehabilitate herself in the eyes of the world. It cut her as nothing before had ever done. The thought tore a great, gaping wound in her sensibilities. She was really low and vile in her – Louise's – eyes, in the world's eyes, basically so in Lester's eyes. How could it be otherwise? She went about numb and still, but the ache of defeat and disgrace was under it all. Oh, if she could only see some way to make herself right with the world, to live honorably, to be decent. How could that possibly be brought about? It ought to be – she knew that. But how?

CHAPTER XXXIII

Outraged in her family pride, Louise lost no time in returning to Cincinnati, where she told the story of her discovery, embellished with many details. According to her, she was met at the door by a "silly-looking, white-faced woman," who did not even offer to invite her in when she announced her name, but stood there "looking just as guilty as a person possibly could." Lester also had acted shamefully, having outbrazened the matter to her face. When she had demanded to know whose the child was he had refused to tell her. "It isn't mine," was all he would say.

"Oh dear, oh dear!" exclaimed Mrs. Kane, who was the first to hear the story. "My son, my Lester! How could he have done it!"

"And such a creature!" exclaimed Louise emphatically, as though the words needed to be reiterated to give them any shadow of reality.

"I went there solely because I thought I could help him," continued Louise. "I thought when they said he was indisposed that he might be seriously ill. How should I have known?"

"Poor Lester!" exclaimed her mother. "To think he would come to anything like that!"

Mrs. Kane turned the difficult problem over in her mind and, having no previous experiences whereby to measure it, telephoned for old Archibald, who came out from the factory and sat through the discussion with a solemn countenance. So Lester was living openly with a woman of whom they had never heard. He would probably be as defiant and indifferent as his nature was strong. The standpoint of parental authority was impossible. Lester was a centralized authority in himself, and if any overtures for a change of conduct were to be made, they would have to be very diplomatically executed.

Archibald Kane returned to the manufactory sore and disgusted, but determined that something ought to be done. He held a consultation with Robert, who confessed that he had heard disturbing rumors from time to time, but had not wanted to say anything. Mrs. Kane suggested that Robert might go to Chicago and have a talk with Lester.

"He ought to see that this thing, if continued, is going to do him irreparable damage," said Mr. Kane. "He cannot hope to carry it off successfully. Nobody can. He ought to marry her or he ought to quit. I want you to tell him that for me."

"All well and good," said Robert, "but who's going to convince him? I'm sure I don't want the job."

"I hope to," said old Archibald, "eventually; but you'd better go up and try, anyhow. It can't do any harm. He might come to his senses."

"I don't believe it," replied Robert. "He's a strong man. You see how much good talk does down here. Still, I'll go if it will relieve your feelings any. Mother wants it."

"Yes, yes," said his father distractedly, "better go."

Accordingly Robert went. Without allowing himself to anticipate any particular measure of success in this adventure, he rode pleasantly into Chicago confident in the reflection that he had all the powers of morality and justice on his side.

Upon Robert's arrival, the third morning after Louise's interview, he called up the warerooms, but Lester was not there. He then telephoned to the house, and tactfully made an appointment. Lester was still indisposed, but he preferred to come down to the office, and he did. He met Robert in his cheerful, nonchalant way, and together they talked business for a time. Then followed a pregnant silence.

"Well, I suppose you know what brought me up here," began Robert tentatively.

"I think I could make a guess at it," Lester replied.

"They were all very much worried over the fact that you were sick – mother particularly. You're not in any danger of having a relapse, are you?"

"I think not."

"Louise said there was some sort of a peculiar ménage she ran into up here. You're not married, are you?"

"No."

"The young woman Louise saw is just – " Robert waved his hand expressively.

Lester nodded.

"I don't want to be inquisitive, Lester. I didn't come up for that. I'm simply here because the family felt that I ought to come. Mother was so very much distressed that I couldn't do less than see you for her sake" – he paused, and Lester, touched by the fairness and respect of his attitude, felt that mere courtesy at least made some explanation due.

"I don't know that anything I can say will help matters much," he replied thoughtfully. "There's really nothing to be said. I have the woman and the family has its objections. The chief difficulty about the thing seems to be the bad luck in being found out."

He stopped, and Robert turned over the substance of this worldly reasoning in his mind. Lester was very calm about it. He seemed, as usual, to be most convincingly sane.

"You're not contemplating marrying her, are you?" queried Robert hesitatingly.

"I hadn't come to that," answered Lester coolly.

They looked at each other quietly for a moment, and then Robert turned his glance to the distant scene of the city.

"It's useless to ask whether you are seriously in love with her, I suppose," ventured Robert.

"I don't know whether I'd be able to discuss that divine afflatus with you or not," returned Lester, with a touch of grim humor. "I have never experienced the sensation myself. All I know is that the lady is very pleasing to me."

"Well, it's all a question of your own well-being and the family's, Lester," went on Robert, after another pause. "Morality doesn't seem to figure in it anyway – at least you and I can't discuss that together. Your feelings on that score naturally relate to you alone. But the matter of your own personal welfare seems to me to be substantial enough ground to base a plea on. The family's feelings and pride are also fairly important. Father's the kind of a man who sets more store by the honor of his family than most men. You know that as well as I do, of course."

"I know how father feels about it," returned Lester. "The whole business is as clear to me as it is to any of you, though off-hand I don't see just what's to be done about it. These matters aren't always of a day's growth, and they can't be settled in a day. The girl's here. To a certain extent I'm responsible that she is here. While I'm not willing to go into details, there's always more in these affairs than appears on the court calendar."

"Of course I don't know what your relations with her have been," returned Robert, "and I'm not curious to know, but it does look like a bit of injustice all around, don't you think – unless you intend to marry her?" This last was put forth as a feeler.

"I might be willing to agree to that, too," was Lester's baffling reply, "if anything were to be gained by it. The point is, the woman is here, and the family is in possession of the fact. Now if there is anything to be done I have to do it. There isn't anybody else who can act for me in this matter."

Lester lapsed into a silence, and Robert rose and paced the floor, coming back after a time to say: "You say you haven't any idea of marrying her – or rather you haven't come to it. I wouldn't, Lester. It seems to me you would be making the mistake of your life, from every point of view. I don't want to orate, but a man of your position has so much to lose; you can't afford to do it. Aside from family considerations, you have too much at stake. You'd be simply throwing your life away – "

He paused, with his right hand held out before him, as was customary when he was deeply in earnest, and Lester felt the candor and simplicity of this appeal. Robert was not criticizing him now. He was making an appeal to him, and this was somewhat different.

The appeal passed without comment, however, and then Robert began on a new tack, this time picturing old Archibald's fondness for Lester and the hope he had always entertained that he would marry some well-to-do Cincinnati girl, Catholic, if agreeable to him, but at least worthy of his station. And Mrs. Kane felt the same way; surely Lester must realize that.

"I know just how all of them feel about it," Lester interrupted at last, "but I don't see that anything's to be done right now."

"You mean that you don't think it would be policy for you to give her up just at present?"

"I mean that she's been exceptionally good to me, and that I'm morally under obligations to do the best I can by her. What that may be, I can't tell."

"To live with her?" inquired Robert coolly.

"Certainly not to turn her out bag and baggage if she has been accustomed to live with me," replied Lester.

Robert sat down again, as if he considered his recent appeal futile.

"Can't family reasons persuade you to make some amicable arrangements with her and let her go?"

"Not without due consideration of the matter; no."

"You don't think you could hold out some hope that the thing will end quickly – something that would give me a reasonable excuse for softening down the pain of it to the family?"

"I would be perfectly willing to do anything which would take away the edge of this thing for the family, but the truth's the truth, and I can't see any room for equivocation between you and me. As I've said before, these relationships are involved with things which make it impossible to discuss them – unfair to me, unfair to the woman. No one can see how they are to be handled, except the people that are in them, and even they can't always see. I'd be a damned dog to stand up here and give you my word to do anything except the best I can."

Lester stopped, and now Robert rose and paced the floor again, only to come back after a time and say, "You don't think there's anything to be done just at present?"

"Not at present."

"Very well, then, I expect I might as well be going. I don't know that there's anything else we can talk about."

"Won't you stay and take lunch with me? I think I might manage to get down to the hotel if you'll stay."

"No, thank you," answered Robert. "I believe I can make that one o'clock train for Cincinnati. I'll try, anyhow."

They stood before each other now, Lester pale and rather flaccid, Robert clear, wax-like, well-knit, and shrewd, and one could see the difference time had already made. Robert was the clean, decisive man, Lester the man of doubts. Robert was the spirit of business energy and integrity embodied, Lester the spirit of commercial self-sufficiency, looking at life with an uncertain eye. Together they made a striking picture, which was none the less powerful for the thoughts that were now running through their minds.

"Well," said the older brother, after a time, "I don't suppose there is anything more I can say. I had hoped to make you feel just as we do about this thing, but of course you are your own best judge of this. If you don't see it now, nothing I could say would make you. It strikes me as a very bad move on your part though."

Lester listened. He said nothing, but his face expressed an unchanged purpose.

Robert turned for his hat, and they walked to the office door together.

"I'll put the best face I can on it," said Robert, and walked out.

CHAPTER XXXIV

In this world of ours the activities of animal life seem to be limited to a plane or circle, as if that were an inherent necessity to the creatures of a planet which is perforce compelled to swing about the sun. A fish, for instance, may not pass out of the circle of the seas without courting annihilation; a bird may not enter the domain of the fishes without paying for it dearly. From the parasites of the flowers to the monsters of the jungle and the deep we see clearly the circumscribed nature of their movements – the emphatic manner in which life has limited them to a sphere; and we are content to note the ludicrous and invariably fatal results which attend any effort on their part to depart from their environment.