In high places / by Dolores Bacon

Front matter

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Contents

CHAPTER PAGE

I. The Second Fiddle and Some Others . . 3

II. How Low-life Wagged That Day . . 40

Chapter I

I T WAS ten minutes past five o'clock, on Christmas Eve, when Johann Loscher took his hat from the table, preparatory to going to the thirty-five-cent table d’hdte where he and Christopher played — under limitations of the musical union — for a part of their daily bread. The union was a sore trial to Christopher, and he always spelled it large.

“When I am weary and would wish to blay offer time to rest me at der table d’hote, they tell me the union will loose me mein job. Der music must be blayed by der yard alreatty — schon! — yet, I like America.”

But then Christopher liked all things well except the union; and one time he had found excuse for it:

“It makes der lazy folks blay, if it makes der blayful folks lazy.”

Now Christopher turned the gas low in the two rooms while Loscher stood waiting, and wound the woollen muffler about his neck and turned up the collar of his greatcoat. After tucking the fiddle beneath his arm more snugly, and laying both hands upon it, he looked about the room to see if all was as it should be. The lapdog, lately brightened and waiting to be curled, was too far from the fire, and Christopher moved its basket to the hearth; then the two men went out, locking the door behind them. They walked across town from Second Avenue and took the elevated train at Houston Street; then, ten minutes later, within a little room off the kitchen of a cheap, half-uptown table d’hote, the men unwound themselves and their fiddles and sat a-tuning, all absorbed and alone,

Christopher liked to be the first to come and the last to go: he loved his violin and the music and the people who ate at the table d’hote. Besides, the longer he absented himself from the two rooms which were home to him and his friend Loscher, the more pleasure he had in his return. Hence, protracted absences were one of his perverse ways of pampering himself.

When the Germans entered the restaurant, it seemed more luminous to Christopher than ever, although the place found favour with him under all circumstances; his interests lay there, and by some trick of the mind he had long since made even the grease-spots on the floor his own; and what was more, he valued them.

The four, painful, evergreen wreaths there, meaning Christmas and extra cheer, made his responsive soul elate. On the north side of the room, near to the screen that stood between the diners and chaos, were three additional gas jets, lighted. These gas jets were not generally used for illuminative purposes: the waiters slung limp towels over them — towels with which they sopped up things.

Christopher smiled; and as he smiled his soft eyes narrowed. He leaned his head caressingly to the left and fiddled a festive impromptu. Then while still in action, he kicked a chair to one side to make room for the First Violin who came from that chaos which lay behind the screen. He was wiping the Hofbrau from a fierce whisker. Christopher was not even First Violin;

the First Violin was also director. Christopher envied him that superior position, not because of the difference in salary, not for its glory, but because he would be in a way to take such mild liberties with the schedule and the score as his varying moods should urge.

For the young man who was addicted to the third table from the door, left of the cashier’s desk, and whose habit it was to beautify his finger-nails with the toothpicks that occupied an eviscerated “safety-match” box near the wall — for him, Christopher could wish to add certain accidentals in the sharp line ; certain demi-semiquavers which should so properly correspond to the curl upon the fastidious young man’s forehead.

For the absorbed, intent woman in the comer, who always sat long over a tiny glass of kirsch when all was over but the going home, and whose musicianly fingers involuntarily performed on the middle of the tablecloth between the courses — for her he would have worried counterpoint a little. And had he been First Violin instead of Second Fiddle, Christopher, without regard to the union, would have played overtime for the tired, silent girl in the shabby black gown, who ate far back, near to chaos and to him, and who stayed till almost all were gone, watching him wistfully while trying to rest for an hour from that which wearied her. For her, Christopher would have played 44 Two Roses ” and maybe Schumann’s 44 Abendlied.” And as the diners assembled slowly, Christopher had to restrain himself with much effort lest he call out to each guest as he came: 44 Merry Christmas.” He hoped that the First Violin would think it germane as well as German to play 44 Die Wacht am Rhein” before they should play 44 Home, Sweet Home” at ten o’clock; the orchestra played an hour later on such a night as this.

The German family who kept the delicatessen store over on Third Avenue, and who always came en jamille on fete days, arrived — six sharp — and nodded joyously, ad libitum ; and they ate clear through to the bitter end of the table d’hdte, by which is implied Newark cheese “de Brie.”

Christopher nodded violently as the family convened, and his eyes narrowed till they became mere jovial slits, as he smiled and smiled unrestrainedly upon four little delicatessens with matched hair in “plats.” Technically, their coiffure was known as “Louisa braids” — and Christopher elided the o and otherwise gave the words a French turn, thus: “L'uisa praids.”

He twinkled meaningly upon the grown-ups, and once between “After the Ball” and “Elsa’s Dream,” he shook hands with himself under cover of the dirty-dishes tray which stood upon some folding spindle legs just at his right upper comer. All night he was happy and tender of heart, and when the waiter with the squint dropped a tray full of glasses, Christopher was near to tears with joy, since it enabled him to wink violently and otherwise distort his fine features and make queer motions till the distracted man came to his side; whereupon Christopher was able to pay the squint-eyed fellow twice the price of the glasses, 'neath the friendly shelter of the dirty-dishes tray.

Oh dirty-dishes tray! Thou wert glorified by the deeds done ’neath thy sweating malodorous surface in the name of Universal Love and the Second Fiddle.

But now came a pause in the affairs of the table d’hdte. The proprietor served gratis on such gala nights as these, a charged mixture of feeble colour which resembled in the bottle a beautiful dry champagne. It was beautiful to the eye — and to the ear when the cork popped; and on such occasions as Christmas Eve, when the mind was distracted by anticipation and supererogation, it could be drunk.

The vivacious young man, third table from the entrance, poised his glass high with brave abandon and the manner of a connoisseur so suited to his child-of-theribbon-counter air. The bottle with its gold-foil top could not better have served its purpose with the tired and wistful girl back by the wet-towel gas jets had it held champagne pure and simple instead of gas, water and other things, so impure and complex. She watched with simple interest the waiter’s preparations as he anticipated the struggle with the cork by throttling the bottle with a damp napkin.

And now the orchestra became silent, the four small delicatessens quivered from “L’uisa praids” to the hems of their red-barred blue and green frocks, and the intent girl who was abstractedly playing a concerto in the middle of the table missed a bar while her eyes were fixed with deep regard upon the operation that was taking place in the middle of the dining room. Presently the waiter applied the corkscrew — and then the intent girl turned her face away: the unities must be preserved if her attention was to be engaged; she had seen real champagne opened (for other people) and she knew there was no affiliation between the real champagne bottles and corkscrews.

Presently it was done, and the sparkles more or less escaped into the damp napkin and down the trousers of the incautious waiter. His trousers, could they have been analysed, would have proved to be the very pousse caj6 of breeches, and simultaneously with the charging of the glasses, the warm proprietor of the restaurant appeared from the screened-off chaos, with his own glass held high, and a five-dollar-a-bottle countenance.

The scene was too inspiriting, too full of the champagne of human kindness for self-repression ; and Christopher felt tears of happiness and festivity gather in his gentle eyes, while all unconsciously he fingered his violin, and the spirit of “Die Wacht am Rhein” trembled upon the strings. At that instant a man opened the outer door and stood just within, filling the picture, as his brilliant eyes met Christopher's. It was enough I The smoulder of good cheer and human passion became a conflagration, and every voice took up the regnant measure while the orchestra swelled and swelled with joy and rhythm till finally it gave up its emotion in the splendid resonance of German voices:

Drayton stood a moment, the door partly open behind him, the fresh, cold winter air rushing in to greet the robust harmonies. Christopher had leaped to his feet when the man appeared, and stood with a look of invitation upon his face. Drayton gently closed the door and made his way to a vacant table.

11 Zum Rhein, zum Rhein, sum Deutschen Rhein t” Christopher sang, while Drayton nodded at Johann Loscher, who regarded everything with a gracious and sentimental smile. When he sat down, he reached over and shook hands with Christopher. He sat unconsciously near to the tired girl who always found the place nearest to Christopher's great shoulder. Drayton ordered something and sat looking about him, mostly with a steady, contemplative expression, hardly dwelling longer upon one face than upon another. When he looked at the German, the gleam of fellowship invariably softened his face. He sat and smoked, his hands clasped upon the table, and the tired girl just before him. Drayton had been here many times before though never on a Christmas Eve. He had seen the girl before, but was unimpressed. Presently, in an intermission, Christopher leaned toward Johann.

“Johann, is der Fr&ulein looking so sad to-night, nein f" His tone was full of anxiety and caressing. Johann had almost continually regarded the object of Christopher's solicitude since she had taken her place at the table. She had given him something by way of glance that had distinctly implied a greeting; but there had been no nod of the head; no real salutation of any sort had passed between them that could have been apparent to the disinterested, least of all could the friendly passage have been noted by Christopher, whose thoughtfulness was so impersonal.

“ I think she is not happy, but if she is more unhappy ass yesterday, it is because it is Christmastime and gay, while her feelings are in more contrast already. <

“I would like to know what she does do; nein /" he added quickly, as Johann looked at him with some surprise and interrogation. “I would not learn der Fraulein's secrets, but only to serf her. If she is poor maybe, and she sews der trowsers or neckties, fellows like us would need so many ass, to make her lifting: we men eat too much and such little Madchens not enough."

“She teaches German to American children," Johann offered, laconically.

“Ach! Where did you know that?"

Johann shook his head and shrugged his shoulders and returned to his fiddle, welcoming at that juncture an orchestral demand. Christopher hugged his instrument under his chin and thought of the young girl. He

IO interpreted Johann’s action as LOscher had meant him to: as forgetfulness, indifference, irresponsibility.

“Then,” said Christopher to himself, “sometimes her pupils die or go away or get sick, and that is why she cannot eat always much.” The reason for this thought lay in an action of Christopher’s that dated a month back — a secret, tender action, all devoid of selfish purpose. One night a month before this, Kranich, the proprietor, had said to him upon seeing the lonely girl leaving the place:

“She will not come at all after a while; she gets poorer all of the time. She cannot take the twenty-cent breakfast like she used to. She orders coffee for five cents. She no longer comes for luncheon, or takes the regular dinner.” After thinking of this for a night, Christopher had said to Kranich:

“Serf der Fraulein der whole breakfast and tell her she must come for lunch. Tell her that when peoples haff come to your blace — how long is it she hass come, Kranich?”

“Seven months.”

“When beople haff come to your blace for seffen months, you always serf der two meals for nothing.”

“But the girl will know better, Brun,” Kranich had answered.

“Der Fraulein hass no sense. She will belief what effer you tell her if you tell her right. I will pay by der week. Von week now.” After a hasty computation, he had passed the money to Kranich on the spot.

“Hey — and Kranich! You say noddings to nobody,” he had added, and Kranich had winked. Christopher had not found it necessary to report this happening to Johann. Later Kranich had mentioned to Christopher:

“It was as you said: the girl don’t know nothing —

THE SECOND FIDDLE AND SOME OTHERS n not anything. Not a blamed thing except the German language. She eats all her appetite allows and that isn’t much.”

The fragile form, the girl’s soft, appealing eye and occasional gentle smile as she sat in the place looking about her like one wholly apart, had grown into Christopher’s heart till of late the thought of her had been with him sleeping or waking. His affection prompted a fine tactfulness which made him disguise his feeling, to keep it from his glance, to look at her quite unobtrusively, to speak of her never — not even to Johann, To-night was the first time she had been mentioned between them, but their few words revealed that neither had been ignorant of her existence.

While Christopher played, he regarded the wistful girl slantwise across his massive shoulder, and he felt pleased to have Drayton sitting so near to her: his was a grave, refining presence, fairly illuminating the common dingy place.

After a time the glimmer of a smile crept into the girl’s face, and Christopher at once responded with a broad, welcoming expression and involuntarily nodded at her in quiet recognition of their good understanding and her mild confidence. Christopher seemed to choke with a great swelling of the heart. His touch upon the strings became more pathetic; because, even to a soul like his — ever young, ever gay, his smiles and tears crossing — seven nights in the week of music chosen to suit the diners in a place like this, played by men whose inspiration brought them no more than seven dollars a week, must reduce to mediocrity the veriest genius that ever lived.

All had passed in a moment. Neither the wistful girl nor Christopher were conscious of any unusual or notable i 2

passage between them. The moment but served to crystallise in Christopher an honest, protective love for the young woman: a love that had taken its place within his heart so quietly, so naturally, so irrevocably, that he had been conscious only of a genial warmth which now became a fervent glow. He glanced at Johann, whose melancholy eyes, too, had grown peculiarly brilliant and eloquent.

“ Ach ! How mein Johann feels the beautiful night,” Christopher thought. And then with his eyes upon the girl, whose pathos of expression seemed to-night to be emphasised, his fingers once more went the way of his emotions, and again the shadow of the Fatherland trembled upon the strings:

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M he merely breathed. But to-night was a time of emotional jugglery, and the schedule was forgot and the peculiar accord of hearts spoke harmoniously from the instruments. The First Violin played an instant with the theme, then Christopher fell into place, while Johann and the Bass Viol picked it up: Drayton turned his head suddenly sidewise, his eyes half closed, and for a moment knives and forks rested and the omnibus paused with his arms piled high with fragmentary messes that had served their turn and had now become history. A waiter with the coffee became inactive altogether and permitted the dozen of demi t asses to cool, while his heart grew warm.

While Christopher’s eyes were upon his bow, a sudden unrepressed sob caused him to thrill painfully from top to toe. He turned too quickly to see Johann’s eager movement — only to see the girl leave her chair and go hastily out.

Drayton’s eyes also sympathetically followed her. Then he looked at Johann and Christopher and observed in each what neither had surprised as yet in the other.

44 Heimweh ! ” said Drayton aside to Christopher, but he looked with unintentional meaning into the younger man’s face, Johann blushed as easily as a girl. Christopher nodded.

44 1 haff hurt her with der tune,” he said.

The night was no longer brilliant to Christopher, but it seemed to him as if a subtle, beautiful strain had crept in. He followed the pathetic figure to her home — some meagre place that shone in the light of her soft beauty ; in the light of Christopher’s imagination. And then in his far wandering thoughts, the Second Fiddle placed his hand gently upon the brown hair: he had loved brown hair in his earliest youth, in that tragic past to which he frequently alluded ; and he watched her confiding smile return and rest upon her face as it had done but a moment ago.

For another hour the table d’hbte laughed and sang and spoke German, Second Avenue, Fourteenth Street and a little unpopular French ; but those who spoke the latter dropped a word now and then, and all of the time an accent, that showed their affinity with Alsace, and all went merry as a marriage bell. An hour later the gas jets on the north side were reduced to their normal terms and once again became the festooning place for begravied towels. Then, at that moment, when 44 lights were fled and garlands dead,” and that dingy banquet hall deserted, the two fiddler friends and Drayton stood together upon the pavement.

They moved off together, Drayton’s arm linked in Christopher's, while the younger man walked beside them in full sympathy but with his thoughts seemingly abstracted.

“Is not der whole vorlt happy, mein friend?’' Christopher asked of Drayton, more German in his speech at one time than another. A strange look came into Drayton’s face and he did not reply. “ Let us spend our money,” Christopher called over his shoulder to Johann, who had fallen a little behind. Johann nodded.

“Good,” Drayton responded. “How do we do it?”

“There!” Christopher answered, as a girl approached with cheeks too red, eyes too bright and clothing too gay for clothing that probably covered an empty stomach; and he dropped some money into her hand while she called back at him something admiring if ribald.

“ Ach! It is so sad,” the German murmured.

“I suppose so,” Drayton answered; “but I could never feel a sentimentality about the situation that perhaps I should feel.” He spoke reflectively, but still with a touch of indifference in his tone. “I think the human beings who most appeal to me are the aged and little children ; just as youth seems most to appeal to the artist. I begin earlier: with the little children. Childhood is very helpless, and so is old age. Little children have a right to all that is protective and good and beautiful: infancy has as yet committed no fault, forfeited nothing, and its desires are pure. Age has earned the right to live and die in peace. Almost the worst man or woman in the world has sacrificed something for somebody, and thereby has earned a reward. Men and women live to be old by much suffering^ disappointment and self-sacrifice, and in turn become helpless like little children, and ‘all’s spent, naught’s had’ — mostly. It is pitiful. But youth, now! it travels hand in hand with hope, however mean the conditions of its life may be.

If youth starves to-day, yet it has a certain amount of confidence in to-morrow; it is a perquisite of youth — this habit of hope. While there is hope, there is more than life — Why — ” Drayton paused a moment and stood still. “ Why — even I hope.” Christopher looked at him narrowly and then at Johann, and they moved on.

“But the children — especially the children — ” Drayton continued, as if thinking aloud.

“/a. I think so too,” said Christopher briskly, all the while curiously regarding Drayton. “I know what we shall do; we shall go to der Settlement alreatty, where der ladies half der knowledge of many little children. Dose little kind you like ; und der ladies haff der wisdom und der loff ”

“Yes,” Drayton answered, “and if we can give at first hand ”

“Oh, just keep your eyes open, mein friend, und you will haff a chance to giff at first hand mit both hands,” Christopher continued cheerily, determined by tone and manner to raise the mood of melancholy which he perceived in Drayton. “Now if you would come many times more as you do, and liffed not so far as Twenty-third Street — maybe — ” he paused the fraction of a moment, not long enough to appear inquisitive, yet giving Drayton an opportunity to name his geographical place.

“I would like to come oftener; but I, too, am a hard worker even at night, and I seldom have a chance to be — to be with real friends like this.” He spoke very simply, evading Christopher’s half inquiry.

Presently the companions turned a comer into a badly lighted street toward the river, and halted at sight of a woman who stood under a gas lamp with another who was half drunk and querulous i6

“That is der Fraulein Merideth!” Christopher exclaimed. Drayton looked at the two women, so unlike, with amazement. So it was, Jean Merideth: a woman known to Drayton; in short, Drayton's secretary to whom he paid ten thousand dollars a yean Drayton thought he had rather she did not see him, although there was no especial reason why she should not. Perhaps his undefined impulse to conceal himself was due to his desire to maintain his long-enjoyed footing of equality with his German friends.

“I do not like to see der Fraulein, so schone , so fine, down in these blaces. Ach! She knows where to find der poor little children. She is der Fraulein to spend der money. It is a good Christmas, to giff der money to her alreatty — ” and Christopher would have gone ahead.

“Here," said Drayton hastily, “I won't go! you know her'' — and his inflection might have been interpreted to mean that he did not. “You give her this for my share/' and in his haste and surprise he shoved a roll of bills into Christopher’s hand, which revealed of himself more than he wished. The German stood a moment looking at the money and at Drayton, then he said simply, with some new understanding of his friend struggling in his tone:

“I will giff it, mein friend; you und Johann can walk back and I will offertake you. I will giff for you, too, Johann." And he emerged from the gloom of their standing place, and walked toward Jean Merideth, while Drayton and Johann Loscher slowly moved back to the corner, where they stood waiting. When the men were again united, silence and a slight unwonted reserve seemed to fall upon them. This was a moment which Drayton had ever contrived should never come. He

THE SECOND FIDDLE AND SOME OTHERS i 7 feared to have his refuge, his alternative to a hard, hurried, arid life suddenly denied him. He was troubled lest these good friends, so full of confidence in him and in human nature, should treat him with reserve, instead of that simplicity which had made him one of them. While wondering what he should do to relieve the situation, Christopher said:

44 Come home with Johann und me, mein friend; it is Christmas Eve und we will haff some beer und be jolly. " And he linked his arm in Drayton's. The prompt speech of the German had left Drayton no room to hesitate, or to doubt their future relations.

44 If I may," he said, "and I am interested in the Miss Merideth we saw." All three of the men were now feeling their way very cautiously. Drayton was determined not to lie to them, and yet he did not wish to discuss that self known to his familiar world, and all the while he was peculiarly pushed to know what his secretary did in her unaccustomed surroundings. In turn, Christopher feared to disturb that camaraderie which he, Johann and Drayton had so often enjoyed in the past year.

44 1 will tell you," he said. "That Mees Merideth she is der beautiful woman with such money that she makes der sick well und der well happy. She is in der Settlement all of der time when she is not some blace else alreatty, jal She is one lofely, beautiful woman, mit der voice down deep in her chest, like der cello."

Drayton listened with surprise. Then Jean Merideth, his secretary, was beautiful, and she had a beautiful voice — down deep in her chest, like a cello — and was regarded holily by the poor and lowly, and by such true men as these. Drayton grew thoughtful. Jean Merideth had sat in his office nearly every day, close by his i8 side, for ten years. Now that he recalled her as she had stood with the drunken woman beneath the gas lamp, he recalled that she was beautiful. He had never seen her out of office conditions before. He knew that she was as responsible as Christopher’s words had implied, but then she was his secretary: why else had he employed her for ten years, from girlhood to womanhood, if she were not responsible! To Drayton it was an extreme discovery: that Jean Merideth should be beautiful! He was not very certain that this was so, even now that he had noticed her and had heard that others thought her so. On the whole, Drayton doubted her beauty. There was Rosalie, Drayton’s wife. Now she was beautiful, beautiful 1 and simultaneously with this uxorious thought Jean Merideth slipped his mind. The three men were walking along in silence, none of them thinking to take a car and none of them feeling conversational. Each man had fallen to think of the woman he most loved. In the case of the two Germans, the woman was identical. In Drayton’s case the woman was his wife. Unconsciously, the friends had locked arms, Drayton’s tall, steel-spring figure between the others, and Christopher walking on the outside. As they stepped along, the rhythm of their steps upon the pavement seemed to Drayton to measure itself by the word “Rosalie,” but to the other men it spoke “Aline”: for by some process both men were in possession of the name borne by the girl of the table d’hbte. Aline, Rosalie! Women as far apart as the poles! Yet whose lives were to touch most tragically.

“Rosalie! The name, the sweetest, dearest name to me. Rosalie! Sweetheart Rosalie, wife Rosalie! Nothing wrong in the repetition of that name,” Drayton thought whimsically. “The typewriter’s name is

Minnie; Wolfschon's wife's is Rebecca — and the secretary’s is" — Drayton's thoughts halted a moment — “is Jean. Jean is a sort of hard name," Drayton thought — “It is sort of restful, too," Drayton thought again. “Rosalie! That is the sweetest name — Wolfschon's wife’s name is Rebecca — a damned good wife and mother, by the way — but God! To be Wolfschon — wouldn’t it be just hell! I don't believe Wolfschon cares. It’s all right for Wolfschon. The way he cleaned up that U. P. deal was magnificent and racial. Wolfschon! Wolfschon!" Drayton's steps now clicked off. “I wonder what she is doing — Rosalie! I wonder what Rosalie is doing. Christmas Eve, and I down here — trying to think of something else, and she up there somewhere — eating something, I guess, while some man — Bennington, I guess — holds the plate; and she’s making Bennington feel like thirty cents. I want my wife." As he thought, he suddenly looked up. He had almost said that aloud.

“Friend Christopher, did you ever know a man who wanted his wife, I mean his own lawfully wedded wife? I know fifty men who want some other man's wife, but one who wants his own — did you ever know such a man?"