Chapter 15
Book 2, Chapter 2, Sections 5-6 of Bread. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Read by Wild Shimmering Path. Bread by Charles G. Norris. Book 2, Chapter 2, Sections 5-6.
It was evident Martin Devlin proposed to be a factor in her life. When he came to the office to see Mr. Kipps or Miss Holland about the engraving, and the work brought him, or he pretended it brought him two or three times a week, he never failed to step to Jeanette's door, open it, and give her the benefit of his flashing teeth and handsome eyes, as he wished her good day or asked her how she was. He did not intrude further.
His visits were only for a minute or two. Only once, when she was looking for a letter in the filing cabinet, he came in and lingered for a chat. He saw she was not typing, therefore ready to talk to him, since he was not interrupting her. When she went to lunch with Beatrice Alexander a week or two later at Wanamaker's, he joined the two girls by the elevators as they were leaving the lunchroom, pretending, Jeanette noticed, with a great air of surprise, that the meeting was
merely a fortuitous circumstance. The subway had a few days before begun to operate. Jeanette had never ridden upon it, so Martin piloted her down the stone steps, boarded the train, and rode with her until they reached 34th Street. Beatrice Alexander had said goodbye as they left Wanamakers. Devlin had a confident, self-assured way with him. It could not be said he swaggered, but the word suggested him. He was easy, good-natured, laughing, cajoling, irresistibly merry. His good
humor was contagious. Men smiled back at him. Women looked at him twice. To the subway guard, to the sour-faced little Jew at the newsstand, to the burly cop with whom they collided as they climbed the stairs to the street, he was familiar, patronizing, jocular. He called the Italian subway guard Garibaldi, the Jewish newsleader Isaac, the burly policeman, sergeant. One glance at him and each was one. It was impossible to resent his familiarity. Everybody liked him. He could say
the most outrageous things and give no offense. It was that Irish charm of his, Jeanette decided, back once more at her desk and clicking away at her machine that made people so lenient with him. She began to speculate about him a good deal. It was clear he was in hot pursuit of her and that he intended to give her no peace. He commenced to bring little boxes of candy, which he slid on to her desk with a long arm when he opened her office door to say, Hello! Then flowers put in
their appearance, sweet bunches of violets, swathed in oiled paper, their stems wrapped in purple tinfoil, the fragrant ball glistening with brilliant drops of water. There were bunches of baby roses, too, and lilies of the valley, and daffodils. One day she happened to mention she had never read The Taming of the Shrew, and the following morning there was delivered at her home a complete set of the Temple edition of Shakespeare's plays. She protested. She threatened
to throw the flowers out of the window. She begged him with her most earnest smile not to send her anything more. She was talking into deaf ears. The very next day she found on her desk two seats for a Saturday matinee, with a note scribbled on the envelope. For you and your mother next Saturday. Have a good time and think of Martin. In deep distress she told her mother about him, but Mrs. Sturgis shared none of her concern.
Well, perhaps the young man is trying to be friends with you in the only way he knows how. I wouldn't be too hasty with him, dearie. You say he's with an engraving company? Is that a good line of work? Does he seem well off? Plenty of money and all that? Oh, mama, cried Jeanette in mild annoyance. There's no harm, my dear, in a nice, rich, young fellow admiring a pretty girl like my daughter. If the young man's well brought up and means what's perfectly right and proper,
I don't see what you can object to. You've got to marry one of these days, lovey. You must remember that. There isn't any sense in tying yourself down to a desk for the rest of your life. You've got to think about a husband. Well, I don't want him. Perhaps not. I'm not saying anything about him. But there's plenty of nice young men in the world and you mustn't shut your eyes to them. A girl should marry and have a good home of her own. That's what God intended. Dr.
Fitzgibbons was saying exactly that same thing to me only yesterday. Now this Mr. Devlin, it's an Irish name, isn't it? Oh, hush, for goodness sakes, Mama. Don't let's talk any more about him. What did Alice have to say today? She's really gaining very rapidly now, Miss Sturgis said, instantly diverted. She says she's going to let that woman go. She comes every day and does all the dishes and cleans up and it only costs Alice three dollars a week. Why, she's crazy, cried
Jeanette. She isn't half strong enough to do her own work yet. You tell her I'll pay the three dollars till she's all right again. I can't imagine what Roy Beardsley's thinking about. Martin Devlin begged her to allow him to take her mother and herself to dinner and perhaps we'll have to drop in at a show afterwards, he added. Jeanette declined. She had no wish to become on more intimate terms with him, but he would not take no for an answer. He persisted. She grew
angry. He persisted just the same. She considered going to Mr. Corey and informing him that this representative of the Gibbs engraving company was annoying her, and yet it hardly seemed the thing to do. She spoke of it again to her mother, and Mrs. Sturgis at once was in a flutter of excitement at the prospect of a dinner downtown. But why not, dearie? she argued. I could wear my lavender of velvet, and you've got your new taffeta. I'd like to meet the young man. After all,
there were thousands of girls, reflected Jeanette, who were accepting anything and everything from men, wheedling gifts out of them, sometimes even taking their money. Her mother would get much pleasure out of the event. When Devlin urged his invitation again, she drew a long breath and consented. There seemed no reason why she should not accept. There was nothing wrong with him. She liked him. He was agreeable and devoted. Her mother would be delighted. He called for them
on the night of the party in a taxi. It was an unexpected luxury. He won Mrs. Sturgis at once. Why, he was perfectly charming and delightful young man. What in the world was Jeanette thinking about? She laughed violently at everything he said, rocking back and forth on the hard leather seat in the stuffy interior of the cab, convulsed with mirth, her round little cheeks shaking. He was the most comical young man she'd ever known.
The taxi took them to a brilliant restaurant, gay with lights, music, and hilarity. Jeanette's blue high-necked taffeta and her mother's lavender velvet were sober costumes amidst the vivid apparel and low-cut toilettes of the women. But the girl was aware that no matter what her dress might be, she herself was beautiful. She saw the turning heads and the eyes that trailed her as the little group followed the head waiter to their table. The table had been reserved, the dinner order.
Cocktails appeared, and she sipped the first she had ever tasted. Her mother was in gay spirits and preened herself in these surroundings like a bird. Devlin seemed to know how to do everything. He was startlingly handsome in his evening clothes. The white expanse of shirt was immaculate.
There were two tiny gold studs in front and a black bow tie, tied very snugly at the opening of his collar. It was no more than conventional semi-formal evening dress, and yet somehow it impressed Jeanette as magnificent. She had never noticed how becoming the costume was to a man before. She realized as she glanced at him he was the first young man she had ever known who had taken
her out in the evening and wore an evening dress. Roy had been too poor. The tuxedo he had had at college was shabby. She had never seen him wear it. She studied Devlin now, critically. His hair was coal black, coarse, a trifle wavy, he wet it when he combed it, and it caught a highlight now and then. His eyebrows were heavy and bushy like his hair, the eyes themselves deep-set, but alive with twinkles and laughter. They were expressive eyes, she thought, capable of subtlest meanings.
His nose was straight, his mouth large and red, and his big even teeth glistened between the vivid lips with the glitter of fine wet porcelain. He had an oval-shaped face and vigorous pointed chin. His skin was unblemished, but the jaw, chin, and cheeks were dark blue from his close-shaven beard. It was his expression, she decided, more than the regularity of his features, that made him so handsome. In his evening dress he was extraordinarily good-looking.
She judged him to be twenty-six or seven. The dinner progressed smoothly. Devlin had evidently taken pains in ordering it, and he gave a pleased smile when Mrs. Sturgis waxed enthusiastic over some particular feature, and Jeanette echoed her praise. There was, as a matter of fact, nothing spectacular about it. Oysters, chicken sauté sec, a specialty of the restaurant, a vegetable or two, salad with a red sauce. Mrs. Sturgis thought it most curious
and pronounced it delicious, an ice. To his guests, it seemed the most wonderful dinner they had ever eaten, the girl was impressed, her mother flatteringly excited. It's all so good, Mrs. Sturgis kept repeating as if she had made a surprising discovery. Devlin called for the check, glanced at it, dropped a large bill on the silver tray, and when the change was brought, amounting to two dollars in some sense, as both Jeanette and her mother noted, waved it away to
the waiter with a negligent gesture. It was lordly. It was magnificent. Jeanette loved such ways of doing things. She loved the lights and the music, the excellent food, the deferential service, the gorgeous restaurant, the beautifully gowned women. She would like to own one rich and sumptuous evening dress like theirs, and be able to wear it to such a magnificent place as this, and queen it over them all. She knew she could do it. She could dazzle the entire room.
Devlin guided his guests through the revolving glass doors to the street. The taxicab starter blew his whistle shrilly. A car rolled up, the door was held open for them to enter, and banged shut. The starter, in his gold-braided uniform and shining brass buttons, touched his cap respectfully, and the taxi rolled out into the traffic.
Jeanette thrilled to the luxuriousness and extravagance of it all. It was the same at the theater. They had aisle seats on the sixth row. the musical comedy was delightful, spectacular, magnificent, in tune with everything else that evening. After the theater, their escort insisted upon their going to a brilliant café where the
music was glorious, and where Jeanette and her mother sipped ginger ale and Devlin drank beer. Mrs. Sturgis commented half a dozen times upon the peel of a lemon deftly cut into corkscrew shape and twisted into her glass, which gave the ginger ale quite a delightful flavor. It was Devlin's idea. She had heard him suggest it to the waiter. He was a very remarkable young man. Very. They were swept home in another taxi cab, and he refused to let them thank him for the glorious evening.
He hinted he would like to call and perhaps be asked to dinner, but of course that was not to be thought of. A grand person like him coming to one of their simple little meals, with Miss Sturgis or Jeanette jumping up to wait on the table? This would be perfectly ridiculous, but he might call sometime or perhaps go with them to a Sunday concert. He would be delighted, of course. He held his hat high above his head as he said good night and stood at the foot of the steps until they were safely inside. It had been a memorable evening.
They really had had a most wonderful time. Mr. Devlin certainly knew how to do things. Mrs. Sturgis, carefully pinning a sheet about her lavender velvet preparatory to hanging it in the closet, began planning how they could entertain him. Is he fond of music? Do you know, dearie? I think we could get seats for some Sunday afternoon concert, and then bringing him home to tea. It would be much better to ask him here than to go to any of those little tea places.
We could get some crumpets and toast them ourselves, and might buy a few little French pastries. You could see he was dying to be asked. Jeanette felt vaguely irritated. Oh, let's not rush him, Mama. Rush him? Who's talking about rushing him? I'd like to know. The young man is a very delightful, presentable gentleman. He's evidently taken a great fancy to you, and he's even been nice to your poor old mother. I declare, Janny, I can't sometimes make you out. I just was proposing
we extend him a little hospitality in return for his extremely lavish entertainment. He's been most kind and considerate, and the least we can do. Jeanette's mind wandered. It certainly would be wonderful, went her roving thoughts, to have money and dress gorgeously and go about to such magnificent restaurants and then taxi off to the theater whenever one wanted to. It would be wonderful, too, to have somebody strong and resourceful, always looking out for one's comfort
and enjoyment, paying all the bills, never bothering one about money, consulting, and gratifying one's slightest whim. She went to sleep in a haze of golden imaginings, her mother's voice in the next room planning various schemes, commenting upon Mr. Devlin's attractiveness, grew fainter and fainter, and finally dwindled silent.
