menu_book Chapter 21

Book II, Chapter V, Sections I-III of Bread. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Read by Wild Shimmering Path. Bread by Charles G. Norris. Book II, Chapter V, Sections I-III.

When Martin went on his honeymoon to Atlantic City, he had taken his annual two weeks vacation. During the hot weather of summer, therefore, he and Jeanette were obliged to remain in the sweltering city. But Jeanette did not mind the heat. Adventuring in married life was too utterly absorbing. She loved her new home, and each day found new delight in managing it.

She and her husband considered themselves deliriously happy. Nights on which they did not go to the theater, they roamed the bright upper stretches of Broadway, sauntering along Riverside Drive as far as Grant's Tomb or meandering into the park, where electric lights cast a theatrical radiance on trees and shrubbery. On Sundays they made excursions to the beaches,

and one weekend they went to Coney Island on Saturday afternoon and stayed the night at the Manhattan Beach Hotel. Jeanette long remembered the glorious planked steak they enjoyed for dinner on that occasion, sitting at a little table by the porch railing, listening to the big military band. While all about them, a gay throng chatted and laughed at other tables,

and crowds surged up and down the boardwalk as the Atlantic thundered a dull rhythmical bourdon to the stirring music of trumpet and drum. Her mother departed the 1st of August for Canada. The concert tour having been finally decided upon, without the violinist, every day or so cards arrived from Mrs. Sturgis postmarked Montreal, Quebec, Toronto.

The venture could hardly be considered a financial success, she wrote, but she and the girls were having just too wonderful a time. The Canadians were extraordinarily hospitable. Alice Roy and the baby returned from Freeport the last of September. She expected to be confined early in November. The Devlins visited them one Sunday during the last weeks of their stay on Long Island, and Jeanette wondered how her sister could be happy in such an environment.

The room the Beardsleys occupied was under the roof and during the day like an oven. Etta, Alice told her, woke up sometimes as early as five or five-thirty, and nothing would persuade the child to go to sleep again. As soon as she was awake, she began to fret, and her wails disturbed the other boarders at that hour. Either father or mother would find it necessary to get up, dress and wheeled the child out in her carriage, pushing her around and around the block until she

could be brought safely back to the house. On Sundays, when breakfast was not until nine o'clock, these hours of the early silent morning were a long, wearisome, hungry trial. Jeanette thought the food at the boarding house was markedly meager, and Alice had to admit that as the season was drawing to a close, there were evidences of retrenchment on the part of the landlady, but at first she assured her the table had been plentiful and good.

The effect of all this upon Jeanette had been a determination to order her own life along safer lines. Two or three times Alice had come up to the city during the summer to spend the night. On these occasions Roy slept at his own flat in the Bronx, as there was only a narrow couch available at the Devlins. To this Martin had been relegated, and the two sisters occupied the bed together. Alice was very large. It worried Jeanette she was once more full of apprehensions.

She made up her mind that for herself she did not want a baby for a long time, not until she and Martin were out of debt and had saved something so that she could be sure of a certain amount of comfort and care. Martin's attitude about money distressed her. He did not seem to take the matter of their finances with sufficient seriousness. He was ever urging her to engage a maid to attend to the dishwashing and clean-up after dinner. He hated kitchen work himself,

and equally hated to have his wife do it. When he finished his dinner and rose from the table, rolling a cigar about between his teeth and filling his mouth with good, strong inhalations of satisfying tobacco smoke, he felt contented, replete, ready for talk and relaxation. To have Jeanette disappear into the kitchen and begin banging around out there with pans and rattling dishes annoyed him. He could not bring himself to help her. Something in him

rebelled at such work. His wife readily understood how he felt. She sympathized with him and did not want him to help her, but she had her own aversions to letting the dishes stand overnight and having them to do after breakfast the following day. It took the best part of her morning and meant she could never get downtown until afternoon. But Martin was willing to concede nothing. He answered her arguments by reiterating his advice to get her to hire a girl. Good God, Jan, he would say

in characteristic vigorous fashion. She would cost you fifteen or twenty dollars a month, and then you could get out as early as you wanted to in the mornings, and we could have our evenings together. It was just that fifteen or twenty dollars a month which Jeanette wanted to save to pay on her bills. She had inherited a sense of frugality. It worried her to be in debt. Martin, on the other hand, was blandly indifferent.

He was willing to deny himself very little, his wife often felt, to help her contribute to the till. They had many arguments about the matter, but never reached a conclusion. Their creditors, they owed a little less than $300, were kept satisfied by a small remittance each month, but something more always had to be charged. Jeanette was baffled. She talked it over with Alice.

The Beardsleys lived more simply than the Devlins. They did not entertain nor go out to dinners so often, nor to the theater, and they paid only half as much rent. Their whole scale of expenditure was more economical. That was the answer, of course. When Jeanette told Martin they were living beyond their means, he grew angry.

Damn it, he answered her. If there is one thing I hate more than another, it's a piker. What do you want to crab about the bills for? Haven't we got everything we want? Aren't we getting along all right?

Who's kicking? Jeanette heaved a sigh of weariness. Someday before long she would have to persuade him to her way of thinking. Alice's boy was born in October and was christened Ralph Sturgis Beardsley by the Reverend Dr. Fitzgibbons, much to Mrs. Sturgis's tearful satisfaction. Alice had a comparatively easy time with the birth of her second child, but again there was an aftermath which kept her weak and anemic and necessitated an operation just before Christmas.

It was just before Christmas that Jeanette urged Martin to ask for a raise. Several circumstances encouraged her. She had learned through Miss Holland that Walt Chase was getting $85 a week. A big mail order concern out in Chicago had made him an offer, and Mr. Corey had been obliged to raise his salary in order to keep him. Martin had met John Archibald of the Archibald Engraving company, the largest color engravers in the city, and Mr. Archibald had bought Martin a drink at the

bar in the Waldorf and presented him with a cigar. Lastly, her husband had landed a new engraving account a few weeks before and had brought in considerable holiday business. Martin heeded her advice and had a talk with Herbert Gibbs, who promised to take the matter up with his brother, Joe, and seemed disposed to recommend the increase. In the wildest of spirits Martin came home, waltzed his wife around the apartment, kissed her a dozen times, told her again and again she was a

wonder, insisted she stop her preparations for dinner, and carried her off to a café downtown, where he ordered a pint of champagne and toasted her. His elation, however, was not fully justified. Martin had asked for a substantial increase and a commission on all new accounts. It was evident that in discussing the matter the brothers had decided this was too much. They agreed to give him three thousand a year on a twelve-months contract. I always detested that flat-headed pig,

Jeanette exclaimed inelegantly when Martin brought home the news. Think of how we tried to entertain him and that stupid wife of his, and how we went down to visit them and let them bore us to death. I knew he was that kind of a creature. Aw, come, come, Jan, Martin remonstrated. You want to be fair. Herb did the best he could. It was old Joe who kicked. Three thousand a year isn't so bad. That's two hundred and fifty a month. Not so rotten for a fellow twenty-seven. Now I hope to

God you'll get a girl in here to help run the kitchen. Well, all right, Jeanette conceded. Only you've got to go on helping me save. I want to pay off every cent we owe. I suppose I get my half as usual. Sure, I'll be paid now twice a month, first and fifteenth. Let's see. That's a hundred and twenty-five. I get sixty-two fifty. That's really five dollars more a week, isn't it? You're a little tightwad. Do you know that, darling? No, I'm not, Jeanette defended herself.

I'm only trying to run things economically and systematically, and to do that you've got to plan ahead. The trouble with you, Mart, is that you never do. The raise led to the appearance of Hilda in the kitchen. Hilda was a big-boned, good-natured Swedish girl, willing but a careless cook, often exasperatingly stupid. Jeanette paid her fifteen dollars a month and established her in the vacant bedroom not hitherto furnished, which involved an outlay of nearly a hundred dollars.

In spite of the additional income, money continued to be a problem. Jeanette still felt that she and Martin were living too extravagantly, and that her husband did not do his share in helping to retrench. She had been entirely satisfied in the old days before she married to go to the theater in the gallery or rear balcony seats, but Martin scorned these locations. When he went to a show, he said he wanted to enjoy himself, and sitting in the cheap seats robbed him of any

pleasure whatsoever. It was the same whenever they went downtown to dinner. He preferred the expensive hotels and restaurants. When he bought new clothes, he went to a tailor and had the suit made to order. He tipped everywhere he went far too generously. If there was any economizing to be done, it was always Jeanette who must do it. And what made it all the harder was that he did not thank her for the self-denial. He spent, his wife had no way of knowing how much, a great deal

for drinks, and for the gin and vermouth he brought home. Once a week, sometimes oftener, he would arrive with a bottle of each carefully wrapped up in newspaper under his arm. Every time they entertained, she knew it meant more gin and more vermouth for cocktails. Martin was not a tippler. Frequently, several days or a week would go by without his even suggesting a cocktail. He did not seem to want one, unless there was company, or he happened

to come home specially tired. Jeanette had never seen him intoxicated, although on the last day of the new year a number of the men at his office had gathered in the late afternoon at a neighboring bar and wished each other Happy New Year over and over. Martin arrived home glassy-eyed and noisy, wanting her to kiss and love him. She hated him when he had been drinking. She even loathed the odor of liquor on his breath. It made it strong and hot like the breath of a panther. Another

expense was his cigars, of which he consumed half a dozen a day. She knew they cost money, and she knew Martin well enough to feel sure that the kind he liked was not the inexpensive variety. There was also his card playing to be taken into account. Sandy McGregor had a circle of friends who played poker together generally once a week on Friday nights. At first, Jeanette had urged Martin to go when Sandy had rung him up, asking if he would like to sit in. She considered it part

of a good wife's role, a man should not be expected to give up masculine society, or an occasional good time with the boys, merely because he was married. She did not entirely approve of poker, but Martin loved it. Whenever he won, he woke her up when he came home and announced it triumphantly. When he lost, he said nothing about it, and she felt she had no right to ask questions. She suspected he did not tell her the truth about the size of the stakes for which he played,

realizing she would worry. So she never inquired. And if Martin came home and put seven or eight dollars on her dressing table, exultingly telling her that it was half his winnings. She thanked him with a bright smile and a kiss for his generous division, even though she was confident he had won a great deal more. On the 1st and 15th of the month he gave her $62.50. She had to apportion the money among

the tradespeople, the bills downtown, and keep enough for Hilda's wages and incidental table expenses for the ensuing fortnight. It left her very little to spend on herself, for clothes and amusements, far from enough. For years she had been independent, her own mistress, with the disposal of her entire earnings. It was hard for her now to have to economize and compromise and resort to makeshifts because of her husband's indifference and improvidence. It brought back

disturbing memories of old days when she and Alice and their mother had to skimp and struggle in order to eke out the simplest order of existence. It was just what she feared might happen when she had considered marrying. A month arrived when Jeanette found upon her grocer's bill a charge for gin and vermouth, and for half a box of cigars. Nine dollars and twenty-five cents! It precipitated an angry quarrel between her husband and herself. Martin had been encroaching

in various ways upon her half-share of his salary, and she proposed now to put a stop to it. He argued that the cocktails and cigars had been for her friends when invited to dinner. She retorted that neither cocktails nor cigars had had any share in the entertainment she provided, and if he chose to have them on hand and offer them it was his own affair. She taxed him with the whole score of his extravagance, while Martin chafed and twisted under her sharp criticisms, swore and grew

sulky. He hated unpleasantness and tried to evade the issue. He'd pay for the booze and cigars and buy her a hat or anything else she fancied if she'd only forget it and quit ragging him, but Jeanette felt that the question of an equal division of their financial responsibility was vital to the success of their marriage, the happiness of both, and she refused to be deflected. He finally stormed himself out of the apartment, viciously banging the door shut behind him.

Two days of misery followed for them both, when they met with the exchange of monosyllables only, though their thoughts pursued one another through every hour. Their reconciliation was terrific, each willing to concede everything, each to make promises and to assure the other of utter contriteness. From Jeanette's point of view matters improved. Twice Martin gave her an extra ten dollars out of his half of his salary. When the year's lease on the apartment neared its end,

Martin was not for renewing it. Herbert Gibbs had been talking to him about Cohasset Beach, urging him to move there. Summer was approaching, Gibbs pointed out, with all its good times of swimming and boating, and even in winter, he assured Martin, there was plenty of outdoor sport, skating, tobogganing, even skiing. In particular, his employer counseled, there was a remarkable little house, a bungalow, with floors, ceilings, and inside trim of oak that had just become vacant

through the death of its owner, which could be had for fifty dollars a month. It was a great bargain for the money. Martin was enthusiastic. Gibbs had promised he would be at once elected to the family yacht club, and had described the good times its members had, dances every Saturday night, and in summer swimming, yachting, picnics. The bunch, he assured the young man was a live one, the pick of good fellows. Jeanette listened to her husband's glowing recital with a cold

tightening at her heart. He says, Jan, Martin told her eagerly, that every once in a while they have masquerade parties down at the club, and everybody goes all dressed up with masks on, you know, so nobody recognizes you, and they just have a riot of fun. Then about a dozen or 15 of the fellows are going to sail boats this year. There's a shipyard near there, and the shipbuilder has designed the neatest little sailboat you ever saw in your life. He calls it the A-boat,

and they are only going to cost $90 apiece. Just think of that, Jan, $90 apiece, a sailboat, a little yacht for that sum. Gee, Willikins, can you imagine the fun we'll have? Everybody, you know, starts the same with a new boat. Gibbs was crazy to have me order one.

The club is anxious to give the shipbuilder as big an order as possible so as to get the price down. So I fell for it and hold him to put me down. I thought maybe I'd call her the Albatross? You. "'What?' asked Jeanette blankly.

"'Sure, I told him to put me down. You know, it made a hit with him. He'd have been awfully sore if I hadn't. And it's up to me to keep in with old Gibbsy. I can sell it if we don't like it. Gibbs put my name up for membership in the yacht club.' "'He did,' Jeanette said blankly again. "'Well, darling, it's only thirty dollars a year, and I guess that's not going to break us.

the initiation fee is twenty-five, something like that. Why, the club is just intended for young married folks like us. There are the dances for the ladies and the card parties and picnics, and there are the sports for the men. Gee, I think it will be great. And Gibbsy tells me that by special arrangement this year the Cohasset Beach Yacht Club is going to let us use its tennis courts. Jeanette looked into his excited eyes, and a dull exasperation came over her.

The poor, poor simpleton, she thought. He thinks he'll like it. Gibbs has filled him full. He'll hate it, as I hate it now, inside of a fortnight. He never would be contented in such a place. What would he do without his theaters and the gay nightlife he loves? It's hard enough for us to live as we are, we have to struggle and struggle to make ends meet, and here he is, mad to try an even more expensive method of living, involving clubs, and club dues, yachts, and commutation

fairs, and in such a community with such people, the flat-headed Gibses and their awful friends picnicking there on the sand that terrible Fourth of July, and Martin proposes I exchange them and their vulgar, dreadful society, their masquerades and card parties, for my beautiful little apartment which I've tried to make perfect, which everyone admires and which is my joy and delight.

There was a dangerous fixed smile on her face as she rose from the dinner table where they had been lingering over their black coffee and rang the little brass bell for Hilda to clear away. Well, what do you think, Jan? Don't you believe we'd both come to love the country?

Don't you think we'd have a pack of fun down there? She eyed him with a cold stare a moment before she answered slowly. I won't consider it. His face fell. What's more, she added briefly, I think you're a fool.

His expression darkened. He glowered at her, hurt to the quick. She ignored him and went about the living room, straightening objects, lowering shades, adjusting lights. All the time she was stealing herself to the wrangle she knew was coming.

She would be equal to it. She would give him straight talk. She'd let him have a piece of her mind and make him realize how absurd he was, how utterly insane, buying yachts and joining clubs. What did he think he was, anyway?

A millionaire? The storm, when it broke, was the most violent they had yet known. It was even worse than she had anticipated. Martin, usually noisy, cursing, was quick to recover, while she rarely lost control of speech or action. But now the thought of giving up her little home, as he calmly proposed, infuriated her.

He had not the faintest conception of how she loved it. He had never done one single thing to improve or beautify it beyond buying those frightful Macy's daubs. For the first time in their quarrels, she could not control her tears. Convulsed with sobbing, Martin thought she had capitulated. He waited several minutes in distressed silence and then came to where she lay upon the couch to put his arms about her and draw her to him.

But she turned on him with a fury that was shocking. Rebuffed, he stared at her savagely, then snatched his hat and coat and left her with a violent bang of the door. Jeanette never for one moment thought she could not swing Martin to her wishes. She could not conceive of herself weakening. Martin had always been easygoing, good-natured, but she had forgotten how purposeful he could be

when his intent was hot. She had forgotten his perseverance, his patience, his indefatigability when he wooed her. She had forgotten his winningness, his persuasiveness. He brought all these qualities into play now. There was no sidetracking him, no gainsaying him. His mind was locked against the renewal of their lease and set upon Cohasset Beach. He argued, he cajoled, he pleaded, he coaxed. Never had she known him so irritating or so winning. If she grew cross,

he was amiable. If she grew sorrowful, he was consoling and tender. If she advanced arguments that brooked no reply, he was loving and answered her with kisses. But he was determined. Nothing swerved him from his purpose. Once again, Jeanette found no comforting support in anybody. Her mother said she ought to give in to her husband if he was so set upon the plan. It was the wife's place to give way. Alice thought it would be delightful to live in the country and assured her sister she

would come to love it. She and Roy had been talking all winter about moving to some place on Long Island or in New Jersey, but it was hard to find anything really nice for $25 a month within commuting distance of the city. They were going to board at Freeport again for the summer, and they intended to look around and see what they could find there. It would be ideal for the children. Was there any hope, any prospect? No, thank heaven, Jeanette answered fervently.

She had enough to bother her without the complication of a baby just now. On the anniversary of her wedding day, she surrendered. Martin had been so sweet and gentle with her, so anxious to please, so considerate, every impulse within her prompted her to do the thing he wanted. She could see how eager he was for his sailboat, his new club, and the country. He was mad to have them. Her heart was full of love for him. She reminded

herself that when she had entered into this marriage, she had been determined to give more, if need be, than he did, to make their union a success. Here was an opportunity. It meant a great sacrifice for herself. She had no faith in the experiment, but felt she would learn to hate all the people and the place, and Martin would soon tire of it and them and share her feelings. but now it was the thing above all else he wanted and it was her chance to be generous.

She extracted from him two promises, however. It was a foregone conclusion, she told him, that she would not be happy at Cohasset Beach, but if she agreed to go and live there with him, it must be understood between them that she was to be free to come into New York as often as she pleased, to shop or to visit her mother and Alice or do anything she liked. He must also understand that he was to keep a closer watch upon their finances. With commutation, railroad fares,

and club dues added to their expenses, they would have to practice a much more rigid economy. She wanted to get the table expenditures down to $15 a week, and that would be out of the question if he expected her to entertain. As soon as they were out of debt and had a little ahead, she would be more willing to have him invite people to visit them. He promised everything. he was only too anxious and willing, he said, to agree to all she asked, to show his deep gratitude.