The square was full of traffic, high bicycles, buggies, carryalls, hacks, surreys, and even a few handsome carriages of shining black lacquer with gorgeously painted scenes on their sides and drawn by lively horses in silver harness. People moved rapidly on the bald walks. The wind was strong, and it lifted the women's shawls and tossed their wide skirts and showed yards of ruffled petticoats, and bonnet ribbons streamed from bent heads. Men held their hats. Here the atmosphere was harsh with voices, the rattle of iron-shod wheels, the rumble of loaded wagons, and it smelled highly of manure. Doors swung open and banged vehemently. Everything was much louder than in drab and staid Winfield, where vice and avarice lived quietly. Joseph suspected that here they lived noisily and with gusto and he wondered if that were not an improvement. At least there was something rawly innocent about open vileness. The air of festival and anticipation was almost palpable here, and all faces reflected polished greed and lively busyness, even the faces of young girls. Everyone seemed to skip, as if about to break into an eager and laughing run, full of excitement and hurry. Voices, greeting others, were quick and breathless, and men raced off replacing lifted hats. The earn-all moved briskly towards the opposite end of the square and suddenly Joseph, half-disbelieving, caught the scent of grass and fresh trees and roses and honeysuckle. The carryall swung down the far street and at once everything changed abruptly. Pretty small houses and lawns and gardens and tall elms and oaks appeared as if one walked from a prison yard into comparative and blooming heaven. The cobbled street began to broaden, as if smiling as it revealed treasures, and the houses became bigger and taller, the lawns wider, the trees higher and more profuse and the gardens luxurious. This area was not Green Hills in the least, but to Joseph it was a refreshment to the eye and a green touch on the spirit. "Pretty, ain't it?" said Mr. Healey, who noticed everything. "Old families. Own lots of farmland, good rich lumber farms, and fields where we're drilling. Been here before the Revolution, and sometimes I think none of them ever died but just live on like mummies or something, or what is that thing that turns to stone?" "Petrified wood," said Joseph. "You're right smart, ain't you?" said Mr. Healey, with a little friendly rancor. "Never held it against a man, though. What else do you know besides everything, Joe?" "I've read a lot most of my life," said Joseph. "And I write a fine hand." "Is that so? Need an honest man to keep my books. Maybe you'll do." "No," said Joseph. "I'm not going to be a clerk in some dark office. I am going to drive one of the wagons to the oil fields. I hear the wages are very good." "You want to blow all those brains of yours to kingdom come, eh?" Joseph shrugged. "Better that than live the way I have been living, Mr. Healey. I need a great deal of money. I want to make my fortune. The little life is not for me. That is why I came to Titusville. As I told you before, I'll do anything-for money." Mr. Healey squinted at him. "It's that way, eh?" "Yes," said Joseph. "Reckon I can use you," said Mr. Healey. "I'll think on it. But don't despise ledgers. You can learn a lot that way." He thought a moment or two, as he clung, swaying, to the straps of the vehicle. Then he said with a positive air, "The law for you, boyo. That's the ticket." "Law?" said Joseph, his small blue eyes widening in incredulity. "Why not? Legal plunder, that's what it is. Don't dirty your hands, and gold sticks to 'em. Other people's gold." His body shook with his fruity laughter. "It ain't necessary to be a lawyer to go into politics, but it helps. Don't look at me as if I'm demented, boyo. I know what I'm talking about. We'll put you to study law with some fine thief of a lawyer, and your fortune's made." He slapped his fat thighs happily. "I need a private lawyer, that I do. "Of course," said Mr. Healey, "that ain't tomorrow. In the meantime, we can make a good thing together, you working for me." "At what?" "My interests," said Mr. Healey. "Collecting, managing, and such. Had a feller up to a month ago and he stole me blind. Almost. Got sent up for twenty years and he was almost hanged." He looked at Joseph intently. "In places like this, they ain't soft on thieves-except legal ones. Ever stole anything, Joe?" Joseph immediately thought of Mr. Squibbs. He said, "I borrowed some money-once. At six percent interest." "All cleared up now?" He winked knowingly. But Joseph remained without expression. "No. And that is why I've got to make a lot of money, soon." "Why'd you borrow the money?" Joseph considered him. "Mr. Healey," he said at last, "that is my own affair. I've not questioned you about your affairs." "Sassy tongue on you, don't you?" said Mr. Healey. "Well, I like a man with spirit. Knew you had guts minute I saw you. Hate snivelers. Would you say you was an honest man, Joe?" Joseph smiled his cold and ironic smile. "If it is to my interest, yes." Mr. Healey laughed. "Knew you was a born lawyer! Well, here we are." It was a ponderous three-story house, baronial, in Joseph's first appraisal, of rose brick and white stone, tall if narrow, with pedimented windows and white shutters, and a wide porte-cochere of brick and snowy pillars. It did not have the smooth grandeur of Tom Hennessey's house in warm Green Hills, but it had a hard and compact strength, and lace curtains and velvet hung against polished glass and the doors were double and white and high. It stood like a wall, a sentinel, somewhat forbidding, beyond a rolling lawn, and a winding gravel driveway moved towards it past a clump of stiff green poplars, sentinels themselves. No flower beds softened the hard light on the grass. Joseph could glimpse a glass conservatory in the rear, and a number of outbuildings including a stable. The house spoke of age and solidity and money. "Nice, ain't it?" said Mr. Healey as the carryall rolled towards the portecochere. "It does me well when I'm here. Got it for a song." The carryall passed under the roof of the porte-cochere and the door flew open and on the threshold stood a young lady of uncommon beauty and obvious vivacity. Joseph's mouth opened in surprise. Mr. Healey's daughter? She was no more than twenty, if even of those years, and had a lovely figure which her rich gown of wine-red merino draped over enormous hoops could not entirely hide. There were deep cascades of vveblike lace about her throat and wrists, and the throat and wrists were remarkable for their whiteness and delicacy, and were jeweled. Her pointed face glowed and dimpled, and her checks were the color of apricots and so were her beautiful lips which had parted in a smile of great delight, showing her square white teeth. Her nose was impertinent, her eyes extraordinarily large and shiningly brown, with shadowy long lashes. Glossy ringlets of brown hair tumbled to her shoulders. She had a look of intense life and gusto, and she stood on the middle step of a white flight of four, laughingly holding out her arms and regarding Mr. Healey with radiant glee. He climbed from the carryall and bowed and lifted his hat, and shouted, "Miss Emmy! God bless you, my child!" Joseph had not been prepared for such a house nor for such a girl, and he stood dumbly beside Mr. Healey, conscious as never before of his shabby state and dirty boots and soiled shirt and scarf, and hatless head, his cardboard box under his arm. The girl looked at him with open surprise, at his shaggy mass of russet hair tumbled and uncombed, at his pale and freckled face, at his general air of indigence. Then she ran clown the rest of the stairs and flung herself, laughing and trilling, into Mr. Healey's arms. He kissed and embraced her with enthusiasm, then smacked her on the backside with pleasure. "Miss Emmy," he said, "this here is Joe. My new friend, foe, who's thrown in his lot with me. Look at him, now: Gawking like a chicken with the roup. Never saw such a pretty sight as you, Miss Emmy, as he sees now, and his mouth's awatering." "Pish!" exclaimed Miss Emmy, in the prettiest voice, like that of a happy child. "I swear, sir, that you make me blush!" She dropped a light little curtsey, full of demureness, in Joseph's general direction, and he bowed his head stiffly, full of silent bewilderment. "Joe," said Mr. Healey, "this here is Miss Emmy. Miss Emmy, love, I don't rightly know his name, but he calls himself Joe Francis, and he's got a close mouth and so we make the best of it." Sunlight flashed on the glossiness of Miss Emmy's ringlets and on the side of her bright cheek and now she looked at Joseph with more interest, seeing, as Mr. Healey had already seen, the latent young virility of him and the capacity for violence about his eyes and wide thin mouth. "Mr. Francis," she murmured. Bill appeared with the unconsciou
s Haroun in his arms, Joseph's greatcoat swathing the slight body. Miss Emmy was astounded. She looked to Mr. Healey for enlightenment. "Just a young spalpeen, penniless beggar from the train," he explained. "Joe here's friend. Think we got a bed for him, and a bed for Joe?" "Why, Mr. Healey, sir, it is your house and there is room for all-for all your friends," said the girl. But her fair brow puckered in bafflement. "I will tell Miz Murray." She swung about, hoops and ringlets and lace swaying, and ran up the stairs and into the house, as blithely as a kitten.
Mr. Healey watched her go, fondly, his face suffused and contented, and he went up the steps motioning for Joseph and Bill to follow. "Bought Miss Emmy from a whorehouse when she was fifteen, three years ago," said Mr. Healey over his shoulder, and without the slightest embarrassment. "Come from Covington, Kentuck, raw as an egg. Cost me three hundred dollars, but cheap enough for a piece like that, wouldn't you say, Joe?" Joseph was not entirely unfamiliar with the traffic in white flesh, though he had only heard of it in Winfield from the snickering men at the sawmill and knew of the discreet houses which harbored unfortunate girls. He stopped on the steps. "You bought her, Mr. Healey? I thought only blacks could be bought." Mr. Healey had reached the door. He looked down at Joseph with impatience. "That's what the madam said she was worth, but more, and I own the whorehouse and Miss Emmy drew a lot of money and she was young, and the madam had cleaned her up and dressed her and taught her manners like a lady, and so she was worth the money. Not that I own her like you mean, boyo, like a nigger, but I own her, by God I do! And God help the man who looks at her now and licks his lips!" Joseph had not read many pious books recommended by the Church, and only when he had been bereft of other books, and it had been his conviction that "women of shame" were drabs, and tortured with remorse and despair and showed the marks of evil and degradation on depraved countenances. But Miss Emmy was as fresh as the blue wild flowers along the roads in Pennsylvania, and as fair and gay as spring, and if she felt "remorse" or bewailed her condition it certainly had not been evident in that brief encounter of a few moments ago. Happiness and exuberance had sparkled visibly from her, and she had left a trail of haunting and expensive scent in her passage. He felt like an uncouth and ignorant bumpkin when he entered the long and narrow hall behind the white doors. He looked about him with increasing uneasiness and confusion. The hall was dim after the glare of sunlight outside, but after a moment Joseph could see that the tall walls were covered with red silk damask-he had read of such in romantic novels-and were profusely covered with landscapes, seascapes and classical subjects, very decorous, in heavy gilt frames. The walls were also lined with handsome sofas and chairs in blue and green and red velvet, and the floor under Joseph's feet was soft and he saw the Persian rug in many different hues and of a tortuous pattern. At the end of the hall an overpowering staircase of mahogany rose and turned upwards in the direction of the second and third stories. Joseph could smell beeswax and old potpourri and cinnamon and cloves, and something else which he could not as yet define but which he later learned was gas from the oil wells of Titusville. Behind him waited, in that sinister and patient silence of his, Bill Strickland with Haroun still in his arms. A door banged open in one of the walls, and Joseph heard Miss Emmy's teasing and laughing voice, and another voice, rough and strident and protesting, and he was taken aback when he saw the owner of the voice for he had thought it had come from a man. But a middle-aged woman was entering the hall with a rocking tread, like iron, and the old polished floorboards creaked. Joseph's first impression of her was that she was a troll, short and wide and muscular, the torso like two big balls superimposed one above the other, the billowing black taffeta skirts made huge by many petticoats, the two balls parted by a white frilled apron. There was, too, the third ball which was her oversized head set squarely on corpulent shoulders straining against black silk. A white ruffle puffed out under the roll of flesh which was her chin, and jet buttons winked over her truly awesome bosom. But it was her face that immediately caught Joseph's attention. Me decided he had never seen an uglier, more belligerent or more repellent countenance, for the coarse flesh was the color and texture of a dead flounder, the nose bulbous, the tiny eyes pale and vicious, the mouth gross and malignant. Her hair was iron-gray and like unravelled rope, only partly seen from under a mobcap of fine white linen and lace. Her peasant's hands were as broad as they were long, and swollen. "Miz Murray, ma'am, it's home I am," said Mr. Healey in a most genial voice; and he doffed his hat in a gesture both mocking and elaborate. She stopped in front of him and made fists of her hands and planted --them on her splayed hips. "So I sec, sir, so I see, and welcome, I suppose!" she said in that repulsive voice Joseph had just heard. "And what's this about unexpected visitors, sir?" It was as if Joseph and Bill and Ilaroun were invisible, but Joseph had caught the malevolent glitter of her eyes for an instant wnen she had appeared in the hall. "Now, Miz Murray, these arc my friends, Joe Francis here, who's joined up with me, and little Harry Zeff you see in Bill's arms. It's ill, he is, and needs care, and so Bill will go for the doctor when the lad's in bed." Mr. Healey spoke genially as always, but now his own face had become rosy rock and the woman's stare faltered. "You'll do your best, as my housekeeper, Miz Murray, and ask no questions." She dared not show further urhbrage towards her employer, but she affected to be disbelieving at the sight of Joseph and Bill and Haroun, and let her mouth fall open in absolute disgust. Miss Emmy's face, vibrant with happy mischief, now appeared over the woman's shoulder, and glee danced in her girl's eyes. "These, sir, are your friends?" said Mrs. Murray, pointing stiffly. "They are that, ma'am, and it's best you hurry before little Harry dies on us," said Mr. Healey, and laid his hat and cane on a sofa. "Call one of the girls." "And their wicker baggage, sir, and their portmanteaus? Or perhaps their traveling trunks are on the way from the depot?" "That they are," said Mr. Healey and most of the geniality had left his voice. "Miz Murray, Joe Francis here, and Bill with little Harry, will follow you upstairs and Miss Emmy can call one of the girls. We're all aweary from the long train and need a wash and refreshments." The woman turned like a gray and black monolith, swishing in all her skirts and petticoats, and marched towards the staircase, followed by her master and the sad little procession led by Joseph. She walked heavily on her heels and her manner suggested that she was marching towards the scaffold with determined courage and valor. Mr. Healey chuckled, and they all walked up stairs padded with Persian carpets. Smooth mahogany- slid under Joseph's hand in the duskiness of the stairwell. Now he was beginning to feel his familiar harsh amusement again, and a loathing for Mrs. Murray. The upper hall was dim also, lighted only by a skylight of colored glass set high in the ceiling of the third story. The passageway was narrower than the one downstairs, and colored light from the skylight splashed on thick Oriental runners and on walls covered with blue silk damask. A row of polished mahogany doors lined the walls, their brass knobs faintly gleaming in the diffused light. And now, a very thin and frightened little housemaid, in black and with a white apron and cap, literally bounced into the hall by way of the rear staircase, all eyes and moist mouth, and cringing. She was hardly more than thirteen, and there was not a single curve on her flat body. "Liza!" roared Mrs. Murray, seeing an object for her rage. "Where were you? You need a strapping agin, within an inch of your worthless life! We got company, hear? Open those two back rooms, the bfue one and the green one, and quick about it, my girl!" "Yes'm," whispered the child and raced to one door, throwing it open and then to another, and Joseph thought, And this is what Regina will come to if I do not make money for her, and very soon. Liza stood aside, cowering and with bent head, but her humble attitude did not save her from a resounding slap on her cheek, bestowed by Mrs. Murray. The girl whimpered, but did not lift her eyes. Joseph now saw pockmarks ort her thin pale cheeks, and her young face was plain and fearful. In about eight years, thought Joseph, who had seen scores of abused children in America, Regina will be her age, and only I stand between my sister and this. "N
ow, here you are, Joe, my lad," said Mr. Healey, and waved majestically at one opeti door. "You'll do with a good wash, and then we'll have our breakfast like decent Christians, and Bill here will put little Harry down and go for the doctor." Joseph fumbled at his pinned pocket and took out his treasured twenty- dollar goldpiece. He held it out to Mr. Healey and even Mrs. Murray's malign attention was caught. "What's this, what's this?" asked Mr. Healey in surprise. "For our expenses, Mr. Healey," said Joseph. "I told you I take no charity." Mr. Healey lifted his hand in protest. Then he saw Joseph's face. Mrs. Murray had sucked in her vindictive mouth, and was staring blankly at the youth, while behind him Bill waited with that sinister patience of his and appeared to see nothing. "All right," said Mr. Healey, and he took the shimmering golden coin and tossed it in his hand. "I like a man with pride, and have no quarrel with it." Now he looked more closely at Joseph, and with curiosity. "Some cJLthe money you-borrowed?" "No," said Joseph. "I earned it." "Hum," said Mr. Ilealey, and put the coin in his pocket, and Mrs. Murray regarded Joseph with squinted and wicked eyes and nodded her head in affirmation of some invidious remark she had made silently to herself. Liza gaped abjectly at Joseph as at an apparition, for now she saw his ragged appearance and his shock of hair like a dull blaze under the skylight. Mr. Healey turned. "In half an hour, Joe, in half an hour." Mrs. Murray followed Mr. Healey to the door of his own room and then stood on the threshold. "That one's a thief, sir," she said. "Plain as day." Mr. Healey began to loosen his cravat. He looked at himself in a long mirror on the silken wall. He said, "Possibly, ma'am, very possible. And now please close the door behind you. Unless you'd like to see me nekkid, like Miss Emmy does." He looked at her blandly, and she rumbled away.