"Of course not!" growled Stephen.
"Now hang up quick. You'll have an awful bill. Good-bye, and don't you dare come back till your course is finished!" And Phyllis hung up for him, because she knew he would not.
Stephen Challenger came out of the long-distance telephone booth and walked slowly, thoughtfully, up to his room. The things his sister had told him cut deep into his soul. He was not a naturally selfish person, though, being the oldest son, he had been badly spoiled. But now he was appalled.
Starving! A Challenger starving! It seemed incredible! Prunes, they had at college, and he hated them. Fish balls! Baked beans! Stewed tomatoes! A lot of cheap nourishing things that he disliked and made a terrible fuss over, together with the rest of his college mates, but they never starved. And there was always the pie shop downtown to which even a "scholarship" man working his way by waiting on tables might resort at times. He had never known what it meant to starve even for one meal.
Mother! Starving! Melissa, delicate-faced little Melissa faint with hunger. Phyllis, and Rosalie and Bob! How awful! He dropped down on the edge of his bed in his room and dropped his elbows to his knees, his face in his hands, and thought about it, and in that moment of unprecedented thought he almost grew up.
Then came the vision of Sylvia to interrupt, willowy Sylvia in her floating chiffons with her little red mouth pursed. He must do something about Sylvia. It was almost five o'clock. The store would be closed before he could possibly get there even if he had the money, or any credit, which he did not. Besides, he had manliness enough not to be willing to go into debt to get a new suit to go to a dance when his family was penniless and hungry. He had lost all desire to take Sylvia to that dance. He only wanted now to find a good excuse to get out of it. Of course, she would never have anything to do with him again, but she probably wouldn't anyway. Sam de Small would be back next week, and he had her all dated up for the commencement week anyway. Why waste any more time running after the moon? Nevertheless, he must retire from the field in a respectable way, and the best excuse he could possibly give was that he was starting home at once because there was trouble and his mother needed him. His father's illness gave plenty of excuse for a hazy explanation. There wouldn't be any trouble about that. But he must go at once and call off the dance. It was almost time for Sylvia to be getting dressed. He must hurry.
He cast about in his apartment for the most suitable clothes he owned to appear before her for the last time, for he knew in his soul that he was going home, that that was where he ought to have been all the time anyway, and that once there, of course, he could do something to help out the fortunes of the family, in spite of what his sister had said.
He examined the bungled darn in the blue trousers and decided it would never get by without observation. At last he donned his old tweed knickers and flannel shirt and hurried away. He would tell her he had no time to dress.
He looked up the address she had given him and started out with a heavy heart, trying to plan just what to do. His graduation was the least of all his troubles, he decided. He knew he had fairly good marks in all his studies, for being a Challenger studying came easily, and it was now so near to the end of the spring term that he could probably get his examinations in by mail and get his diploma. The college would arrange that for him on Dad's account. Just now he was more concerned about standing up the girl he had tried all winter to get than about his academic standing. But, gosh! Mother and the kids hungry! That was awful!
Stephen was surprised and somewhat crestfallen to find that his paragon of a girl lived in quite the lower part of the town and in a messy little street with crowded rows of common houses. It was half past five in the afternoon, and he found his lady standing on the unkempt front porch of her home in a very short dress of a former season's vintage and an old sweater, calling silly nothings across two porches to the corner where a youth two or three years younger than himself and altogether tough looking was engaged in nailing up a broken window blind. Before she recognized Stephen, he noticed that she was using the same coquettish airs and graces with him that she employed with her college friends.
As he drew nearer, he could hear what they were saying. The young lady seemed to be coaxing the boy to take her somewhere. At last, he broke forth angrily:
"Aw, shut up, Syl. I've took you to a dance the last time I'm gonta. You didn't dance with me once the whole evenin' last Friday, just played around with Blackey. Oh, I know he's gotta big car an' all that, but I tuk ya, didn't I? Nothin' doin' anymore, Syl. I'm cured. Go get some o' yer college cuties, and let real men alone."
Suddenly it came to Stephen that he would not have liked his mother and sisters to overhear this conversation. It did not give a good impression of Sylvia. His face flushed with annoyance. Who was this young animal that presumed to talk to Sylvia this way? Why didn't she resent it?
Far from resenting it, Sylvia was coaxing now.
"Aw, c'mon, Pat. I was jus' kiddin' ya."
Sylvia was using the same patois as her neighbor. Could it be that she had anything in common with such as he?
But suddenly Sylvia saw him, and there was a quick change.
Sylvia looked down with deprecating grace, smoothed down her old red sweater, pulling it up around her chin piquantly; patted her hair, fluffing it out around her face; and pirouetted down the walk to meet him.
"Oh, Stevie, darling!" she exclaimed. "You haven't come already? It's not time to go? But no, of course not. You wouldn't be going like that to a dance. You just came down to find the way before dark, didn't you?"
Her tone, her very inflection, the way she pronounced her words, were all utterly different from the way she had talked to Pat, and Steve could see Pat glaring at him angrily from his porch railing where he had perched himself, hammer in hand, even as Steve had glared at him a moment before. It was all incomprehensible; only somehow Sylvia gave Steve no time to think about it. She was lifting her gorgeous blue eyes. Even without the mascara they were entrancing. She was dimpling into that bewitching smile. She was once more the girl he admired beyond all girls. He had forgotten her coarse intimate banter with this common youth.
"I've come to tell you I can't go tonight," he said sorrowfully. "I'm all kinds of sorry, you know that, for I've looked forward to it ever since you said you'd go. But, you see, I've just had a call from home, and they're having trouble down there. They need me, and I've gotta beat it on the evening train."
The girl's face hardened. Her glorious eyes narrowed with a feline glint behind her lashes; her mouth set into a thin little line of selfishness. He suddenly realized that her hair was uncombed and her fingernails were dirty. The setting sun flung out a revealing ray and showed a line of green tarnish on the white neck where a chain of imitation gold links had lain the night before, their marks not yet washed off.
"You're not goin' to stand me up, Steve Challenger! You don't mean to say you're going to stand me up? You're not that yellow kind!" She tilted her chin contemptuously. Stephen's face grew red with annoyance. He could not stand being called yellow.
"I'm not standing you up," he defended himself. "I came down to explain. I tell you, my folks are in trouble. My dad's been sick a long time, and my mother needs me. Some things have come up. She needs me," he finished lamely and then added, "I was sure you would excuse me. It certainly isn't my fault."
"Well, I won't excuse you," said the girl firmly, looking him straight in the eye. "When I give a date to a fella, I'm used to having it appreciated, and I certainly shall expect you to keep your engagement. There's a midnight train you can take if you have to go tonight. But I should think since your dad's been sick so long he could wait a few hours longer. We're going to that dance tonight, see? You shouldn't have asked me if you didn't want to. I'm not going to have it said that any fella stood me up, especially any college fella." And she gave him such a look as made the shamed blood roll up into his nice, lean, kindly face.
He faced her for a moment and then sai
d quietly: "Very well, if you feel that way about it, of course I'll stay, but I'll have to tell you the real reason why I can't go to the dance, even if I do stay. The suit I ordered from the city hasn't come, and I haven't anything else fit to wear. I had an accident and tore my second best suit."
Stephen had been brought up to tell the truth, but he couldn't somehow bring himself to say he had no money to buy a new one, and it was true in a way that he had ordered one from the city; he didn't have to say that he had found out later the order never went through. But it annoyed him that he was trying to explain himself to this girl. He wanted to stand crystal clear and self-respecting before her, that is, before his ideal of her.
But the girl's laugh rang out harshly, not at all the silver amusement that she used at college parties where he had seen her before.
"Oh, well, that's a good one. You know you can borrow a dress suit from any fella. My gracious! Can't you think up a better one than that?"
Now Stephen did not like to be laughed at. It angered him. He lifted his chin haughtily.
"I am not accustomed to borrow clothing," he said coldly. "Some fellows may like it, but I don't. However, if you feel that way about it, I can rent a dress suit, of course. I guess Haney's is open yet."
"Oh, sure," laughed the girl. "Haney's is always open." Then she lifted her voice raucously and called across the neighboring porches, "Oh, I say, Pat, come over here and meet a fella that's too proud to borrow a dress suit."
"I'm too busy," glowered Pat, beginning to hammer with all his might.
"I'll call for you at eight thirty," said Steve in a cold, hard voice. He felt as if he had suddenly committed himself to a life of crime.
"All righty," soothed Sylvia silkily, now she had got her own way with this handsome, reticent youth who had admired her so long without doing anything about it. "But mind you, bring a car for me. I don't like to walk in dancing slippers. Make it a snappy car, please. Barney Blasius will lend you his. I'll call him up and tell him to."
Stephen whirled upon her.
"I don't care to borrow anybody's car," he said coldly. "If you don't want to walk--" But he got no further for Sylvia broke in:
"Oh, then I'll borrow it. He said he'd lend it to me anytime, and he can't take me tonight. He's all tied up in a house party at his old-maid aunt's. You can drive, can't you?"
"Yes, I can drive," said Stephen desperately. "But I don't want to drive Barney's car. It costs too much money."
"Oh, money, money, money!" taunted Sylvia prettily. "What's money among friends? I can drive myself if you don't want to."
"You needn't borrow Barney's car. I'll get a car," said Stephen desperately. "I know where there's a car I can hire."
"Well, we'll see," laughed Sylvia, waving her dirty little hand gracefully after him. "Hurry now, Mother's nice boy, or you'll be late."
He walked back toward the college with great heaviness upon him. Hire! Hire! Hire! He had not only arranged to stay over the evening when he knew he ought to go home and help his mother, but he had agreed to rent a dress suit and an automobile, and he hadn't a cent with which to do it. He hadn't a cent with which to take the train home as far as that was concerned. He would have to hike it and trust to getting a lift now and then on the way. He would have to either borrow money from some of the fellows or else charge these things to the college, and would they stand for it? He almost groaned as he walked along in the low light of the setting sun. When he reached his room, he dropped wearily facedown upon his bed like a tired, naughty little boy and hid his face in the pillow. While he lay there, a bit from an old nursery game began to jingle through his brain:
Heavy, heavy hangs over your head,
What shall the owner do to redeem it?
What was it that was hanging heavy over his head? His self-respect? His good common sense that he had forfeited? Of course, it didn't mean a thing, but why did it have to keep ringing over and over again? And there was the clock striking! He must get up and get himself together. Somehow this evening must be gone through.
Heavy, heavy hangs over your head,
What shall the owner do to redeem it?
Forfeits. That was what the fool game had been called. What was he forfeiting by pleasing Sylvia this evening? Anything worthwhile? Anything he couldn't redeem?
And did he really want to please Sylvia any longer, anyway? That was the question. But of course, this once, he had to. After tonight he would be sure, that was one thing certain. Yes, after tonight he would be sure.
CHAPTER SIX
Phyllis had just closed her furniture sale and seen the last of the things piled into the truck at the door when that telephone call came. After she had hung up the receiver, she found herself trembling from head to foot, just why she wasn't sure. Partly because she had been very angry with her beloved brother and had spoken much plainer to him about the family troubles than she knew her mother would have approved. Partly because of a hidden, underlying fear that she had not named until now when she stood and faced it. It was that girl that was troubling her!
It was not just that Stephen was taking a girl to a college dance. Boys in college always did that, she presumed. The Challenger family had been brought up with no conscientious scruples against the ordinary accepted amusements of the day. They had no opinions either for or against dancing. One was respectable, of course, in the way one did things, anything, and that was all. But what was there about the way Steve had said "a girl" that had made his sister feel uncomfortable about her? Of course the boys took the girls of the neighborhood to their parties. That was to be expected. And it was also to be expected that Steve would have a girl, a nice girl of course, someday. It was time he should. Why, this girl might not be any special girl at all, just a girl he had met and invited. It might not mean a thing. Then why did she feel as if he had been reluctant to mention her, as if he were almost half-ashamed about it?
No, that must be imagination after all, for when he had first mentioned her he had been quite insistent that she was more important than a lot of other things, important enough to make an expensive phone call in the middle of the day and demand money from an impoverished family.
Well, that of course was silly. She must get to work and put such thoughts out of her head. Perhaps she wouldn't mention the girl when she told Mother. It might worry her, too. But, no, that would not do. Mother would not understand why Steve had telephoned unless she explained how he had promised to take the girl and therefore needed the money. Well, she must hurry. She would go out and get a few things for supper and get back before Rosalie came. The child must not find the house empty. She looked pale when she started off to school, and there was no use expecting Melissa so early. She had said she would stay out till she got a job or got too hungry to walk any farther.
So Phyllis hurried over to the butcher shop. She wanted to thank Mr. Brady for his kindness again and get a bit of meat for supper.
There was no one in the shop when Phyllis entered except the big kindly butcher himself, and he came forward smiling.
"Everything going all right over there?" he asked anxiously. "I meant to run over this morning, but the shop kept pretty full all day till just now, and my errand boy was sick."
"It's been quiet as ten mice all the morning," said Phyllis. "I think you settled Mrs. Barkus for another month with your wonderful thirty-five dollars. My mother says she will never be able to repay you for all you did last night, though I hope she will soon be able to give you back the actual money you loaned us. My sister is trying hard to find a job today, and, well, I think there will be a way pretty soon. I'm sure there will."
"Of course there will," said the kindly butcher. "I'm not worrying about my money. Your mother came in this morning a minute and I told her not to worry about paying that back. It was worth thirty-five dollars to me just to see that Barkus woman's face when I handed it out to her. That woman's a pain in the neck, she is. I was glad to get it back on her, the old crook! She's bullied many a poo
r tenant out of more money than they owed her. Don't you trust her out of your sight. She'll get that clock yet. Say, I was thinking, after your mommy left here this morning, are you folks figuring to stay there in that apartment?"
"Not a minute longer than we can help, Mr. Brady. Mother is out looking for a room, just a tiny room even where we can all squeeze in till things brighten up a little, and we've sold everything we just didn't have to have in order to live, so it can't take us long to move. I was hoping we could get out tonight, but unless Mother comes back pretty soon with some good news I'm afraid there isn't much chance, for all the places I went this morning were so expensive we couldn't possibly afford them."
"Well, now," said the butcher with a pleased look on his face, "this is what I was thinking. I've got a little two-story house down the next block vacant. The man just moved out last Friday. He got transferred to Pittsburgh and had to leave it in the middle of the month. I was wondering how it would be if you folks would just step in there for a little while till you could look around. It's all warm. I didn't let the fire go out yet for I was figuring to make a few repairs evenings there. And it wouldn't cost you a cent, for it's just lying there idle. I can't rent it till I make some changes, and I wasn't figuring to make them till the weather gets a little more steady. I want to change some of the pipes, and it would mean digging outside some. So if you folks would come in, I'd be real glad. I could help you bring your things over in the truck. The man'll soon be back from the last delivery, and he'll give a hand to the heavy things. If you say so, we'll just move you over nice and easy before night, and you won't know you are moving."
"Oh, Mr. Brady! How wonderful! It will seem just like heaven to get out of that house before another night."