IX
HER DAY
June was ending in a very warm week. Work in the studio lagged, partlybecause Dulcie, preparing for graduation, could give Barres littletime; partly because, during June, that young man had been awayspending the week-ends with his parents and his sister at ForelandFarms, their home.
From one of these visits he returned to the city just in time to reada frantic little note from Dulcie Soane:
"DEAR MR. BARRES, please, _please_ come to my graduation. I do want _somebody_ there who knows me. And my father is not well. Is it too much to ask of you? I hadn't the courage to speak to you about it when you were here, but I have ventured to write because it will be so lonely for me to graduate without having anybody there I know.
"DULCIE SOANE."
It was still early in the morning; he had taken a night train totown.
So when he had been freshened by a bath and change of linen, he tookhis hat and went down stairs.
A heavy, pasty-visaged young woman sat at the desk in the entrancehall.
"Where is Soane?" he inquired.
"He's sick."
"_Where_ is he?"
"In bed," she replied indifferently. The woman's manner justverged on impertinence. He hesitated, then walked across to thesuperintendent's apartments and entered without knocking.
Soane, in his own room, lay sleeping off the consequences of anevening at Grogan's. One glance was sufficient for Barres, and hewalked out.
On Madison Avenue he found a florist, selected a bewildering bouquet,and despatched it with a hasty note, by messenger, to Dulcie at herschool. In the note he wrote:
"I shall be there. Cheer up!"
He also sent more flowers to his studio, with pencilled orders toAristocrates.
In a toy-shop he found an appropriate decoration for the centre of thelunch table.
Later, in a jeweller's, he discovered a plain gold locket, shaped likea heart and inset with one little diamond. A slender chain by which tosuspend it was easily chosen; and an extra payment admitted him to theemergency department where he looked on while an expert engraved uponthe locket: "Dulcie Soane from Garret Barres," and the date.
After that he went into the nearest telephone booth and called upseveral people, inviting them to dine with him that evening.
It was nearly ten o'clock now. He took his little gift, stopped ataxi, and arrived at the big brick high-school just in time to enterwith the last straggling parents and family friends.
The hall was big and austerely bare, except for the ribbons and flagsand palms which decorated it. It was hot, too, though all the greatblank windows had been swung open wide.
The usual exercises had already begun; there were speeches fromAuthority; prayers by Divinity; choral effects by graduatingpulchritude.
The class, attired in white, appeared to average much older thanDulcie. He could see her now, in her reconstructed communion dress,holding the big bouquet which he had sent her, one madonna lily ofwhich she had detached and pinned over her breast.
Her features were composed and delicately flushed; her bobbed hair wastucked up, revealing the snowy neck.
One girl after another advanced and read or spoke, performing theparticular parlour trick assigned her in the customary and perfectlyunremarkable manner characteristic of such affairs.
Rapturous parental demonstrations greeted each effort; piano, violinand harp filled in nobly. A slight haze of dust, incident topedalistic applause, invaded the place; there was an odour of flowersin the heated atmosphere.
Glancing at a programme which he had found on his seat, Barres read:"Song: Dulcie Soane."
Looking up at her where she sat on the stage, among her comrades in white,he noticed that her eyes were busy searching the audience--possiblyfor him, he thought, experiencing an oddly pleasant sensation at thepossibility.
* * * * *
The time at length arrived for Dulcie to do her parlour trick;she rose and came forward, clasping the big, fragrant bouquet,prettily flushed but self-possessed. The harp began a little minorprelude--something Irish and not very modern. Then Dulcie's pure,untrained voice stole winningly through the picked harp-strings'hesitation:
"Heart of a colleen, Where do you roam? Heart of a colleen, Far from your home? Laden with love you stole from her breast! Wandering dove, return to your nest!
Sodgers are sailin' Away to the wars; Ladies are wailin' Their woe to the stars; Why is the heart of you straying so soon-- Heart that was part of you, Eileen Aroon?
Lost to a sodger, Gone is my heart! Lost to a sodger, Now we must part---- I and my heart--for it journeys afar Along with the sodgers who sail to the war!
Tears that near blind me My pride shall dry,---- Wisha! don't mind me! Lave a lass cry! Only a sodger can whistle the tune That coaxes the heart out of Eileen Aroon!"
And Dulcie's song ended.
* * * * *
Almost instantly the audience had divined in the words she sang asignificance which concerned them--a warning--perhaps a prophecy. The69th Regiment of New York infantry was Irish, and nearly every seat inthe hall held a relative of some young fellow serving in its ranks.
The applause was impulsive, stormy, persistent; the audience wasdemanding the young girl's recall; the noise they made becameoverwhelming, checking the mediating music and baffling the nextembarrassed graduate, scheduled to read an essay, and who stood theremute, her manuscript in her hand.
Finally the principal of the school arose, went over to Dulcie, andexchanged a few words with her. Then he came forward, hand lifted inappeal for silence.
"The music and words of the little song you have just heard," he said,"were written, I have just learned, by the mother of the girl who sangthem. They were written in Ireland a number of years ago, when Irishregiments were sent away for over-seas service. Neither words nor songhave ever been published. Miss Soane found them among her mother'seffects.
"I thought the story of the little song might interest you. For,somehow, I feel--as I think you all feel--that perhaps the day maycome--may be near--when the hearts of our women, too, shall be givento their soldiers--sons, brothers, fathers--who are 'sailin' away tothe wars.' But if that time comes--which God avert!--then I know thatevery man here will do his duty.... And every woman.... And I knowthat:
'Tears that near blind you, Your pride shall dry!----'"
He paused a moment:
"Miss Soane has prepared no song to sing as an encore. In her behalf,and in my own, I thank you for your appreciation. Be kind enough topermit the exercises to proceed."
And the graduating exercises continued.
Barres waited for Dulcie. She came out among the first of thosedeparting, walking all alone in her reconstructed white dress, andcarrying his bouquet. When she caught sight of him, her face becameradiant and she made her way toward him through the crowd, seeking hisoutstretched hand with hers, clinging to it in a passion of gratitudeand emotion that made her voice tremulous:
"My bouquet--it is so wonderful! I love every flower in it! Thank youwith all my heart. You are so kind to have come--so kind to me--sok-kind----"
"It is I who should be grateful, Dulcie, for your charming littlesong," he insisted. "It was fascinating and exquisitely done."
"Did you really like it?" she asked shyly.
"Indeed I did! And I quite fell in love with your voice, too--withthat trick you seem to possess of conveying a hint of tears throughsome little grace-note now and then.... And there _were_ tears hiddenin the words; and in the melody, too.... And to think that your motherwrote it!"
"Yes."
After a short interval of silence he released her hand.
"I have a taxi for you," he said gaily. "We'll drive home in state."
The girl flushed again with surprise and gratitude:
"Are--are _you_ coming, too?"
"Certainly I'm going to
take you home. Don't you belong to me?" hedemanded laughingly.
"Yes," she said. But her forced little smile made the low-voicedanswer almost solemn.
"Well, then!" he said cheerfully. "Come along. What's mine I lookafter. We'll have lunch together in the studio, if you are too proudto pose for a poor artist this afternoon."
At this her sensitive face cleared and she laughed happily.
"The pride of a high-school graduate!" he commented, as he seatedhimself beside her in the taxicab. "Can anything equal it?"
"Yes."
"What?"
"Her pride in your--friendship," she ventured.
Which unexpected reply touched and surprised him.
"You dear child!" he said; "I'm proud of your friendship, too. Nothingought to make a man prouder than winning a young girl's confidence."
"You are so kind," she sighed, touching the blossoms in her bouquetwith slender fingers that trembled a little. For she would haveoffered him a flower from it had she found courage; but it seemedpresumptuous and she dropped her hand into her lap again.
* * * * *
Aristocrates opened the door for them: Selinda took her away.
Barres had ordered flowers for the table. In the middle of it a dollstood, attired in academic cap and gown, the Stars and Stripes in onehand, in the other a green flag bearing a gold harp.
When Dulcie came in she stopped short, enchanted at the sight of thedecorated table. But when Aristocrates opened the kitchen door and herthree cats came trotting in, she was overcome.
For each cat wore a red, white and blue cravat on which was pinned asilk shamrock; and although Strindberg immediately keeled over on therug and madly attacked her cravat with her hind toes, the generaleffect remained admirable.
Aristocrates seated Dulcie. Upon her plate was the box containingchain and locket. And the girl cast a swift, inquiring glance acrossthe centre flowers at Barres.
"Yes, it's for you, Dulcie," he said.
She turned quite pale at sight of the little gift. After a silence sheleaned on the table with both elbows, shading her face with herhands.
He let her alone--let the first tense moment in her youthful life ebbout of it; nor noticed, apparently, the furtive and swift touch of herbest handkerchief to her closed eyes.
Aristocrates brought her a little glass of frosted orange juice. Afteran interval, not looking at Barres, she sipped it. Then she took thelocket and chain from the satin-lined box, read the inscription,closed her lids for a second's silent ecstasy, opened them looking athim through rapturous tears, and with her eyes still fixed on himlifted the chain and fastened it around her slender neck.
The luncheon then proceeded, the Prophet gravely assisting from thevantage point of a neighbouring chair, the Houri, more emotional,promenading earnestly at the heels of Aristocrates. As for Strindberg,she possessed neither manners nor concentration, and she alternatelysqualled her desires for food or frisked all over the studio,attempting complicated maneuvres with every curtain-cord and tasselwithin reach.
Dulcie had found her voice again--a low, uncertain, tremulous littlevoice when she tried to thank him for the happiness he had givenher--a clearer, firmer voice when he dexterously led the conversationinto channels more familiar and serene.
They talked of the graduating exercises, of her part in them, of herclassmates, of education in general.
She told him that since she was quite young she had learned to playthe piano by remaining for an hour every day after school, andreceiving instruction from a young teacher who needed a little extrapin money.
As for singing, she had had no instruction. Her voice had never beentried, never been cultivated.
"We'll have it tried some day," he said casually.
But Dulcie shook her head, explaining that it was an expensive processand not to be thought of.
"How did you pay for your piano lessons?" he asked.
"I paid twenty-five cents an hour. My mother left a little money forme when I was a baby. I spent it all that way."
"Every bit of it?"
"Yes. I had $500. It lasted me seven years--from the time I was ten tonow."
"_Are_ you seventeen? You don't look it."
"I know I don't. My teachers tell me that my mind is very quick but mybody is slow. It annoys me to be mistaken for a child of fifteen. AndI have to dress that way, too, because my dresses still fit me andclothes are very expensive."
"Are they?"
Dulcie became confidential and loquacious:
"Oh, very. You don't know about girls' clothes, I suppose. But theycost a very great deal. So I've had to wear out dresses I've had eversince I was fourteen and fifteen. And so I can't put up my hairbecause it would make my dresses look ridiculous; and that renders thesituation all the worse--to be obliged to go about with bobbed hair,you see? There doesn't seem to be any way out of it," she ended, witha despairing little laugh, "and I was seventeen last February!"
"Cheer up! You'll grow old fast enough. And now you're going to have ajolly little salary as my model, and you ought to be able to buysuitable clothes. Oughtn't you?"
She did not answer, and he repeated the question. And drew from her,reluctantly, that her father, so far, had absorbed what money she hadearned by posing.
A dull red gathered under the young man's cheek-bones, but he saidcarelessly:
"That won't do. I'll talk it over with your father. I'm very surehe'll agree with me that you should bank your salary and draw out whatyou need for your personal expenses."
Dulcie sat silent over her fruit and bon-bons. Reaction from the keenemotions of the day had, perhaps, begun to have their effect.
They rose and reseated themselves on the sofa, where she sat in thecorner among gorgeous Chinese cushions, her reconstructed dress nowlimp and shabby, the limp madonna lily hanging from her breast.
It had been for her the happiest day of her life. It had dawned theloneliest, but under the magic of this man's kindness the day wasending like a day in Paradise.
To Dulcie, however, happiness was less dependent upon receiving thanupon giving; and like all things feminine, mature and immature, shedesired to serve where her heart was enlisted--began to experience therestless desire to give. What? And as the question silently presenteditself, she looked up at Barres:
"Could I pose for you?"
"On a day like this! Nonsense, Dulcie. This is your holiday."
"I'd really like to--if you want me----"
"No. Curl up here and take a nap. Slip off your gown so you won't mussit and ask Selinda for a kimono. Because you're going to need yourgown this evening," he added smilingly.
"Why? _Please_ tell me why?"
"No. You've had enough excitement. Tell Selinda to give you a kimono.Then you can lie down in my room if you like. Selinda will call you inplenty of time. And after that I'll tell you how we're going to bringyour holiday to a gay conclusion."
She seemed disinclined to stir, curled up there, her eyes brilliantwith curiosity, her lips a trifle parted in a happy smile. She laythat way for a few moments, looking up at him, her fingers caressingthe locket, then she sat up swiftly.
"Must I take a nap?"
"Certainly."
She sprang to her feet, flashed past him, and disappeared in thecorridor.
"Don't forget to wake me!" she called back.
"I won't forget!"
When he heard her voice again, conversing with Selinda, he opened thestudio door and went down stairs.
Soane, rather the worse for wear, was at the desk, and, standingbeside him, was a one-eyed man carrying two pedlar's boxes under hisarms. They both looked around quickly when Barres appeared. Before hereached the desk the one-eyed man turned and walked out hastily intothe street.
"Soane," said Barres, "I've one or two things to say to you. The firstis this: if you don't stop drinking and if you don't keep away fromGrogan's, you'll lose your job here."
"Musha, then, Misther Barres----"
>
"Wait a moment; I'm not through. I advise you to stop drinking and tokeep away from Grogan's. That's the first thing. And next, go on andgraft as much as you like, only warn your pedlar-friends to keep awayfrom Studio No. 9. Do you understand?"
"F'r the love o' God----"
"Cut out the injured innocence, Soane. I'm telling you how to avoidtrouble, that's all."
"Misther Barres, sorr! As God sees me----"
"I can see you, too. I want you to behave, Soane. This is friendlyadvice. That one-eyed pedlar who just beat it has been bothering me.Other pedlars come ringing at the studio and interrupt and annoy me.You know the rules. If the other tenants care to stand for it, allright. But I'm through. Is that plain?"
"It is, sorr," said the unabashed delinquent. The faintest glimmer ofa grin came into his battered eyes. "Sorra a wan o' thim ever lays ahand to No. 9 bell or I'll have his life!"
"One thing more," continued Barres, smiling in spite of himself at theIrish of it all. "I am paying Dulcie a salary----"
"Wisha then----"
"Stop! I tell you that she's in my employment on a salary. Don't evertouch a penny of it again."
"Sure the child's wages----"
"No, they _don't_ belong to the father. Legally, perhaps, but the lawdoesn't suit me. So if you take the money that she earns, and blow itin at Grogan's, I'll have to discharge her because I won't stand forwhat you are doing."
"Would you do that, Mr. Barres?"
"I certainly would."
The Irishman scratched his curly head in frank perplexity.
"Dulcie needs clothes suitable to her age," continued Barres. "Sheneeds other things. I'm going to take charge of her savings so don'tyou attempt to tamper with them. You wouldn't do such a thing, anyway,Soane, if this miserable drink habit hadn't got a hold on you. If youdon't quit, it will down you. You'll lose your place here. You knowthat. Try to brace up. This is a rotten deal you're giving yourselfand your daughter."
Soane wept easily. He wept now. Tearful volubility followed--picturesque,lit up with Hibernian flashes, then rambling, and a hint of slyness init which kept one weeping eye on duty watching Barres all the while.
"All right; behave yourself," concluded Barres. "And, Soane, I shallhave three or four people to dinner and a little dancing afterward. Iwant Dulcie to enjoy her graduating dance."
"Sure, Misther Barres, you're that kind to the child----"
"_Somebody_ ought to be. Do you know that there was nobody she knew tosee her graduate to-day, excepting myself?"
"Oh, the poor darling! Sure, I was that busy----"
"Busy sleeping off a souse," said Barres drily. "And by the way, whois that stolid, German-looking girl who alternates with you here atthe desk?"
"Miss Kurtz, sorr."
"Oh. She seems stupid. Where did you dig her up?"
"A fri'nd o' mine riccominds her highly, sorr."
"Is that so? Who is he? One of your German pedlar friends at Grogan's?Be careful, Soane. You Sinn Feiners are headed for trouble."
He turned and mounted the stairs. Soane looked after him with anuneasy expression, partly humorous.
"Ah, then, Mr. Barres," he said, "don't be botherin' afther the likesof us poor Irish. Is there anny harrm in a sup o' beer av a Dootchmanpays?"
Barres looked back at him:
"A one-eyed Dutchman?"
"Ah, g'wan, sorr, wid yer hokin' an' jokin'! Is it graft ye say? An'how can ye say it, sorr, knowin' me as ye do, Misther Barres?"
The impudent grin on the Irishman's face was too much for the youngman. He continued to mount the stairs, laughing.