David Graham Phillips

“ The magistrate beamed his kindliest upon Hilda. "The charge against you is absurd. Your arrest was a crime. You are free."
Hilda put her hand on Otto's arm. "Let us go," she murmured wearily.
As they went up the aisle hand in hand the crowd stood and cheered again and again; the magistrate did not touch his gavel—he was nodding vigorous approval. Hilda held Otto's hand more closely and looked all round. And her face was bright indeed.
Thus the shadow of Mr. Feuerstein—of vanity and false emotion, of pose and pretense, passed from her life. ”

“ Like all people who lead useful lives and neither have nor pretend to have acquired tastes for fine-drawn emotion, Otto and Hilda indulged in little mooning. They put aside their burdens—hers of dread, his of despair—and went about the work that had to be done and that healthfully filled almost all their waking moments; and when bed-time came their tired bodies refused either to sit up with their brains or to let their brains stay awake. But it was gray and rainy for Hilda and black night for Otto. ”

“ Feuerstein's evening was even more successful than his afternoon. Brauner was still grumbling. Mr. Feuerstein could not possibly be adjusted in his mind to his beloved ideals, his religion of life—"Arbeit und Liebe und Heim." Still he was yielding and Hilda saw the signs of it. She knew he was practically won over and was secretly inclined to be proud that his daughter had made this exalted conquest. All men regard that which they do not know either with extravagant awe or with extravagant contempt. ”

“ For she was nearer twenty-three than twenty-two, at the outer edge of the marriageable age of Avenue A, which believes in an early start at what it regards as the main business of life—the family.
"You surely couldn't marry such a man as Otto!" said Hilda absently. Her eyes were searching the crowd, near and far.
Sophie laughed. "Beggars can't be choosers," she answered. "I think he's all right—as men go. It wouldn't do for me to expect too much."
Just then Hilda caught sight of Mr. Feuerstein—the godlike head, the glorious hair, the graceful hat. ”

“ Hilda flared. "I love him, father! He's a noble, good man. I shall always love him. Listen to Otto—it'll break my heart if you frown on my marrying the man I love." There was a touch of Mr. Feuerstein in her words and tone.
"Let's have our game, Mr. Brauner," interrupted Otto. "All this can be settled afterward. Why spoil our afternoon?"
Brauner examined Mr. Feuerstein, who was posing as a statue of gloomy wrath.
"Who are you?" he demanded in the insulting tone which exactly expressed his state of mind.
Mr. Feuerstein cast up his eyes. "For Hilda's sake!" ”

“ What laughter is so gay as laughter at nothing at all? Any one must laugh when there is something to laugh at; but to laugh just because one must have an outlet for bubbling spirits there's the test of happiness!
After luncheon they wandered into the woods and soon Otto and Hilda found themselves alone, seated by a little waterfall, which in a quiet, sentimental voice suggested that low tones were the proper tones to use in that place. ”

“ When she sat—or, rather, AS she sat, for she was always sitting—her mountain of soft flesh seemed to be slowly collapsing upon and around the chair like a lump of dough on a mold. Her only interest in life was disclosed when she was settled and settling at the luncheon table. She used her knife more than her fork and her fingers more than either. Feuerstein left soon after luncheon, lingering only long enough to give Lena a theatrical embrace. "Well, I'll not spend much time with those women, once I'm married," he reflected as he went down the steps; and he thought of Hilda and sighed. ”

“ Feuerstein's gaze wandered from face to face among the young women, to pause at last upon a dark, handsome, strong-looking daughter of the people. She had coal-black hair that curled about a low forehead. Her eyes were dreamy and stormy. Her mouth was sweet, if a trifle petulant. "And who is she?" he asked.
"That's Hilda Brauner," replied Horwitz. "Her father has a delicatessen in Avenue A. He's very rich—owns three flat-houses. They must bring him in at least ten thousand net, not to speak of what he makes in the store. They're fine people, those Brauners; none nicer anywhere." ”

“ Feuerstein left Hilda on the previous Sunday night he promised to meet her in Tompkins Square the next evening—at the band concert. She walked up and down with Sophie, her spirits gradually sinking after half-past eight and a feeling of impending misfortune settling in close. She was not conscious of the music, though the second part of the program contained the selections from Wagner which she loved best. She feverishly searched the crowd and the half-darkness beyond. She imagined that every approaching tall man was her lover. ”

“ And if a baseless lie is swift of foot where everybody minutely scrutinizes everybody else, it is also scant of breath. Sophie's scandal soon dwindled to a whisper and expired, and the kindlier and probable explanation of Hilda's wan face and downcast eyes was generally accepted.
Her code of morals and her method of dealing with moral questions were those of all the people about her—strict, severe, primitive. Feuerstein was a cheat, a traitor. She cast him out of her heart—cast him out at once and utterly and for ever. She could think of him only with shame. ”

“ His tone was decided. She felt that he knew best. In a few minutes he rose. "I must return to my room," he said wearily. "Ah, heart's delight, it is terrible for a strong man to find himself thus weak. Pity me. Pray for me."
He noted with satisfaction her look of love and anxiety. It was some slight salve to his cruelly wounded vanity. He walked feebly away, but it was pure acting, as he no longer felt so downcast. He had soon put Hilda into the background and was busy with his plans for revenge upon Ganser—"a vulgar animal who insulted me when I honored him by marrying his ugly gosling." ”

“ And on the third day they had reached Otto's mother. Not a detail was lacking—even the scene between Hilda and her father was one of the several startling climaxes of the tale. Mrs. Heilig had been bitterly resentful of Hilda's treatment of her son, and she accepted the story—it was in such perfect harmony with her expectations from the moment she heard of Mr. Feuerstein. In the evening, when he came home from the shop, she told him.
"There isn't a word of truth in it, mother," he said. "I don't care who told you, it's a lie."
"Your love makes you blind," answered the mother. ”

“ Feuerstein was so absorbed in his impending "act" that he barely noted how pretty she was and how utterly in love—what was there remarkable in a woman being in love with him? "The women are all crazy about me," was his inward comment whenever a woman chanced to glance at him. As he took Hilda's hand he gave her a look of intense, yearning melancholy. ”

“ I've counted on you ever since you—ever since that Sunday."
"Then you won't think wrong of me if I ask you a question? You'll know I wouldn't, if I didn't have a good reason, even though I can't explain?"
"Yes—what is it?"
"Hilda, is—is Mr. Feuerstein coming back?"
Hilda flushed. "Yes, Otto," she said. "I haven't spoken to any one about it, but I can trust you. He's had trouble and it has called him away. But he told me he'd come back." She looked at him appealingly. "You know that I love him, Otto. Some day you will like him, will see what a noble man he is." ”

“ Feuerstein thrilled and his eyes grew eloquent as he noted tens and twenties and at least one fifty. Slowly, and with exaggerated care, Dippel drew off a ten. "There y'are, ol' dead beat," he said. "I'll stake you a ten. Lots more where that came from—soda-fountain counter's reg'lar gol' mine."
In taking off the ten, he dropped a twenty. It fluttered to the floor and the soldier of fortune, the scorner of toil and toilers, slid his foot over it as swiftly and naturally as a true aristocrat always covers an opportunity to get something somebody else has earned. ”

“ With the frankness to which she had been bred she made no concealment of her heart-sick anxiety.
"He may have to be at the theater," said Sophie, herself extremely uneasy. Partly through shrewdness, partly through her natural suspicion of strangers, she felt that Mr. Feuerstein, upon whom she was building, was not a rock.
"No," replied Hilda. "He told me he wouldn't be at the theater, but would surely come here." The fact that her lover had said so settled it to her mind. ”

“ She went up to him, and Otto turned away, unable to bear the sight of that look of love, tenderness and trust. "You must not—at least, not right away." She turned to Otto. "Help me, Otto. Explain to him."
Heilig tried to put courtesy in his voice as he said to Mr. Feuerstein: "Miss Brauner is right. You'll only wreck her—her happiness. We're plain people down here and don't understand these fine, grand ways. You must pass as my friend whom I brought here—but I make one condition." He drew a long breath and looked at Hilda. For the first time she heard him, the real Otto Heilig, speak. ”

“ Don't you love me any more?"
"Love has nothing to do with it," he said, as gently as he could in the irritating circumstances. "My mysterious destiny has—"
"You said that before," she interrupted. "What is it? Can't you tell me so that I can understand?"
"You never loved me!" he cried bitterly.
"You know that isn't so," she answered. "Won't you tell me, Carl?"
"A specter has risen from my past—I must leave you—I may never return—"
She gave a low, wailing cry—it seemed like an echo of the music. Then she began to sob—not loudly, but in a subdued, despairing way. ”

“ She avoided Otto, taking care not to be left alone with him when he called on Sundays, and putting Sophie between him and her when he came up to them in the Square. But Otto was awaiting his chance, and when it came, plunged boldly into his heart-subject and floundered bravely about. "I don't like to see you so sad, Hilda. Isn't there any chance for me? Can't things be as they used to be?"
Hilda shook her head sadly. "I'm never going to marry," she said. "You must find some one else." ”

“ Feuerstein walked with him, taking his arm to steady him. "Let's have one more," he said, drawing him into a saloon, gently pushing him to a seat at a table and ordering whisky. After the third large drink, Dippel became helpless and maudlin and began to overflow with generous sentiments. "I love you, Finkelstern, ol' man," he declared tearfully. "They say you're a dead beat, but wha' d'I care?"
"Finkelstern," affecting drunkenness, shed tears on Dippel's shoulder, denied that he was a "beat" and swore that he loved Dippel like a brother. "You're my frien'," he said. ”

“ It is always disillusioning to inspect the unheroic details of the life of that favorite figure with romancers—the soldier of fortune. Of Mr. Feuerstein's six weeks in Hoboken it is enough to say that they were weeks of storm and stress—wretched lodgments in low boarding-houses, odd jobs at giving recitations in beer halls, undignified ejectments for drunkenness and failure to pay, borrowings which were removed from frank street-begging only in his imagination. ”

“ He gave her the look that is the theatrical convention for love beyond words. "It must be settled at once. I must know my fate. I must put destiny to the touch and know happiness or—hell!"
"Bah!" thought Otto. "He has to hurry matters—he must be in trouble. He's got to raise the wind at once."
"Mr. Feuerstein—Carl!" pleaded Hilda. "PLEASE try to be practical." ”

“ Swollen with vanity and streaming with sweat, Mr. Feuerstein sat down. "Good, Mr. Feuerstein—ah! it is grand!" said Brauner. Hilda looked at her lover proudly. Otto felt that the recitation was idiotic—"Nobody ever carried on like that," he said to himself. But he also felt the pitiful truth, "I haven't got a ghost of a chance."
He rose as soon as he could muster the courage. "I must get back and help Schwartz open up," he said, looking round forlornly. "It's five o'clock."
"You must stay to coffee," insisted Mrs. Brauner. ”

“ Isn't it funny that a sensible girl like Hilda can be so foolish?"
Heilig did not answer this, nor did he heed the talk on love and marriage which the over-eager Sophie proceeded to give. And it was talk worth listening to, as it presented love and marriage in the interesting, romantic-sensible Avenue A light. Otto was staring gloomily at the shadow of the tree. He would have been gloomier could he have witnessed the scene to which the unmoral old elm was lending its impartial shade.
Mr. Feuerstein was holding Hilda's hand while he looked soulfully down into her eyes. ”

“ There was no hope that the rich brewer would take him in; there was every reason to suspect that Peter would arrange to have the marriage quietly annulled. At most he could get a few thousands, perhaps only hundreds, by threatening a scandal. Yes, it would be wise, on the whole, to keep little Hilda on the string.
"I am very ill," he said gloomily, "but I will go."
Sophie felt hopeful and energetic again. "I won't come up to her till you leave her."
"You are a good girl—a noble creature." Mr. Feuerstein took her hand and pretended to be profoundly moved by her friendship. ”