Bambi Part 38

"I had a charming weekend in the country. We missed you very much."

"Indeed?"

"You're a lucky chap, Jocelyn. Your wife is one of the most enchanting women I ever met. She is unique."

"I am glad she pleases you."

"My dear fellow, I hope I haven't annoyed you. I meant no disrespect in complimenting you on Mrs. Jocelyn's charm."

"You made your admiration a trifle conspicuous the last time I saw you,"

said Jarvis in a rage.

"I apologize, I a.s.sure you. I bid you good night."

"Unmannerly boor," was Strong's comment as he turned toward the avenue.

"Hope that settles Mr. Richard Strong," fumed Jarvis as he turned away from the avenue.

Two letters were written Bambi that night concerning this meeting. Mr.

Strong wrote:

"DEAR LADY: I cannot possibly tell you how much of the fragrance of the garden, and of you, stays with me even in the heat and ugliness of New York. I am so grateful to you and the Professor for your hospitality and your friendship.

"I went to see your Jarvis to-night, as I promised to do, but he made it exceedingly plain to me that he desired neither my visit nor my acquaintance. I thought he looked very tired and a trifle hectic. No doubt the heat has worn on him. I don't mean to alarm you. I am only searching for some excuse for my own comfort for his reception of me.

"I shall look for the next chapters with eagerness. None of your many readers knows my proprietary delight in that tale of yours.

"My cordial regards to your father, and to yourself my thanks and my best wishes. Faithfully,

"RICHARD STRONG."

Jarvis was not so politic. He permitted himself some rancor.

"DEAR BAMBINA: I did not get your letter announcing Strong's visit, and his approaching descent upon me, until this evening. He followed close upon its heels. I have no doubt you intended it kindly sending him here to look me up, but the truth is I am in no mood for callers, and I fear I made that rather plain to your friend. I may as well say, frankly, I disliked him exceedingly on the occasion of his visit to you. It would be useless for me to try to disguise the fact. I would never dream of asking him for work on his magazine, which I consider of a very low grade.

"By some misunderstanding the Parkes sailed sooner than they expected, and failed to see my play. I have offered it to Charles Frohman. I should prefer him to any other New York manager.

"The weather here is extremely hot, and I have been working rather hard, so I am a little knocked out. Will you send me the ma.n.u.script of my two unfinished plays you will find on the table in my study? With regards to the Professor and yourself. Hastily,

"JARVIS."

Having got this off his mind and into the mailbox, Jarvis went for his nightly prowl. His steps turned toward the crowded East Side district, where a new interest was beginning to attract him. Until now "men" were his only concern. These hot nights, as he tramped along, discouraged with his own futility, he was beginning to discover "Man."

It seemed to him that all the children in the world were playing in these crowded streets. He had never turned his attention to children before. And he began to look at the shrewd, old faces, even to talk to a group here and there. They made him think of monkeys, clever, nervous little beasts.

He skirted several mothers' meetings conducted on the sidewalk. He even went into a saloon to have a look at the men, but the odour of stale beer and hot bodies was insufferable and drove him out. As he sauntered along, he pa.s.sed an unlighted business building. Out of the shadow a girl stole, and fell in step beside him.

"h.e.l.lo, kid!" she began, her hand tucked under his arm. Before she could complete her sentence, a policeman was upon them. He laid hold of the girl roughly.

"Now I got you! I told you to keep off'n this block," he growled.

"What's the matter with you? What do you want?" Jarvis demanded.

"I want her to come along with me. That's what I want."

"She hasn't done anything."

"You bet she hasn't. I didn't give her time."

"Let go of her! What charge are you taking her on?"

"Don't get fresh, young guy. The charge is s'licitin'."

"That's a lie! She's a friend of mine, and she merely said, 'Good evening.'"

The copper laughed derisively, and the girl turned a cynical young-old face to Jarvis.

"Much obliged, kid, but it ain't no use. He's got me spotted."

"If you arrest her, you must arrest me."

"I got nottin' on you."

"Yes, you have. I said 'Good evening' to her, just what she said to me."

"Get the h.e.l.l out of here, and don't give me none of your lip, or I'll run you in. Come along!" the policeman ordered, and he and the girl started on toward Jefferson Market. Jarvis marched beside them. When they turned in at the door where prisoners are entered, the policeman again ordered Jarvis off.

"Go round in front if you're crazy to be in on this," he said.

Jarvis hurried round to the front door and went in. The courtroom was packed. He had trouble in finding a seat, but he finally got into the front row, just behind the rail that divides the dock from the spectators. One half of the room was full of swine--fat, blowse-necked Jewish men, lawyers, cadets, owners of houses--all the low breeds who fatten off the degradation of women. Their business was to pay the fines or go bail.

The other half of the room, to Jarvis's horror, was full of young boys and girls, some almost children, there out of curiosity. A goodly number of street walkers sat at the back. It was their habit to come into court to see what judge was sitting. If it was one who levied strict fines, or was p.r.o.ne to send girls up to Bedford, they spent the evening there, instead of on the streets.

The first case called, after Jarvis's entrance, was that of the keeper of a disorderly house. She was horrible. He felt she ought to be branded in some way, so that she and her vile trade would be known wherever she went. A man went her bail, and she flounced out in a cloud of patchouli.

Two coloured girls were brought in, and sent up for thirty days. Then several old women, the kind of human travesties Jarvis had seen sleeping on the benches, were marched before the judge, who called them all by name.

"Well, Annie," he said to one of them, "you haven't been here for some weeks. How did it happen this time?"

"I've been a-walkin' all day, your honour. I guess I fell asleep in the doorway."

"You've been pretty good lately. I'll let you off easy. Fine, one dollar."

"Oh, thanks, your honour." She was led off, and Jarvis sickened at the sight.

A series of young girls followed, cheaply modish, with their willow plumes and their vanity bags. Some cheerful, some cynical, some defiant.

One slip of a thing heard her sentence, looked up in the judge's face, and laughed. Jarvis knew that never, while he lived, would he forget that girl's laugh. It was into the face of our whole hideous Society that she hurled that bitter laugh.