"One of Those Impossible Americans"

by Susan Glaspell

"N'avez-vous pas--" she was bravely demanding of the clerk when shesaw that the bulky American who was standing there helplesslydangling two flaming red silk stockings which a copiously coiffuredyoung woman assured him were bien chic was edging nearer her.She was never so conscious of the truly American quality of herFrench as when a countryman was at hand. The French themselves hadan air of "How marvellously you speak!" but fellow Americanslistened superciliously in an "I can do better than that myself"manner which quite untied the Gallic twist in one's tongue. And so,feeling her French was being compared, not with mere French itself,but with an arrogant new American brand thereof, she moved a littlearound the corner of the counter and began again in lower voice:"Mais, n'avez--""Say, Young Lady," a voice which adequately represented the figurebroke in, "you, aren't French, are you?"She looked up with what was designed for a haughty stare. But whatis a haughty stare to do in the face of a broad grin? And because itwas such a long time since a grin like that had been grinned at herit happened that the stare gave way to a dimple, and the dimple to alaughing: "Is it so bad as that?""Oh, not your French," he assured her. "You talk it just like therest of them. In fact, I should say, if anything--a little more so.But do you know,"--confidentially--"I can just spot an American girlevery time!""How?" she could not resist asking, and the modest black hose shewas thinking of purchasing dangled against his gorgeous red ones infriendliest fashion."Well, Sir--I don't know. I don't think it can be theclothes,"--judicially surveying her."The clothes," murmured Virginia, "were bought in Paris.""Well, you've got me. Maybe it's the way you wear 'em. Maybeit's 'cause you look as if you used to play tag with your brother.Something--anyhow--gives a fellow that 'By jove there's an Americangirl!' feeling when he sees you coming round the corner.""But why--?""Lord--don't begin on why. You can say why toanything. Why don't the French talk English? Why didn't they layParis out at right angles? Now look here, Young Lady, for thatmatter--why can't you help me buy some presents for my wife?There'd be nothing wrong about it," he hastened to assure her,"because my wife's a mighty fine woman."The very small American looked at the very large one. Now Virginiawas a well brought up young woman. Her conversations with strangemen had been confined to such things as, "Will you please tell methe nearest way to--?" but preposterously enough--she could not forthe life of her have told why--frowning upon this huge American--fatwas the literal word--who stood there with puckered-up face swingingthe flaming hose would seem in the same shameful class with snubbingthe little boy who confidently asked her what kind of ribbon to buyfor his mother."Was it for your wife you were thinking of buying these redstockings?" she ventured."Sure. What do you think of 'em? Look as if they came from Paris allright, don't they?""Oh, they look as though they came from Paris, all right," Virginiarepeated, a bit grimly. "But do you know"--this quite as to thatlittle boy who might be buying the ribbon--"American women don'talways care for all the things that look as if they came from Paris.Is your wife--does she care especially for red stockings?""Don't believe she ever had a pair in her life. That's why I thoughtit might please her."Virginia looked down and away. There were times when dimples madethings hard for one.Then she said, with gentle gravity: "There are quite a number ofwomen in America who don't care much for red stockings. It wouldseem too bad, wouldn't it, if after you got these clear home yourwife should turn out to be one of those people? Now, I think thesegrey stockings are lovely. I'm sure any woman would love them. Shecould wear them with grey suede slippers and they would be so softand pretty.""Um--not very lively looking, are they? You see I want something tocheer her up. She--well she's not been very well lately and Ithought something--oh something with a lot of dash in it, youknow, would just fill the bill. But look here. We'll take both.Sure--that's the way out of it. If she don't like the red, she'lllike the grey, and if she don't like the--You like the grey ones,don't you? Then here"--picking up two pairs of the handsomelyembroidered grey stockings and handing them to the clerk--"One,"holding up his thumb to denote one--"me,"--a vigorous pounding ofthe chest signifying me. "One"--holding up his forefinger andpointing to the girl--"mademoiselle.""Oh no--no--no!" cried Virginia, her face instantly the colour ofthe condemned stockings. Then, standing straight: "Certainlynot.""No? Just as you say," he replied good humouredly. "Like to have youhave 'em. Seems as if strangers in a strange land oughtn't to standon ceremony."The clerk was bending forward holding up the stockings alluringly."Pour mademoiselle, n'est-ce-pas?""Mais--non!" pronounced Virginia, with emphasis.There followed an untranslatable gesture. "How droll!" shoulder andoutstretched hands were saying. "If the kind gentleman wishesto give mademoiselle the joli bas--!"His face had puckered up again. Then suddenly it unpuckered. "Tellyou what you might do," he solved it. "Just take 'em along and sendthem to your mother. Now your mother might be real glad to have'em."Virginia stared. And then an awful thing happened. What she wasthinking about was the letter she could send with the stockings."Mother dear," she would write, "as I stood at the counter buyingmyself some stockings to-day along came a nice man--a stranger tome, but very kind and jolly--and gave me--"There it was that the awful thing happened. Her dimple wasshowing--and at thought of its showing she could not keep it fromshowing! And how could she explain why it was showing without itsgoing on showing? And how--?But at that moment her gaze fell upon the clerk, who had taken thedimple as signal to begin putting the stockings in a box. TheFrenchwoman's eyebrows soon put that dimple in its proper place."And so the petite Americaine was not too--oh, not too--" thoseFrench eyebrows were saying.All in an instant Virginia was something quite different from alittle girl with a dimple. "You are very kind," she was saying, andher mother herself could have done it no better, "but I am sure ourlittle joke had gone quite far enough. I bid you good-morning". Andwith that she walked regally over to the glove counter, leaving redand grey and black hosiery to their own destinies."I loathe them when their eyebrows go up," she fumed. "Nowhis weren't going up--not even in his mind."She could not keep from worrying about him. "They'll just 'do' him,"she was sure. "And then laugh at him in the bargain. A man like thathas no business to be let loose in a store all by himself."And sure enough, a half hour later she came upon him up in the dressdepartment. Three of them had gathered round to "do" him. They weremaking rapid headway, their smiling deference scantily concealingtheir amused contempt. The spectacle infuriated Virginia. "They justthink they can work us!" she stormed. "They think we'reeasy. I suppose they think he's a fool. I just wishthey could get him in a business deal! I just wish--!""I can assure you, sir," the English-speaking manager of thedepartment was saying, "that this garment is a wonderful value. Weare able to let you have it at so absurdly low a figure because--"Virginia did not catch why it was they were able to let him have itat so absurdly low a figure, but she did see him wipe his brow andlook helplessly around. "Poor thing," she murmured, almosttenderly, "he doesn't know what to do. He just does needsomebody to look after him." She stood there looking at his back. Hehad a back a good deal like the back of her chum's father at home.Indeed there were various things about him suggested "home." Did onewant one's own jeered at? One might see crudities one's self, butwas one going to have supercilious outsiders coughing those shamcoughs behind their hypocritical hands?"For seven hundred francs," she heard the suave voice saying.Seven hundred francs! Virginia's national pride, or, moreaccurately, her national rage, was lashed into action. It was withvery red cheeks that the small American stepped stormily to therescue of her countryman."Seven hundred francs for that?" she jeered, right in theface of the enraged manager and stiffening clerks. "Seven hundredfrancs--indeed! Last year's model--a hideous colour, and "--pickingit up, running it through her fingers and tossing it contemptuouslyaside--"abominable stuff!""Gee, but I'm grateful to you!" he breathed, again wiping his brow."You know, I was a little leery of it myself."The manager, quivering with rage and glaring uglily, stepped up toVirginia. "May I ask--?"But the fat man stepped in between--he was well qualified for thatposition. "Cut it out, partner. The young lady's a friend ofmine--see? She's looking out for me--not you. I don't wantyour stuff, anyway." And taking Virginia serenely by the arm hewalked away."This was no place to buy dresses," said she crossly."Well, I wish I knew where the places were to buy things," hereplied, humbly, forlornly."Well, what do you want to buy?" demanded she, still crossly."Why, I want to buy some nice things for my wife. Something the realthing from Paris, you know. I came over from London on purpose. ButLord,"--again wiping his brow--"a fellow doesn't know where togo.""Oh well," sighed Virginia, long-sufferingly, "I see I'll just haveto take you. There doesn't seem any way out of it. It's evident youcan't go alone. Seven hundred francs!""I suppose it was too much," he conceded meekly. "I tell you Iwill be grateful if you'll just stay by me a little while. Inever felt so up against it in all my life.""Now, a very nice thing to take one's wife from Paris," beganVirginia didactically, when they reached the sidewalk, "is lace.""L--ace? Um! Y--es, I suppose lace is all right. Still it neverstruck me there was anything so very lively looking aboutlace.""'Lively looking' is not the final word in wearing apparel,"pronounced Virginia in teacher-to-pupil manner. "Lace is always ingood taste, never goes out of style, and all women care for it. Iwill take you to one of the lace shops.""Very well," acquiesced he, truly chastened. "Here, let's get inthis cab."Virginia rode across the Seine looking like one pondering thedestinies of nations. Her companion turned several times to addressher, but it would have been as easy for a soldier to slap a generalon the back. Finally she turned to him."Now when we get there," she instructed, "don't seem at allinterested in things. Act--oh, bored, you know, and seeming to wantto get me away. And when they tell the price, no matter what theysay, just--well sort of groan and hold your head and act as thoughyou are absolutely overcome at the thought of such an outrage.""U--m. You have to do that here to get--lace?""You have to do that here to get anything---at the price youshould get it. You, and people who go shopping the way you do, bringdiscredit upon the entire American nation.""That so? Sorry. Never meant to do that. All right, Young Lady, I'lldo the best I can. Never did act that way, but suppose I can, if therest of them do.""Groan and hold my head," she heard him murmuring as they enteredthe shop.He proved an apt pupil. It may indeed be set down that his aptitudewas their undoing. They had no sooner entered the shop than hepulled out his watch and uttered an exclamation of horror at thesight of the time. Virginia could scarcely look at the lace, soinsistently did he keep waving the watch before her. His contemptfor everything shown was open and emphatic. It was also articulate.Virginia grew nervous, seeing the real red showing through in theFrenchwoman's cheeks. And when the price was at last named--a pricewhich made Virginia jubilant--there burst upon her outraged earssomething between a jeer and a howl of rage, the whole of itterrifyingly done in the form of a groan; she looked at hercompanion to see him holding up his hands and wobbling his head asthough it had been suddenly loosened from his spine, cast one lookat the Frenchwoman--then fled, followed by her groaning compatriot."I didn't mean you to act like that!" she stormed."Why, I did just what you told me to! Seemed to me I was followingdirections to the letter. Don't think for a minute I'm goingto bring discredit on the American nation! Not a bad scheme--takingout my watch that way, was it?""Oh, beautiful scheme. I presume you notice, however, that wehave no lace."They walked half a block in silence. "Now I'll take you to anothershop," she then volunteered, in a turning the other cheek fashion,"and here please do nothing at all. Please just--sit.""Sort of as if I was feeble-minded, eh?""Oh, don't try to look feeble-minded," she begged, alarmed atseeming to suggest any more parts; "just sit there--as if you werethinking of something very far away.""Say, Young Lady, look here; this is very nice, being put on to thetricks of the trade, but the money end of it isn't cutting much ice,and isn't there any way you can just buy things--the way youdo in Cincinnati? Can't you get their stuff without making a comicopera out of it?""No, you can't," spoke relentless Virginia; "not unless you wantthem to laugh and say 'Aren't Americans fools?' the minute the dooris shut.""Fools--eh? I'll show them a thing or two!""Oh, please show them nothing here! Please just--sit."While employing her wiles to get for three hundred and fifty francs ayoke and scarf aggregating four hundred, she chanced to look at herAmerican friend. Then she walked rapidly to the rear of the shop,buried her face in her handkerchief, and seemed making heroic effortsto sneeze. Once more he was following directions to the letter. Chinresting on hands, hands resting on stick, the huge American had takenon the beatific expression of a seventeen-year-old girl thinking ofsomething "very far away." Virginia was long in mastering the sneeze.On the sidewalk she presented him with the package of lace and alsowith what she regarded the proper thing in the way of farewellspeech. She supposed it was hard for a man to go shoppingalone; she could see how hard it would be for her own father; indeedit was seeing how difficult it would be for her father had impelledher to go with him, a stranger. She trusted his wife would like thelace; she thought it very nice, and a bargain. She was glad to havebeen of service to a fellow countryman who seemed in so difficult aposition.But he did not look as impressed as one to whom a farewell speechwas being made should look. In fact, he did not seem to be hearingit. Once more, and in earnest this time, he appeared to be thinkingof something very far away. Then all at once he came back, and itwas in anything but a far-away voice he began, briskly: "Now lookhere, Young Lady, I don't doubt but this lace is great stuff. Yousay so, and I haven't seen man, woman or child on this side of theAtlantic knows as much as you do. I'm mighty grateful for thelace--don't you forget that, but just the same--well, now I'll tellyou. I have a very special reason for wanting something a littlelivelier than lace. Something that seems to have Paris written on itin red letters--see? Now, where do you get the kind of hats you seesome folks wearing, and where do you get the dresses--well, it'shard to describe 'em, but the kind they have in pictures marked'Breezes from Paris'? You see--S-ay!--what do you think ofthat?""That" was in a window across the street. It was an opera cloak. Hewalked toward it, Virginia following. "Now there," he turnedto her, his large round face all aglow, "is what I want."It was yellow; it was long; it was billowy; it was insistently andrecklessly regal."That's the ticket!" he gloated."Of course," began Virginia, "I don't know anything about it. I amin a very strange position, not knowing what your wife likes or--orhas. This is the kind of thing everything has to go with orone wouldn't--one couldn't--""Sure! Good idea. We'll just get everything to go with it.""It's the sort of thing one doesn't see worn much outside ofParis--or New York. If one is--now my mother wouldn't care for thatcoat at all." Virginia took no little pride in that tactful finish."Can't sidetrack me!" he beamed. "I want it. Very thing I'mafter, Young Lady.""Well, of course you will have no difficulty in buying the coatwithout me," said she, as a dignified version of "I wash my hands ofyou." "You can do here as you said you wished to do, simply go inand pay what they ask. There would be no use trying to get it cheap.They would know that anyone who wanted it would"--she wanted to say"have more money than they knew what to do with," but contentedherself with, "be able to pay for it."But when she had finished she looked at him; at first she thoughtshe wanted to laugh, and then it seemed that wasn't what she wantedto do after all. It was like saying to a small boy who was one beamover finding a tin horn: "Oh well, take the horn if you want to, butyou can't haul your little red waggon while you're blowing thehorn." There seemed something peculiarly inhuman about taking thewaggon just when he had found the horn. Now if the waggon werebroken, then to take away the horn would leave the luxury of grief.But let not shadows fall upon joyful moments.With the full ardour of her femininity she entered into thepurchasing of the yellow opera cloak. They paid for that decorativegarment the sum of two thousand five hundred francs. It seemed itwas embroidered, and the lining was--anyway, they paid it.And they took it with them. He was going to "take no chances onlosing it." He was leaving Paris that night and held that during hisstay he had been none too impressed with either Parisian speed orParisian veracity.Then they bought some "Breezes from Paris," a dress that would"go with" the coat. It was violet velvet, and contributed to thesense of doing one's uttermost; and hats--"the kind you see somefolks wearing." One was the rainbow done into flowers, and theother the kind of black hat to outdo any rainbow. "If you couldjust give me some idea what type your wife is," Virginia wassaying, from beneath the willow plumes. "Now you see this hatquite overpowers me. Do you think it will overpower her?""Guess not. Anyway, if it don't look right on her head she may enjoyhaving it around to look at."Virginia stared out at him. The oddest man! As if a hat wereany good at all if it didn't look right on one's head!Upon investigation--though yielding to his taste she was stillvigilant as to his interests--Virginia discovered a flaw in one ofthe plumes. The sylph in the trailing gown held volubly that it didnot fait rien; the man with the open purse said he couldn'tsee that it figured much, but the small American held firm. Thatmust be replaced by a perfect plume or they would not take the hat.And when she saw who was in command the sylph as volubly acquiescedthat naturellement it must be tout a fait perfect. She wouldsend out and get one that would be oh! so, so, so perfect. Itwould take half an hour."Tell you what we'll do," Virginia's friend proposed, opera cloaktight under one arm, velvet gown as tight under the other, "I'mtired--hungry--thirsty; feel like a ham sandwich--and something. I'mplaying you out, too. Let's go out and get a bite and come back forthe so, so, so perfect hat."She hesitated. But he had the door open, and if he stood holding itthat way much longer he was bound to drop the violet velvet gown.She did not want him to drop the velvet gown and furthermore, shewould like a cup of tea. There came into her mind a fortifyingthought about the relative deaths of sheep and lambs. If to bekilled for the sheep were indeed no worse than being killed forthe lamb, and if a cup of tea went with the sheep and nothing atall with the lamb--?So she agreed. "There's a nice little tea-shop right round thecorner. We girls often go there.""Tea? Like tea? All right, then"--and he started manfully on.But as she entered the tea-shop she was filled with keen sense ofthe desirableness of being slain for the lesser animal. For, cosilyinstalled in their favourite corner, were "the girls."Virginia had explained to these friends some three hours before thatshe could not go with them that afternoon as she must attend amusicale some friends of her mother's were giving. Being friends ofher mother's, she expatiated, she would have to go.Recollecting this, also for the first time remembering the musicale,she bowed with the hauteur of self-consciousness.Right there her friend contributed to the tragedy of a sheep's deathby dropping the yellow opera cloak. While he was stooping to pick itup the violet velvet gown slid backward and Virginia had to steadyit until he could regain position. The staring in the corner gaveway to tittering--and no dying sheep had ever held its head morehaughtily.The death of this particular sheep proved long and painful. The legsof Virginia's friend and the legs of the tea-table did not seem welladapted to each other. He towered like a human mountain over thedainty thing, twisting now this way and now that. It seemedProvidence--or at least so much of it as was represented by themanagement of that shop--had never meant fat people to drink tea.The table was rendered further out of proportion by having a largebox piled on either side of it.Expansively, and not softly, he discoursed of these things. What didthey think a fellow was to do with his knees? Didn't theysell tea enough to afford any decent chairs? Did all these womenpretend to really like tea?Virginia's sense of humour rallied somewhat as she viewed him eatingthe sandwiches. Once she had called them doll-baby sandwiches; nowthat seemed literal: tea-cups, petit gateau, the whole servicegave the fancy of his sitting down to a tea-party given by a littlegirl for her dollies.But after a time he fell silent, looking around the room. And whenhe broke that pause his voice was different."These women here, all dressed so fine, nothing to do but sit aroundand eat this folderol, they have it easy--don't they?"The bitterness in it, and a faint note of wistfulness, puzzled her.Certainly he had money."And the husbands of these women," he went on; "lots of 'em, Isuppose, didn't always have so much. Maybe some of these womenhelped out in the early days when things weren't so easy. Wonder ifthe men ever think how lucky they are to be able to get it back at'em?"She grew more bewildered. Wasn't he "getting it back?" The money hehad been spending that day!"Young Lady," he said abruptly, "you must think I'm a queer one."She murmured feeble protest."Yes, you must. Must wonder what I want with all this stuff, don'tyou?""Why, it's for your wife, isn't it?" she asked, startled."Oh yes, but you must wonder. You're a shrewd one, Young Lady;judging the thing by me, you must wonder."Virginia was glad she was not compelled to state her theory. Loudand common and impossible were terms which had presented themselves,terms which she had fought with kind and good-natured and generous.Their purchases she had decided were to be used, not for a knock,but as a crashing pound at the door of the society of his town. Forher part, Virginia hoped the door would come down."And if you knew that probably this stuff would never be worn atall, that ten to one it would never do anything more than lie roundon chairs--then you would think I was queer, wouldn't you?"She was forced to admit that that would seem rather strange."Young Lady, I believe I'll tell you about it. Never do talk aboutit to hardly anybody, but I feel as if you and I were pretty wellacquainted--we've been through so much together."She smiled at him warmly; there was something so real about him whenhe talked that way.But his look then frightened her. It seemed for an instant as thoughhe would brush the tiny table aside and seize some invisible thingby the throat. Then he said, cutting off each word short: "YoungLady, what do you think of this? I'm worth more 'an a milliondollars--and my wife gets up at five o'clock every morning to dowashing and scrubbing.""Oh, it's not that she has to," he answered her look, "butshe thinks she has to. See? Once we were poor. For twentyyears we were poor as dirt. Then she did have to do things likethat. Then I struck it. Or rather, it struck me. Oil. Oil on a bitof land I had. I had just sense enough to make the most of it; onething led to another--well, you're not interested in that end of it.But the fact is that now we're rich. Now she could have all thethings that these women have--Lord A'mighty she could lay abed everyday till noon if she wanted to! But--you see?--it got her--thosehard, lonely, grinding years took her. She's"--he shrunk from theterrible word and faltered out--"her mind's not--"There was a sobbing little flutter in Virginia's throat. In a dimway she was glad to see that the girls were going. She couldnot have them laughing at him--now."Well, you can about figure out how it makes me feel," he continued,and looking into his face now it was as though the spirit redeemedthe flesh. "You're smart. You can see it without my callin' yourattention to it. Last time I went to see her I had just made fiftythousand on a deal. And I found her down on her knees thinking shewas scrubbing the floor!"Unconsciously Virginia's hand went out, following the rush ofsympathy and understanding. "But can't they--restrain her?" shemurmured."Makes her worse. Says she's got it to do--frets her to think she'snot getting it done.""But isn't there some way?" she whispered. "Some way to makeher know?"He pointed to the large boxes. "That," he said simply, "is themeaning of those. It's been seven years--but I keep on trying."She was silent, the tears too close for words. And she had thoughtit cheap ambitionsilly show--vanity!"Suppose you thought I was a queer one, talking about lively lookingthings. But you see now? Thought it might attract her attention,thought something real gorgeous like this might impress money onher. Though I don't know,"--he seemed to grow weary as he told it;"I got her a lot of diamonds, thinking they might interest her, andshe thought she'd stolen 'em, and they had to take them away."Still the girl did not speak. Her hand was shading her eyes."But there's nothing like trying. Nothing like keeping right ontrying. And anyhow--a fellow likes to think he's taking his wifesomething from Paris."They passed before her in their heartbreaking folly, their tragicuselessness, their lovable absurdity and stinging irony--thosethings they had bought that afternoon: an opera cloak--avelvet dress--those hats--red silk stockings.The mockery of them wrung her heart. Right there in the tea-shopVirginia was softly crying."Oh, now that's too bad," he expostulated clumsily. "Why, look here,Young Lady, I didn't mean you to take it so hard."When she had recovered herself he told her much of the story. Andthe thing which revealed him--glorified him--was less the grief hegave to it than the way he saw it. "It's the cursed unfairness ofit," he concluded. "When you consider it's all because she did thosethings--when you think of her bein' bound to 'em for life justbecause she was too faithful doin' 'em--when you think thatnow--when I could give her everything these women have got!--she'sgot to go right on worrying about baking the bread and washing thedishes--did it for me when I was poor--and now with me rich she can'tget out of it--and I can't reach her--oh, it's rotten! Itell you it's rotten! Sometimes I can just hear my money laughat me! Sometimes I get to going round and round in a circle about ittill it seems I'm going crazy myself.""I think you are a--a noble man," choked Virginia.That disconcerted him. "Oh Lord--don't think that. No, Young Lady,don't try to make any plaster saint out of me. My life goeson. I've got to eat, drink and be merry. I'm built that way. Butjust the same my heart on the inside's pretty sore, Young Lady. Iwant to tell you that the whole inside of my heart is _sore as aboil_!"They were returning for the hats. Suddenly Virginia stopped, and itwas a soft-eyed and gentle Virginia who turned to him after thepause. "There are lovely things to be bought in Paris for women whoaren't well. Such soft, lovely things to wear in your room. Not butwhat I think these other things are all right. As you say, theymay--interest her. But they aren't things she can use just now, andwouldn't you like her to have some of those soft lovely things shecould actually wear? They might help most of all. To wake in themorning and find herself in something so beautiful--""Where do you get 'em?" he demanded promptly.And so they went to one of those shops which have, more than all theothers, enshrined Paris in feminine hearts. And never was lingerieselected with more loving care than that which Virginia picked outthat afternoon. A tear fell on one particularly lovely _robe denuit_--so soothingly soft, so caressingly luxurious, it seemedthat surely it might help bring release from the bondage of thosecrushing years.As they were leaving they were given two packages. "Just the kimonathing you liked," he said, "and a trinket or two. Now that we'resuch good friends, you won't feel like you did this morning.""And if I don't want them myself, I might send them to my mother,"Virginia replied, a quiver in her laugh at her own little joke.He had put her in her cab; he had tried to tell her how much he thankedher; they had said good-bye and the cocher had cracked his whipwhen he came running after her. "Why, Young Lady," he called out,"we don't know each other's names."She laughed and gave hers. "Mine's William P. Johnson," he said."Part French and part Italian. But now look here, Young Lady--or Imean, Miss Clayton. A fellow at the hotel was telling me somethinglast night that made me sick. He said American girls sometimesgot awfully up against it here. He said one actually starved lastyear. Now, I don't like that kind of business. Look here, Young Lady,I want you to promise that if you--you or any of your gang--get upagainst it you'll cable William P. Johnson, of Cincinnati, Ohio."The twilight grey had stolen upon Paris. And there was a mist whichthe street lights only penetrated a little way--as sometimes one'sknowledge of life may only penetrate life a very little way. Her cabstopped by a blockade, she watched the burly back of William P.Johnson disappearing into the mist. The red box which held theyellow opera cloak she could see longer than all else."You never can tell," murmured Virginia. "It just goes to show thatyou never can tell."And whatever it was you never could tell had brought to Virginia'sgirlish face the tender knowingness of the face of a woman.

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