The Kitchen Side of the Door
The City was celebrating New Year's Eve.Spelled thus, with a capital C, know it can mean but New York.In the Pink Fountain room of the Newest Hotel all those grand oldforms and customs handed down to us for the occasion were beingrigidly observed in all their original quaintness. The Van Dykedman who looked like a Russian Grand Duke (he really was achiropodist) had drunk champagne out of the pink satin slipper ofthe lady who behaved like an actress (she was forelady at Schmaus'Wholesale Millinery, eighth floor). The two respectable marriedladies there in the corner had been kissed by each other'shusbands. The slim, Puritan-faced woman in white, with her blackhair so demurely parted and coiled in a sleek knot, had risensuddenly from her place and walked indolently to the edge of theplashing pink fountain in the center of the room, had stoodcontemplating its shallows with a dreamy half-smile on her lips,and then had lifted her slim legs slowly and gracefully over itsfern-fringed basin and had waded into its chilling midst, trailingher exquisite white satin and chiffon draperies after her, andscaring the goldfish into fits. The loudest scream of approbationhad come from the yellow-haired, loose-lipped youth who had madethe wager, and lost it. The heavy blonde in the inevitable violetdraperies showed signs of wanting to dance on the table. Hercompanion--a structure made up of layer upon layer, and fold uponfold of flabby tissue--knew all the waiters by their right names,and insisted on singing with the orchestra and beating time with arye roll. The clatter of dishes was giving way to the clink ofglasses.In the big, bright kitchen back, of the Pink Fountain roomMiss Gussie Fink sat at her desk, calm, watchful, insolent-eyed, agoddess sitting in judgment. On the pay roll of the Newest HotelMiss Gussie Fink's name appeared as kitchen checker, but herregular job was goddessing. Her altar was a high desk in a cornerof the busy kitchen, and it was an altar of incense, ofburnt-offerings, and of showbread. Inexorable as a goddess of theancients was Miss Fink, and ten times as difficult to appease. Forthis is the rule of the Newest Hotel, that no waiter may carry hisladen tray restaurantward until its contents have been viewed andduly checked by the eye and hand of Miss Gussie Fink, or herassistants. Flat upon the table must go every tray, off must goeach silver dish-cover, lifted must be each napkin to disclose itstreasure of steaming corn or hot rolls. Clouds of incense rosebefore Miss Gussie Fink and she sniffed it unmoved, her eyes,beneath level brows, regarding savory broiler or cunning ice withequal indifference, appraising alike lobster cocktail or onionsoup, traveling from blue points to brie. Things a la and thingsglace were all one to her. Gazing at food was Miss Gussie Fink'soccupation, and just to see the way she regarded a boneless squabmade you certain that she never ate.In spite of the I-don't-know-how-many (see ads) New Year's Evediners for whom food was provided that night, the big, busy kitchenwas the most orderly, shining, spotless place imaginable. But MissGussie Fink was the neatest, most immaculate object in all thatgreat, clean room. There was that about her which suggesteddaisies in a field, if you know what I mean. This may have beendue to the fact that her eyes were brown while her hair was gold,or it may have been something about the way her collars fittedhigh, and tight, and smooth, or the way her close white sleevescame down to meet her pretty hands, or the way her shining hairsprang from her forehead. Also the smooth creaminess of her clearskin may have had something to do with it. But privately, I thinkit was due to the way she wore her shirtwaists. Miss Gussie Finkcould wear a starched white shirtwaist under a close-fitting wintercoat, remove the coat, run her right forefinger along her collar'sedge and her left thumb along the back of her belt and disclose tothe admiring world a blouse as unwrinkled and unsullied as thoughit had just come from her own skilful hands at the ironing board.Miss Gussie Fink was so innately, flagrantly, beautifullyclean-looking that--well, there must be a stop to this description.She was the kind of girl you'd like to see behind the counter ofyour favorite delicatessen, knowing that you need not shudder asher fingers touch your Sunday night supper slices of tongue, andSwiss cheese, and ham. No girl had ever dreamed of refusing toallow Gussie to borrow her chamois for a second.To-night Miss Fink had come on at 10 P.M., which was just twohours later than usual. She knew that she was to work until 6A.M., which may have accounted for the fact that she displayed verylittle of what the fans call ginger as she removed her hat and coatand hung them on the hook behind the desk. The prospect of thatall-night, eight-hour stretch may have accounted for it, I say.But privately, and entre nous, it didn't. For here you must knowof Heiny. Heiny, alas! now Henri.Until two weeks ago Henri had been Heiny and Miss Fink hadbeen Kid. When Henri had been Heiny he had worked in the kitchenat many things, but always with a loving eye on Miss Gussie Fink.Then one wild night there had been a waiters' strike--wages orhours or tips or all three. In the confusion that followed Heinyhad been pressed into service and a chopped coat. He had fittedinto both with unbelievable nicety, proving that waiters are born,not made. Those little tricks and foibles that are characteristicof the genus waiter seemed to envelop him as though a fairy garmenthad fallen upon his shoulders. The folded napkin under his leftarm seemed to have been placed there by nature, so perfectly did itfit into place. The ghostly tread, the little whisking skip, thehalf-simper, the deferential bend that had in it at the same timesomething of insolence, all were there; the very "Yes, miss," and"Very good, sir," rose automatically and correctly to his untrainedlips. Cinderella rising resplendent from her ash-strewn hearth wasnot more completely transformed than Heiny in his role of Henri.And with the transformation Miss Gussie Fink had been left behindher desk disconsolate.Kitchens are as quick to seize upon these things and gossipabout them as drawing rooms are. And because Miss Gussie Fink hadalways worn a little air of aloofness to all except Heiny, thekitchen was the more eager to make the most of its morsel. Eachturned it over under his tongue--Tony, the Crook, whom Miss Finkhad scorned; Francois, the entree cook, who often forgot he wasmarried; Miss Sweeney, the bar-checker, who was jealous of MissFink's complexion. Miss Fink heard, and said nothing. She onlyknew that there would be no dear figure waiting for her when thenight's work was done. For two weeks now she had put on her hatand coat and gone her way at one o'clock alone. She discoveredthat to be taken home night after night under Heiny's tender escorthad taught her a ridiculous terror of the streets at night now thatshe was without protection. Always the short walk from the car tothe flat where Miss Fink lived with her mother had been a glorious,star-lit, all too brief moment. Now it was an endless andterrifying trial, a thing of shivers and dread, fraught with horrorof passing the alley just back of Cassidey's buffet. There hadeven been certain little half-serious, half-jesting talks about thefuture into which there had entered the subject of a littledelicatessen and restaurant in a desirable neighborhood, with Heinyin the kitchen, and a certain blonde, neat, white-shirtwaistedperson in charge of the desk and front shop.She and her mother had always gone through a little formulaupon Miss Fink's return from work. They never used it now.Gussie's mother was a real mother--the kind that wakes up when youcome home."That you, Gussie?" Ma Fink would call from the bedroom, atthe sound of the key in the lock."It's me, ma.""Heiny bring you home?""Sure," happily."There's a bit of sausage left, and some pie if----""Oh, I ain't hungry. We stopped at Joey's downtown and had acup of coffee and a ham on rye. Did you remember to put out themilk bottle?"For two weeks there had been none of that. Gussie had learnedto creep silently into bed, and her mother, being a mother, feignedsleep.To-night at her desk Miss Gussie Fink seemed a shade cooler,more self-contained, and daisylike than ever. From somewhere atthe back of her head she could see that Heiny was avoiding her deskand was using the services of the checker at the other end of theroom. And even as the poison of this was eating into her heart shewas tapping her forefinger imperatively on the desk before her andsaying to Tony, the Crook:"Down on the table with that tray, Tony--flat. This may be abusy little New Year's Eve, but you can't come any of yoursleight-of-hand stuff on me." For Tony had a little trick ofconcealing a dollar-and-a-quarter sirloin by the simple method ofslapping the platter close to the underside of his tray and holdingit there with long, lean fingers outspread, the entire bit ofknavery being concealed in the folds of a flowing white napkin inthe hand that balanced the tray. Into Tony's eyes there came abaleful gleam. His lean jaw jutted out threateningly."You're the real Weissenheimer kid, ain't you?" he sneered."Never mind. I'll get you at recess.""Some day," drawled Miss Fink, checking the steak, "thehouse'll get wise to your stuff and then you'll have to go back tothe coal wagon. I know so much about you it's beginning to make meuncomfortable. I hate to carry around a burden of crime.""You're a sorehead because Heiny turned you down and now----""Move on there!" snapped Miss Fink, "or I'll call the stewardto settle you. Maybe he'd be interested to know that you've beencounting in the date and your waiter's number, and adding 'em in atthe bottom of your check."Tony, the Crook, turned and skimmed away toward thedining-room, but the taste of victory was bitter in Miss Fink'smouth.Midnight struck. There came from the direction of the PinkFountain Room a clamor and din which penetrated the thickness ofthe padded doors that separated the dining-room from the kitchenbeyond. The sound rose and swelled above the blare of theorchestra. Chairs scraped on the marble floor as hundreds rose totheir feet. The sound of clinking glasses became as the janglingof a hundred bells. There came the sharp spat of hand-clapping,then cheers, yells, huzzas. Through the swinging doors at the endof the long passageway Miss Fink could catch glimpses of dazzlingcolor, of shimmering gowns, of bare arms uplifted, of flowers, andplumes, and jewels, with the rosy light of the famed pink fountaincasting a gracious glow over all. Once she saw a tall young fellowthrow his arm about the shoulder of a glorious creature at the nexttable, and though the door swung shut before she could see it, MissFink knew that he had kissed her.There were no New Year's greetings in the kitchen back of thePink Fountain Room. It was the busiest moment in all that busynight. The heat of the ovens was so intense that it could be feltas far as Miss Fink's remote corner. The swinging doors betweendining-room and kitchen were never still. A steady stream ofwaiters made for the steam tables before which the white-clad chefsstood ladling, carving, basting, serving, gave their orders,received them, stopped at the checking-desk, and speddining-roomward again. Tony, the Crook, was cursing at one of thelittle Polish vegetable girls who had not been quick enough aboutthe garnishing of a salad, and she was saying, over and over again,in her thick tongue:"Aw, shod op yur mout'!"The thud-thud of Miss Fink's checking-stamp kept time toflying footsteps, but even as her practised eye swept over the traybefore her she saw the steward direct Henri toward her desk, justas he was about to head in the direction of the minorchecking-desk. Beneath downcast lids she saw him coming. Therewas about Henri to-night a certain radiance, a sort of electricalelasticity, so nimble, so tireless, so exuberant was he. In theeyes of Miss Gussie Fink he looked heartbreakingly handsome in hiswaiter's uniform--handsome, distinguished, remote, and infinitelydesirable. And just behind him, revenge in his eye, came Tony.The flat surface of the desk received Henri's tray. Miss Finkregarded it with a cold and business-like stare. Henri whipped hisnapkin from under his left arm and began to remove covers,dexterously. Off came the first silver, dome-shaped top."Guinea hen," said Henri."I seen her lookin' at you when you served the little necks,"came from Tony, as though continuing a conversation begun in somepast moment of pause, "and she's some lovely doll, believe me."Miss Fink scanned the guinea hen thoroughly, but with adetached air, and selected the proper stamp from the box at herelbow. Thump! On the broad pasteboard sheet before her appearedthe figures $1.75 after Henri's number."Think so?" grinned Henri, and removed another cover. "Onecandied sweets.""I bet some day we'll see you in the Sunday papers, Heiny,"went on Tony, "with a piece about handsome waiter runnin' away withbeautiful s'ciety girl. Say; you're too perfect even for awaiter."Thump! Thirty cents."Quit your kiddin'," said the flattered Henri. "One endive,French dressing."Thump!" Next!" said Miss Fink, dispassionately, yawned, andsmiled fleetingly at the entree cook who wasn't looking her way.Then, as Tony slid his tray toward her: "How's business, Tony?H'm? How many two-bit cigar bands have you slipped onto your ownprivate collection of nickel straights and made a twenty-centrake-off?"But there was a mist in the bright brown eyes as Tony theCrook turned away with his tray. In spite of the satisfaction ofhaving had the last word, Miss Fink knew in her heart that Tony had"got her at recess," as he had said he would.Things were slowing up for Miss Fink. The stream of hurryingwaiters was turned in the direction of the kitchen bar now. Fromnow on the eating would be light, and the drinking heavy. MissFink, with time hanging heavy, found herself blinking down at thefigures stamped on the pasteboard sheet before her, and in spite ofthe blinking, two marks that never were intended for a checker'sreport splashed down just over the $1.75 after Henri's number. Alovely doll! And she had gazed at Heiny. Well, that was to beexpected. No woman could gaze unmoved upon Heiny. "A lovelydoll--""Hi, Miss Fink!" it was the steward's voice. "We need youover in the bar to help Miss Sweeney check the drinks. They'recoming too swift for her. The eating will be light from now on;just a little something salty now and then."So Miss Fink dabbed covertly at her eyes and betook herselfout of the atmosphere of roasting, and broiling, and frying, andstewing; away from the sight of great copper kettles, and glowingcoals and hissing pans, into a little world fragrant with mint,breathing of orange and lemon peel, perfumed with pineapple,redolent of cinnamon and clove, reeking with things spirituous.Here the splutter of the broiler was replaced by the hiss of thesiphon, and the pop-pop of corks, and the tinkle and clink of iceagainst glass."Hello, dearie!" cooed Miss Sweeney, in greeting, staring hardat the suspicious redness around Miss Fink's eyelids. "Ain't yousweet to come over here in the headache department and help me out!Here's the wine list. You'll prob'ly need it. Say, who do yousuppose invented New Year's Eve? They must of had a imaginationlike a Greek 'bus boy. I'm limp as a rag now, and it's onlytwo-thirty. I've got a regular cramp in my wrist from checkin'quarts. Say, did you hear about Heiny's crowd?""No," said Miss Fink, evenly, and began to study the firstpage of the wine list under the heading "Champagnes of NotedVintages.""Well," went on Miss Sweeney's little thin, malicious voice,"he's fell in soft. There's a table of three, and they're drinkin'1874 Imperial Crown at twelve dollars per, like it was Waukeshaale. And every time they finish a bottle one of the guys pays forit with a brand new ten and a brand new five and tells Heiny tokeep the change. Can you beat it?""I hope," said Miss Fink, pleasantly, "that the supply of 1874will hold out till morning. I'd hate to see them have to come downto ten dollar wine. Here you, Tony! Come back here! I may be anew hand in this department but I'm not so green that you can puta gold label over on me as a yellow label. Notice that I'mchecking you another fifty cents.""Ain't he the grafter!" laughed Miss Sweeney. She leanedtoward Miss Fink and lowered her voice discreetly. "Though I'llsay this for'm. If you let him get away with it now an' then,he'll split even with you. H'm? O, well, now, don't get so highand mighty. The management expects it in this department. That'swhy they pay starvation wages."An unusual note of color crept into Miss Gussie Fink's smoothcheek. It deepened and glowed as Heiny darted around the cornerand up to the bar. There was about him an air of suppressedexcitement -- suppressed, because Heiny was too perfect a waiter todisplay emotion."Not another!" chanted the bartenders, in chorus."Yes," answered Henri, solemnly, and waited while the winecellar was made to relinquish another rare jewel."O, you Heiny!" called Miss Sweeney, "tell us what she lookslike. If I had time I'd take a peek myself. From what Tony saysshe must look something like Maxine Elliot, only brighter."Henri turned. He saw Miss Fink. A curious little expressioncame into his eyes--a Heiny look, it might have been called, as heregarded his erstwhile sweetheart's unruffled attire, and clearskin, and steady eye and glossy hair. She was looking past him inthat baffling, maddening way that angry women have. Some ofHenri's poise seemed to desert him in that moment. He appeared ashade less debonair as he received the precious bottle from thewine man's hands. He made for Miss Fink's desk and stood watchingher while she checked his order. At the door he turned and lookedover his shoulder at Miss Sweeney."Some time," he said, deliberately, "when there's no ladiesaround, I'll tell you what I think she looks like."And the little glow of color in Miss Gussic Fink's smoothcheek became a crimson flood that swept from brow to throat."Oh, well," snickered Miss Sweeney, to hide her owndiscomfiture, "this is little Heiny's first New Year's Eve in thedining-room. Honest, I b'lieve he's shocked. He don't realizethat celebratin' New Year's Eve is like eatin' oranges. You got tolet go your dignity t' really enjoy 'em."Three times more did Henri enter and demand a bottle of thefamous vintage, and each time he seemed a shade less buoyant. Hiselation diminished as his tips grew greater until, as he drew up atthe bar at six o'clock, he seemed wrapped in impenetrable gloom."Them hawgs sousin' yet?" shrilled Miss Sweeney. She and MissFink had climbed down from their high stools, and were preparing toleave. Henri nodded, drearily, and disappeared in the direction ofthe Pink Fountain Room.Miss Fink walked back to her own desk in the corner near thedining-room door. She took her hat off the hook, and stoodregarding it, thoughtfully. Then, with a little air of decision,she turned and walked swiftly down the passageway that separateddining-room from kitchen. Tillie, the scrub-woman, was down on herhands and knees in one corner of the passage. She was one of asmall army of cleaners that had begun the work of clearing away thedebris of the long night's revel. Miss Fink lifted her neat skirtshigh as she tip-toed through the little soapy pool that followed inthe wake of Tillie, the scrub-woman. She opened the swinging doorsa cautious little crack and peered in. What she saw was notpretty. If the words sordid and bacchanalian had been part of MissFink's vocabulary they would have risen to her lips then. Thecrowd had gone. The great room contained not more than half adozen people. Confetti littered the floor. Here and there anapkin, crushed and bedraggled into an unrecognizable ball, layunder a table. From an overturned bottle the dregs were drippingdrearily. The air was stale, stifling, poisonous.At a little table in the center of the room Henri's three werestill drinking. They were doing it in a dreadful and businesslikeway. There were two men and one woman. The faces of all threewere mahogany colored and expressionless. There was about them anawful sort of stillness. Something in the sight seemed to sickenGussie Fink. It came to her that the wintry air outdoors must begloriously sweet, and cool, and clean in contrast to this. She wasabout to turn away, with a last look at Heiny yawning behind hishand, when suddenly the woman rose unsteadily to her feet,balancing herself with her finger tips on the table. She raisedher head and stared across the room with dull, unseeing eyes, andlicked her lips with her tongue. Then she turned and walked halfa dozen paces, screamed once with horrible shrillness, and crashedto the floor. She lay there in a still, crumpled heap, the foldsof her exquisite gown rippling to meet a little stale pool of winethat had splashed from some broken glass. Then this happened.Three people ran toward the woman on the floor, and two people ranpast her and out of the room. The two who ran away were the menwith whom she had been drinking, and they were not seen again. Thethree who ran toward her were Henri, the waiter, Miss Gussie Fink,checker, and Tillie, the scrub-woman. Henri and Miss Fink reachedher first. Tillie, the scrub-woman, was a close third. MissGussie Fink made as though to slip her arm under the poor bruisedhead, but Henri caught her wrist fiercely (for a waiter) and pulledher to her feet almost roughly."You leave her alone, Kid," he commanded.Miss Gussie Fink stared, indignation choking her utterance.And as she stared the fierce light in Henri's eyes was replaced bythe light of tenderness."We'll tend to her," said Henri; "she ain't fit for you totouch. I wouldn't let you soil your hands on such truck." Andwhile Gussie still stared he grasped the unconscious woman by theshoulders, while another waiter grasped her ankles, with Tillie,the scrub-woman, arranging her draperies pityingly around her, andtogether they carried her out of the dining-room to a room beyond.Back in the kitchen Miss Gussie Fink was preparing to don herhat, but she was experiencing some difficulty because of the way inwhich her fingers persisted in trembling. Her face was turnedaway from the swinging doors, but she knew when Henri came in. Hestood just behind her, in silence. When she turned to face him shefound Henri looking at her, and as he looked all the Heiny in himcame to the surface and shone in his eyes. He looked long andsilently at Miss Gussie Fink--at the sane, simple, wholesomeness ofher, at her clear brown eyes, at her white forehead from which theshining hair sprang away in such a delicate line, at herimmaculately white shirtwaist, and her smooth, snug-fitting collarthat came up to the lobes of her little pink ears, at her creamyskin, at her trim belt. He looked as one who would rest hiseyes--eyes weary of gazing upon satins, and jewels, and rouge, andcarmine, and white arms, and bosoms."Gee, Kid! You look good to me," he said."Do I--Heiny?" whispered Miss Fink."Believe me!" replied Heiny, fervently. "It was just a caseof swelled head. Forget it, will you? Say, that gang in thereto-night--why, say, that gang----""I know," interrupted Miss Fink."Going home?" asked Heiny."Yes.""Suppose we have a bite of something to eat first," suggestedHeiny.Miss Fink glanced round the great, deserted kitchen. As shegazed a little expression of disgust wrinkled her pretty nose--thenose that perforce had sniffed the scent of so many rare andexquisite dishes."Sure," she assented, joyously, "but not here. Let's goaround the corner to Joey's. I could get real chummy with a cup ofgood hot coffee and a ham on rye."He helped her on with her coat, and if his hands rested amoment on her shoulders who was there to see it? A few sleepy,wan-eyed waiters and Tillie, the scrub-woman. Together theystarted toward the door. Tillie, the scrubwoman, had worked herwet way out of the passage and into the kitchen proper. She andher pail blocked their way. She was sopping up a soapy pool withan all-encompassing gray scrub-rag. Heiny and Gussie stopped amoment perforce to watch her. It was rather fascinating to see howthat artful scrub-rag craftily closed in upon the soapy pool untilit engulfed it. Tillie sat back on her knees to wring out thewater-soaked rag. There was something pleasing in the sight.Tillie's blue calico was faded white in patches and at the knees itwas dark with soapy water. Her shoes were turned up ludicrously atthe toes, as scrub-women's shoes always are. Tillie's thin hairwas wadded back into a moist knob at the back and skewered with agray-black hairpin. From her parboiled, shriveled fingers to herruddy, perspiring face there was nothing of grace or beauty aboutTillie. And yet Heiny found something pleasing there. He couldnot have told you why, so how can I, unless to say that it was,perhaps, for much the same reason that we rejoice in the wholesome,safe, reassuring feel of the gray woolen blanket on our bed when wewake from a horrid dream."A Happy New Year to you," said Heiny gravely, and took hishand out of his pocket.Tillie's moist right hand closed over something. She smiledso that one saw all her broken black teeth."The same t' you," said Tillie. "The same t' you."
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